#German Wines To Be Thankful For

[comfortless]

Only Other

chapter three of three.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, smut (piv), sliiiight breeding kink, violence, as always König is horribly in love and says ridiculously worrisome things, reader feigns ambivalence but is equally unhinged and smitten.

notes: eternally grateful to @wordsbyvani for reading over my shoulder and genuinely being the sweetest throughout every part. ^^ and again to @writersdrug for giving me the idea to begin with!

wc: 9k.

<- previous.

König’s men arrive sometime in the afternoon, a few hours behind but carrying hoards of supplies. There are weapons you recognize to be from your city stuffed into bags, pelts and silks and twinkling stones, meats and fruits. They had not forgotten to bring along wine, either: two barrels to either side of a gray mare led along behind one of their rugged steeds by a length of thick rope.

You don’t ask how they found her, let alone how they managed to actually tame her down enough to follow amidst the chaos that broke out the night prior. A weak string of “thank you”s leaves your lips when you press your nose to the horse's snout, sobbing into her silver fur. She seems less bothered, huffing impatiently as she’s tethered up with the others against broad trees.

You’re not convinced that here or anywhere is safe anymore, and you don’t assist when the men begin to set up their camp. They’ve enough supplies and arms to do it themselves, anyhow.

Guilt, trepidation and confusion, haunt you: cast out for all to see by your forlorn stares and the tremor of your lower lip as you continuously fight an internal battle to keep yourself sane. And how could you? You’ve only come to reason that this has all come to fruition because of you, because of the things that you could not help. Your curiosity, fascinations, and impiety had all led you to be here, now, while everyone you once knew sleeps eternally.

You have condemned yourself to the life of a slave girl, and later to the darkness of the Orcus when you do die.

Though… men do not give their slaves the looks that König gives to you. You haven’t spoken to him in hours, and you do your best to avoid his glances, shoot down his smiles with the curved arrow of your own sullen frowns. Still… amidst setting up the tents and gathering wood for the fire to stave off the chill of nightfall, you catch the very stars reflected over a sea in his eyes.

There is love there, a too-uncanny and harrowing love, but a great devotion nonetheless. It burns like a fire of its own in your chest, inescapable and rampant. You know it in the spaces behind your skull, your ribs, that what he feels is another cage: roomier, softer, but you will never be free of it either.

König does not follow you to the tent when the moon rises. He sits by the fire, watching as you go with the pelt drawn up over your shoulders and curled around you. When you sink into the bed of fur that has replaced the straw mattress from before you find yourself somehow even more fitful here than outside. Sleep is evasive, leaving you tossing and twisting amidst the smell of sweat and animal fur. Not even the crackling fire outside defeats the quiet or the cold in the air.

There’s a sickly pit in your stomach, thorn seedling threatening to take root and spread the longer you stare up at the blackened abyss of the tent ceiling. If you’re to live a life torn, at the very least you could be warm; you take to König’s side in moments, joining him by the slowly dwindling flame.

The brute isn’t sleeping, either, just… lost. Lost like you the day that you met him.

“I need to look at your wound.” Your excuse comes weak and puny, doe limbs and fragile glances when you do sit at his side and speak. You’ve never been anyone’s ‘Göttin’, you don’t know what you’re doing, what blessings to grant or judgments to cast. Avoiding him only seems a punishment for you both, and you’ve had your share of those.

König is anything but small: even amidst the turmoil your silence has gifted to him, he still seems himself, all ego and cruelly cut silver, softened only by your words, your touch.

“Richtig,” he mutters, reaches out to pull you in, and you let him. Straddling his lap with only the moon above awake to witness, cast her curious gaze down and illuminate the expanse of his chest whilst you work to pull away the bandages.

There isn’t much to tend to, it’s healing well. The flesh that once seemed inflamed has only drawn back its redness to simmer to the natural color of his skin. When you begin your careful prodding, it does not hurt him. He doesn’t so much as flinch or huff at your touch.

When you dab your index in the sweet honey that serves as a salve, he grasps at your hand and brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to your index and middle without hesitation. And you see it then: a glimmer of hesitation in the way his lips pull and his eyes search your own, a silent plea for vindication.

You’ve never been cold to him, not even as he spoke with so much self-importance when you first met, not when he rutted his blade between your parted legs, not even now after all that he’s done. In his own way of thinking, these things have all been some display of courtship. There’s never cruelty toward you, not in his touch, the words that he speaks, and especially not in those somber eyes. These things break down the last fraying edge of your resolve.

You press your mouth to his, sharing the taste of honey pressed to his lips, everything sugary and warm. Over and over until the night begins to close its way in, plump clouds drifting over the pearl hanging in the sky when you finally find yourself tucked back into the tent with König curled at your side. He holds you closer than he ever has, not from a fear you’ll take off under the darkened sky, but in the honoring of something far greater. Some love comes quiet like flower blooms, his comes with fire.

“Wolves pair in winter,” he says quietly, burying his face into your hair. It’s shy, almost, as though the man has not already embedded his scent into your very skin and toyed with your most sensitive parts. It’s truer, more heartfelt, than even his confessions of love.

“Is that what you see us as being?” You laugh, a slow, gentle chime that aches your throat, face still puffy from tears and voice scratchy from those thick clouds of smoke.

“Ja…”

“You really…” The words get caught up someplace in the spaces between your lungs and tongue. You don’t want to cry, not anymore, but you find it difficult not to choke up after so much comfort with a lifetime of so very little. “You do care for me, don’t you?”

He answers your question in a grumble, a string of foreign words only meant for mountain caverns and creatures that walk on all fours and somehow they make sense. A resounding yes, in three gutteral sounding words. The frayed ends of guilt and anger finally drift off as you settle into his hold like a den of pure comfort, warm and buried in a world of fur and a man blessed by trees and the earth rather than gods and myth.

When the breeze picks up outside, rustling sprawling oak limbs, momentarily silencing the fire, its as if they answer him in your stead. You don’t cry, though it aches, but you let go of the memories of all your begging to those that never seemed to listen. Here, in the dark you’ve found the only person that seems to understand without even knowing.

You drag the pelts up over the both of you, clasp your hand over his where it rests beneath them, and fall into a haze of contentment. He draws you nearer, breath filtering through your hair from where his head lies just above your own.

The dreams that come are no longer of places you can not reach, but only of the memory of a city that was never meant to house your spirit.

You wake to König’s pawing. It begins along your sternum, hand placed flat there only to glide further up and push at your tit. It’s gentle and testing, pushes fire into your very veins when for the first time he doesn’t seem to remain entranced there. It drifts, further up to cup your jaw.

“You are awake?,” he rasps, propping himself up to inspect your face where you lie, weakened and warmed by sleep.

“Yes…”

“Are you still bereaved?,” König asks in such a hushed voice, reaching toward you again. His hand seems to tremble when it finds your face, thumb brushing over your mouth with such trepidation it seems misplaced for him.

“Partly.”

You consider your dreams again: the open street, devoid of people apart from those that face down at you with contempt building in hollow eye sockets. Where grass once sprung up beneath the cracks in the stones, there were only small flames. And you do still grieve for those that were innocent in the entire affair, those trampled by cattle when they had only just had a taste of escape. Your very mind begins to darken at the thoughts, your body only tensing further, a bowstring on the verge of snapping,

“Is that why I can not have you?”

“I never said…” Your voice only grows thin, detached almost from the way you purse your lips to kiss the digit toying with you. Your heart is only thunder, the sound of those wretched hooves: yearning was dangerous itself, your own only seemed to take further shape with each passing moment. Claws and a waiting maw, just like the wolves he speaks of.

König hums, a deep rumble from his chest as he gives a slow nod of acknowledgement.

It all becomes tree sap, a sticky confectionery bout. His mouth descends upon your own as though starved, hurried and longing as he samples you, the you who certainly yearned for the bathhouses to clean herself properly. All thought seems to dispel when his hand leaves your cheek and neck to begin its painfully slow descent between your legs, burrow between wax and honey to pull soft cries from your mouth.

He only stills his dismantling of you when you’re trembling and doughy, squeezing around his fingers so tightly you wonder how he can continue to bury them inside at all.

Just as the other gods, Sol is lost here when König crawls over you, all shadow and wretched, led here with the promise of a prey that you are not. Only another wolf… the flame in his winter eyes is the same that’s settled inside of you.

