#Type X medieval sword

[sp4ceboo]

Maniac: OT8!Stray Kids x Reader

genre: a/b/o au, omegaverse, medieval au, ot8 x reader, pack dynamics, afab!reader, smut and angst and fluff

summary: you're your pack's only omega - when your alphas are taken from you, you refuse to rest until you're reunited with them

A/N: i loved writing this so come get your food i hope u guys like it <33

tw: 18+, a lot of smut (p in v, bath sex, knots and all that a/b/o shit, mentions of breeding ofc, 1 accidental pass out, oral - m&f recieving, face fucking, so much cum oh god, crying during sex, bit of mxm at points, somno but not much, lots of praise, one instance of finger sucking, manhandling, overstimulation, a spank, no mentioned protection because sorry it's medieval times, back scratching and biting, creampie, reader basically gets run a train on, a few 3some type things, dw there is also soft smut, guys please pee after sex), gore, blood, death, fighting, evil creepy dude, mention of past trauma, swearing, mistreatment of omegas, half assed editing, porn plot 50-50 split i reckon

wc: 12.98k

The moment the heavy wooden door of the smithy splinters and gives way, you bolt upright. Minho is already out of bed, the sheets still warm from where he was lying beside you, and you catch the glint of steel in his hand as he stands by the window, peering out at the street below; Seungmin is gone, his side of the mattress cold. Your heart stutters, and you stiffen at the all too familiar musky scent that permeates the air, rising up from between the rickety floorboards.

‘Goemul?’ You ask.

Minho nods grimly. ‘Who else?’

‘Fuck. He won’t leave me alone, will he?’

‘We won’t let him anywhere near you,’ he replies, voice low and full of anger.

You squeeze your eyes shut when Minho tucks an arm around your waist and presses you to him, pushing your nose into his neck; breathing in his scent - rain and sweet vanilla - you allow yourself a moment of comfort in his strong embrace before breaking away. A crash sounds below, and you grab your staff.

Jisung bursts in. You smell the fight on him before you see the bruising blooming across his face; there’s adrenaline spiking his scent and blood splattered across his front - not his, you note with relief. There’s a wild look in his eyes, the same look you saw the first time Goemul came for you.

‘He’s back, and with more troops,’ he gasps. ‘Chan says - ’

A chilling battle cry rings out, cutting him off.

Ice skitters down your spine. None of your pack are arrogant enough to have a signature war cry - there’s only one person that could be. Minho visibly bristles, his fingers flexing on the hilt of his sword before he shoulders open the bedroom door and you hear his footsteps pound down the stairs. You move to follow, but Jisung grabs your wrist.

‘Chan says you have to go. You need to run.’

You scoff. ‘Absolutely not. This is my pack.’

An edge enters Jisung’s voice. ‘And you’re our omega.’

You give him a look and he can see there’s no way he can convince you - you sprint down the stairs, him hot on your heels. Immediately, the smell of the fight overwhelms you as your feet hit the floor: at least twenty other alphas versus your eight, and a few betas fighting amongst the enemy too. Face twisted fiercely and teeth bared, Hyunjin barrels by, slashing at a stocky, snarling alpha with a rusted sword. It’s one of the ones Felix had scavenged for melting down, and you can see the wooden hilt is rotting.

Without hesitation, you raise your hand, and the attack runes painted there for an occasion just like this glow azure blue, so bright they’re almost white, and the alpha collapses, his heart ruptured in his chest. Panting, Hyunjin glances up and gives you a nod before diving back into battle, aiding Jeongin with the two betas tag teaming him.

You thrust yourself into the melee, fighting with both a sword you snatch off a fallen knight and your runes and staff. Energy begins to flow from you, leaking from your soul each time you use your runes - you’re careful to rotate your usage of the different ones inscribed on your skin, making sure you don’t tire a specific one, yet still you feel the itch of their overuse, and the knights pouring in aren’t thinning.

You catch sight of Goemul through the grappling bodies, and a flash of pure fear rivets you to the spot despite yourself. He’s locked in combat with Chan, but the spike in your scent catches both their attention, Goemul’s roar piercing through the sound of clashing blades. Chan hands seamlessly over to Changbin, and you feel his gaze pinpoint on you as he cuts through any attackers that try to stop him as he approaches.

You try to ignore his insistent stare, instead whacking one of the intruders over the head with your staff and forcefully bringing your knee up into his stomach. Chan is sweaty, his shoulders heaving from the fight, and guilt stings your chest - if it wasn’t for you, Goemul and his pack wouldn’t be here.

‘I thought I told Jisung to tell you to run.’

His voice is rough, raspy no doubt from shouting orders to the boys, and nearly drowned out from the din of the fight, yet you hear him clearly, attuned to the sound of your pack leader’s voice.

‘I wanted to stay and fight. It’s my fault, anyway.’

‘This is not your fault,’ Chan snaps. ‘We all knew Goemul would come after you.’

‘And yet you took me in anyway,’ you mutter.

He gives you a sharp look. ‘You need to run. We’re not going to last much longer. We’re tired, and we weren’t expecting it. We need you to break us out when they take us prisoner.’

You don’t think about the other option, the option that doesn’t include taking prisoners and includes death, instead breathing out an anxious: ‘What if I can’t?’

‘I know you can. I trust you, omega.’

Even in the midst of a fight, Chan knows what to say to put you at ease. He knows what is needed to look after his pack, and you know that he knows this, without doubt. You can see that your alphas are tiring, can see that this attack came as a surprise - Changbin is fighting with a hammer used for shaping swords, for fuck’s sake.

You swallow thickly. ‘I love you, Channie. Keep them safe, please. Keep yourself safe.’

Curtly, he nods. No promises. You turn on your heel and run.

You’ve been told all your life that omegas don’t fight, that omegas aren’t fierce. Omegas don’t retaliate, and they take whatever they’re given by their alphas without complaint.

Too bad that’s all been proven official bullshit.

The night is hostile. Clouds scuttle across the sky, polluting the moon’s pure silver light, and the soggy leaves beneath your feet muffle your footsteps - it’s cold, dark, damp, but you’re kept warm by the hot fury that you’ve been nursing since that night, knotted in a ball nestled right beside your heart.

Leaves are flattened beneath your boots. Wind weaves its way thinly through the tree trunks, singing lowly to itself. The stars are blotted from the sky, the moon a thin, faltering sliver. You walk onwards, staff sturdy against your palm.

Tonight is a perfect night for revenge.

Tonight you’re going to make sure Goemul leaves your pack alone for good, and tonight you’re going to make sure that you’re reunited with your alphas. It doesn’t matter that you’re an omega - you will fight. You can fight.

Your staff is testament to that. So are the attack runes painted in practised calligraphy on both your hands, the black ink winding up your forearms - you’ve added more since your alphas were taken from you, enough to extinguish the possibility of exhausting all of them. There are runes to boil a man’s brain in his skull, runes to explode his lungs even as he draws breath, runes made so you can protect your pack.

You are also half feral with the beginnings of your heat.

Blood rushes through your body, your heart pumping so hard in your chest you think it may punch through your ribs; your pupils are fully dilated, anticipating the fight. There’s a roaring in your ears, and intertwined in the thunderous, earsplitting noise of it is an insistent whisper: protect, protect, protect.

There’s no preventing this timing. Every second you spend without your pack, they could be hurting, bleeding, worse. All the preheat does is give you a vicious edge - the desperation of a cornered animal, the strength of one who has nothing else to lose.

You think this is what your ancestors must have felt, back when there were no cities, no castles made of rock, no swords or books, just the primal urge to hunt and fight and protect. You wonder if they smile down on you. You wonder if they slip silently across the narrow path before you, guiding you with ghostly hands, spurring you forward, closer to your pack, closer to the keep.

Closer to Goemul.

Once, he owned you. Owned you, because he does not believe omegas can belong - they can only be owned. You would spend nights curled on the stone floor, trying to rid yourself of his awful scent, nights where you would stare up at the pitiless rafters - even they smelt like him, wishing you were anywhere but where you were.

And then came Seungmin, carrying with him the scent of warm embers and freedom.

Somehow, here you are again, back on Goemul’s territory. You knew he wouldn’t let you go easily; you are proof to those he crushes beneath his boot heels that there is an escape.

There are two knights posted outside the keep’s wide wooden doors - thankfully ones that won’t recognise you. Faintly, you can hear the sounds of a feast within, yellow light spilling out into the night. Overhead, the clouds coalesce, and something in the air sharpens - the first patter of rain hits the tree canopy, muting your footsteps as you step forward.

‘Halt,’ one of the guards commands. ‘State your purpose.’

‘I’m just a blacksmith, sir,’ you reply meekly. ‘Looking to sell my wares to the lord and his men.’

The other guard grunts, sending a nod to the one who spoke, and swings open a hatch set in the big doors, the hinges groaning in protest. Ducking your head, you step into the great hall: it’s a huge, cavernous room made of rough, dark granite with flaming sconces fixed to the walls and violent tapestries hung between them; it’s where Goemul receives his guests.

Just the sight of the place makes your stomach turn, but it’s the heavy stench of musk that forces you to hide the shaking of your hands in the folds of your cloak. The musk in Goemul’s scent is heavy and suffocating, like a dirty, soaked blanket dumped discourteously over one’s head - nothing like Chan’s.

You glance around the hall. There are about three alphas to every omega in the room; the latter are interspersed throughout the former, either chained or collared - something that you remember all too well. Two lounge on the podium beneath Goemul’s chair, which is really more of a throne with its gaudy ornate carvings, their hands on him, their eyes brimming with fear.

You remember that, too.

And there, in the corner, you see them. Your nails dig into your palms. Your pack. Your pack. Crammed in a tiny cage, chained to a ring set in the wall, curled against each other. Nothing can hide the anger that rises in your scent when you see that Chan has pushed his way to the front, protecting his boys, bruises flowering across his face and neck and arms, dried blood smeared on his tattered shirt.

You know Goemul. You know that the cage is purpose built to hold prisoners used for entertainment.

Unmistakable now, fury soars on you, permeating the smell of the feast, permeating Goemul’s pungent musk.

Slowly, heads begin to turn. They don’t recognise you - you’ve masked your scent with runes scrawled down your collarbones and ringing your wrists, written over twice to hide the smell of your preheat. Still, they stare, with a sort of reluctant curiosity.

‘A blacksmith, my lord,’ one of the guards announces from behind you.

Goemul narrows his eyes, trying to see your face from the shadows of your hood. ‘What for?’

‘Looking to sell her wares, she said.’

He guffaws, and the sound of laughter ripples through those sitting at the banqueting table even though they don’t know what’s amusing him. Slowly, he gets to his feet, the two omegas scrambling to give him space - you see the glint of a chain pulling tight, fixed to the base of the podium. The guard beside you shuffles his feet nervously. Somewhere within the darkened cage, you swear you see someone stir.

‘What wares, guard?’

Gleefully, Goemul inhales like he’s feasting upon the guard’s fear as he realises you carry nothing, just the staff in your hand. You hear his muttered curse, the whoosh of air when he takes in a hurried breath, preparing to spill out apologies, not knowing how this has raised his lord’s wrath so intensely but knowing that he needs to beg and scrape if he wants to live.

‘Leave.’

Goemul’s voice hasn’t even finished ringing through the hall before the guard is tripping over himself to slam the hatch behind him, not waiting to see if his lord will withdraw his mercy. Slowly, Goemul settles back down on his throne, the omegas assuming their previous positions, their hands running over his legs as if to appease his anger.

You let your cowl fall back, revealing your features.

A murmur ripples through Goemul’s men.

He waits until they’re quiet. Around the room, the omegas watch you with wide eyes - you know they recognise you, you know they’re wondering why you would ever choose to return to this cursed place. Nearest to you, one jerks his head a little, as if to tell you to run.

‘I knew you’d come crawling back, my omega,’ he grins, smiling with too many teeth. ‘Although, I guess I do have something of yours, don’t I?’

‘I am not yours, Goemul,’ you hiss.

Lightning flares outside, followed by a strident clap of thunder.

‘Your pack is, though,’ he chuckles. ‘We had so much fun together, little omega. Channie and I are well acquainted now, since we had our nice pack leader to pack leader conversation.’

‘You keep his name out your mouth,’ you snap.

‘He bled a lot, though,’ Goemul muses, faking thoughtfulness. ‘I can’t seem to understand why.’

His dark eyes bore into yours, waiting to see your response. You can tell that he knows his goading is getting to you - he’s smiling that infernal smile, the one that makes you want to peel his skin from his bones and force it down his throat with a dagger.

Outside, thunder growls, low and furious.

You raise your staff. ‘You leave me no choice.’

Eyes locked on his, you bring it down. The oakwood hits the stone floor with a sound far louder than it should be, as if the very rock beneath your feet has split, rended apart down to the Earth’s very core. A muffled whoompf follows, and one by one, the torches in the sconces are snuffed out by an unseen force. Darkness descends.

All around, you sense scents spiking - they may be Goemul’s men, but they still feel fear; you doubt any of them have met someone who wields sorcery, let alone an omega. A hush falls over the hall, loaded with the anticipation before a fight.

‘A little bit of shadow won’t scare us, omega,’ Goemul calls.

You don’t reply. You’re busy stalking silently across the room, a key in your hand. It doesn’t matter that it’s not the one from the ring on Goemul’s belt - it’s covered all over with unlocking runes moulded right into the metal, something you forged yourself.

There’s a tinge of wild anger in Goemul’s voice when he speaks again. ‘Omega?’

When you reach through the bars of the cage, a warm, calloused hand is already waiting. Now that you’re close, you can smell their individual scents, the hurt and the exhaustion on them. Your eyes have adjusted to the gloom just enough that you can see Felix curled against Changbin, and although they’re both smiling proudly at you, eyes fierce, you can see the pain in their faces too. It sets bitter anger roiling within you, as deep and wrathful as the storm outside.

You know Goemul is listening. You hope he is, as the sound of a key in a lock and the clatter of chains rings out through the room. You hope he feels the control slipping through his desperate, clawing fingers as nervous whispers riffle through the great hall, as alphas reach for their swords, disbelieving that Goemul failed to make a single, lone omega submit to him.

And then, low and menacing and crystal clear, Chan growls.

You feel everyone in the hall freeze at the sound. There are no words to the deep rumble vibrating in his chest, just the white hot, primal fury of a leader whose pack has been hurt. Simply the tone of it roots half the men in the hall to the spot, the hairs on the backs of their necks rising, their palms slick with sweat as they stare wide eyed into the darkness.

‘Goemul,’ Chan snarls, stepping from the cage. ‘I swear I will not rest until you are dead.’

The last part comes out as a roar, and with it, chaos descends.

Before the echo of Chan’s voice has even died down, air whooshes past you - what must be Changbin and Minho shooting out of the cage. A strangled cry sounds as they finish off the closest two alphas, wrenching their swords from their belts to fight with. Someone’s hand brushes your waist as the rest of your pack members swiftly exit the cage: Felix, by the gentle scent of violets that washes over you, and yet on it you can almost taste the yearning to fight.

Your alphas are not vengeful. Protective, however, is a different story, and as each of their unique scents spread out across the room, meeting Goemul’s alphas that slash out blindly with their swords blow for blow, you know each of them are thinking of what all of you have gone through under Goemul’s orders.

Above it all, Goemul’s battle cry rings out, but you don’t flinch, don’t bat an eyelash - you’re ready for him this time, fresh runes all over your skin. Your alphas may be injured, but they’ve been cooped up in a too small cage for almost a week and they’re sure as hell fucking angry.

A feverish, clammy hand grabs your wrist. Hot air laced with the stink of ale puffs against your cheek. ‘Witch.’

You take a step forward, stabbing out with the butt of your staff and catching your attacker in the stomach. A throng of them have formed around you, angry and growling and still reeling that one omega has caused this much havoc, their movements uncoordinated and laced with more fear than any of them would ever admit.

Under the low illumination of the lightning strikes, you can just about see they’ve made a ring around you. Maybe they think that their numbers will prevail over your sorcery and they’ve got a quick kill, because some of them are smiling as if the fight’s already over. You almost feel sorry for them.

Almost.

As you strike out with your staff, you think of Chan, welcoming you into his pack, back when all you could do around alphas was flinch - patient, soft spoken Channie, bloodied by Goemul and his men from shielding the boys with his body, half conscious from the violence.

You think of Minho as you break a man’s nose, Minho who said little to begin with but would always be silently checking on you, making sure you were comfortable, leaving you an extra blanket in winter before he eventually slept by your side, his body warm against yours, currently with a split lip and cracked ribs.

You knock a man’s sword from his hand, catching it in your own, and think of Changbin, always there to make you smile and feel safe with his big arms and tight hugs, always acting tough but in truth all soft and gooey on the inside, his knuckles now bloodied and face twisted in pain.

While you cut down another alpha that runs at you, you think of Hyunjin, who calls you his muse, who crafts the most beautiful ornate daggers back at the smithy, and who gave you his favourite one with a sweet kiss on your forehead and a promise to never leave you, painted with bruises that spread wide over his back.

Your stolen blade clashes against an attacker’s as you think of Jisung, your Jisung who never fails to make you laugh, never fails to wrap his arms around you from behind when you need it most, beaten until he blacked out, his eyes almost swollen shut from the bruising.

The runes painted on your palms glow bright while you think of Felix, who baked you sweet treats and wiped your tears every day that they fell, who healed your soul with his sunshine smile, nose bloody and near broken from repeated blows.

Fatigue makes your arm tremble as you swing your sword, but you fight on, thinking of Seungmin, who was the first to find you, the first to plant the seed of hope, always the one who dispels your doubts with the sureness of his words, his head now bowed and teeth gritted to fight to keep down the cry that builds within him from the pain.

Your blade gets stuck between an alpha’s ribs, so you whirl your staff in your hands and think of Jeongin, sweet, sweet Jeongin who would hold your hand after the nightmares, whispering reassurances and holding you until you could fall asleep again, his big hands carding through your hair, bloodied and beaten for nothing but sport.

You fight, and as you do, you think of your alphas. You let the insistent whisper from before rise to become a roar, rise to drown out the sounds of the battle: protect, protect, protect. It burns like liquor as it rushes through your veins, and you find it strengthens you, even as the energy spills from you through the usage of your runes; it guides your blade, guides your staff, ensuring your strikes hit home.

And then, all of a sudden, no one’s attacking you any more.

No one is running at you with swords, derisive words on their lips, no one is throwing punches at you or trying to sweep your legs out from under you so they can kick you when you’re down. You sway a little, half expecting someone to appear out of nowhere, but all the remaining alphas subservient to Goemul are fighting elsewhere or have fled - they weren’t prepared, instead lulled into a false sense of safety within their own keep. There’s a ring of bodies slumped on the floor around you.

Something wrenches in your gut, twisting. A warning: your heat will be upon you soon - the longest you have left is a few hours. Sweat suddenly pricks at your body. You need to finish this, and quickly.

Chan blurs by, exchanging hurled punches and vicious kicks with Goemul. You’re leaning against your staff for support, catching your breath, but as three alphas dive into the melee, clawing at Chan’s back and hauling him off Goemul, and as you spot the two omegas, still chained to the podium and cowering under a half collapsed table, unable to escape, you find you aren’t really that tired after all.

You’re on Goemul within seconds.

He grins. ‘Hello again, my little omega - ’

You punch him across the face. Hard. His head snaps to the side, and you grab his shirt, slamming him once, twice against the hard, unforgiving floor of his great hall, savage red fog hazing your vision, not letting up even when you feel the crunch of his nose beneath your knuckles.

‘You’re stupid, Goemul,’ - you spit the name he’s created for himself - ‘for underestimating omegas. You think you’re destined to lord over us all, when all you are is a fucking scared little pup clinging to control and power you don’t deserve.’

Despite it all, he laughs, and blood glistens on his teeth. ‘You’re driving yourself crazy, little omega. I can smell the heat on you - you can’t kill me if your body needs my knot. All you need to do is to ask for it, sweet thing, and I’ll give it to you.’

Your grip on him falters, and he flips you, pinning you to the floor beneath him. Struggling against his grip, you thrash, your careful runes long forgotten, crimson rolling in like mist over the hills, and something wide and primal yawns open within you - your lips pull back, and you bare your teeth at him, pupils dilating as you lurch your head forward, snapping at his throat.

Goemul dodges just in time, holding you at arms length even as you claw at his face and neck. All you can hear is protect, protect, protect and the hidden voice beneath it saying kill him and end it, make him pay, do it for the pack, for your alphas.

His eyes widen. ‘You’re a maniac.’

You look up, over his shoulder, past him, your laugh chilling. ‘Yes.’

Impossibly, his eyes open further, bulging, and a low, strained gurgle sounds from deep in his throat. Trembling, one of his hands comes up to his chest, and he looks down, surprise and fear contorting his features as his finger gets sliced open on the tip of the blade protruding from between his collarbones.

Goemul’s eyes roll back, and his body slumps over you, deadweight. Dazed, you gaze up at Jeongin, admiring his handsome features, albeit splattered with gore from the fight and covered with a look of disgust as he places a foot on Goemul’s back and wrenches his sword out. It makes a wet, sucking sound as it goes, and your alpha dumps the sword on the floor in favour of heaving the cooling body off you and pulling you into his arms.

Mint and lavender, clean and fresh and soothing, rush at your senses as you take a deep breath in. You’re clinging onto Jeongin so hard that it must be hurting him, but he doesn’t seem to mind, holding you just as tightly to him, burying his face in your neck, his nose right against your scent gland as he just inhales.

Eventually, you jostle him, your senses coming back to you. You need to grab your staff; you can still fight, even though the ink of more than half of the writing on your hands and wrists has flaked off, the exhausted runes leaving light burns in their wake.

‘Where’s my staff?’ You mumble, wriggling in his grip. ‘I can still - ’

A hand smooths over your hair, someone coming up behind Jeongin so they can look you in the eyes from where you’re peeking over his shoulder, searching for the familiar oakwood. You blink. It’s Minho, his eyes soft, hair a mess.

‘It’s over, jagiya,’ he murmurs. ‘You don’t have to fight any more. We’re safe now.’

Eventually, his words echo in your head, beginning to register - over, safe now - and you go limp in Jeongin’s arms, burying your face in his shoulder and letting out a damp, shaky breath, hands fisting in his shirt. Your impending heat burns at your core, pulling you this way and that, but the nearness of your alphas grounds you, keeps you tethered to them.

You have just the presence to reach out to Minho, fingers brushing over his side as the healing runes written around the tops of your forearms flare to life, their glow different from the ones intended for attack - they’re the orangey pink of a rising dawn, like tiny suns pulsating beneath your skin. They begin to burn, uncomfortably hot as you heal Minho’s cracked ribs, then Felix’s nose and Han’s swollen black eyes, followed by all the injuries of your alphas that you can with the energy you have spare.

You’re panting by the end of it, drained. You’ve still neglected some of the less serious flesh wounds, but the well inside of you that was full to the brim with potency when you first entered the keep has run dry. If it weren’t for your heat fast approaching, you might have more energy, but you don’t, so that’s what you’re forced to settle with as you close your eyes and try to stop yourself from wriggling too much in Jeongin’s grip.

‘I’ll take her,’ someone says, and you’re being transferred into another’s arms.

Clean linen and cinnamon, crisp and familiar, crashes over you, and you nestle into Jisung’s arms, trying to absorb his body  heat as he kisses your face - the urge to nest is beginning to grow stronger, now that the adrenaline from the fight is leaving your system, and he’s so warm.

Somewhere far away, you can hear Felix’s low, comforting voice as he talks to Goemul’s omegas, and Chan’s too, instructing them and pointing them towards the east wing of the keep - you know at some point, they’ll want to talk to you, but for now you rest your chin on Jisung’s shoulder, closing your eyes and leaning your weight against him. Some of them remain in the hall, putting the bodies in neat piles up against the wall to be buried later or tending to anyone with injuries.

‘We’re going to find somewhere for you to nest now, baby,’ Jisung says into your hair. ‘Hyunjinnie is going to take you while we look.’

Another set of arms wraps around you, lean and wiry and smelling like roses and grapefruit but mainly roses, achingly close, strong enough to make you want to cry. He nuzzles at your neck, his long hair tickling your face and collarbones. Part of you is singing, happy only now that you’re surrounded by your alphas, happy that -

Hyunjin’s tongue flicks over your scent gland.

You know he doesn’t mean to set off anything - he does it a lot, just to calm you or show affection, but you’re teetering on the brink, hanging in the balance, and this is what tips you over. Just like that, your first wave of slick comes, and all of a sudden there’s an insistent ache between your legs. You stiffen in his arms.

‘Alpha,’ you whine, voice small.

Around you, you hear rather than see the boys pause. No doubt their instincts are kicking in, already perked up at the heady spike in your scent, telling them to look after their omega and knot and  breed and give you pups. There are the other omegas in the room, too, but even they freeze, affected by the possessive twang rolling off each of your alpha’s scents.

Hyunjin shifts just a little against you, and you feel his hardening cock heavy against your hip. A gasp escapes you, and it’s like the sound of it jolts your alphas back up to the present, because they’re moving again, hurrying, in a slight frenzy as they continue to help move the bodies and organise the rest of the omegas.

The fog of your heat is descending, and the rational part of you hates this timing - you need to look after your alphas, tend to their wounds that you couldn’t heal, but the animal part of you clamours over it, making you squirm uncomfortably, pushing Hyunjin away as you spin around, searching for a place to nest. You breath comes out in gasps: you can’t have your heat without a nest, but you don’t know if there are rooms free, if -

A firm hand sweeps up your back, landing on the nape of your neck and holding it, not quite scruffing you but breaking through your rising panic, making you listen. The scent of cocoa and gentle musk overcomes you, and when you look up at Chan, his dark, authority filled eyes pinning you down, another round of slick gushes out of you, and he smiles a little at your response to him.

‘Pack leader,’ you yip, ducking your head. ‘L - leader, alpha - ’

‘You’re going to be okay,’ Chan soothes. ‘Your alphas are here, okay? We’re going to get you to the bed Changbin and Jisung have found for you so you can nest. Just hang in there, omega.’

‘What about the other omegas?’ You ask, struggling to meet his eyes.

‘They’re in the other wing,’ he replies, then preempts your next words. ‘We’ll find new packs for them; we’re not going to replace you, sweetheart. Just let your alphas take care of you, yeah?’

Gently, he takes your hand in his and rubs his thumb along the scent gland at your wrist. A quiet, needy noise tears itself from your throat, and suddenly your legs are buckling - Chan catches you and scoops you up, one hand cradling the back of your head as he carries you through the passages leading from the hall and into the guest wing.

You’re lowered onto the softest mattress you’ve ever felt. It’s funny how all your time trapped in this keep, you never slept on anything but the cold stone floor - but now, your alphas are here, either still in the great hall, here with you or in what you understand is the bathroom next door, and Goemul’s dead, and you’re safe.

Chan kisses your crown and leaves you be for now as you hurriedly arrange the blankets. The bed is huge, wider than you are tall, yet you still crave your nest at home, items of clothing hoarded from your alphas tucked neatly amongst the bedding you’d padded it with - the sheets here are clean, but devoid of smell. It doesn’t compare.

You sit back on your heels. ‘The nest, it’s nowhere near good enough.’

Seungmin appears by your side, rubbing his thumb over the scent gland in your neck, his lips in your hair. ‘No, omega, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.’

The praise relaxes you, calms you, and you melt into his touch, leaning against him and pushing your face into his side, resting your cheek on his bare skin - like the others, he’d surrendered his shirt for your nest without complaint. His touch is feather light as he strokes your hair, and your eyelids droop a little.

Seungmin pecks your lips. ‘You need to sleep now, before your heat fully hits. We’ll all be here when you wake up.’

He watches you lay down, perching on the mattress so you have an alpha close to you while you fall asleep. Yawning, you curl up close to him. This will be the last proper rest you get until the end of your heat.

You close your eyes, the scent of warm embers washing over you.

You wake up sweating.

The ache between your legs has spread upwards and outwards, and you curl into a ball from the pain of it, eyes blurry as you blindly reach your hands out, searching for an alpha. You can hear yourself babbling, begging for a knot, begging to be filled up, because they’re all right there, curled up on the mattress, surrounding you, but they’re all asleep, all eight of them leaving you here in heat on your own, without a knot, and you can’t think beyond the need; you’re going to implode if someone doesn’t -

Sure hands unfurl you, flipping you so you’re spread flat on the mattress. The weight of one of your alphas traps you in place, and you moan, back arching when a hot tongue slides along the column of your throat, halting at your scent gland and sucking the sensitive skin there.

Sweet vanilla rolls over your senses. His teeth bite and suck at your collarbone, and you groan, head all jumbled with need, your body still locked up from the cramps as you fumble with his boxers, urgency rendering you clumsy.

Mercifully, one of your alphas has stripped you down to your underwear while you were sleeping, and you find you don’t even have the time to take them off, instead hooking your leg around Minho’s hip and grinding your throbbing core down on his hardening cock. Lightning pulses through your cunt at the way his lids half close in pleasure, filling you with the need to please your alpha, to be of use to him.

He tears your underwear off with a flick of his wrist. Your pussy is only getting wetter.

Dipping his head, Minho claims your lips, and the brush of his tongue against yours makes your head spin faster than it already is, your hands coming up to tangle with his hair as his hips roll to meet yours.

‘F - fuck,’ you choke out, jolting when Minho sinks two fingers inside you and scissors them.

His lips travel lower to trace down your sternum. ‘Gotta stretch you out for the boys, jagiya.’

You find yourself squirming a little; his fingers are curling, pumping in and out of you at exactly the pace you normally like, but your body is working itself up to the wild throes at the peak of your heat and you need more, so much more. You tell him so, and he chuckles, kissing you again like it’s going to distract you from the way he’s lining himself up at the entrance of your cunt.

Barely the tip of him is in before you’re clenching hard, painfully hard, scrabbling at the bedsheets and crying his name so loud it’s a wonder the boys don’t stir. He licks and sucks at your scent gland, relaxing you until your muscles ease up and he can move - despite all your slick, you still feel the burn of his cock. He’s stretching you out, just like he said he would.

Agonisingly, he pulls out, just to slam back in again, balls deep, punching the air out of your lungs. Minho fucks you roughly, like you need at the start of your heat, his cock reaching so deep inside you you think he might be in your guts - he’s not fast, just so intense that tears are forming on your lash line and you’re panting, fighting for breath.

Then, he’s forcing your legs up onto his shoulders, and the new angle makes you wail, because he’s destroying your cunt in a way that has your thighs shaking and your chest heaving, pleas for more spilling out of you uncontrollably.

Minho has a way of wringing pleasure from you, fucking you so good that you can’t do anything but repeat his name over and over; you feel yourself suspended on the edge, fire licking up your sides, so close, so close, so close -

Mid-thrust, he pauses.

‘Alpha,’ you scream, voice breaking pitifully. ‘Alpha, please - ’

There’s something half sadistic in his eyes when he looks down at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, teasing as he enjoys the way you struggle, bucking against him desperately, begging like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

‘Sungie’s woken up from all your noise, omega,’ Minho remarks impassively. ‘Maybe you should give him a hand.’

No sooner has he finished speaking than an achingly hard cock makes its way into your palm, and you cast your teary eyes upward, only half there as you witness Jisung’s head fall back in pleasure when you begin to jerk him, because thank all that is good, Minho’s moving again, tearing you apart and putting you back together with those powerful thrusts of his hips.

He’s hitting that spot inside you, and each time he does, paralysing bolts of pleasure shoot down your spine. Your orgasm crushes you with its magnitude, whiting out your vision, and through it, you blindly beg for his knot, beg him to fill you, beg him to stuff you with load after load.

‘That’s right, omega,’ he grits out. ‘Let it all out for me.’

Tears finally spill over, trickling down your face, the pleasure leaving you rapt, brows drawn together and mouth hanging open, and still he fucks into you; you can feel the slight burn as his knot begins to engorge, and you know he’s so close, so almost filling you up.

Your thoughts grow indistinct the moment Minho spills hot inside you, his knot popping into place and locking you together. Jisung comes not a moment later, letting go with a short cry all over your chest, and if you were not full and happy with Minho’s knot, you’d be fretting about the waste. Instead, you close your eyes and murmur a pleased ‘alpha’, fingers brushing lightly over a bandage on Minho’s arm as the two of them begin to lick the come off you.

You must drift off, because when you resurface, Jisung, Minho and his knot are gone, most likely to the bathroom, and instead you can feel Seungmin’s long fingers working lazily between your legs, just enough to take the edge off the bite of your cramps. He’s got your back propped up against his chest, and you wiggle, bucking your hips up into his touch, inhaling the smell of warm embers.

‘What do you think you’re doing, omega?’

You freeze at the dominance in his tone. Remaining silent, you gaze up at him, wide eyed and head full of cotton as he pins you beneath him, the ravenous look on his face making your neck and cheeks flush. You can feel his cock against your thigh, but he doesn’t allow you to move, doesn’t move himself, just stares down at you, waiting.

Slowly, you tilt your head back, exposing the vulnerable expanse of your throat - a display of utter submission. A low whine escapes you when his breath caresses your skin, his nose brushing against your jugular as he inhales your scent.

‘Good omega,’ Seungmin murmurs. ‘Our omega.’

‘Yours,’ you echo, and this time, he lets you buck against him.

Another hot rush of slick leaves you at the friction of his clothed cock against you, and you gasp his name, rubbing your cheek all over his neck and chest, trying to cover him in your scent. He allows it, letting you press yourself against him, desperation soaking your scent, your hands roaming his body urgently, trying to tell him that you need his knot because all your mouth can seem to do right now is say ‘alpha’, again and again and again.

In one smooth sweep, Seungmin gathers your wrists above your head and pins them there. A sound leaves you, so eager and pathetic that your cheeks flush and you struggle half heartedly against him, but he’s yanking off his boxers and running his fingers through your folds to transfer your arousal and make sure his dick will be wet enough. If you stay still, you think you might die.

