#Friedrich harding x you

[hederasgarden]

Aaron Taylor-Johnson Characters Masterlist

Nosferatu

Oneshots

Overcome (Friedrich Harding x F!Reader | Explicit | 2.3K)

You soon discover that your husband is far from the cool, reserved man that you imagined him to be.

Kraven the Hunter

Headcanons

Tarzan!Kraven

Kraven taking care of you on your period

Kraven loves to mark you

Bullet Train

Headcanons

Tangerine and spanking

♡Main Masterlist♡

Thank you @ryebecca for the beautiful banner!

[gingerteafairy]

𝑬𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

"Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

tags n warnings: smut, obsession, ghost sex, heavy angst, vampire, cursing, death, blood, devotion, praise kink, fingering, oral, piv. word count: 5k

@ikkyfics thank you for making me post this and not hiding it on my virtual shelf, you deserve the world <3

Friedrich Harding’s anguished cries tore through the air, echoing across the desolate countryside. The sound was primal, raw—a lament that seemed to pierce even the heavens. Strong hands gripped his arms, restraining him as he thrashed against them, desperate to reach the coffin that housed his beloved wife. His wife. The one who had once been his anchor in a chaotic world. But those who truly knew Friedrich understood a deeper truth—his devotion to her paled in comparison to his adoration for you. For you, he had defied every societal expectation, every unwritten rule. Now, his world lay shattered before him.

Despite the lingering fear of the plague that had claimed her, he yearned to hold her one last time, to press her lifeless form against his chest and plead for the impossible.

“Friedrich, stop this madness!” Sievers barked, his voice tinged with both command and desperation as he struggled to contain the grieving man. Harding’s fists swung wildly, his face twisted in despair. The crowd watched in stunned silence, their expressions a mixture of pity and disdain. Mothers shielded their children’s eyes from the spectacle, while fathers stood grim-faced, their silence betraying their discomfort. Children whispered questions to their parents, too young to grasp the depth of the tragedy unfolding before them.

“Release me! I command you to release me!” Friedrich roared, his voice a storm of grief, his blue eyes brimming with tears that fell freely down his face.

“Friedrich, enough!” Hutter pleaded, his grip tightening as he tried to restrain his friend. “This will not bring her back! You must—”

“No!” Harding’s voice cracked as he wrenched free from their grasp, his tear-streaked face contorted in anguish as he turned to Thomas. “She was everything, Thomas! Everything I had. God help me, what am I to do now? What is left of me? Damnation! Damnation upon this cruel fate!”

He collapsed to the ground, his body trembling as he crawled toward the coffin, his shaking hands reaching for the cold wood that separated him from her. But Thomas intervened, pulling him back into a firm embrace.

“Friedrich,” Thomas murmured, his voice soft yet insistent, “you must find strength. Look at me. Look at me.”

Thomas cupped Friedrich’s face, his hands rough and calloused, yet gentle as they held the face of a man utterly undone. The dark hollows under Harding’s eyes spoke of sleepless nights, of relentless grief that gnawed at his very soul.

“I can’t, Thomas,” Friedrich whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “She was my life. How can I go on living when my heart is buried with her?”

“Friedrich,” Sievers began, stepping forward cautiously, “I did not know your wife well, but I am certain she would have wanted you to find happiness again. Life does not end here. One day, you may find love again—”

The doctor’s words were cut short by a vicious punch that sent him stumbling backward. In a flash, Friedrich was upon him, gripping his collar with a ferocity that belied his weakened state.

“Curse you, Sievers,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with fury. “How dare you speak of love to a man who no longer has a heart? Insolent doctor! You know nothing of my torment.”

Thomas and the others rushed forward, pulling Friedrich away as he sagged against them, his strength finally failing. His body, ravaged by exhaustion and starvation, could fight no longer.

By the time they returned to his estate, Friedrich was a shadow of himself. He sat in silence, his eyes empty, his face devoid of the fire that had once animated it. He stared into the void as though nothing in the world could reach him now. Even if the earth had split open before him, he would not have flinched. He was a man as dead as his wife, his soul entombed alongside hers.

"Promise me you'll be well," Thomas pleaded as he stepped down from the carriage, his voice wavering as he struggled to maintain his composure. His eyes, heavy with worry, searched his friend’s hollowed face. "Promise me you'll eat, care for yourself. Do not fade away, Friedrich."

Harding did not respond. He merely turned, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his grief, and walked toward the door of his home. There was only one solace left to him—the fragile hope of seeing you in his dreams. To escape into a world where you were still alive: radiant, healthy, untouched by the horrors of the plague. There, you would be free, unburdened by the cruel fate that had stolen you away.

Later, cradling a glass of brandy in trembling hands, Friedrich lay upon his bed. The liquor did little to dull the sharp edges of his sorrow. His body shook with silent sobs as he closed his eyes, desperate to summon even the faintest memory of you—your touch, your voice, a fleeting whisper of your essence.

A scream tore through the silence.

He woke with a jolt, his sweat-soaked hair clinging to his brow, his breath hitching in panic. The room spun around him, and then he saw you.

You stood beside the bed, bathed in pale moonlight that streamed through the window. The white gown he had chosen for your burial clung to your form, pristine and ethereal. You were unblemished, untouched by disease, impossibly beautiful—more luminous than you had ever been in life. To him, you were divine, a vision too perfect to be real.

For a moment, he was paralyzed. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Fear and longing warred within him. If he moved, if he dared to reach for you, would you vanish? Was this some cruel trick of his shattered mind?

"My heart," you whispered, the words ghosting across the room.

Before he could react, you faded into the shadows, dissolving into the night as though you had never been there.

Friedrich collapsed onto the mattress, his body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as a guttural, muffled scream tore from his throat, buried into the pillow to escape the ears of the empty house. The pain was unbearable, clawing at his soul, leaving him raw and broken.

The next morning, he awoke to frantic knocking at the door. The sun was high, its rays spilling harshly through the curtains, though it brought no warmth to the bleakness inside him. Disheveled and barely able to stand, Friedrich stumbled toward the door.

Thomas stood there, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wide with dread.

"Friedrich. This is... it’s terrible," Thomas choked out, his voice trembling as his fingers combed through his disordered hair.

"What has happened, Thomas?" Friedrich demanded, though his voice was hoarse and distant, his mind still clouded by the haunting vision of you.

"Sievers," Thomas whispered, his hand instinctively covering his mouth as if to trap the horrifying words before they could escape.

"What about Sievers? Speak plainly!" Friedrich snapped, irritation flaring as the ache in his head throbbed from the brandy. "Thomas, what is it?"

Thomas hesitated, his voice low and filled with a grim finality. "Sievers is dead. He was found this morning... his chest torn open. His heart—" Thomas paused, his voice cracking. "His heart was removed."

The words struck Friedrich like a physical blow. He stumbled back, collapsing into the armchair behind him. His hands trembled as he pressed them to his temples. Memories of the night before flooded his mind, your whisper echoing like a ghostly refrain.

“My heart.”

It couldn’t be real. It was madness, surely. Yet the coincidence was too stark, too chilling to dismiss. His thoughts spiraled. Could it have been you? No. Impossible. And yet... Sievers had spoken of finding another, dared to suggest that love could replace the irreplaceable. Perhaps this was divine retribution—or something darker.

"Friedrich! Friedrich!" Thomas’s urgent voice pulled him from his reverie. The friend’s hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him gently as if to rouse him from the stupor.

Friedrich’s eyes cleared, a strange light igniting within them. He rose abruptly, pacing with a frenetic energy that had been absent for days.

"Call Von Franz," he muttered, his voice low but commanding.

"What?" Thomas blinked, taken aback by the unexpected request.

"Von Franz," Friedrich repeated, his tone sharper, almost desperate. "Summon him at once. That lunatic priest may know something—or I may be mad to even consider it. But summon him, Thomas!"

Without waiting for a reply, Friedrich strode toward his room, his steps hurried and unsteady. He needed to prepare. If there was even the faintest chance that Von Franz held the answers to this nightmare, Friedrich would face him. Hatred or no, he would endure anything to uncover the truth.

He stared at himself in the mirror, his hollow eyes scanning the face that no longer felt like his own. With deliberate precision, he splashed cold water on his face, the droplets clinging to his skin as if they could wash away his torment. A smile curled on his lips, unnatural, strained—then erupted into a jagged, manic laugh. His reflection in the mirror mocked him, a fractured visage of sanity, twisted by grief.

"Ah, my love," he murmured, his voice trembling as his fingers brushed the surface of the mirror, tracing a line over his own reflection. "You change me, even in death." His hand fell to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his coat as though he could rip his own heart out. "My heart… It belongs to you, always."

With newfound resolve, Friedrich shed his clothes, stepping into a bath as if it were a sacred rite. The water lapped at his skin, cleansing not only his body but the remnants of his despair. He emerged renewed, obsessed, his every movement deliberate as he trimmed his beard and dressed himself in his finest attire. His appearance was immaculate, a mirror of the man he had been on his wedding day.

When Von Franz arrived at the residence, the pastor, startled by Friedrich’s transformation, dropped his glass of wine. The shards scattered across the floor, but Von Franz’s gaze remained fixed on the man before him, his face pale as though he were staring at a ghost.

"By night, I sought him whom my soul loves," the pastor recited, his voice trembling with unease. "I sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him whom my soul loves. I sought him, but I found him not."

The verses fell from Von Franz’s lips as if they were a prophecy, words carried by something beyond him. Friedrich stood still, each syllable piercing him like a dagger, his jaw tightening as the pastor's voice resonated deep within his chest.

"I must tell you something," Friedrich began, his voice low, commanding the attention of both Von Franz and Thomas. They moved cautiously toward the table where candles flickered, casting restless shadows in the dimly lit room. The once-bustling household was eerily quiet, the absence of servants amplifying the oppressive atmosphere.

Von Franz broke the silence, his voice a mix of awe and warning. "Your devotion echoes through eternity, Herr Friedrich." He studied the man before him, a shadow of the grieving figure from the day before, now alight with a dangerous fervor. "But it is selfish."

"Let it be," Friedrich replied sharply, striking the table with his fist before withdrawing his hand to retrieve a cigar from his coat. Lighting it with a flick of his lighter, he took a slow drag, the smoke curling around him as he spoke again. His tone softened, but his determination was unyielding. "Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

Von Franz’s voice grew urgent, his hands pressing against the table as though he could anchor himself to reality. "This is perilous, Herr Friedrich. You toy with forces beyond comprehension. Death is the final vow—'til death do you part.' To defy it…"

Friedrich interrupted with a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back in his chair. "Something as absurd as death cannot separate me from my beloved." He exhaled a stream of smoke, his head tilting back as he closed his eyes. The faintest sensation brushed against his chest—soft, velvety, unmistakable. His breath hitched. "Ah, my love… Do you approve of my words?"

Von Franz stumbled backward, his wide eyes fixed on Friedrich as the air around him grew thick and heavy. He reached for Thomas, pulling the young man close as they both watched in horror.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.” Your haunting voice tantalized Von Franz and Thoma’s ears, but delighted your beloved ones, hearing every word slipping from your icy and dry lips, rough against the warm soft cheek of him. 

From the shifting shadows, your form began to materialize. Von Franz’s voice faltered, barely audible. "Impressive…" he muttered, though his face betrayed the terror rising within him.

Thomas’s mouth fell open, his voice shaking. "This… this cannot be real."

His words trailed off as your ethereal hands appeared, their ghostly outline pressing gently against Friedrich’s chest. His head fell back further, his body convulsing with an eerie ecstasy.

Von Franz’s composure broke entirely. He yanked Thomas’s arm, dragging him toward the door. "We must leave. Now!" he hissed, his voice frantic. "If you wish to keep your heart beating in your chest, boy, then we must flee this place!"

Friedrich's grin turned wickedly amused as he closed the space between you intentionally this time. “Oh, my love. Be careful what you wish for.”

“I never play when it comes to what I want,” he muttered, swallowing hard as your fingers curled slightly into the fabric before reaching his arms. “And I want you, my muse.”

As he spoke, his eyes darkened, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before he regained control. “You have something I've been searching for and found in you” he continued, as if sensing his sudden vulnerability. He placed his hand on your waist with a delicate yet firm grip, guiding you into a slow, intimate dance across the room. “Something to wish for. You made me feel something…”

His movements were measured and graceful, leading you effortlessly as if he already knew every step of the dance. “Something?”

“Passion.”

Your hand seemed to tremble. For the first time, you felt like your words ran away from your thoughts. Something unexpected in your movement as you gently lifted back up. “You're not sure of what you're saying, Friedrich. I don't…”

"If you don't want this," Friedrich cut, swallowing hard, navigating the labyrinth of his own courage, "then why does your body say otherwise?"

"I’ve learned not to trust what my body says," you replied, but your wrist didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in, your fingers brushing the stray strands from his face with a tenderness that belied your words.

"Then listen to mine," Friedrich urged, stepping closer, pressing your hand against his chest. His heart raced beneath your touch, a frantic rhythm betraying the calm he tried to maintain.

There was something about Friedrich Harding—a tempestuous allure that made falling for him feel as deep as the ocean and as electrifying as the crackle of thunder before a storm.

His fingers lingered at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his touch sending an unspoken message straight to your heart. “You’re my wife, my woman, the only one I love. God spare me from my own sinful behavior through this sick pleasure.” 

“Would love be a pleasure?” you asked, your voice soft as your eyes locked with his. He studied your face for a moment before speaking.

“Perhaps the worst of them,” he admitted, turning his attention back to the fire’s flickering light. “I’ve avoided love at all costs since the last time I fell. And then you came along—wild, untamed, like the very flames in this hearth. I knew getting close to you wouldn’t end well for my… redemption.”

“Redemption?” you echoed.

“Indeed,” he murmured, leaning toward you, supported by his arm. “But it seems I’ve never learned to control myself when it comes to love. Lust, perhaps, but passion—grand, classic, all-consuming passion—never. You're my everything.” 

His voice, low and velvet-soft, broke the silence. "Make me yours again, my love.” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. 

"You’d have the world at your feet... but I'm afraid I only offer darkness." Your voice came out faint, clinging to him, the warmth of his body anchoring you. 

"You don't have to offer anything but yourself," he replied, his voice trembling slightly, but full of resolve. "And I choose you.”

With his fierce determination, his hands tightened on your waist with a strong reverence, crushing you against him as he angled his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with your own. 

He poured every ounce of his feelings into that kiss, the way you had consumed his thoughts and dreams.

His hands roamed over your back, mapping out the curves and contours of your body in that gown, committing every dip and swell to memory. He slid one hand up to tangle in your hair, gripping the locks and tilting your head back to give him better access to the sensitive skin of your neck. 

His heart raced, pounding against his ribs like a drum as he lost himself in the taste and feel of you, the softness of your cold lips and the heat of his tongue.

“Touch me, Friedrich.” You whispered panting as your lungs felt the breathing of life again, curling your fingers on his neckline. “Feel my heart. Even when I'm dead, it beats for you. Strong and hard for I love you more than everything to overcome death itself.”

He pressed his hand against your chest, squeezing painfully the soft flesh on his palm, feeling the frantic pounding of your heart beneath his palm, the way it raced and leapt at his touch. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, a sudden, overwhelming emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"God," he whispered, his voice breaking on a sob, "I love you too. I love you so much it hurts. You're everything to me, everything I've ever wanted and everything I know I don't deserve."

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours once more, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to regain control over his emotions. He could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, but he didn't care, not with your arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

“Make love with me, Friedrich.” you begged as the cold tears fell, cupping his strong face in your hands. “Take me the way only you know how. Make me feel alive, let your blood boil in my veins as you make me yours because I can't stand any other night without you, Friedrich.”

