Work Text:
“It’ll be quick,” Frieren had said, already halfway through the threshold. “Probably just some forgotten tomb.”
Sein gave a shrug, as if to say what could go wrong.
Stark groaned but followed, axe on his back and zero enthusiasm in his step.
Fern paused. Her instincts screamed bad idea. The pressure in her gut had that familiar wrongness to it. But she followed anyway because saying “no” to Frieren was like arguing with the ocean. You’d still drown. Just slower.
The group: Frieren, Fern, Stark, and Sein had seen worse. They’d taken on demons, lived through assassination attempts, and escaped three different angry mobs thanks to Sein’s habit of losing card games he should never have played. Compared to that, an old Elven ruin tucked into the side of a moss choked cliff should’ve been easy.
The plan was simple:
- Go inside.
- Salvage anything remotely valuable.
- Check for magical traps or lingering curses.
- Leave with minimal injury and no structural collapse (ideally).
The tomb was quiet. Mostly intact. A few spider webs, a lot of dust, the faint smell of old mana and mildew. Standard. They cleared two small chambers without incident. It wasn’t until they hit the final chamber that things got weird.
Ancient glyphs lined the walls. A cracked mana crystal rested on a crumbling pedestal. A circle of gold etched runes glowed faintly under their feet, a haze swirling low to the ground.
“This looks important,” Fern said, immediately suspicious. “We should wait. Examine it carefully.”
Sein knelt down, tracing the script with practiced fingers. “Definitely cursed. Elven, maybe divine. The Goddess, if I’m reading this right.”
Frieren raised an eyebrow. “If it’s divine, that might explain the instability. This kind of magic isn’t meant to last centuries.”
“And what do we do with it?” Stark asked, eyeing the crystal. “Do we just break the pedestal?”
“That would be stupid,” Sein said.
Stark leaned in anyway. “Right, but what if I just-”
Tap.
The crystal pulsed once then cracked the rest of the way with a sharp pop.
“Stark!” Fern shouted.
“Well,” Frieren muttered, “that’s not good.”
The atmosphere in the chamber shifted instantly. A warm breeze rippled through the air except there was no breeze. Just pressure. Magic. And scent.
Golden haze spilled from the broken crystal, coiling lazily around their ankles and swirling higher. The air thickened, cloying and sweet.
“I feel weird,” Stark said, clutching his chest.
“You broke the seal,” Fern snapped. “Of course you feel weird.”
“No,” Sein said, already peeling off his robe. “This is different.”
Frieren’s eyes narrowed. “The air’s changing.”
And then it hit.
Not a smell. A scent. Instinctual. Biological. Something that bypassed thought entirely and went straight for the bloodstream.
Fern staggered. “That’s… that’s pheromonal.”
Frieren’s eyes widened, just slightly. “It’s sex pollen.”
“What?” Stark yelped.
“It’s a containment spell designed to induce arousal and compulsive mating behavior,” Frieren said, still calm. “Used mostly in old prison rituals.”
“Why the hell would that be in a tomb?!”
Sein coughed into his hand. “Better question: how do we shut it off?”
“We can’t,” Frieren said flatly.
They all stared.
“What do you mean we can’t?”
Frieren gestured toward the cracked crystal. “The seal’s broken. Once inhaled, the body starts producing hormones. They build until you, uh... purge them.”
Fern blinked. “You mean-”
“Yes.”
“You’re saying we have to-”
“Yes.”
“Fuck or die.”
Sein exhaled slowly. “Oh. Great.”
The first wave hit Fern hardest.
She dropped to her knees, gripping the floor. Sweat beaded on her brow. Her vision swam. Her thighs clenched involuntarily as a pulsing heat shot through her core.
“Are you okay?” Stark asked, stepping toward her.
“Don’t touch me!” Fern snapped, voice cracking. “I’ll claw your face off.”
“I wasn’t going to!”
“It’s not safe. I’m not safe.” Her hands hovered near her belt. She looked up at him, eyes glassy. “Fuck. I need…shit…I need someone to do something or I’m going to pass out.”
Stark turned beet red and promptly backed into a wall.
Sein looked deeply, profoundly tired. “You kids are exhausting.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Next was Stark.
He paced. He cursed. He did pushups. Nothing helped. Every breath dragged more of that sweet, thick air into his lungs. He groaned, falling back against the wall, one hand clamped over his groin. His cock was half hard already and swelling fast.
