Work Text:
Even between the shadows of the trees, Runa felt painfully visible and vulnerable.
For a week or so, every glance have been casted her way, was heavy with pity. The person the young miqo’te looks up to and consider her as a mother figure, the first miqo’te who didn’t treat her like she was some kinda problem or a burden and didn’t cast her away, who shielded her and took her under her wing, has just sacrificed her self and leapt into the abyss to save the anti-dot without a second thought.
And she couldn’t do anything about it, she just stood there like the idiot that she is, powerless and helpless.
And now, Runa‘s hiding like a coward between the great trees of Rak’tika, till the anti-dot does its work and go back to the Crystarium.
Some blamed her for that, considering it Runa‘s fault, that she didn’t act fast enough, as if she was a walking miracle, capable of pulling the suicidal female miqo’te back from the edge, as if she have the power to manipulate time and space and stop her from jumping.
While others treated her differently. Softer, kinder, careful. As if Runa was made of glass. They knew how close they are. The knew how deeply she loves Y’shtola. She is her guiding compass. She is the voice of reason to every decision she makes, what she thinks of the world matters to her. she trusts her more than she trust myself.
Either way, blaming the young miqo’te or treating her with kindness didn’t make a difference, Runa still feels ashamed and hollow.
Even here, beneath Rak’tika’s ancient canopy, the trees failed to conceal her, and still feels their heavy gaze on her skin.
But truth be told, she doesn’t believe Y’shtola is gone.
She hasn’t shed a single tear. She doesn’t care what everyone say, she doesn’t care about how they accepted Y’shtola‘s death just to make sense of her absence. They speak of her as though she is gone. As though the world moved on and closed the door.
But Runa knows better. She feels it. She can sense Y’shtola. Quiet, stubborn, unyielding. She Is not gone yet. She is stuck somewhere deep down under the ruins of the Ronkan Empire. Beyond sight, beyond reach, but not beyond return.
a few days ago, the young miqo’te went back to the ruins with a group of viera, searching the place together, studying the ins and outs, tracing every broken corridor, every collapsed chamber, studying every possible path, every fractured stone. As though the land it self will confess where it had hidden Y’shtola.
There has to be a way. There is always a way. Runa chanted with every breath she took
Y’shtola‘s story didn’t end this way. It couldn’t have, she needs to come back. Her body is not even on this star, how could death claim her? Tataro and Krile are waiting for her back at the Source. Master Matoya, of all people, is working on bringing her back to the Source. The world cannot move forward without her.
No, this’s not her end. It cannot be. She will come back.
Runa sat down with her back against the rough bark of an ancient tree. The smell of grass and wood filled her lungs, a familiar comforting smell, reminding her of another lifetime she has long forgotten. Her tail laidback, swinging occasionally. The plans of the ruins spread across her lap. Her lavender eyes traced the same fractured corridors and collapsed chambers again and again, though her mind had long since drifted elsewhere.
The rustling came softly at first. Grass shifting. Hesitant.
Runa didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Her steps always carried that uncertainty, that careful pause between movements, as though she were afraid of intruding, and the young miqo’te would recognize it from miles away.
Of course she came. She always tried to comfort those who need it, as if it was her duty, as if it was something only she could give. She moved towards pain instead of running away from it. Drown to it by instinct, or kindness, or something deeper Runa doesn’t fully understood.
The young miqo’te stayed still, eyes fixed on the useless plans between her hands, only her tail swaying out of habit. Pretending not to hear the female hyur approaching. Not because she didn’t know, but because she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t in the mood to be comforted.
She stopped a few steps behind the tree. Runa could feel without turning, the way she held herself, unsure, caught between staying and leaving. The female hyur weight shifted, grass whispering beneath her boots. She wanted her to say something, anything, but Runa didn’t know how to begin.
She was waiting for a permission Runa had no strength to give, so she kept her eyes on the brittle plans, unmoving.
“Ahem …” Minfilia cleared her throat. Her sound soft and small against the vast quiet of the Great Wood of Rak’tika. “Can I … come set with you?” The careful question lingered between them.
Runa didn’t trust myself to speak, so all she gave her is a small nod. That was all she needed. Minfilia moved quickly then, almost nervous, as if she’s afraid Runa might change her mind if she gave her time to reconsider. She sat beside her, close enough that Runa could hear her breathe but not close enough to touch.
Runa didn’t ask why Minfilia‘s here. She already knew. She had come for the same reason everyone did. To fill the void. To break the silence. To offer comfort.
Runa kept her lavender eyes to the ground. Her long black hair hiding her face. She didn’t want to look at that unbearable softness in the female hyur glowing blue eyes.
The wind moved through the canopy above them, stirring the leaves into restless murmur. It slipped between them, filling the silence non of them dared to break.
Minfilia tried to speak almost immediately, as if the silence was something she couldn’t bear to leave untouched. The words came carefully at first, rehearsed, fragile things she had likely carried with her the entire way here. But Runa wasn’t listening. Not really. Her voice blurred into the restless sigh of the trees, into the dull hum of Runa’s own thoughts.
Until she heard his name. It cut through everything.
Emet-Selch.
The sound of it hollowed her out.
Her swaying tail stilled.
Runa had told herself that her anger came from betrayal of trust, from his lies, from the ruin he had left in his wake. That it was righteous. Clean. Simple.
But it wasn’t. It was uglier than that. Somewhere along the way, she had let him get too close.