His head dips to kiss into your hair while your leg is pulled to settle over his hip. You feel a kiss, a different sort, when the pillar of his manhood reaches between your bodies to settle over your sex, probing at your slit that only seems to pulse and beg under his touch.

You had never found these silly metaphors enticing with the men of the city, even the entertainers with their pretty words could have never lured you this far down. Yet, here is different, here is cold and lonely and wild: a culmination of all that he is, incarnation of the earth and man and a desperate hunt.

“You are ready for me,” your god hums, pleased, as he coats himself in your arousal, sticky like warm sap. The sounds of his toying with you are something you should be accustomed to now, with him, but still makes your face warm. Not with shame, only a quiet desperation. “Beautiful little goddess...”

It’s summer here; winter tears its claws right out of your flesh when the sun itself sinks inside. The turning of seasons is natural, so dreadfully normal you’ve never bat an eye until you could physically feel it: the strip of your own apprehension tossed into a steaming sea, the dewy wetness all but drowning you entirely.

And it’s König who loses himself first, a sound so pitiful carving its way out of him you would almost believe him to be hurt if not for the way he throbs inside of you. He feeds it, a stuttering twitch of his hips as he slowly brings you toward him by your hips. Far too large to properly bottom out but encumbered and ecstatic by the sensation around him. Tighter than any sheath, but a weapon pushes through you all the same- inch by loving inch, until he manages to fully fill you with himself.

“I don’t want to hurt you, little one.“ Each word is torn from him, punctuated heavily by the shallow movement of his body and the drag of a demanding cock. Restraint is a peculiar thing hovering over him, his brow pinched as though forcing himself to concentrate on not ripping you apart where you lie.

“You’re not hurting me..,” you sigh as your hands find his shoulders, fingernails dimpling the skin there. If anything the urgency is only shared.

When your hips push back to meet him, the lead is dropped, another surrender. Too much trust for a man deserving of none of it.

His response is a breathy groan, mouth finding your shoulder as his hands drift to pull your hips upward to better meet him. Teeth find purchase along your flesh, gentle as he can be, but grinding and desperate to leave a mark, a piece of him behind.

It’s almost with a fury that he stuffs himself into you then, his jaw going slack and eyes wild, hands grasping at every inch of your pillowy flesh that he can reach.

Never could König have looked more beautiful than now, once starved and now tasked, for and now with you. His gaze trails from where your thighs tremble around him, to where the sap pools and nature builds up its own obscene choir at your togetherness… and then, to your face where his gaze only shatters into softness.

Something bubbles right against your lash line, a stray tear, overwhelmed by the feel of the giant ravishing you, pulling you down from your world of jewels and pillars to his own devoid of anything but need.

His head dips immediately, tongue running up the length of your cheek, a hand falling away to pry open your already parted thigh as he licks at and fucks into you like something truly feral. He coos his praises against your mouth, parted and whining, claims a new kingdom all for himself in you, of you.

You feel how the temples must, trodden through and left with gifts, blood and honey and fire as the muscles of your thighs begin to tense. Instinct spurs you to catch his lip between your teeth, push your hips back to laboriously furl around him.

His pace comes to a halt, settling to only grind himself so deeply within you that you feel the last of the stars begin to die out in the recesses of your skull, dim and dumbly smothered until they reignite in a blinding wave of white. König does not give you the time to settle, only spears into you with a renewed fervor as you cinch around him, furthering your rapture to a point that is almost agonizing.

He chases his own end with the same famished glare as before, stares right into your eyes as you pull iron from his lip and cast it into the fire of your waiting mouth. The sting, the bliss, only makes him whimper, a sound so small and choked its unfathomable to have come from a man who slams into you as though you were paid for.

You lick into his mouth in a way so tentative and fragile he immediately crashes down, blankets you in the strength of his arms and kisses you in turn: so soft and chaste it’s uncanny in this moment. His groan of defeat only comes when he stills fully, buried to the hilt, thrumming and shivering through his own release. Honey and seafoam, the rise of a tide touching earth to brim and spill past your joining.

He chases the feeling for several moments longer, bucking his hips sloppily as he lies atop your spent form, barely coherent when he mutters nonsensical praises into your hair, against your neck, the corner of your mouth- any place he can think to leave a kiss.

“… everything,” he mutters when he lies atop you fully, satisfied where he nestles his head into the fur below you both. “Everything I have ever wanted.”

The day passes on like this. Even as his men maneuver about camp, preparing to hunt or practice with their stolen weapons. The only thing König seems keen on doing is bringing you to ruin, repairing you with kisses pressed into your hair, along your cheek.

He leaves you only twice as the day drags onward. Once to gather you a meal of something meaty roasted over the fire, what remained of a boar, a gathering of dried fruit, and water from a small flask. You’re famished and exhausted by the thrill of being shoved down into the fur to tolerate him three times over already. The twinkle in his eye is nothing short of mischievous when you do finally tell him that you need to rest after eating.

After a bout of playfully shoving him away, you only find yourself on top of him, then. He seemed entirely unashamed, more hurried and desperate than before as he bucks at you like a wild horse, voicing his praises and spitting out such sugary sweet nonsense about how you would carry his son and only ever experience him, you almost felt shy. A curled finger hooks under your jaw to force you to look down at him, lose yourself in the vast, uneasy sea of his eyes while he floods you with his seed again. Finally, he seems sated, pulls you down to lie atop him.

König promises you that he will find your mother, that he will take care of you as no other has or ever could, while stroking along your back. He tells you of the mountains, the trees, the animals and the men who live amongst them and inside of them.

He tells you of the sea when you ask, how the sand is softer and sticks as if it never wants you to go. In turn, you tell him that he must be like the sea then, never fully parting from you, leaving his trace imprinted upon your skin with teeth rather than sand. A sea that loves instead of hungers, one that presses you onto your back to wash over you to steal the very breath from your chest and push it back with a kiss.

— — —

The wilderness is cruel. Wild things lurk in the brush and occasionally you pass by other settlements. Less friendly than the small band you have grown accustomed to. You’re always urged to shush, then have yourself tucked further against König while he speaks low and threatening to any would-be bandits. Only once has that resulted in a death, but not to one of König’s own. You didn’t watch when the man with the red hair carved a hole through the trespasser, just squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into a waiting bicep.

Days pass on horseback, your legs feel stiff and clumsy, and there are no amount of pelts serving as makeshift saddles that could ever help the ache that shoots up from your pelvis. It serves no aid at all that, when riding ahead or too far behind the other men, König takes this newfound intimacy between you two to be a liberty. Regardless of your formation, he never ceases looking at you as though his only wish is to devour you whole.

Those times are often quick, palm pressed over your mouth as he dutifully breeds you beneath the sun, in the softest patch of withering wild grass or barren land available. You melt into him, part your legs like a wife rather than some skittish woman that he himself has whisked away. Each time, he whispers his praises, professes his love in more creative ways, covers you in so many kisses you feel a bit dazed by the time the ordeal is through.

Then, you’re righted back onto the horse with König at your back, the most horribly endearing smile plastered upon his face.

It’s not much of a surprise that his men do start their caterwauling at some point during the journey to wherever— past dormant trees and approaching the silhouettes of hills so tall and vast you’re certain that they must be the mountains you have heard of, even if you had yet to properly see them. König had made it perfectly clear just what you are to him in his coarse words to his companions, but never directly to you. They do not mock your union, but they do often give you strange looks, particularly at your tummy while they discuss you with their leader.

There’s nothing there, you’re sure of that much, but you shoot them your angriest glare anyway and raise your chin to look forward instead. Their talk of the possibility of a little “prinz” does not distract you from your own thoughts, drifting up to scrape the sky just like the peaks of the mountains.

“So that is where the gods live?,” you ask, mostly to yourself as you curl your fingers into the horse’s reins. There’s subdued laughter from either side of you, and you almost shrink at the thought of making a fool of yourself before these brutes. It wouldn’t be the last time, surely. You couldn’t even bring yourself to fully commit to the idea of there being any sort of vast and ethereal field awaiting you when you die anymore; it was already here before you, painted in the color of evergreen and winter blossoms.

König doesn’t laugh, at least. Only places his palm over the front of your neck and guides your head back to look up to him, gives a toothy grin when your eyes light up just from the sight. It was difficult not to when you’ve been fed and pleasured incessantly by him. You reason that your punishment for forsaking all that you once knew must assuredly be your own mind deteriorating to feel the way that you do.