His heart leapt at your desperate plea, covering your hand with his own, turning his head to press a fervent kiss to her palm before tangling their fingers together. “I love you so much it feels like I can't breathe or sleep without you, I need you to survive.” 

He took your face in his hands and slightly pulled your hair back so his nose could longer on your neck, breathing in your essence that remained intact even among the light aroma of earth and ashes with the lilies placed with you in the coffin.

“You're my everything.” He shivered, sobbing, biting your flesh, sinking his teeth, leaving his strong mark, his saliva mixing with his tears that fell every time he realized that you were there with him. “Everything.”

He captured your lips in another searing kiss, hands sliding down to grip your thighs, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you towards the house, to the known love nest. 

He laid you down gently on the bed, his body covering yours, his hips nestled between your spread thighs. He looked down at you, taking in the sight of your locks splayed out across the mattress, skin glowing in the dim light of his bedroom.

Slowly, reverently, he slid his hands under the hem of your gown, pushing it up and over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He drank in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over the swell of her breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples straining on the cold air of the night.

He leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft, sensitive skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you as he gripped on your breast as his anchor, pushing him back to reality, his thumbs brushing over the nipples, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“Please, Friedrich. I need you, I'm begging, please.” You sobbed, choking on your own passion as you desperately searched his face in your hand, nipping the bottom lip as you tied him with your thighs. 

"Then you shall have it, my queen," he whispered before closing the distance, his kiss deep and unyielding, as though sealing a pact written in the shadows of the room.

He held you tighter, his hand now resting firmly on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles. The words you had spoken hung between you, a weight neither of you could ignore. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, everything felt like it was balancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice.

He slid his hand up your thigh, cupping the heat of your sex. He groaned at the feel of you, already so wet and ready for him, his fingers slipping easily between your folds.

“How is it possible?” He demanded, light headed with the feeling of his beloved intimate again, he could search in all the places, he couldn't find the one who pleased him this way. 

“You're giving me life, Friedrich.” You whispered, arching your back at the travel your husband is. Loving, intense, belonging. 

He slid a finger inside you, then two, pumping them slowly, letting you adjust to the new-old sensation. “God, how I missed you.” he groaned, curling them just so, rubbing against that special spot deep inside that made you see stars. “Missed your touch, missed your laugh, your moans, your cunt. The way you moan my name, oh… everything, yeah, keep moaning for me. Please, darling. Say my name just once more, can you?”

“Oh, Friedrich.” You moaned, curling your toes as your heart beated and you felt your pleasure slip on his knuckles with your peak. 

He leaned down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your stomach. He looked up at you, his blue eyes blazing with love and desire and a fierce, unbreakable connection. 

“Say you want me to claim you, to fill you, to make you a part of me in every way possible.” he demanded miserably, panting on your stomach, digging his fingers on your hips. “Say my name, tell me I'm not out of my senses and you are here with me. Say you need my sex deep as you crave life again as my seed overflows on your delicious inside.” 

“I want you, please. I want everything more than anything in this world or next. Fill me.” you whimpered, forking your hands on his locks, pressing him against you, grinding your arousal on his chest. 

He sighs, running his hands down your thighs, as well as his face that camped on your core, inhaling the essence and feeling an immense desire to cry at the touch of his tongue on your sensitive nerve, taking in every note of your taste.

He sank there, never wanting to leave, he just wanted to please you with his entire being, to adore you, swirling his tongue in the exact places you loved, because Friedrich knew you like the back of his hand, you were an open book to him, he deciphered all your secrets and dreams.

Everything you loved, his tongue in your canal, at the entrance, swirling on your clit and taking it all in to suck the little spot and leave a soft kiss.

“Frid, Frid, my love.” you called, sensing your approaching orgasm, you patted his head, his answers delayed by his fixation on your cunt. 

He swallowed the remaining taste, lifting his face lazily and meeting your eyes. “I love your taste.” he whispered, settling himself between your thighs, the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against your slit. “but I love being inside you even more.”

With that, he thrust forward, sheathing himself inside you. He groaned at the feel of your pussy so tight and perfect around him, it was made just for him, to wrap the way he wanted. 

Then, he began to move, his hips rocking against you in a steady, sensual rhythm, foreheads together to hear every moan, purr and whimper from you. He kept his thrusts slow and deep, wanting to savor every moment, every inch of you. 

His hands slid up your sides, cupping the soft, supple curves of your breasts, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he lost himself in the feel of you. He knew he would never get enough of this, of you, of the way you made him feel alive. 

“You're my life, darling.” He panted, deepening the sway of his hips, capturing your lips. “If it's necessary to be dead to be with you everyday like this, I'd sell my soul for just a moment. Take everything you need. Take everything from me.”

“As you wish, my love.” You whimpered, your moans becoming even higher as you craved your teeth on his neck on his pulsing point as a thin amount of blood flowed to your mouth. “Oh, God. You taste so good. Oh, fuck. You… Darling, uhmm…”

“Fuck, take it. Take more. Take every drop of me, love.” He begged, nuzzling his nose on your neck to mark you as you licked the remaining blood salty with his sweat. “Come on my cock while you suck me with your pretty cunt and your teeth. Take my soul.”

He could feel you starting to tremble, your body tensing and tightening as your climax approached. He doubled his efforts, his thrusts growing harder and faster, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he drove into you.

"Come for me, my heart," he urged, his voice a low, desperate growl, licking your bloody face. "Come on my cock, my queen. Let me feel you, all of you, now and forever.”

“Frid. AH!” The sound of your scream, raw and filled with ecstasy, pushed him over the edge. He groans,  burying himself to the hilt inside you as his own release overtook him.

"Fuck," he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the bedroom. "I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming so hard! Take it, darling."

He pulsed and throbbed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your womb as he held you tight, crushing you against his chest. He could feel every clench and flutter of her walls around him, milking him for every last drop as you rode out the aftershocks.

He could feel his body growing weak, prolonging that orgasm as he gave the last thrusts, his eyes turning blank and the grip loosening. 

"Frid... Frid, my love." You cried out, watching him smile weakly, his eyes nearly fading. Desperate, you stood up and slapped his face gently against your chest. "Frid. Friedrich. Friedrich, answer me!" you sobbed, cradling his nearly lifeless body in your arms, your tears falling heavily.

"It will be over soon..." he whispered, his hands weakly resting on your back, pulling you closer. "Soon I’ll... be with you... my love... Eat my heart, and you can live with our daughters."

"How? What do you mean, my Frid?" You shouted, gasping, as life slowly drained from him.

"Wasn’t that how you... came to me? By eating Sievers' heart?" He coughed and gasped for air, his lungs sinking from the lack of oxygen. "That's what Von Franz thinks... he knows about it. You trusted him before me... I didn’t believe in you..." 

"No..." You trembled, your eyes wavering as you turned his face towards yours, gazing into his pale blue eyes, already touched by death. "It wasn’t like that, Frid. You brought me back. Your love brought me here. I manifested because of you. I can fix it. I know I can, we can live forever."

You bite your wrist, but nothing came, your blood was dry. You tried to rip your ribcage to get your heart and make him eat, but you weren't strong enough.“No… no…” you gasped

“I've always admired you. You always did your best to make me live comfortably, made me feel a king, love.” He gave a soft laugh, his body moving slightly with it. "I'm glad... I could do something… I'll love you forever" he murmured, finally succumbing to eternal peace.

“And I'll love you always, Frid.” You sobbed, holding his lifeless body in your arms, rocking back and forth as you sang a soft lullaby, the weight of your sorrow deepening, while your body slowly disintegrated, returning to dust and slipping back into your coffin.

In honor of Friedrich's love, Thomas crafted a grand coffin, large enough for both of you. They carefully prepared his body and placed it comfortably in the wooden vessel, where your hands were intertwined with his, bound together for eternity.

[pretty-little-mind33]

my loves… i have realized i have made a mistake… i would like Friedrich Harding requests please!! smut of fluff or angst i just wanna try writing him!!

pleaseee 🥺

[shadow-the-crow]

Candle light dinner zwischen Frau Haller und Boerne?? Und was sollen diese Blicke? :( :(

Boerne näht Thiel zusammen und sagt ihm, dass er besser auf sich aufpassen muss :D

Frau Haller hat anscheinend ein Date mit Mirko (oder warum gehen die sonst was trinken?), Boerne fragt Thiel, ob sie stattdessen was zusammen machen wollen, und sie machen zu zweit Urlaub in den Niederlanden :D :D :D

[cherienymphe]

The Ghost of Harding Manor

Friedrich Harding x Reader

Summary: Your marriage is haunted by the ghost of the wife who came before you, and the walls of Harding Manor bear witness to your husband's descent into madness.

warnings: Dub-Con, loss of virginity, obsession, unsure if stalking counts if it takes place in your own home, implied chronically ill!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

♱

You were not Anna.

You were reminded every day from the moment you wed Friedrich Harding and became his missus that you were not Anna. Anna who was perfect and said the right things and walked the right way and was a walking temptation to the man she called her husband. Anna who—even in death—called to Friedrich from beyond and was nearly successful if it were not for strong hands and strong voices keeping the dark-haired man from throwing himself into her coffin with her. Anna who was well on her way to giving your husband a third child.

Anna whose touch still lingered in this home and along these walls and in the long dead flowers that Friedrich refused to throw out.

Anna who haunted you much more than she haunted your new husband.

Illness had not just taken the angelic beauty, but her three children with her, one never even getting the chance to take his first breath. In your solitude, you sometimes thought that you did not know what was worse—their two daughters remaining and forcing you to fill the void the other woman left in multiple lives…or your life as it were as you were forced to give Friedrich a whole new family and reason for existing.

You knew from the moment you became betrothed that you had a heavy vacancy to fill…but it seemed that Friedrich had no intention of you filling it.

“He does not touch me, mother.”

The words were whispered in the quiet home one day, and you looked around, ignoring the feel of the older woman’s gaze in favor of imagining what this house must have been like before the tragedy. You imagined how loud it must have been with two animated little girls running around. You imagined how good Friedrich must have been with them, and thoughts of Anna welcoming him home with a kiss and her arms full made your heart sink.

You were not her.

The advice of your mother went into one ear and out the other. You had long accepted that you were a poor replacement that Friedrich could hardly stand to look at. You were alone on your wedding night and again the night after that and the night after that. You were always alone, and the few glimpses that you got of your husband since the wedding day only proved fruitful in your gazes meeting for a stolen moment…and then he was gone again.

You were always alone, and he was always gone…

Until the morning you would not rise from your bed.

The fever struck you in the night, and by the time morning came you felt weighed down by sand. Any strength you had was used to keep your breathing as even as possible, unable to even muster an attempt to open your eyes and tell your cold husband that you were well. Conversations swirled around your head for what felt like days, and in between the feverish dreams, you caught diagnoses and assurances here and there.

“It is merely a cold,” the doctor told Friedrich. “Her body is fighting it quite well, and she will be like new in a matter of days.”

You recalled agreeing with the assessment, feeling more fatigued than anything else—you’d always been rather sickly—but your peace had been broken for the first time in months. The voice of your husband had reached your ears—so broken and angry and unlike anything you had experienced with him.

“...and how exactly did this come about? She never even leaves the house, for God’s sake.”

You heard the rustle of fabric and heavy steps and an even heavier sigh.

“In a matter of a night, my wife has taken ill, and I am assured that she will recover in no time, but I have heard that before…” his voice shook. “I will not bury another wife—I cannot!”

It all seemed so unlike him, and so you convinced yourself that you merely dreamt it up. The fever was clouding your mind and making you conjure up your innermost desires, namely Friedrich caring for you for more than just a societal duty to bear sons that would carry on his name. You allowed yourself to slip into darkness and dream some more.

A masculine hand in yours, a finger tracing patterns into your stomach through the fabric of the bedding, soft lips brushing along your fingers and facial hair tickling your flesh. Your mind conjured up all sorts of things that simply could not be true, and yet when you fully opened your eyes for the first time in days, you were not alone.

It was not easy to place the look upon Friedrich’s face as he stared down at you, towering over your bed with a smoke in hand and dark circles beneath his eyes. He did not look well himself, and you could not help running your eyes over him, wondering just how much sleep he had gotten this past week. The room was quiet as you two just stared at each other, and just as you parted your lips to inquire about his own health, he was abruptly turning away from you. His voice rang throughout the house as he demanded someone send for the doctor.

It was only hours later that it was professionally confirmed that you were almost as good as new and would probably only have to put up with a light cough for the next day or two. Hearing those words relieved you, and when you looked up at your husband, you could not tell if he shared your relief. You frowned up at him as the doctor poked and prodded at you, wondering, for the first time, just what the dark-haired young man was thinking.

He only stared back.

In fact, he only ever stared these days.

When you were walking through the silent house much like the ghost that haunted your marriage, you could feel the heavy weight of his stare pressing down on you. It was not easy to ignore—nor did you want to—but whenever you turned, no husband was there to meet your gaze. The only sign of his presence was the flutter of a broad shadow passing along the walls. He was much bolder when you found your nose buried in a book, and oftentimes when you lifted your gaze to catch him, he did not shy away.

“Yes?” you would wonder, voice quiet as both uncertainty and unease filled you.

Sometimes he did not answer, merely content to gaze at you, and other times he took his time in responding. He would exhale smoke and it would billow between you, briefly obscuring his features before he swiped his tongue between his lips.

“Supper will be ready within the hour.”

You would nod, and he would make no move to leave, and you would be forced to turn your eyes back to the pages before you…resolving to ignore the silent presence in the doorway that was your husband. You found yourself doing that a lot—resolving to ignore his presence. Otherwise, you would never get anything done.

His gaze clung to you when you ate, the dinner table silent outside of the sound of food and utensils hitting dishes. When your eyes would meet, you would send him a small smile, thinking to yourself that your marriage was just progressing slower than most, but he never returned it. He never smiled at you, only preferring to stare. When you ate, when you read, when you found yourself outside amongst the flowers…even when you slept.

You had never once shared a bed, so it was startling to answer a knock on your door one night, coming face to face with your other half. Your nightdress kissed your feet, and the sleeves tickled your hand, and despite that, Friedrich gazed at you as if you were standing naked before him.

“I only wish to make sure you are well throughout the night.”

You did not know how you felt both relief and disappointment, but you managed.

It took you some time to respond, nodding with a small ‘of course’. You still let out a cough here and there, and you did not miss the way Friedrich’s head would abruptly turn with every heave of your chest. Your marriage may have been cold and strange, but it was obvious that your husband had grown paranoid with the fear of burying a wife for a second time. You imagined that it would not reflect well on him.

…and so you laid beside him and closed your eyes and even in the cover of darkness…

You could feel his gaze.

It unsettled you, and you had half a mind to seek the advice of your mother the next time your parents came for a visit, but she—ever zestful and bold—completely took hold of your train of thought.

“...and when might I expect a grandchild?”

There was a teasing smile on her lips as she regarded you, and you merely sighed before taking a sip of your tea.

“You know my situation, mother,” you murmured, setting your cup aside.

Father was with Friedrich, and you hoped that he was enjoying his company much more than he seemed to his daughter.

“Yes, but that was months ago, and I can tell that things have shifted.”

At that, you frowned, turning to face her.

“Whatever do you mean?”

Your marriage was just as cold as it was in the beginning, only now a strange voyeuristic atmosphere had descended over it. Your husband had gone from ignoring your very presence to shadowing your every footstep in the house. Her light chuckle made you flinch, and she gazed at you as if you were playing some joke on her.

“Darling,” she took a sip of the warm drink. “I saw the way he was looking at you when you welcomed us through those doors.”

Your frown deepened.

“That is the gaze of a man fighting with all of his might to resist his beloved wife.”