Learning the shape of his presence. The way his melodic voice dipped when he was amused. The way he catches his breath. The curl on his thin lips that painted his smug face. The heavy gravity in his gaze that followed her, ignoring all the people around them. Even when he wasn’t around, the young miqo’te could feel the ascian’s golden eyes on her. He had stood beside her not as an enemy, but as something far more dangerous. Something familiar. Something old. Something Holy. Something that understood her in ways no one ever could.
He had seen the weight she carried and never flinched from it. He even encouraged Runa to do whatever it takes to finish the job, and praised her for it. And she had let herself believe there was something real in that. By the twelves, the young miqo’te let her guard down and started to care.
The realization burned hotter than any anger. It made every memory feel like a mockery. Every shared silence. Every earnest smile. Every warm conversation. Every fleeting moment where she thought she saw something softer beneath his cruelty. She had mistaken proximity for sincerity. Mistaken attention for trust. Mistaken him for something he could never be.
Her chest tightened, breath catching on the sharp edge of it. It wasn’t just that he had deceived them. It was that the Ascian had let Runa believe, even for a moment, that she mattered beyond his design. That she wasn’t just another pawn. Another replaceable player in his grand scheme.
Runa’s fingers trembled where they rested against the ruined plans, her vision blurring. Not with tears, but with the unbearable weight of knowing how thoroughly she had been fucked. How close she was to almost give something of herself to someone who had never intended to keep it.
The young miqo’te didn’t hate him. That would have been easier. She hated that some part of her still didn’t want to. Some part still care about him. Wants him. Wanting to see what’s hidden underneath that attitude.
The anger run through her veins like wildfire. Her fingertips trembled, alive with something volatile and uncontrollable. Energy surged through her in violent currents, sharp and blinding. As if the lightening was trapped beneath her skin and has no where to strike.
The world around Runa blurred in fragments, shadows, branches, the uneven rhythm of her breathing, and suddenly she was back at Fanow. Minutes and seconds became the same, slipping past her recognition without a shape or meaning, until suddenly she was standing there in the middle of The communal sleeping area.
Every one had gathered. Forming a loose circle, tense and unmoving, their focus fixed on a single point at its center.
Him.
He stood tall, even with his shoulders hunched, as if he’s carrying the weight of all the people that died because of him. Untouchable. Composed. Certain. He wore his pride effortlessly like a second skin and it fitted him perfectly.
All Runa could see, was his tall figure. All she could feel, was the unbearable emptiness of everything he had taken away. Everything she had foolishly given him, and almost gave.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her hands curling at her side, shaking uncontrollably, needing to do something regrettable. Demanding answers.
Runa hadn’t announced her presence, but he knew she had come. He always knew when she was around him.
And for a moment of suspense, in that fragile space between silence and confrontation, she realized there was something worse than anger. Runa didn’t know if she wanted to hit him with all her might, or beg him to tell her that whatever is going on between them, is not real. That everything she felt towards him was just in her head. And there was no kindness, no softness, no familiarity between them. Just her imagination running wild. The need to fill the void inside her, made her visualize something not real. A mirage of some kind.
The Ascian turned around. His thin lips curling upon seeing Runa. As if he got the upper hand, and Y’shtola‘s death move further into his plans.
He started talking, his golden eyes cruelly burning hot against her lavender eyes. His melodic voice carried easily through the air, smooth and measured, threaded with his familiar smugness. It made her stomach twist, not believing she once found it comforting. She could hear him speak, but none of his words had a meaning, none of them reached her, none of them made sense. Any meaning for them dissolved before they could take a form or shape in her brain.
This was not going to help. The raging storm behind her ribs is exactly what he thrived on. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. His presence doesn’t work in her favor. He keeps pushing her buttons, distracting her from finding Y’shtola. She needed control. She have to ignore him. Even if she has to pretend he doesn’t exist.
Runa heard Minfilia’s soft voice asking her something about what happened after Y’shtola jumped into the abyss. Finally, something to keep her from thinking about him.
She tried to recall. A powerful gust of wind that came out of nowhere. Thancred said it happened before. At Ul’dah, when they were running away from the banquet.
The Ascian said something about sensing a brief disturbance in the lifestream. Why does he sense the life stream? Does all the Ascians sense it too? Since when? Runa has a lot of questions about them. She will ask the Exarch about them upon her return to the Crystarium.
“Oh, very well. I'll go and fetch her ...”, Runa was drowning deep her thoughts, when she heard his melodic voice says that. She turned her head fast facing him, wanting to catch the lie, “Perhaps a clear and unambiguous act of kindness will serve to win the trust you seem so determined to deny me”. His golden eyes never left her once.
By the twelves! She couldn’t believe her ears. What the fuck is he talking about? No one alive can do that easily! But then again, she know naught about the Ascians.
******
He really did it.
Y’shtola had been dead, and Emet-Selch brought her back!
The realization struck Runa like thunder. Her vision blurred instantly. Words dissolved as the silvered hair miqo’te stood before them. Whole and breathing. And then she was in her arms again.
She can’t remember crossing the space between them. She can only remember the feeling of Y’shtola‘s weight. Her sun-kissed skin warm beneath her fingertips. Solid against her chest. Her fingers clutching at the fabric on her back, afraid she might lose her again if her grip loosened a bit.