Yet another round of slick is pouring from you. He chuckles, seeing your cunt clench as he spits in his hand and wraps his fingers around his cock - you know he’s doing it to taunt you. Whoever goes first always makes sure you’re prepped.

‘Ready for my knot, omega?’ Seungmin coos. ‘Think you can take it?’

‘Yes,’ you whine. ‘Yes, alpha, yes, give it to me, I can, I can - ’

Your mouth snaps shut when he thrusts into you, your eyes widening and back arching as thrill after thrill races up your spine, making your cunt bear down on him, squeezing him tight and  greedily sucking him in further. The moment he starts moving, you know he’s not going to go easy on you.

Seungmin is going to make you earn it.

He releases your hands, letting you grab onto him as he fucks into you, fast, unrelenting. Almost sly, his fingers drag down your stomach so he can rub them over your clit in tight circles - your pussy flutters in response, clamping down on him. A muttered curse escapes him; you can feel every muscle of his back taut under your grip, the vein in his neck beginning to strain, yet all he does is go harder.

Something within you buckles. Not a second later, you come, clenching around his cock, squeezing him so tight he’s forced to grind into you further, your cunt refusing to let him pull out. You expect him to ease up, give you a moment to rest but he continues the moment he can, unforgiving.

Overstimulation sears at you, cutting through the cloudiness fogging your brain, and you yawp, scrabbling at Seungmin’s back, thighs jumping with every drag of his cock against your walls as you rake your nails against his skin in a way that must be hurting his battered, not quite healed body, but he doesn’t shake you off, doesn’t seem to mind.

‘Stop thrashing if you want your alpha’s knot,’ he snarls.

‘W - want it,’ you babble, trying to stay still for him. ‘Need it so bad, alpha.’

‘Then take it.’

He punctuates his words with deep rolls of his hips, and this time you can’t not move, because the pads of his fingers are back on your clit, torturous, creating friction so impossibly blissful that it hurts, and he’s hammering his dick into you, so quick that you can’t form words any more, and then - and then -

Once again, you come, and he slams his knot inside you.

Your back bows, your fingers twisting into the sheets until someone grabs your hand and squeezes it as tightly you are squeezing theirs. It’s not Seungmin’s, you realise - his are too busy propping him up, holding him above you. Turning your head to the side, you smile: it’s Minho, half asleep with his eyes almost closed and a silly little grin on his face.

Huffing, his breath ruffling your hair, Seungmin pokes at your face, bringing your attention back to him. You tip your head up and fit your lips to his, a warm, happy buzz engulfing you now that you’re full, and he lowers himself on top of you so you can lie there together, joined by his knot nestled inside your sated cunt as sleep tugs you both under.

You wake up to cacao and musk, lips closed over your scent gland, gently sucking. Whatever Seungmin’s knot and the orgasms he plucked from you did to appease your heat have worn off, and fast, because you’re sweating all over, hips moving against the firmness below you and you don’t know where you are, just that there are hands on your body and a mouth on your neck keeping back the flames.

‘Leader,’ you mewl, half crazy on his scent. ‘Alpha, need your knot,’

‘I’ve got you,’ Chan croons. ‘Alpha’s got you.’

It begins to dawn on you that you’re straddling his lap, grinding down frantically on his thigh, his hands cool where they coast over your burning skin, smoothing circles over your back. Taking your chin in his fingers, he tilts your face up until you’re looking at him. The moment you meet his eyes, you still, hips hovering over his.

‘You going to behave for me, omega?’

You nod so hard it hurts your neck. ‘Yes, alpha, so good, so good for you. Promise.’

‘Sweet girl,’ he coos. ‘My omega.’

Leaving trails of goosebumps behind, Chan’s hands slide down your torso, down to caress the curves of your hips, down to right where you need him. There’s a moment where he just holds your cunt, fingers pressing between your folds until you break and rock against the heel of his palm, chasing away the building pressure between your legs in favour of momentary relief, wobbly voiced pleas rushing from you as your slick soaks him to the wrist.

Nosing at your throat, he laves his tongue over your scent gland, one hand coming round to grip your ass as he positions you closer to him. When he looks up at you, you see the same haze that blankets your mind clouding his eyes - you must be nearing the peak of your heat for your scent to affect him so. He’s barely holding himself back.

‘Okay?’ He verifies. ‘Can take it?’

‘Y - yes, yes,’ you reply, grinding your hips down despite his steady grip on you, searching for his cock.

That’s all it takes for him to lurch upwards, sheathing himself in your heat like it was made for him. The remainder of the sentence on your tongue dissolves into a keening moan, your lips falling open, eyes unfocused and rolled back; he gives you barely a second to adjust to his thickness before he’s pounding into you, holding you in place above him with his nails digging into the flesh of your ass.

You grab at his broad shoulders, needing something to anchor you with the way he’s jerking your whole body up and down with every punishing thrust. Chan’s fucking up into you like he wants you to forget your own name, like he wants you to forget everything but the surge of his cock through your spasming walls; he’s got you dumb, mouth agape, the sounds that leave you wordless but pleading.

It’s as if your senses have narrowed to the giddying scent of your alpha and the promise of his knot in the snap of his hips against yours - you can’t think of anything else.

Dimly, you realise he’s speaking between the sloppy kisses he adorns your neck and chest with, groaning and mumbling against your skin as his teeth nip at your scent gland, stimulating you in a way that brings century old instincts to the surface - it has you shuddering, nails buried into the meat of his biceps as you twist your head back to bare your throat to your alpha.

‘Good omega,’ he’s gasping, words slurred, reaching so deep inside you all you can do is take it. ‘Made for me, omega - fuck, fuck, squeezing me so well - gonna give you my knot, sweetheart, give you my pups, gotta breed you, gonna - ’

Chan moans so loud it’s almost a howl, slamming you down on his cock to the hilt one last time, fingers furiously working your clit. The hot spill of his seed yanks you unceremoniously over the edge, and you feel your pussy constrict around his knot - he hisses at the feel of it, his chest, mottled with bruises, heaving as he comes down from the high, eyes beginning to focus on you.

Fuck, he looks good, all sweaty and panting and still a bit dazed, his curls ruffled and a dumb little blissed out smile plastered on his face. Tugging you close, he lets his forehead fall against your collarbones, pushing his face between your tits - you giggle as he sighs happily into their plushness, tucking your arms around him and holding him close, sated and so incredibly, wonderfully full.

‘So good for me, sweetheart,’ he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin.

You preen at his words, and his hands move up from where they were splayed out on your back to stroke your hair, smoothing it down and untangling some of the knots with his fingers. Curling up as much as you can in this position, you lean your head on Chan’s shoulder, basking in the reassuring presence of your alpha.

Something warm presses against your leg, and you look down to see Jeongin, balled up facing Seungmin with his back pushed up against the length of your thigh, his angular face softened in sleep. Grinning, you brush a hand over his cheek, and he stirs, humming drowsily before settling again.

A hand rubs at the small of your back, and you turn to see that Felix has woken up. Despite the fact that his blonde hair is mussed and he’s squinting against the light of the torches in the sconces on the walls, he’s smiling sweetly at you, gaze bright and soft.

‘Felix, please could you grab that for me?’ Chan’s gesturing to a small platter on the bedside table.

Clambering over a slumbering Minho and Jisung and almost tripping up on Changbin’s outstretched leg, he retrieves it and hands it to Chan, who supports you with a hand on your waist so you can sit back and tuck into the slices of bread and cheese on the plate. You hadn’t realised how hungry you were until now - your stomach rumbles at just the smell of the food.

Through a mouthful, you beam. ‘Thanks, Lix.’

He leans over Changbin to kiss you sweetly, filling your nose with the scent of violets and sunshine. ‘Once Chan’s knot goes down I’ll take you to the bath, okay?’

‘Yes, please,’ you reply. ‘I’m all sticky.’

‘My bad,’ Chan chuckles, rubbing his hands up and down your sides and making your brain all fuzzy.

By the time you’ve finished the food, Chan’s knot has come down enough to slip out of you - both of you groan when he pulls out, his come rolling down your thighs. You glance over at Felix and see him watching, and when you look down you can see he’s semi hard and sending you a sheepish grin.

A great yawn splits your face in half, and you stretch your cramped legs as you shuffle awkwardly off the bed, pausing to give Chan a kiss before he scoots down and tugs the blanket over him, nuzzling close to Jeongin. Lifting you up, Felix carries you to the bathroom - Hyunjin looks up from where he’s perched on a rickety wooden stool in the corner, holding something delicately in his hands and smirking.

‘That cavewoman omega in you really likes it when Chan fucks you like that, huh?’

You roll your eyes. ‘Go on and pretend you weren’t hard.’

‘Why are you holed up in here, anyway?’ Felix asks as he helps you into the wooden tub.

‘Changbin was rolling around in his sleep,’ he shrugs. ‘Didn’t want to stab him.’

Proudly, Hyunjin holds up the piece of wood he’s been whittling - it’s a lovely piece of limewood, light and creamy in colour, and it must be a maquette for a sword hilt he’s planning on making, because it’s carved with whorls and flowing arches, as if the wood itself is malleable clay in his skilled hands.

‘I like it,’ Felix says as he helps soap your back. ‘It’s pretty.’

Hyunjin gives him a look. ‘Of course.’

You chuckle. ‘Yeah, Felix, when did he ever make something that wasn’t pretty?’

‘Hey, what about that time when - ’

‘No, it was pretty, you just - ’

Closing your eyes, you listen to the two of them bicker playfully, relishing the warmth of the water and the way it eases your sore muscles - you want to enjoy the momentary lucidity. You’re still somewhere in the highest intensity of your heat, and soon your body is going to want a knot again, even after having Chan’s so recently.

Right on queue, as if just thinking about it sets it off, your scent spikes, and you feel a wave of slick spill from you - it goes straight into the water, but both Hyunjin and Felix fall silent anyway, sensing your need from a mile away.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Hyunjin drags his stool closer to the tub.

Without further delay, Felix shucks off his boxers and climbs in. The water swills but doesn’t spill over, and he takes your chin and kisses you softly, careful not to lean too much of his weight on you; the moment he pulls back, Hyunjin is there, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip before pushing it into your mouth, and you moan around him when you feel the nudge of Felix’s cock head at your entrance.

All three of you groan when he slides in, and you turn your head to the side, unsurprised to see Hyunjin’s slender fingers curling around his cock, his carving abandoned to the side - your eyes glide upwards, locking on his as you suck on his thumb, still resting against your lips, and he visibly picks up his pace, face twisting in pleasure.

Hiding his face into your damp neck, Felix groans, low and deep, thrusting his hips forward until they kiss yours, so close that his pubic bone grinds over your clit. He fucks into you slowly and tenderly, and as he does, Hyunjin hooks his thumb under your chin and crams three of his fingers into your mouth up to the knuckle, grunting when your tongue swirls over them.

You’re still sensitive from Chan, maybe even from the two orgasms Seungmin coaxed from you, and the way Felix’s cock drags through you is driving you insane - almost as much as the praise they’re both showering upon you and the pump of Hyunjin’s fingers in and out of your mouth. Water is sloshing over the sides of the tub with each movement, and it’s as if you’re floating aimlessly, muscles lax and surrounded all over by this warmth.

Hyunjin comes first.

It’s Felix that sets him off: kissing you over the fingers buried in your mouth, his tongue sliding over them before he licks at your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, and suddenly Hyunjin’s coming with a gasp, wrenching Felix off your front by his shoulder so he can spill over the part of your chest that’s above the water.

That’s what makes you come.

The sight of Hyunjin bent double over you and Felix, jerking himself until he’s spent and then some to overstimulate himself, the hand that had been in your mouth gripping the side of the tub so hard his knuckles run white - it’s too much. Your pussy convulses around Felix, and only then do you find your words, gasping that you need a knot, begging for his come.

It’s all too easy for him to give you what you want - more water splashes out of the tub and straight onto the bathroom floor as he seats his knot inside you, plugging his seed in so not a drop is wasted. He flops over you, panting.

‘I didn’t expect it to come back so fast,’ you remark as the three of you catch your breath.

‘So much for the bath,’ Felix laughs. ‘Maybe we should draw another one.’

The next time you open your eyes, it hits you full force. The ache in your core is so intense that all you can do is flail, thrashing and writhing and crying, all tangled up in the blankets which are soaked with your sweat and twisted around your legs, all tangled up in the consuming flames of your heat. There are warm bodies all around you; you can hear their breathing, but none of them are responding, and fuck it hurts -

This can’t be happening again -

You squeak in alarm as someone manhandles you onto your front so quickly that your head spins, holding your arms down so you can barely move - you’re grinding desperately down on the mattress, and you can feel the sheets beneath you grow wet with your slick.

‘Stay still, omega,’ a voice growls. ‘You’re going to push someone off the bed if you don’t.’

‘Alpha?’ You whimper, rubbing your thighs together. ‘It’s not enough, please - ’

‘Binnie’s here,’ he soothes, tone gentler now. ‘Binnie’s going to take care of you, okay? Hands and knees for me, omega.’

Tears of relief trickle down your face and seep into the cloth beneath you - Jeongin’s shirt. You scramble to obey your alpha’s command, only halting when Changbin pulls you in for a quick kiss that leaves you dizzy, as if he sucked the air from your lungs and replaced it with pure, unadulterated need. Squeezing your ass, he fucking bullies you into position, manoeuvring you until you’re face down, ass up.

You fist the sheets in your hands, trying to stay still but he’s taking his damn time. Arching your back, you push back on him, feverish, reduced to the urges of your idiot omega brain that you can’t ignore for the life of you. Your thighs are trembling as he lines himself up, your breath coming out in harsh pants.

With a harsh stab of his hips, he ploughs into you.

You wait for him to move, wait for him to fucking destroy you, but he doesn’t; he just holds himself there, infuriating, playing with you, and you’re wailing and trying to push back onto him more but he’s got you in his iron grip and then he’s cracking a hand down on your ass and you howl and finally -

Finally he’s moving.

Changbin is railing into you, unrelenting. You’re clenching so hard around him, desperate for his knot that your vision keeps blanking out, your voice breaking as you call his name, and surely it’s waking up the boys, but you don’t really care because you need him, need -

‘Need it, alpha,’ you sob, ‘Need it.’

‘I know, omega,’ he grits out. ‘Let your alpha take care of you.’

And then he gives you all you ask. He gives it to you, alright. He gives it to you so that the slick is running out of you and down your twitching thighs, he gives it to you so you’re hoarse from screaming his name - he gives it to you until you feel all limp and boneless beneath him, and still he draws you out, drilling into you like he was born to do it.

Just when you think he might be satisfied, Changbin hooks a hand under your arm and pulls you upright, pinning you against his chest and hitting a new, cataclysmic angle inside you; roughly, he bites down on the spot where you shoulder and neck meet, and his hands come up to cup your tits, pinching your nipples and sending jolts of pleasure through you. He’s fucking up into you endlessly and you can’t even remember if you came already because he’s got you drowning in ecstasy, losing yourself in it.

And then his fingers are on your clit.

You can feel his knot, pressing against your core, so close, so close.

Inside your stomach, something pulls up tight, and you come so hard everything goes black.

You come to about half a minute later, cradled against Changbin’s chest, his knot safely within your cunt, satisfying you, and he’s hugging you to him, kissing every inch of your sweat coated skin that he can reach. He shifts against you when he senses you waking, nuzzling against your scent gland as he kisses a hickey on your neck - most likely from Minho.

‘Are you okay?’ Changbin asks. ‘Did I go too hard?’

‘No,’ you reply drowsily. ‘Was good. So good.’

Your hand meets his, and you smile a little as you twine your fingers together. The scent of roses and grapefruit fills your nose, and you close your eyes at the feel of Hyunjin nestling closer to you, sandwiching you between him and Changbin, your breathing slowing as you drift off.

You’re woken by a puff of air against your clit. Hyunjin chuckles when the muscles in your thigh jitter at the feel of it, looking up at you from where he sprawls between your legs, grinning like he wants to devour you. Whatever you’re lying on rocks to the side, and you bleat in alarm and narrowly catch yourself, glancing over your shoulder to find that your head was  resting on Jeongin’s chest, who is now smirking at you, eyes glittering mischievously.

The feeling of two alphas looking like they might eat you does something to your cunt that has Hyunjin transfixed. He licks his lips and you get the distinct sense that he might accidentally pop a knot too soon if he isn’t careful.

‘You two look like you’re plotting something,’ you mumble, trying to ignore the attention your pussy is demanding.

‘Yeah,’ Jeongin confirms casually. ‘Hyunjin’s going to go down on you and I’m going to fuck your mouth.’

‘Oh,’ you say, and this time you can’t ignore the way you clench around nothing.

Hyunjin groans, and you feel the mattress dip a little as he grinds into it. He buries a finger into your fluttering heat, cursing under his breath, and your eyes widen as Jeongin props your head up with a pillow and straddles your chest, his flushed cock nudging your lips. Your tongue darts out, flicking against his head, and he adjusts himself so he’s kneeling over you.

Opening your mouth, you take him as far as you can, and almost like he’s rewarding you for it, Hyunjin’s lips close around your clit. Surprised, you yelp around Jeongin’s length, hips bucking into Hyunjin’s face of their own accord; in response, another finger is eased into your core and you suck in a sharp breath of air.

That’s the moment Jeongin chooses to thrust shallowly into your mouth. You gag and get embarrassingly close to coming - Hyunjin lifts his head, feeling your weeping pussy seize his fingers.

‘She liked that,’ he remarks.

You don’t even get to reply because there’s an alpha cock fucking itself down your throat, surrounding you with the scent of mint and lavender. You’re not sure when you moved your hands but now they’re curled under the backs of his thighs, your nails sinking into his skin as he uses your mouth, and he’s got your hair fisted in his fingers for better leverage - even through the haze of your heat you can see his knuckles are still swollen and cut up from the fight.

He must have been pretty wound up because you can feel him tensing under your palms, curses flowing from his lips as he wrenches himself out of your mouth and basically shoves Hyunjin out of the way. There’s a moment where you’re painfully empty, bereft of Hyunjin’s nimble fingers, and then Jeongin slams his cock inside you, rutting into you once, twice, before he comes, his knot swelling within you and filling you up.

‘So good for us, omega,’ Hyunjin coos, appearing at your side.

Cupping your chin, he kisses you and you can taste yourself on him as he licks into your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours. Jeongin pushes him to the side, grumbling and barging him with his shoulder so he can press his lips to your scent gland, sucking a love bite just below it, his teeth grazing over your skin. You giggle at the look on Hyunjin’s face, cute and pouty despite the fact that you can feel his cock, stiff and leaking precum all over your thigh.

While you wait for Jeongin’s knot to go down, the two of them take turns kissing you, Hyunjin sometimes sneaking kisses to Jeongin too. It’s like you’re in heaven: stuffed full and content, with two alphas paying their utmost attention to you.

Finally, Jeongin eases out, and you feel the hot spill of his come - and maybe some of Changbin’s too - ooze from your stretched out pussy. He scoops up as much of it as he can and pushes it right back in, licking his fingers after: your body is wracked by a shiver at the sight, cunt aching to be filled again.

‘Need another load?’ Hyunjin teases, seeing the hungry look in your eyes.

‘Get on with it already, alpha,’ you snark back.

Eagerly, Hyunjin slots himself between your legs, gliding his cock head through your folds a few times before he plunges in. It shuts you up, fast. Throwing his head back, he groans, just a little louder than the wet, sucking sounds your pussy makes as he begins to move; there’s come slopping out of you with each thrust, smearing over the tops of your thighs and his, and he fucks it right back into you until you’re keening, bucking into him.

‘Shit,’ he moans. ‘Keep on fucking doing that, sweet omega.’

Breathless, you obey, rolling your hips to meet his so fervently that your muscles begin to burn, but it’s the good kind, the type of sensation that comes before your legs lock up, trembling uncontrollably as pleasure hits you so hard you go limp.

Pinching and rubbing at your clit in a way that is glorious, Hyunjin dips his head, giving you another kiss that tastes like you, and suddenly, at the touch of his lips to yours, you’re coming, shaking so hard that you’re shaking him. He groans your name, hands tangling in your hair to hold your face to his, and he travels a little lower to mouth at the hollow of your throat.

‘Taking me so well,’ he rasps. ‘Fitting around me just right, omega.’

A little jolt of lightning shoots through you as he lurches a little further into your cunt, coming, and there’s already so much seed inside you that a little bit seeps out around his knot, fat drops slipping down your skin. Sighing contentedly, you stretch your arms above your head as Hyunjin rests his head on your chest. You can feel the dull pain of your heat receding, giving way to a hint of lucidity, and now that the adrenaline is leaving your system, you start to feel aches flaring up all over your body.

Lifting your head, you keep a hand on the back of Hyunjin’s head so he doesn’t slide off you as you search for the familiar scent of clean linen and cinnamon, craning your neck as you twist to check he’s not among the boys dozing on the mattress around you. Just before you call out his name, the door to the room opens, and he walks in, cheeks full with some food he must have raided from the keep’s storeroom.

Jisung sees your face and immediately strides over. ‘Feeling okay, omega?’

You nod. ‘I think it’s almost passed.’

A stab of guilt punches through you. Jisung’s waited his turn, and there’s a chance that if you fall asleep now, you’ll wake up and find your heat has broken. He must smell the worry on your scent, because he leans forward and tucks some of your tangled hair behind your ear.

‘It’s okay, jagi,’ he reassures. ‘This is about you. Rest now.’

You’re already dreaming by the time he finishes his sentence.

‘Are you sure?’ Jisung clarifies again, even though you’re certain he can still smell the lingering honey of your heat on your scent.

‘Yes, alpha,’ you huff, unable to hide the petulance in your voice.

He raises an eyebrow.

‘Please,’ you whine. ‘Need your knot, Ji, please, alpha.’

‘Okay, but you tell me if you’re too sensitive, alright?’

You nod, already bucking your hips which succeeds to do nothing but drag his cock head through your folds. You’d woken up surrounded by Jisung’s crisp linen and cinnamon scent, the low burning need for a knot clawing at your insides, subdued at least by the seven other knots you’ve taken but still insistent enough that you needed Jisung inside you.

A wretched cry leaves you as he seats his cock inside you - he pauses, throwing his head back, biting his lips to stifle a moan - and you feel him twitch from within your squeezing walls. You’re not surprised; he’s been stuck in a keep with his omega’s scent rubbed all over him, the mattress and his pack mates, driving him crazy.

‘Fucking hell, omega,’ he mumbles, nuzzling at your face before he kisses you. ‘Don’t know how long I’m gonna last.’

Jisung begins to move, slowly but deep, a little smile pulling at his lips as he looks you right in the eyes, lacing his fingers with yours where they rest on the pillows beneath your head. He’s gentle, aware that you’re sore, pressing feather light kisses to the hickeys decorating your skin - some of which you don’t even remember exactly who gave to you, your memories clouded by your heat - and slowing his pace if your face screws up or your fingers tighten too hard on his.

Wrapping your legs around his trimmed waist, you pull him closer, crossing your ankles at the small of his back. His hand trails down and begins to rub steadily at your clit, and you feel the stirrings of heaven beginning to rouse within you: your toes curl, and a drawn out whine escapes from your throat, urging him onwards.

Jisung’s fingers speed up on your clit. ‘Come for me, omega.’

You keen as shockwaves run through you, leaving you spent, out of breath, pussy raw. Fractionally, Jisung slows the pace he’s thrusting into you, whispering sweet nothings onto your lips like prayers - your fingers sweep through his soft hair, the rest of your body limp against the mattress as you gaze up at him, eyes glazed.

‘Alpha,’ you whimper - it’s all you have the energy for.

‘Shit, omega - ’

Jisung cums with a gasp, knot locking into place as he trembles above you, trying to control the way he rocks his hips , grinding himself impossibly deeper into you. A tear slips down your cheek and he licks it off, the tender look in his eyes leaving you all melty in his arms.

Your pussy flutters around him, constricting around his knot as he carefully rolls the two of you over for you to lie on his chest, legs curled up either side of him so you can soak up the feel of his skin against yours. His arms wrap around you, and another hand, calloused from hours working in the smithy, brushes over your back before lips press against your shoulder blade.

‘How’s she doing?’ Chan whispers.

‘Good,’ you hum, answering for Jisung and cracking your eyes open a millimetre. ‘Really good. Really tired, too.’

He chuckles. ‘I’m not surprised, sweetheart.’

Minho speaks up, saying something that makes Jisung’s wide chest vibrate beneath your ear with a quiet laugh, but you don’t really hear it at all - your brain feels like it’s made out of cotton, and your limbs feel light and airy, Jisung’s skin so soft it’s as if you’re floating on a cloud.

‘Love you, alpha,’ you murmur.

You don’t clarify, and they don’t ask, but they know you mean each and every one of them.

When you next rouse yourself, you’re fully lucid, and Changbin’s shouting at someone from inside the bathroom. Groaning, you rub your eyes, and a low, tired throb emanates from between your legs - solid proof that your alphas took care of you through your heat, like they always do. You remember it: most of it vividly, some of it in flashes.

Flopping your arms out, you’re met with unpleasantly cold sheets. A frown furrows your brow and you lift your head - now that you’re shaking off the last dregs of your heat and the long sleep that has left a small bit of drool on the pillow beneath your head, you can faintly hear your pack’s voices. From what it sounds, most of them are in the corridor or the great hall, and you can just about pick up other voices too: the omegas you rescued.

You can also hear Changbin, clear as day, muttering grumpily to himself. Snickering, you listen closer, catching something about Seungmin, that little shit and damn towel. You open your mouth, ready to call out to him -

‘Seungmin!’ He yells, so loud you jump. ‘I know you can hear me! Where’s my towel?’

With a groan, you heave yourself upright and pull on the first shirt available: immediately, Jisung’s scent wraps tight around you. Choking on a laugh that you fail to stifle, you shuffle to the edge of the bed and climb off, taking pity on Changbin, while - rolling his eyes so hard it looks like there’s someone behind them pulling them with strings - Seungmin bursts through the bedroom door.

Just in time to see your legs buckle.

He darts across the room and manages to break your fall as you crumple to the floor, muscles protesting. Unfortunately, you manage to take him down with you and he laughs, loud enough for Changbin to hear it and think he’s the one getting made fun of, but with a mischievous spark dancing in his eyes that you know is aimed at you.

‘You’re acting as if you didn’t contribute to this,’ you retort, attempting to pull yourself up.

There’s a steady burning in your thighs, and once you’re upright, you’re wobbling like a newborn calf. Seungmin snorts, knocking you backwards onto the bed and kissing you, fending off your hands as you attempt to punch him in the ribs. Eventually, he lets up, mostly because Changbin has started screeching threats from inside the bathroom that can be heard over your giggled protests.

He sorts out his mussed hair. ‘I don’t regret contributing whatsoever. In fact, I enjoyed it.’

‘You’re always so smug after knotting me, huh?’ You send him a rude gesture.

‘As if you didn’t - ’

‘Seungmin, I swear - ’

Both of you giggle, and Changbin splutters, hearing your laughter. Still chuckling, Seungmin scoops you up in his arms and retrieves a towel that’s been stowed behind one of the pillows, taking his time to open the bathroom door and hand it back to him. Seeing Changbin, his damp hair hanging over his eyes as he grumbles at the two of you, unable to fulfil his threats with Seungmin using you as a human shield, sets the two of you off again.

The sound of your laughter attracts your other alphas. They file into the room, and Chan smiles fondly as he sees you Seungmin’s arms. Jeongin walks over and nuzzles his face into your hair, kissing your earlobe and pausing there.

‘Legs out of commission after being fucked too good, huh?’

‘Jeongin,’ you hiss, slapping his arm. Seungmin has the audacity to high five him.

Chan attempts to hide a laugh. ‘I’m going to ignore that.’

‘Well, you better not ignore Seungmin stealing and hiding my towel,’ Changbin mutters.

Seungmin laughs again, and you get passed to Jeongin while he wards off Changbin, who is still clad in just a towel. Warmth fills you - it’s good to have your boys happy and playful after seeing them taken and hurt by Goemul. You’re whole again now that you’ve got them back.

Eventually, the two of them calm down, and Chan smiles at you in a way that makes your heart swell and overflow in your chest.

‘Ready to go home, omega?’

taglist: @0bticeo @hyunjinsjeans @sleepyleeji @milkslovehotel

fyi: goemul = monster in korean

[lycheedr3ams]

Death's Angel

Part 8: On Angel Wings

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, possessive!konig, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

Part 7

I can't thank you all enough for the support i've gotten on this fic! this fic is what made my blog big and i just can't believe it's been so well-received. don't worry, it's a happy ending!!! also I'm sorry this took so long...I hope you guys like the ending. I'm super nervous my writing quality on this story went down, but maybe I'm too critical of my work. in any case, I hope you guys enjoy!

.......

series inspired by the art below!

you weren't sure how much time passed when you woke up in a warm bed. you blinked open your eyes and rubbed the exhaustion out of them. you looked around the room, and noticed konig sitting right by your side.

"Engel?" he asked softly. you had never heard his voice so tender.

"what happened?" you asked. you tried to sit up, but were immediately struck with a sharp pain in your chest. konig gently pushed you back down on the bed.

"lay down, Engel. you are hurt. you need to rest."

you looked down at your chest, and realized that it was wrapped with bloodied bandages. your dress was nowhere to be seen, but the blanket covered your lower half.

"what happened? where are we?" you asked as you could feel panic rising.

"we are somewhere we will never be found by anyone who wishes to separate us," konig said quietly. "you..." he couldn't finish his sentence as he cleared his throat.

"i what?" you asked.

konig shook his head. "you protected me. it is not supposed to be that way. i am supposed to protect you, and i couldn't." konig's head hung low in shame, his eyes now completely obscured from you.

you suddenly remembered everything that had happened right up to when the sword fell. your heart raced.

"i...my body just acted on its own. it was like i didn't have control over myself. it just happened." you thought for a long moment, and it was silent. konig's head still hung low.

"i don't regret it, though," you said firmly. konig looked at you in confusion.

"i promised to protect you, and here you are, laying in a bed soaked in your own blood," he said quietly as his eyes glassed over.

you smiled. "it's okay. i would do it again if i had to. but where are we? what happened to the knights?"

konig was silent for a little while. you closed your eyes.

"we are in france now. a little countryside town. after the soldiers patched you up, they realized that you weren't lying. they agreed to pretend that it never happened. but they will be back in a week, to make sure this is what you really want." his voice was quiet as he spoke.

"so...my parents and siblings still think i've been kidnapped?"

konig nodded.

"no. they need to know that you are not in the wrong. they need to know that i chose this."

"i don't know if that's a good idea," konig said after a moment. "they will say I brainwashed you."

"i don't care what they will say. if they don't believe me, that's on them. i will have the soldiers take a letter to them once they go back, and i will never speak to them again," you decided.

konig stared at you for a long while. he gently took your hand and stroked it with his thumb.

"i am sorry things turned out this way," he whispered as he looked at your hand.

you shook your head. "i wouldn't have it any other way, konig. i'm with you, and we can have our own life here. what is this town like?"

konig still stroked your hand as he spoke. "there are lavender fields surrounding the town, and a small forest to the east. there is an empty plot of land where a house can be built. the people are kind, and it is quiet and peaceful."

you smiled. "it sounds perfect."

konig brought your hand up to his lips as he lifted his hood to kiss the back of your hand. "i will make it up to you."

"there is nothing to make up, konig," you assured him with a smile. "everything will be okay now."

konig shook his head. "i will give you the life you deserve, my princess. i will build a house for you, and you can have as many gardens and animals as you like. you will have the finest sheets once again, and you will never want for anything."

you smiled. "as long as i have you, i will never want."

...

several months later

You walk out of the cottage that Konig had built for you and him on this warm morning. the birds are chirping and a gentle breeze blows over the lavender fields to the right of your cottage. you smile to yourself as you breath in the scent of lavender, and hear your sheep, ducks, and goats already waking up for the day. your garden, fenced off with bushes and a trellis with roses, blooms brilliantly in the morning sun.

konig quietly comes up behind you and wraps his strong scarred arms around you. he nuzzles your head gently with his nose and smiles underneath his hood.

"good morning, my Engel," he whispers gently to you. he speaks those four words to you every single morning. some may regard it as just a morning custom, but you know that konig never wastes any of his words. those four words every day, reserved only for you.

"good morning, konig," you smile up at him and gently hold his arms as they're wrapped around your waist. your goats bleat a few times, and you and konig share a gentle laugh.

...

life has been peaceful ever since the hell you and konig had gone through. you sent the letter to your parents, telling them the truth about your relationship with konig: how you weren't brainwashed, you didn't like being a princess, and this was the life you chose for yourself. your parents begged you to come back, their handwriting betraying their nerves and worry. but you never wrote to them again.

konig built this cottage for you in no time, and you two built your life together in this small countryside town in France. you helped out at the local bakery most days, tended to your farm animals every morning, checked your garden several times a day. you cooked warm meals for konig, which he always ate gratefully.

konig was no longer an executioner. he decided to leave that part of him in the past for your sake to build a peaceful life with you. the strong, calloused hands that once gripped axes to chop people's heads off now gripped saws and hammers and other tools to build houses, make horse shoes, craft swords. konig never spoke about it, but the gentle look in his eyes that grew as he got accustomed to normal life was something you always noticed and loved.

you two make a modest living; no more silk and fine china, but you couldn't have cared less. living life every day, doing what you wanted, you forgot about the endless want that material possessions creates. for the first time in your life, you are happy. you no longer had to worry about perfectly adjusting your hair, tying your corset, or matching your dress to the occasion each day. your hair changed each day based on your mood, and your clothing was simple and comfortable. no one told you where you had to be or when, you no longer had to watch every word that was spoken. you are free.