Now it was your turn to think she was playing a jest with you, but you had no more time to linger on that for the voices of your father and husband soon filled the house as they made their way inside. You could only swallow as mother stood to welcome father back, slowly rising as your own husband neared you. When you traced his face with your eyes, you noticed the ease upon it, and you felt relieved to see that he and your father got on well. He looked like any normal man alight with the mirth that came from being in the company of other like minded men, and so you disregarded your mother’s words.

As you stepped past him to approach your father, your back felt aflame with the heat of a familiar gaze.

You saw them out and wished them safe travels and your father placed his hand on your cheek before he went, speaking good health over you. While he may have been used to your sickly nature, any instance that required bed confinement for his daughter always worried him. He wanted to leave with the trust that you would be well looked after…and well looked after you were.

“Your father was very transparent with me about your health.”

Friedrich towered over you as you sat at the table, having been unsure where this conversation was heading when he interrupted supper. A small container was in his large hand, and when your gaze lifted from the bottle to his eyes, you swore that you saw him falter, his words momentarily stuck in his throat.

He placed the bottle down before you, his hand remaining on the table, and the scent of him filled your nose.

“I have gotten the doctor to make a tonic for you. You are to take a few drops with your meal once a week… It will keep your strength and health up.”

He only moved again to open it, and despite the fact that you felt it was hardly necessary—having survived so long without it—one look into the eyes of your husband told you that not only could it not hurt, but for his peace of mind, you needed to do this. You two gazed at one another as he held it in his hand, and after some time, you realized what he wanted. Parting your lips for him, you swallowed down the few drops he administered to you, but even after you swallowed the herbal mixture down…Friedrich continued to stand over you.

It was in this moment that you finally started to voice your thoughts, asking him why he stared at you so when his movements completely stumped you.

His thumb found the corner of your mouth, startling you, and it remained there for some time before he brought it to his lips, tasting whatever had been lingering there. His blue eyes—normally so cold and unreadable in your presence—suddenly glinted with a look you could not place. It happened so fast that you would have missed it, but you did not, and the intensity there was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Friedrich parted from you as if nothing had happened, and you watched him round the table to take his place across from you once again. It took you some time to pick up your utensils again, rejoining him in eating your supper, and now it was your turn to stare at him…unable to forget that shadowy something that passed through those blue eyes.

He was staring again.

The wind howled outside of the window with the storm and flashes of lightning lit up the otherwise dark room from time to time and your chest and shoulders moved evenly as you feigned sleep. You stared at the wall before you, and Friedrich stared at you. If at all possible, he grew more shameless with it, and if you were a normal loving couple just so wrapped up in each other—as you were sure he was with Anna—then some part of you might have found it romantic.

Tantalizing even.

As it were, you were not, and as silly as it seemed…you felt hunted in your own house.

You constantly felt like prey under his ever watchful eye no matter how justified he made it seem. Concern for your health, making sure no food disagreed with you, seeing how fair you slept. The paranoia of losing another wife suffocated you both for different reasons and in different ways, and you felt as if you were moments away from choking. Your mother’s voice crawled through your mind, and words that you had once dismissed now rang through your thoughts like a melody.

The room glowed with another flash of lightning…and you felt the gentle feel of fingers on the side of your face. You sharply inhaled, startled from both the sudden touch and the foreignness of it. His hand rested on your hair, ensuring that he could gaze upon your face no doubt, and when you felt the bed jostle, you closed your eyes. His lips found your tresses, and his hand found your shoulder, and you both heard and felt him breathe you in.

Friedrich’s nose traced the curve of your ear and he descended until his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Despite all of this, your heart remained steady, and you remained still as he gently pressed his lips to your skin and traced patterns through your sleeve. You felt his larger frame shifting closer, and at that—at the feel of him pressed so closely to you to where you could feel every curve and ridge of him—you shuddered.

Yet you still feigned sleep.

“You will never be her,” the words he murmured into your skin had your brows furrowing. “...and I will never let you.”

Contradictory to the words that left his lips, the hand on your arm found its way to your waist, his arm completely circling you and holding you to him. That was how he remained throughout the night, and only when you accepted the permanence of his position, did you finally allow yourself to find sleep.

It was dreamless, and when you woke up, you woke up alone.

You chose to ignore the relief that filled you at that discovery, telling yourself that Friedrich was still grieving. It was an easy answer to his behavior and treatment of you, and yet, you wondered how much longer you had to endure it. You wondered how much longer you would feel watched and shadowed in your own house.

At breakfast, you parted your lips for Friedrich as he gave you a few drops of the tonic, and he watched you eat, and you pretended not to notice. For some time that is. Finally, after a while, you placed your utensils down, and you lifted your gaze to meet his head on. Ever bold, he did not look away, those blue eyes momentarily making you lose your train of thought.

“Why do you stare at me so?”

You finally voiced your concerns with him, and you watched the mustache twitch from the movements of his mouth at your sudden and brazen question. Friedrich looked as if he had never anticipated you asking that of him, but eventually he straightened, pushing his shoulders back as he studied your face.

“I am afraid you will slip away.”

His answer made you blink, eyes widening slightly.

“I fear…” he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “...like my Anna, you will slip from my grasp.”

Your lips parted at the unexpected answer, and you were unsure of how to respond. Friedrich took a deep breath before digging into his own breakfast, those blue eyes finally refusing to meet yours.

“I will not allow you to become her…lost to me too.”

It was in that moment that you realized you completely misconstrued his words from the previous night, and you stared at the man before you who was so desperate and driven to uncomfortable lengths to ensure he did not bury another wife. Some part of you felt awful for feeling so put off by his uncanny behavior…but some other part of you recognized that your husband was slowly being pushed to madness.

If he were not so already.

“She vexes me so…”

Those were the words you overheard a week later, your house hosting a small handful of people that Friedrich knew. The wives took to you well despite your quiet disposition, and when they proposed an evening walk along the beach, you went in search of your husband to inform him. When you found him, he was in the company of three other men, the smell of tobacco reached you first and then his words followed.

You froze the moment you realized it was you he was referring to.

“She is so quiet and frail…like a mouse” there were a few chuckles. “...and I so desire to hear her squeak.”

You felt yourself take a step back.

“...but it is because she is so fragile that I cannot bring myself to touch her…” you heard Friedrich inhale. “I fear I would ravage her.”

How was it possible for his words to both terrify and entice you? It was a relief to know that your husband did not balk at the sight of you as you once thought, but you did not hold the same sentiment in confirming you were indeed being hunted in your own house. Friedrich had made no moves to warm you to him and progress this marriage in a way that a normal man would. After all these months, he was still little more than a stranger to you.

A stranger that was increasingly losing himself more and more at the thought of ever losing you.

“...but Friedrich we only just got here.”

You looked to him with a slight frown, the ocean breeze a soothing feeling against your skin. So turned around by his words from the other night, you had completely forgotten all about the beach, returning to the other wives in a bit of a daze, something they happily sat you down and fetched some water for.

With one look at you surrounded and feverish with some water in your hand, Friedrich had cleared the house out immediately, saddening you. You were at the beach, now to make up for it, but you were sure that you had only been here all of ten minutes.

“It is a bit airish out,” he said to you, keeping your hand in place on his arm. “I do not wish to see you fall ill again.”

You struggled to argue with him about your health, understanding both the sensitive nature of the topic and the determination in his eyes to see you back inside the house. Despite what you wanted, you allowed him to guide you away from the water and sand. His hand remained on yours the whole way, and the closer you got to your home, the more your unease grew.

“Perhaps we can try again if the weather is better tomorrow,” you proposed the moment you were inside the warm walls of the house.

Your husband did not answer right away as he removed his coat, and for a moment you feared he never would, but his eyes met yours as he turned to you. He was gentle and meticulous in unbuttoning your own coat, his chest so close to yours as he slowly peeled it off of you. The words that he did not know you heard were on your mind as he looked down his nose at you, and he only answered when your arms were finally free.

“We shall see.”

His tone and his words did not seem to be in agreement, and you were unsurprised when tomorrow came and went and you did not leave the walls of your home. You found enjoyment in your books instead, and like always, you eventually felt goosebumps crawl over your arms as you became the subject of his scrutiny yet again.

Only this time, you were surprised to hear him approach.

“Read to me,” he quietly asked—demanded—of you, and you felt his hand in your hair as he sat down on the couch behind you.

It was an unexpected request, and you were silent for a few moments more as he made himself comfortable behind you. His legs were on either side of you as you relaxed on the floor, the fabric of your dresses and undergarments cushioning your bottom. It took you some time to do as he asked, but once you did, you started to forget that he was even there.

Until his fingers started to move over your scalp and he drew himself closer, his knees in your line of vision now, and his gentle breathing started to accompany the sound of your own voice. You read to him for what felt like hours, both of you only pulled from the moment when the cook informed you that dinner would be ready soon.

Much of your time was spent reading to Friedrich these days, and you wondered if he thought it a sufficient enough distraction to ensure you hardly noticed he never let you out of the house anymore. Your requests to go to the beach grew less and less with every denial and every ‘maybe’ that would just turn into a denial. The day you asked to accompany one of the staff to the market, he visibly blanched, his head shaking as he snarked at you how completely out of the question that was.

You finally spoke up when the monthly visit from your parents did not come to pass.

“I did not think it wise for them to be here,” was his only defense, and you gaped at him.

“...and why not? Why am I the last to know this?”

His hand wrapped around your arm as he pulled you away from the curious eyes and ears of the kitchen staff, guiding you through the house with that long stride of his that almost made it hard to keep up. When he noticed, he slowed down, eventually halting his movements just outside of his study, and when you hesitantly reached for your arm, Friedrich loosened his hold.

You watched him use his free hand to gently brush his fingers over the appendage, looking down at it with a frown before meeting your gaze with a more even stare. 

“...because they are always trotting off to God knows where around God knows who, and I will not allow them to bring even so much as a shallow cough into this household.”

You blinked at your husband, understanding dawning on you, and you struggled with a response. You realized now that appeasing his paranoia—not fighting it and letting him have his way—was doing more harm than good. Friedrich was so good at hiding his emotions from you—even the ones you wanted to know about—but in the dimly lit hallway, you could see it clear as day in his eyes.

He was consumed with the fear that you would wind up just like Anna and his children.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly reached for his hand, removing it from your arm. You did not break your gaze, wanting him to listen to you loud and clear, and you swallowed down the unease that filled you as you stood under his unwavering gaze.

“Friedrich…” you whispered to him, so unused to the feel of his name on your tongue. “That is no way for me to live a life.”

He pushed his shoulders back at that, and you knew that he was going to argue with you, so you continued.

“You have gotten me a tonic from the doctor…I am the healthiest I have ever been…and I would very much like to see my mother and father.”

His mustache twitched as the corner of his mouth curved upwards at your attempt to put your foot down. The both of you stood there for a lengthy amount of time, just staring at one another, and for the briefest of moments, you thought that Friedrich would see reason. Your hand was still on his, and your husband maneuvered them so that your hand was now in his, and when he stopped closer, you knew then that you were not getting your way.

“Perhaps some other time.”

You knew what that meant as you watched him walk away, and dread began to fill you as the reality of your predicament was truly setting in. Your eyes roamed along the walls, no longer feeling haunted by Anna, but her husband instead. He was haunting you, and she was haunting him, and in his desperation to keep you from suffering the same fate as his previous wife, Friedrich seemed content to keep you behind a gilded cage, a manicured box.

Like a porcelain doll.

Your days were consumed with only him and the house—reading to him, tending to the flowers, picking out patterns for some new drapes or a new rug to be made. It was enough to ignore the obvious for a while, enough to keep your mind off of the prolonged absence of your parents and the unmet desires to see the water and the way Friedrich stared at you like he expected you to crumble at the drop of a hat.

He was driving you nearly mad as he, and perhaps that was why you did it.

The caretaker was new and had not yet learned that Friedrich Harding preferred to keep his new wife locked up like some sickly child. Why would she? You were sure that you would be back home before he returned, but when you entered your home—the sun still at its peak outside—you did not miss the way some of the servants avoided your gaze. Only one approached you, quietly taking your coat as her gaze found the floor.

“Mr. Harding is waiting for you both…”

Your heart sank at her words, and you looked to the caretaker, knowing that you just cost her employment. That had never been your intention, and you walked ahead of her, prepared to plead her case to your husband, but he let her go on the spot before you could get a word in. Everything you said went ignored, every plea and every excuse, and it was only when the staff made themselves conveniently scarce did your proper and mighty well-to-do husband finally…

Break.

“Do you wish to ruin me? Is that it?”

His voice bounced off of the walls, and your lips parted as he stared you down. His eyes were alight with every emotion known to man, and his shoulders heaved with every breath he took. You only just started to shake your head when he spoke again.

“For surely it will be the end of me if I have to say goodbye to another wife,” he angrily whispered, and you took a step back. “I do not ask much of you.”

“I know-.”

“I have not forced you to my bed, I have not demanded any sons or daughters,” he let out a tearful chuckle. “I do not even demand you greet your husband with a kiss when he returns home.”

All of this was true, and yet…

“All I ask is that you remain here.”

He said it so casually, as if he were not asking the world of you to remain prettily seated in a cage. You had never known how to gently broach this subject, understanding the sensitive nature of it, but as you stared into the face of your husband—driven mad with trauma and paranoia—you accepted that there would be no gentle way to do it.

“I am not Anna,” you breathed.

The man before you froze in place as you said her name, and you swallowed. 

“I am in good health now,” you licked your lips. “You saw to that…”

You slowly reached for him, and you did not miss the sharp look in his gaze as he followed the movement with his eyes.

“I am not going anywhere, and I implore you to have faith…”

Your words trailed off as the sound of his bitter chuckle reached your ears. Friedrich moved closer to you with no intention of stopping it seemed, and your back hit the wall. 

“Faith,” the dark-haired man sneered. “Why would I trust faith to keep you with me when that very same faith failed me before?”

You had no answer for him.

His fingers touched your face, and you looked between his eyes. His chest heaved, and his heavy breathing was the loudest sound in the room. His fingers trailed down the expanse of your neck before his hand moved to rest on the back of it, moving closer.

“You are so frail,” he murmured. “I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.”

He forced your face closer, and you pressed your hands to his chest. The conflict was evident on his features, a furrow between his brows as he drank you in with those sad blue eyes of his.

“I fear that a change in the wind would rip you from my very arms.”

“Friedrich…” he gave no indication that he was listening to you. “I have not seen my mother and father in months. I know they must worry and… All I ever see are these walls and the staff and my books and you. Do you wish for me to be unhappy?”

He tilted his head.

“Do you wish for me to be alone again?”

“Friedrich, please,” you begged, and he was shaking his head as soon as you said his name.

“I cannot do what you ask of me,” he forced out, eyes becoming glassy.

You pulled at his arm and pushed at his chest, but your husband was a mountain of a man, and it did you no good. The room was filled with both of your voices at once, both of you pleading with the other—you for freedom and he for understanding.

“You do not understand the lengths I go to…”

“I will be driven to madness!”

“...the nights I refuse my own desires,” he tearfully spat.

“So you would have me be your doll then? Placed on a shelf where only you and the staff can see me? To only be looked at like a trinket until the end of my days?”

Your poor choice of words had him freezing, his voice dying in the air as he gazed at you with a stricken look in his eyes. He did not move for a concerning amount of time, and as he stared into your eyes, tears kissing his own, you wondered who he saw, right now.

You or Anna?

The wife he had lost or the one he was scared of losing?

“I cannot bear it,” he choked out, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. “It is an impossible thing to ask of me.”