Runa’s tears soaked her shoulder. Her face diving between Y’shtola‘s silver strands. That familiar scent of bergamot and vanilla and something uniquely hers. The young miqo’te could feel the steady rise and fall of her breath. The subtle strength of her, holding the young miqo’te and ground her without any effort. Her voice filling the void she felt inside of her in the past few days. It settled something fractured deep in her chest.
Runa trembled against her. The weight of what almost happened came down crashing over her like a tidal wave. She almost lost Y’shtola.
She held her tighter to her ribs. As if holding Y’shtola any closer could erase the memories of her unbearable absence.
She was here. Alive.
And for the first time since she leapt into the darkness, the young miqo’te let herself break.
*******
The entire journey back to the Crystarium, she never left Y’shtola’s side. Not for a moment.
At first, she walked half a step behind her, keeping my eyes on her closely, watching the curves of her shoulders, the movements of her silver strands. Then walked close enough that their shoulders brushed. Unconsciously, she counted her every step, every breath she took. And every few seconds, her lavender eyes flickered back to her, just to make sure she’s alright, and she was still with them, alive and real, not a fragment of her imagination. The young miqo’te was afraid that if she blinked, Y’shtola would vanish.
And she noticed her unusual overprotectiveness, yet she said nothing about it. Only offering the smallest knowing glances now and then, as if to reassure The young miqo’te without making a spectacle of her fears.
When they finally reached the Crystarium, the Exarch welcomed them at the gates, hiding his face, wearing his usual perfect composure like an armor. Relief flickered through his shape at the sight of them. Though he quickly buried it underneath duty. He turned to the young miqo’te instead.
“You should return to your chambers and rest,” he insisted gently, “I left some food for you there, you need to gain back your strength so you can fight the rest of the light wardens. I give you my word, I won’t leave her side.”
His vow was earnest. He had seen her over those past few days. She couldn’t sleep well, couldn’t eat unless someone forced her to, couldn’t do anything else. Every waking moment, had been consumed by one thought, on relentless pursuit: finding a way to bring Y’shtola back. Exhaustion didn’t describe how she truly felt. She was frayed. Her body moved only because she was forcing it. Her brain functioning only in obsessive fragments, and he had seen it all, which is why his promise carried weight.
Runa accepted his offer. The walk to her chambers felt longer than usual. Her steps were heavy. It was hard to leave Y’shtola and rest, the thought alone made her stomach turns, but she needed to relax her body and her brain, and that won’t come if she kept close to her.
When Runa reached her chambers, the room greeted her with familiar stillness. She opened up the windows, letting the cool breeze pass through.
True to his word, the Exarch left her a tray of different types of food to eat and fill her stomach. Warm and fresh. He was thoughtful as usual.
Steam still curled faintly into the air, carrying a rich savory aroma, that made her stomach growl. She hadn’t realize how long it had been since she had eaten properly.
The young miqo’te dived into the food greedily, filling her mouth with the warm soup, and biting into the fluffy bread. The meat was soft and melting in her mouth. Every bite was delicious, to the point she licked every plate clean.
After finishing up, the air was unusually warm, which was strange, but she didn’t give it much thought. Instead, she slipped into a sheer black night gown with long flowy sleeves, light and loose but fitted around her chest, ready to surrender to sleep,
The air around her kept getting warmer. Not the air, her body. A faint heat lingered under her skin, spreading gradually. Maybe the food had hot spice and she didn’t notice.
Runa exhaled, tying her hair back, trying to shake the feeling, but it got worse. The heat started to spread a bit faster.
It settled low, coiling, tightening in a way made her breath hitch, and suddenly her pulse is louder in her ears.
She swallowed, pressing her fingers to her stomach, trying to understand what’s happening.
The sensation of the tips of her fingers against the sheer fabric made everything worse. It’s like something inside stirred awake. Runa thoughts become slower and harder to hold onto them. As thought they’re slipping through her fingers.
The young miqo’te tried to move towards the bed, but her legs felt strange, shaky and couldn’t hold her upright. The soft brush of the sheer fabric against her thighs sent an unexpected, sharp shiver through her.
This wasn’t normal. Something is wrong.
She turned her head slightly around. The food tray. Realization crept in slowly.
“No …”, her voice came out softer than usual.
Heat surged again, stronger, forcing a sharp inhale out of her lungs. Runa’s hands gripped the edge of the table tightly, in a fail attempt to ground herself as the sensation pooled deeper and heavier and impossible to ignore.
Every attempt to think, felt delayed, consumed by the constant awareness of every ilm of her own body. The heat and the way it’s refusing to fade or slowing down.
Runa heard a soft knocking on the door, and with every step felt like falling deeper and deeper into the abyss. She opened the door, but no one stood there. She stepped out looking if there was someone fooling around. Nothing.
“Isn’t it a bit late for you to be wandering around in the corridors in that … scandalous gown?”
His melodic voice slid into her ears like silk, low and smooth, sent a shiver down her spine. His gloved hand hardly holding her waist and still felt like hot iron against her skin.
She jumped, a startled gasp leaving her as she spun around, her heart leaping violently against her chest making everything worse.
Emet-Selch stood far too close she could feel his body heat radiating. Tall and composed, his face carried that familiar know-it-all smile that the young miqo’te wants to wipe out, as though he was already three steps ahead of everyone around him, written plainly across his features confidence and arrogance.