“They are right here,” he says, so quiet and sweet, gesturing between the two of you. He had no interest in your former gods, of what he seems to view as stories for children, but he listens as you tell him the significance of such lofty places cloaked in fog, mist and trees.

His hand finds your cheek, savors in the feel of your skin against his thumb while you tell him of your misplaced belief in him being some son of a war god that he’s never even known, much less prayed to. He then reminds you of the woman he seems certain could have been your mother, says that surely she must have been wed to the shallow of a sparkling lake to birth something as lovely as you.

The men regroup after some time, stilling their horses and your rowdy mare still tethered behind one of the others to speak, access the distance from here and their destination while sipping wine from leather flasks and putting weapons back in their proper places. You listen on, picking up on the few words you did understand from their language, but ultimately gather nothing from it all.

“Where are you taking me?,” you hazard as you try to push yourself forward in a subtle reminder that yes, you were there too, and woman or not you had a right to know.

“Home,” König gruffs simply in response, gathering you back into his arms and taking the reins from your hands. His chin rests atop your head, the fingers of his free hand petting your side in an attempt to snuff out any further questioning. “You will like it.”

Home. Home to the place he had claimed you would find your mother; to foreign woods and wild downs, sprawling hills and little shacks covered in sticks and leather instead of the villas with their terracotta tiles.

You didn’t even know that you had a place to return to at all, not now. Your eyes catch his, though, and you know then just what it truly must feel like to belong someplace. Never had home been Gaius, reduced to smoldering ash in some divine reckoning, but it had always been with someone you truly believe you have wanted. Had you ever even been allowed to want before him..?

Your brow pinches as you shift to rest your head against the broad back behind you, held fast by the iron grip around your waist. The clouds drift by above, the sun casts a warmth over your face and you fall into comfort, into promise.

— — —

Barbarian settlements are strange.

There are no paved streets here crowded with people and decay, no hallowed and looming temples hungry and waiting for sacrifices. The columns are tree bark and very much alive with twisting limbs and growths of green that never seemed to dull even in the winter, not the stiff and lifeless marble you had grown accustomed to.

The homes are pieced together with wood, clay, anything that could be used with no clear rhyme or reason to their architecture. Goats wander about, bleating out for food or ramming into one another for play. The children don’t sit in houses studying or wander from stall to stall snatching and scurrying off, they play and work. There is a strange contentment here, too, something that feathers on the wind as it does the same on each face that you pass,

Everyone seems to have a place, a thing to be, and you feel like the world’s most delicate and forgotten pearl amidst these people who do not even seem to pay you any mind. If anything, they only seem pleased to see the man with his arm cloaked over your shoulders. They smile to him, greet him in their strange words and dip their heads as though he truly were some king.

Maybe he was, to them, to the wild people with no true reasoning to have any sort of monarchy. They barely had land to claim, much less rule over.

You’re not paraded around as a slave: he cups your jaw and lifts your head when your gaze falls to the dirt and dust below your feet, chides you in a rough whisper about how a Königin should present herself. The people do acknowledge you then, with looks of awe and offerings of dried flowers pressed into your palms and tucked behind your ear, Roman bronze dropped at your feet. You look the part of a proper queen too, when you flash them all your loveliest smile and nestle closer to your giant of flame and earth.

Thoughts of your past in the city come to mind when you note their lack of conveniences. Even the dread of forsaking your own gods briefly leaves you halting midstep before a firm hand urges you forward. König’s warmth comes as a comfort now more than ever when your thoughts do eventually circle back to a guilt, heavy and dreadful: the picture of Juno’s altar forgotten and burned away weeks of travel behind you.

“You will like it here,” he mumbles, trailing the same hand up to the back of your neck as he repeats the words he spoke only days prior on your journey. You could, you will, but it all feels so different that your pulse seems to triple its racing.

Your fingers graze over the dried flowers in your hand, sweet smelling as you trace over each petal to center yourself, take back that prideful smile that was in place just a moment ago.

If you’re to run amok, you may as well enjoy it.

You settle, regain your pace and that forced look of utter contentment at his side.

At least, until he begins to speak again.

“I will kill them all if you prefer we be alone,” König whispers into your ear, has the audacity to nip at your lobe, and does not even bother drawing back as if those words were meant to make you wet and pliant for him. All sense of reason must have left you entirely, because a shiver rips its way up each knob of your spine. “Would that please you?”

“No… Do not jest,” you grit out, staring only forward and not offering so much as a glance toward the beast at your side, even as his hand drifts down to palm at your breast.

“I am not.” He laughs, breathy and low when he finds your nipple already hard, thumb grazing over it as though this act of exhibitionism was as natural as any of the other things his madness compels him to do. “I will give you anything. Even blood, meine Göttin.”

Surely… you should be flattered that his loyalty is reserved only for you, but there’s no appeasement held in the glare that you shoot him as you pry his hand away from your chest. He gives you the look of a kicked stray then, even a pout so foreign on a face so scarred, you may have even chuckled if you were in better spirits, but he does relent. His hand drops back to his side and he detached from you after pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You’re led to a shack larger than the others, but more or less in the same state. It’s simple, built solidly with thick carved wood and packed to prevent weather seeping its way in. It’s humble in a way, far more humble than any ruler’s you’ve only imagined. A bench, a table, a mattress likely stolen away from some Roman soldier’s tent. There’s nothing particularly special about it, but it smells like König, like the trees and the earth in a way that is comforting.

It takes a moment for it to fully register that this is what he had meant by home, not the people and their affairs outside, only this place. Only him. A temple all your own that you imagine he must wish to fill with love and children and an abundance of gifts he may steal away all for you.

His men bring in what little of the supplies remained, stuffed away in a corner and voluntarily relinquished; even if it means they’ll be fending for themselves like the others in the village rather than feasting on stores, they only seem happy. The red-haired one even flashes you a contented look of admiration on his way out, as though you just being there was enough to soothe and patch some void here.

That may have been the case.

When the door is shut and all falls to silence, the barbarian king kneels before you. His hands find your hips, thumbs grinding gentle circles along them and further down to your thighs, your calves, to everywhere that aches. A gentle sort of worship that coaxes soft sighs and a buzzing of flesh from you.

König brings you to the mattress when your eyelids begin to flutter, exhaustion settling over you in full when you’re lifted and brought toward his chest. You could fall asleep in his hold alone, but you settle to only rest your head there and reach up along his vastness to rake your fingers through his wild hair.

Your voice tells him that you do like it here, with him, in this strange place circled by withering ferns and trees so infinite that you could never hope to find your way away without him taking your hand and navigating through. Your touch tells him the words that you dare not speak, a kiss to voice that you too would burn away everything if it only meant that you could share in this at his side, a mimicry of his massage along his own shoulder to whisper a great confession of adoration and boundless promises.

— — —

When the ferns and flowers begin to grow again throughout the spring and into the summer, you find yourself accustomed to everything. You aid the women in caring for their children, though you begrudgingly swear that it is not for practice whatsoever. The stitching and cooking that is done here feels far less harrowing— you do not put it off and leave it in a heap upon the floor as you would have in the city. There’s no looming dread of what’s to come when you perfect your work: you’re gifted only smiles, blessings and gifts.

Though the woman König had claimed to be your mother is not here, you ask him to recount the way she looked and spoke to you often on quiet nights, where his hands drift over you and his voice comes in a whisper. She may not have even existed at all, some lost spirit amidst the trees that wails and cries and leads men like him to their destinies. Your heart only tears when you begin to wonder if Juno herself had imparted such a quest to him. Save the lost woman that she favored so much, grant him some divine luck and intoxicating charm to ensure your safety and happiness.

He does not understand when you gather up honey and blossoms to pray over, but he does sit at your side and listen when you whisper your thanks to this new altar. Kisses the crown of your head when you’re through and lures you back into an embrace where he reminds you that he knew what he needed to do the moment that you met at the stream. No other woman could have swayed him the way that you have.

His offerings are only to you, even after such a length of time has passed. There’s no goddess that he kneels for other than the one that sleeps at his side and tells him of her dreams.