You said his name, but he felt lost to you, mumbling to himself and kneading at you through the fabric of your dress. When his soft lips pressed against the skin just above your bosom, you tensed. You could feel the wetness from his tears on your flesh, and you said his name again.

In this moment, you were wholly aware of your disadvantage.

“All I do is try to protect you, and all I ask is that you help me…”

“Friedrich.”

He was on his knees, now, burly arms circled around your waist, and blue eyes wide and bright and tearful as he looked up at you.

“Yet you fight me every step of the way.”

“I am not Anna,” you said to him, trying to get him to see reason.

…but he knew exactly who he was talking to.

“...and you will never become her if I can help it.”

You felt his hand slide to your backside, pulling you closer as he buried his face into the fabric of your skirts.

“Night after night��day after day…I fight with myself for fear of hurting you, of doing irreparable damage.”

His arm tightened painfully around you, and you gasped, reaching down to pull at his sleeve.

“...and for what? For a wife who still leaves these walls and puts herself in harm’s way even after her husband begs her not to.”

“I cannot…”

You struggled to breathe, and you no longer just wanted him to let you go…you wished to get away. You both heard and felt him press a lingering kiss to your stomach, his tears wetting the fabric of your dress.

“If I am to risk you in any capacity…then surely it should be for the betterment of us both.”

So focused on trying to take in air, you did not fully register his words and the implication behind them. Your chest was tightening and your stomach was hurting, and your husband was losing his mind, and you did not know how to convince him that he would not lose you too. You pushed further back against the wall in an effort to relieve some of the painful pressure when you could suddenly breathe again.

You sharply inhaled…and the sound of tearing fabric reached your ears.

The pressure around your abdomen was loosening in more ways than one, and when you looked down, Friedrich had his hands quite literally inside of your dress. It was one that your mother had commissioned for you, but you could not find it in yourself to mourn the loss of the beautiful gown. You were more focused on your husband’s sudden animalistic nature.

You said his name, pushing at his hands, but you were no match for his strength.

“I cannot stop,” you heard him murmur, making your blood run cold. “Do not dare ask me to stop.”

With his hand at your back under the fabric, it was not long before you quite literally felt the fabric and strings of your corset being pulled taut against your flesh before ripping and popping completely. A panic seized you as you fought to get away from Friedrich, and he fought to rid you of the mountain of layers that covered you.

“Friedrich,” you gasped, pushing at his face and head, but with his arms around you in a vice-like grip, you had nowhere to go.

You pushed one foot forward, a difficult feat with a grown man attached to you, and your husband did not like that. He pulled at your dress some more—pulling down—and the action had you careening forward as you attempted to get away from him at the same time. With the floor fast approaching, you were prepared to crawl away from him, but Friedrich was much quicker on his feet than you.

Arms that were now increasingly familiar to you wrapped around your waist, catching you midfall, and Friedrich’s chest was to your back as he stood and brought you with him. You could feel his facial hair tickling your skin as he leaned in, deeply inhaling and kneading his fingers just under your chest.

“I cannot…”

His words trailed off as he forced you to face him, pink lips parted and blue eyes glazed over. Every step back from him was followed, and his nose touched yours while one hand found a home on your cheek. His lips touched yours for half a second before you pulled away, and he let you, frowning at you as if you confounded him.

She vexes me so.

You recalled those words that were not meant for your ears.

“I cannot…” his frown deepened. “I cannot resist you any longer.”

He finally stole a kiss from you, his lips covering yours in a way that no one ever had before. The kiss at your wedding was sweet—chaste even—but this was nothing of the sort. Friedrich deeply inhaled your every breath and pawed at you and pulled you closer if at all possible. The kiss made your head spin, and every time you attempted to move your head back, he followed. It was hard to breathe with his lips on yours.

You realized that what you felt against the back of your thighs was the bed, but only too late and when Friedrich’s hands tightened on the neckline of your dress. His lips sought out the flesh of your throat as he pulled and ripped it open completely. His blunt nails softly dragged against your skin as he yanked it down, moving closer, and with nowhere else to go, you felt yourself backed into a corner.

Your resistance was clear, and your husband wrapped an arm around your waist, briefly lifting you before dropping you on the soft surface. His large frame found solace between your legs, and you felt irreversibly trapped. He towered over you and his mouth held yours captive and his arms did not allow you anywhere to go.

You gasped his name into his mouth, a protest in your tone.

“I no longer have the strength to keep myself from you,” he murmured into the kiss. “Do not ask me to for I cannot do it.”

His hand slithered between your legs like a serpent, and you squirmed in a way you never had before. You had never even touched yourself there on lonely nights, recalling how unclean and unchaste it was said to be, but Friedrich was your husband. Surely that made it okay…but then why did it not feel okay in your chest? Perhaps it was because he scared you and isolated you and kept you locked away like some prized possession.

You felt yourself growing wet beneath his touch, and a low hum climbed from his throat as you laid your hand on his arm. When a finger slid into you, you dug your nails into his arm. The feel had you blinking, and when he added another, your eyes widened. A third had you gasping and him cursing—something you rarely heard. You felt stretched, and when he moved closer, forcing your legs to part more to accommodate him, you hissed.

“Lie back, my love,” he murmured to you. “It will feel much better.”

You refused to, one hand on the bed behind you in some weak hope that you could stop this before it went any further. You simply wanted freedom, and pleading with Friedrich for something so simple had ended in him seeking out his own pleasures instead. You could feel yourself dripping around his hand with every thrust of his fingers, and shame filled you.

When you were unable to swallow down a moan, you hid your face.

“There she is,” he slowly whispered, and when his thumb brushed over you in a way that had your arm weakening, he took advantage.

In one fell swoop, you found yourself on your back, your husband on top of you and his fingers still pushing into you. Your ruined dress hung off of you in tatters, and Friedrich tasted whatever visible skin there was. His large frame kept you pinned to the bed, and your eyes rolled and lashes fluttered from the way he moved his fingers and his hand between your thighs. You weakly murmured his name, and beyond that, in the quiet room, you could hear his movements. You could hear the wet sound of it, and more shame filled you, but you were not given time to linger on it.

He sat up on his knees, reaching down with his other hand so that he played you with both. You felt your back arching, and your breathing grew more shallow, and one hand gently massaged your mound while the other continued to push his fingers into your slick walls. He curled them into you over and over, massaging your insides and pressing the pads of his fingers against you.

It was unlike anything you ever felt, and when your stomach tightened—a rope or a coil or something deep within your gut—you let it until it could not any further, and you were suddenly gasping and whimpering in a way that made you sound possessed. You could feel Friedrich’s gaze on you, and when you managed to focus your own on him despite the difficulty, he wore an expression that you were sure you had never seen before.

It made you want to cover yourself and shy away, and when he pulled his fingers out of you—a tinge of red on them—that was exactly what you set out to do. 

Feeling hot and confused and unsettled by the man before you, you reached for the covers in an attempt to hide your nakedness, but your husband would not have it. He climbed over you, keeping you pinned between his thighs as he peeled off his light jacket, his tie and shirt and undershirt quick to follow.

You imagined that your wedding night would have been something akin to this, but only without this level of unease and fear and confusion. As it were, your wedding night was nothing like this. You had been alone, convinced of your husband’s lack of care for you, and now almost a year later, you were squirming beneath him and wanting to be as far away as possible from the man who metaphorically locked you in the tower and tossed the key.

“Friedrich,” you choked out, pushing at his chest. 

He leaned in and kissed you again, and you felt every bit of him as he forced you out of your garments completely.

The tip of him brushed against your sensitive flesh, and you shuddered beneath him. He would not stop kissing you, tasting the inside of your mouth and inhaling every gasp that escaped. His normally perfect hair was in disarray, and when he reached down between you, his other arm was proactive in holding you tight and in place for him.

The feel of his cock pushing into you almost made you wish for his fingers instead. You thought that you felt stretched before, but it was nothing in comparison to the slow way in which he sheathed himself inside of you. You felt unnaturally full, and it took your breath away. Friedrich groaned from above you, and you felt a shudder crawl up his back as he rested inside of you.

“I tried,” you heard him whisper. “I tried so very hard…but I cannot go another day without having you.”

He slowly pulled his hips back until only the tip of him remained before sinking into you completely. You could not stop the movements of your body, your hips lifting with his as if being carried by a wave, a breathless sigh escaping with every thrust. His bare chest was pressed to yours, and his burly arms kept you right where he wanted you, and you felt yourself slowly forgetting why you had ever resisted him.

“Endless nights of lying awake and knowing you were a mere room away,” Friedrich breathed against your skin. “So close…and so forbidden to me.”

The speed of his hips grew, and your nails dug into his skin, dragging over it as he plunged his cock into you with a vigor you did not know he had. He was always so cold with you, keeping you at arm’s length even when he was touching you. You recalled the feel of his hand on your hair and his fingers on your mouth and a brush against your waist. Always giving in just a little bit more until he no longer had the desire to hold himself back. Always staring and watching and craving.

It was so clear to you, now, and all you could think was that your mother was right…

…and you were a fool.

“I feared I would break you,” he panted, thrusting into you so strongly that the bed beneath you shook. “I still fear that I just might.”

He pushed himself up onto his hands so that he could look down at you, and the dull tender ache had started to subside, replaced by something that far exceeded the pleasure his fingers had given you. Your back arched, and Friedrich wasted no time in dipping his head to wrap his lips around a heaving breast. His tongue swirling around a hardened bud had you reaching up to thread your fingers through his dark locks.

He groaned at the action, and when he lifted his head again, his intense blue gaze sought out yours. You softly moaned every time his hips curved into yours, his cock smoothly sliding between your folds, now and stroking you in a way that momentarily convinced you your freedom was not all that desirable. Your husband did not look away from your eyes again, and it felt overwhelming to be beneath him and staring into his eyes and feel him within you.

One of his hands reached up to touch your cheek, and a frown formed between his brows.

“So fragile… It would take nothing for me to break you, to snuff you right out,” his words made your heart skip a beat. “You test my self control in ways that terrify me.”

His hand traveled to your neck.

“I was right to fear the monster that I would unleash if I ever got my hands on you…”

His fingers danced to the back of your neck, and he gripped the hair at the nape there, slowly and gently forcing your head back. His hips did not relent once, meeting yours again and again, the sound of skin meeting skin reaching your ears among other things that filled you with shame. So much shame.

“For I will never be able to resist you again.”

He leaned in and pressed gentle kisses along the expanse of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste the damp skin, humming at the salty nature the thin sheen of sweat gave it. You whimpered when he reached down with his free hand, fingers brushing against you and circling you as you greedily clenched around his cock. 

“If anything happened to you,” he whispered into your neck. “It would be my undoing.”

[gatorbites-imagines]

Friedrich getting 'infected' by proximity and becoming obsessed with dhampir reader?

Friedrich Harding x Dhampir male reader

Ficlet

I can’t deny I felt myself drawn to Friedrich, and it’s not just cuz its Aaron Taylor-Johnson playing him. The scene in the mausoleum… was something. This takes place somewhere after anna and the daughters die, but before Friedrich, well, you know. Tried to really go with the handsome mysterious vampire vibe here.

Hope this meets the “intro to obsession” vibe I was going for. I had a lot of fun writing this, would honestly love to write a part 2, if y’all are interested…

Nosfertatu 2024 spoilers ig

The plague was ransacking Wisborg, people dying by the dozen, bodies littering the streets faster than they could be moved away. Rats ran around, running about peoples feet, some even climbing up pedestrians legs if they could.

But Friedrich could not find it in himself to care. After his sweet Anna was gone, his beautiful daughters too, taken by this plague, for he still did not believe that it was some demon that took them. That was simply the ramblings of a woman who should have been locked away a long time ago. The alcohol on his tongue was sour like his thoughts. He truly should have convinced Thomas of turning his eyes onto another woman all that time ago.

Friedrich was not at his estate. He knew that would be the first place Thomas would find him, along with the two doctors who only played into the delusion. He simply couldn’t stand being in their presence right now, not after burying his beloved Anna and their daughters.

His eyes were bloodshot, throat raw from all his sobbing and weeping. He had not even changed out of the clothing he had worn to their funeral. The keeper of the bar he had found, had left the bottle with him after he had pair, deciding to return to the safety of their home, and not be stuck here with Friedrich.

The door of the establishment opened with a creak, cold air seeming to flood the room. What few candles stood about flickered before snuffing out, the room suddenly so cold that Friedrich’s breath was making vapors as a horrible cold sank into his bones.

The moment Friedrich turned his head, still so heavy and weary, the room seemed to warm up again, the candles flickering back on, the flame stronger and brighter than before. A man stood in the door, tall and broad in a way that spoke of good lineage, of a healthy diet, someone rich enough to eat enough to grow tall.

The clothing was similar, but not what was popular in Germany, but rather what you would see the upper class of the kingdom of Great Britain would wear. Most of it, at least. Down the middle of his coat, was stitching’s and details that felt like it was from somewhere else. It made Friedrich think of the few traders he had met from Romania.

What was most peculiar, was the mans eyewear. They looked like Windsor glasses, but the glass was tinted red. Not a dull weak red that most craftsmen could achieve, but a red so vibrant that the shades almost seemed to glow in the mans shadow. Last but not least, was the cane the man was holding. Polished and dark, with a pommel shaped like that seemed to be a bat of all things.

A feeling started filling the room as the men stepped closer to the mourning widow, the door slamming shut behind the mysterious man as if the wind itself as pulled it, his polished shoes and heels clicking across the flooring as he neared.

His walk was graceful, as if his feet were not touching the ground as he moved, like the weight of the world was not holding him down like everyone else. The world so heavy that Friedrich wanted it to swallow him whole.

A shiver that felt both molten and freezing ran down Friedrichs spine, as this graceful man sat down beside him on another stool at the door, the ship merchant finding himself almost bewitched as the unknown man pulled off his skintight leather gloves. It felt almost promiscuous, the way the gloves slowly pulled off his fingers and folded up so neatly on the bar top.

“You would not mind if I joined you for a drink, would you, Herr?” he finally spoke, his voice purred and accented, like a big fancily dressed feline, perhaps like one of those lions Friedrich had heard of. The voice was accented, something British mixed with Romanian. Seemingly out of nowhere, a crystal glass was in front of him, the mans eyes hidden behind the tinted glass of his special eyewear, but Friedrich felt like a mouse before a cat, like he was seeing someone greater than himself.

“N… not at all” he finally mustered out, voice gasped and breathless, like something besides his heavy grief was weighing on his lungs. The bottle of whatever alcohol Friedrich had bought in his blind grief felt heavy in his clammy hands as he pulled the stopper, turning it to pour it into the mans glass.

Friedrich could not wrench his eyes from the tall mans face, he felt almost bewitched. It felt like when he would look at Anna, but… more. Anna was always his beloved beautiful wife, who made him feel like an animal at times with how much he yearned her. But with her, he was the wolf, the hunter, and her his fluffy rabbit.

But now, he felt meek, sensitive, the hairs on his skin standing on end. Friedrich felt spit pool in his mouth as his sudden companion lifted the now filled glass, slowly bringing it to his plush lips, the bop of his throat as he swallowed making sweat gather on the merchant’s brow.

The beating of his heart was loud in his ears, Friedrichs hands twitching on the bar top in a need to wipe them on his trousers, but under this man’s attention he felt stuck as if he was submerged in stone or ice. His smile was… so beautiful. Dizzying, like alcohol and tobacco, like the medicines that made your world spin and colors dance before your ears.

Some of the man’s teeth were sharp, sharper than any Friedrich had ever seen, but his attention was stuck on the way his tongue flicked across his bottom lip to catch any stray drops of alcohol.