Her knees barely carrying her, she took a few steps back, putting a sliver of space to separate them, not trusting herself around the Ascian. The crystalline lights caught in his golden eyes as they moved over her, slow and deliberate, the distance didn’t seem to bother him, on the contrary, it amused him.
Looking at him hurt her neck. He was simply too tall, towering over her in the quiet corridor, occupying the space between Runa and her chambers, and the crystalline lights behind him only made it worse. Outlining his huge frame in pale silver while she had to tilt her head just to meet his eyes.
His gaze traveled downward, lingering briefly at her chest, before lifting up again. His pupils dilated. The corner of his mouth twitching upward as though he found the entire situation quietly entertaining. Runa’s face growing redder by the minute.
Everything felt irritating.
“Finished staring?” She snapped, crossing her arms over herself, covering what she can with them. “You have seen enough.” Every ilm of her body getting warmer under his gaze.
“Have I now?”, his brow lifted slightly, completely unashamed and didn’t look away. If anything, the challenge only seemed to amuse him further. “You didn’t leave anything for the imagination.” His gaze dropped to her chest, lingered for a heartbeat longer, before drifting back to her face.
The infuriating smile remained, as though he was enjoying every second of her discomfort.
“What do you want?” She said sharply, the tension under her skin becoming tighter.
His lips curved lightly, “You wound me,” he murmured in a low growl, “Must I want something to pay you a visit?”. His tune getting under my skin.
“By the twelves, we are in the middle of the night, I need to get some rest.” Runa said before she could stop herself, the feverish sensation crawling up her neck as irritation got the best of her.
Every atom in her body felt too tight, screaming wanting to be set free, as if something restless beneath her skin is demanding release. The sensation was far from pleasant, and standing close to him wasn’t helping.
The warmth from the corridor, the itch of the thin sheer fabric of her night gown against her skin, the long brown leather coat he wore, the faint, strange scent that always seemed to cling to him, aromatic, mysterious, the way his starving golden eyes kept moving over her, as though she was a feast in front of him. It all made Runa’s skin feel too tight, too warm and unpleasant.
His smile deepened. “And yet,” He replied softly, voice dropping into a smooth, dangerous melody, bending slightly so he could look down at her, “you are the one out of your chambers wandering the corridors as if you were waiting for someone.”
He stepped closer. Too close. Invading the young miqo’te space.
“Tell me,” he whispered, warm breath brushing against her ear, “Were you waiting for someone?” His gaze searched her face with quiet intensity.
“The Exarch perhaps?” He added, the faintest edge creeping into his tone, “Did he promise to come by? I couldn’t help but notice the way he speaks with you.”
Her brain stopped working. Runa couldn’t comprehend anything he say.
She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, didn’t want to react, but the air was thick with tension, and already her neck and cheeks are blood red, and what’s worse is the coiled tightness low in her stomach, in a way made standing this close to him feels unbearable.
Fighting the urge to jump onto him, the young miqo’te forced her arms tighter across her cheat, lifting her chin just enough to meet his gaze. “And what if he did?” She shot back.
For a moment the air between them crackled, sharp and electric. But then his eyes darkened, and his smile returned, slow and dangerous, her lavender eyes lingered on them, the need to wipe it off his face filled her head.
“Then I would say,” he murmured, his voice low, leaning just a fraction closer, “that the poor man has a very unfortunate timing.”
Before she could react, the Ascian’s arm sneaked behind her back. His movement smooth, almost effortless. One moment there was a sliver of space between them, then suddenly there wasn’t. His gloved hand settled at the small of her back, pulling Runa closer, until the heat of their bodies collided. Her breath caught, then his lips were on hers.
For a heartbeat, she froze, too stunned by the boldness, by the sheer audacity. Her hands instinctively gripped his coat, caught somewhere between pushing him away and holding on to ground herself.
Everything felt too warm, too close, too real, and pushing Emet away, consumed all her mental strength.
The kiss was sudden, claiming rather than asking, his tongue fighting, wanting to show dominance. The faint scent of leather and something darker wrapped around her brain as the world seemed to tilt.
The sound of a slap broke the silence, and Emet’s cheek was glowing red. This was wrong. She supposed to hate him. He was the enemy. She needed to stop him.
“You urged me to kiss you, and then you slap me,” his voice low and dangerously calm, holding his cheek “don’t play hard to get, it doesn’t suit you.”
Runa didn’t trust herself to speak. She didn’t say a word to counter his accusations, her brain barely functioning.
He gripped her jaw, holding her so close. Runa tried to slap him again, but this time, he held her arm. His lips brushed against hers, this time slower, softer, almost teasing.
“I believe some thanks and appreciation are in order,” he added quietly, faintest hint of smug and satisfaction curling his tone, “after all I did bring back your precious mother, Y’shtola.”
The heat rushing through Runa’s body made it hard to think, her thoughts tangled and all over the place, drowning beneath his height, his voice, his scent, and against every jumbled thought in her brain, she kissed him back.
The Ascian’s gloved hand tightened around the small of her back, pulling her closely against him, until there was no space left between us. His breath caught as her mouth moved over his with sudden intensity. Runa’s lips parted against his, sucking with more insistency, as though she had been waiting for the smallest excuse to lose all her careful restraint.
The young miqo’te needed him to touch her more, needed the feeling of his skin against hers, to imprint her skin, to leave his mark on her.
Runa’s fingers twisted in the front of his coat, gripping the leather tighter as the kiss deepened, feeling the faintest scrape of his breath against her lips between movements, the warmth of it sending another rush of molten heat to her core.