...

you hand konig his lunch basket for the day with a sweet smile, packed with fruits and bread and some salted meat. he rubs your head affectionately and kisses your forehead through his hood.

"danke, Engel."

"have a good day," you smiled up at him as you hugged his muscular chest. you gently tap his chin over his hood, and he smiles at your little signal and presses a chaste, gentle kiss on your lips. you watch as he descends the porch and walks to town.

you weren't sure exactly where you and Konig's lives were going to lead, but among your farm animals and garden and cottage and his arms, none of that mattered. the only thing you cared about was living each day with konig, living a normal life. you taught him what it meant to live, to breathe, to create things that made life better rather than take it away.

and even though you are no longer a princess, you will always be his angel.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome, @plumdreadful, @dumb-dumb-idiot-girl, @elichisstuff, @konig-breedme, @tr4psta, @cutiecusp, @konigsleftkidney, @local-vampire-s1ut, @ihaveaproblematicbrain, @twice360noscope, @madzeesstuff, @crazy-phan-girl13, @babygirl-panda19, @warrior-of-justice, @eluffi, @mooniesthings, @elowynnlane, @zaxlrza, @red-bed-bug, @alexdoesntlikeyou, @helmipss, @11aplacesange11, @rouge-swears, @pasta-m1lk, @ghostinvenus

[anika-ann]

Pomiluj me (Love Me Tender) - S.R.

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; standalone (NOT a part of this medieval AU)

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 10k 😁 best possible division if needed is at the first divider

Summary: Knight Steven Rogers and his brothers in arms are returning home after having tackled an unruly creature terrorizing the people of Starkerbürg. Upon encountering an injured woman, Steven offers to bring her – carry her, truly – back to her home. How could he deserve a knighthood if he left a woman in distress to her fate, after all? 

But not everything it as it seems. And love blooms in the most unlikely of places. 

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex (shocking in medieval times huh), bit of angst, tons of fluff, himbo knights in BBC Merlin style (long live the legends), knight Steve ‘cause he’s a warning, Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Title from the song which inspired the story, Pomiluj mě (Love on Me/Love Me Tender)...tumblr cannot handle an “ě “in their title 🙃 Lyrics, translation and link here, you’ll find a few lines in the fic as well - truly recommend. DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics

A/N/2: AO3 says this is my 100th work (as posted here anyway) and I’m brushing 1,680k of words written according to the counter. Which… whoa. And it’s almost six years since I first posted a marvel fic 🥺 Enjoy!

Alone, you only wander in the dark Chased by the cold I shall light up the torch you’re guarding

Should I be worried about you That all you do is take When are you coming back to me?

The cavalry moved rather slowly.

The noble men appeared a far cry from the polished image known from books, even as they had attempted to wash in a river. They reeked of battle, smoke and blood still; and the drying blood in their wounds was just as red as that of ordinary men, the scent of sweat and fear having seeped into their clothes and armour. And yet, their vests carried the sigil of Starkerbürg with pride, signaling the knights’ dedication to the protection of their kingdom.

With only horse left, they truly might make a pitiful sight, certain weariness to their step; but an air of victory and camaraderie made for a picture of life instead. Laughter sounded between the group, a joke thrown around here and there, a tease about a wound each of them suffered, particularly the youngest one. Despite those, true concern for their new friend, Sir Parker, could be read in their eyes. He was the youngest to ever been dubbed in the history of Starkerbürg; it was no wonder the good men assigned him the role he would have played had the bond they shared been one of a blood family. The youngest of brothers was as much made fun of as protected, since he was eager to prove he deserved the honour to ride with the knights of Starkerbürg just like any other. Now he sat on the horse in front of Sir Barton, the eldest, as they made their way back after successfully ridding the kingdom of a horrific creature: the chimera had been believed to only exist in old tales until it brought terrible and painfully real suffering to the people of the west of the kingdom and so the king’s loyal servants were tasked to ride at dawn five days ago.

“Alright, alright, let us leave the poor lad,” Sir Barton said, patting the young Sir Parker on his shoulder a little too hard. “He shall do better next time.”

Peter smiled over his shoulder gratefully, having started to feel not humbled, but humiliated.

“Yes, yes, we should let him be,” Sir Maximoff agreed, side-eyeing the two riders mischievously. “We should talk about how you moved like an old lady.”

The collective ooooooh and chuckles might have as well come from a group of children, rather than grown men, causing Sir Barton to glare at the cheeky lad he called a friend.

“Old ladies are wise and worth of respect, Maximoff. You could learn a thing or two from them, as you had learned from me,” he scoffed, feigning offence. “Do not forget who taught you how to swing a sword, kiddo.”

“There is a point in what Clint is saying,” Sir Wilson hummed good-naturedly, raising his eyebrow at Pietro in challenge.

“Maybe. Does not change the fact he’s grown seven years older since then, while I have grown seven years more mature.”

The explosion of laughter following his statement was louder this time.

“In your dreams, maybe,” Sir Barnes snorted, elbowing his best of friends, Sir Rogers. “About as mature as this one was when he used to pick his battles with guys twice his size, eh?”

Sir Rogers, Steven to most, only smirked, speaking up for the first time in a while, since his thoughts were far far away. “Should we get technical, we all took up on an enemy twice our size only yesterday morning.”

“Oh?” Sir Barton feigned surprise. “Listen to the guy. He might tell you what brought the monster to its knees next – an arrow straight to its eye. Remind me, Maximoff, whose crossbow it was that fired it?” he asked pointedly, grinning down at the man walking by their horse, earning an eyeroll.

“Did it even have knees?” Sir Lang questioned, “All I know is that it was a nasty, nasty thing.”

“Nastier than Hydra? Cut off one had, two shall takes its place? I truly believed that was only a legend…” Sir Wilson said, a visible shiver of disgust shaking him.

“Not sure we can compare the two… maybe Barnes or Rogers could, huh?” Sir Maximoff suggested.

Steven’s face darkened; he did indeed remember the hydra creature very well for it nearly cost his best friend his arm. The scars still littered Bucky’s skin, from the back of his hand all the way up to his shoulder; Gods had blessed him enough that his ability to use his arm remained intact, even as its appearance did not.

As for the strange chimera they had slayed yesterday… it was true that Steven had gotten more familiar with it then he would have liked. He could recall it with uncomfortable clarity: its foul breath smelling of death on his face, feeling as if it had seeped deep into his very bones when he had finally thrusted his sword through its heart. He could still hear the clang of teeth near his neck, a near death sentence.

No, he would rather not compare the two. He would rather not think of either of the creatures at all.

“Why us, Maximoff? Because I nearly lost my arm to the former and my best friend to latter? No thanks,” Sir Barnes hissed, face turning ashen as well.

Steven instinctively reached for his friend, squeezing his arm, casting a concerned glance as he was torn away from his own dark memories.

“Buck…”

“Are you jesting? Sir Rogers was incredible,” Sir Parker cried out excitedly, having four of the knights groan, for Steven’s bravery – or idiocy, should anyone ask Sir Barnes, truly – was all the youngest knight had been talking about for the majority of their journey, causing Steven’s cheeks redden under his beard, sense of pride and satisfaction battling the terror of the memory. As for the remaining knights, well; while they did not diminish Steven’s important contribution of delivering the fatal blow, they had grown annoyed at the constant babble.

“Sure he was, kiddo.”

“Oh yes. They should probably knight him. Oh wait-“ Sir Wilson said, causing the men to laugh.

“Yeah, a set of deadly teeth perhaps three inches from his throat? Let him have all the glory and Princess Morgana’s hand too,” Sir Barnes grumbled, sending his friend both a proud and irked glance.

A sudden rustle of leaves and a woman’s yelp followed by a thud caused them all fall silent and turnbattle-ready in a split second, snapping in the direction of noise.

However, there was little need for caution. Their intruder barely appeared dangerous: the peasant woman observed them with wide eyes and forehead scrunched in pain, blossoms of common elder, spilled all around her like precious silks of a gown instead of the worn fabric of the simple shirt, shawl and ankle-length skirt, speaking thousand words of what she had been doing until she had fallen. Her fingers were clutching at her left foot, a clear sign of her ungraceful landing. The tree was by no means tall, but that should not mean the fall was what they could call comfortable.

For a moment, the group of knights stood frozen, rendered speechless as much as the poor woman who found herself face to face with not one but seven of the crown’s most loyal servants.

Steven, perhaps the kindest of them all, was the first to snap from the shock of an unexpected disturbance of their journey, releasing the grip on his sword, never having drawn it from its sheath. He took several long strides to the young woman, instantly capturing her attention.

“My lady, are you quite alright?” Steven inquired, gently as he realized his large frame, accentuated by his armour, might intimidate the poor sweetling.

And yet. Just as the question left his lips and his gaze met hers, he was the one rendered mute all of sudden.

Steven had never seen anyone more clearly, he was certain; and just as sure he was of the fact that no woman could ever hope to encompass sincerity and beauty in her eyes only as the one he was facing at the moment.

Her smile was but a shy little thing, pain masked by gratitude for the knight’s care. He was a handsome one, of robust built but with delicate lines to his face, bright blue irises with a speckle of green, plush lips framed by a short beard; distantly, she imagined his wide shoulders would barely fit the doorframe of her cabin – of her hut, truly. She found the imagery enticing, almost as much as the gentle tone he had spoken with despite his giant frame.

“’Quite aright’ seems accurate, sir. I am not hurting much beyond my left ankle,” she admitted, even as her source of discomfort was evident from her hand still covering the affected area.

Steven’s brows furrowed slightly in worry, yet he made no move, spoke no words, even as his lips parted. Instead, his eyes roamed the woman’s face, searching and fascinated. It was the silence which prompted his comrades to enter the interaction.

“Do you think you can walk?” Sir Wilson asked as he stepped forward – a movement barely acknowledged as the woman did not shift her gaze from Steven still.

“Wobble, perhaps,” she said, the corners of her lips briefly turning downwards. “Could perhaps one of you assist me? I should be most grateful for your chivalry.”

Sir Barnes could scoff at the absurdity of her wording; even as she suggested she would welcome anyone’s aid, her fixation on Steven was ridiculously evident. It almost scared him, how steadily she watched him; even as ladies’ interest in his best friend’s company had increased significantly along with how Steven’s muscles had grown, the way this woman observed him… unsettling him for some reason.

“Oh! We should borrow you the horse for a while-“ Sir Parker – bless him, the youngest and the purest of heart of them all – cried out, soon silenced by a more sombre voice of reason of Sir Barnes.

“Kid, you lose your leg should you put your weight on it now. Believe me, I have almost lost my arm to the same foolishness.”

“…oh.”

“Well, I suppose one of us should support you and walk you to your home,” Sir Barton suggested nonchalantly, preparing to dismount the horse. “The most experienced one of us, perhaps?”

“Truly? Is that so, Clinton?” Sir Wilson questioned as he eyed him, his tone carrying wryness of a man who would not care for nonsense – unless it was one that could earn him a great deal of fun. “Why you?”

“I have a pair of very well-working eyes for one,” the older man uttered, causing sir Maximoff to snicker silently.

“So do I and yet I would never offer!” Sir Lang opposed as soon as he understood the meanings behind Sir Barton’s words. “Must we remind you how inappropriate that would be, since you have a lovely wife and three kids at home?”

“And a knee that knows a rain is coming at least two sunsets ahead?” Sir Barnes added for honestly, the foolishness of Sir Barton’s idea battled the one of the youngling’s.

“Ugh, alright then. Spoilsports.”

Sir Maximoff, unsurprisingly, grinned and shrugged as he stepped forward. “Ah, well, fellas, it seems-“

“I can do it. I can even carry her.”

Sir Barnes sighed, an involuntary reaction to best of comrades choosing this moment to snap from his reverie. Speaking of foolishness.

Not once had Steven’s gaze left the beautiful woman since the very moment he had laid his eyes on her, almost as if he was drawn by ancient power whose pull not even his virtuous heart could resist. The pull had been literal too; while the movements had been subtle, step by step Steven inched closer to the woman, now standing barely three feet from her, way too close even as he had been the first to spring forward.

Sir Barnes would be amazed and certainly more than amused at his friend’s antics, had it not been for the fact the scene was as fascinating as disconcerting. For a myriad of reasons. Beginning with-

“You are injured as well,” Sir Wilson noted pointedly.

Sir Wilson appeared to be the only of the men aside from Sir Barnes who had not lost all reason in the midst of all of them having acquired an expression of awe and smugness. In all fairness, the reaction of the knights was nothing short of understandable, for Steven, Sir Rogers, who had kept from many women who had been rather literally battling for his attention, seemed enamoured all of sudden. And of all creatures, enamoured by a beautiful, yet the most ordinary of women. He appeared if not utterly lost to the fabled love at first sight, then certainly lost enough to abandon all reason.

“Oh no, if you are severely injured, I could not possibly-“ the woman resisted, gathering her skirt in attempt to stand up as if to prove she was considerably less inconvenienced by absence of aid than it had originally appeared.

Naturally, her efforts were doomed to failure – and just as naturally, Steve had been there to catch her, promptly supporting her weight. She had barely caught herself, one palm flat against his chest, the other on his bicep, lips parted in silent surprise; and much to the amusement of all knights, in awe of his strength.

Sir Rogers was certainly not the only one of the pair who appeared smitten.

“Thank you, good Sir.”

“Sir Steven Rogers, my lady. I should be happy to aid you,” he pronounced, the words ‘with anything’ unsaid but clearly implied as he helped her straighten up as much as her own injury allowed. “I have not been injured severely. Worry not.”

Needless to say, Sir Barnes would argue; bruised ribs, several cuts, more so when one of them sat right above his brow, should be considered severe enough not to carry a woman in his arms… particularly when these injuries were coupled with a heavy blow to the head. Before, Sir Barnes had not been sure how strong of a hit Steven had taken, but now, seeing how absent of any common sense Steven was-

Ah. His best friend was being quite himself, now that Sir Barnes thought of it.  

“…so we are to ignore there are at least three better candidates whose ribs are not bruised or-“ Peter muttered in low voice to his companions, all but earning a warning slap to his healthy leg as Sir Lang gently shushed him, himself charmed by the romantic ballad-worthy scene in front of them.

“Seeing as she does, I suppose we do too,” Sir Maximoff scoffed lowly, tilting his head to side as he observed his comrade, suddenly frowning, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And so does he. Is he alright? He looks… strange. Has any of you put something in his water?”

“You are saying this as if you were not as miffed about him being chosen by her as I am,” Sir Barton huffed, sourness turning into humour at the other man’s misery.

Pietro’s gaze torn away from the pair, their downright love-sick gazes suddenly difficult to watch; it almost felt as if by looking at them, they were prying on an intimate moment. Pietro thought it curious, for he had never had any issues of laughing loud at the displays of affection his fellow knights had offered in the Tower tavern for everyone to see, but he did not want to examine it too hard. He could find joy elsewhere once they had made it to the city, with no shortage of ladies no doubt willing to offer comfort to the heroes of Starkerbürg.

“He is one lucky bastard,” he sighed, patting the horse’s neck, preparing to take off.

“And lucky he might get…” Sir Wilson sing-sang quietly, causing the group to laugh as their gazes once again appreciated the almost palpable spark between the unlikely couple, exchanging knowing glances as the woman gasped when Steven sneaked his arms under her knees and back, lifting her into his arms with ease despite his gear weighting him down.

“Alright, it is settled. We are certain you are safe with Sir Rogers…” Sir Barton called out, entirely ignored by the pair who instead kept observing one another without as much as a blink, as if they could not bear losing even a fraction of the precious time they were given. “For he is-- they are not even listening to me, are they? No one cares about me anymore, I truly must be getting old-”

Sir Barnes sighed again, realization dawning to him; one he should never share with his companions, but one he would for certain inquire about later when Steven returned to the castle.

“We shall move then,” he muttered, beckoning others towards the road, not before sparing the couple a last slightly disapproving glance.

He feared not for his most precious friend’s safety; he only feared for his heart, too big even for the impressive size his body had grown into since his early days as a weakling. At the moment, it was his mind Bucky feared for, since it almost seemed feeble under a spell of a beautiful woman. A spell no one dared to break.

As the group walked away, each of their steps was uncharacteristically silent; until they believed to reach enough of a distance to have a boisterous laugh about Sir Rogers no doubt to be rewarded for his chivalry. The sound bothered not the pair as they smiled at each other softly, the woman’s thumb brushing over Steven’s sternum, covered by worn chainmail.

The simple touch seemed to reach his soul; his breathing, having already eased since he had first caught her, cleared completely, the ache in his bones gone. The woman’s smile widened, silently prompting Steven to start walking. He was not one to hesitate, his feet moving almost of their own volition.

“You are not obliged to carry me,” she said, a teasing note lacing her gentle voice. “I slowed the landing enough. It is nothing but a bruise.”

Steven shook his head, appearing as if he was barely holding back a grin. “But I must, my lady. It is my duty as a knight of Starkerbürg.”

She pursed her lips, one corner lifting in a smirk.

“Oh? Is it so, my good sir? Hm... speaking of knights of Starkerbürg, Sir Rogers,” she emphasized, a playful spark appearing in her eye, “your friends act like children.”

Undignified for a knight for certain – yet who was he to diminish the already scraped reputation of men who truly unsubtly jested about him taking advantage of the very woman in distress he was to help – Steven snorted.

“Don’t I know it.”

“But Samuel might not be wrong…“ she said, voice equally full of amusement and promise. “Set me down, Steven. You must be tired.”

Tired he was not. Not ever since he had met the woman’s eyes moments ago and recognized their beauty and depth as familiar. But who was he to deny a lady?

And a lady she was, for all she was and was not. They might have jested about it together, but in Steven’s mind, she was precisely that and nothing less, no matter what any half-wit of this kingdom would think. Slowly, he lowered her back to her feet, his heart thundering in his ribcage in anticipation as he focused on the sounds surrounding them.

Content with only gentle whisper of the wind and songs of robins for a company, his worn hands cradled the woman’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, heart trembling when she leaned into his touch, her lips brushing his palm.

In return, the tips of her fingers ghosted over his brow, the nasty cut closing at once, without a single sting of pain. She focused on that aspect often, even as she knew he would try and not as much as flinch for her benefit, much like he had not when she healed his ribs earlier.

“Thank you. They must be far enough now, I am sure,” he whispered, stepping closer so their bodies aligned and nearly merged in one. “Do not hide from me, bosorka moja. Let me see you, beautiful.”

Her smile turned a little coy, even as her soul sang at his sweet words. Steven was quite a master of compliments; but not a shameless flirt or a rake. What he said always came from heart; that beautiful, beautiful heart he had sworn belonged to her and never made her question it despite their situation.

“As you wish, good sir,” she whispered, fingertips sliding down his cheekbone, repairing the darkening bruising in their wake, before she turned focus on her own transformation. “Close your eyes, love, release me for just a moment.”

With a sigh of disappointment – but eager to oblige – Steven lifted his hands an inch, missing the lovely heat under his touch at once, and let his eyes slide close. Soft light caressed his skin, flickering behind his closed eyelids as her features shifted, her cloaking spell dispersing.

Steven did not fight the smile tugging at his lips as he allowed himself to open his eyes again just as the glow was dying out, welcomed by the sight of his beloved in her true face. The spell she had casted changed her features but a bit, only enough to protect her from those who would still hunt her upon mere suspicion of her being a magical creature. She appeared just as human as before; but should a half-wit still nursing grudges against magic even century and half since its dark side caused people to suffer ever recognize her as anything else… Steven did not wish to imagine what hell would have been raised; even as it would have been one he would fight to death against.

Indeed, she appeared human even in her true form to most, Steven assumed. Yet, to him, she appeared almost ethereal; she always had. From the very moment she had walked into his life and took his world by gentle storm, slowly nursing him back to health day by day from multiple wounds which would have been his doom. She had risked her own life in process, revealing her talents to anyone, let alone a knight of Starkerbürg, but for a good deed, she had barely even hesitated.

Beautiful, powerful, brave and endlessly kind; and now, by the blessing of gods, even as Steven failed to be a proper gentleman, his.

He let his fingers slide into her hair, tilting her face up to feast his eyes on her features, heart humming pleasantly as only a person who owned it could make it hum.

It was clearer than the skies that she felt just the same. Drawing him close, not waiting for his prompting, she rose to her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers, sweet and healing. No cut was there for her to fix, but it appeared that whenever she kissed him, even with no magic involved as she had claimed, Steven’s often weary soul was lifted.

He followed her lips, earning a hearty chuckle but no protest, a hand on his nape as her fingers curled in his hair as well.

“Bosorka moja,” he said softly against her lips before tasting them again, greedy for every stolen moment, every stolen kiss she was willing to give him.

And she would give him a lifetime, much like he would give his own to her.

But there was not a single reason to do it right where they stood. One more peck to his lips and she escaped his arms sneakily, only to grab at his hand with both of hers, tugging him down the now familiar path.

“Come, rytier moj.”

And so he followed her, without a word of protest. He would follow his heart anywhere.

Their destination was by no means far, they were in no rush. Unbeknownst to Sir Barnes, his thoughts had been precisely on point – the pair of lovers cherished every moment spent together, may it be walking with purpose or wandering.

This day, they chose the former, the hut soon appearing in a barely-there clearing among the trees. Steve’s lips curled in a smile on instinct as despite the humble outside state of the tiny house, he knew what he would find upon entering with his love and lover by his side. A home. Not only hers; theirs. A safe space for their love.

As soon as they entered, the air smelling of herbs and dried meadow flowers, ones he had picked and gifted her the last time he had escaped his knight-bound duties, hit his nostrils and widened his smile. It was met with her own, soft and welcoming, heartbreakingly beautiful; ache echoed in his heart, its emptiness present for the past few days without her suddenly dissolving into nothing.

He brought her hand to his lips, a gentle kiss to her knuckles before releasing her, so they could begin their routine.

From the mountains Wind, dust and defiance is rising I lay your armour to your feet Don’t let my skin get cold at night

Wind from the mountains

Wind, dust and defiance is rising I lay my armour to your feet Don’t let my skin get cold at night

You made your way to the pot, a simple curl of your wrist lighting up a fire to heat the water for tea. Steven’s gaze followed you as he stood by the door, blindly unclasping his belt, putting away his sword and chainmail. He had no need for weapons nor armour in his home; vulnerability in this house was no sign of weakness, but one of strength. It was a privilege he took upon proudly as you were blissfully aware.

Then, you ruminated through your dried herbs in search of chamomile and lavender, even as you knew the exact placement of every single item; once you heard Steven lose his armour and step forward, you looked over your shoulder, offering an unassuming smile – despite assuming quite a lot from the many encounters you had shared before.

“Tea, my love?”

Like clockwork, like the most beautiful habit, you barely got the chance to speak the question before he stood behind you, fingers cradling your chin, angling your head further to meet your lips again, an indulgent smile tasting indulgent smile as neither of you ever believed a tea was to be served. Not yet at least.

Where your first shared kiss after days of being apart tasted of longing, relief and soft smiles, this one tasted of feelings much more primal. Your breath hitched in the briefest surprise at the intensity, yet you responded in earnest, shifting to accommodate his large body, your hands finding purchase of his broad shoulders as soon as you spun around. He rewarded your cooperation with enthusiasm; you yielded to his force with a breathy laugh once he allowed you to retrieve the air he so lovingly stole from your lungs.

“No tea then?”

A hand previously grasping at your hips wrapped around your back to pull you to his chest, three steps leading you to walk backwards until your back brushed the makeshift table, Steven’s lips as urgent as sweet, his beard scratching at your sensitive skin, each breath tickling your lips.

“Would rather drink from your lips, love,” he whispered to your mouth, the only chance for both of you to breathe in before his lips returned. His hold tightened to ground you against his advances, trapping you in a cage of love you could have easily escaped should you wish; yet, you only withdrew for a moment, a cheeky retort on your tongue as your need for him grew with every touch.

“That could be arranged, I believe.”

Glancing up, you were met with his darkened eyes, his hand firm as he held onto your jaw; and yet, his thumb caressed your skin gently, the desire blending into softness and amusement at your bold demeanour. You lifted one corner of your lips in a smirk, gasping when his mouth possessed yours again, teeth tugging at your lower lip, his arm still holding onto your waist – the only thing keeping you from practically laying on the table, his hips pining yours against the hard surface, fingers squeezing your flesh.

Now there was a thought; Steve’s weight rendering you weightless as he’d coax peak after peak from your body laid on the dark wood as an offering to Gods at an altar…

The very thought, however, was fast to dissolve as Steven’s hips rocked into yours, allowing you to feel the outline of his burning need, having you clutch at his shirt as friction teased your throbbing core. He swallowed the needy noise he elicited from your lips, fingers slipping under your shirt, thumb pressing into your skin just above your hipbone as to guide your movements.

You shuddered upon his lips travelling down the column of your throat, teeth grazing skin alongside the hem of your shirt above your collarbone; your hands began their own quest over the hard planes of his body, appreciative of his truly impressive physique. Steven’s fingers roamed as well, caressing and squeezing, your given name but a breathy whisper when his fingertips stroked the underside of your breasts.

You nearly missed his words due to the blissful sensation, but you had heard the silent plea spoken so many times before there was no mistaking it.

“Dance for me, my love?”

Your swollen lips curled in a playful smile as his fingers carded through your hair, kiss brushing your cheek and jaw and finally your mouth again.

“Oh? Is that what you wish for, lover mine?”

His gaze followed the patterns his fingertips whispered over your face as if they were brushes painting the most precious canvas, a curious contradiction to his eager kisses and hardness.

“Would you hold it against me?” he inquired in a hushed voice, stealing yet another kiss from your waiting lips, his nose gently caressing yours before his gaze bore into yours with intensity again, “that I wish to see something so beautiful and so alive after a battle?”

The amusement slipped from your face, features softening as your heart sored at the subtle confession. The knights of Starkerbürg were full of jest and gestures so great they might border on insanity when situation allowed it. Their bravery was a thing of legends, as much of a legend as the thing you knew they had gone to fight days ago and were only now returning, having bested a mythical creature much more vicious and deadly than yourself, crushing life with not more than one bite to a man’s flesh.

Yet, for all their heroism, even knights, even the most precious of them all – even your Steven – felt the disarming fear of death itself, cruel and all too powerful. You would be always be more than willing to remind him of the power of life for a change, until you’d release yours with your last breath.

Ad so the answer was no – no, you would not hold it against him, whatever he would ask. Never him.

Standing on your tiptoes, framing his face with your hands, his whiskers and already messy hair ticking your palms, you told him as much, sealing your deal with a kiss.

Easing his grip, he allowed you to push against chest, easily giving in as you lead him to walk backwards until his calves hit the frame of your bed. He sat down obediently and you leaned into him, stealing another brief peck.

“Please, bosorka moja,” he pleaded once more as your forehead touched his, taking a moment to breathe him in, reminding yourself that both you indeed were still alive; and thus, such victory should be celebrated with joys life itself provided. “Dance for me, my love.”

Smiling, you placed a finger over his lips to shush him at last, gliding several steps back, mischief appearing in your eyes as his own followed your every movement hungrily, more so when you slipped out of your shawl, the shirt far from brushing the waist of the skirt suddenly hanging low on your hips, providing Steve with a silver of skin of your stomach.

There was no music but the howl of the wind carrying the occasional note by chaffinches and dunnocks and rustles of leaves. Yet, an old old melody echoed in your heart, guiding your movements and filling you with power and confidence of all witches that came before you and enchanted men into giving away their kingdom without as much as a fleeting thought, surrendering their strength and their hearts, all that only to be blessed with a single sinful glance, a single touch of magic as old as humanity itself. For a single drop of passion.

You could feel it fill the air, the longing and thirst for life and body, your lover’s eyes turning dark, hypnotized by the simple swirls of your wrists above your head, at your sides, following every slide of the back of your hands over your ribs, over your bare skin, his visceral need to replace your touch with his own. Drinking in but the smallest motions of your hips, breath hitching at the briefest tilt of your head back or to side, his lips tingling to attach themselves to the exposed skin of your throat, to taste, to suck a bruise. The force with which his fists curled into themselves seemed to ignite sparkles in the air, bringing a sensual smile to your lips as you let your eyes slip shut, feeling the energy hum louder when you moved closer; a sweet thunder within you, within Steve, all around you.

The thud of Steve’s knees on the floor came with his hands grasping your hips; needy but not firm, only to feel the slow movements of your hips and allow you to continue swinging freely. You released a breath, head tipping backwards as Steve’s hot lips found the now burning skin of your stomach, nosing his way up an inch at a time, beard tickling, an open-mouthed kiss following and causing you to shudder – with pleasure, with overwhelming power.

“Steven-“

“Keep dancing, bosorka moja,” he hummed into your skin with a pleased smile, teeth grazing over your belly button as if to distract you from his rough but deft fingers slipping under the waist on your skirt, inching it lower and lower until it hit the floor. Cold air brushed over your bare core, Steven’s lips trailing to the junction of your thigh, his smile growing wicked. “I shall help you dance.”

The very first flicker of his tongue over your pearl had you stutter in your movements, a whimper leaving your lips as Steven’s fingers dug deep into your flesh of your sides and thighs, a wordless warning not to cease the dance he had pleaded for. With a shudder of a breath, you willed yourself to continue, naturally rocking onto his hot tongue as it swept over your weeping core with indulgence, stars flashing behind your closed eyelids at the contrast of the slick muscle to the scrapes his beard left behind.

“Steven-“

“Shhh,” your lover whispered, the sound gentle and teasing at once, the pleasant vibration against your sensitive flesh causing your fingers to find way into his hair and grip, only earning another appreciative hum. “Keep dancing, love.”

And so you did. Leaning into the affection so willingly offered, you succumbed to a different kind of dance. Fingers flexing in Steven’s hair upon a particularly smart swirl of his tongue, breathless praise, calls to Gods and desperate pleas for more more more spilling from your lips. Meeting his ministrations without shame; guiding him, opening up for him as the liquid fire of pleasure spread through your veins, turning into an inferno when you found your thigh on his shoulder, completely out of your doing, an instinct to chase relief – but thoroughly appreciated as Steven’s arm circled your bottom, pulling you impossibly close and loving you deep enough to set you on fire entirely.

You let the primal hunger consume you as you climbed to your peak, crying out when you reached it, head spinning from the intensity; waves of bliss washed over you, body pliant and relaxed. You shrieked when you suddenly found yourself losing your footing, for a brief moment frustratingly empty and cold; and then you were spread on the table, your lover’s lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves, burning blue gaze swallowed by lust firmly set on your face as two thick fingers entered you, latching onto the last aftershocks of your peak. You reached a second high with dizzying speed, unable to tear your gaze away from your giving – and so, so wicked – lover. Gods could possess you at that moment and you would have not felt as if you ascended to such heights as you had while indulging on Earthly pleasures with him.

A soft trail of kisses and pets soothed you as you came down, a breathless chuckle bleeding into a sob when you noticed few of your possessions floating in the air, your magic quite literally having exploded outside of you.

Steven’s lips curled into a smile against your jaw and then you were tasting your essence – as well his much-satisfied grin – on your tongue, revelling in the warm weight of his body covering yours. It seemed your Steven had a few magic tricks up his sleeve too, mind-reading being one of them. You smiled into the kiss, using your grip on his hair to pull him even closer. He could never be close enough; and as he stood between your spread legs, his hard bulge brushing against your bare core, his lips and hands eager, you were certain he felt just the same.

“So beautiful for me,” he whispered to your mouth before retreating, darkened eyes sparkling with lust and pride as well as affection.

“And yours,” you hummed, fingers raking through his beard appreciatively, chuckling when fresh hunger flashed in his pupils. Oh how possessive your knight could be… how much joy it brought you to tease him. “Should I show you?”

A breathy yes was your only answer and so you gripped his shirt, using the fabric for leverage to you sit up. You kissed him again, hands sliding under his garments, gliding over his stomach, your magic flowing freely and healing whichever injuries you had missed earlier.

Easily ridding him of his shirt and pants in between sweet encounters of lips and shedding your clothes as well, you wrapped your legs around his waist, a faint whisper of ‘bed’ enough to have him pick you up without protest; on contrary, with quite the enthusiasm since his hardness throbbed when you led him to sit down with you in his lap.

“Missed you… love you… need you,” you confessed, his breathy voice echoing your sentiments as your lips brushed over every patch of his skin in reach, fingers wrapping around him and guiding him inside you, bliss surrounding you both when you finally sank yourself down his length in one fluid movement.

You rested your forehead against his and simply breathed, living in the moment of utter bliss; a different kind, not the almost primitive one, no, not the wild one. This moment belonged to serenity. Sharing air and warmth with your lover, tender hands appreciating the wide planes of his muscles, strength radiating from flesh and soul alike. And love. Always love.

As if he was able to read your mind once more, his lips sought out yours, a declaration of love indeed, simple, honest and unyielding. His thumb gently traced the pattern of your tattoo, its ink reaching from behind your ear over the side on your neck, a swirl over your left collarbone and spreading over your shoulder. I love you as you are, for all you are, his touch whispered even as no sound left his lips. And even if you felt no shame for your nature, your Steven’s acceptance caressed your soul as did his diligence; not once he had forgotten his ritual of reminding you that with him, your existence was not merely tolerated – but adored and celebrated. When you first understood the significance of this habit of his, tears had stung your eyes, kissed away before they could roll down your cheeks.

“Ľúbim ťa,” you had breathed out then, a love confession in the old language, and ever since, you had not failed to say it once in response to his gesture.

Then, rough fingertips carefully followed the line of a fine silver chain carrying a tear-shaped indigo sapphire, a token of affection usually hidden from plain sight, protected; a promise of faithfulness even as you remained unwed. You had no need for gemstones, but you understood its importance, the significance of the gesture; it made for your heart warm and safe upon its possession and for Steven’s heart lighter a pound of the burden of your circumstance.