“You seemed burdened by a great weight, my friend” he purred, placing the now empty glass down, just to reach upper and take Friedrichs chin between his pointer and thumb. A loud shaky exhale left Friedrich, his Adams apple bouncing as he swallowed, his insides burning at such a small touch.

“I… I lost my wife… my daughters. To this plague” he gasped, the words wrenching from his chest like his daughters wrenching the favorite doll from each other’s hands. Why did he say that? spill such a painful fact to a complete stranger.

“You have my deepest condolences” his accented voice cooed, like one would coo at a small pitiful animal. Yet, Friedrich did not feel put down by the tone of voice, instead his very heart seemed to pump twice as fast as something like euphoria flooded his veins. The very attention of this man had Friedrich feeling more alive than any other moment of his life.

“It saddens me that my father’s obsession should take such important beings from you. I will find a way to repay you, anything you may want. You simply come find me, when you know what that is” his almost erotic voice rolled, his face drawing closer and closer to Friedrichs.

He knew he should pull away, claim disgust and horror of a man, and a strange at that, drawing so close, just after his wife had been put away in the mausoleum. But Friedrichs blood rushed, both to his face and downwards, his lips parting in a soft hungry gasp as his eyelids drooped.

The mans lips were cold, but not as cold as a corpses. Cold, like when you just got in from the pouring rain and you were soaked to the bone. His tongue tasted metallic, salty almost, mixed with the minty flavor of pastils. The kind a man would use to fix his breath.

It should have disgusted Friedrich, yet he found himself arching into it with a needy hungry whimper, a noise his sweet Anna never had drawn from him. The merchant wanted to grasp onto this man, to devour his tongue and mouth in ways he never dared with Anna, to climb upon him and be taken in ways he had only heard shamefully spoken of by others.

Pure ecstasy, what must be a taste of heaven, enough for Friedrich to fear he would spill in his trousers like a fool. Addicting, more than any drug. But just as he was about to indulge himself, the man pulled away, his grin wider and more akin to the demon paintings of the churches.

His teeth were painted red, his tongue flicking across his sharp fangs. His tongue seemed sharper and longer than the average person, but Friedrich felt nothing but want. In his hazy state, Friedrich did not even see him leave. One moment he was there, the next, gone, the door of the establishment wide open and the candles put out.

Rats ran by the door, yet none entered, as if there was a barrier in the way. It was only now that Friedrich felt the ache of his tongue, his hand clumsily reaching up and brushing against it, drawing away only to see them coated in blood. His mouth tasted like blood, his handkerchief soaked in it when he pressed it against his mouth.

His tongue hurt, did it start bleeding on accident when you two coiled yours like a pair of mating snakes? The throbbing of his tongue was almost as addictive as the throbbing between his legs, a wild feeling in his mind and body.

Friedrich stumbled to his feet, neglecting to pick up his hat as he stumbled out of the establishment, leaving his bottle behind as he tripped towards his home. With all the death around them, no one had time to pay attention to the befuddled man whose mouth and chin was soaked in blood, and nobody had time to pay attention to how the rats seemed to go right around him like a parting sea.

He must get home. He had too… he had to find that man again, he had to find you.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The Harding's housemaid

Friedrich Harding x fem!reader (maid)

warning: kiss, comfort, fluff, mutual feelings, forbidden love, no use of Y/n

Summary: Even before Friedrich met his wife, his love was for someone else, someone who was inappropriate from the standpoint of society. Love found its way into the Harding house, and Friedrich once again tries to make clear his feelings for the housemaid who has longed for him since she was hired...love always finds a way.

Info: I knew I would write for Nosferatur, especially for Friedrich for obvious reasons, so have fun reading :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun always seemed to hide behind the clouds every day, there were hardly any real sunny days in the city of Wisborg, and when the sun did show itself, it was so weak and quiet that it could hardly be enjoyed.

The city in Germany just didn't seem to be a place for such nature, the weather was full of clouds and fog, cold and breezes that could be found everywhere.

The ships that came to them on the sea to restock, unload or take travelers were sparse but steady and it played into the pockets of one family in particular.

The Harding family, a long-established family who had been ship traders for several generations, a well-heeled family, a family in whose large house there was room not only for several rooms but also servants to look after them.

They fulfilled the wishes of all the members, whether it was for food, clothes, paper and ink, all they had to do was give and the servants made it possible, for which they were paid and had money.

Just as on this day when the servants were quiet but busy, the heir to the family name would soon be returning home with Sir Harding after a necessary visit to the dockyard and it was expected that the house would be immaculate.

Which is why the maids were running around the various rooms, not running but always taking a quick step as she had just taken care of the boiling water to keep the teapot from boiling over and was about to wipe the dust off the banisters once more when she paused.

She saw the familiar carriage stop downstairs in front of the dorr and through the cleaned glass window she recognized them, ,,Sir Harding and his son are back!” she called out audibly to the others and forced herself to tear herself away from her seat before she ran the risk of being discovered while watching.

But could anyone blame her?

Ever since she had been hired in the blossoming spring, her eyes couldn't seem to get away from this handsome man whose blue eyes seemed to seek hers just like that.

His eyes, which followed her every time she was in the same room as him, whether she was dusting or cleaning, he smirked when she had to stand on tiptoe to reach the top corners of the wall shelves.

His caution with her when he came back at night and he had repeatedly ordered her to stay in bed so he could prepare something for himself and she would need the sleep more than him.

Of course, nothing but the fantasies of a young woman of no status, society would have laughed at her and thrown her out the door and Frederick would have ended the talk by marrying a woman of his kind...she was just a housemaid and no lady.

A maid who waited patiently with the others at the door until it opened and watched quietly as the two men came back in, the cold creeping in with them and giving her a shiver, the weather never seemed to improve.

,,I want a fire in my rooms and you bring me some tea,” the younger of the two men said and gave her a quick glance before the others went back to their tasks or turned to the master of the house whose attention demanded more than just a fire and tea.

His look was not decisive, almost asking, as if he would disapprove of any order and wanted to discuss it with her on a different level, on a social hierarchy in which they were equal and not rich and poor.

After the men had already gone further into the house, the staff began to move, she made her way into the kitchen, hastily with a beating heart she reached for the teapot, took it from the stove and loaded a silver tray with a plate and cup before taking it up the stairs.

Carefully putting one step in front of the other, taking care not to fall and break the good porcelain she had picked out for him. Over the last few months, she knew more and more what he liked, Friedrich preferred the lighter colour with the flowers to the one with the buildings on the porcelain.

A fragrant tea in the morning, a coffee at noon and a warm room whenever he came back from his trips – after all, it was her job to give him whatever he wanted.

She tried to calm herself down when she stood in front of his room knocking and saying, ,,Harding? Your tea” and waited for the answer that surprised her when he opened the door instead of her doing it herself.

A slight smile on his lips as blue eyes regarded her and he stepped aside, ,,Please come in,” as if she were a guest and not a maid, a feeling of euphony coming over her and she just nodded hastily as she walked past him for a fraction too close, the smell of wood and sea surrounding him.

A bond began to break down when he disregarded etiquette, and not for the first time. His slightest attempts and gestures, however well-intentioned and courteous, were inappropriate in a house like this.

There was a slight clink as she placed the tray on the table and put the cup on the plate, ,,I have prepared peppermint tea I hope it agrees with you" she told him and placed the plate with the steaming tea on the smaller coffee table where an armchair stood in which he had been reading something only minutes before.

He had gone to the effort of getting up for her, but still did not sit down and his eyes remained fixed on her ,,Everything you prepare pleases me” he said and looked at the cup happily, ,,You are too kind” she said trying to hide the grin and the warmth on her cheeks so she hurried to get the fire going again.

The charcoal was still smouldering a little, but some more wood was still in the metal display, so she didn't have to go back to the cellar to fetch or chop new wood. ,,The fire will be on soon" shesaid in the silence, using her apron to help her, grabbed a few pieces of coal to spread them over the embers.

A job she had done so many times but the feeling that he was still looking at her, at her kneeling form, ,,I have all the time in the world, don't hurry or worry" he only replied and she heard the click as he finally took a sip of the tea, which he commented on with a sigh of pleasure.

A sound that made her stop looking behind him for fear she would lose herself in his eyes that were still on her when the coals finally heated up and she could put a few logs on them.

The heat gradually fed on the wood and the first small flames could be seen turning round and round and a ,,The fire will start again at any moment Friedrich, do you need anything else?" escaped her as she saw him hold out his hand to her, not knowing what he wanted, and took a step towards him thinking he would finally treat her like any other of the maids.

To finally put an end to her hope and hopeless love without playing with her feelings, but he had a smile for her, ,,You've become dirty because of me, forgive me," he said, reaching his hand out for hers.

She wanted to pull away, not wanting to stain him with the coal and afraid that he was playing with all her feelings, ,,Please...Friedrich, you shouldn't care," she tried again and paused as he took a cloth from his jacket, his amused smile unbroken, and wiped gently her hand with it, the coal gradually disappearing from her.

He shouldn't have cared and yet he seemed to, ,,We are free people, who I help is my business, especially when it's such a beautiful woman like you" his answer made her blush again, she couldn't cover her shame and tried to avoid his gaze.

His words pulled at her even more as she tried to resist less and less, not when her heart had been longing for him for so long.

Yet by then he had already put his hand under her chin, gently directing her to look at him, a face touched with love, looks of hope and affection, ,,Free...maybe out there...but not here" she made one last attempt to tell him it was wrong.

That the feelings between a maid and her employer weren't right, not in this company, but he just shook his head with a grin, ,,No one's watching but you and me," he said the last as he came closer to her and she felt his lips on hers.

His hands finally touched hers, his warmth and the scent she liked so much after the lake seemed to surround them, an intimate kiss, a kiss of lust and devotion as the fire ignited between them.

She held onto him as his fingers travelled down her side, only the fabric seemed to separate them, but his grip was a comforting hold that she wished she could never part with again.

He drew her to him, his devotion, his hunger, his attraction to her was also reciprocated by her, it wasn't a dream she had been dreaming for the last few months, it was reality.

A reality in which Friedrich Hardin felt something for her, in which love had found a way to be reciprocated even in this desolation and the kiss was the proof for them both.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@lady-jane3 , @luhvbot , @juliemarauderfan , @coralcrusadetale , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @writing-imagines , @fadingbatmuffindonkey , @g0lden-sky

[sakumz]

____________________________________________

「 yanagi x fem reader 」

a/n : I wanna rant lol

____________________________________________

" please be the romeo, yanagi. shu sustained an injury the other day so he's the narrator with me. we need you! " ishikawa clasps his hands together as yanagi smiles and agrees.

you, juliet is feeling nervous as the clock ticks. any minute now and it's showtime! where's your romeo? is he ready? all this thoughts running in your head that you fail to notice yanagi standing behind you. you let out an internal scream when you saw him, standing behind you. he just wants to wish you goodluck.

" h-have you memorised your parts, yanagin? " you ask but before he could reply, you heard the narrators, shu and ishikawa call out your name. that's your que to stand on stage and act your role.

" oh... why do our families fight with such hatred? I'm sure that if given the chance, they'd join hands and work together just like we have. if they could just understand half of how I feel about you, romeo... I'm sure- "

" AH-CHOO! "

" what was that noise? " ishikawa whispers to shu as the mics picks it up, making the audience laugh.

" what's this, a horror show? " someone from the seats say.

" that was pretty loud, " another say.

" man! was you, miyamura?! " shu shouts, making him peek from the curtains to shake his head, no.

" how embarrassing, " you whisper.

" crap, I forgot my lines. hey.. um what's next? " hearing you said that, made the audience burst into laughters.

" guess it wasn't horror but comedy? " someone say.

" hey juliet, that was an important line! " yanagi finally, steps onto stage.

" I can't help it, you sneezed and everything disappeared from my head! " you scolded him.

hearing your words, the audience laughed a little too hard for comfort.

" hey! they like it, next scene you two! " shu encourages.

onto the next scene, you're standing on what's supposed to be the balcony. yanagi standing somewhere below and next to him is the servant, miyamura dressed in a wig and maiden clothes.

" the capulets want your life, " miyamura says.

" no matter how dangerous it is, I need to go to her, " yanagi replies. " she's waiting at that balcony! "

" don't stop romeo, but this is when this servant shows her determination! " ishikawa announced.

" the truth is, she's in love with romeo! when she thinks this is their farewell, she gets ready to tell him how she feels, " shu follows.

" I don't remember this, being in the script? " miyamura whispers as yanagi sighs.

" well, just say whatever comes to your mind. I'm sure hori-san will deal with the two later, " yanagi comforts miyamura with a pat to his shoulder.

" um... romeo-sama, I've always loved you... crap, hori-san! I love you most! I cant do this anymore, " he runs away from the stage.

the audience burst into laughter once more. suddenly, a random hooded lady appeared on stage.

" oh a mysterious woman appears! " shu says.

" just who is she? " ishikawa respond.

" um, I am Josephine! romeo's true love! " remi says as she pulls down her hood. the crowd gasps and whispers, was romeo a player?

" this... you can't be my lover, you're my sister! " yanagi quickly thinks of a line.

" that doesn't matter if we're in love, " she replies.

" our family will be in bloodbath if they knew. besides, I'm sure the president loves you more than I do! go back to him. " yanagi fake cries, making the audience sympathise with him.

" he loves juliet! " the crowd cheers.

" I- you're right, onii-sama. " she runs off stage.

" you think, I'll let you have juliet that easy? I'm her older brother, Friedrich! " hori appears and charged him with her sword. he quickly ducks and run forward towards you.

" when I asked about you, you're a despicable man who cheats and make women cry, " hori says.

" you misunderstood the situation and exaggerated it! " yanagi replies.

" you want my juliet? fight me! " she charges at him as he runs around the stage.

" m-miyamura! take her, please! "

" even he can't save you! "

yanagi finally runs down the stage as she runs after him. yoshikawa and hori's father was next to them when yanagi ran up the audience.

" please catch her! " he begs as yoshikawa grabs her by the arm and her father takes the other arm.

" kyouko, why do you have to bully poor romeo? " kyousuke says out loud, making the audience around him laugh as hori freezes.

" now that they've finally caught juliets brother, what's next to come? " shu says.

" i-im coming, juliet! " yanagi shouts as he bolts towards you, climb the ladder to grab your hands at the balcony.

" o romeo, romeo! wherefore art thou, romeo? deny thy father and refuse thy name ; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a capulet. " you read your lines.

" then I'll take you. in exchange, please call me your lover. if you do, I will no longer be romeo. my beloved juliet. " he says.

" okay... I love you, romeo. " you finish as you two hold hands and the crowd cheers.

the casts bow and thank the watchers as everyone slowly leave the place, you and yanagi walked side by side off stage. fellow classmates were congratulating you two for the heart felt work.

" ahem, juliet could you come with me? " yanagi says as he offers his hand out. you two haven't changed out of your outfits.

you take his hand as he leads you away from the stage area, he walks you to the quiet council room as you two enters he closes the door and take a seat on one of the chairs. you take a seat across from him.

" well? " you question as he swallow sharply.

" y/n l/n... would you take my hand and be the juliet to my romeo? " he asks, looking at your face as you blush slightly from his words.

" oh romeo... are you asking me to be your lover? if so then yes I'll be your juilet. " you smile as he leans in to kiss your cheek, making you both blush.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ inspired by nisekoi lol

[clockworkbee]

After reading Little Women and having finally watched Little Women (2019), I have come to the conclusion that all the people who ship Jo and Laurie and have created all those beautiful edits, have only watched the movie because there's no way you can convince me that people who have read the book ship them (though there might be many) because I just don't see it.