It was reckless and messy, the kind of kiss that stole her breath from her lungs and replaced it with the need of release.
When they finally broke apart to catch their breath, she was still half pressed against him, her pulse racing wildly in her ears, his face lingered close, his breathing slowed but heavier than before.
For once, the infuriating composure of the Ascian looked slightly undone, his molten gold eyes drifted over every ilm of Runa’s face, as though committing it to memory, that usual confidence softened. “I never thought I could taste those lips ever again.” His voice reverberating through his chest, low and steady.
The words were thoughtful, yet darkness lingered beneath them, she didn’t even try to decipher the meaning behind them, it was impossible with every drop of blood in her body too busy burning through her, the need for a relief pooling in her core, making it difficult to think clearly.
Being this close to him blurred everything else. The warmth between us, the lingering taste of him still in her mouth and before she could process anything, one arm crept up her back and the other beneath my knees, lifting her effortlessly off the ground.
Instinctively, her hands held the Ascian’s shoulders. The world tilted slightly as he adjusted her against his chest, holding Runa securely.
His musk filled the young miqo’te’s brain, his neck was too close, a feast to indulge herself, her mouth watered. She planted kisses, biting and sucking and licking the marks she left there, feeling his warm skin with her lips. His groans vibrated through his chest sending shivers through her.
Suddenly, she was lying over the bed, and he is all over her panting, his hair is a mess, his face is as red as hers, the molten gold ring in his eyes barely visible, his right gloved hand rose between them, holding her small chin. The cold leather brushed slowly over her lips, tracing their shape with quit deliberation.
The touch sent another jolt of heat through her. Runa’s breath hitched, her lips parting without thinking, inviting him in, drawn by the slow and teasing movement, wanting to suck him, to feel the weight of his presence over her tongue, showing him that she can be good.
His eyes sharpened, recognizing what she’s asking for, pressing the rest of his fingers against her red cheek, his gloved thumb went inside, the taste of the leather taking over.
She closed her lips around his thumb, tasting him, sucking him, moving her tongue around it.
His other hand patted her cheek, his darkened eyes never leaving hers. “Hmmm”, he groaned, his voice dripping lower, as his gaze lingered on her lips, “good girl”.
Warmth surged through her again, pulling at her, irritating, wanting to be set free, forcing her to press her thighs together.
The Ascian felt Runa’s movements underneath him, with his other hand, forced her legs open, creeping under the sheer nightgown and pulling it up around her waist, stroking her ever so gently, teasing her inner thighs with his feathery touches.
The sudden cool air against her exposed hot pussy sent shivers down her spine.
“Pea -se …..” it came out without thinking, with his gloved thumb still in her mouth.
His eyes lit up with dark amusement, wicked grin spread across the Ascian’s face. “What was that? I didn’t understand you?”
Another wave hit her, stronger, sharper and broke through whatever control she had left.
Runa’s vision blurred, tears slipped free.
She felt his hot tongue licked them off her face, kissing her cheeks. “Please what?”, his hot breath against her ear sending jolts of electricity through her body.
“Nee- d … y- ….” She couldn’t form words. She just knew she needed him to touch her, to fill her up.
He carried her up again, brought a chair in front of the mirror and sat the young miqo’te down between his thighs, hugging her, one arm under her knees folding her in half, her legs upright against her chest, giving him full access, his erection burning hot against her back.
With their reflection looking back at her, she saw her own pussy wet and fully exposed, red and puffy waiting to be abused.
“Eyes up here, love”, his voice low with a warning growl, “keep looking at me, I wanna see you when you break”. His eyes focused on hers.
She nodded, soft moans escaped her lips.
He brought his free hand to Runa’s mouth, in a silent command to take off his glove and without hesitation, she bit the tips and pulled it off his hand, his chest rumbled.
Finally naked, his warm hand trailed under her lush thighs, his fingers felt cold against her hot flesh, nails scraping, touching everywhere but the place she needed the most, only brushing past it.
Filled with the aching need for his touch, the young miqo’te‘s eyes glistened, unfocused with silver trails spilling down her flushing cheeks.
Emet’s face nuzzled into the curve of her neck, his breath warm against her hot flesh, lips brushing slowly along her throat before trailing upward to lick her wet cheeks.
The sensation sent overwhelming shivers through her, making it impossible to steady her breathing, whimpers escaping her freely.
His touch unhurried. His fingers continued their slow torture, tracing down, reaching her folds, teasingly spreading her open, then going back up.
A soft broken sound slipped Runa’s lips. “Please ..” she whispered again, need dripping from her voice, barely holding herself together.
He didn’t rush, his movements remained slow, controlled, like he was savoring every reaction, every tremble, every breath that hitched under his touch, and without a warning, two fingers pushed inside her, stretching her open. “Wet and ready for me.”
The shift was sudden, drawing a sharp breath from the young miqo’te‘s lips, as her body reacted instantly, tightening and trembling under his touch.
“So responsive.” He pushed his two fingers deeper, curling them up against her insides, stretching her slowly.
His grin grew wickedly wider, watching her face in the mirror, seeing the mix of pleasure and pain. Whimpers and moans filling the quiet space around them.
“Does it hurt?” He whispered into her ear, looking at her eyes, she nodded, not trusting herself to form words.