The day he gifts you his seax is one that resonates more than even the necklaces and gowns of silk and linen. It feels heavy in your hands, the blade almost as soft as gossamer when your fingers trail along it, though it does not yield. It’s only well polished and freshly sharpened. The handle bears a strange carving in it now, one of two wolves staring up at a broad moon. It breaks something inside to know that even he does find some things sacred: beasts, the glow of an untouched paradise and you.

“Why are you giving me this?,” you manage to whisper as your diligently ghost over the carvings in reverent repetition. “Don’t you need it? For hunting and fighting…”

“You like it?” It’s impossible not to notice the cocky expression on his face that tells you full well he’s recounting that experience. You liked it then, certainly, but it wasn’t as if you had any use for it in such a way when he kept you satisfied enough with himself.

“Yes… but it’s yours.”

He shrugs then, a great lift of his shoulders as you’re pulled to him with a careful grip to the wrist holding the weapon.

“Will keep you safe,” he huffs against your neck, leaving a kiss there when you sheath the seax at the strap you had also been gifted pulled taught along your hip.

You didn’t even know how to use the thing properly, and you were not quite fond of the idea of chasing down rabbits or puncturing another human with it. Your concerns fall on deaf ears when you’re led out into the surrounding forest to a thicket of wild raspberries. Your wrist is steadied by a firm hand as König diligently teaches you to carve away limbs heavy with fruit without actually bringing any real harm to the plant itself.

There are many things to forage this season, some you had never even heard of before he explains their significance to your wonder-filled face. You hadn’t thought him stupid, not truly, but it still comes as a surprise that he seems to know so very much.

When you find yourself seated beside a slow-moving stream, a ripe berry crushed between your teeth, you’re finally allowed to put your new blade away and set it aside on moss-covered stones.

“You should keep it close. A bear might want to eat you, hm?,” he playfully chides behind you, lifting your drab little gown up and over your head. As if to further his point, his teeth rake over your pulse, applying just enough pressure to draw a whine from your lips.

“You are not a bear,” you huff and turn to pull away his tunic, pressing a kiss over the scar he now dons just above his heart.

“Ja…” He lowers his head again to kiss along your neck, trailing a heat up to your ear as he maneuvers you into the water to bathe.

Your foraging and banter go forgotten, and a different sort of howling fills the air shrouded in tree limbs. There are no wolves or wind, only two so feverishly desperate and in love that any other with their dowries and arrangements would find it even more compelling than the Empire itself.

He sinks into you when you’re brought to your knees, bellows his contentment when he brushes your wet hair away from your face and dives forward to cover you fully, bury you in a world of love and sweetness. Even when the act is done, König does not pull away, only lies you back along to shore and tucks you further against him.

You remain chittering and laughing until the sky begins to reflect the very stars you see in his eyes, glittering constellations that seem to flicker and echo the steady beat of his own heart as you lie against his chest.

The summer wedding that the fortune-teller had once spoken of seemed to already take place here. There’s no need for a lectus or some grand display to reveal to others that you’ve united, it comes in the stillness and shared contentment when your voices begin to quiet, and at last you resign yourself to tell him that you belong to him just as much as he belongs to you.

The final flurry of surrender comes out as a soft whisper, one that only leaves you with your knees folded back to your chest and an insatiable giant hugging his gratitude and love into your ear with each graceless snap of his hips.

He drags you down to your own ruin, spells his own with haste and what comes as a twist between a dispatch of tears and a sigh. You can’t recall ever seeing him cry, not even now as he burrows against your neck and shakily breathes against your shoulder, muttering such nonsense about how he would still take you up and into the sky if only you would continue to let him stay with you like this.

“Always,” you murmur fondly, cradling him as closely as possible. Inside, outside, embedded into your very flesh you feel him near. He does not pull out from you this night, only falls asleep in your embrace, cloaks you from the breeze over the water with his own heat. You follow suit, petting at him as though he’s far smaller than his massive weight suggests. He shifts just enough to not fully crush you beneath him, just as you begin to drift off.

When morning does come, König is already stood at your side, staring off into the distance with an expression that only foretells of something you’re certain you will want no part in. He shushes you when you part your lips to speak, nervously scrounging up your gown and the strap holding your gifted weapon. There are no protests from you, and only the babbling of the stream and sounds of distant yelling break up the silence.

You don’t need to ask to know what’s occurring. Just as you had predicted before the Romans had come to dismantle the village just as they had many others before, take the women as slaves and force the children to learn and take up arms for their empire. You had never thought of the violence before when it occurred, when you saw the faces of those miserable women at the sides of people they could never afford to feel any fondness toward. You had always been lucky and blind.

König, however, must have only known wraith. His fingernails dig into his palms, nostrils flared and expression pensive.

“Wartet hier.”

He does not even hesitate as he begins to move, leaving you behind along the peaceful shore. As if to spur you forward, the shallow water rises to lap at your ankles, and still you do not budge. Your hands feel heavy, encumbered by the seax still set in its sheath, and only then does it dawn on you that König had not even had a weapon his person. What good would he even be without one? When so many men armed with sharpened swords and spears had come for his head…

Though fear creeps in, subdues your limbs with its stiffness, rakes fangs of pure ice along every pulsing vein held within you… you can not bring yourself to flee or stay put. You follow, quiet as a wood mouse as you walk along the forest with trembling hands clutching a weapon you almost hope is not too late to save your home, your heart.

There’s no clear trail, no sign of König, not even a shadow or a whisper that may belong to him. Instead there are shouts and the heavy smell of smoke. The gray billows up, more imposing than even the oaks and pines. The only comfort you will yourself to take is the fact that the words you can make out are Germanic, not Latin. Not all is lost, not yet.

You steel yourself and push your resolve to the forefront of your mind, creeping ever closer with careful but steps far more swift. You wind past throning brush and sprawling vine, past trees but familiar and not until you finally cross over from forest to the tall grass lining the edges of the village.

There lies chaos you expect, and that which you do not. Some of the cabins have gone up in flame, fire that coils and spreads to set your nerves alight with memory and dread. There are men fighting at the heart of it all, weapons slick with blood dripping down to the fallen at their feet. The women and children have all fled or have been taken captive, you couldn’t be certain amongst all that was already occurring around you and beyond. You couldn’t even count your enemies, a smaller army no doubt, the arrogance of the Empire knew no bounds. Twenty men to take down one was substantial enough when the others could be used for further conquests.

And there is no sign of König.

You feel numb when no matter where you look you can’t seem to catch sight of him, and how easy a task that should have been given his stature. The seax is pulled from its sheath when grief begins to settle, and the tears that threaten to spill are forced back with a grimace. There was still some hope, you knew. The village was not so small that you could map all of it from the small lump of a hill, but that desire to find him, bare your own teeth and fight at his side to protect what was yours brims up and chokes back the fear harbored in your chest.

Lady or wolf, you cared not. You would lose your titles just as he would if it came down to it. When the histories speak of how that city burned, how a king without a name brought the Empire to kneel if only for a moment before they sought revenge, you would be written in ink alongside it. A devotion so strong echoed in each page, as a barbarian queen that chose to keep her heart and lose her head.

But it doesn’t come to that. There’s another woman stood at König’s side when you do find him, wielding a stolen sword from one of the opposing soldiers as sweat and blood paint his face.

Unharmed and unknowing of the presence at his side, a mirage carved of smoke she was, his eyes stared out towards where the blade struck while her eyes only settled over you. Your breath catches when your gaze moves from König to her and you do find a resemblance: the way that her hair, the same color as your own frames her face, her frame, the way that her nose shapes, even the expression upon her face.

The mother he spoke of, the feral love and protectiveness outspoken and proud in her eyes. You do not recognize this woman, even amidst the cluster of sparse memories in your mind. Not until now had you ever seen her, but the feeling you’re gifted then… a roaring settling in your chest to extinguish all apprehension tells all.

As the last of the Romans is struck down by König himself, a blade sunk so deep into the other’s stomach as the other man spits out a gurgled wail, the woman only seems to fade out into nothing, replaced by the backdrop of the trees surrounding. Nothing left behind in the wake of the place she once walked apart from fallen soldiers and a trail of blood and König, safe as he could be.

When you come to him, teary-eyed and fretful, your roaming fingers do not catch on a single gash. The blood painted over his face, neck, chest is none of his own. He’s well, just as the other men from the village as they rush to snuff out the flames and clear away the bodies.