It's understandable for just the movie-watchers and lovers because even though it tried really hard to deliver as much of the book as it could, it obv. lacked in showing everyone's characters and bonds as deep as they are in the book. When you watch the movie, I get it if you feel there's no understanding and love or chemistry between Amy and Laurie, and I get it if you think Friedrich shouldn't have been the one for Jo esp. since you see Jo write Laurie that letter she tears later and when you've hardly seen anything between Jo and Friedrich.

But for the people who have read the book and ship them, I think they just would have loved to see the childhood best friends to end up together, and if there's other reasons, I'd love to know what they are (from the book Jo x Laurie shippers) because when you see it realistically (I know it's fiction, okay?) Jo and her mother were right, she and Laurie weren't fit for eachother that way, and I'm so so glad to see that boy grow and their friendship safe and strong.

[hederasgarden]

Overcome

Summary: You soon discover that your husband is far from the cool, reserved man that you imagined him to be. Pairing: Friedrich Harding x F!Reader  Word Count: 2.3K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU (the reader is Friedrich’s first and only wife), oral sex (f receiving), inappropriate use of a confessional booth, sex in church, inexperienced reader, and Friedrich being ravenous.  A/N: Come join me in getting excommunicated from the Catholic church with this fic. I have not seen Nosferatu so I am working solely on vibes and TikTok edits regarding Friedrich’s character. Big thanks to @ryebecca and @otaku-girl-ao3 for their help with this! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist

From behind your veil, you watch your new husband gaze back at you. The light filtering through the stained glass of the church window casts an ethereal glow on Friedrich’s face, making his eyes seem impossibly blue. Your hands tremble in his, the warmth of his touch seeping through the delicate lace of your gloves, a steady heat that contrasts with the coolness of the air. As the priest drones on Friedrich’s thumbs move comfortingly over your knuckles.

In the front pew your father watches the two of you, a faint, pleased smile on his face. For years he’s sought a respectable match for you, even as each season passed and you grew older, your prospects narrowing the longer you remained unattached. Now, with Friedrich, he’s found more than he could have hoped for. This marriage will bring your family wealth and connection, elevating them further. 

To have the love your parents share would be a blessing, but you know better than to expect it. From what little you know of your new husband, he seems reserved in both his opinions and actions. He has not grown his father’s shipping empire by giving into passion or whims, but from steady, calculated decisions. He is a man who will be a reliable provider for you and the children you will eventually share. Perhaps, in time, you will find the steady, calm companionship most of your peers have with their husbands.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest announces, bringing you back from your thoughts. "What God has joined, let no man put asunder."

Friedrich smiles, his lips curving beneath his thick mustache, and you return the gesture with a quiet, uncertain one of your own. He releases your hands and gently reaches for your veil, lifting it to reveal your face. His other hand rests lightly on your waist. Your throat tightens, and your lips part to draw an unsteady breath, bracing yourself for a quick press of his lips to yours. But instead, he cups the side of your face and kisses you deeply. His mouth lingers on yours, the feel of his velvety soft lips and the tickle of his mustache sending a rush of something hot under your skin. When he pulls back, his lips hover millimeters from yours for a beat before the slow, steady hum of the church’s organ swells and he straightens. 

He takes your hand again, his grip firm and warm as he leads you away from the altar. As you step into the sunlight, white petals drift through the air, swirling around you in a soft, fragrant shower. The laughter and cheers of your friends and family fill the air as they shower you both with well wishes. You expect Friedrich to guide you toward the waiting carriage that will carry you to the reception, but instead, he turns, leading you back toward the cathedral. At your questioning look he gives your hand a comforting squeeze. 

“The reception will be busy. I thought perhaps you might appreciate a moment for just the two of us.” 

The thoughtful nature of the gesture makes your heart swell and you nod. He ushers you inside, ahead of him and your eyes strain to adjust to the dim light of the now-empty cathedral. Friedrich guides you down a narrow side aisle, leading you to a quiet corner where the old wooden confessional stands. When you turn to face him you're surprised to find him so close to you. 

"Forgive my lie," he breathes, lifting his hand to gently brush the back of his fingers against your cheek. “I wish to have more than a moment alone with you.”

You take an automatic step back, unused to having a man so close. Friedrich glances over his shoulder before following, gently herding you toward the door.

“Herr Harding,” you say, your voice tinged with alarm.

“You are my wife,” he corrects, his tone firm but not unkind. “You should use my given name.”

“Friedrich…” 

The sound of his name from your lips has him inhaling sharply, his gaze locking onto yours. You watch him run his tongue over the bottom of his lip, a gesture that makes your pulse quicken.

“I have thought of you often during our courtship. Perhaps more than I should admit,” he tells you quietly. “Your beauty, your piety… they have transfixed me. But I must know,” he pauses, the intensity in his expression startling, “have you thought of me?”

A flutter of shame tightens in your chest as his words stir memories of the thoughts that would come when it was late and you were alone. How they would wander to what lay beyond the carefully cultivated distance of formal courtship. Of what a man and wife might do together. Now, faced with his direct question, you find you can’t meet his gaze. Friedrich seems to sense the unspoken truth easily, his sharp eyes seeing everything you wish to hide. 

“You have,” he says with a pleased smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Tell me, what have you thought about, little wife?”

It is difficult to compose yourself when he is so close and you find yourself staring at the fine lines of his coat. When the silence lingers too long he places a finger beneath your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

"Please do not make me…” you beg. “It is shameful."

“We are in God’s house,” Friedrich reminds you softly, his gaze briefly flicking to the crucifix hanging above. “To lie here...it would be a sin.”

You swallow hard and squeeze your eyes closed. 

“I have thought…” you begin, the words feeling heavy on your tongue, your heart pounding in your chest, “of your lips. Of how they would feel on mine.”

The rustle of clothing tells you he’s stepped closer. His breath falls warmly across your brow, and the clean, powerful scent of his aftershave envelopes you until it feels as though he’s the only thing that exists.

“Were they as you imagined?” he asks.

You nod, hands twisting together as your body seeks a way to channel your anxious feelings. 

“What else?” he prods. 

Your breath hitches, and you look down, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. “Your hands…” you stammer, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Y-you have long, lean fingers.”

A heavy, pained sound escapes his chest, an almost imperceptible groan that makes you glance up, alarmed. His Adam's apple bobs with a visible swallow and he seems to struggle with himself before his hand moves slowly to rest lightly over the hollow of your throat. Your chest heaves as his fingers trail down to trace the delicate edge of your bodice, goosebumps following in the wake of his touch. A shuddery gasp leaves you when they dip beneath the lacy fabric of your wedding gown, touching you where no man has before.

“And how do you find them?” he asks, sounding strained. 

You mean to answer him, to speak the words that are caught in your throat, but to your utter embarrassment, all that slips out is a wanton whimper you didn’t know you were capable of making. The answering sound Friedrich makes twists your insides pleasantly and you shake, hands curling into fists at your side.

“I am sorry, my love, but I fear I can resist you no longer."

The moment the words leave him, his lips are on yours, swallowing your quiet little gasp of surprise. You touch his chest, as if to push him away but then his tongue sweeps into the warmth of your mouth, and you freeze. The wood of the confessional creaks as he leans his weight against you, the back of your head cradled by his hand. His thumb presses into the soft skin beneath your jaw, urging you to lean back. When you submit, his lips trail down the side of your throat. A deep groan escapes his chest, its vibrations spreading across your skin. 

Over his shoulder you stare at the status of the Virgin Mother, her solemn eyes seeing all as she stares down at you from her perch. A cold rush of guilt and shame sweeps through your body. You push at Friedrich’s shoulder, your voice growing thin as you try to recapture your husband’s  attention. 

“Please. We cannot,” you remind him, even as desire swirls inside your own body.

“You would not deny me this, would you?” he questions, drawing back. When you hesitate, his expression softens and his hands frame your waist. "We are married," he says, his voice steady and sure. "There can be no sin between a man and his wife."

You blink up at him, torn. 

"Please," he implores, his gaze filled with such raw need and desire that it forces a single, jerky nod from you.

With a suddenness that startles you, he shifts, guiding you into the confessional itself until the back of your legs hits the seat, and you sink into it. The door rattles shut as he blindly reaches to close it. You've been here a hundred times before to confess your sins to God, but now it’s Friedrich who kneels before you. The touch of his hand at your ankle is electric, and even though every part of you knows this is wrong, you do nothing to stop his hand from climbing higher.

“I only wish for a taste,” he assures you, though you do not understand his meaning. “Will you deny your husband?” 

You shake your head, the quiet "no" barely escaping your lips, yet it’s all the permission Friedrich needs. His hands guide yours to lift the heavy fabric of your skirt until your lower half is exposed to him. Cool air blankets your skin and you startle when his hands settle on your knees. He gently pries them apart, his head tilting to the side as he studies you intently. When you try to press your legs together he stops you with a tsking sound and heat floods your face. You have never been so exposed.

“My sweet wife,” he praises, “there is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Friedrich urges you to move forward until you’re balanced precariously on the bench. On instinct, your hand falls to his shoulder to steady yourself. He watches you through dark lashes, his mouth parted as he takes slow, shallow breaths. Then he dips his head between your thighs and a warm puff of air washes over the most intimate part of you. Your eyes round as you come to understand his intent and he responds to your scandalized gasp with a chuckle, the vibrations sending a delicious curl of heat through your belly. 

At the first touch of his tongue to your sex, the air in your lungs seems to evaporate. It’s all you can do to make a desperate little sound that seems to encourage him to repeat the action. Your fingers tighten around the bunched fabric of your dress and you whisper his name while he eagerly devours you. His tongue moves so relentlessly in its quest that you can’t help but squirm away. 

To hold you in place, Friedrich wraps his arms around your waist, bringing you even closer to his face. Over the volume of your skirts, all you can see of him is the back of his head. You wonder how he can possibly breathe, especially with the way your thighs hug his head and your hips seem to move of their own accord. The thought lingers for only a moment before the beginning of a shaky feeling growing inside your chest eclipses it. 

“Ohhh,” you whimper, your hand slapping against the wall of the confessional. 

His attention shifts higher, circling some central point that makes your vision go hazy. The sweetest kind of pleasure rolls over you in waves, filling every part of you with warmth. Still, Friedrich keeps up the relentless movement of his tongue, an obscenely loud groan escaping between the wet sounds he draws from your body. 

“Please, Friedrich, oh please,” you moan, unsure if you wish for him to continue or stop.

To your relief he makes the decision for you, drawing away, his chest heaving. Through half-lidded eyes, you see the flush his skin carries and the way his blue eyes remain firmly affixed between your splayed legs. You want to hide from his gaze but your thighs shake and you feel weak all over. Friedrich passes a trembling hand over his mouth and finally looks at you. 

You stare back at him, caught between a rush of shame and an overwhelming, undeniable longing. Gently, he takes the fabric from your hands, draping it over your bare legs. Your fingers throb from how tightly you’ve clutched it. 

"You did well, my darling," he murmurs.

His praise soothes your anxiety and you let him help you rise. You stand as still as you can, fighting an unexpected tremor in your legs as his steady hands ensure every detail of your appearance is returned to its proper state. Once he’s satisfied, Friedrich grasps your trembling hands and he smiles, bringing them to his lips.

"We should go greet our guests," he tells you. "Though..." He pauses, as if weighing his words, then shakes his head. "No. You deserve better."

“Better?” you question. 

“Yes, my love. Because God forgive me, I want nothing more than to take you right here and now.” 

His brazen words startle you and you don’t resist as he guides your hand to cup a hardness at the front of his breeches. Your fingers flex curiously and he groans, jerking into your touch. Through your lashes you watch him as you repeat the gesture, earning a breathy little moan from him that makes your stomach tingle pleasantly.

"We must go," he says, sounding strained. 

"But…. we can do this again?" you ask hesitantly. 

"Every night if you let me," he responds. He kisses you fiercely, an unfamiliar tartness lingering on your tongue as he pulls away. "Every morning. Every moment you allow it. I cannot resist you, my love."

♡

My inbox is open for any requests regarding Friedrich.

[joandfriedrich]

Ranking Portrayals of Jo x Friedrich from Worst to Best

History- They are one of the best examples of friends to lovers I have seen; starting off as strangers who grow closer due to close compacity, being nerds over their love of books, philosophy, and family. While he fell first, he was incredibly respectful of her space and choices, only acting when he felt there was a chance. Jo, while oblivious at first, started to realize how strong her feelings are, then it verges into two idiots in love, where they are afraid to admit to the other that they love them, until Jo breaks down when she realizes she could lose Friedrich. Then comes one of the greatest declarations of love ever, ending with him lamenting he doesn’t have anything to offer but his full heart and empty hands, and she grabs them to declare “not empty now.” How can anyone not love them is beyond me. The core of their relationship is based on respect and understanding, he the calm to her chaotic, the introvert and the extrovert. As much as they appear to be opposites, they are also so closely in sync with one another that it’s no wonder they are meant to be. What makes this couple even better is knowing that Jo and Friedrich are the expy of Alcott and her love for Henry David Thoreau, of whom she was unable to be with as he died. This is a couple I will defend to my dying day, and I am sure even beyond.

2019- Are you surprised by this point, presuming you read my two other posts, that this would be at the bottom? This one broke me in terms of the portrayal, because it was the most frustrating of any couple that was shown here. It started off fine, we could see Friedrich having heart eyes for Jo, while she is oblivious, which is on par with her, and then we see them dancing and his giving her Shakespeare to help her writing. This was good, true to text. What killed it was the scene where Jo asks Friedrich to read her writings, and she throws a temper tantrum that could rival a kindergartener. For the first time, I had actually said to myself, what does Friedrich see in her, dude you could do better! And that is sad for a couple that I have loved since I was 12. The other thing was that see didn’t even seem interested in him at any point, maybe in the beginning, but other than that, I did not see any kind of connection that would warrant her sisters to push her into chasing after him. And I hate the “choose your own ending” style, because that is not what happened in the book, and ruins a beautiful relationship that was built on friendship and respect, something Jo needed at that point. It had a chance for so much potential, but much like everything else with this film, it failed so hard.

1970- This was one of the few good points of the 70 version, as it is very close to the book, and also the actors did a very good job of showing friends to lovers’ relationship. I like that the first time they met, she mistakes him for a servant, and rather than refuse to help her, he gladly takes her suitcases. The way he remembers who each of her family members are when they talk about her letter is very sweet, and much like the book, Jo has been helping Friedrich with mending his socks and his offering to teach her German as repayment. We see them playfully teasing each other, showing the ease they have, and they discuss the issue of the Volcano writings with maturity and not shouting at each other like other versions make them. Their reunion in Concord is what makes it, when he meets Laurie, he is clearly willing to step aside but is happy to find he is married and Jo is free, and Jo is all heart eyes and defends Friedrich to everyone who say that he is too old and funny, and points out all the great points about him. The added scene of him trying to propose but being stopped by Mr. March is nice, because you can see that Jo was disappointed that it didn’t happen. I am not entirely in love with their love declaration, as it feels unlike them, with Friedrich telling her what is expected of a German wife, which is never said in the book. Overall, it’s fine, but not great.

2017- This one has so many moments from the book that is not included in others, like Jo first seeing Friedrich helping a child carry a heavy bucket of coal, the pair going to a symposium to discuss philosophy, and their lessons in German (which was nicely played out with him reading German and she translated it out loud in English for the kids). I wish there was more scenes with them, because I think that Maya Hawke and Mark Stanley really got the look and behaviors down pact for their characters, but I do love that you can see the growing friendship of the pair, how he gives her violets before she leaves (in Victorian times, it represented faithfulness), how when she comes back and Laurie confesses his love and tries to bash Friedrich, she defends him vehemently, and the glimpse of him collecting her stories from magazines after she had left. I was disappointed in the lack of the Under the Umbrella scene, because I am sure they would have nailed it, though you could argue that their reunion was that, and I did love that Amy was first to say that she and the rest of the family loves him and pretty much can’t wait for him to join the family. Probably the most book faithful version, but I wish it had more, which sadly, knocked down a peg.