“I know it does,” his lips brushing against the top of her head, “and you are taking me so well, enduring it, enjoying the pain, and opening yourself to me.” Biting the tip of her sensitive ear, fingers pushing deeper, hitting a spot inside made Runa’s eyes roll, forcing louder moans out of her.
Holding his gaze through their reflection intensified everything. The room, the heat, the closeness of him, his flushed cheeks, his bruised kissable lips, the hungry look on his heavy lidded eyes, the messy hair strands sticking to his sweaty forehead.
“E- ..”, her breath hitched, moaning his name.
The Ascian’s chest rumbled, fucking her faster with his fingers, “You are so needy.” He growled, watching her through the mirror, “You want more?", letting his fingers out leaving her hole gaping, “Want me to stretch your tight little cunt open? Make your tight hole able to fit my cock?” He said, forcing his three fingers and widening them apart inside her, “so tight”.
She screamed his name. Feeling herself getting closer and closer to release.
A deep chuckle escaped Emet, pulling his fingers out, making her whine, before pressing his thumb against her clit, circling it lightly.
“Hold your knees up for me, love,” he muttered with a wicked grin forming on his face, she obediently moved her arms under her knees, “don't lower your legs, or you will be punished.” Runa’s stomach tangled up upon hearing his promise.
The sensation of his gloved hand tracing Runa’s under thighs, and his naked fingers rubbing her clit, were overwhelming. Then, his gloved fingers pinched and played with her clit, and inserted his naked fingers back into her wet pussy.
the young miqo’te started begging, screaming, crying for some release, dripping down the chair, making more mess, splashing sounds filling her brain.
And without a warning, his three fingers started rubbing against the spot she needed Emet to touch the most.
Runa’s eyes close shut seeing stars behind them, her screams were louder, any passerby could hear her.
“Open your eyes or I will stop” his voice dropped, threatening.
With heavy lidded, unfocused eyes, Runa looked back at his reflection, barely able to keep them open.
Looking at the Ascian’s reflection, he sped up his movement, hitting the right spot over and over again. “You look absolutely pretty like this,” he whispered into her ears, his tune dripping with satisfaction, “legs up, fully exposing your wet stretched pussy to abuse it however I see fit with my fingers.”
Runa’s breath broke, uneven, her grip under her knees faltering as the intensity built too quickly, too much. Trapped between his thighs, his hard erection pressed against her back, and underneath his relentless touch. His naked hand slammed one last time inside her, curling his fingers hard against her sensitive spot, pushing Runa closer to the edge, she could already feel herself slipping, while his gloved fingers circling her clit.
Runa couldn’t escape, couldn’t look away from his reflection, and the way he watched her unfold with intensity.
“Go on,” he growled into her ear, voice low and commanding, biting her sensitive ear “let me see you cum for me,” watching her flushed face in the mirror twist with heightened pleasure, “let me see you fall apart on my fingers.”
The young miqo’te heard the door forcefully open, but she couldn’t care, she couldn’t hold herself to see who entered. Screaming Emet’s name, the tension snapped all at once.
Runa’s breath broke, a sharp, uncontrollable tears and moans leaving her, as everything inside her unraveled, too much to hold together. Her body tensed then gave away, still feeling his fingers pumping her pussy, the overwhelming sensation crashing through her, in waves that left her screaming and trembling, her legs upright shaking.
His other hand went back again under her knees, steadying her, lowering her legs, as she fell apart against his chest, her head tilted to the side, watching the reflection of his wicked gaze lit up with pride and joy.
Runa’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, overwhelmed, before they were drawn back to the mirror, but he wasn’t looking at her anymore. His gaze shifted toward the doorway.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. “You saw us through your mirrors, Exarch, didn’t you?” His words cut through the room like a blade.
The young miqo’te’s brain not functioning whatever came out of the Ascian’s mouth, her body still warm, wanting another release.
A soft, unsteady breath left the new person standing in the doorway answering his question.
Turning slowly, she saw him there, standing in the doorway, silent and unmoving. Emet didn’t move, didn’t let her go even, if anything, his grip around her grew stronger. Holding her even tighter.
Runa didn’t care about the new person watching them. All she cared about was the sudden unbearable absence of what Emet’s hands had given her moments ago. The way her body still ached for it, still burnt with it, still needs it.
“Again …. Emet”, she begged, voice soft, fragile, filled with unguarded need.
Her fingers clutched at him, pulling weakly, her body leaning towards him without restraint. Strands of hair clung to her cheek and forehead, damp with sweat, sticking to her flushed skin. “I nee-“ her voice trembled, breaking slightly, “I need you. I need to feel you inside”.
Pleased chuckle left Emet’s lips, still looking at the Exarch and a proud smug expression written all over his face.
“You heard her?”, his melodic laced with smugness and satisfaction, “I would wager this is your doing.”
The Exarch stiffened, but said nothing.
“You meddled with her food”, he continued smoothly, as if presenting a theory he already believed, “gave her something to go wild, encourage her to lose herself in pleasure.”
Silence answered him, proving his point. Emet’s eyes gleamed.
Whatever Emet was speaking about, didn’t enter Runa’s sluggish brain, all she felt was the restless heat beneath her skin, the aching void that needs to be filled with his cock.
She turned towards him fully, her hands drifting to the front of his coat, searching for a way to free his cock, her fingers fumbled against all of the layers of fabric, impatient and uncoordinated, til she decided to pull up the skirt of his dress only to be met with leather trousers.