Though König pants heavily and his eyes are still wild, mind momentarily lost to the thrumming adrenaline in his veins, your touch seems to settle him greatly. The sword falls from his hands to clatter in the dust and muck, curling around you to pull you in. You think he should be angry that you hadn’t listened when he ordered you to stay, but he only seems as grateful as you to find his other half alive and longing still. Always.

You tell him of the woman as you sob into his chest, describe her and her vanishing as best you could in your own muffled voice. He grins, strokes your hair as though he truly believes every word even with how ridiculous it all sounds. There are things far more demanding to focus on now, and eventually you fall to silence as he holds you there.

Your home still stands, built just far enough off from the rest that its managed to avoid the battle entirely. Untouched, except from inside. The altar you had dedicated to Juno is gone, vanished just like the woman you had seen before. The scent of cinnamon hangs in the air, misplaced and unannounced, but a comfort all the same. You smile to yourself, bittersweet but comforting, with tears drying upon your face.

— — —

The village takes time to rebuild.

You lose time just as much as you lose sleep helping out with the endless tasks. König, thinking himself chivalrous, or perhaps hinting at what your future may entail if he continues to ravage you as though he would die without your warmth, never allows you to carry anything heavy. Even clay pots filled with water from the stream are swiftly taken from your hands. Gods forbid you even attempt to aid in cooking over the fires, either. He pulls you away with a hand clasped over your mouth and nose, delicately caressing your face and reminding you to be careful.

Something has changed. What you knew to be love before only seems to double with each passing day. He fusses and dotes over you endlessly, ensuring that you’re well fed, trailing behind you to bathe and it isn’t even just for the chance to sink into your cunt.

Often, he sits with you in his lap, guiding a wet cloth up to gently wash you, toys with your damp hair beneath his fingers, tells you stories of his own adventures and the people who traveled alongside him. Not of the hundred wives his men had boasted about him having, a ridiculous statement only meant to make you pine for him more than you already had, you supposed. He even tells you, sheepishly, that most women seemed afraid of him, but never you.

When you do make love, it’s an act of endless desperation. Along the bank of the stream, your shared bed, against any tree he deems fit enough to not budge beneath your shared weight, and even once in a field of wild blooms you two had found along a foraging trek. The floral aroma had kissed your skin each place he had, left you more doughy and sweet even as you took to conquer him, straddled over his hips with your head thrown back to the wind. You laughed with him when it was through, curled your hand beneath his chin to you with the rough feeling of his unshaven hair.

Everything— each new thing you learn and see with König as your guide only seems to melt away any wall you put up. Your life before only seems to fade from memory, that lonely bitterness consumed by the well of love he’s pushed you into.

When autumn comes and the trees begin to turn, each wealth of green faded and given way for yellow and red, your mare has finally become more docile and tame. You’re not even sure who to thank for it, for the way she struts about with giddy children on her back and doesn’t fuss when even you will yourself to settle over her saddle.

The saddle like all else in your life only seems softer, stitched together with leather, a cushion made of a rabbit’s pelt and stuffed full with straw and down so soft you don’t even dread the idea of the long ride to come.

The mountains, here, surrounding the valley and the village are wild and beautiful, still layered near to their peaks in abundant fields of late-blooming flowers. The stars still hang above, twinkling and glittering as if only to silently deliver their blessings for your coming journey. It is only the sea that you’ve yet to venture toward, the last on the list of honeyed promises König has made to you.

Your luggage is packed and spread between the two horses, your mare and his stallion. There are blankets and preserved food, light posts to set up a tent someplace a distance from the shore, even a pearl dangling from a thin chain that König dutifully places on your neck. It’s no exchange of rings, but you clutch the little gem tight as you will yourself not to cry. There was no need to be so sentimental not now, not after you’ve already shared so many moments far more tender.

The seax dangles at your hip, catching the glow of the sun above when you pull it free and polish it alongside König as he does with his pilfered sword. He shows you how to use a whetstone, delicately maneuvering your hand to sharpen the blade before dousing the thing in oil, makes you swear not to accidentally nick yourself when you’re inevitably dragged in the throes of some hunt at his side.

You’ve yet to use it for that purpose, but going alone means you’ve no choice but to offer your support… even with the knowledge that he wouldn’t actually allow you to do much at all, frustrating as that was.

When morning comes, you say your goodbyes to the village. You’re thrown flowers both pressed and new, petals latching to the fur of the pelt tied over your shoulders. König receives wine, far more useful than the delicate little blossoms that you brush away with shy smiles and glassy eyes.

The language is easier to understand now, when the others offer you great fortune on your travels, the women speaking greatly of your fertility despite the way it makes your nose scrunch in distaste. They call you Königin, only that, never any name you’ve offered for them to use. Perhaps even above the name the people of the city called you by it is more fitting.

You settle into the saddle with König atop his stallion next to you, reach for the reins when he flashes you a wary look, tells you that you will ride slow and he will keep you safe in case anything does happen to occur. You only think to remark the same, gesturing toward the weapon strapped to your hip, smirking when he snorts in amusement.

“Are you ready to depart?,” you ask him as you reach a hand out to trail along his arm, heart thumping wildly when his gaze only begins to further soften. You almost fear he may begin to cry, just as overwhelmed and sweetly pacified as you feel now. “We can stay a while longer if not.”

“Nein… we still need to plan for the stars after,” he whispers as he takes hold of your hand, interlocks your fingers and brushes against each knuckle with the pad of his thumb before bringing it toward his chest.

The moment is broken when the horses begin to huff in anticipation. You don’t get the chance to remind him that you still see each constellation he’s shown to you in the glimmer of his eyes, but you know well enough by now that he would only tell you the same in turn.

[moviestarmartini]

yellow flowers. — jude bellingham x gf!reader

él sabía, ella sabía y se olvidaron de sus flores amarillas.

summary: how can your relationship recover from such a serious argument the night before?

wc: 975

warnings: angst, not that much dialogue, like three words in spanish, established long-term relationship.

A/N: WHAAAAT?? GIGI POSTING TWICE IN A DAY??? its more likely than you think! thank las flores amarillas hehe.

now playing... flores amarillas from floricienta

The fight was stupid, really. 

You both had to admit it was. Even then, that doesn’t take away the fact it snowballed into issues each of you held back for what seemed ages, and only ended up with Jude slamming the door on the way out of your apartment. 

After hours of crying, your own exhaustion from the ordeal lulled you to sleep. When you rose up in the morning, neither your mind nor your body prepared for the fact it was a Saturday. 

Nor the fact everyone and their mothers were receiving yellow flowers, something you’d always craved but were always just another bystander. 

If you listened to that song again you might just rip your hair off. 

You had a whole day planned with Jude after the game, he wanted to do something special, but the fact you couldn’t hold back your jealousy the night before was more than enough to dampen the idea, whatever it was. 

For a second, you tried to put things on the positive side. A self-care day. In theory it was wonderful, but the second you sat alone in the bubbly bathtub, you broke down in tears. 

You’d been together for years. You changed your whole life around him, learning German to go to school in the same country and planning your masters in Spanish. Maybe that was part of the reason he called you spineless; you adapted to other’s needs and perspectives easier. His words bounced around your head, each reminder taunting you more. 

To top it all off, Spotify seemed to have a vendetta against you, your daylist was insanely depressing. 

“Is this because he plays for Real Madrid?!” You spoke out into the world, growing frustrated with your situation. 

That did spark an idea in your brain; or more of a reminder. 

Jude had a game today. And you weren’t going to be there to watch him. That just made you jump out of the bath, get changed into decent clothes and leave the house for once to watch him at your best friend’s house upon her request, miserably so even when the team got their footing back up— knowing you should be in the stands cheering him on. But alas, you weren’t.

And you wondered if you would ever be again. 

The moment he fell clutching his shoulder, your heart stopped. Tears welled in your eyes but you avoided letting them escape, remembering the long hours of work and recovery, the utter joy you felt when he informed both you and the team he was comfortable playing without the big chunky brace again. All that, and it crumbled down right before your eyes, like your relationship. 

Still, you didn’t hesitate on reaching for your phone, not finding any elation on the team’s victory. 

[ I know you don’t want to see or hear from me ] 

[ But how’s your shoulder? I’m seriously concerned ] 

You knew he wasn’t going to reply right away, and when your companion found out who you’d texted, she ripped the phone out of your hands and put it away for the reminder of your evening laced with white wine and take out sushi. 