1933- This was one of, if not the first, film adaptation that I had ever seen, and I had always remembered the love story between Jo and Friedrich. I was enchanted by their first meeting, as he was seen as a kind man to children and the maid, and clearly Jo was impressed too. The actors truly captured the essence of Jo and Friedrich, her passionate nature and his grounded nature, and you see why they are drawn to each other, they balance each other out. I love the way they reunite at the end of the film, neither caring if they get wet, and the way Katharine Hepburn welcomes him into the house with so much love and happiness that you can’t help but to feel the love. This version is a watered-down version of the novel, but it’s well acted, and Katharine Hepburn and Paul Lukas started the Jo x Friedrich ball rolling very well.

1949- While this one is heavily lifted from the 33’ film, there is something different between the two actors, and a few script changes. In many ways, this one is closest in terms of vibes to the novel. Jo meets Friedrich on the stairs with kids, loses a button, and when they get to talk again, they discuss music, writing, and you can see the beginnings of something sweet between them. Unlike the 33 film, Friedrich’s love confession is interrupted by one of the kids, and their next scene is when he talks to her about her writing, and this one really is the closest to the book, where he kindly explains how she could be a great writer, and she graciously accepts the criticism before sadly saying she has to go home. What elevated this one over the 33 film was the extra moment that appears here, in which Friedrich delivers her book, which is dedicated to the recently passed Beth. It’s such a heartwarming moment and shows not only how much he loved her writing, but had a hand in its publication, showing the extreme faith he had in her book. The chemistry between June Allison and Rossano Brazzi is effortless and lovely, it makes it easy for you to root for them with the little time you have with them.

1978- I am a little surprised at myself for how high I ranked this one, but after re-watching it, there was so much in this that I really loved. Their first meeting shows him playing with his nephews, a trait Jo always loved about him was how good he was to kids, his willingness to help her carry her stuff to her room, and -this was very swoon worthy to me- when she offered her hand to shake, he took it to kiss it. I also adore the moment when Friedrich finds Jo reading his Shakespeare, the look he gives her, almost as if he realized in that moment he was in love. While this version loses a point for them arguing about her writing, it gains so much in their other interactions, like their German lessons, his chasing after her carriage to give her a book with his inscription of encouragement, their letters back and forth, and his collecting her writings from the magazines. Their love confession is sweet too, when he tells her that he will take a wife, only if she’ll have him, and tenderly says, “Jo, my little love, will you have me?” Shatner may not be everyone’s favorite actor, but he did rather well in this version, and his delivery of the iconic “nothing to offer but a full heart and empty hands” was so lovely. Susan Dey gives just as good when she takes his hands and sweetly proclaim that they are no longer empty, they hold her hands now. Underrated, and rightly deserves to be as high on this on my list.

1994- This was the portrayal that many a young girl of my generation made them fall for Jo x Friedrich, and it’s no wonder. Winona Ryder and Gabriel Byrne had a wonderful chemistry that you just feel coming through the screen. Their meeting and getting to know each other shows exactly why they fall for each other, talking about books and philosophy, and while they do have an argument, it never gets as bad as the 78 version, and you can tell it’s more of Jo being upset at herself than Friedrich. Plus, who could ever forget the utterly beautiful and romantic the opera scene is, if that didn’t win you over, then you just have no heart, I guess. The under the umbrella scene is just as beautiful, again, shows how Friedrich really was ready to sacrifice his own happiness for Jo, if it meant she loved someone else, and the incredibly enthusiastic and tender exchange the empty hands dialogue, that I can’t imagine the film to end in any other way.

2018- For my fellow Jo x Friedrich shippers, this is the film for you. Since this version follows Jo during her time in New York, we get plenty of Jo and Freddy interactions here that made me so happy and giddy. They met at college where he offers to be her editor, which is very true to the book, and you can see just why they fell for each other. They share a common interest in theatre and books, talk about life, and you can really tell that Freddy loves Jo for who she is, despite her unusual ways. You can tell that even though they had argued, there is still so much respect and love there, and that it hurts them to have left things the way they were. While we do not get the under the umbrella scene, we do get an incredible attic scene where he sees the source of her muse, the source of her, and you can see him falling in love with her all over again. And I love seeing them getting married at the end, shows the growth that Jo makes through this story, how she realizes that change can be good, and that a good man like Freddy made her see that.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Memoriam: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Spencer is investigating the death of his “imaginary friend” that’s not so imaginary. On the other hand, you’re finding out more about your family than you thought you knew. Why are you now getting the ick when you never had this before? What does it all mean?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"What was silent in the father speaks in the son, and often I found in the son the unveiled secret of the father." - Friedrich Nietzsche

There's something about this house that doesn't sit right with you. After spending one night here, you feel fear and sadness... but why? Shouldn't these kids be happy they're here and getting adopted? When you were a kid, kids came quickly and left quicker. You never got to spend time with the other kids long enough to form relationships with them. You're the only biological kid of your parents, but they've always wanted more.

Fostering seemed to bring them happiness, and you never questioned it. Now that you have had some time apart from them, you're starting to see things for what they truly are. Like, why don't you hear laughter in the hallway? Why do the kids like to cower in their rooms? Why are they quick to do their chores, but spend hours doing something that should take thirty minutes?

You get up extra early this morning in hopes you can do some digging on your own. You quickly get dressed and head downstairs, pausing in the middle of the stairs to look at the pictures on the wall.

They're all of you. When you were a baby, early toddler years, late childhood era, and well into your teenage years. Some of the younger pictures are of you running around in the backyard naked with the sprinklers on, and others are of you and your dad cuddling on the couch.

Weird how none of these pictures contain your mother.

You head to the kitchen where three kids are eating breakfast. You haven't seen your mom or dad around, so if you're going to ask questions, then now is the time. The kids don't look at you when you enter, they stiffen at your presence.

"Is everything alright?"

You get no response from them. Why are they so scared?

"What's your name?" you ask the little boy that's closest to you.

"James," he says in a quiet voice.

"His name is Joshua."

You turn to see your dad walk into the kitchen. Was he standing there listening in? It seems convenient that he would pop up right as you're asking questions.

"That's not what he says."

"Josh has a big imagination. His favorite superhero is named James, and he loves dressing up as him and pretending he is him. He gets confused a lot." You scrunch your face up in confusion, and your dad clasps his hands together eagerly. "Okay, breakfast time is over. You all have your morning chores to do."

All three kids pack up their things quickly before leaving the kitchen in a hurry. As Joshua passes by you, he mutters something that has your eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"My name is James."

"Where's mom?" you ask.

"She's getting the rest of the kids ready for their chores."

"How many kids are here?"

"About a dozen of all ages."

"You'd think you'd want to retire at your age and not take care of young children."

"I love it," he shrugs.

Your hands fall to your sides, and you feel something in your pocket. Yes, you made sure to bring it as soon as you knew you'd be visiting your parents. You take out the necklace you found in the rubble of your apartment after it was burned down. Without uttering a word, you set the necklace on the kitchen island right in his eye line. He looks at it and immediately stiffens, but he doesn't say a word.

It has always been very hard to read him even while growing up, but you've spent so much time apart that you think you can do it now.

"Do you know what this is? I found it in the ashes of my apartment when it burned down."

"I've been looking for that necklace for years now," your dad says with an easy smile. "I thought I lost it. It must have gotten mixed up with your things." You want to press him for more information, but he's already bringing you into a hug. Just like that, all worries you have drifts away. Nothing is going on with your dad. He's normal, and you're overthinking things. "You've been gone for too long. I'd wish you'd visit more."

"Maybe if you and Mom weren't foster parents, then you could take a vacation and come see me in Virginia."

"We're actually planning a trip soon and another one in a few years. Maybe you can go with us on that one. It'd mean the world to me."

"Of course," you grin. Your phone rings, and you see that your boyfriend is messaging you. "Spencer is here to pick me up." Your dad walks you outside, and he looks at Spencer who stays in the car. "I'll make sure to visit again."

"Maybe without Spencer."

"I don't know why you're being so hard on him. He's a good man and he takes care of me. If you'd give him a chance, you'd love him."

Spencer watches from the front seat, and he drums his fingers on the steering wheel to prevent himself from going out there and dragging you away. Your dad pulls you in for a final hug, and when he pulls away, he kisses your cheek. However, he's so close to the corner of your mouth that he's practically mouth-kissing you.

Spencer's eyes narrow at this.

You pull away from your dad completely, and his hand brushes the underside of your breast. You don't seem to notice, and you jog over to the car. When you get inside, you notice Spencer's sour look.

"What is wrong?" Spencer backs up to make a U-turn, but his eyes never leave your father's. He waits until he's on the main road before addressing what he saw. "Spencer, what is the matter?"

"I don't like the way he kissed and hugged you. He practically kissed you on the mouth. Plus, when he pulled away, he touched your boob."

"I turned my head too soon. It was an accident. It's nothing to get concerned over. You're overthinking it. Everything is okay."

Spencer wants to talk more about this, but you're not in the right mind to listen to him right now.

"I'm going to stay in Vegas for a couple more days. This Riley Jenkins case is bugging me too much to let go. I'd appreciate it if you were to stay with me."

"Spencer, of course, I will. I got your back all the way."

He drives back to the casino where the rest of the team is waiting. Emily looks hungover as fuck, JJ looks amused by her actions, Derek is happily playing the machines while he waits, and Rossi is eager to leave the city.

"Oh, here they come right now," Derek says when he notices you two walk in. "You know what, I don't even want to know what you two were doing."

"Don't be nasty. I was with my parents. He picked me up," you roll your eyes.

"Hotch is already at the airstrip. How fast can you two pack?" JJ asks.

"Actually, we're gonna stay for a couple of days."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just haven't seen my mom for a really long time, so I'd like a few more days."

"I want to spend more time with my parents. I don't see them often either."

"Are you sure?" Rossi asks, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"Yeah."

"Okay, take a few days. Do what you need to do."

The whole team shuffles out of the casino after saying their goodbyes. As soon as they are out of earshot, Spencer turns to you with a serious look.

"The next time you go visit your parents, I'm going with you."

"Spencer," you sigh.

"Y/N, your dad is getting too close to you that's conceived as normal."

"He's my dad, Spencer. What harm can he do?"

"You've been at this job long enough to know anyone is capable of anything and is good at hiding it."

You sigh in frustration, but you don't want to fight.

"Nothing is going on, but if you want to come, then you can. Now, where do we start with Riley?"

"The local police station."

Everything in Vegas is practically within walking distance and by car, it's even quicker. Spencer is very nervous, especially when Vegas PD doesn't know you're coming. The station isn't busy for being in a busy city, but there isn't an available officer to help you. You approach one who is sitting at a desk.

"Excuse me? My name is Y/N and this is Dr. Spencer Reid. We're with the FBI." You and Spencer flash him your badge. "We'd like to see everything you have about the 1984 murder of a boy named Riley Jenkins."

"Of course."

He pauses what he is doing to get that information for you. A detective returns instead of the officer, but he has the boxes you're asking about. He brings you to his office to discuss this privately.

"I'm Detective Hyde, the detective on the case. This was a rough one," he sighs.

"Did you work the case?" you ask.

"Yeah. I was three or four blocks away when the call came in on the radio. My first kid. You don't forget those."

"Can I ask you this? Were there any suspects?" Spencer wonders.

"The family, initially. We thought it could have been the dad or the older brother."

"That makes sense. I heard the boy was found in his basement, right?"

"Yeah. After a while, the family got defensive and stopped cooperating. It reminded me of the Jon-Benet case. The family being suspects never sat right with me. I always thought that it was someone outside the home. What's the bureau's interest in the case?"

"Research," you smile and gesture to the box he brought in. "Is this everything?"

"There might be another box down in records."

"We'd like to see it all if you don't mind."

Detective Hyde leaves his office and returns with one more box. You and Spencer each carry one box as you make your way back to the hotel room. Spencer paid for extra days out of his own money since the FBI is no longer needed in Las Vegas. You and Spencer walk down the hallway silently, but you frown when you see his hotel door open partially. Someone is talking inside the room, and you set your box on top of Spencer's so he's carrying both of them. You slide your gun out of the holster and push open the door slowly.

Derek and Rossi are sitting on the chairs watching a soap opera. You sigh in relief and lower your gun, and they turn to you with a smile.

"What are you guys doing here?" Spencer asks and closes the door with his foot.

"What's it look like we're doing?"

"Breaking into our room and watching 'Days of Our Lives'."

"Aren't you supposed to be on a plane back to D.C?" Spencer asks.

"Aren't you supposed to be hanging out with your mom?" Rossi bites back.

"Is this about Riley Jenkins?"

"No, it's not--that's not why I'm here."

Spencer is a terrible liar when it comes to his personal life. He can lie very well when it doesn't affect him.

"Reid, come on, man. Who do you think you're talking to? I know what this has been doing to you. Let us help."

"Maybe we can figure out who killed him. Together."

"They have a point," you whisper to Spencer.

"I think I might already know."

"Tell us about the suspect."

"The truth is, I don't know anything about him. He's my father."

You weren't expecting that, but you're not going to tell Spencer he might be wrong. He's right, you never know what anyone is capable of. Family or otherwise.

"Before we go down this road, you need to be sure."

"He's right," Derek backs Rossi up. "Some rocks don't need looking under."

"My mind is sending me signals. I can't ignore them anymore."

"If Spencer suspects his father, then we should support him. Family doesn't mean they're safe."

If only you'd listen to him about your own father.

"Reid, your dad left you. If you take it to the Freudian extreme, you could say that he killed your childhood. It could explain a dream in which you see him as a murderer."

"I've come this far, I'm not going back."

"Okay, we're with you," you say and take a seat on the bed with Spencer. "Tell us about what you remember about the murder."

"Riley was six at the time. His father, Lou Jenkins, was supposed to pick him up from t-ball practice at four. He got delayed at work, prompting Riley to walk the three blocks home. When his mother got home in the early evening, she found him dead in the basement."

"Either the offender came to the house after the boy arrived home, or he picked him up on the way there. He could have coaxed Riley into the basement where he sexually assaulted him."

"His mouth was taped shut," Spencer says. "The unsub must have feared Riley would talk, panics, weighs his options, and decides to make certain he'll never talk."

"He finds a knife in the fishing gear under the stairs and stabs Riley nine times in the chest before stuffing him behind the washing machine. If the unsub was a white male in his late twenties to early thirties when the crime was committed, then we're looking for someone in his fifties."

"He likely knew the boy. Maybe he's even been to his house like a neighbor," Derek thinks out loud. Spencer looks down and widens his eyes in horror. "Reid? What is it?"

"My family lived less than half a mile from the Jenkins'."

"Do you think your dad knew the boy?" Rossi asks.

"I don't know. My memory's lack of recall just reinforces how little I knew about him."

"Baby, you know we're going to have to track him down, right?"

"We should talk to my mother first along with some neighbors."

You know he doesn't want to see his dad, and he's doing everything he can to avoid him. You look at Rossi and Derek, and you know they're thinking the same thing you are.

"Reid, I don't need to tell you that this signature was need-based and sexual. The man we're looking for is a pedophile. So, I'll ask you again. Are you sure you want to go down this road?" Rossi asks carefully.

"I have to know," he whispers.