Your circumstance was not one of the simple ones, a forbidden love one might say; in which you were the only forbidden thing. Forbidden to even live, let alone love or be loved; an abomination to some. A magic wielder, no doubt seducing the most honourable with her dark powers, for what other reason could be there for him to take liking in you? It mattered not that there was less than a little true to it, that your bond was of much purer nature, as common and as human as the blood you drew from your own veins to cast protection spells over your beloved. True did not matter. Should you reveal your relationship now, Steven would have been painted a victim; and you would have lived no more.

An easy circumstance yours was not at all; but your dedication to each other was to conquer all troubles. And in the meantime, you shall have moments of serenity and of passion, of you and him.

The smallest shift of Steven’s hand pulled from your thoughts, breath hitching when his fingers slid an inch lower, brushing over your nipple. Your hips buckled on instinct, drawing a groan from your lover’s lips, a grip on your bottom encouraging you to move.

Who were you to deny pleasure to you both?

Smiling, you withdrew, index finger covering Steve’s lips as he tried to follow, a discontent furrow to his brow. You tilted your head, thumb brushing over his swollen lips.

“Would you like me to dance still, lover mine?” you inquired teasingly, his disapproval at your actions wiped away in an instant, replaced by fire in his eyes.

Gentle flames of affection battled those of desire, his warm palm caressing over your lower cheeks, before he snapped you impossibly close, causing you to gasp – and to question who it was who had the upper hand here. Your hand fell to his chest, his heart beating wildly under your palm, an answer of its own.

Both then. It seemed you were both on top and simultaneously under the other’s thumb. Such a beautiful thing.  

“Would you, bosorka moja?”

Your smile grew, lips attaching to his once more and planning to remain for as long as possible, first careful rock of your hips the first step to reach for the stars – together this time.

“Oh Steven… for my honourable knight? For you, my love? With pleasure…”

An absent smile played on Steve’s lips, his fingers running up and down your arm, appreciating the softness and warmth of your skin. An air of comfort and contentedness hovered around you as he held you close, fast asleep in his arms, cheek pressed to his chest as if the very sound of his heart against your ear lulled you to peaceful slumber.

Despite the sweetness of the idea, Steve felt his brows furrow in concern. While as he was perfectly happy to serve as a pillow for his beautiful lover, aware there was barely any greater expression of trust than a shared sleep, worry seized him for this occurrence was beyond rare. He once asked whether your incredible magic was an effortless as you made it seem, met with a weary chuckle and a kind, if a little condescending smile and a confession that if seen weak, your kind would have been an easy prey. Having understood he had taken your answer as a testimony to the lack of trust you had laid in him, you had also admitted that while the teachings of your ancestors had been deeply ingrained in your instincts, part of your reluctance to show your weakness to him was precisely what weighted his conscience just now. You simply could not be bothered to make him fret too much.

The fact you had let sleep take you alone was truly worrisome and Steve pondered just how exhausted you must have been. Even as the fresh memory of your breathless pleas for more and the cries of pleasure as you rode him till you both tasted heaven were nothing short of precious to him, he could not but wonder whether he was taking too much; your magic healing his wounds, your body a sanctuary to his love and fears.

Perhaps he had. But who could ever blame him?

Steven had never known a woman like this – unafraid to give, just as unshy to take; one or the other, but never like this. He had fallen for you and had fallen hard, body and soul. Yes, should anyone call him selfish, they would not be wrong, because Gods, did he take what he craved and lusted – and yet. Yet, every moment with you felt ethereally right as your still unconscious form drifted closer, almost as if you sensed his thoughts and wished for them to evaporate. And so far, they always had, dissolved in your easy smile when you refused his offer and plea to come with him; to bring you to the castle with him so he could give as well, give more, provide and protect and worship you in his home, your new home, true home where you would not have to hide in the middle of the woods like some sort of an abomination.

It is not the time yet, my love. It will come, you would always say, washing away his guilt with a sweet kiss and a promise. One day. One day I shall come with you and we should be unabashedly happy with no fear, free to be you and me.

He had let your words and touch sooth him, always; but not today. Your body having melted into his had his protective instinct flare up, determination set in his very heart. He should convince you today, to make you his and him yours as two people in love deserved. He shall make an honest woman of you in the eyes of the whole kingdom at last. It was what you were worthy of, for you were worthy of anything and everything. And with you… he believed he deserved the same. He could not stand it anymore. Parting ways with you, only to hope for your next stolen moment to come the very minute after he had left. He could no longer bear you existing so close and yet so far out of his reach.

No, he shall convince you today, insist more than ever. He wanted this, he wished for nothing more than to lay to sleep like this every night, with you. You deserved it. You deserved the world and he shall lay it to your feet, for his honour and his benefit at once.

Any other day, you would have berated yourself for having fallen asleep; but knowing the changes your body was going through, weariness settling in sooner than it used to, it only brought a smile to your face when you found yourself waking to Steven’s tender fingers carding through your hair.

The night was slowly falling. Wandering the woods in darkness would have been an unnecessary risk for anyone, even for a skilled knight with your protective spell over him;  your lover was more than aware of it and still, you could tell it pained him to bring you out of your slumber nevertheless. It was no feat to kiss his guilt away, smiles adorning your faces, noses caressing, hands wandering, nearly leading you back into the clutches of lust.

He sat patiently on your bed now, half dressed as you took your blade, his eyes following your every move with more attention than ever as he absently sipped chamomile tea; he found himself deep in thought, such was obvious. It was not difficult to guess where his mind had trailed off to, for it had always been the same.

His voice was soft when he spoke the words, a soft wrinkle on his forehead as your cut your finger and stood between his spread legs.

“Come with me.”

A sad smile played in the corner of your lips as your heart fluttered at his plea, one he never failed to deliver, even as your sigh must have sounded weary every time.

“I cannot. Not yet.”

Steven was no half-wit, which was more than could said about many of the people of Starkerbürg. He knew precisely why you could not come; why you never could, at least not yet. Magic was still forbidden – as if it was a choice, as if one could choose to stop breathing and still live – hated for the pain and destruction the dark twisted witches and sorcerers had once left in their wake, misusing magic to spread fear and suffering. It was not just that all magic wielders were still paying the price for what their ancestors had done. It was even less just that you, not having done any harm unless you needed to escape imminent danger to your life, should live a hermit life, too far from your love and lover. Yet it was how times were, still.

But you were no fool either. You could feel Steven’s uneasiness growing heavier every time he left without you, for it went against his very nature, against the need to keep you close, to hold you, to love – to protect you from harm. You had no doubt he would lay his life for you. You could not allow him to do that, not when the time was finally growing near for your love to be cherished as any other, time for your kind to be free. You must not lose him to rushed foolishness. He was no longer only yours to lose.

“I would protect you,” he promised, steely conviction in his husky voice.

As sweet as the sentiment was, you could not but smirk, a knowing gaze reminding him that should the situation require it, you could very well protect yourself, even as your true gift – the one special talent every magic wielder had, naturally developed with barely any practice – was of the healing kind. Should you truly wished, you could burn villages with terrifying ease; gods knew sorcerers and sorceresses had done this and more with a single snap of their fingers.

Steve took no offence in your teasing gaze; but the determination in his own remained unshaken as you begun to draw the protective symbol over his sternum.

“The time is yet come for people to understand the blessings of magic again, for its light to outshine the darkness it had sowed,” you reasoned, as much as it pained you. “The time shall come soon, I promise. It is simply not today, my love.”

Long fingers circled your wrist, gentle but firm, having you cease your movement, your gaze meeting the brilliant blue roaming over your face.

“I miss you. All days, all nights. I-“ he paused, licking his lips, a shadow of hurt passing over his face. “Don’t you?”

Your heart soared, a sigh leaving your lips. Steven was not easy on you today; but your conviction and determination was just as strong as his. You had to be brave and so did he. A few days longer, that would be all you needed. The right time would come. You were certain of it, even as it was nothing but a whisper of intuition in the back of your mind. Wait, the voice said, the time grows near, but you must wait.

“Do not do this, rytier moj,” you scolded Steven, letting gentleness seep into your voice. “It does not suit you. You must know I love you. I miss you too. And I worry. All days. All nights. Therefore…”

You wiggled your fingers, Steven’s shoulders sagging as he released you, an exasperated pout to his lips – unjustly adorable – as you resumed your work. You smiled widely despite your unnerving circumstance; he would give you anything and everything. The knowledge of this, having been reminded by every little gesture, every word he spoke, made for the warmest feeling in your soul.

Content with your handiwork as you drew the last spiral, you had to swallow a chuckle when Steven’s brows furrowed in confusion, head bowing, eyes flickering over the unfamiliar pattern. A triskele instead of a simple two-headed spiral. A symbol speaking more words than your knight could ever imagine in his wildest dreams, you supposed.  

“It’s different.”

Shrugging, you withdrew your hand, calling to your magic to finish the ritual.

“You always draw two spirals connected…” Steve continued, eyes growing large and curious.

“I do”, you agreed softly.

He observed you, intrigued. He had once said he might not understand your power, but he swore he would always try. He would not dare to question your rituals, but you could almost feel how fast his thoughts whirled in a frantic search for an answer. The ritual had remained the same, always, countless times, over and over… why would you steer from it today of all days? What was its significance? What had changed?

Oh Steven. Your sweet, sweet Steven… if he only knew.

“You always say it is about love. The unity of us. You and me,” he said slowly and you nodded, unable to contain your joy any longer, eyes surely glimmering.

“Yes. Our love, you and me. Unity of two.”

His eyes, roaming your face in silent question still, suddenly widened, flickering down and snapping back up as the realization dawned on him, leaving his lips slightly parted.

You simply shrugged, a chuckle shaking your chest, while guilt already began to gnaw at your conscience. You should have not told him, not yet. But how could you have kept it for yourself? How could you have denied yourself a little indulgence, even when knowing nothing could change just yet? You simply wished to see him learn your sweet secret, yours and his, even if for a moment, see he was equally elated.

Your knight did not disappoint you, not that you believed he ever could. His face was a perfect blend of shock and delight, radiating joy and hope and shame and sadness in equal amount as he stammered, shaky hand reaching out to carefully brush his fingers over your belly showing no signs of the treasure growing inside yet.

“You- are you—are we? Oh gods-“ And then, as you predicted, his expression shifted in an instant, determination taking deep root. “Then you must come with me. Allow me to take care of you, to-“

Satisfied and aching at once, you promptly shushed him with your still bloody finger to his lips. A single tear rolled down your cheek; a testimony to happiness, reassured anew of your lover’s goodness and dedication to you. To your family. The wonder, the glimmer of hope and the conviction in Steven’s expression would stay with you till you could grant him his wish.

“The time has not yet come, my love. I share your joy. And your worry,” you whispered through the tightness of your throat, even as a smile adorned your lips. Your finger drew a small cross over his mouth despite the pain it caused you. You had had your moment – and that had to be enough for now. “I am sorry, rytier moj. But you shall not remember this, not yet.”  

Before he could as much as take a breath, you withdrew your hand, the symbols on his chest and lips disappearing with a soft glow. Disoriented, your knight blinked, steadying himself by the hand on your hip even as he remained seated.

With a shaky inhale you composed yourself before he could, leaning forward and planting a tender kiss on his lips, fingers raking through his hair. His hand cradled your jaw, adoring.

“Be careful,” you spoke against his lips, earning another small peck.

“Always.”

You retreated with a huff, shaking your head as you went to find an ointment you knew his friend would soon need.

“You speak as if I did not know you, Steven. A basilisk chimera’s teeth three inches from your throat, I heard? Careful indeed.”

His smile was sheepish as he rose to his full height, tying the top of his shirt before reaching for the garments you had so hastily rid him of earlier.

“I always try. The idea that should I fail, I shall never see you again… it can be quite a motivation,” he sweet-talked, succeeding just a bit in softening your exasperation.

Perhaps the vision of him dutifully putting on his armour, making his frame appear even larger – and protected – calmed you further.

“Well, Steven, try harder,” you snipped, pressing a tiny pot into his hand, earning a raised brow. “And take this to Peter, the wound on his leg was already turning foul. And this…”

You reached for a salve you had prepared for when a wave of nausea had taken you by surprise, dipped your finger in the dark substance and carefully patted it over Steven’s brow where his cut had been. You did not expect Steven to feel nauseous – after all he was not the one carrying a new life under his heart – but the colour was convenient. A cut healing so rapidly would have casted a dangerous suspicion on whoever he had interacted with – or worse, on Steven himself. You could not have that.

He observed you softly as you tended to him, adding a small tap where a bruise had begun to form earlier on his cheekbone. He did not utter a word until you were satisfied with your work. Once your hands fell to your sides, his own framed your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your nose and finally your mouth again, a bittersweet goodbye.

“Always so meticulous and careful… always so good. Taking care of me, of my friends…” he mused, breathing you in one last time, hovering, hesitating more than usual. Almost, almost as if your spell had not worked and he still knew. As if he still knew precisely what he was leaving behind this time. “Take care of the person most precious to me too? Until I come back again?”

There might be two of those for you now, you thought, the memory of his delight flashing in your mind, bringing a smile to your lips as you nuzzled into his touch and kissed his palm.

Looking up at his face, you echoed his own reassurance. “Always.”

With one last kiss and hearts as heavy as light, you declared your love to each other. You walked him out quietly, watching him disappear between the trees, his gaze turning to you several times, always finding you standing at the doorstep of his true home, a tender smile on your lips.

Once he was out of sight, you released a sigh, hand settling over your belly, a tear stinging in your eye despite the corners of your lips having been turn upwards.

Yes. The time was yet to come for the people to see again the blessings of magic. For now… the blessing of love already bloomed and it was enough.

Očaruj mě (a fic with the same pairing in the same universe)

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this one

Complete masterlist

Yes, I’m mixing symbols, I know… do I care? Nope.

Terms of endearment/addressing used from Slovak language: bosorka moja = witch mine rytier môj = knight mine ľubim ťa = I love you

Thank you for reading!💕 I wrote it in between really difficult exams in the ocourse of two months and it needed a LOT of editing afterwards too, so... feedback is, as always, appreciated 🥰

[cophene]

24 || * • ° protocol concerning broken hearts

previous chapter || author's note || table of contents

pairing : ohshc x gn reader summary : perhaps no one at ouran is more qualified to deal with a broken heart than the host club. with a student’s heartbreak painfully obvious to everyone but themself, the host club takes it upon themselves to remedy that. all against that student’s better judgement. notes : multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 2.5k+

You had made it very clear that you didn’t want anything out of the ordinary for your last day at the Host Club. You just wanted to go about club activities like usual and maybe have a small announcement at the end of the day that you would no longer be a host. The Mori debacle had thankfully died out over the weekend; you didn’t want to stir things up again. Just a nice, quiet afternoon with the Host Club before you ducked out. 

But you knew as soon as you opened the music room doors and a swirl of confetti that greeted you that you would not be having a nice, quiet afternoon. 

“Happy Last Day!” The cheer was so loud you actually stumbled back a step. You opened the door wider to find the music room absolutely packed. Every single one of the Host Club’s guests must have shown up today.

There was raucous applause and cheering, and more confetti rained down on you. A piece stabbed you in the eye and you swore under your breath.

In a choreographed movement, the crowd parted down the middle, revealing a scarlet carpet running length of the room. At its end was Tamaki, sprawled over a throne like an errant prince. 

He smiled at you, his violet eyes gleaming. Extending a graceful hand, he said, “Come forward, my fair knight.”

Well. This was something. 

You shuffled forward, only now realizing that everyone was in various states of royal dress, wide dresses and cravats and waistcoats. Kyoya wasn’t going to scold you for forgetting your costume, was he? You hadn’t even known you were supposed to dress up today.

You finally stopped in front of Tamaki, your scalp prickling from the weight of everyone’s stares. Fanned out on either side of Tamaki were the hosts, their armour practically blinding you. If the twins were supposed to have given you your own suit of armour, they hadn’t delivered.

Someone coughed pointedly. You glanced around, then noticed Renge mouthing at you to kneel. You did so.

“You have served us well during your tenure here,” Tamaki began. His voice rang around the room. “In your time as our Tragic Host, you have upheld the tenets of the Host Club, consistently displaying the qualities of an engaging, considerate host. You have been kind and courteous, and no one can deny that you have been a paragon of manner and class.” 

Your mouth twitched. This sounded familiar. Kyoya had probably written this script for Tamaki, even though you had never once cracked open his obscenely large handbook folder.

Tamaki caught your eye and seemed to hide a laugh. 

“You have been a joy to have around, and we’ll be sad to see you go. We wish you the best in all of your future endeavours. You will always have a place here at the Host Club.”

You just managed to stifle a gasp as Kyoya languidly passed Tamaki a sword. He lightly rested the blade on each of your shoulders before bidding you to rise.

“Henceforth you will bear the seal of the Host Club. Let it be known that you will always be under our protection, no matter the circumstance.”

Everyone broke out into applause as the twins stepped forward and slipped a sash over your head. It was a bizarre mix between beauty pageant and medieval knighting, but you decided not to question it.

An expectant hush descended on the room as you turned to face the crowd. You didn’t have anything prepared, but it seemed right to say something just then.

“Well, um, hey everyone. I’m L/N Y/N, but if you've been around lately, you probably know me as the Tragic Type host.” How did Keiji just get up and do this everyday? It was too difficult to face the guests, so you turned around to look at the hosts instead.

“I actually joined the Host Club while I was having a pretty rough time. I wasn’t feeling the greatest, and that’s where my host persona came from. If I’m being honest, there were some times when I wasn’t acting, and I genuinely was feeling that miserable.

“The Host Club thought they would be able to help me. That they would help me feel like myself again. I never believed them. To be honest, they seemed like the last people who should be helping me.”

A few guests laughed. Haruhi smiled but Renge looked furious.

“But the more time I spent with the Host Club, the more I realized that they were serious. They’re perceptive and considerate and caring. They push you when you need to be, but they look out for you. They’ll have your back and make you laugh and they’ll just—” Your tongue stalled for a beat as it hit you all at once. Everything the Host Club had done for you, intentional or otherwise. You hadn’t realized it, but the moment you had stepped into Music Room 3, the entire Host Club had been in your corner. 

“They’ll put you back together again,” you said, probably too quietly for anyone but the hosts to hear. “They’ll believe in you.”

Honey and Renge were trying not to cry. Mori might have sniffled but you had probably imagined it. Kaoru was hiding his mouth behind his hand and Hikaru was staring fixedly at his shoes. Haruhi’s smile trembled and for once, Kyoya actually seemed to admire what you were saying.

And Tamaki’s expression was so full of feeling it tugged on your heart.

“Thank you for everything, guys,” you said, smiling wide. “You and this ridiculous club.” 

And then, before any tears started flowing, you clapped your hands together. “Alright, enough of the sappiness. Let’s get on with the hosting.”

You found Renge near the windows, fanning herself with a hilariously large fan. You remembered wanting to curse her name into the ground but now you felt a stilted affection for her. Like how you felt about a prickly tarantula, maybe. 

“Renge, can I hug you?”

Renge made a face. “Heavens, no. That would be unseemly for a society lady.” 

You scoffed and pulled Renge into a hug. She protested weakly but hugged you back.

“You know, if it weren’t for you, I never would have joined the Host Club.”

“I know. You should name your firstborn after me.”

“That is a no, but regardless, thank you for being manipulative and guilt tripping me.”

“You’re welcome!” Renge blinked. “Wait, what?”

You laughed. “I owe you one, Renge.”

“Why don’t you just fall in love with another devastating young man with beautiful hair? Then we could do this all over again.”

“I will never understand what goes on in that head of yours.”

“It’s part of my feminine mystique.”

“It’s part of something alright.”

You had to wait for the perfect moment, but at last, Hikaru propped his elbow on Kaoru’s shoulder like you knew he would and you pounced, wrestling the two of them into one of your volleyball tackles.

“Since when are you allowed to kill people on your last day?” Kaoru gasped.

“Manslaughter is not going to look good on your record,” Hikaru wheezed.

You tousled the twins’ hair, probably harder than strictly necessary. “I might actually miss you two during volleyball season. I won’t have anyone to harass my sanity anymore.”

“It was our pleasure,” Karou said with mock gravitas.

“It was our duty, actually,” Hikaru sniffed.

The twins twisted out of your grasp. You watched, amused, as they both flipped a cap onto their heads.

“We realize you never got to do this—” one of the twins said, 

“—so let’s play the Which One is Hikaru Game!” the other twin finished.

“Oh no,” you said flatly. “I can’t see which way you parted your hair. How will I ever know who is who?”

The twins each raised an eyebrow. You shook your head, smiling, then pointed to the left. “Well, I guess this one is Kaoru, and this one is Hikaru. Hikaru is going to tell me I’m wrong, and then Kaoru is going to tell me to try again.”

The twins looked at each other. 

“You can really tell, can’t you?” Kaoru said softly.

You gave a jaunty shrug. “Nope. Just a lucky guess.”

As soon as Haruhi’s guest left, you slipped into the seat across from her. Her face brightened as she reached for the pot of tea but you beat her to it.

“You’re always the one pouring tea. Let me do it for once.”

“So it’s your last day,” she said, accepting the cup and saucer you gave her. “How are you feeling?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be knighted, but honestly, I’m not too sad. I’ll still stop by to visit you guys. And despite everything, you’re still my favourite host, Haruhi.”

Haruhi smiled into her cup. “I’m flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be. There’s a reason the “natural” type is so popular.” You smirked. “I can barely find time to talk to you most days.”

“Actually listening to people goes a long way. Most people just want someone there so they can talk.”

“You’re a great listener,” you said quietly. “You actually think about what people say and you’re never judgemental. I could talk to you for hours.”

Haruhi looked at you, her eyes wide. You still thought she had beautiful eyes. They were a reflection of everything she didn’t say.

“I wanted to thank you for being there for me. You got me through a lot of this Keiji stuff--the pillar of reason. I hope the Host Club knows it would fall apart if it weren’t for you.”

Haruhi looked off to the side. “Don’t give me too much credit. Most days I’m not doing anything special.”

“But it’s always more than enough,” you said. You rose from your seat to squeeze her into a side hug. 

“Maybe I should buy one of your pencils from the club auction site so I can you’re really my favourite host.”

“Please don’t,” Haruhi said, pained. “No wonder my pencils keep going missing.”

“I saved you a pastry, Y/N-chan!”

You took the plate from Honey with a grin. “I’m going to miss this. They don’t feed me half as well on the volleyball team.”

“They don’t feed you at all on the volleyball team,” Mori said.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you sure you’re okay, big guy? I feel like I might have dislodged your brains when I fell on you at the gala. You’ve been acting extremely out of character.”

“He was just tired,” Honey insisted. “He’s all back to normal now, right, Taka-chan?”

Mori shrugged. You thought he might have been hiding a smile.

You bit into the flaky pastry and sighed. “I guess I’m supposed to thank the two of you for dragging into the Host Club, huh?”

“I told you everything would work out!” Honey said brightly. “You kept doubting me! If you had given up, you would still be hung up about Keiji!”

“You don’t know that. I probably would have been fine. I definitely wouldn’t have suffered so much public embarrassment.”

“Embarrassment never killed anyone,” Mori said. You punched his arm. 

“Don’t act like half of that embarrassment wasn’t your fault. Anyway, I’m not too wrung up about the two of you. We’re literally going to see each other during Math tomorrow.”

“But you won’t be a host anymore,” Honey said, pouting. “You’re always so busy during volleyball season. We barely ever get to see you.”

“I’ll try my best to visit. Maybe you guys could even come to one of my games?  I bet my coach would like the turnout.”

“That would be fun! I’m a great cheerleader!”

You ruffled Honey’s hair. “For sure.”

Honey ran off then to refill his plate. You were about to get up too when Mori brushed your arm.

“About what happened.”

You tried to hide your spike of nervousness. “Yeah?”

Mori’s gaze was steady. “I didn’t … I didn’t dislike what happened.”

You stared at Mori. He stared at you back and for beat, the two of you were the only ones in the room.

You pulled on a rakish grin. “I hope you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

Mori’s smile was faintly amused. “What am I saying?”

“I don’t really know. But maybe I should find out.”

“Maybe you should.”

You didn’t get a chance to talk to Tamaki or Kyoya until the day was over and guests began clearing out of the music room. As it were, the three of you waved the final guests goodbye, and once Kyoya greeted the crew responsible for dismantling everything, you all  left the academy.

“So what’s my status now?” you asked, Tamaki and Kyoya walking on either side of you. “Honorary Host? Esteemed Guest? You did say I would always have a place in the Host Club.”

“Of course! We can’t have our Tragic Host abandoning us completely!” Tamaki cried.

Kyoya nodded. “You’ll be able to enjoy a twenty-percent discount for each visit.” 

“You’re kidding. I still have to pay? I’m practically one of you guys!”

“If you aren’t a host, you’re a guest. Guests are required to pay.”

“Tamaki!” you whined.

Tamaki squinted at Kyoya. “Well, I suppose if you were to use the Black Magic Room to get into the music room, no one could stop you.”

“This is too much work. I’ll just never visit then.”

“Suit yourself,” Kyoya said coldly. Tamaki made a wounded noise.

Something nudged the back of your mind. You thought it was a silly thing to ask, especially now that everything had wrapped up, but you would always wonder if you didn’t ask.

“I have a question for the two of you.”

“Will horrors never cease?” Kyoya deadpanned.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I mean, maybe I’m thinking about this wrong, but with your heartbreak treatment—did any of that have to do with—did you want to make me fall in love with you?”

Tamaki and Kyoya exchanged glances. A blush began creeping up Tamaki’s face.

“Y/N, do you know what the true purpose of the Host Club is?” Kyoya asked carefully.

“Not in any polite terms, no,” you replied, to which Kyoya rolled his eyes.

“When I first created the club, I only had one goal,” Tamaki said, his voice rueful. He smiled bashfully when you looked at him. “I just wanted to make people happy. That was all.”

It was a ridiculously simple answer that shouldn’t have justified anything. But somehow, it did.

The three of you reached the front entrance. You raised a hand to block the afternoon sunlight.

“If nothing else, I’ll at least give you credit where it’s due. You really did manage to heal my broken heart.”

Tamaki gaped at you. Kyoya’s eyes gleamed triumphantly.

“I’m going to need you to say that again,” he said. “For the record.”

“Is this going into your obscenely large handbook?”

“Of course. I’ve been writing out a protocol concerning broken hearts. You’re going to be the validating evidence.”

“But you didn’t know what you were doing. Mori said I was your first case.”

Kyoya wasn’t smug. He looked pleased. Maybe even happy.

“I had perfect confidence that we would be successful,” he said.

disce end.

─────

© cophene 2024

previous chapter || author's note || table of contents

[brickcentral]

🤩 ARTIST SPOTLIGHT: jcmimoso Hello everyone! It's time to direct the spotlight toward our community members, and today we will get to know better jcmimoso!

"Hello fellow LEGO photographers, my name is Juan Carlos Mimoso. I'm from Spain and I grew up in the 75-80s. When I was a child I never had access to LEGO, due to economic reasons and poor distribution in my area. On the other hand, I did play with Playmobil and also with Exin Castillos bricks, with which I built spectacular castles.

I am currently a Doctor in Primary Care in a health center, and when in 2020 we suffered the COVID-19 pandemic and forced confinement, I continued working. I changed my work in the clinic for work at home and in the clinic, with no limit on hours and with the uncertainty and feeling of not being able to offer everything my patients needed. That caused me a lot of added stress. I had always liked photography, landscapes, macro, etc... and I relaxed by walking to see the world with photographic eyes. Instead, now I found that I was confined and unable to create new content.

My son had a couple of LEGO minifigures and a small set, and I thought it was cool to take a photo with an interesting background and post it on Instagram. And since then, I have been hooked on toy photography. I have seen that there are many colleagues spread around the world, and communities like Brickcentral, where tricks and ways to take the final photo are freely shared.

I took almost all of the photos with an old second-hand Fujifilm X-E2 mirrorless and the little Fujinon 27/2.8 pancake lens with a +2 or +4 close-up filter attached. I like that combination because it is very small and portable. A couple of years ago I added the Fujifilm X-H1 because, although it is a little bigger, it has a flip-up screen, which makes it much easier for me to make low compositions without having to move the whole equipment to check the focus. This year I bought a 1:2 macro (Fujinon 60/2.4) and so far I like the results, although due to work and family issues I haven't been able to take many photos. I hope that changes in a couple of weeks.

My workspace is typically my desk. I use the PC monitor as a background, or if it's a building without any background at all, and I place everything on heavy, thick medicine books so I can use my tabletop tripod at the right height. For lighting I use LED spotlights (Ulanzi VL49 and Lumecube Air), although I have also sometimes taken photos with matchstick lighting.

My compositions are not very large because as soon as I finish the session I have to put away everything that is on the desk so that I can use it to process the result. I usually take several shots with different lighting, aperture and sometimes even stacking photos to give more depth, although I never usually use the whole stack, but only just enough so that the background does not look too sharp. Later I choose the shot I like the most in Lightroom and complete it with Photoshop for basic retouching such as cloning, filters, etc.

I mainly use LEGO minifigures from various series (Marvel, DC, Ninjago…), although you can also see some Playmobil and Star Wars figures. The main type of photography I do is usually related to medieval, fantasy, sword and sorcery environments, among others.

In my posts you can see that I use extensively the Barbarian (series 11) and Viking (series 20) minifigures. I think it's because they don't usually require much post-processing, but also because they remind me of the 'Conan the Barbarian' comics I used to read when I was a kid. It's my humble way of paying a little homage to great artists who have drawn the Cimmerian since the 70s and who bring back so many memories. I recently acquired the Red-Haired Barbarian minifigure (series 25), which I'm sure will co-star in future photos. In fact, the photo I'm showing you today is the first one I've used it for.

Fortunately, over the years, I saved some Exin pieces, and along with others I've gotten lately, I use them extensively in my creations to mix LEGO with Exin Castles and get a more realistic environment. To this I usually mix all kinds of rocks, sand, grasses and other accessories so that it integrates well with the sword and sorcery atmosphere that I usually pursue in my publications. For inspiration I use old comics, game or movie sequences, and anything I see that fits well with my possibilities and knowledge. I have notebooks full of ideas written down for a better occasion, which doesn't always come. I learn a lot from other fellow toy photographers and I'm always looking for new ways to tell the little stories in my photos.

"

Thank you for accepting our invitation and let the community knows you better!

If you want some insights on the exclusive picture and for a better view of the others, head to our blog at https://brickentral.net/.

- @theaphol, Community Outreach Manager

[your-lovely-rose]

“They’re cute” Part 2/2 (Nakime || Request by @cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme)

Rating: Explicit

General genre and genre for this part: Romance || Dark fic

Word count and reading time: ±15.8k (1h)

Pairing: (Biwa Demon) Nakime x Human!Reader

Fandom: Kimetsu no Yaiba

⚠ Warnings for this part of the request: Minor death, Dead bodies, Desecration of a human corpse, Larvae and flies, Blood, Falling into madness, Jealousy and possessive behavior, Mental problems, Presented the character's past (from "Kimetsu no Yaiba Official Fanbook: Kisatsutai Kenbunroku 2"), Forbidden Love/Mutual Pining, || NOT EDITED

Autor’s Note: Okay, so before you read this, listen to me, my reader. The reason why this Request is divided into two parts is that with Nakime I immediately filled the limit of 1k text panels. And also the previous part with Daki and Mukago was light, but here it will be very heavy and dark - I don't even know how it happened because it was supposed to be another fluff. All of them were supposed to be fluffy and light, and each of them with a maximum length of 3k words, of which Daki would be the longest (I expected 9k from the start)! I really have no idea what happened here... I swear! All of a sudden, I felt like it was boring, and I panicked a little bit, and then it got wild. After that I felt like it was boring again, and I kind of forgot the exact request that was... And this was created. I hope the characters aren't too OOC here. I will humbly accept any harsh criticism for this.

➵ “They’re cute” Part 1/2 (Daki & Mukago)

> Nakime Masterlist

➻ Little dictionary:

Zataku (座卓) - is the generic term for this kind of low table.

Hadajuban (肌襦袢, はだじゅばん) - are a type of kimono undergarment traditionally worn underneath the nagajuban. Hadajuban are even further removed from resembling a kimono in construction than the nagajuban; the hadajuban comes in two pieces (a wrap-front top and a skirt), features no collar, and either has tube sleeves or is sleeveless.

Kimono (着物, きもの, lit. "thing to wear") - is a traditional Japanese garment. The kimono is a wrapped-front garment with square sleeves and a rectangular body, and is worn left side wrapped over right, unless the wearer is deceased.

Jitō (地頭) - were medieval territory stewards in Japan. Appointed by the shōgun, jitō managed manors, including national holdings governed by the kokushi or provincial governor.

Okyia (置き屋) - residence maiko or geisha and may be inhabited by several of them. The first step of a woman, who wants to become a geisha is to accept in the okiya. The owner of the geisha house, okāsan (Japanese: "mother"), pays for the upkeep and training of their wards. In return, they give part of their earnings to support the house and other non-geisha residents. Okiya isn't a geisha workplace, they work in teahouses called ochaya.

Geisha (芸者) - in Japan, a woman with artistic skills, entertaining guests with conversation, dancing, singing and playing traditional instruments (e.g. shamisen, koto or shakuhachi). She can also conduct a tea ceremony (chadō) and she's as well-read as oiran. They dressed very modestly, but with taste and boasted sugao, i.e. face without makeup. In the opinion of the Japanese, they were considered the ideal of bijin ("beautiful woman"). Before a woman becomes a geisha, she must pass a six-year maiko period. If a geisha has a permanent partner, she must move out of okiya and okāsan can adopt a geisha. She then gains the privilege of a permanent resident of the house. Her debts to okiya are cancelled, but at the same time all of her income goes to upkeep of the house.