“Thank you for releasing me, master.” You joked by the time she gave you the mobile back, swallowing hard upon seeing Jude hadn’t replied. 

He hadn’t even read it. 

Now you were actually panicking, swallowing down the tears in the Uber and wishing the small elevator could go fast enough that you didn’t break down somewhere that wasn’t in the comfort of your home. 

You were overwhelmed enough that you didn’t even take into account your door was unlocked when you clearly left it locked, nor the warm light coming from the tiny space under the doorframe. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Were the first words you registered before your eyes caught the indoor prairie your boyfriend had installed in your living room in the shape of yellow daisies. 

Your eyes trailed the hundreds of petals before your eyes finally fell on him, scanning from his toes up to the apologetic expression he was carrying. Now it all made sense; your friend insisted on getting you out of the house for this. He didn’t reply because of this. 

Though your heart was running at a whopping speed of thirty miles per second, your feet took you painfully slow— cautiously— towards him. You were still marveled, carefully watching where your sneakers landed to avoid stepping on the beautiful work he’d planned for you. 

“Perdón,” Jude repeated, as if the words in Spanish meant so much more than the English language. He opened his mouth for what seemed to be a rant, but the way you squeezed the life out of him with a desperate hug left him speechless, followed by your hugs. 

“I thought you— you were going to dump me and I would have to move back home and— and I can’t imagine that because I love you so much and that’s why I was scared!” You babbled between hiccups, trying to calm yourself down before his gentle hands cupping your face did the job spectacularly. 

“I would be such a fuckin’ idiot to do that.” He couldn’t help but let out a laugh, not at you nor your claims, but at how ridiculous he had been. 

“Te perdono,” You sniffled, your bottom lip still puckered up ever so slightly. 

“But what’s all this?” You turned to look at the scene, something straight out of a Van Gogh painting. 

“You thought I forgot with the thousand TikToks you sent me on this day?” He leaned in to kiss your forehead before pulling you into another warm hug. 

“I also watch Gilmore Girls whenever you do. Whoops.” 

Your laugh echoed as you snuggled closer to him in your upright position, being extremely thankful the last sentence of the song wasn’t your reality.

A/N: if y'all seriously thought it wasn't going to have a happy ending you clearly don't know me well enough rip

[chaosandmarigolds]

More Mafia(Mob??) leaders!daughter and Simon :p pt 2

(I don’t know manhattan, I’m making stuff up.)

“Okay, so,” you hold out your phone to the man, having pulled up the menu to one of your favorite restaurants, “Just double checking- this place can do gf, df, vegan, egg free, soy free, and what else um…” your faltering gave you enough time to look up to see his expression, still wearing that mask but you didn’t mind all that much. However you could see his eyebrows furrowed.

“You don’t have any allergies do you?”

“No.” Simon replied gruffly, taking a quick look behind his shoulder to Ivon- who trailed a good ten or so feet behind.

“Okay…cool! I just didn’t wanna take you somewhere and then you can’t eat anything because that sucks,” You shrug it off as you walk, the sun beginning to set but for the most part it was still light out, “So…Simon, do you have any pets?”

His attention is drawn back to you at the attempt of small talk, voice luring but riddled with a nonchalant smile, a genuine question rather than a groaning force in order to be polite. “One. Sheppard, he’s t’ree.”

That had triggered a whole ramble, you going on about how your childhood pet was a German shepherd who you had named Maddie. And that conversation had lingered until you both were still sitting happily at the table within the plush walls of the restaurant, sipping some wine that held more worth than the name Lieutenant Simon Riley.

All the same, as you both waited for your appetizers to come the words had died down and he thought it best to speak. “So what do you do?”

You blink a few times, bringing the glass to your lips as you wait for him to elaborate.

“For work?”

To that you nod, sipping the wine as you set it down, “My father-okay, well yeah I know, Nepo baby and all that, I should preface this by saying I’m so so super thankful for everything I’ve ever been given, and yeah,” you pause to breathe, it was a spiel you gave to anyone you just met, and normally they wouldn’t believe you, but you meant the words. “I-I know you’re just like ‘yeah sure’ but I am, I am. Anyway, my father- I dunno, he’s like a loan shark or something. He runs-well you know those MDR credit unions? Yeah, that’s my dad’s business, and I’m HR.”

There was a pause and you breathe again, dipping your gaze low to bring the wine over to you, “Anyway…yeah, aside from the flower shop, what do you do?”

Simon had listened to it all with a shaker full of a salt, either you were oblivious to the situation of your family name or you were a good lair- he thought it to be the former. “Working out.”

“I can tell.”

His eyes quickly flashed up from the porcelain  plate to you, and only for you to quickly direct your gaze elsewhere. Instead of leaving it, he laughed and then nodded, “Thank you.”

“Mmhm, you’re welcome.“ your words were muffled and you keep your eyes anywhere but his face, “so um…you ever been to the art museum?”

Simon gives you a look, “The one of seventh?”

A nod.

“Isn’t it closed?”

To those words you smile, “Not if your father is the number one donator.”

(Annnnd!!! That’s all I got for right now. Toodles!)

Tag list: @blackhawkfanatic

[pitchsidestories]

Arsenal Book Club || Katie McCabe x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1897

With a satisfied smile Kim Little oversaw the little group of players who decided to stay after the Arsenal afternoon training to participate in the first meeting of the club’s book club: “Great, I think we’re complete now that means we can start.” “We’re more people than I expected.”, Leah Williamson admitted genuine. Next to her Lia Wälti had an amused smile on her lips: “Me too to be honest. Although some of us are more present than others.” The Swiss midfielder could not help but to nod into Noelle Maritz direction who was deep asleep using the stacked books as pillows.

Out of breath but with a huge grin on her face Katie McCabe crashed the peaceful scenery: “Hi guys, I hope you didn’t start without me.” “Katie, you were the last person I expected to come here!”, stunned Vivianne Miedema looked at one of her closest friends in the team. Playfully offended the irish woman asked:” What’s that supposed to mean?”  “I’ve never seen you reading.”, the Dutch striker replied laughing.

You’ve been quiet so far, holding the book club pick in your hands but you’d never miss a chance to mock Katie so you interfered into the conversation with a challenging grin: “You can read?” “You two are so rude. I’ll sit as far away from you as possible but at least I brought the most important thing with me.”, the brunette said, a mischievous look on her face. Her expression made Jen Beattie chuckle:“ Your book?” “No, the wine, Jen!”, the Irish midfielder rolled her eyes. She lived for the drama. “So that’s why you’re here.”, Beth Mead exclaimed delighted.

Innocently Katie looked around her teammates: “Is not that what book clubs are all about? Good company and wine?” “And talking about books, Katie.”, Leah reminded her. The Irish woman threw a cocky smile in the direction of the English defender:” Did you finish a book for once, Leah?” “Of course, I finished it.”, the vice-captain mumbled although her blushed cheeks were telling the truth that she didn’t. Her schedule was just too busy.

Already slightly frustrated about the fact that the evening did not go as planned, Kim groaned: ”Can we start now?” “Yes, please.”, Lia agreed motivated while trying to ignore Noelle’s snore who got louder with each minute that was passing by. Relived the captain sighed: ”Thanks. Wait, Manu that does not look like our book club pick?” “It’s, it’s just the German translation.”, the goalkeeper explained. Sceptical Leah glanced at the Austrian:” Why would you read it in German?” “That way I can understand it better.”, Manuela Zinsberger told them, her cheeks burning red.

Katie changed the topic, holding up a bottle of wine and gesturing towards some glasses; “So who of the ladies wants wine?“ Before anyone could answer, she flashed you a flirty grin; “Does the bookish missus want a glass?“ “Katie! We didn’t even start discussing the book!“, you admonished the midfielder but couldn’t suppress a smile. “So?“, she retorted. Rolling your eyes, you finally gave in, in hopes that this would shut her up; “Okay, fine. You can fill the glasses.“ “Was that so bad?“, she grinned, filling the glasses and handing the first one to you. To your surprise, she did let you have a conversation about the book for some time, during which she made a point to look extra bored. At some point, she got up and excused herself. Vivianne followed shortly after.