"I'm with you." You reach over and grab his hand. "I'm with you until the end."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[cinnamonspicewritingroom]

More Than Diamonds

Pairing: Prince Friedrich x Princess! Reader Description:

A hardcore Bridgerton fan, Davika bit the dust in 2021 during a wild protest against Thailand's king on the way home. But instead of the pearly gates, she woke up in the 19th century, suddenly the offspring of Siam's 2nd king and some British lady of mystery descent. Armed with her modern know-how, her main goal is to stack up that cash and upgrade Siam for some chill vibes to avoid being sold off in some arranged marriage mess. But who knew she'd find herself smack in the middle of her beloved Bridgerton drama series? Talk about a plot twist! How's she gonna handle this? Amelia better watch out not to change the story—or is it too late?

Meanwhile, the Brits are buzzing about their new royal guest just in time for the 1813 debutante ball. Princess Amelia of Siam has rolled in as the fresh Ambassador of Siam. With Daphne and Prince Friedrich's courtship hitting the skids, nobody expected him to stick around London, but Friedrich's not one to skedaddle with his tail between his legs. Homeboy's on a mission to snag a wifey and he's not backing down. Friedrich's never been one to back down, but when it comes to Amelia, he's all cold feet. Folks say Amelia's a brainiac, but love? That's a whole different ball game. Those butterflies in her stomach? Yeah, she ain’t got a clue what to do with 'em.

Tags: Slow burn, Coming of age, Time-Travel, Back to the past, Friends to Lovers, Royalties, Oblivious!FLxObvious!ML, Jealous! Friedrich, Slightly Possessive! Friedrich, Black cat gf, Golden retriever bf Timeline: S1&S2

Chapter 2. Princes and a Princess

Calm down, Davika—No, Apsara. Davika is dead; now she is Somdet Chao Fa Apsara Chaiya Kanika, and she fought for her title. Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. You learned this in your overpriced yoga class before you bit the dust and got transported into the middle of the fucking Bridgerton series. 

Focus on the present—right now she is having tea with Golda Rosheuvel—Queen Charlotte, the lineup of princes who are yet to marry, and the current Prince Regent, Prince George IV.

“Lady Amelia, I heard that you are a driving force in the Siamese court,” Prince George IV looked at the Siamese Ambassador. He did not know what he expected, but not a petite-looking teenager; she is not even a woman yet. To believe that she has been advising the Crown Prince and King in the Siamese court was truthfully hard.

“Surely you jest, your highness. I am not much of a driving force as you implied. My achievements are minuscule compared to the King and Crown Prince. I merely stated my opinions on several topics. They are generous enough to listen to my chatter,” Amelia politely responded.

“Starting very young, at the age of 13 years old, I heard you had helped the Crown Prince, Prince Rama III, to establish education for girls by creating a law in which every citizen, man or woman alike, had the fundamental rights to education.” Several of the princes chatted with one another; one of them stated how women's education is useless and how their position is to stay at home with the children. Girl—wait till you hear about the 21st century; women can vote and work.

“And pray tell, why did you think education for women is useless, Prince Frederick?” This put the spotlight on Prince Frederick, who was talking to Prince Augustus. The Queen eyed him sharply; Frederick knew he had to thread this carefully, especially since he was in the presence of the Ambassador of Siam; they could potentially pull all rights for trading and business in their land. They cannot afford that right now, not while they are still at war with Napoleon.

“I think women are gentle creatures who need to be loved. Rather than dealing with harsh politics and boring numbers, they should be surrounded by beautiful things. Music, poetry, paintings. Do you not agree, Lady Amelia?” He looked so proud of his words; Amelia wanted to gag at his face, but instead she chuckled and slightly shook her head.

“May I ask you a question?” Still glowing in pride, he only answered with a gesture, which probably meant ‘go ahead.’ “When you were still a child, which parent did you see more? Your father or your mother?” Several of the princes glanced at their mother, including Prince Frederick. The Queen gestured to him to answer Amelia’s question.

“As my father was busy with work, naturally I saw my mother more than him.” Amelia nodded. “And which parent oversees your education? The one who consulted with the governor, asked you about your progress?” Prince Frederick paused before answering, “My mother, of course. Is it not natural that children will spend more time with their mother? After all, fathers are usually busy and away often.” Amelia smiled subtly.

“Absolutely, mothers are the ones who spend more time with their children compared to their father—” “And as they are at home, why would women burden themselves with education? They should focus on raising the children and make sure they are raised properly.” Amelia stared at the prince for several seconds before she picked up her tea to take a sip.

“Queen Charlotte,” Amelia changed her tactics and turned towards the Queen, who was staring at her with interest. “I heard you were originally from Germany?” The Queen blinked and frowned a bit; she was a bit disappointed that the Siamese Ambassador backed down from the debate against her son. Maybe she is not as brilliant as rumoured.

“Why, yes, I came from the Duchy of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, located in Northern Germany. You should come visit; it is a very beautiful place.” Smiling, The Queen had a look of longing and pride for her country. Amelia nodded. “I will inform the King; maybe he will consider visiting Northern Germany for his annual honeymoon destination.” The Queen nodded with a smile and proceeded to pick up her tea. She was quite pleased with that answer. 

“Your Majesty, I am quite curious about the subject of education for European noblewomen. If education is limited to males, what subjects are allowed for noblewomen to learn?” So Lady Amelia did not back down; the Queen smiled behind her cup.

“Noblewomen are taught how to read and write; they learn about cultures, music, art, and literature. However, as the Queen of England, I need to understand the history of the country and calculations.” How will the Ambassador answer her son after she gives her ammunition?

“If you don’t mind me asking, how does your education experience help you manoeuvre your children’s education? Such as, have you ever consulted subjects you deemed more necessary for the princesses and princes with their governor and governess?” Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia eyed Prince Frederick. He was still looking as smug as ever with his lukewarm answer.

“Lady Amelia, my children are the future of the country. My job is to make sure they receive the best education possible, so of course I would need to consult with the governor. God knows how many times I consulted them, and even more often for me to help them learn and understand what they were learning about.” The whole time Amelia was looking at Prince Frederick. “And you raised them beautifully, Your Majesty. They could not be like this without you.” Amelia sweetly smiled at the Queen before fully turning around to face Prince Frederick.

“You see, Prince Frederick. We have established that mothers spend more time with their children, more than their father. Mothers are the ones who oversee their children’s education, but more than that, they are also their first educators.” She needed that. The pettiness to emphasise that word.

“If the mother has no solid education, then it is easy for the children’s education to go astray. It was fortunate that you were born royal with a mother who had received proper education in her early years. Your mother was able not only to consult with the governor and governess but also helped with your learning process. Unfortunately, not everyone is lucky enough.” Amelia knows she has won the argument with these facts; she just… wanted him to burn a bit more.

“Prince George.” The said Prince perked up. “From what I remembered during the introduction, you are the Prince Regent, correct?” “Yes, you are right.” He confirmed as Amelia gave him a strained smile.

“I must confess, I am never one to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I don’t know how you run your country, but I know the Siam I envision it to be.” Amelia sighed, her thumb tracing the edge of the saucer.

“We want to establish peace in the country, and we want equality for everyone. That is impossible without having the citizens educated. Women included because women count.” Her light brown eyes met Prince George’s dark ones. He can see it now; this is Lady Amelia, who rose in the Siamese court in a mere three years before starting her role as an Ambassador.

“Because women are a part of our people. The law is not only to give them a chance to do what they want but also to protect the women from getting blamed for their children’s education.” Amelia may sound cocky about this matter. She was aware that this could potentially insult the Queen and the Princes, but since they laid the stage themselves, might as well show them why Siam is not a country to be messed with, why they are a progressive country.

“We need to educate the children and citizens; therefore, they have the ability to process and filter liable information in order to create a strong and united Siam. That is my opinion about why it is necessary to establish the law of education.” As she concluded her discussion, Amelia could see the sour faces of the princes.

Queen Charlotte should be angry at the Ambassador for embarrassing her sons, but Lady Amelia was correct. It was an impressive debate; instead of debating Frederick on what-ifs, Lady Amelia used her, his mother, as an example.

“Now that it’s done, come with me, Lady Amelia. I would love to show you my peacock collection.” Queen Charlotte stood up, followed by Amelia as they exited the room. The princes who were left in the room stared at the two retreating figures before the footman closed the doors.

“What a petty woman. She strung mother along in order to win the argument,” Prince Frederick huffed in distaste as he stared at the closed doors.

“Please, Frederick, you are just angry you lost,” Edward chuckled as he picked up a scone. “I think she is interesting,” he continued while spreading jam before taking a bite of the scone.

“She’s far too young for you, Edward. If you try anything, it will cause a strain in our relationship with Siam,” George said as he picked up two sugar cubes, dropping them into his tea.

***

For almost an hour, Queen Charlotte showed Amelia her colourful peacock collection, which is truly fascinating, as Amelia even got the chance to hand-feed one of the birds under the keeper’s watch, despite Queen Charlotte’s hesitation. Queen Charlotte and Amelia discussed many things: their differences in art and cultures, sports played in each country, fashion, even education. The Queen was so fascinated by Amelia’s decree to make it mandatory for girls to also get education that she questioned the education system in Siam. Amelia really likes talking to Queen Charlotte; she is curious and genuinely interested in her opinions and beliefs, which became her drive to make Siam a better country for the people. Yes, the Queen might be a strict person, but she is someone who is.

“Before I leave, can I ask you something, Your Majesty?” Amelia asked as they ventured into the garden. The Queen glanced at the young lady next to her. “Why of course, ask away, my dear.” Amelia braced herself to spit out the question. “Could you please tell me where the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh live currently?” Out of all the questions the Ambassador could have asked, Charlotte never thought it would be that one. “The— Why?” Compared to debating with one of the princes, the Ambassador looked way more scared asking that question.

“I have a letter I need to deliver. It was a personal request from the King.” Queen Charlotte raised a brow. Her brother-in-law and his wife, Abigail of Gloucester nee. Bridgerton, received a letter from the Siamese Royal family? Amelia caught her expression and quickly explained.

“His Majesty, the King… I heard that he was one of the students of the Siam’s Ambassador to London at the time…” Amelia explained slowly. “Perhaps His Majesty has made some sort of relationship with the Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh during his time here…” The Queen nodded, acknowledging the possibility.

“Alright, I will make sure the letter will reach the Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh. Do you have the letter with you?” Amelia's eyes met the Queen in surprise and nodded her head. “I have it with Lynn, my secretary.” Amelia turned towards Lynn and signalled her to come to her.

“Your Majesty, Milady—” Lynn greeted before continuing with her question. “Anything I could possibly help you with?” Amelia nodded. “Do you bring the letter from His Majesty the King to the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh?” Lynn nodded and reached for the handbag she was carrying and took out a leather pouch embossed with the emblem of the Rattanakosin Kingdom.

Amelia grabbed it, and passed it to Queen Charlotte, but was received by her secretary- Brimsley. “Brimsley, quickly send it to Prince William.” Brimsley silently bowed, and exited the room. 

“Your Majesty, I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart for your generosity to help me.” Amelia sincerely bowed to the Queen for the help she provided. The Queen merely smiles her way, being sincerely appreciated for her generosity is quite rare these days. The last person who often appreciates her, willing to spend lots of time with her, and someone she genuinely enjoys spending her time with, was her nephew, Princess Felicia of Gloucester, only child and daughter to Prince William Henry and Lady Abigail Bridgerton. Sadly she ran away 23 years ago. The Queen sighed, and focused on the present once more. 

“It is alright, dear. However, if you really want to thank me, maybe you can come visit me for tea sometimes.” Amelia gave her a huge smile and nodded. Queen Charlotte was always one of her favourite characters in the Bridgerton series, and despite being a devoted wife and mother, she has quite a tragic background due to the pressure of being a wife, a Queen and a mother.

“Your Majesty, I must thank you for the tour and the delightful afternoon tea. It was refreshingly different from what we have in Siam.” Amelia paused, wondering if she’s allowed to say this. “Queen Charlotte, I must say that I admire you. Not only as a Queen, but also as a mother who is able to raise not only one, but 15 children. I hope your children share the same sentiments.” Amelia gave her a sincere smile and curtsy before walking out.

Words: 2293 words

Edited: 02/04/2024

More Than Diamond's Master List

IMPORTANT NOTES A/N: Hello, how are you guys? I hope you are well. Regarding this story that is following Julia Quinn's hit series, Bridgerton, I would start by saying I read the book first before I watch the Netflix series, thus I apologize if there are some differences with the Netflix version, but I will try to make it as similar as possible. I would also ask the readers to be kind when criticizing this story as this is my first time to actually publishing my work in the open. For the story, as you can see there is a time-travel tag. Our reader was sent back to the past with all the knowledge from the future. If you are also confused with Davika's education, I actually based her using Spencer Reid, a character from Criminal Minds. I also made Friedrich to be a year younger than Benedict when in actuality, he was born in 1794, 2 years younger than Daphne. If you are not interested or felt like those 2 themes ruined a historical romance story, then please do not leave any bad comments as you can just stop reading this story. Thank You Very Much! Much Love, Cinnamon Meilleure's Writing Room

[prpfz]

💌 Hey there! 26f looking for +21 partners! After watching some movies and shows I got a craving for strange pairings with age gaps. I’m currently looking for MxF pairings that are CCxCC or CCxOC, but I’m also open to original plots.

The pairings I want to try are the following:

Parent Trap: Nick Parker x Meredith Blake

Juno: Mark Loring x +21 Juno MacGuff

Jane Eyre: Edward Rochester x Jane Eyre

Wuthering Heights: Heathcliff x Catherine Linton

Dexter: Dexter Morgan x OC

Nosferatu: Friedrich Harding x Younger Anna Harding

I always write as a female in MxF couples, and my replies go from 200 words up to 900 words. My favorite platforms to write are tumblr and discord. If you’re interested, like this post or send me a private message.

give a like and anon will get back to you

[apinchofm]

Edwina finds Fred with his mistress

But of course x

Edwina followed the trail of discarded clothing to her and her husband's bed chambers.

She gasped when a strong arm pulled her back to a warm, hard body, her captor quick to kiss her neck and she leaned back happily into his touch.

"My wife shall be here any moment," Friedrich murmured into her neck.

"Yes, but where is she coming from?" Edwina wondered. He hummed thoughtfully.

"Either way, we should be quick about it."

"You do not know how to be quick about things." She reminded him.

"Is it a crime to enjoy my wife's company?" He nipped her neck and

She giggled as he chased her around the room and she picked up from behind the curtains a fencing sabre, kicking the other one towards him.

"When did you put those there?" Friedrich asked but picked up the other sabre.

"Well, you would not like your mistress nor wife to make things easy for you?" Edwina teased.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Get To Know You Tag Game

Tagged by the lovely @holy3cake

OPEN TAG FOR ALL

1) Three ships:

Lancewain (Lancelot/The Weeping Monk x Gawain/The Green Knight - Cursed, Netflix)

Gwaenyra (Ser Gwayne Hightower x Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen - House of the Dragon)

Geraskier (Geralt x Jaskier - The Witcher)

2) First ship:

Sarah x Jareth (Labyrinth)

3) Last song/s:

Hertan by Warduna

Guns for Hire by Woodkid

Blood Sells by The Defiled

4) Last movie:

American Satan

5) Currently watching:

Arcane (Netflix)

House of the Dragon

6) Currently reading:

"Amphibians and Reptiles of Madagascar" by Friedrich-Wilhelm Henkel and Wolfgang Schmidt

7) Currently eating:

Buttered (Gluten Free) Crackerbreads and Cheshire Cheese

8) Currently craving:

Daniel Sharman and Freddie Fox? No?

Ok not really anything food wise... maybe a nice sweet cup of tea*

*fun fact about me! "Cup of tea?" Was the first thing I ever said, correct inflection and all. Sadly, I don't think my mum made me one at the time, she was too busy laughing so hard she cried.