Knock, knock, knock.

A loud knocking sounded in Nakime's head. She knew everything that was going on at Infinity Castle.

She could hear the whistling of air as Kokushibo swings his sword when he practiced, the cries of Douma's victims from his Eternal Paradise as he fed and and where its dangerous snares also reached or the hundreds of footsteps of stray, weak demons wandering through her dimension.

It was her domain, her territory, her kingdom. Her world. She was in charge here, and nothing could surprise her.

And yet she didn't expect it.

She knew it was wrong and also that he knew it too. After all, she had His blood in her and could not hide anything from Him.

If he noticed something, he didn't pay attention to it. He was too busy with his tubes and the reactions going on in the glass vessels. For several hours he worked relentlessly mixing his blood with various substances and despite many failures he still managed to remain calm.

'Still' is the keyword here.

Because even he, after millennia of unsuccessful attempts, could finally lose his patience.

Before the knocking could irritate him, she tugged the strings of biwa and moved to another place, the old washitsu room, where her domain merged with the outside world.

So where?

Here, where the smell of blood and stale liquor still hovered. Here, where everything is familiar, though strangely different from what she has created herself with her art and sound.

And where she didn't like to be. This place confused her - filled her with many emotions that she thought she had buried deep and long time ago in her forgotten past, when she was still human.

Sitting straight on tatami mats, she looked around the traditional Japanese room as if it was her first time. There was not much in it: only a low table, at which still stood a clay glass for sake, and a pitcher lying next to it, the contents of which had spilled on the floor long ago.

The zabuton pillow, which she used to use while sitting and practicing on her beloved instrument, began to rot from spilled rice wine and large blood stains staining the floor around her.

The mats were completely ruined by it and had to be replaced, but this was no longer her problem. It belonged to her old life. Just like this house and the emotions it aroused in her.

Anger, grief and sadness all combine into one, giving her both headache and a tightening of abdomen. The smells irritated her nostrils and burning her esophagus.

She wanted to raze this house to the ground to cut herself off from her pathetic, weak, human self once and for all.

It was not her place now.

That woman was dead. She died in an alley by getting carried away in a sea of endorphins, blinded by pride and overestimated her abilities.

Did she really think she could hurt Him? Stupid, pathetic thinking of a weak human.

She lifted up her slender hand holding the wooden batchi pick tighter, ready to give a full show of her power until another knock pulled her out of trance again.

A quick "knock, knock, knock" sounded in the room this time, and it wasn't so loud when it was not only thundering in her head and had to overcome the distance to her in the air. Through the thin shōji door, she could see the shadow of the figure standing behind them in the rays of the rising sun.

She was about to pull the strings again to snagged the person standing at her door, but she heard how familiar voice called her by a name she no longer recognised, adding the honorary title '-sama'.

This voice... evoked a pleasant feeling in her chest, and before the eye of her mind appeared the image of a human. She could not remember the face, because it was shrouded in a thick mist of forgotten like so many elements of her past, but she knew where she remembered this person from.

This human used to come to her shows. Before she was transformed by Him, she made a living entertaining people with her music.

Although many people (traders, craftsmen) came to relax with the sounds of her instrument, she could not afford much at home. Most of her paycheck was taken by her husband...

He was a gambling addict.

And he lost. Time after time. One loss after another. Until finally he finally went too far, took something precious from her and lost it. That was the last straw.

A black-haired woman grabbed her head trying to interrupt the flow of memories. She plunged her sharp, blue nails into her long hair and unconsciously began pulling on them to distract her from them. Wanting to turn the bitter pain of past wrongs into physical.

She couldn't stand it and... What did she do?

Ah, yes.

She killed him.

Now she remembers it exactly. She used a hammer and smashed his head for losing her only kimono in which she could perform, and then she went on stage as usual.

In her head were the voices of people who began to mock her, and their howl hurt her ears. She felt their malicious, unfavorable gazes judging her poor, useless, holey clothes.

The only other kimono she found in the closet that could replace her previous one.

Although she was frightened and humiliated, she tried not to show it and humbly looked down to somehow escape, to separate herself from them, when her legs were heavy as lead, her feet were planted in the ground.

Then her eyes met the only friendly look. Its owner sat the closest to the wooden stage and did not show her the pity, that you feel for a pathetic dying animal. It would only humiliate her even more. He really felt sorry for her. Those eyes were so sweet and gentle. Looking at them from behind her dark bangs, she began to play.

The slender fingers, on which, despite the long friction and washing, she still felt warm blood, moved themselves along the long neck of the instrument, pressing the appropriate chords and getting out of it as much as she could.

The other hand was not left behind, pulling the strings and creating together an unusual composition, although inside her body she was trembling.

She was afraid they would know. That they might already figure out what she did. The tension in her rose and could be felt in her music. Her hands were shaking and sweat was all over her body, but she never stopped playing.

The sounds were as clear as a calm surface of water in a lake and spread throughout the room hypnotizing everyone.

Despite the loud tones of her biwe, she could hear the audience holding their breath at more tense moments or whispering quietly to each other, covering their mouths with their hands or paper fans.

She had nothing left - no kimono, no means of subsistence, no talent...

When she finished playing the first tune, she felt mentally exhausted. She waited for the first signs of discontent among the crowd, but they remained silent. Uncertainly, she looked up from the floor and saw everyone staring at her like enchanted.

A moment later, someone from the end of the room called for an encore, and the rest of the gathered people follow up him, and then everyone chanted for more and more.

Before anyone had time to notice, the night passed them all like a dream. It was... Her best performance so far.

Tired, but drunk with many applause and praise, panting heavily, she returned to her house. Where the smell of alcohol and blood still hovered.

Her hands were all numb and aching from squeezing strings, when the customers was still called for more. Even the owner asked her after the show if she would come the next night and paid her handsomely for her work. She's never made this much money for one show before.

She was planning on buying herself a new, better kimono tomorrow. Maybe even two.

However, when she got home, all her good mood with blush disappear, when she remembered her problems. Actually, the one that was still lying there like she left him all night.

She had no idea how to dispose of the body. Where would she possibly hide them? How long would it take to find them?

Without more thought, she undressed her last kimono and dragged the inert corpse to the other room, which had previously been her bedroom. There she covered them with a sheet and left them.

She was aware of the stench they were about to emit and what might happen to her in return, but she didn't think about it then.

She resisted them and tried to live as before. With an old rag she tried to wipe away the already dried dark stains of blood with tatami, but no matter how much and how hard she rubbed, they remained.

After bathing in the bowl - wiping herself with a damp piece of fabric, she pulled out another futon and lay down in the living room so she not to have to lie next to the corpse and as soon as her head touched the pillow she fell asleep. The sun was slowly rising over the horizon.

She had no dreams that night.

Still hoping for a better day, she got up late in the afternoon and, as she had planned, went out to buy a new outfit.

However, already on the threshold of the house she saw a parcel left at her door. The paper, in which the package was wrapped, rustled when she took it in her hands and after tearing a hole in it she saw inside a beautiful dark material.

It was kimono with silver thread embroidered patterns and multicolored flowers. Among them, she recognized red tsubaki, light pink sakura, purple sakurasou and white ume.

It was beautiful and certainly expensive. She thought it might have cost even more than her paycheck yesterday.

Who could have given it to her?

She'd been offered a patron or danna-san, but she wasn't a geisha. She never went to special schools and was never a maiko. And she's already married, which is unacceptable to a geisha.

Nor was she weak or pathetic enough to accept alms. She could take care of herself and earn money.

But unfortunately, when she returned to the venue in the evening full of energy, her performances were not as unusual as before...

Even though the place was full of people, even though she was wearing a new kimono - a simple, dark brown kimono that she bought the same day from an older woman who ran her own store - and she was calmer than last time, she didn't do so well.

No matter how hard she tried and how much her fingers hurt from the strings after all, she couldn't repeat the success of the night before.

When she finished the first song she looked at the crowd and saw people whispering to each other with disgruntled faces, and the owner looked at her with doubt. Among those closest to her, she even saw a few looking at her with worry written on their faces.

Hoping to improve the situation, she tried again and again, but it was... mediocre. And that was until she started getting nervous and making amateur mistakes.

Anxiety and cold sweat overwhelmed her more and more as she confused the chords or made unclean sounds by improperly pressing the strings. She didn't know what was going on.

Feeling like she was fooling herself, she finished her show earlier than the night before and left. Or rather, she ran away.

She had to get out, she just had to get as far away from them as she could. She felt small under the weight of their eyes and that she was suffocating from the tension.

On the way home, she heard someone calling her. She pretended not to hear the voice, but the pushy person stopped suddenly in front of her, consciously or not, blocking her way back home.

She recognized the person as a client from the place closest to the stage. This was the same customer, who was the only one who looked at her with compassion during her performance last night and today looked worried about her condition.

"May I have a moment?" You asked kindly, bowing and introducing yourself. You was still breathing heavily from running after her.

She think that you have to even fall in the mud, which could be indicated by your dirty clothes on the right side and your wet sleeve.

She didn't want to talk to stranger, but out of courtesy she decided to see what do you wanted from her.

"I saw your performance, and I'd like to ask... Is everything all right?"

"In what sense?"

"During the first performance, you came in a ruined clothes, and today..." You stopped, not knowing how to define today's fiasco.

"Everything is fine, please do not make any more insinuations."

"My apologies, I didn't mean to offend you," you said, trying to defend and not upset the woman even more. It wasn't your intention at all.

"So leave me alone now."

Nakime walked around you and was about to left you behind her back, but you showed up right next to her.

"Could I at least walk you home? It's dangerous to walk alone at night," you said, fall into step with her.

She only answered you with a short, sharp "no" and sped up her step even more. You did the same thing, getting on her nerves.

"Then may I at least ask why you did not wear that kimono?"

"Excuse me?" She asked, but she didn't slow down. She frowned in anger. "So it was you. I do not need anyone's pity or charity."

She said through clenched teeth and her fists until her fingernails left crescent moon prints inside her hand.

"Oh, no! No, that was never my intention! I would never dare!" You defended yourself by raising your hands to your chest as a gesture of submission.

"I do not need this. I can take care of myself."

"I just wanted to help..."

"It is not necessary."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was worried to see you like that. You've never performed like this before..."

Sweating from nerves and feeling the anger of a dark-haired woman, you slowed down until you finally came to a complete stop. She didn't do the same and didn't even notice your confusion. Your last words were echoing in her head.

Does that mean you've been coming to her shows for a long time? How much could you know about her?

After a moment of hesitation, you followed her a few steps after her. The night could be dangerous even for a single man, let alone a woman.

She heard rustling of your shoes on the ground, but she didn't stop to look at you again. She didn't want to pay attention to you, hoping you'd get bored soon.

In the end, you escorted her all the way home.

- - -

On the third night, when she again failed to reach the previous level with her performance, she started lost her mind again.

Everyone seemed to look at her with contempt or regret or as if they knew what she had done. In a hurry, she fled to her home, wanting to hide in the safe four walls as soon as possible, but even they did not give her comfort.

You walked her home quietly again. You haven't said a word to each other, and that's fine. Otherwise, she felt like she'd scratch your eyes out or pull your tongue.

She didn't understand what she had done wrong, why she couldn't play like she did then. Is there something wrong with her instrument? Or is it with her?

In desperation and to get rid of the excess of overwhelming emotions, she began throwing clay, decorative jugs and screaming. She did not know how much time she had spent demolishing the room, but when she finished, she was kneeling sweaty on the mats, breathless and on the verge of collapse.

She's been so busy she hasn't heard your quiet knock. She only noticed you after you asked her through the door if she was okay.

She told you to leave, and despite the silence, she wasn't sure if you'd listened to her.

- - -

The next day, she didn't go on stage. Nor the next one, or even the day after that.

She lay apathetic in the middle of the room among broken glass, her long hair looked like a big pool of black blood and listening to the sound of flies buzzing behind a thin wall. The body must have started to rot and give off that characteristic insipid sweet smell that had not yet reached her.

She didn't feel up to anything, even to eat or drink water. When she heard the silent knock, she thought it was just a dream.

Sleep was no longer her salvation and escape from reality. She felt threatened all the time during it and was even more tired after waking up, until she stopped sleeping. Time slipped her slowly as she saw changes in the light coming through the window under the very roof.

Soon after, she was no longer sure she was still trapped in her sleep. An endless nightmare she can't escape from.

Only after long hours, when finally the thirst began to overwhelm her, she get up to drink from the nearby well.

With a slight trembling on her limp and weak legs, she moved to the door and almost fell over the pitcher standing next to it. The vessel tipped over pouring water around. There was also a bowl with a clay lid on it.

Nakime barely sit on the ground. She got dizzy and feel foggy for a while, but she managed to come to her senses.

She lifted a warm lid, and the strong smell of spices and hot steam from her shoulder struck her face. Then she felt a pain in her stomach, reminding her that she hadn't had anything in her mouth for a long time.

The bowl had ordinary ramen in it. The black-haired woman swallowed the saliva that flowed into her mouth and lifted the overturned jug with some water left in it. Unlike food, it was pleasantly cool moisturizing her dry throat.

She was about to start crying while she was eating. Food has never tasted so good.

Feeling better, she went home leaving empty dishes on the doorstep. She knew who brought it, and she expected you to come back.

The food was warm, which would indicate you were here recently. Did you come earlier to check on her, too? Were there any more meals? How did it feel to see that she didn't touch the food you brought?

She went to sleep again when she was full. She felt tired, but this time her sleep was peaceful. When she woke up, she felt better, so she decided to do something (although she was still weak).

She carefully collected the glass from the tatami mat and ate the scraps of food she found at home. With the money from the show a few days ago, she bought a big bag of rice and some meat in addition to a kimono, so she still had something to eat.

She hasn't touched any more of the dishes you left her. She was grateful for the meal earlier, but when she didn't need it, she wasn't planning on taking any help from you.

But she didn't spend the day just cleaning room and herself up. All this time, she was thinking too.

Why?

Why aren't her performances so good anymore? Why can't he play like that a second time? How was that show different from the others?

And when someone knocked on the door again, she came to the most frightening conclusions.

- - -

Fuku Ogawa stood at the shōji door of one of the houses. He picked up the dishes earlier that day, before it started to get dark. He was a butcher by profession and a friend of yours privately, so after you asked him to deliver the food here, how could he refuse?

Exceptionally, you couldn't do it in person right now. Well, these things happen sometimes - you have plans, but something came up, something happened, and you have to get out of the routine once or twice.

Fuku knocked on the door again. He heard a murmur behind them and the sound of silent footsteps. For a moment he felt a cramp in the abdomen - the discomfort that occurs when something is wrong. A slight anxiety gently fills our mind and body like poison.

Before he could do anything, the door opened and he saw in it a young, beautiful, but also tired woman. She had long, black, damp hair and pale skin. He saw a slight bruise under her eyes pointing to heavy nights and a black kimono with floral embroidery on it - he recognized them because you bought them a few days ago.

She looks surprised. It was certainly not him she expected to see outside the door, but there was nothing he could do about it. He introduced himself briefly and drew a bowl of food and jug of water towards her.

"Who are you?" she asked, ignoring the dishes in front of her. Instead, she grabbed the kimono with one hand and covered herself tightly. The other hand hung loosely, completely tucked into the sleeve.

"A friend," he said again short, hoping to get out of here as soon as possible. There was a slight, insipid smell coming out of the house, which he did not like and this woman make his hair stand on end.

"Could you take this inside?"

She asked and took a step back to let him come in. He didn't want to do it, he was uncomfortable with that woman, but he also didn't want her to accuse him of being rude.

He carefully entered without taking off his shoes and looked around the dark room. He didn't like the fact that there were no candles burning here and the only light that brightened a few meters in came from the full moon behind him.

"Put the dishes on the table."

He heard next to him. In the dim light on the other side of the room, he saw the outline of a low table and moved towards it, still holding the dishes in front of him.

But with every step he smelled a stronger scent in the house and heard the quiet buzz of insects. He knew it from somewhere, but couldn't tell from where.

Tap, tap, tap - her bare feet made on mats until she stood behind him. He could almost feel her heavier breathing on his neck and the smell of the perfume oils she used for her bath.

He was about to turn around and ask whether to bring some candles for her, if she didn’t have any (he just really wanted to get away from here as soon as possible, he wouldn’t come back here again for all the world) when a heavy object fell on his head.

In contrast, all turned white in front of his eyes from pain and he fell with a bang on a wooden piece of furniture, almost breaking it. The wood crackled silently in protest under his weight. The impact was so strong that he passed out almost immediately, but he was still barely conscious.

Then there was another and another. All he knew was what he got before he lost feeling and awareness of what was happening to him. With the remnants of consciousness, he finally knew what was the odor he smelled at home.

It was the smell of rotting meat.

- - -

Nakime kept hitting the man's head with a hammer until she got tired and left a bloody pulp. The remains of the man's hair and gray brain clung to her murder weapon, hand and also splashed on the zataku underneath.

She was trembling. Her breathing became heavier. She did it. Again.

She looked at the biwa standing on the other side of the room, illuminated by the light coming through the folded door. The strings in the cold light looked like silver thread of a spider. They lured her and summoned with their mute voices.

Now she has to go.

She must be in a hurry.

- - -

At night, you couldn't force yourself to show up at any place to have fun and relax a little. You didn't feel like it, even though some of your friends asked you to come.

They wanted to celebrate with you another big order to some remote place in the mountains. The locals were practically cut off from everyone else, which was perfect for you. Every month you were to send them three wagons with basic food and items - vegetables, flour, rice, spices, pasta, meat, materials and much more. You didn't ask where they got the money, it wasn't your part. What mattered was that they paid.

You liked to talk with them about a lot of things and eat with good music, but... you didn't want to. Why? You had your suspicions, even though you weren't entirely sure.

You've been up all night lying in your futon and flipping from side to side. Your head was still playing the tune of the biwa from a few days ago.

You felt thirsty in the desert. Like a drug addict in rehab. Like a believer who's starting to miss the presence of his God.

But what could you do when your only cure was gone?

Hours went by and you couldn't sleep. You couldn't think either, because your thoughts were filled with one person and their music.

You could've tried to run away until those feelings died off. Stop showing up in pubs, but how could you escape your own thoughts?

How could you hide from the part of you that loves her?

Loves her?

Yes, you could admit you admired her, but loves?

Surprised, you sat on the mattress and ran your hand over your face. You felt stupid. How old were you to fall in love like a naive teenager?

And yet the pleasant warmth inside you and the butterflies in your belly spoke for themselves. Even your friends noticed that you were different after that woman's performance. They teasing you for it, and you couldn't hide your red face or look them in the eye when you denied it.

Everyone thought she was new in town, but that wasn't true. You've noticed her long time before, because you liked her music, even if it wasn't outstanding.

You liked how she kept calm on stage and was always very restrained and elegant. If it weren't for her modest kimono, you'd think she belonged to the aristocracy.

You suppose that's when the feeling began to sprout inside you like a cherry blossom.

But when she showed up that night - terrified, haggard and wearing an old, torn kimono - all you wanted to do was go up to her and comfort her. Take her away from those eyes that surround her.

But then your eyes met and she started playing. She tugged the strings and as if at the touch of a magic wand all the stress and anxiety went away from her.

Then everyone else ceased to exist for you. You thought you and her were the only one in the room... No, in the whole Empire of Japan, or even in the whole world. It's just you and her.

Time stopped, and you could feel your heart beating with hers heavily breathe. Nothing else existed at that time - just you and her, and her music.

When she was done, the spell burst like a soap bubble. Suddenly other people appeared around you again and time went on its normal course.

Yes, it was then that the seed sown in your heart fully blossomed during that one song and gave birth to ripe fruit.

You listened to the rest of her performance breathless and with red cheeks, like she was playing just for you.

It was stupid to think so - she probably had no idea you existed, but there was nothing you could do about it. Everyone likes to dream and think they are special to someone.

So why should you be the exception? Besides, no one will know, it's just your thoughts anyway. Your own private place where you can hide when reality is too hard.

You opened the wooden shutters on a dark night. The moon was hidden far behind the clouds, and you couldn't even see the stars from here. In the background you could hear the quiet life of the insects and the sound of the wind running through the tall grasses.

She doesn't show up for some reason and she doesn't accept your presents.

When you gave her a kimono, you didn't mean to be rude or make it look like you felt pity for her. Same as when you brought her food. You really wanted to help her, but she was too proud.

You were worried about her.

You went out on the wooden engawa at the back of the house and sat down looking out over the meadows and the dark forest towers over the town.

If you wanted to, you could move to a bigger city. Maybe Osaka or Kobe? You could try your luck there. Open a new business of your own. Then maybe you could even afford an apartment in Tokyo? Or not, you don't think downtown would be a good place, it would be crowded. Maybe in one of its neighborhoods? Asakusa? Or Yoshiwara? You could meet a real Geisha or Oiran–...

"No, that's stupid." You scolded yourself in your thoughts. You'll act like a coward, and running away won't bring you anything, but a stain of pride and honor.

You'll keep thinking back here to her. Even if you leave, your heart will stay with her bleeding, because she won't even look at you.

The night was peaceful and quiet. The noise and singing of the wind dancing among tall grasses and branches of trees suppressed other sounds.

Your night passed slowly, looking at the full silver moon as it came out from behind the thick clouds.

Smelled like before the rain. Fuku would say, looking at a scene like this, it's going to be a tragedy. He's always been very superstitious.

But you were here alone.

The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?

You thought you heard her music from afar, but it was too quiet to be considered real.

- - -

The next morning, your friend find you in front of the house. Initially, you expected to see drunk Fuku, who liked to visit you at any time and was sometimes in a state of intoxication before noon.

Did he have some work today? He was a hedonist, but he was also responsible enough not to drink before job.

But no, it was Kiyoshi Hirano. A clerk. You invited him in and offered to make some tea.

"I just came to tell you that your friend with the biwa is back. You've been a little sad because of her lately..."

"What?" you turned to him with a clay jug. The movement was so fast that the right water poured out of the spout of the dish.

"Last night," he began slowly watching your face. "I was waiting for Fuku, where we used to meet to have a drink when she appeared on stage and started her performance again. She was... good. Looks like her lucky streak's back."

"Really? Do you think she will play tonight?"

You put the teapot in the cupboard where it was before, completely forgetting about the tea, and walked up to Kiyoshi again. You didn't notice his serious look and how closely he watched your brightened face.

"I don't know, I guess so. After all, it's what she does for a living." He interrupted your next question with a hand gesture. "I'm not going there today."

"Why?"

You were surprised by his cold reaction. He seemed angry or concerned about something.

"I'm going to check on Ogawa-san. I didn't see him yesterday and he still didn't show up today. From what I see, he's not here either."

"No, he's not here," you repeated deafly. "I haven't seen him since yesterday."

"Did he say something? What he was planning or where he was going?"

"No, I don't remember anything like that."

"Yhm. So nothing here for me. If you remember anything or see him, let me know."

"Something happened?"

"No, nothing. It's just my stupid hunch. But if I don't find him, I'll go to jitō."

Jitō was the deputy owner of the land on which your town was located. He was supposed to watch over his goods and peace, if a problem arose he had to solve it.

You just nodded at that. You didn't understand his concern about Fuku, you saw him yesterday, and he was fine.

"Okay, so be it. I hope to see you both at the show tonight."

"I hope so too."

He said grimly unconvinced and turned his back on you.

- - -

The orange sun had not yet hidden behind the horizon and you were already sitting in a local restaurant, at one of the tables closer to the stage.

People were elegantly dressed, some even more than was required stepping inside and taking their seats. It wasn’t a real okiya, so you didn’t quite understand their efforts to pretend to be better than they were, but you had no intention of pointing it out to them.

It was quiet. Conversations were conducted in a whisper. Glasses were not brought in toast. You could feel the tension in the air. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something. Or someone.

Finally, after a time that seemed to last an eternity. After the sun and its last rays resembling the hands of a drowning man reaching out for help disappeared from the sky, covered by the deep black of the great scape filled with millions of stars, she appeared.

She wasn't looking at anyone. She did not wander around the room with her eyes like a frightened doe. She just took her seat and started playing.

And the music itself was flowing from under her fingers. The sharp notes flooded their all minds.They could not think of anything else, everything outside was in the background. It was just her and them. Her audience.

After the performance was over, there was thunderous applause. Everyone wanted more and more. As we can see, she returned in grand style.

You also listened enchanted. You didn't care that Kiyoshi didn't join you all night. You didn't even notice it. The world outside this room no longer existed.

- - -

"I'm going to the jitō," Kiyoshi told you when you met him buying rice and asked him why he was dressed solemnly.

"Business?"

The man looked at you in surprise, tilting his head as if he wanted to ask if you were kidding.

"I told you I'd go there if I didn't find Ogawa-san anywhere. You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"Oh, no. Maybe a little. I'm sorry."

"Yes, I can see it," he squinted, looking at you critically.

"Have you been at his place to see him?"

"It was the first place I visited. I asked his neighbors if they had seen him, but no one has seen him since he left for work two days ago."

"Then I guess he's not at the slaughterhouse either."

"Exactly."

"Listen, why don't you wait one more day? We'll go to the jitō together if he's still gone. Perhaps he's lost his way back, because he is drunk again."

Although improbable, such situations have happened. One time he took the wrong directions and tried to get into someone's house. The landlord of the house beat him hard, and for a week he walked around with a swollen face and purple bruises all over his body. Another time, he fell asleep in a truck loaded with bags of rice and was driven kilometers from here.

Although Hirano was unconvinced, he accepted your offer and you spent the rest of the day together.

In the evening, you went to your favorite place to eat with music. You only managed to get in because you came earlier - soon after sunset there was such a crowd that no one else could enter.

You saw Kiyoshi looking for your friend, but he didn't even see anyone even remotely resembling him.

When your food were served, she went out on stage. As always, she moved gracefully and without unnecessary movements, as if she knew that part by heart.

The long black hair fell before her face like a funeral veil. She was still wearing a simple brown kimono, and you were a little disappointed that she dismissed your present with contempt.

She raised a pale hand with well-groomed nails holding a wooden bachi pick. The sleeve of the kimono slid down her arm, revealing more of her slender body and silky skin.

You almost fell back into that stunning trance hypnotized by her music when something discreetly pinched your thigh. It was Kiyoshi. He seemed worried.

Surprised at his behaviour, you raised your eyebrows didn't understand.

"Blood," he whispered. His mouth tightened into a line after he repeated it. "She's got blood on her clothes."

And when you looked at the musician you could see how under the kimono, where the collar around her neck covered part of the white hadajuban was a small red spot. If you had sat further away you would never have seen it.

"It could be anything. Maybe she got dirty?"

"Maybe," he admitted grinding his teeth and not taking his eyes off her. Focusing on a small, meaningless speck. "Or maybe not. It will be revealed. Remember, we still haven't found Fuku."

For the rest of the evening, he didn't speak to you, looking for your friend. You too could no longer focus on the music and let yourself be carried away by the pleasant atmosphere - the stain on her collar was bothering you.

What if someone attacked her? What if there's a dangerous animal in the area? Or a madman? What if something could happen to her?

Your restless thoughts rushed more and more as wild mounts were let loose into the increasingly unpleasant, dark recesses of your mind where irrational fear and unlikely scenarios ruled.

But you still haven't found Ogawa-san, have you?

True, but maybe he just got lost again. Maybe he's tired and sleeping at home now. Maybe it's all one big misunderstanding. Maybe the stain on her collar isn't blood.

Maybe.

- - -

The next day, as soon as the sun rose, you set off with Kiyoshi to Fuku's house. You wanted to be absolutely certain, and according to your comrade's supposition, he wasn't there.

Everything looked as usual. There was a bit of a mess inside, but it was nothing disturbing or new. Ogawa was not one of those who paid attention to where he lived.

The futon, instead of being tucked into a closet, lay on the side of the large room with a blanket rolled up into a ball, as if it had just wake up. Around the room stood many pots of sake, which he did not want to throw away, and other things that he probably used lately.

Yeah, it was a mess, but it wasn't unusual.

"Let's go ask the neighbors," you said quickly leaving the house and not looking at Kioshi.

He managed to stop you by grabbing you tightly by the shoulder.

"I already told you, I did it."

"So what now?"

"We can only go to the jitō and he will hire samurai to guard the security. I think that's all we can do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, for now."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I want to know what happened to Fuku. They won't be looking for the missing." He paused for a moment, feeling his anger rising. "They'll just try to prevent more disappearances. They don't care abo–"

Suddenly he stopped before his voice broke completely and then you noticed how tightly he clenched his fists. As he tries to stop the tears in his eyes and not let them flow down his cheeks.

You... You didn't know he was in such pain. That he feels that way.

You felt guilty that you didn't care more about your friend's disappearance, that you didn't start looking for him right away. That the first person you were worried about when you heard about his disappearance wasn't him, but was someone else.

"Listen Kiyoshi," you started insecure. "I want to hel–"

"No." He cut you of. "You would only be in my way, I prefer to work alone."

"Oh... okey."

You agreed, but you were hurt that your friend wouldn't let you join his investigation and also didn't want to argue with him. He was smart, so you knew he could handle it.

"Ah, and one more thing."

He added before you left the house. That was the last time you saw him, but none of you knew it yet.

"Stay away from that woman. Please."

• • •

The man decided not to involve you knowing how distracted you've been lately. Because of that musician, you couldn't concentrate, and you missed a lot of obvious things.

He was no longer just talking about a bloodstain or a lack of concern about Ogawa.

Yesterday, following the woman from a safe distance (so she could not hear you), he noticed that she was not afraid to travel alone through a dark town or wooded area.

It turned out that she did not live in even on the outskirts of the city, but in a village about an hour away on foot.

She never turned around to see if anyone was following her, and that should be a natural reaction for anyone traveling alone in areas where disappearances occur. Especially women, who are inherently weaker than men.

Almost everyone is talking about the disappearance of Fuku - together with a local vet, he had to help assess whether the animal is suitable for curing or going for slaughter.

Local traders and meat farmers ask about him because he was the cheapest specialist in his trade.

If there were any rivers nearby they could be turned to fish, but within a radius of many kilometers there was none and the delivery could cost them a lot.

Sometimes local doctors needed his help when the only way to save their patients was to amputate a limb.

Did Fuku practice on dead animals for fun, or is the profession of butcher and doctor so similar? He didn't know, and he never wanted to ask.

So what could have happened before he disappeared? And how could a musician you love have anything to do with this?

Unlike Ogawa-san, he was not superstitious or relying on mere hunch, but when he looked at the dark-haired woman he saw cold sophistication in her eyes.

Why a woman traveling alone in the dark didn't fear an attack?

Did she have any weapons on her? Or did she know something that others don't? Maybe she knew she had nothing to fear.

Another thing that caught Kiyoshi's attention was the strange smell around her house.

After "walking" her home safely, he ordered to come closer. Kiyoshi wanted to investigate the source of the scent. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he was already determined to solve the mystery.

He knew that the more days passed, the chance of finding a friend alive dropped drastically. His mind said he was probably dead, but deep down he still hoped of finding him alive.

It's silly how emotions can affect a person's logical thinking and behavior, but there's nothing he can do about it.

After all, he was only human.

Standing in front of her door, he listened to all kinds of sounds from inside, but there was complete silence. The only thing disturbing it was the sound of buzzing wings of flying insects.

Something sat on his hand and automatically killed the bug. He couldn't see what it was, it was too dark for that, but the next one sat on his forehead and another flew past his ear.

Flies?

You tried, slightly confused by his prying behavior, to pull him away, but he just went to the back of the building where the smell intensified.

"Kiyoshi, please sto–"

"Shhhh, be quiet and help me."

"Wha–?"

"Don't talk, just stand against the wall."

He cut off the conversation quickly so the woman couldn't hear you two and showed you where to stand.

In the dim moonlight, he saw a triangular window under the roof. Because the houses in the village were not tall, he could look through them, but he still needed help to reach it.

"Look, I don't think–"

"Shhhh."

You stood straddle and folded your hands, so he could put his foot on it. Then, with a slight swaying, he jumped on your shoulders.

"But listen, I don't–"

"Shhh, ladders don't talk!"

Holding on to the old boards, he tried to find something he could hold on to. Any holes or roughness.

"Stop fidgeting!"

He rebuked you in a whisper almost falling.

"Then don't stand on my head!"

When he stopped wobbling, you grabbed his ankles harder and at his signal, you slowly began to straighten up. Unfortunately, he still didn't reach the window.

He couldn't even pull himself up because he was still missing quite a bit with his hands stretched forth.

"And what? Do you see anything?"

You asked, in disbelief. Did you just help your friend 'peep at' spy on a woman?

"I really don't like what we're doing. Are you listening?"

But Kiyoshi didn't listen. He was mentally preparing for what he was about to do.

He took a deep breath. Then another one, and curled his knees trying not to fall. If he fails, he'll break his leg or arm.

The moment he jumped up, you walked away from the building. He grabbed the edge of the window and the old wood under his weight crackled in protest - they sounded like they were about to break.

At first he wanted to curse you for it, but suddenly he heard footsteps coming from the other side.

You were too loud.

"Is anyone there?"

A harsh female voice spoke up and he froze. He heard you burst through the bushes surrounding the house, rushing to the nearby trees and she stopped just below him.

Time stopped for a man then. Seconds turned into centuries. Flies flying around him sat on his hands and face, tickling him by thier little legs as they walked on him and bit his bare skin.

To keep them from getting up to his nose, he hid his face in a long sleeve, praying that the wood would stand up and that she would not look up.

The black-haired, looking like a yokai in front of her house, stood there for a moment watching the backyard. Long grass could reach her hips - her husband didn't care much about anything but gambling and alcohol, and none of her neighbors ever had the idea of trying to cut down the plants before they became miniature version of the wilderness for rodents and other small animals.

She was sure she heard the conversation, and the tread in the grass clearly indicated someone was here.