At the door to the bathroom, the dutch player stopped her; “Katie, you didn’t really come here for the books, right?“ Katie stood in front of the sink, washing her hands and gasped in feigned shock; “How did you find that out, Sherlock?“ “The way you look at her, Watson.“, Viv replied, arms crossed in front of her chest. The Irish midfielder shrugged unimpressed; “And? What if I say yes? Will you kick me out of your book club?“

A small smile appeared on Viviannes lips; “No. But do you want some advice?“ “No.“, Katie answered quickly which made her team mate frown in confusion. But then Viv just shrugged and stepped in Katies place to wash her hands; “Alright.“ “I can do that without your help.“ “I know but maybe you should try to her hobbies seriously.“, Viv suggested casually.Katie gestured around herself; “I do. That’s why I’m here.“ “That’s cute for your standards.“, Viv smirked. “Shut up, Miedema.“

The smile on the dutch players face only grew bigger, knowing she hit a nerve; “Let’s go back to the others.“ “I thought you wanted to wash your hands for the rest of the night.“, Katie nodded in the direction of the sink. Vivianne turned off the water; “Only until you admitted why you’re really here. Thankfully I can read you like a book.“ “No, you can only read books like a book.“, the Irish woman answered. Vivianne ignored the joke with a shake of her head; “False.“ “No, I don’t have text all over me.“ “You’re such an idiot.“,Viv replied with a mixture of annoyance and fondness before following Katie out of the bathroom.

The striker glanced curiously at the teammates when she was sitting down:” What did we miss guys?” Kim sighed frustrated:” We started to talk about Jen’s love life instead of our recent read.” “We didn’t even finish Leah’s excuses on why she was too busy to finish the book.”, Beth teased the blonde teammate. “She’s really a busy girl.”, you hummed. Immediately Leah started to defend herself while pouting:”I am! It’s not my fault.”

Innocently Katie turned to you:” Maybe you should tell us how do you make time for reading while having a busy schedule aswell.” “Or we could keep talking about Jen’s dating dilemma.”, you proposed the idea with a wink in the direction, of the older Scottish woman.  “Or we could finally start talking about the book”, Kim added already feeling her evening plan going of the rails tonight. Slowly you agreed:” Yes, that is an option too.” “Sounds boring.”, Katie mocked you two.

A big smile was on Beth’s lips as she nodded:“Honestly, especially because Jen’s dating stories are always so funny.”  “I give up. Katie, can you give me some more of your wine`”, the captain groaned, hiding her face in her hands. Motivated the Irish woman stood up:“I’ll gladly do that!” “Thanks. Cheers to you all .”, Kim mumbled with a defeated smile. A wide grin was on Katie’s face: “Cheers, captain!”

“Tell us some of them, please.”, Meado begged. Smirking the Scottish defender reassured her:“Yes, don’t worry I’ll.” Jen loved to tell the stories, everyone in the team knew that and they loved her art of storytelling. Playfully she scolded Katie and Kim:” Shut up you two. We’re trying to have a conversation.” “Tell them about your date last week.”, the captain demanded. Happily Jen shook her head:“No, I might see her again.”  “Wait, what?!”, Kim blurted out in surprise. The defender laughed because of her long time friend’s expression:“You heard me.” “Really?”  

“That’s more interesting than the book, right`”, Katie leaned over to you with a cheeky grin. You rolled her eyes because of her comment: “Oh please.” “You can’t tell me, it’s not true.”, the Irish woman said. A small smile was on your lips while admitting:” Maybe I do enjoy a little bit of gossip here and there.” “I know you would.”, the midfielder triumphed. “You know that gossipy books exist too?”, you tried to remind her. “And what should they gossip about?” Confidently you told her:” I’m sure I could find a read for you which you could not be able to put down.”

“I’m sure you won’t be able to.“, Katie answered, shaking her head with conviction. You raised her eyebrows at her; “I disagree. We don’t live too far away from each other so maybe you can come with me after the book club ended and I can give you your book. The one that was just waiting for you all this time and you didn’t even know it.“ “Okay, fine. I’ll come with you.“, she answered faster than you expected. “Alright.“ Jen interrupted you two, calling for attention once again; “Guys, could you stop talking for a second. I’m here telling you my story.“

“Oh, you know, we were about to leave anyway.“, Katie grinned and drained the rest of her wine. You smiled apologetically at Jen; “Katie can’t wait to hold her book recommendation in her hands.“ “Pretty sure it’s not the book she wants to hold in her hands.“, Noelle mumbled with a yawn. “Oi, Noelle, we thought you were asleep!“, Beth yelled out in surprise. The Swiss defender grimaced; “That’s impossible with you all constantly talking.“ “That’s not true. You were sleeping at least in the beginning.“, Lia chimed in. The two Swiss players started discussing while Jen continued telling her dating stories and Kim rubbed the bridge of her nose in annoyance while you left with Katie.

To your surprise, your Irish team mate got a lot less annoying on your way back to your flat. You opened the door for the two of you and led Katie into the kitchen; “You can wait here and I’ll get you your next read.“ “Okay, I’ll wait.“ “Got it!“, you called from the living room when you finally found the perfect book and returned to the kitchen with it. Katie turned the book over in her hands; “Thanks.“ “You’re welcome.“, you smiled brightly. “So…“, Katie started as she carefully put the book down on the kitchen table. “Yes?“ “Now that we’re alone…“ The smile disappeared from your face but instead you gave your team mate a curious look; “Was Noelle right? That you’d like to…“ You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence as Katie bridged the distance between you two. “I’d like to kiss you actually.“, she answered, more earnestly than she had been all evening.

With a challenging look you leaned forward; “Then what are you waiting for?“ “For you to give me the go.“, she explained, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Go on then.“ Without another word she pressed her lips on yours, kissing you passionately like it’s the only thing she wanted to do tonight.

When you woke up the next morning, you weren’t surprised to find Katie in your bed. You knew she stayed the night. What actually surprised you was the fact that she was reading in the book you gave her. “Wait. Am I still dreaming? Katie McCabe with a book in her hand?“ “It’s just for decoration. I’m trying to impress you.“, she replied fast but only reluctantly took her eyes off the page.

You smirked at that; “Yeah, it’s a pretty sight. But tell me is the model hungry?“ “Always.“, she laughed, so you got up, pulling an oversized shirt over your head and headed to the kitchen; “Breakfast will be ready soon.“ “I even get breakfast?“, the Irish midfielder asked in surprise. “Yes.“ “What a service.“, she teased.

You were just preparing the pancake better when you suddenly felt her strong arms around her waist; “I’m trying to cook here, McCabe.“ “Oh really?“, she laughed, her lips close to your ear. “Yes, or did you mean hungry in a different way?“, you asked. She replied by playfully biting the skin on your neck; “I meant it both ways.“

[sparxyv]

Milena Student ID 💜🦅

I decided to finally issue a proper introduction to Milena Chase for you guys so she doesn't remain a face without a story any longer 😤

Thank you for the template @kiwiplaetzchen !! 🫶

Brace yourself for a big infodump - here is Milena's backstory etc etc 🫠

Family

Milena Jacqueline Chase was born in 1874 to a French muggle, Henri Marie Chase, and a Japanese witch, Miyuki Hoshino.

Milena is the oldest of seven siblings.

The Chase Family™ is extremely rich, like, buttloads of money rich. Coming from a long line of vintners, they founded one of the leading brands of the best quality wines in Europe, as well as owned a luxury hotel in central Paris.

Milena's grandparents on her mother's side lived in Feldcroft, and still do. They often watched over the Sallow twins after their parents death when Solomon was busy. (Milena does not know her grandparents. 👍)

Miyuki - Milena's mother - was a Slytherin in Hogwarts, and was friends with Solomon Sallow.

Life Before Hogwarts

Growing up, Milena and her siblings resided in their family's hotel in Paris, France. Since their parents were too busy with business and galas, they were raised by the housekeepers and servants that worked at the hotel.

Milena was homeschooled, undergoing typical muggle education with many tutors over the years. She gained a passion for learning early on, intensively studying practically anything that piqued her interest! (my little Matilda LOL)

Milena did NOT go to Beauxbatons, yet showed signs of magic very early on. The only reason she was aware of magic and wizardkind because of her mother's house elf, Teeley. (we love Teeley 🫶)

She had so much free time on her hands that she'd mastered and studied so many different things, making her a true jack of all trades! Some of these things include - Chess, fencing, horseback riding, painting, embroidery, baking, PLUS she's fluent in German and Russian (in addition to English and French).