A soft click echoed from above her. “Now, now, love”, he murmured, amusement threading through every word, his hand clasped gently around her wrists, “I do adore your enthusiasm, and the fact that you are greedy, but I am the one to decide what you receive”.
His gaze lingered at her flushed face taking every detail. The lust haze in her eyes with flickering frustration beneath them. The hair strands sticking stubbornly to her sweaty forehead and cheeks. Her glistening sweaty neck all the way down to her cleavage. Her hard pebble nipples pocking through the sheer nightgown.
A slow smile curved his lips as he studied her. “My,” he drawled softly, lifting her wrists and pressed a lingering soft kiss against them, “you truly are a mess,” He looked up again ignoring the desperate need Runa felt, “and whose fault is that, I wonder?”
The question hung between them, provoking the Exarch still standing at the entrance. Emet’s smile widened ever so slightly, as she rode his thick thigh.
“Well,” he said lightly, “I believe we have reached the portion of this fortunate affair where you assume responsibility for your handiwork”
The Exarch opened his mouth.
“No, no”, Emet interrupted, raising a hand, “do allow me to finish, you care for her,” he said sarcastically, smoothing out her hair, “making certain she is well rested and well fed”, his eyes gleamed, “only for all the diligence to culminate in this”
The Exarch jaw tightened. “This was not my intention”.
“I doubt that,” his smile didn’t falter, “intentions are wonderfully irrelevant when one is dealing with consequences”.
“Eme- t plea- … please”. She begged, flushed face, humping his thick thigh.
Emet took another glance at Runa, taking in her need and frustration, before looking back at the Exarch.
“You wanted to care for her, always performing lengthy soliloquies about your precious Warrior of Darkness”, his voice turned silky, “now would be an excellent opportunity to demonstrate precisely how devoted you are”.
For a moment, it seemed the Exarch intended to argue further, to continue their endless battle of words. Instead, he took a step forward, then another, with every step he took, heat coiled low in Runa’s stomach, until stopping directly before her.
She faced him, her wrists still held tightly behind her back by Emet, her unfocused gaze drifting over his covered face.
A low chuckle escaped Emet. “Nothing scandalous”, his tone suggested otherwise, “a few kisses and hushed prayers should suffice.”
The Exarch didn’t spare him a glance, and without any word, he lowered himself onto his knees before them both. The movement drew Runa’s attention.
Carefully, his crystallized hand reached for her bare foot, enclosed with a surprising gentleness, holding it as though she was something fragile, something precious that might shatter beneath the slightest carelessness, tracing its creases and massaging it.
Runa stared down at him, curious. She lifted her foot closer to his face, a silent challenge, daring him to show his devotion.
Smooth crystallized thumb brushed lightly across her ankle, “Are you delighted to see me kneeling before you?”, he asked gently, a small smile softened his features, planted a quick peck “Because I am.”
His other hand supported her foot arch, cradling it with quiet care, pulling her even closer to his lips, pressing soft pecks over her instep, treating the simple gesture with a reverence that boarded on worship.
A pleased smile tugged at the corner of Emet’s mouth as he watched the scene unfold.
“Well,” he murmured into Runa’s ear, “I believe we have finally rendered the mighty Exarch to his rightful place”.
The Exarch kept ignoring his snarky comments, as his attention remained fixed entirely on the young miqu’te. The restraint that usually defined him was beginning to fray. Every soft peck lingered longer than it should have, turning into hungry, open-mouthed, wet kisses, licking every ilm of Runa’s foot and with each kiss heat surged inside her.
He cupped her warm arch against his flushed cheek, framing his covered face and fitting perfectly, kissing her heel, the hunger he had spent so long burying beneath duty, coming out.
Behind her, Emet rested his head over her shoulder, let out pleased hum. Looming at her “Oh, this is fascinating, you truly worship her”.
Moving under the skirt of her dress, the Exarch’s normal hand remained massaging her calf, his thumb traced slow circles against her creamy white skin, planted soft feathery kisses along her leg, up to her knee, fighting the urge to bite into her thigh.
The warmth inside her intensified, spreading through every limb. Runa enjoyed the new attention, moved her other leg around him, trapping the Exarch between her legs, forced him to move closer towards the ache between her thighs, feeling his warm breath against her bare pussy.
Taking her note, the Exarch pulled her and balanced her knees over his shoulders, inhaling her needy scent, kissing and biting her wet, warm inner thighs, not able to resist his urges, licking the marks he left behind and admiring his work.
The soft fabric of the Exarch’s hood rubbed her sensitive inner thighs, let her stifled sighs slipped out of her lips, her eyes shut, her thighs enclosed around his head even tighter, her brain clouded with the need to feel him, to scratch the itch deep down inside her.
His head moved closer, his tongue sliding along her folds, savoring the salty taste of her sweaty skin, sending electrified jolts through her spine. The Exarch did it again, spreading her wet folds with his warm tongue, biting and sucking at her labia, taking her full pussy in his mouth like a hungry caveman, teasing her entrance with his tongue, ignoring her throbbing swollen red clit, forcing louder moans out of her.
Ablaze went through the young miqo’te’s body, whimpered and shifted restlessly. Caught between unwavering Emet’s hold, clutching her wrists behind her, kissing and sucking her neck, and under the Exarch’s devoted attention, devouring her private parts holding her thighs tightly.