Or was it just her imagination? Maybe she's going crazy? Is it possible the smell of carcass lured the predators?

Still, she should be more careful and dispose of the bodies.

When she finally got back inside, Kiyoshi's arms couldn't hold him longer and he let go. He managed to land on his feet, but he leaned back and fell out of the engava into the sticky mud, which with the thick and long grass cushioned the impact like a pillow.

Scared, that she might come back, he quickly hid under wooden porch to wouldn't get caught, but this time he probably didn't make so much noise, because she never showed up again that night.

Unfortunately, he couldn't pull himself up to look inside nad he wasn't even sure if the moonlight allowed him to see anything.

He liked to think of himself as a rational person and more intelligent than the common man based on his intuition, but the smell was too suspicious.

Maybe it's feelings, but he believed that if anyone could know anything about Ogawa's disappearance, it would be her.

He couldn't ask her directly. He'd just freak her out and she'd do something unpredictable. After all, a trapped animal is ready to do anything to survive.

• • •

The next afternoon, Kiyoshi left the house and instead of going to work, he went straight to the jitō that controlled the surrounding area.

He was a clerk, so his request might have meant more to him than to an ordinary farmer.

Personally, he didn't like Hiroto Sasaki.

He got this job only by acquaintance with the landowner and did the necessary minimum of his work - all the money from taxes (which he did not pay to the landowner) was spent on alcohol and courtesans. He often hosted parties for friends in his home and did not care about the problems of the inhabitants.

People often asked him to stand up for them because otherwise he wouldn't even let them in or send them back home.

Kioshi did not have time to take three steps from the gate when an older, stooped woman approached him (as fast as her rheumatism allowed).

She had grey hair tucked into a low bun and a face full of wrinkles showing how her life was filled with both, happiness and worry. Her hands were resting on a long stick that must have helped her on her way here.

"Hirano-sama?" She asked in a quiet voice full of sadness and her half-blind eyes were even sadder. She bowed slightly to him. The man bowed and asked what she had to do with him.

"You see... My son, Kai, went missing yesterday. I can't find him and he's my only support after my husband's death."

"I see, so what can I do?"

Although he asked, he already knew the answer and with even greater determination went to the jitō headquarters to solve the problem.

One of the servants, whom he had managed to meet during his few visits, led him to the back of the mansion.

There, a fat man dressed in gold and surrounded by comfort women, was eating sweets and fruits.

In the background on biwa played them a geisha, sitting under a cherry tree - delicate petals of flowers swirling around her added her femininity and grace.

Kiyoshi, however, shuddered when he saw her resemblance to Nakime from afar. He probably would never have thought that she looked like her up close, but he still hadn't snap out of after yesterday's close encounter with her.

He did not want to look at her, but the sounds constantly emitted by the instrument remind him, that she is there, not allowing to gather thoughts and relax tense muscles ready to fight or escape.

"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Sasaki hated Hirano. He thought the clerk always poked his nose into his business and added jobs to him. He hated his visits, but his uncle (and the owner of the land he managed) ordered him to let him in because he had already met Kiyoshi by himself.

He said his remarks were accurate and he was able to listen to people. He thought he'd be a good right-hand man for Hiroto, but he knew he was doing better on his own.

The clerk refrained from roll his eyes hearing him and immediately told about the disappearances and pointed out, if the situation doesn't change, they could suspect either a wild dog attack or a serial killer in the area.

"And what do you think I can do about it?"

"Bring the samurai."

He answered without hesitation, instantly enraging the jitō. The fat man blushed so much with anger, he looked like a tomato.

The glass of saki he threw at Hirano luckily passed above his head and crashed somewhere on the rocks behind his back. All he felt was a few drops of alcohol drenching his clothes.

"What do you think you're proposing? Whose money?! Do you think I have no expenses?!"

"Maybe from the taxes we pay you?"

Only the quiet sound of the wind in the branches of the old trees answered him in their own language and the birds singing in them.

The geisha stopped playing as soon as the clay vessel was broken, but even the man, sitting on a chair resembling the emperor’s throne, fell silent.

The clerk, bent all the time, raised his head slightly to see how Hiroto calmed down and turned pale.

As he suspected - all the money went to his and his friends debauchery.

"If you don't think it's appropriate or unnecessary, I can always write a letter to–"

He couldn't finish because Sasaki came to his senses.

"No. There is no need for that. Starting tomorrow, I'll bring in someone to keep an eye on things."

Several times in the past, Kiyoshi threatened to write to his uncle, but it had to be a complete last resort, because he knew Hiroto would be willing to hire an assassin for him.

Not feeling completely satisfied, he had to agree and let go.

He would rather Sasaki did it today (since many samurai looking for new masters to serve recently), but he also knew that after spending all the money that idiot had to somehow get them now.

He could only hope that by tomorrow there would be some samurai in the area.

• • •

As the sun went down, Hirano was already watching the musician's house from afar. He waited for her to come out, so he could sneak in.

She went out to the perform practically every night, so Kiyoshi knew he should soon see her leaving the building and walking along the sandy road.

And an hour after sunset, a woman appears at the door and stands on a wooden engave looking around the neighborhood. Her eyes were scouring the yard like she was looking for something or waiting for someone.

With loose hair and a black kimono, she looked like a yokai demon.

But he didn't understand why she hadn't left yet. Did she know she was there?

No, it's not possible. He made sure he couldn't be seen by her.

So why?

Suddenly, incredibly brisk for a woman of her small stature, she took a large package wrapped in fabric and ran to the back of the house.

What could be in the package, which she was secretly trying to get rid of? She hid letters from her admirers from her jealous husband? She gave birth to an unwanted baby? Or maybe the murder weapon?

The clerk planned to approach there, but also preferred to wait until she went to work. He didn't want to get caught again, and he was afraid it might be a trap.

That she could watch the backyard from the window, and when she saw him, she'd attack him with something. Although Nakime was a woman, he preferred not to underestimate her, especially since their last meeting had completely frightened him.

So he waited.

And he waited all night.

However, she did not go out again and after sunrise - when farmers began to go out to look after animals and crops - he left.

• • •

During the day, Kiyoshi could no longer watch her - as an clerk he had his duties and had to be careful not to fall asleep.

But it wasn't an easy day for him.

Once he poured black ink from the inkpot, staining the sleeve of a silk kimono, and flooded the papers lying next to it. Or he also had to re-read documents a few times because he couldn't concentrate.

He felt completely exhausted, although he didn't feel that way coming here. Tiredness began to catch up with him.

He looked forward to the sunset indicates the end of his work. The steady sound of rain hitting wooden walls or ceramic tiles made him even more sleepy, and he hoped it would clear up by then.

And as soon as it changed from a sad, grey sky to a blood-red color, he immediately went out. There were large puddles everywhere and it still smelled of rain after a few hours, so he took one of the umbrellas with him.

He hoped that someone hired by the jitō would show up during the day to get a map of the area, but no one showed up.

Neither samurai nor any local villagers he would hire to save money.

As he walked, he could hear Fuku's disapproving voice in his head, who, looking at the sky, would say, "Someone good will die today, the sky and the gods are in mourning."

Many times then he looked at him with a sly smile trying not to taunt him after by quoting his grandmother, but now he misses his superstitions.

How much he would give to be able to sit with him and you on an engava and look up at the sky, drinking sake after work and celebrating the start of the day off.

He came to his home first. He wanted to change into darker clothes, so she couldn't see him.

He was hoping she'd leave the house tonight to perform. If not, he's gonna try to look around the back of the building to see what she's hiding.

Kiyosji looked at the unfolded futon, which he didn't hide. It looked so appealing that he lay down on it for a while - after all, she didn't come out with the sunset anyway. He still had time.

And with that thought - he fell asleep.

- - -

He woke up when it was completely dark. Afraid he was running late, he ran towards her house. If he showed up too late, he wouldn't know if she left.

The run didn't last long, he didn't like to practice. If it weren't for his limp stature, you probably never would have been able to hold him on your shoulders.

Intermittently, he switched once from running to marching and his wooden shoes loudly let the surrounding residents know that he was in a hurry. He was panting heavily, like a wounded animal and he could feel that he had fire in his lungs, but he would not stop.

At least until a black-dressed figure stood in his way.

Nakime walked slowly, holding her precious instrument in her hands. One of the sleeves completely concealed her hand, which surrounded the body of the instrument like a mother hugging a child.

Unbelieving (and feeling goose bumps on his sweaty body) he stopped to catch his breath.

The woman passing him did not even look at him.

He looked at her for a moment - she, as if feeling it, stopped and turned completely to face him. A distance of 20 meters separated them, but for him it was still too small.

They stood in silence waiting for any movement of the other person until they were interrupted by a man in armor.

Samurai.

"So this useless pig did something useful at least once." Thought kiyoshi

The man approached the musician and asked if everything was all right, looking suspiciously at Kiyoshi. He was not surprised, but he was still outraged.

She was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

She calmly replied him. Her voice was serious, but pleasing to the ear.

There was also an aversion to the samurai, who had to put on heavy armor just for the show - it was impractical if he came to chase someone lighter and would only slow him down.

After a while, each of them went their way - Nakime to the restaurant, he headed towards her house, and the man watched them.

He was probably making sure Kiyoshi didn't hurt her.

But that's good, because now he's sure he won't get attacked from behind and the house is empty.

Suddenly he realized he was more and more convinced of her guilt, although he had never approved of hasty judgments. He believed everyone was innocent until proven guilty in a court of law or evidence was found to point to the culprit.

Meanwhile, what did he have? Terrible smell coming out of her house and strange behavior. In the past, it wouldn't have been enough for him to pass judgment, but since Fuku's disappearance, his thinking has changed completely.

Standing in front of her house, Hirano stopped and began to listen. The only thing that could be heard from inside was the noise of a flock of flying flies on which the sound he trembled. He hated all kinds of insects, but he forced himself not to vomit or run away.

The odor's gotten worse since the last time he was here, and he had to put a long sleeve on his nose and mouth. He must have blocked it somehow.

It didn't help much.

He planned to get in and out quickly. The building wasn't big, so it couldn't have taken him long.

The door was not locked - probably the smell itself discouraged entering.

Inside, he left them open so the faint moonlight would illuminate this room. He saw the outline of a low table and two seat cushions. In the corner of the wall with the door, there was something white that he thought was bedding.

But in the current light, he couldn't recognize the huge stains on the tatami mats. He needed a candle.

Holding his breath from time to time, he searched the few cabinets inside and found some hidden next to a bag of rice along with a flint.

Satisfied that he managed so well, he started hitting stones against against each other and watched as the sparks light up the room for a moment until he managed to ignite the wick.

What he saw next made his heart stop and all the color drained from his face, making him look like a ghost. At the moment, although he was alone, he felt threatened and wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. He felt like a deer on a hunt.

Blood was everywhere. Dark stains covered the floor at the table, one pillow and led into the other room behind the shōji door.

On the table he saw overturned white sake glass, also stained with blood, and nearby there was a jug in which there was still some alcohol.

Feeling his body getting heavy he moved into the other room and when he reached out to open the door, he saw that he was trembling. There, the smell and the sound intensified like a warning not to go in.

He was afraid of what he'd see, but he had to...

With one quick move, he opened the door. It slammed and the smell hit him in the face with double force, pinching his eyes. Flies immediately sat on him, looking for something to eat, biting his exposed skin and drinking sweat.

There, in the middle of a small room, were two bodies. He saw the white larvae moving in what used to be the heads of the wretchs, and how far the rotten process had gone.

He couldn't hold out and threw up. It was too much for him. He had to get out. Now. Immediately.

But he didn't even have time to take a step because as soon as he turned around, the hammer hit him in the face, smashing his completely nose and knocking out his teeth.

Through the black spots appeared before his eyes, Kiyoshi saw a figure in front of him and then fell, when she hit him a second time, falling into the death chamber. He managed to block the blow with his hand and heard a loud crack of a broken branch.

He didn't think about it then, but that was the sound of his broken fingers. Because of the adrenaline, he couldn't feel it now.

Unfortunately, he didn't see anything else. The candle fell out of his hand and went out.

He felt a weight on his stomach as the woman sat on him and tried to hit him on the head again. He was still covering himself by his wounded arm and trying to get it off her somehow, but she was too heavy for him.

He hoped that someone would hear his scream and come to help him, because at every moment he weaken.

But no one came, and another body was found in Nakime's room. Now she's done her ritual and she is ready to perform.

- - -

The venue was buzzing of impatient voices. All the gathered people were looking forward to the arrival of their favorite musician, who rarely made herself time off. The long-haired woman hypnotized with her music, causing clients to come back for more.

Her fame quickly spread around the area and it became harder and harder to find a place inside. You had to come a few hours earlier to listen to her melody.

Because of this, some (those who never heard it and just wanted to eat) thought it was stupid. They didn't understand and called her audience fools.

And you were one of those fools. You're in front of the stage again, waiting for her to perform like a dog for a treat. Despite your most sincere attempts to stop or listen to your friend, you could not stop coming. She was like a drug.

Every time you've seen her, you've felt the butterflies in your belly start to dance inside and your mind becomes incredibly light, like when you're drunk with alcohol. But you didn't drink sake so you wouldn't be distracted and fully enjoy the performance.

But today she still hasn't shown up. People began to get impatient and the owner of the premises upset - thanks to her his income increased significantly and if she decided to change workplace meant problems for him.

Some of the guests left mad, and some started wondering out loud where she was. At some point, they started chanting her name, thinking it would make her suddenly show up.

You'd probably be the last person to leave this place and still wait a few more hours for her.

You missed her and her music during the day, waiting for the night to see her again.

But you didn't have to because she finally showed up.

She was wearing a black kimono that you once gave her, but something that caught your eye and prevented you from fully enjoying the performance was the numerous tearing of the material that you seemed to be the only one to see.

• • •

Nakime came home in the morning at her regular time. She was fine, both physically and emotionally, despite the scratches on her forearms and the bruises on her abdomen caused by that burglar. Even a not-so-pleasant meeting with a neighbor did not dampen her spirits.

An old woman called her attention to yesterday's noise and said she already thought her husband was dead. Until recently, quarrels and shouts in their home were standard fare.

It was supposed to be a joke, but she didn't even know how much of it was true. She also told musician to take care of the horrible smell coming out of her house.

She didn't care much about her as she was about yesterday's guest.

She did the right thing coming home. Meeting the samurai made her feel a little insecure and afraid of detection - killing someone outside meant more risk.

She wanted to go back and keep trying to dispose of the bodies. Although they made her nauseous, she found the willpower to cut them into pieces and wrapped in her previous kimono.

She finally appreciated the clothes you gave her because you can't see the blood stains on them. But she felt that if she came out on stage all covered in blood, no one would even notice - everyone was mesmerized by her music.

Sighing, she undressed and went to bed. Then maybe she'll try to get rid of the body parts again.

It was a tedious and difficult task. She had to do it in such a way that the origin of the meat could not be determined immediately.

But she was glad she took care of it because otherwise she wouldn't have found the footprints and other tracks behind her house suggesting an unwanted presence.

She was sure it was her night visitor, but who was the other person? Why didn't they come together?

A normal person would feel scared in a situation like this, but after tonight, Nakime felt invincible. The power she had and the impunity with each subsequent murder made her as drunk as alcohol. She became more and more confident and less cautious.

But she now fell asleep without fear.

- - -

Her work was interrupted by a knock on the door. Her fingers and wrist hurt from cutting hardened cartilage, and her knees from long kneeling.

She got up unstably and washed her hands in a bucket of cold water before she opened the door.

Is it that crazy old lady again? Anybody else in the neighborhood who's bothered by the smell? Maybe it's a samurai?

But it wasn't any of them.

That was you.

You stood insecurely, holding a package wrapped in brown paper in your hands. You didn't look her in the eye. Instead, you focused on the floor.

You took small, short breaths to somehow bear the stench from inside, but you did not make a face. You asked if you could come in and talk.

Nakime moved away from the door to let you in. She tried not to show it, but she was glad you came - she was shaking all over her body at the thought of smashing your head and going to perform again in the evening.

You stood in the middle of the room, and the setting sun lit the room for a moment until she quickly closed the door and darkness set in. She didn't have any open windows here.

"I know everything," you started before she had a chance to come up to you. She quietly took the hammer lying on the cabinet near the door.

"And on the one hand, I didn't want to believe it, I've been denying it all the time... But I can't do this anymore. It rips my heart between what I should do and..."

"What do you mean?" She asked, but she wasn't interested in your answer. She just want you to didn't turn around for a second.

Nakime was standing right behind you with a hammer ready to strike.

"You are the murderer, aren't you? You killed Fuku and Kiyoshi..."

Suddenly you turned around when she had her tool raised and made her hesitate. It gave you the precious second to grab her wrist and lowered it, asking her to talk for one more minute longer.

"I should turn you in, but I can't," you confessed. "I'm hurt by what you did and it will never stop, but for some reason I can't do anything against you."

Your voice broke. She was so close now, she saw you were on the verge of mental breakdowns.

"Please tell me what I should do. If you think it's best to kill me, do it and put an end to my torment."

For a moment she didn't know what to say. She felt she should end it with one punch, but instead she told you to leave.

She didn't like the new kind of arousal caused by your confession, the fluttering of her heart or how the blood came up to her cheeks. She felt she was getting a fever because of you. Her legs are even weaker than they were before.

"Then you'd better kill me," you said firmly, surprising her. "Because I can't live without you–your music."

You were too embarrassed by what you said, so you quickly added the first thing that came to your mind. You were hoping it was too dark to see your blush.

But she couldn't bring herself to lift the hammer anymore. When was the last time she felt that way? If ever it must have been a long time ago.

"Get as far away from here as you can," she began in an imperiously tone. "And come back exactly ten years from now, if you still feel the way you feel, you will come back here and I will play only for you."

And you left her with a bleeding heart after an indescribable loss. Nakime thought she was merciful to you, she condemned you to an even worse fate than if she had killed you - from now on you will carry her sins on your back, the betrayal of your friends and miss her for each of the 3 652 days.

Awareness of all this will not allow you to sleep peacefully. Her absence prevents you from eating and function normally. Losing your friends isolated you.

You never stayed anywhere longer after that, looking for your place and running away from that house at the same time.

She was both, your cure and curse.

- - -

You went to her show last one time and left the next morning with the first rays of sunshine.

Nakime put on another kimono, that you brought her - simple, black, because you noticed she doesn't like glamour and extravagance.

In the full light of the room, she could see how the events of the last few days had affected you. You were pale, lost weight and had big bags of sleeplessness under your eyes.

You looked like a shell of your former self.

It gave her the thought that now you belong to her - she will never leave your mind or heart and will be your only one. For the rest of your days, even though you're not together, she will haunt you in your life as a ghost of the past, when you awake and in your dream.

For some reason, she liked the power she had over you.

The melody of that day was very sentimental and passionate. The performance was definitely different and even better than usual. Some felt goosebumps and coldness during climax moments, and wiped away tears at the slower ones.

It wasn't just music meant to show her talent and entertain the audience - it had a message behind it. And everyone felt it.

It was her goodbye to you.

People talked about it for a long time after you left, hoping she'd do it again, but she never did. Her fame came as far as you ran away, haunting you and never letting you forget your sin of silence.

You pretended not to hear and didn't speak up when the subject of a genius musician was raised. All the venues, where the music played you avoided like the plague.

After you left, she felt like she lost something, looking at the table you used to always occupy. She also became even more ruthless in her actions, which led to her demise.

This one time she chose the wrong person, because he could not be called a human, and gave her a new life as a demon.

You, looking for relief after a few years, ended up with one of your clients. A platinum blonde with rainbow eyes greeted you with open arms after seeing your condition.

His closed community was located in a remote area in the mountains. People there like you were broken and destroyed by life or loved ones.

And what it meant to you, they've never heard of her or her music.

Honestly, it didn't surprise you that most of them were women, inherently weaker physically than men. They couldn't defend themselves, so they always had to run away and hope they'd be better off somewhere else.

Every time the Founder called you a "poor thing", you felt like you were getting goosebumps and when he looked at you with those sad eyes, you thought something was wrong. Like he's faking it.

But it used to be, because with your current state, you didn't care.

You felt a slight discomfort associated with the honor of eating in his private chamber, but he did not seem to care.

You didn't notice when you were talking that he doesn't eat anything from a table full of food prepared by his followers. All he did was push plates towards you to make sure you tried everything. And with his elbows on the table, he listened to you like you were telling a fairy tale. You didn't want to talk about her or your problems, so you told him where you were and what you saw.

With his chin resting on his hand with blue long claws nails and sleepy eyes, he listened to everything like enchanted and curious about you.

He, in order for you to stay, persuaded you to hand over your business to someone else and join the cult.

He argued that by your constant fatigue and lack of strength to handle it. He promised to improve your condition after you moved here - he praised the brisk mountain air, pure waters full of minerals and his connection with the gods, giving comfort to his followers.

You weren't convinced by the idea of being one of his followers, who loved his every move, so you got the role of his guest.

You lived with the rest of them in a big common room - the men and women (with children) had their own separate wings in the large building.

You had there your own responsibilities that weren't too heavy, because the Founder of the cult told you to focus on recovery.

And just like anyone else, you could leave whenever you wanted (in theory).

Many times during the talks he offered you the attainment of your own eternal paradise - explaining that it means a state of eternal peace and happiness, without any worry and pain. His ultimate mercy toward broken people.

The offer sound tempting, you had to admit it, but you had a promise to keep, and sinners like you have no place in paradise.

And now, you found yourself again in front of the same door as ten years ago.

Douma was slightly opposed to your departure, saying you were still unhealed and tried to convince you to stay, but you were adamant about it. He gave up after you promised you'd come back and maybe you'd finally accept his offer.

You had to find out if the last ten years of your life were in vain.

To meet her, you left Douma's cult five days earlier and spent the night at the inn, because you arrived a day too early (than you assumed) and you sold your house a long time ago.

The wood on the door started to splinter, but it was strong enough to withstand your knock.

For a moment you wondered if she was still there or had not been caught, until the door with the loud squeak of the old hinges opened itself.

Inside, you thought nothing had changed - only the smell had left. Where there used to be a second room (with the bodies) she was sitting with her biwa. Behind her was an impenetrable darkness as if there were no walls behind her.

After called her by her old surname (which you didn't even notice slipping out of your mouth) you didn't speak to each other anymore.

You were surprised she still had the same kimono you gave her. You know this, it was made especially for your order, because you could not find anything in her type.

As soon as you took your seat on the only pillow (like it's specially set up in front of her for you), she started playing, and you thought the last decade was just a bad dream.

You've both fallen into a trance by hypnotizing each other. So much has happened that she's forgotten your promise, and if you hadn't come, you'd be a relic of her past.

In the morning, before the sun had time to rise, you left with the feeling that you belonged to each other. She was the musician, and you were her audience.

But before you left for the next 29 days, she spoke to you only once to telling you to call her Nakime.

And with every full moon, you'd come back for more. She didn't invite you but you knew she'd be waiting for you and she knew you'd be back.

She never spoke to you, but you didn't mind. You both understood each other without words and your roles in the relationship.

Sometimes after her performance you felt happy, sometimes more depressed than usual which Douma noticed and always asked about. He seemed to care very much about his followers, so you believed it was a real concern.

As history has shown, you are sometimes very naive and blind.

After a long and tiring series of questions from him, you finally revealed the reason for your sudden departures and current changes in mood.

Once Nakime was ordered to bring in all 12 moons, but she had a problem. Douma, as always, had company in his audience chamber and could not move him, when people were close.

She waited patiently to bring him, when she heard you come in to inform him of your another trip. You wanted to do it when he had an audience so you could get out sooner, but unfortunately he was willing to discuss it with you.

"Oh, you're leaving so soon again? Ahh, I was about to call you. I'm soooo bored here alone. Are you sure I couldn't go with you? Please, I'm begging you."

The blonde asked you with a smile and folding his hands as his followers do in prayer, excited as if you'd already agreed. For some reason, you felt like he was putting more and more pressure on you as this time of the month came.

"Douma-sama, you have responsibilities, and I'll see you in a few days."

Sitting cross-legged on a big pillow, a man puffed up his cheeks like a baby. Sometimes you wonder how old he really is.

You refrained from sighing and running your hand over your face. To stop him from pleading further, you drew your last card against him.

"Besides, I thought you couldn't leave the building during the day. And I couldn't just travel at night, you know that, right?"

"Yes, but it'll take so long and you'll be sad again because of that woman."

He closed his eyes and leaning slightly forward started whining in the tone of a child stating the sad obvious.

Untli he suddenly straightened up as if a new energy had entered him and, clapping his hands, said pleased with his new idea.

"I know! It will be better if you stay here this month! Then you will not take a step backward in your treatment."

But you instantly frowned and clenched your fists. His insistence was slowly starting to get on your nerves.

The blonde, feeling as if he were on thin ice, became sad again and rested his chin on his hand. In the second, he was holding a golden fan.

You once had a chance to get a close look at it, during the affiliation of new members in his this same chamber. He covered half of his face with it after hearing another sad story.

After several times spent with him during this meetings (at his request) you noticed that although all the stories were always tragic, they also sound very similar.

You're surprised they didn't affect his psyche after all these years of listening to other people's problems and expecting them to solve them.

Although perhaps that was the reason for his sometimes childish behavior? When he needed to, he was able to remain serious, although most of the time he acted like an actor on stage - sometimes all too exaggeratedly.

Normally, he'd keep pushing you to stay until you escaped into the sunlight, but he's noticed you've become distant and inaccessible to him lately. This prompted him to rethink and change his tactics.

"I'd better go."

"Will you come back?"

"As always," you said, turning your back to him.

You were getting more and more tired of his personality. And it wasn't just you, Nakime listening to it was also running out of patience.

"My, my. You're really quickly trying to get away from me. Wait a minute longer. I have one more question."

You sighed.

After Nakime performances, you discovered that you are finally managed to sleep peacefully all night without the corpses of your friends blaming you for their deaths, and you waited impatiently for her. On the one hand, it gave you relief, and on the other, a sense of guilt.

You wish you were on your way already, but as a courtesy, you always came to let him know you were leaving and then you had to regret it.

"Yes, Douma-sama? What do you want to ask?"

You asked dryly, wanting just to get out. For some time, Douma seemed too interested in your travels and invited you to spend time together much more often. Even when you were too mentally exhausted and didn't accept the offer, he would come to you. He was literally like a little kid, who didn't understand the word "no."

The black-haired woman clenched her fingernails on the instrument until the wood crumbled a little. If she'd used a little more force, she'd have broken her biwa like a stick. The blue fingernails pierced the neck of the instrument, creating holes, but she didn't care about it now.

"What is she like? You never told me much about her."

"Is that all you want to know? After that, can I leave?"

"Of course," Douma said straightening up and putting his hand on his massive chest dressed in a red turtleneck with a black top. "I always keep my promises."

A man was looking at you with those peculiar rainbow eyes waiting for an answer. They were simultaneously alluring and dreadful. Everyone said they were his gift from the gods.

But like you, he also had his curse and it was those beautiful eyes. Maybe that's why blonde demon thought he was the only one, who understood you and what it was like, in his own twisted way, remembering his beginnings from time when he was human.

Knowing that it would be better to answer him (because you may later regret it by his insistence upon your return), you pondered for a moment.

What is Nakime like?

She was elegant, cold and cruel. Merciless. Yes, but you can't deny that you've noticed the silent acts of courtesy she made to you during your meetings. She was too proud to admit them out loud.

The interior of the house has somehow changed, the blood has disappeared and it is definitely warmer for you on cold nights.

Sometimes you seemed to sense a delicate scent of flowers, completely different from Douma - a strong, suffocating smell of lilies. And sometimes you seemed to sense something else underneath it on him.

She was above it all, but she was also...

"She's cute."

You said with such confidence, that the woman's face instantly turned red. Her heart beat faster and in her belly the long-sleeping butterflies woke up.

What did you do to her?

Douma unexpectedly laughed behind his hand. The joyful, spontaneous sound echoes through the walls of the spacious room making it even louder.

When he finished and did nothing more, you raised your eyebrows in silent question.

"Hm? Did something happen? You decided to stay?"

"No, I'm just wondering if that's it."

Douma smiled at you as if you were telling a joke.

"Just like I promised, you're free now." But before you disappearing completely from his sight, he added:

"And remember I can always give you eternal paradise if you ever decide. Then you'll never have to suffer again."

As soon as the shōji door with the painted lily on canvas closed behind you, he was moved to Infinite Castle.

Muzan asked them about their progress in the search for the Blue Spider Lily and their success in eliminating the Ubuyashiki clan, at the same time strongly criticizing and calling them useless. Sometimes he had to relieved his anger on them and somehow get them to work so they wouldn't get too lazy.

Some of the blood of the lower moons was spilled and some of the upper moons were reminded of their place in the hierarchy. Nothing new.

And when the meeting was over in a few strokes of the strings, she sent everyone back where they were. Except for one person.

Douma looked around in surprise wondering why he was not yet in Eternal Paradise in his chamber. As soon as he saw Nakime sitting in the distance, he stood up and waved to her.

"Oh, Biwa Lady, what's wrong? Are you bored too?"

Nakime ignored him and, squeezing the plectra tighter, said imperatively.

"Stay away from that human."

"Hmm?" He muttered, putting his finger to his cheek and tilting his head slightly, thinking for a moment. After that, the man asked carelessly.

"Which one? I have a bit too many of them to guess which one exactly you mean, hahaha."

Douma laughed innocently, pretending not to know what she meant, irritating her even more. If the bangs hadn't covered her face, he could have seen her veins pulsing furiously across her forehead.

As a final warning to him, she repeated this to him through clenched teeth.

"Leave. That. Human. Alone. And. Never. Bother. Again."

"Oh, you mean my friend?"

He tilted his head slightly and with a satisfied smile added.

"But your chosen one lives with me, how could I ever leave my dear friend alone in need?"

Blonde bowed his head slightly, wrinkled in fake worry thick eyebrows and crossed his arms. "Oh, my, my. You're putting me in a difficult position. Friends should help each other and besides..."

He looked at her half-closed, with a predatory smile, and said in a lowered voice. "I don't usually share with my food."

Suddenly Douma was crushed by a wall falling on him from above. When she released him, he looked like a moving mass of flesh and meat.

He recovered quickly as a upper second moon befits, laughing at the woman's reaction. If he wanted to, he could easily avoid it with his speed.

"Oh, my, my, hahaha, you really need it, you're a quite strong, but still too weak and little too slow, my dear."

Seeing that he raised his hand again, he added quickly.

"I'm sorry, sorry, I just bait you. I didn't know you cared so much about this one. If you'd explained it before, I'd understand."

"There is nothing to understand here. Don't elaborate. You're just supposed to stop."

The cult leader giggled again and with a friendly smile refused.

"You see, this is my friend, who came to me for help. Who would I be if I didn't help him get rid of the pain? After all, it's my job."

Before Nakime could pull the strings and hurt him again, he said:

"You're cute."

Imitating your voice and tone. He wasn't the best at it, but it worked well enough that she hesitated for a moment and almost dropped the instrument. Grasping the neck of the biwa again, she changed the acrod, and instead of cutting him vertically with a shōji door, she sent him back to his audience chamber.

It took less than a second, but Douma noticed it, and he was complacent. Although he did not consider himself a master of deduction, as demonstrated by his least fruitful search for the Blue Spider Lily of all the moons.

Who would have expected Biwa Lady to have feelings for human?

But she must have forgotten one thing, when she was ordering and trying to intimidate him, is that demons are very territorial and jealous of their food - especially the upper moons.

Nakime still had over 72 hours left until you arrived, and she started wondered during that time whether it would be better to just lock you up at Infinity Castle after all.

[fantastic-bby]

"That marriage thing... I think I would've considered it"

Pairing: Reader x Jongho

Word count: 1451

Genre: Angst | Medieval AU | Royal AU | Soulmate AU

As you battle the young prince of your rival kingdom, you soon realise that the war is ridiculous for only so many reasons.

Warnings: Physical fighting | War | Blood | Medieval weaponry

Masterlist

Perhaps you should’ve seen this coming. 

A swing of the sword comes from your left, to which you block, the deafening sound of metal slamming together emitting from the shield snugly fit around your forearm. 

The man you’re fighting is someone that you’re familiar with.

Well, somewhat.

You know as much as your father did and you assume that he knows you as much as his father does. 

Your kingdoms neighbour each other. Your families had been rivals from long before you had even been born. Your actual knowledge on what the rivalry entails is limited—and once again, you assume that the man in front of you knows almost as much as you do as you shove your shield aside only for him to slam the the handle of his sword against your ribcage. 

Your body seizes for a moment when the pain blinds you, but the years that you’ve spent training overcomes the pain and you’re quick to swing your own sword in the direction of his neck.

He’s quick to dodge the attack and steps back. He watches you from behind the heavy steal of his helmet, waiting for your next move. Your eyes narrow from behind your own helmet, the veil lining the inside of it stopping him from making any actual eye contact with you.

You think to yourself that he’s quite a good fighter for a prince as most of them, that which you know of, aren’t exactly the type to throw themselves into battle. 

But the crest engraved into the centre of his chest piece makes it obvious that he is of royal blood, and you’ve noticed that his crest is different from the others; and the only one on the battlefield. 

Your swords slam together repeatedly, the war around you becoming a blur as you and the prince partake in a deadly dance of your own. You had to admit, upon fighting the prince at first, that he has definitely been trained for more than just any kind of battle. 

Despite the fact that you are truly in a life or death situation, you find your heart beating as calmly as it would on any other day. 

At least until the prince manages to slash near your hand and causes your sword to fly out of your grip. You let out a sharp hiss when the tip of his blade slices into your hand and shoves you onto the ground with his shield. Loose dirt flies around your head from the impact, hands flailing to reach the spear of one of the fallen knights—one that you’re unsure of which kingdom they come from—and swing it as hard as you can at the prince’s head. 