“I can’t do this,” he whispered. “I can’t fuck anyone here!”
“You might not get a choice,” Sein said.
Stark stared at him, horrified.
“I’m just saying,” Sein added, now down to his undershirt, “the spell will pick someone eventually. You’ll bond. Whether you want to or not.”
“Bond?” Stark repeated, aghast.
“Oh, right,” Frieren added, calmly. “Side effect of this kind of magic. Temporary pseudo mating. You’ll feel spiritually tethered for about twenty four hours.”
“Perfect,” Fern growled from the floor. “So I get to screw Stark and smell like him for a whole day?”
“I didn’t say it had to be you two,” Frieren pointed out.
All eyes turned to her.
“What?” she said. “I’m just stating facts.”
“Why are you so calm?!” Stark shouted.
“I’ve been through worse.”
“You’ve been through a sex pollen trap?!”
Frieren looked at him, face unreadable. “Yes.”
Stark made a noise that could only be described as a dying frog.
Then Frieren swayed.
Graceful as ever, but unmistakably shaky. She stumbled once and caught herself on Sein’s chest. He didn’t even flinch.
“Sein,” she murmured, “you smell good.”
He chuckled. “You always say that right before passing out.”
“Do I?”
“Mmhmm.”
Then she kissed him.
“What do you—” Stark started, but his question died a swift, horrible death as Frieren reached up and pulled Sein into a slow, deep kiss. Right there, in the middle of the tomb, without any fanfare.
Smack.
Fern let out a horrified squawk. Stark made a strangled noise. They both watched, wide-eyed, as Frieren’s slender fingers slid along Sein’s chest, pushing away more layers of his robe, while he responded with a soft groan.
“You know,” Sein murmured, breath hitching, “I think I’ve dreamt about you being this direct.”
“It’s the pollen, I’m not your type,” Frieren said into his ear, “but I won’t deny I’m not hating it.”
Sein chuckled. “Too many double negatives, Frieren.”
Then she kissed him again—and it deepened, growing urgent. The room’s dusty air practically crackled with leftover magic. The golden haze thickened. And Fern and Stark, both already overheated and uncomfortably aroused, had to witness their mentors getting very handsy.
“Oh my gods,” Fern rasped, burying her face in her hands. “I do not want to see this.”
Thunk.
Stark slid down beside her, eyes glazed, cock visibly straining his pants.
“You’re making it worse,” he gasped.
“You’re making it worse,” she snapped back, even as her hips bucked slightly off the floor.
They stared at each other. Snarled.
And then just like that they were on each other.
The air practically vibrated with heat and tension.
The room dissolved into heat and sweat and instinct.
Sein laid Frieren down across the old temple altar like he’d done it a hundred times before. She pulled at the buckles on his robes with single minded urgency. Her legs wrapped around him, dragging him closer. He kissed down her chest, murmuring things she didn’t fully hear—but didn’t need to.
Stark shoved Fern against the base of a broken statue. Her pants hit the floor in seconds. Her underwear was soaked, already clinging to her skin.
“Are you sure?” he panted, voice wrecked.
“If you don’t fuck me right now,” she growled, eyes blazing, “I will take your dick off.”
It was consent enough.
He pushed in and Fern howled.
Frieren let out a long groan as Sein filled her slowly, deliberately. Her back arched, hands gripping the edge of the stone slab. “Harder,” she muttered.
Stark was whimpering against Fern’s neck. “Sorry, sorry—fuck—I’m gonna come again—”
“Good,” she hissed. “Come inside me, you idiot.”
Sein pulled Frieren onto his lap, guiding her down until she was flush against his thighs. She moved like she was possessed, riding him with a rhythm that bordered on savage. Her moans were low and constant, her body wracked with shudders each time she came again.
The chamber stank of sweat, sex, and magic.
At some point, Stark gasped, “I can’t stop—”
“You don’t get to stop,” Fern snapped, hips grinding down harder. “You started this. Now finish it.”
Frieren came with a sharp gasp and a full body tremble. Fern followed seconds later, squirting so hard it drenched Stark’s legs.
For one strange moment in the middle of it all, Stark and Sein locked eyes across the room.
Neither spoke.
They were both too busy getting absolutely railed.
Eventually—mercifully—the golden haze began to thin.
Sein gently lowered Frieren to the altar, brushing sweaty strands of hair off her cheek. She blinked up at him, dazed but composed.