“What a sight to behold”, the Ascian behind her whispered in her ear, kissing the top of her head, “completely undone, quivering mess, moaning and whimpering, no thoughts, no burdens, no star to save, no responsibilities, just pleasure”.
Her lavender eyes glistened, hazy with lust, every breath came a little quicker than the last, not able to do anything but moan loudly, under the mercy of the Exarch and the Ascian, begging them for more, feeling the heat unfurl through her body like a slow burning fire, leaving her frustrated by the distance between what she wanted and what either one were willing to give.
Emet sneaked his free hand around her torso, ripping the delicate sheer nightgown off her chest, freeing her breasts to the cold air. Not wasting any second, he massaged her heavy tit, pinching and tweaking her hard nipple between his thumb and index finger.
Underneath the skirt of her ripped nightgown, the Exarch teased her entrance with his tongue, lapped her salty juice, thrusted his tongue only to pull it back, sprinkling a few feathery kisses over her lips, before sheathing his smooth crystallized middle and ring fingers with one push, filling the emptiness she felt.
Runa’s moans and desperate cries filled the quiet chamber, begging for Emet to let her hands go, for the Exarch to thrust deeper inside her. Her shuddering thighs squeezed the Exarch head tighter when the Exarch’s fangs grazed her clit, a scream echoed from her.
Lost in the overwhelming rush of sensation, Runa’s quivering body remained trapped between the Ascian and the Exarch, each trying to please her the most. For a brief moment, it was a battle between them, neither man seemed willing to surrender an ilm of ground.
Emet released her wrists and held her with one arm and unbuttoning his trousers with the other. He pulled Runa from the Exarch’s strong grip, with one arm wrapped securely around her waist, and shove his cock inside her warm pussy.
She let out a shaky breath, instinctively her hands reaching up to hold his head, her fingers laced in his dark hair seeking stability, moaning his name, with every thrust.
The Exarch rose immediately, ready to intervene, his lips and chin glistening.
“Thank you for stretching her out,” Emet groaned, voice rich with satisfaction, “I believe you have borrowed her attention long enough”.
Without a word, The Exarch reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers, his other hand rose to her cheek.
“Runa …” he murmured gently.
The sound of her name seemed to pull her attention. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. His thumb brushed lightly across hers cheek, swapping away a damp strand of hair that had fallen across her face.
He left a trail of wet kisses and gentle bites from her neck down to her trembling chest, lingering there, kneading her breast with his crystallized hand, nipping and sucking at her other nipple.
Runa’s whines never stopped. The Ascian stretching out her tight pussy with his girth, reaching deeper inside with every thrust, and the Exarch clever tongue lapping her nipple, as his fingers tweaked and pinched her clit and teasing her entrance. Overwhelmed by the attention from both men, her release came quicker than expected.
Her eyes squeezed shut, and for a moment, her thoughts vanquished entirely, leaving everything around her blurred into fragments and sensations.
The Exarch whispered something in her sensitive ear and bit them, his voice was low and gentle, asking for forgiveness, but her mind was sluggish to grasp the words.
She felt four hands holding her thighs wide open, before something hard tried to penetrate her sensitive and already filled pussy. She opened her eyes, “No, please …” she cried softly, tears gathered at the corner of her eyes
The Exarch leaned over, immediately tightened his hold over her hips, took one leg over his shoulder, and letting Emet hold the other. “You can take us both,” he whispered again, kissing her forehead, “just take a deep breath and let me in”, shoving his head beside Emet’s girthy cock.
Runa shock her head weakly, trying to close her thighs but all her strength left her, “I can’t,” she cried again, grasping for air, trying to break free from their powerful hold, “it hurts, please don’t” silver streamers ran down her cheeks.
He kissed her tears away, rubbing his head against her sensitive clit, “you can do anything, Runa,” he said as his head slid inside her tight and full pussy, Runa screamed throwing her head back, “you are the Warrior of Darkness, let us show our devotion”.
Both men didn’t move for a moment, waiting for her to adjust. The room felt crowded, the air too heavy, Runa trembled, tears streaming freely, then Emet slid out, leaving only his cock’s head, letting the Exarch fill his place. Runa sobbed, weeping as she tried to stop them and failed.
At first, the two men moved in unison, one thrust inside and the other slid out, until both penetrated deep inside her tight sensitive pussy in one move, stretching her out, using her hole as a battlefield, pulling louder screams from her begging them to stop.
Their kisses and firm hold left marks across her body, handprints blooming on her throat, waist, hips, and thighs. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, as her screams dissolved into ragged breath.
Runa’s last thread of consciousness finally snapped. The room spun, and everything faded into distant noise, leaving her body at their mercy.
The Exarch held her quivering thigh, and Emet held the other. Their cocks rubbing against each other inside her tight hole.
Emet trembled and groaned as he came first, followed by the Exarch, both filling her pussy with their cum.
Neither of them moved out of her, catching their breath, as their cum leaked out of her hole.
The Exarch hand brushed against her flushed cheek before he rested his head against her chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
Emet pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Then, with a surprising gentleness, he stood and drew away, cum leaking out of her pussy down her thighs, carefully guiding her into the Exarch embrace, then disappeared without a word.
The Exarch gathered her into his arms, holding her close as he carried her to her bed, his cock softening inside her warm pussy. She laid atop him, her weight grounding him.
The Exarch’s fingers laced with her hair strands, kissing her head. The room felt strangely quiet after everything happened, filled only by the sound of their breathing.