The metal slams against the side of his helmet and sends him rolling to the side. You look to your left and grab a bow dropped from one of your knights as well as the quiver filled with only four arrows left. 

You scoff to yourself at the realisation that—not only do you have only four shots to either kill him or slow him down—but you’ve happened to pick up a weapon which requires both hands. 

“Better than nothing,” you think to yourself as you load the arrow with one of the arrows, blood streaming down your hand and staining the grip and dripping off of the limb. You aim at the prince immediately as he crouches to stand, his eyes quickly widening from behind the gap of his helmet only for him to roll to his right; avoiding the arrow by an inch as it grazes the metal of his armour. 

He grunts, standing on one knee to stabilise himself before he stands strong, sword in hand. 

“You’re a strong fighter, your highness,” he claims with a small laugh. “If only we had been able to spar without the consequences of a war.”

“If you had wished for that before, maybe we could’ve put an end to all of this,” you fire back as you load another arrow and aim it at him. 

“I’m afraid my loyalty to my father is too strong for that.” 

You snort a laugh right before your finger releases the string and sends the arrow straight to his head. Once again, the prince misses it barely by turning himself to the side. He takes the opportunity to charge towards you while you load another arrow and swings his sword at the bow in your hands. 

You barely have time to drop the bow to jump backwards, which fires the arrow without any proper aim and instead, only lightly bounces off of his armour. Left with only a shield and a quiver with only one arrow left, you use your shield to block as many of his attacks as possible and desperately wait for an opportunity. 

Your arm starts to ache and tire with more hits from the prince. You grunt with every attack, feeling your energy fleeting the more he swings his sword until you’re shoved onto the ground once more with only your shield blocking you from his sword. 

“Quite the fighter,” he comments with his face inches from yours. “I would have truly loved to have had the opportunity to meet you before this.”

“You say that as though our kingdoms are not rivals,” you grunt, body trembling against the strength of his sword and body. “You know, if our kingdoms weren’t so hateful towards each other, perhaps we could have even been married.”

You see the prince’s eyes widen from underneath his helmet, and for a moment, his strength halts, which gives you time to reach for the quiver splayed beside you and grab the arrow to jam it at the spot right below his shoulder. 

He cries out and you kick him off of yourself. With blood still pouring out of the wound on your hand and the dull aching of your ribcage starting to become more pronounced, you kick his sword aside and stomp one foot onto his shield to stop him from trying to move it. 

Your breath heaves as you rip the shield off of his arm and toss it aside. The prince is quick to raise his uninjured arm in defence as you straddle him with a newfound knife in your hand that you had picked up off of the ground. 

Your movements are sloppy and lethargic as you pull the knife to his face, intending to try and stab it through the gap of the helmet, but the prince blocks you with his wrist; sounds of struggle coming from behind the metal.

None of you have enough strength to actually do anything, so it’s only a matter of who can hold out longer. 

The prince manages to slip his knees in between yours and flips you over so that your hands are forced to fight against gravity instead.  

Your face contorts into a grimace the longer you stay in the position, battling him ever so slowly as he seems to start losing more and more energy as a result of the blood oozing out of the wound on his left. 

“That marriage thing…” he heaves, “I think…  I would’ve considered… it.” 

“Would you?” you laugh lazily. 

“Let me just… see your face once,” he suggests. “You can die knowing your killer.” 

You reject the offer physically and struggle when he starts trying to pull your helmet off, his efforts proving successful when you’re too tired to fight him off that much. 

But the prince stops all of his movement the moment he sees your face. 

“Y-You…” he trails off. When you try fighting against him, he quickly headbutts you to stop you from doing anything. You cry out in pain when his helmet slams right into your nose and effectively breaks it. 

The prince doesn’t say anything else before he rips his own helmet off. 

“Oh.”

He stands in front of you, brown hair sticking out in every direction as he stares at you.

“Fuck.”

Only then do you realise why he had stopped in the first place. Without anything at all covering both of your eyes, you can feel your hearts starting to beat the same rhythm and your body starting to ignite with a feeling that can only mean one thing. 

“Soulmate,” you breathe out in unison. 

You drop your knife and your mouth hangs open in realisation, heart filling with devastation. 

“I almost killed you,” he states. The prince climbs off of you and stands before you.

You climb to your feet as well, more caution lacing your movements, with your bleeding hand holding your pained ribcage and blood running down your face from the previous headbutt. 

“But now that I know you’re my soulmate.”

You feel your entire body almost collapsing as you watch him fall to his knees.

“Even the loyalty for my father falters”

[cea-tide]

Writing Advice and Resources Archive

A collection of writing advice and resources.

The entries are in no particular order. The post is edited with new entries when I come across them.

Writing meta-advice

How to get rid of writers block NOW

Getting started with web serial writing

5 hacks to boost your writing confidence

Dumbest version / allow yourself to suck

Getting ideas: become a cardboard box

The comic sans trick against writers block

How to write a certain character?

A general cane guide (for artists and writers)

How to write a cane user character

Writing a good amputee character

Writing multilingual characters

How to create a good main character

Writing Medieval-coded women

Writing disabled characters: change what is available

Writing characters with one eye

Some thoughts about vampires

Other writing advice

"Real people don't do X" nuance

Subtle foreshadowing

Sentence structure to control reader heart rate

Snippet from "The Witches Are Coming"

"Bad" writing advice taken too literally

Show don't tell: anger

Kill your darlings

Show-don't-tell list of things to use for emotions

How to create character flaws

Use the right kind of prose for the right story

Worldbuilding: making realistic landmasses

Writing fight scenes

Writing fight scenes in 20 points

Writing body language

How to write a satisfying ending

Other writing resources

Writing resources masterpost by @/thewritingbeast

Stimuwrite, a writing help for neurodivergent people

The colour of wounds cycle

Difference highway, freeway, and interstate

Wikipedia monster compilation

Common writer terms

Food information in time periods

Gif of someone disarming a person with a sword

Names of different types of ships and other ship terms

Magical girl-themed generators

Best tumblr accounts to follow as a writer

List of things to take inspiration from (or how to "write fantasy")

Resources for describing physical things

Historical clothing collection

[eveistdiepommes]

Imagine knight!finland and prince!sweden✨🫣🤍

LITERALLY LITEREALLY YOUR BRAIN IS SO SO HUGE ANON!!!

I have an au that’s very similar to this, except they’re both princes (and Sweden can turn into Finland’s sword… it’s fantasy/medieval au…) BUT! BUT!

Knight Finland and Prince Sweden…. The potential…..

I AM A COMPLETE SUCKER for like royalty x commoner type of relationships! And especially if like!!! Finland is ordered to guard and protect Sweden and the two just generally have to spend a lot of time with each other… and they start falling for each other.

OR WHAT IF!! SWEDEN PERSONALLY REQUESTED FINLAND?? LIKE!!! What if Finland is just a moderate knight, like he’s efficient and strong, he just has a lot to learn! And Sweden’s kingdom is being threatened or something, so they need to take extra precautions. So they tell Sweden “You need to pick a knight that will guard you until this is all sorted out” and he just goes “I want that one” and points to the shortest, most unassuming knight in the group without hesitation and Finland is like “😳😃😅 ME!?!?”

THERE IS SO MUCH ONE CAN DO WITH THIS AND I LOVE IT!! I’ve been itching to write more SuFin… who knows… maybe this will spark a one shot :3 MAYBE! MAYBE! WE’LL SEE HOW MUCH MOTIVATION I HAVE!!

[beardedmrbean]

Okay I go to point it out that yes it sad that I have never seen what my direct ancestors look like in ancient and medieval times. And probably never will

But this post I found probably point out a issue I been noticing https://www.tumblr.com/ainomica/686212780028739584

Wait

Are

Late Gen x leftists

And millennials

Using

Pop Culture

As the basic

For

Human warriors

Knowledge?

Oh that explains the black Vikings shit

Yes let say that black peoples were deadass part of some of the most prolific slave traders and rapists in human history? Ooookay!

But let me use my Chimera republic as example of my fantasy au

Though btw the chimera republic is basically fantasy USA strong arming all of the Americas into an empire. Yeah the Americans (or perhaps prime chimerans) are tongue and cheek about but allow the cultures and languages to exist

But let me set up a story-wait best anon

But I think the issues is a lot of people view history from pop culture. No metroplation blacks

Just because pedo land aka Hollywood don’t glorified African warriors at the moment. Doesn’t mean their ( unless they’re pos like the Dahomey) stories shouldn’t be told

Do social media make everyone have the mentality of a bitter 15 year old or something?

>The analogy between Samurai and cops is also appropriate because they used to "break in" new swords by killing peasants who were outside past curfew.

So much samurai stuff is just BS myths, undoubtedly the "insult" thing was abused regularly, I'm not sure how bad the insult needed to be but still.

Class stuff in that post is still pretty much spot on to my knowledge, but a lot of the legends and such are actually myths.

This guy was funny, because he wasn't doing a bit. I think the idea behind the Vikings and Celts came out of the need to cry about dreadlocks belonging to black people and evidence proves those two groups also had a hairstyle like that, so obviously that means they were black somehow.

This is another fun one, USJW is a joke blog

Aztecs and Olmec's are in the mix in this one

Yes let say that black peoples were deadass part of some of the most prolific slave traders and rapists in human history? Ooookay!

Everyone is guilty, sooner we can accept that the sooner we can stop blaming everyone else.

But let me use my Chimera republic as example of my fantasy au Though btw the chimera republic is basically fantasy USA strong arming all of the Americas into an empire. Yeah the Americans (or perhaps prime chimerans) are tongue and cheek about but allow the cultures and languages to exist

Look up the Ottoman Empire, they were good about that occasionally, at least on paper they were. Achaemenid (Persian) Empire too, long as nobody rebels and everyone pays their taxes you can keep your language, culture, and religion. Again it was like that on paper, reality is it's own thing.

But I think the issues is a lot of people view history from pop culture. No metroplation blacks

probable, of course then people start to emulate them and that's when it gets bad, emulate Uncle Phil instead

Just because pedo land aka Hollywood don’t glorified African warriors at the moment. Doesn’t mean their ( unless they’re pos like the Dahomey) stories shouldn’t be told

Both should be told, truthful dahomey type people stories would be good as well as folks that didn't sell off their fellow Africans to Arabs and Europeans.

Problem is

way way back we just don't know, nobody does for sure, and less way back the slave trade kicked into high gear and folks were gettin sold to people in the MENA region.

Might need to just go off of mythology or oral tradition stories, searching for all this stuff gets rough because you look up Africa and you get Egypt and the rest of northern Africa.

Do social media make everyone have the mentality of a bitter 15 year old or something?

Twitter made it so people could only digest information in tiny doses, which meant nuance was lost, which in turn created a lot of ignorance, which human nature when it comes to pride makes admitting ignorance difficult, which made people's ability to actually hold a conversation where differing viewpoints are brought into play vanish.

Same with Facebook except the difference is there's only so much text you can add to a minions meme.

Reddit is good for creating a echo chamber, but at least you can put a lot of text down but living in a echo chamber tends to make one believe that their opinion is the majority one when reality may be totally different.

I do not envy mental health professionals, things are going to get worse as worse for them in the coming years.

[msookyspooky]

Hi queen, hope your doing good I recently had my 22 birthday at medieval times and I thought it would be funny to imagine the hooker clan at medieval times or a severen x reader and it’s her birthday and they all sneak in. Severen dogging the chicken,Jessie saying historical facts, Caleb not shutting up about horses and Homer buying a sword, may and diamond with tiaras. Severen,Caleb and Jessie get jealous because the knights are flirting with there mates 😭

I have never been to one of those!! I'm glad you had a fun birthday ♡♡♡♡

Severen would definitely be a giant ham the whole time making dumb 'ye olde time' jokes with everything.

Caleb is making a b line to go see the horsey's since being turned they don't like him anymore but he likes them (That would be the worst part for me being a vamp in Near Dark 😭) He'd like to watch anything that has the horses doing things in an arena (And hopefully the horses don't sense them and flip out)

Diamondback and Jesse are looking at the weaponry and merch. Not t shirts or anything but like the real stuff or replicas

Homer would probably think it's dumb at first till he gets a sword or sees the jousting if the have it

You're right if Mae sees pretty whimsical things she'd love it

Severen would be the type to try play his jealousy off as a joke like if a knight threw you a rose he'd grab midair and wink at the knight on purpose while wrapping an arm around you to give it to you FROM HIM not that damn knight; even if you can see the annoyance in his eyes

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Just wanted your thoughts on this.

Meeting One's Match - A Yan!Ganon x Sheikah Fem!OC fic idea.

Not a request, just wanna hear your thoughts & critique.

We love a bad bitch! More under cut since this got pretty long-

I'm not really an OC blog but I do love making and seeing others OCs. I think you have all of your ducks in a line with her.

I think this part: "She's also very hands-on & has a philosophy of 'why ask someone to do something that you can do yourself, but the right way?'" would strike the most friction between her and Ganondorf. I could be misinterpreting this but it sounds like Nemma would be the type to go off and do her own thing. Like while everyone is around planning the best way to go forward she would just go ahead and do it her own way. While this may be be the most efficient way to do things, I feel like there will be this need for control with Ganon as well as a "what if something happened to her?" in the back of his mind. I feel like he'd see her as not only his wife but also his strongest warrior so losing her would be not only emotionally crappy but also tactically crappy as well. This coupled with her backstory sounds like Nemma doesn't like to rely on people and might be prone to trying to take on everything and everyone on her own. Maybe part of her character arc could be learning how to work in a group?

It also sounds like Nemma might be slightly inspired by Miyamoto Musashi (thank you Puppet History). If not I think it'd be really helpful for you to look into him.

As for her design, I think you should maybe add a hat if she travels often. She can still have a top knot with her daggers if her hat has a hole at the top for it. I'm a sucker for historical fashion so I think you should do research on what time period(s) Sheikah dress is inspired by in TOTK and go from there. I would also recommend thinking about what kind of lifestyle she lives when designing her. However, don't think too hard because honestly making OCs is about having fun!

I don't really know too much about weaponry and it seems like you put a lot of thought into Nemma's weapon. This is not a critique on your weapon choice personally, but I kind of roll my eyes a bit when I see a katana. Again! YOU PROVIDE EXCELLENT REASONING FOR HER CHOICE OF WEAPON AND THIS ISN"T A DISS ON YOU! Maybe you could look into other types of Japanese weaponry for Nemma just a way to explore some options? Or don't if you really want her to have a sword! Everybody has their own attachments to weapons and fighting styles (polearms and crossbows my beloveds). There are also other Japanese style swords you could look into if you want! I'd keep in mind her lifestyle and which would be more practical for her to have. If she is traveling alone it might be more practical for her to have a one handed weapon and a shield since a two handed weapon would leave her open to attacks. I know more about European medieval junk than Japanese military history so idk? I also tend to look to a lot of history when creating OCs since humans have had very common ideas and have been in similar situations since forever. I also only bring up Japanese history because that's what I'm assuming the Sheikah people are inspired by seeing that Nintendo is a Japanese company. I could be wrong since pretty much all of my art history knowledge and fashion history knowledge is based on Europe.

The story sounds interesting and I'd love to read it! Reading through it and before getting to the end I was thinking "oh this is not going to be a healthy relationship." I think that Ganon would want Nemma primarily for her strength and abilities over her as a person. I think Ganon's character arc within the story could be him getting out of his war mentality, or Demon King mentality like you said, and seeing Nemma as a person and not as a weapon. While I see Nemma's character arc being her finally being able to let loose so to say. Being able to rely on another person and not have to carry the weight of the world all on your own.

You mentioned a size kink so I only bring this up because I assume there's going to be some NSFW details in the story. I see sparring being a sort of foreplay for these two. Maybe a wrestling kink? I also get some vibes of Ganon being willing to let Nemma dom him. I also just love seeing a big scary man get dommed by his wife.

Also don't worry about your art style not matching the universe you're trying to fit your OC into. You're not story boarding for a company so just have fun! Unless you want to experiment with different styles then go ham!

All in all, thank you for choosing me to critique your work! You've put so much thought into this it's pretty amazing! ahsdjgsdfgsdjfgdhf I just write about peepees and boobies so I feel really honored that you'd ask me to do this. And while I don't post my own art on here nor do I post my own OCs, character design and development is something I go feral over. xoxoxo

[ruckystarnes]

Title: Meet Me in the Pines Author: RuckyStarnes Card: B105 Rating: Teen Event: @buckybarnesbingo Square: U3 - Medieval/Fantasy Characters: Bucky Barnes (James), OFC!Maeve Ship: Bucky x OFC Words: 2,975 Warnings:kisses, fluff Summary: Sequel to Enchanted Kisses - Maeve gives James a note to meet her in the forest once dark has fallen. Type: Moodboard | Fic Inspiration: The Pines by Roses & Revolutions

James sighed heavily and ran a hand through his brown locks. It has been three days since they had kissed in the forest; three, long days of internal torment as he would answer the king’s questions about his daughter, schooling his features to make sure he didn’t let the king on about anything awry. He had been avoiding her as best as he could, making up excuses as to why he couldn’t accompany her on a ride to the forest or for a walk around the grounds. He had this unsettling feeling that someone knew their secret ever since he heard snapping of twigs while he was embracing her. 

“James!”

The sound of his name snapped him out of his thoughts as he turned to see one of Maeve’s ladies in waiting walking, Natasha, towards him. He nodded his head slightly to her which she scoffed and rolled her eyes too.

“Oh stop it. You’re my cousin,” she laughed. “The princess wanted me to give this to you.” She tucked a lock of her fiery red hair behind her ear and raised her brows. She held out a bit of rolled up parchment to him, a twinkle in her eyes. 

Did she know? James thought. Natasha always knew what was going on around the castle, even if you think she wasn’t there to catch you. She always knew.

James raised his brows at her in return, taking the parchment from her outstretched hand. He unrolled the parchment, eyes scanning over the looping words of Maeve’s handwriting. His heart started to beat fast as he read the words:

Meet me at our spot in the woods after the servants feed the horses.

James swallowed hard, rolling the parchment back up and refused to look his cousin in the eye. He contemplated on asking Natasha to make sure Maeve made it safely to the spot in question, but before he could even raise his eyes, Natasha answered him.

“I’ll make sure she will be there, unseen of course,” she smiled reassuringly. “And your secret is safe with me. Don’t give me that look. She has told me everything in her life since we were little kids.”

He looked at his cousin with wide eyes, shocked that Maeve had told her about the kiss they had shared in the forest. He nodded at her and turned to leave, his hand clutching the parchment firmly, his heart pounding viciously.

The rest of the day seemed to pass slowly for him as he waited for the time to slip out of the castle. He was distracted during training, having been knocked down countless times by his friend Steve.

“Where is your head?” his friend asked him, extending a hand to pull him up off the ground.

James growled as he pulled on his friend’s grip, pulling himself up with the help. “It’s–places,” he replied with a sigh.

“The princess giving you trouble?” Steve mused, slapping his friend’s shoulder after he had gained his footing again. “I don’t know how you do it, Jamie. I remember she used to lose her nurse when she was a wee one. Actually, I think you were the one that would help her escape back then.”

James looked at his friend and gave a small smile. “Those days were a lot less complicated than they are now. Who would have known that growing up would make the world less sense than it was then.” He looked down at his sword and brushed off a bit of moss and dirt. “Shall we go again?”

Steve shrugged and gave his friend an odd look, one that James could not decipher. “All right, friend, we shall, but I am starting to think you enjoy being on the ground.”

And if James did enjoy being on the ground, he would say his friend was correct, as Steve continued to knock him down.

Dinner went by faster than he anticipated, he tried his hardest not to look at Maeve while sitting there in the hall with the rest of the court. When he did catch a glimpse of her, she wasn’t looking his way. She would be talking to Natasha, smiling or laughing, her hair pinned elegantly away from her face, no doubt the work of Natasha and Maeve’s other hand, Wanda. He had excused himself once everyone was finished.

Darkness had fallen during the meal as the days had started to shorten after the harvest. He hoped that Natasha reminded Maeve to wear a cloak as the nights are cooler than the days; he would hate himself if she had caught a sickness because he had agreed to meet her in the trees. He pulled his own cloak around his shoulders, fastening it with the pin before heading out towards the tree line.

He waited for what seemed like hours in the almost silent woods. He found a fallen tree to rest on as he listened to the small animals bound, rummage, and scurry over the fallen foliage and sticks. A small snap had him turning his head to see an impressive stag walk through the trees, oblivious to him. The sight of the animal made James scoff, wishing for once he had Clint with him to take down the prized animal. Another snap sounded, this time it was accompanied by hushed voices, the combination scaring the animal, sending it bounding off.

“Ah, Clint would be jealous not to be here to see that,” a voice exclaimed somewhat restrained. 

He knew that voice belonged to his cousin. He stood up quickly, a habit that was drilled into him when he was training: royal presence deserves respect and honor. He could see two forms approaching, both wearing dark cloaks that fell around the equally dark skirts they wore.

“He would also be irritated that you scared it off, my cousin,” he replied with a smirk. The moon wasn’t full enough for him to get the full details of Natasha and Maeve, who stood near her, but he knew who they were and didn’t have to worry about being tricked; besides, his cousin held a lantern out from her body to light their path.

“Evening, my lady,” he nodded, acknowledging the woman next to his cousin. 

“James,” Maeve replied with a ghost of a smile before turning towards Natasha. “Do you mind waiting by the tree line with Steve?” His cousin nodded with a smile and looked at him briefly before turning to navigate back towards the edge of the woods.

They remained silent for a moment before James spoke.

“Steve–”

“Natasha fancies him, besides, he caught us almost out of the gate. He can keep a secret,” she said plainly, her arms wrapping around her middle. She shuddered and let out a shaky breath. “I would have put on furs if I knew it was going to be this cold out here.”

James smiled and unclasped his pin, and threw his cloak around her, hands rubbing her shoulders. 

“What about y—”

“I am warm enough,” he replied, “now, m’lady, what is it that we needed to be under the cloak of night and risk rumors to be spreading by dawn for you to speak with me?” He could see her eyes shift slightly to her right, blinking slowly; it was a look he knew that meant she was thinking.

“Maeve?” he asked softly, his hand taking hers. They were cold to the touch, so his other hand followed suit, grabbing her other and holding it as well. 

“James, I–” She looked at him then, her eyes wide. They were searching his face for something, but he wasn’t sure what the inner conflict she was dealing with. With a deep breath she hangs her head and shakes it. “Father wishes for me to be married, before next planting season,” she whispered. 

James’ fingers tightened slightly around hers. He remained silent, unsure of what would come out of his mouth even if he tried to speak. 

“I told him I wish not to,” she rushed up, her own hands squeezing his, “I’m far too young to be married. He argued that Mother was five years younger than I when they were betrothed. But I don’t want to marry some stuffy old king or pig headed prince.”

“What your father says–”

“Isn’t law to me!” Her voice rose then, her brows knitting together in her furious state. “I am not his thing he can just give to just any man.”

“Maeve,” James said softly, one of his hands coming up to rest against her cheek. “Breathe. Have you spoken to him about this?”

Maeve gave a heavy sigh and leaned into his touch. “No. When he spoke of this to me, I refused to listen and left. Mother isn’t happy with the decision either. She was one to always say to marry for love. But who really marries the one they love? Servants and the country folk, and according to my father, I cannot be that low when I am destined for better. What I am is destined to be unloved and used by someone who I know nothing, if anything, about.”

“Is this why you wanted to come here tonight?” He wasn’t sure why she had wanted to meet in the woods after everyone had readied themselves for sleep. There was a small part of him that was hoping they would be able to talk about what had transpired between them in the woods three days earlier. He had dreamt of kissing her again, feeling her pressed against his body. He was hoping she was coming to him with something better than the notion she was going to be married off after the harsh season.

“Yes,” she rushed out, “maybe. I’ve told Natasha what happened that day in the woods.” He could feel her cheek warm further under his touch. “I told her that I wanted a life with you, that my brother is the one to rule this country. I want my own life, and that to be with you.”

James could feel his heart hammer hard in his chest. She did want to be with him even after their shared intimate time days ago. A small smile tugged at his lip but he refused to feel happy about the confession when, according to her words, the king had other plans for her.

“Maeve, I would love to have that too, but to defy your father, the king–”

“We can run away.” The words came rushing from her mouth before she could stop them, like they were a thought that came rushing out of her head before she had a chance to make sure it was something that should be said.

“My darling, we would be sought after and found. And I would be the one to have to deal with the repercussions, because I am the man. They would assume I stole you for nefarious reasons.” He frowned at the scowl on her face. “Don’t give me that look, you know I am being reasonable.”

“But you are of noble blood, surely he would think that would be fit for me. He has been friends with your father since they were children and Sir George is one of his favorite men on his council. If we should tell him we both love each other.”

James’ stomach fell, her words had fear running through him. “If your father has made up his mind, then there is nothing we can say or do that will change it.”

“Talk to your father,” she pleaded, and he could see her eyes were welling up with tears. “Talk to him! Maybe he can talk to my father. Make him see that his spare heir doesn’t need a kingdom.”

“But if he has promised you to someone else–”

“I rather jump off the tallest part of the castle to my death than to be with anyone else but you, James.”

Her admission made him pull her close, hugging her.

“Don’t say that. Never wish for your death for a life without you where I cannot see or talk to you would be too painful,” he whispered into the cloak. “I shall speak to my father, and see what he advises. But you must know that your father’s word is final.”

“If he should say that I cannot be with you–”

James pulled back and placed a finger to her lips. “Then we must follow it. As much as it pleases me to hear that you would rather give up a life of comfort and ease to be with me, I still cannot think of defying my king, your father. I took an oath–”

She pulled back from him, her hand still in his but looking at him with a scowl. “You rather pledge your allegiance to my father than your love to me?”

“That is not what I am saying,” James replied, keeping the exasperation from his face and voice, “I am saying that he is the law. People who go against your father get hung, if they’re lucky. You know this.”

And she did. One of her ladies was found to be a spy for the king’s rival to the throne, and she was put to death by beheading. Her father wasn’t one to take any sorts of treason lightly, and running away with the princess would be treason.

“I will talk to my father, I will ask his advice,” he went on, his free hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Please be patient. We are five moons away from planting season; we have time.”

She nodded and stepped towards him; he could feel the heat radiate off of her as she circled her arms around his shoulder and lifted onto her toes. Her kiss was feather soft, almost as if it wasn’t even happening. 

“I will keep you to your word,” she whispered against his lips and she kissed him harder this time, her body pressed to him as her hands moved to grip her shoulders like she needed him to stand.

It took a second for James to realize she was kissing him, but when he did, he held her head and pulled her so she was flush against him, reciprocating the kiss with just as much fever as she was giving.

“Maeve,” he breathed, fingers flexing to comb through her hair gently, “I will give it my best for you,” he promised, “but promise me you won’t go throwing yourself off of the towers if the answer isn’t what you want it to be.”

“James–”

He pressed a finger to her lips, removing it once he felt like she was going to remain silent. He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closing.

“Be patient for once? For me?”

“I will try,” she replied defeatedly. She moved to rest her head against his chest, breathing a heavy sigh. “You said everyone knows we disappear for hours on end to my spot, even though they don’t know of said spot. If Father knows this, then he shouldn’t take issue with us being together.”

“Maeve, my darling, it has only been three days. Your father will not ship you off to the next unmarried heir or king tomorrow. Just give me a few days.” He pressed another kiss to her head and patted her back. “Now, we should get back to the castle. I do not want you to catch a cold from being out here all night.”

Maeve nodded her agreement, but when she pulled back her face looked like she was unhappy at being told to wait. 

“I don’t like waiting,” she muttered as she moved to remove his cloak from her. He reached for it before she could undo the pin, his deft fingers working swiftly to don it again, pinning it in place. He held a hand out to her, which she took with a gentle smile. They walked back to the edge of the woods, seeing Natasha and Steve next to the horses.

“Can we ride out to our spot tomorrow?” she asked hopefully, her hand squeezing his.

“I’m afraid not,” he replied, “if you want me to talk to my father, it might take all day.”

“All right,” she groused, dropping his hand when they got to the edge of the trees. Natasha was close to Steve, her hand on his forearm and a smile on her face. “Don’t you two look comfortable together.”

James chuckled as he watched his cousin jump away from his friend like he was on fire, putting distance between the two.

“Could say the same for you two,” Steve mused, nodding towards them. Even though they weren’t holding hands anymore, they were still closer together than they should be.

James glared at his friend but didn’t step away; he could sense Maeve blushing.

“Shut it, Steve,” he glowered, “and you will keep this quiet or I will take you hunting and you won’t return.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head. “Natasha already has threatened me, and you know I will take this to my grave.” He nodded to Maeve and smiled. “I promise.”

James turned towards Maeve and gave her a nod as well. “I will let Natasha know your answer hopefully by tomorrow evening.” He turned towards his cousin and thanked her for accompanying Maeve out to the forest. “Steve and I will follow close behind but when we reach the road, we’ll let you go ahead of us.”

Maeve and Natasha nodded their goodbyes and mounted their horses, Steve and James following suit. They remained quiet until the road, the men stopping to let the ladies ahead. 

Once they were out of earshot, Steve turned towards his friend. “Do you know what you are doing?”

“No,” James replied simply, “but we’ll find out.”

[meleanatargaryen]

The prince's hold

Aemond x Fem reader Part 3

Hello everyone this is the part 3 of the ennemies to lovers kind of "The prince's convict" that is the part 2 of "The prince's target" 👀 (everything is on my profile)

-This time Fem reader is bored, trapped in her golden prison and begs the prince to have some entertainment and go to the city but this will not really go as planned...

Warnings: incarceration, incest (uncle/niece), dacryphilia, penetration, bite, bruises, pain, degrade speech, 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con, DD:DNE, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, violence, major angst, oral sex (f and m receiving), Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex, de spit kink, creampie... (Might forget some so please be aware).

The day after...

Just like her heart, the clouds had descended over King’s Landing, covering the sky with a thick blanket of grey.

Sometimes in her quiet moments inside his chambers, she would stare out at the outside, watching the various Lord and Ladies go about their day, wondering what their lives were like as opposed to her own.

These days, especially since Prince Aemond had taken it upon himself to torture her emotionally more regularly, frustrating her physically and emotionally, making sure she would miss him once he left after each visit. He would treat her better each day, changing the decoration green to violet, her favorite color, bringing her gifts, books, exotic fruits, cakes, delicious meals and even maids to do her hair and make up. Soon he offered her a whole wardrobe with exquises dresses and beautiful jewelries to pair them...

But this was not enough. Even tho she loved everything the prince made for her, she wanted nothing but his presence, she wanted him like this previous night.

One evening, at the prince's venue, she finally spoke to him with a softer voice, "Ameond, those gifts, it's wonderful and I loved them all but there is something. I am bored. I am about to die of boredom. Take me to the city or even the gardens, my dearest uncle,” she emphasized on the last two words, “My Prince,” she implored innocently, “Please please please!”

“Fine!” He finally declared, “But if you ever try to escape, you can forget about leaving his chamber ever again.”

“I promise I’ll behave!” She promised mischievously, her eyes twinkling with excitement, and galloped out of the oppressing chamber.

Aemond regarded her with a mix of amusement and suspicion. He was well aware of her manipulative nature and how she could use her charms to get what she wanted. Nevertheless, a small part of him couldn't resist her pleas, the way she looked up at him with those innocent eyes.

Wandering on the market of Bravoos for hours, Aemond’s hand never left the tilt of sword as he scrutinized the mass, assuring there were no Westerosi spies targeting him or his viper.

His unbearable niece, on the other hand, had much less serious matters in her head. As they strolled through the vibrant streets, she maintained her facade of naivety, pretending to be oblivious to the effect her every move had on Aemond. She skipped along, her dress swaying with each step, seemingly unaware of the gazes of admiration and desire that followed her.

She would glance back at Aemond with wide, innocent eyes, feigning confusion. "Aemond, why are people staring at us? Do I have something on my face?"

Aemond clenched his jaw, well aware of her game. He fought to conceal his growing frustration as he responded through gritted teeth, "It's nothing. Just ignore them."

The princess viper rejoiced secretly at her captor’s terribly failure of hiding his annoyance.

As they passed by a fruit vendor, her eyes gleamed mischievously. She plucked a ripe, succulent peach from the display, bringing it to her lips and taking a slow, sensual bite. The sweet juice dripped down her chin as she looked at Aemond through half-lidded eye.

"Mmm, Aemond, this peach is absolutely delicious," she murmured, her voice dripping with seduction. "Would you like a taste?" She extended the fruit towards him, her fingers glistening with its juices.

Aemond's resolve was hanging by a thread as he stared at the tantalizing sight before him. He wanted to seize the peach, to taste its sweetness and devour it along with her tempting offer.

No.

He wanted to do so much more.

He wanted to claim her lips, bite her, squeeze her, take her ruthlessly, make her scream like a common whore under broad daylight while the peasants of Bravoos watch with shock.

Clenching his fists, Aemond feigned a polite smile, “I’m good, little niece.”

She rolled her eyes as she licked her lips intentionally.

Smitten by the desirous moment, Aemond’s eye widened in horror. She was nowhere to be found.

He searched every tent of the market at no avail.

A mixture of rage, fear and vulnerability stormed in his mind.

Did he really let her little display fool him, leading to her escape?

Or worse…

Spies from his family got their hold on her.

“Have you glimpsed a maiden? Barely of age, in a white dress, hauntingly beautiful?” Aemond demanded menacingly a mid-aged trader of Pentosi silk. The woman froze in fear as she recognized the symbolic silver hair: a Targaryen.

Aemond’s worry blazed eye was covered by darkness. The shock electrified his body and his first instinct had been to cut off the hands on his eye. Yet an instant later, the worry was replaced by fury.