Frieren sat up slowly and wiped her mouth. “Well,” she said. “That happened.”
Fern groaned from the floor, still tangled with Stark. “No one speak of this. Ever.”
“I think I’m still stuck,” Stark whimpered, shifting awkwardly.
Sein exhaled, looking like he’d just walked out of a hot spring. “You’re all welcome.”
They laid there for a long while—sweaty, messy, twitching slightly from magical overstimulation. No one moved to redress immediately. They were too tired. Too wrecked. Too… everything.
Frieren finally glanced at the crystal. “The spell’s neutralized. The seal is spent.”
“Great,” Fern muttered. “Now we can add ‘group meltdown’ to our travel logs.”
“We should rest here for the night,” Sein said. “Let the last of the effects fade.”
“I’m going to hex you in your sleep,” Fern mumbled.
Stark just groaned, still half hard. “Please don’t.”
The next morning, they sat in a loose, traumatized semicircle outside the tomb entrance.
No one made eye contact.
Fern sipped tea aggressively.
Stark visibly flinched every time someone breathed too loud.
Frieren stared into the distance like she’d transcended mortal shame.
Sein hummed. He was radiant. Relaxed. Possibly glowing. Someone needed to kill him.
“So,” Stark said, voice thin, “we’re not going to talk about it, right?”
Fern’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t say it.”
“I’m not saying it! I’m just—”
“You did say it.”
“I said we wouldn’t say it!”
“That’s saying it!”
Sein calmly poured himself more tea. “You two knotted in front of your teacher.”
“SEIN!”
“I’m just observing.”
Frieren nodded. “It did happen.”
“I know it happened,” Stark moaned. “It happened to me.”
“It happened in you,” Fern muttered.
Stark flushed so red he nearly passed out. “You don’t have to remind me!”
“You said ‘thank you’ afterward.”
“I WAS HIGH ON MAGIC.”
Fern stood up, one hand glowing ominously. “I’m going to hex that memory out of your brain.”
“Fern—please—”
“I’m doing this for both of us!”
Frieren stirred her tea, entirely unfazed. “I came three times.”
Stark made a wounded noise.
Fern looked like she’d aged ten years on the spot.
Sein smiled like a man who had finally solved a puzzle. “That’s nice, Frieren.”
“I wasn’t counting,” Stark muttered, staring into the fire. “Too busy having a medical emergency.”
“You cried,” Fern said, arms crossed.
“I didn’t cry!”
“You whimpered. And called me something weird.”
Sein coughed into his cup.
Frieren blinked slowly. “What did you call her?”
“Nothing!”
“He said he wanted to call me ‘baby girl,’” Fern said flatly.
“IT WAS THE MAGIC!”
After tea, they packed up in tense silence and set off down the forest path toward the nearest town.
Fern walked at least twenty feet ahead of Stark at all times.
Stark didn’t try to catch up. Every time he so much as cleared his throat, she shot a look over her shoulder that said, Don’t even think about remembering what I taste like.
“I wasn’t thinking that,” he muttered, once, to no one.
Behind them, Frieren and Sein strolled at a perfectly normal pace, chatting about magical theory and cursed containment spells like they hadn’t spent the previous night publicly defiling an altar.
At one point, Sein looked ahead at the painfully awkward pair. “So, that corner of the tomb,” he mused, “pretty decent acoustics.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Frieren replied evenly. “I was… occupied.”
From up front:
“Shut up,” Fern growled.
“Shut. Up,” Stark echoed.
They stopped at a stream midday to refill their flasks and rest.
Sein, sitting on a rock, turned to the group. “So. That was intense. But we survived. And presumably,” he took a sip from his flask, “we all learned something?”
Fern lobbed a pebble at his head. He didn’t even duck.
Stark groaned, head in his hands. “I have to live with the memory of moaning like that for the rest of my life.”
Frieren, beside him, gave him a small, almost comforting pat on the shoulder. “It wasn’t so bad.”
He looked at her, scandalized. “It was humiliating.”
“It was also the reason we’re not dead,” she said flatly. “You’re allowed to survive with a little dignity loss.”
Stark let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “A little?”
Fern cut in. “Just drop it, okay?” She was beet red. “We’ve got monsters to fight, towns to help. We don’t have time for this.”
Sein raised both brows. “You had plenty of time last night.”
A glowing rock missed his nose by half an inch.