“Did you think I escaped, My Prince?”

Aemond turned around, rage written all over his face.

The sight before him exacerbated his storm of emotions.

Her white gown for a proper Westerosi lady gone, replaced by an exotic and tempting Dornish robe, revealing her fruitful bosom, slender shoulders and alluring curves.

“Isn’t this beautiful?” She grinned as she swirled recklessly, displaying her beguiling thighs.

With that, she bolted like a mice being chased by a ferocious cat. Did she intend to escape? Absolutely not. Her alluring laughter like a siren’s call to the dragon prince.

As she reached a glim alley, she slowed down her pace and turned to face Aemond, approaching her like a predator ready to devour its prey.

He cupped her delicious breasts, barely covered by the provocative silk, roughly, eliciting a soft whine her soft lips, “Wooh, my prince…”

Aemond grabbed the back of her delicate neck and breathed on her neck, “Are you really that eager to get fucked, hmm? Little niece?”

She tilted her head with her glimmering eyes, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her tease almost childlike, yet her hands traced down his lean and muscular chest.

“Fuck,” he growled, his leather pants stretching at his growing bulge;

With a swift move, she wrapped her arms around him and muffled his shocked curses with her lips.

“You are annoyingly attractive, uncle,” she smirked.

Instead of responding or retorting, Aemond turned her around her pressed her on the wall in an almost brutal manner.

She smiled satisfactorily and taunted, “Perhaps I am eager to get… Hmm,” she mimicked him, “Perhaps you are just too eager to fuck me, Aemond.”

A animalistic growl followed by a low chuckle echoed from her behind, “You want me to take you in front of the gods, do you?”

She turned her head to face him, grinning, “You know me, uncle. I pray to myself, for myself. I am a goddess, and you are my willing servant.”

As her last words escaped her mouth, she shrieked at the pain and pleasure accompanied by the sudden intrusion.

She already got wet just by fucking teasing me. Such a - Aemond’s thought were cut off as the word "servant" entered into his ear.

He pushed into her luscious backside without any warning.

Soon, her gasps of pain tuned into screams of pleasure.

“How is that, little viper? Are you still a goddess now?” He demanded cruelly as he spanked her hard.

Little did he know in her ears, the sharp sound on his hand and her, the relentless pounding, her own moans and his occasional growls were a symphony driving her into Seven Heavens.

“Big uncle,” she emphasized on the word “big” and arched her back, “You are so good to me. Serve me harder.”

Aemond longed to ruin her, yet he knew she wanted to be ruined.

He increased his pace, his hands coming down on her again and again.

He whispered the most sinful and degrading things he could think off.

Everything exacerbated her excitement.

It both infuriated and satisfied him.

“Scream louder, my little viper, mine!”

And scream his name she did.

Aemond panted in satisfaction and exhaustion as he smirked at the mess he created.

But suddenly he stopped everything and displayed a face of chock as well as shame. "I will not fuck you here like a vulgar hoe on the sidewalk! I refuse to degrade you in such ways, I already did too much here. Let's go home. You saw enough of the city for today!"

She stopped right away her little game, surprised at the sight of the prince's behaviour, so serious and yet so reasoned. He valued her, she understood that behind his pride and lust towards her, the prince really estimated her. She was not just a toy anymore or a property, he had feelings for her as complex as hers.

"You deserve better than this my lady", he added while he took her by the hand to walk back to the castle...

Once there the prince brought her into his apartments before leaving without a word but it was clear that he was replaying the latest events over and over again in his head. Alone now, she would also think about the latest events and her attitude toward the prince. Maybe her provocative manners was no good and should not be taken so lightly but she couldn't help but desire the prince. She longed for his coming every night and came to ask him to stay a little longer each visit to such an extent that they exchanged more and more regularly, getting closer and closer each time. They became to share dinner sometimes, he taught her High Valyrian, read to her but everytime the tension began to show the prince ran away even tho he wished to stay, he didn't wanted to do any mistakes again... She almost came to the point of asking the prince to sleep with her but she knew it would have seemed inappropriate, which was for sure. She felt so alone without him. More! she began to like him despite her hate and hatred and now she wanted him.

It was obvious Aemond started catching mixed feelings towards her too during those visits, she was no longer his stupid prey, a property or a way to anger the Blacks, he liked her despise her viper manipulative and provocative attitude, she satisfied him as well as she frustrated him. He knew he couldn't marry her, as a prince of the realm, and on the verge of civil war, once his father passed, Aemond needed to secure an advantageous marriage with a powerful house, one that would increase their army numbers. She was an ennemy to his family and an menace. Regardless of his affection for her: duty comes first. That is what his mother taught him. Under different circumstances, perhaps it could've worked out, she were not a lowborn, but her position was worst than that.

Aemond could be a cruel man, yes, but never with her. She have found her way into his heart a long time ago this particular night and maybe way before that... He couldn't be selfish and hold her back because of his desires because he also knew she needed to marry soon.

"You might do well to find yourself a suitor." He said in between two readings, you were straddling his lap on the sofa of his quarters, grinding on his bulge slightly, his breath stuttering as he held onto your waist.

She pulled away, with furrowed brows, swollen lips, and lustful eyes. The sight was almost too much for Aemond to bear. "What?" 

"You heard me." Shadows danced across his face and you believed Aemond bathed by the candlelight was undoubtedly one of the finest views you have ever seen.

You hummed, a habit you picked up because of him, and then smirked. "Are you trying to get rid of me?" Your breath encountered his neck making him have chills.

Aemond squirmed underneath you, holding your arms as he gently pushed you away. "I am not jesting," His expression was stern. "We cannot keep this going for longer, I have to go for affairs because of the war." She broke down internally. He then grabbed her arms, leaning his face closet to hers "I'll write to you and maybe when I'll return we'll discuss serious topics, it will also give us the time to think about the situation, right?" He kissed her cheeks softly making her blush right away. "I won't lock the door this time, if you want to escape, I won't stop you, you're free little bird" he then left her more frustrated and lonely than ever. It was obvious she wouldn't even try to escape. She was his.

The days were so long without any companies and only him to think about but every day she would receive letters from the prince and would take many hours to answer him. They exchanged many letters through what seemed to be a week... Their discussions were stricts and serious at first only mentioning Aemond's missions but became more and more personal day after day even sharing their feelings, speaking openly about missing each other company as well as being bored by everything around them. The day before Aemond's return, the princess seeking desperately their reunion, she wrote a letter a bit more special... She proposed him to meet at midnight in the garden to maybe discuss the serious topics he mentioned... It was a risky letter and she knew it could be decisive as well as she knew she could not help being obsessed with him and needed to see him again, to meet him again, to be close again, closer.

This particular day, it seems like the princess had been waiting all the evening for the prince's letter. It was becoming to be dark outside and she was worried, overthinked for hours, but nothing came. A letter finally slipped down her door. She ran to picked it up and read it as fast as she could. "Dear niece, I know you hate to stay in this room all day locked up, come find me in the garden at midnight. The doors are unlocked. Make sure you're not followed or seen. I can't wait to see you."

And then she reached her breaking point. She sneaked out of her bed in the middle of the night to join him in the garden, she didn't even thought to escape a second. She paced around the room, ran the corridors and stairs of the castle... Now in the garden fidgeting with the sleeve of her cloak as she waited for Aemond. She had no clue he'd actually would come or not. Certainly, now that the war broke out, he had more urgent matters to attend to, so was she being selfish for wanting and almost demanding him? Absolutely, but so was he when he didn't let her go and kidnapped her, so was he enticing her with filthy letters and making her sin even more for him.

The crack of a stick of wood made her blood rush in her veins, breath stuck in her throat as she turned around. There he stands, in all his haughtiness, even when he's almost all covered with his cloak, he pulls the hood down, smirking at her. There's only silence as she watch him slowly take off the cloak and throw it on a bank. She lick her lips as she take in his leather clothing, then he proceeds to remove his worn and brown eyepatch, the one he would only use to run around King's Landing undetected. Her eyes trail his body hungrily, the glistening gemstone only making the knot in her stomach tighten. It's truly almost painful the sight of him, having him so close, and completely alone. She can ghostly feel his touch and smell already, and her heart hammers against her ribcage. She approach him under his amused gaze.

"I know you are up to no good to bring me to such a place at the hour of the owl," Aemond says as she halt in front of him.

"You are correct." She glance at his curved lips for a second before locking her eyes with his violet one again.

"Have you enjoyed my letters?"

"Greatly, the same amount I despised it as well." Aemond scoffs. "What happened to our terms?"

She take a great inspiration "This is not right and you know it Aemond but I feel things that I should not and I think you do too despise our condition..."

Aemond smirks "you're right, you should not feel those things..."

She can't help the snicker falling off her lips as she hits his chest playfully. "Stop making me feel more guilty than I already do!"

Aemond hums, raising a brow. "Not guilty enough to stop you from answering my letters or coming here late at night." She avert her eyes.

"It 's alright. Did we once follow the traditions? Do you believe the Seven thought of us as fewer sinners when we engaged in sexual activities before marriage because we were unwed?" He grabs your chin. "Do not be ashamed. You are mine and can't resist me. You and I are meant to be, we are more than a mere convenient marriage. Ain't I too supposed to be faithful to my duty and my family?"

"Have you enjoyed my letters?"

"I keep them all." He answers, leaning his face closer to hers. Her knees almost fail her as she inhale his scent of leather, sandalwood, and bergamot. "Have you missed me as I missed you, my beautiful girl?"

"Possibly even more." You confess.

"Tell me why you invited me here, I need to hear it from your pretty mouth." His thumb trails over her lower lip.

"I was expecting you to keep to your word." She tease.

He chuckles. "That would take days."

"Certainly you can arrange some time for a close friend…" 

His good eye seemed to glimmer as much as the sapphire replacing the other. "Will this be an occurrence?"

She fidget with the button of his tunic. "It seems we cannot keep apart from each other, so I would guess so." She look into his eye. 

"Mhm." His arm sneaks around her waist, bringing her even closer to his body, and she place her hands on his shoulders. "You haven't said it yet." He tilts his head.

She breathed in and gulped. "I brought you here because I want you to fuck me, I need you to fuck me." 

Aemond smiled, actually smiled. Most certainly smugly, but he displayed all of his teeth in his adorable grin, and she loved to see it, a smile appears on her face as well, almost unconsciously just by seeing him smiling. 

"As my lady wishes."

It's blazing when their lips meet, not loving or gentle, but rather fervent and harsh. She moan into his mouth when his tongue touches hers, and all guilt leaves her at once. At that moment everything that wasn't Aemond ceased to exist, as it always happened when she were with him, she only cared for his touch. The time apart made it even better, the leather beneath her fingers comforting. His other hand goes to the back of her head, and she continues to kiss him eagerly, her body trembling even with so little stimulation. She bites his lips as she parts slightly for air, and then their mouths are locked again. The kiss slows down a bit, becoming more appreciative as both of them delight in the exchange and each other's taste, but it remains just as lustful.

Aemond swiftly takes her cloak off and she struggles off her shoes, the prince does the same. She helps Aemond out of his tunic after she is done and his undershirt goes flying across the garden. She touch his toned abdomen before her lips find his chest and neck, the low groan coming from Aemond stirring her up, her mouth trails down as she kiss all of his stomach, kneeling down in front of him. Aemond looks at her in anticipation as she undo his belt and pulls his trousers down, the leather a little too tight. Once his veiny and semi-hard cock springs free, her mouth starts watering. She don't take her eyes off it as she strokes it with her hand, making Aemond gasp loudly, her eyes darken, even the smell of his manhood tantalizing her. He's definitely above average, straight, long, and thick enough to give the best stretch without making her uncomfortable, with large veins running through the base and a pinkish tip. She can't help herself as she insert his head in her mouth with a loud pop, he tastes so divine. She smirk at him as he let out a strained moan, her tongue then sliding across his slit. Aemond's hand grips her hair with a decompensated breath.

She start kissing and licking around his shaft attentively, tongue flat while savoring it and purposely teasing him more before she stroke his cock a few more times and proceed to put half of his length in her mouth, Aemond trembles upon feeling her hot and soft lips around him, a growl escaping his mouth. "Oh, fuck, yes. You look so beautiful, my dear."

Her cheeks hollowed, head bobbing back and forth as she sucked him into her mouth, humming against his member, the sensation of pleasuring him way too good, and tears start to prickle her eyes. She keep fisting his cock and lapping on him relentlessly, even when she pulls him out, her lips keep locked on his part, tongue running around the length as she licks it before she swallows him again, the fullness of her mouth making her grow even wetter. She looks up at him as she gag on his cock, mouth squeezing his manhood as she sucks him hungrily, his head is thrown back, brows furrowed and pink lips parted, his good eye half-closed while the sapphire sparkles bright, it's the most wonderful sight one could lay eyes on. His grunts become more prominent as he lets her lead, she can feel her cunt throbbing almost achingly now. She gives him all the devotion she can master through it, her other hand gently massaging his balls and receiving the most delightful sound in return.

She smirks at him, taking him out of her mouth sloppily once again to catch her breath, his cock coated with her saliva, she slaps it on her face before sucking it again as if her life depends on it. He was so addicting. 

"By the Gods," He mutters with a grunt.

It's when she quicken her pace that it feels as if something quite feral snapped inside Aemond. He started to grow impatient and jerked his hips against her face, his closed fist on her hair more harsh and demanding, his pace becomes so brutish now that she stops stroking him, both her hands laying on his bare thigh for support, her nails digging deeply into his skin as she moans, no doubt bruising it later. It is impossible to fit all of his length in her mouth, but Aemond is certainly determined to do so, a flow of hot tears fall down her eyes as he fucks her mouth, her throat burning with the invasion. It's dirty, uncomfortable, and absolutely ecstatic. Aemond does not care for her whines or her gagging one bit now, he only cares for his enjoyment and release and she is more than happy to assist him with it. Lewdy sounds echo in the air as his tip hits the back of her throat mercilessly. She pushes his thigh as she pulls back for air, her appearance disheveled.

"Come on my face, please." She says out of breath, a split of saliva hanging between his cock and her mouth as she strokes his length rapidly and suck his head again. 

The sight below him accompanied by her words are enough to send Aemond on edge, and with a high-pitched moan, his hot load hits her face, painting a few parts of it white, she sticks her tongue out while so and shut her eyes as her hand continues to caress him. She smiles, swallowing his spend that fell on her tongue and gathering the amount that landed on her face. 

"So good," she praises him, licking her fingers clean. "So fucking good." She gives his head another lick, making him whine due to sensitivity.

She giggles and get up, Aemond immediately tasting himself on her lips in a messy and lecherous kiss. Lowering himself to her feet the prince grabs the ends of her dress and removes it anxiously. Her choice of dress was a very simple and easy to take off one, and she didn't bother to wear a shift underneath tonight either, aware of the sinful activities she planned to indulge in, leaving her completely bare now. Aemond stares at her nakedness with a pleasant hum and blown eye. Out of breath he says, "We need to go somewhere else for now on" as he picked her up all the way to his quarters.

"Go to bed and spread your legs for me." He commands as he discards her dress somewhere. 

When her back hits the bed, she immediately opens her legs to him, hand provocatively touching her breasts, there's no shyness, only a burning desire to be seen by him. She bites her lips as she notices how his violet eye has turned almost all black now. He fists his cock a couple of times at the sight of her, one he wishes to never forget.

He makes his way toward the bed, kneeling in front of her. Bringing her body forward, he leaves a trail of kisses on her inner thighs, which makes her shudder. "I have longed for this sweet cunt so much…" 

His middle finger parts her folds, gathering her juice next to her hole and then coming back up to circle her sensitive bud. She moans with the touch, brows furrowed and lifting her hips slightly, and she can hear Aemond chuckling. "So wet for me it's pitiful, truly." He continues to touch her teasingly, fingers pressed tightly to her heat as he runs it around. She can only hums in response, already lost in her pleasure, she feels completely on fire.

"Do you know why?" He moves his hand away, pressing his lips to her clit in a light kiss and making her whimper with the action. "Because it knows it belongs to me." He spits on her cunt crudely before immediately lapping on it, her back arching involuntarily as her moans get louder.

His warm tongue twirls between her folds slowly, making her whimper and bite her lips harshly, it feels like a dream, her face immediately twists in pleasure as shivers run down her spine with the sensation of his lips on her sex. Aemond sucks her clit, making her gasp, her hands going to his silky hair as she presses his face even further in her cunt. Aemond's tongue slides all over her pussy as he sucks and licks her as if it was the air that he breathed. He closes his eye for a second, groaning lowly against her parts due to his own enjoyment.

His tongue teases her hole before coming back up to suck harshly on her sensitive bud unabated, she watches him with hooded eyes, his name on her lips like a prayer.

He continues lapping on her, one of his hands holding her cunt open to give him better access. "You're doing so good, my beauty." 

He spits on her one more time, mouth devouring her sex. He easily inserts two fingers into her soaked cunt, and she cannot control the sounds that leave her lips anymore. He curls his fingers inside her as his tongue whirls on her clit, his pumping speeding up as she jerks her hips against his face and hand. It's so exceptional, his long fingers reaching a place she cannot on her own. In an urge to grab something, one of her hands squeezes her breast as she whimpers uncontrollably. She opens her eyes to see he's already looking directly at her as his tongue moves side to side on her. She bites herr lips so hard it draws blood.

Getting up on her elbows, she watches as he gives her long licks up and down, then twirls it around her bud again and sucks into his mouth, his fingers inside her not faltering, she relishes in the stimulation on both her core and clit, making her eyes roll back as not one coherent thought crosses her mind. She feels goosebumps all over her skin and pathetic gibberish leaves her mouth. Aemond continues to work her on, his darting and thrusting getting faster and making her moans break. She can feel her release building up on her lower belly as she shuts her eyes, cunt clenching tightly around his fingers, and she is so ready for it, to let it go and cry in pleasure, she is close, so close… and he stops, pulling away.

She looked at him with a mixture of confusion, anger, and frustration. He chuckled at her, licking the fingers that were inside her seconds ago.

"I need you to sit on my face." 

Her stomach tingles upon hearing his words and she can only nod, moving aside so he could lay on the bed. When Aemond is settled, she straddles his face, holding onto the cool headboard and being careful as to not put all of her weight on him, she lowers her cunt to his mouth, immediately gasping when she does so. Aemond holds on to her upper thighs tightly, keeping her in place and moaning into her heat as he starts licking her fervently once again.

She can't help herself as she grinds and rolls her hips on his mouth, hands pinching her nipples as her pace quickens. Aemond doesn't leave an inch of her cunt out of his affections, sucking her hard as he groans against her in delight. When his tongue started to make circles with a lot of pressure onto her cunt, she is moaning so loud she is certain the whole inn could hear her, but that was far from being a concern to her. She needs to hold on to the headboard again, knuckles whitening with the force she puts on it. His name is on her lips as a mantra now as she bounces on him, her stomach churning and feeling dizzy. Then, his tongue is all around her again, relaxed and hot as he works his magic with purpose. 

She keeps her eyes locked on Aemond the whole time, the sight of him under her and satisfying her desires only adding more intensity to her pleasure. He looks so pretty and alluring like this, his adorable lips so keen to make her happy, eating her out so well and good, she bites her lips again while smiling down at him, she grinds more relentlessly now, not even trying to be careful, the feel of his mouth paired with the faint brush of his chin and the tip of his nose on her cunt is the best thing she has ever experienced. 

Her high comes down abruptly and feels like a million stars exploding at once, a long scream on her lips. Her head falls back, black dots covering her vision as her legs tremble. She cried as Aemond continued to lap on her sensitive cunt, kissing it multiple times after. Admirably her legs didn't fail her and she managed to get off his face, body falling limp on the bed. The ceiling above them is spinning as her heart palpitates in her ears. It takes a minute for her breath to stabilize, and when she looks to her side she sees Aemond grinning, chin glistening with her juices and they both laugh at each other out of bliss.

Aemond moves to hover over her, his mouth finding hers in a long and deep kiss, her legs wrap around his waist as one of his hands squeezes her breast before cradling her face. Their lips move harmoniously together, tongues caressing one another. It's so soothing, she feels so at peace and so light, just as the sound of the wind passing through the trees. There is no rush, only long kisses and pecks, hooded eyes, and silly little smiles. It's not sexual, it's not innocent, it's two people taking their time with each other. She lost track of time in her consuming passion, too occupied in the sheer joy of the prince's soft lips and naked body pressed against hers.

Slowly but as expected, the kisses start to grow needier, her breathing becoming erratic and her womanhood pulsating. Her grind against Aemond's stiffness and he sighs deeply, his mouth moving to her neck as he sucks and bites in her sensitive spot making her shiver, trailing down to her breast, he puts one in his mouth, twirling his tongue around her nipple. He pulls back a little, holding his hard cock and running it between her folds before he calmly and gently slides into her.

Her eyes close with the feeling, the stretch his girth gives is simply extraordinary and so fulfilling. She starts whimpering as he settles in between her legs, nothing and no one else could make her feel this way, to reach that specific point. Her cunt clenched tight around him, he's so big and it feels amazing.

"Fuck, sweet thing," He breathes out. "You feel even tighter than the last time."

He starts to thrust on her slowly, and her eyes roll back again, gasping loudly as she relishes the feel of his cock inside her, so marvelous. Aemond lets his face fall on the crook of her neck, to feel her soft walls around him an absolute blessing in his opinion, his moans are so low if she was a little bit louder yourself she wouldn't be able to hear him. 

"So good…" she moans, she has missed this way too much.

"Mhm, yes, very good." He holds onto her hips strongly and her legs parts even further.

He starts to go even deeper, his hip finding a steady pace that makes her feel as if she is flying. His grunts become loud, and his hand leans her leg up to her chest as he starts to pound on her more fastly now. "Fucking perfection. You are so perfect."

She holds her leg up to help him, already a moaning mess. The cracky bed hits the wall repeatedly and she is sweating a lot, her hair sticking to her forehead. It is such a great sensation she is torn between seeking her peak and wanting it to last forever, to feel him inside her forever. It seems Aemond feels the same, because now and then when the prince believes her or himself to be close, he'd stay still inside her, completely out of breath, and hold a few seconds before starting again, a few strands of his silver locks falling into her face as he does so.

His lips wrap around hers messily, tongues locked as he keeps thrusting and grunting. His familiar scent, a cologne custom-made because he is just that snob, mixed with his sweat turns her on even more.

He parts from her for a minute, kneeling on the bed and then turning her around with impressive force and grace, her back instantly arching for him while the side of her face is pressed to the mattress. She can hear him chuckle before he slaps her ass hard, and she whines, core clenching. 

"You little whore," He presses the tip of his cock to her entrance and she wiggles. "My perfect little whore." 

He thrust into her cunt, the new position making her euphoric, and she started to meet him at his pace, she whimpers almost pitiful. Aemond's hand grips her ass, his shoving only quickening by the second, he laughs a bit seeing her eagerness, and then he halts, letting her do the work for a while. He stares at his cock disappearing inside her cunt with a wicked glint in his eye and he masters all of his self-control to not go feral. 

"Yes, yes, yes," He encourages. "You're so good at this, gorgeous. Keep on taking my cock like the sweet whore you are, oh yes." 

His words make her groan, core tightening around him as her movements grow faster and harder, so much his cock slips out of her cunt once, but she is quick to insert it into her dropping hole again, the wetting sounds of skin against skin nothing but obscene. Aemond watches with a smirk the way her parts are milking him, hands caressing and squeezing her butt as she leans back on his length. 

Soon he takes control again, starting to thrust on her aggressively and steadily. She screamz, the rattle of the bed growing even more strident now, and she becomes a babbling mess, biting into her hand to try to prevent her loud moans from being heard, a tear falling from the corner of one of her eyes. Aemond laughs amusedly.

"Oh my, you love this, don't you?" 

"Y-y-yes," she stutters, brows furrowed, fist tight on the linen sheet.

"Fuck, you are heavenly," Aemond says. "And all mine." 

"Muhm," she agrees. "All yours, only yours." 

He slaps the cheek of her ass again. "My princess," His paces become faster. "My fucking queen." He leans down, lips kissing her cheek.

In a blink of an eye, she is on her back again, Aemond's managing her body too easily. She brings both her legs up as he inserts his manhood into her, his hand wrapping around her neck as he thrust into her ruthlessly.

She can only moan, holding onto anything she can grasp, it's almost too much and she feels completely wobbly, it feels as if he was made in the most perfect size to send her to the seven heavens and back. His cock hits her cervix unrelenting, his fist tightening around her neck until she can barely breathe, the lack of air only increasing her pleasure, and then…

The coil inside her snaps in a shattering wave, her whole body shaking. It's as if she had left her body entirely and were floating around, her vision whitening and audition failing you. When she comes back to her senses, Aemond is grunting lowly and thrusting into her, her cunt wrapping around his cock amazingly, with a husky and strained moan, his face twists in pleasure, eye shut and mouth agape as he spills his white tea deep inside her, filling her up and she moans just by watching him. His thrusts get sloppier and weaker as he rides off his high until his body falls on top of hers, with hitched breath and trembling slightly. She smiles, one hand caressing his hair and the other his back, his skin feels almost burning under her touch.

She feels suddenly exhausted, and all she wishes to do is close her eyes and succumb to slumber. Aemond looks up at you as if guessing the line of your thoughts: the prince was accustomed to you getting sleepy after your passionate activities.

"You may sleep, my beloved," His knuckle brushed against her cheek.

She smiled softly at him and nodded. He got off her, and they both wrapped themselves with the thin blanket. She rested her face on Aemond's chest, one leg over his body. The prince hugged her closer, caressing her back and her thigh. He sighed contently.

As they quickly fall asleep, Aemond stares at her, the crickets outside the small window and the cackling of the fire are the only noises reaching his ears. He smiles pleased upon her sleeping form, realizing no matter marriage or time, this is where she will always belong: with him, in his bed, in his arms, where her heart truly lies.

[kultofathena]

Darksword – The Monarch Sword with Integrated Sword Belt

The Monarch exemplifies the classic 13th century Type X medieval sword. The type X was in common usage from the time of the Vikings throughout much of the middle ages, and is recognizable for its broad blade with full-length fuller. This version has a distinctive “Brazil nut” pommel, common to the mid-1200’s and beyond but most clearly represented on the type X to type XI transitory blades. The Monarch has the long, tapered blade typical of the cut-and-thrust swords that evolved to counter the increasing advances made in armor protection, and the curved guard is consistent with the numerous surviving 13th century Brazil nut swords found in museums and collections. The Monarch is a classic design that will be a unique presence in any collection.

The blade of the Monarch is forged from mirror-polished 5160 high carbon steel which is differentially tempered to possess a hardened edge of 60 HRc steel and a flexing, shock absorbing core of 48-50 HRc hardness. The guard and pommel are of steel and the wooden grip is bound in leather. The blade is securely anchored into the hilt with a robust peen on the pommel. Included with the sword is a wood-core scabbard which is tightly bound in leather and completed with an integrated sword belt and a protective steel chape.

Since ancient tribal times, humans have tended to organize themselves into hierarchies. These would at first have been nomadic bands of hunter-gatherers, though as agriculture led to the rise of cities and more stabilized, centralized cultures there would be individuals who sought to lead. Those who led larger groups of people could gather immense amounts of power, and when that power gained enough momentum to pass the boundary of generations it created a monarchy.

Most records from early civilizations indicated monarchies were incredibly common, and typically follow the hereditary structure with the power passing from father to son. Many of these societies started in Mesopotamia or other areas close to the cradle of civilization, indicating monarchies were likely one of the first forms of human government. Monarchy swiftly spread from Humanity’s birthplace across the world, and everywhere it went it tended to have more or less the same characteristics.

In a monarchy, the monarch – typically a king, though queens could also sometimes rule – was a member of a dynastic royal family in which power passed from parent to child and monarchs tended to rule from the death of the previous king until their own death. When the currently seated monarch would die, the rule of the city-state or nation would pass to their heir – typically the eldest male child. When the eldest male child was not the most suitable ruler, or if no male children were to be had, different systems of hereditary succession could be used to determine the identity of the next monarch within the royal extended family – a nephew, a cousin, even an older relative. For this reason tracing royal lines can be a great deal more complicated than simply looking at parent to child passage of power. Further complicating the transition of power could be competing claims for the throne, where multiple persons with historical ties to the reigning family may make claim to the throne upon the death of the ruler. This led to countless wars of succession across human history, so which resulted in entire branches of royal families being liquidated by prospective kings in order to secure their future rule.

Monarchies brought several benefits to nations, despite the top heavy concentration of power. One of the benefits was continuity of rule, as upon the death of the previous ruler the next ruler is believed to already be king – even if they have not yet ascended the throne. Another benefit of a monarchical government especially in the West (though it would certainly appear in different forms elsewhere in the world) was the concept of the Divine Right of Kings. This religious dogma legitimized the rule of monarch by establishing a belief system in which the king had been appointed by God to fulfill the role of ruler for his people. That is, God has specifically chosen this ruler for these people, and it is the responsibility of the people to follow their King as God’s representative on earth. This has the added benefit of raising the king over the authority of any Earthly body of power, reducing or completely eliminating his accountability to anyone but god. With both politics and church behind the institution, monarchs ruled Europe for centuries almost without question.

Some kings were kinds and just, others were cruel and terrible – but both were mere mortals in the end, and those who took their so-called divine mandate to heart would accomplish some true good in the world. It would not be until the Age of Enlightenment that power would begin to transfer away from hereditary systems of absolute rule into the hands of the people without whom kings would have no power. Yet even to today, monarchs around the world continue to be heads of state.

The Darksword Armory Monarch is inspired by the those kings who became the best that their office would allow. A true example of a 13th Century arming sword, the Monarch shows the fruits of the evolution of the arms and armors of the Middle Ages. As armors dating prior to the 13th century were most commonly composed of mail armor made to withstand early medieval period weapons, there was rapid development of greater forms of protection. By the mid-13th century however, the advances in protective gear inspired a corresponding change in blade geometry. Finely tapered blades, with very pointy tips now served to pierce the weak points in heavily armored foes. The Monarch has one of these blades, double-edged with a long fuller and weighted for cut-and-thrust combat. Its simple, classic curved guard provides an elegant compliment to the no-nonsense blade. It is the Brazil nut pommel, though, that sets this piece apart. A feature indicative of the 13th century arming sword, this is our best rendition of the Brazil nut pommel, and we believe it is a perfect match for the rest of the sword. May the Monarch be the sword you have been looking for to inspire you to achieve the best you can in this world!

[icefrozendeadlyqueen]

Enforcers | Reader-Insert

Warning: being held against one will. Syringes.

Summary: They manage to catch an unbelivable job. They didnt read the small print.

a/n: Sorry for the many mistake. I wrote it on mobile! Hope you enjoy! Setting an introduction.

eye color = (e/c)

your name = (y/n)

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3 years ago…

When (y/n) open the door, they saw a group of girls, who looked very likely around their age. One girl sat on a chair headset on ignoring her surroundings. She was shorter than the rest, with luscious and long, silver blonde hair, and violet eyes.

One sat on the floor, her legs crossed, her hands shaking nonstop. She has shoulder length, brown hair, and eyes (y/n) tries not to stare at her for too long. It’s the polite thing to do at this point.

The last girl rushed to the door, stopping right in front of them. She has silky waist long hair, and brown eyes, (y/n) jumped back stumbling into something behind them.

(y/n) breaths their face turn back, their heart ring uncontrollably expecting the worst, another girl stood frozen brown eyes locking instantly with theirs. She didn't move; she didn’t seem to breathe either. She has thick brunette hair as black as an enforcers soul or so the rumors say.

"She is the last one, x". The girl behind x loudly calls out clapping her hands in some sort of amusement.

(y/n) stands away from x turning fully to see the other girl. Shoulder length black hair with brown eyes, piercing like a medieval sword, felt her looking into their soul.

"(y/n)". They muttered.

"Taletha. Stop. You will scare the newcomer". x grumbled, majorly annoyed by the tone of her voice. X extends her hands past them, a plastic bag on her hands held merely by one finger, the girl behind (y/n) grabbed it muttering a simple thanks.

"Refreshments are here! Ava catch!".

x grabs them by their shoulders turning them around. The room that hardly held anything but two chairs and a coffee table. The girl with the thin bag, its a miracle it held anything, throws a refreshment to the girl on the floor. A simple, "thanks". Escapes Ava after catching it. She opens her drink not caring about anyone else around.

(y/n) gets pushed forward by the girls behind them. They take another step, they are all wearing the same white gown, they seem to be forced to wear. Except, 3 people.

"lluthra. Headset girl all black gown". x points back to the girl at the back seat. She glances up to acknowledge their back, violet eyes look into her soul, momentarily looking back away. Her refreshments held by her by an invisible force, "what... the... fck...", (y/n) whispers, their eyes most be picking on them right now.

"Redamancy in the middle. She obviously is our personal chaotic witch", x proclaims her fingers guide their face to stare at the long blonde girl. Her feet are crossed above the floor far beyond what any human can do. A scream tries to escape them, no sound comes out. Some red energy her hands like birds flapping their wings like gravity doesn’t exist.

The other girls were not scared by her, neither seemed nervous or even frightened. They seem happy to have been given the opportunity of such inhumanity.

"You missed the sixth round. We were supposed to receive our powers together". x blurts slightly disappointed. They turn their (e/c) clashes with brown eyes for some type of understanding.

"You will understand in a little bit". Her arms lock around her throat and rib cage. (y/n) screams trashing to escape to no vail.

"This will only hurt a bit". Taletha blurts, they felt a sting on their right arm. A syringe on her hand some purple liquid it held. They trash more screaming, swinging their legs and arms to be let go. X hold only tighten as their body lose all consciousness slowly like each part decided now to shut down.

"This is initiation rookie". (y/n) black out after that no longer able to remember much. What the hell did they sign up for? This wasn’t in the job description.