Relationships

I'm planning on going more in depth with Milena's relationships in a series of separate posts so I'm just going to list her closest friends 💜

Sebastian Sallow

Anne Sallow

Ominis Gaunt

Imelda Reyes

Athol 'Mousey' McGregor

Samantha Dale

Amit Thakkar

Natsai Onai

Garreth Weasley

Poppy Sweeting

Sacharissa Tugwood

Richard Jackdaw

Personality

MBTI - ENTJ-A

Alignment - Neutral Good

I really think of Milena's personality as close to the in-game MC as possible, but I do tend to wander from that sometimes.. 😗😗

Milena always strives to help out people when faced with trouble, but never actively seeks out problems to solve - they just always seem to find her. Nevertheless, she always takes on difficult situations and rises to the challenge.

It helps a lot that she's very self-assured, something that came out of spending most of her childhood alone and taking care of herself AND others. That being noted, she's a natural born leader. Milena is assertive and logical and can easily adjust and adapt to many different situations - which makes her the perfect person to deal with a certain Slytherin boy who's emotions control him and not the other way around.. 👀👀

Milena is an ambivert. While she enjoys socializing, she's also comfortable being alone. She doesn't exactly prefer one over the other though. Socializing comes easy to her, and she has a secure attachment style when it comes to her relationships, never really feeling insecure about them or getting jealous easily. Milena tends to be more mature, and she never internalizes things when people are rude - but because she's so calm and mellow, people are usually either drawn to her or intimidated by her.

As a Ravenclaw, Milena is naturally curious! She's constantly on the hunt to learn new things, which is why she enjoys exploring outside of Hogwarts so much, taking in everything she can about the hamlets and just the Highlands in general. Her curiousity helps her find wonder in even the smallest of things. She's very open-minded, yet nearly always at least slightly skeptical when it comes to new things. She can be very opinionated, but is always open to other perspectives.

Milena is not one to be overly expressive with her emotions (but to be clear - she doesn't hide them either 😗), yet she does have a side of her that naturally comes out only when she feels comfortable. With friends like Sebastian especially, she feels like she can let loose and be more playful as well as a bit snarky/sarcastic.

Additional Fun Facts!

I've already mentioned this before - but Milena's absolute favorite things in the world are BIRDS. Birds of all kinds. She knows everything about every species, and I mean everything. And somehow, birds naturally flock to her like she's some type of woodland princess.

Milena's hair is NOT naturally curly/wavy, nor is it naturally auburn! Prior to Hogwarts, she used a charm to change her hair color, but it seemed to have some extra effects on her hair texture too..

Milena doesn't often speak French after arriving at Hogwarts, but since it's her native language, she finds it much easier to express herself in French even though she speaks near-perfect English. She also enjoys sneaking in French phrases to occasionally mess with Sebastian since he has no idea what she's saying 🥰🥰

Her love language is gift-giving, but when it comes to receiving it would be acts of service and quality time.

Is VERY passionate about potion-making.

Becomes an animagus in the summer before sixth-year, her animagus form being a giant golden eagle!

Already mentioned but she's quite fearless, except for when it comes to mooncalves. (She's more creeped out by them than scared of them, though.)

More of a dog person - Raphael is the exception 💜

Seeker for Ravenclaw in her sixth-year!

[theemporium]

💰 with Lando or Sebastian? You can make it whatever you'd like - Seb Anon

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“Ah, darling, I was wondering when you’d call.”

Your eyes narrowed at the casualness of his words. It was like you could hear the smirk on his face, could perfectly picture the way he was leaning back in his seat, legs spread and a cockiness about him that only someone like Sebastian Vettel could pull off. 

“What are you playing at?” You asked him bluntly, huddled away in a quiet corner at work where your nosy colleagues couldn’t eavesdrop on you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, schatz.”

You bit back the witty remark and the colourful words on the tip of your tongue as you took a deep breath, your eyes falling shut as you tried to remain calm. “Sebastian.”

“Hm, say my name like that again. I like it.”

“I–” You cut yourself off.

Ironically, this had been the first time you had spoken to the German in the last week. The last time you had seen him was when he flew back from the last race, surprising you at your apartment after insisting that he needed to see you. He had made a massive song and dance about taking you out for dinner the following night, one of those fancy places with a name you couldn’t pronounce and prices that didn’t even make it on the menu.

Except, you never made it to the restaurant. 

You sat in your apartment, dolled up and ready just like Sebastian had told you to be, only for him to stand you up. You had been pissed, to put it nicely. In fact, even thinking about it again just enraged you all over again. And instead of being apologetic, he had been so nonchalant and dismissive of the whole event which only pissed you off even further.

And after a week of avoiding his calls and messages, Sebastian had enough of being ignored. But he knew you wouldn’t just call him up if he did something sweet and nice. Absolutely not.

So, Sebastian did the next best thing to catch your attention. 

Since you had stepped into the office earlier that day, it had been non-stop. An array of flowers and chocolates and wines and pastries had been delivered to your desk throughout the day. Your colleagues were getting nosy and curious. Your boss was annoyed at the constant disruption. And you were ready to strangle the German driver through the phone.

“We are fighting, Sebastian,” you deadpanned. “You can’t send me flowers when we are fighting.”

“It’s not just flowers, darling. Did you not see the necklace? I think it would look pretty with that red, lacy set you have—”

“Sebastian,” you hissed.

“Just because we are fighting doesn’t mean I have to be negligent.” There was a pause, and when his voice filled your ears again, he sounded a lot more sincere and genuine. “Baby, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have stood you up like that. But the meeting was last minute and—”

“I don’t care about the dinner,” you told him, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “I care that you were so dismissive of my feelings about it afterwards.”

“Let me make it up to you, please. Don’t shut me out, baby. Let me grovel. Let me do what it takes.” 

Your lips twitched upwards. “Then call off your men, I barely have enough space to work on my desk with all the flowers.” 

“Fine. But I’m sending them to your apartment.” 

You shook your head. “But I won’t be there.”

“But I will be. I’ll be there waiting for my pretty girl with a nice homemade dinner and a strong hope that she will let me kiss her.”

“We’ll see,” you murmured, a shy smile on your face. “Just dinner?”

“No dessert before dinner, baby. I want you nice and fed before I fill you up.”

“Sebastian!”

“I’m simply being honest, darling.”

.

[pankowblues]

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

summary: rafe proposes to you in Germany

warning: nothing I think

word count: —

a/n: thanks to @rafecameroncoke for helping me choose which one to post since I wrote two versions of this also I might do this exact same thing but for my shy!introvert!reader

"Rafe, seriously, what are we doing here?" you ask, peering out of the taxi window. The cobblestone streets of Germany are lined with buildings that look like they've been plucked straight out of a storybook. You weren't complaining though you've always wanted to come here.

"It's a surprise," Rafe says, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Trust me, you're going to love it."

You can't help but return his smile. Rafe has always had a knack for surprises, and after five years together, you've learned to expect the unexpected. The taxi pulls up in front of a quaint little restaurant tucked away in a picturesque alley. The warm glow of candlelight spills out onto the cobblestones, and the smell of roasting meats and freshly baked bread fills the air. Your stomach rumbles, reminding you that it's been hours since you last ate.

As you step out of the taxi, a cool breeze whispers through the narrow street, carrying with it the distant sounds of laughter and live music. Rafe takes your hand, leading you towards the restaurant. His grip is firm, yet gentle, the same way he's held your hand through every challenge life has thrown at you both. You feel the anticipation building in your chest as you walk through the arched wooden doorway into the cozy dining room.

Inside, the walls are lined with shelves of fine wine bottles, and a small fire crackles in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the tables. The hostess, a friendly woman with a thick German accent, greets Rafe by name and shows you to a table that's been reserved just for the two of you. She leaves you with a knowing smile that makes you wonder if she's in on the surprise.

The menu is a delightful mix of traditional German dishes, and as you try to decide what to order, Rafe's gaze lingers on you, filled with a mix of love and something else. You can't quite put your finger on it, but it's definitely something special. The moment you lock eyes with him, your heart skips a beat. You've always felt safe with Rafe, but tonight there's something in the air that's both thrilling and slightly nerve-wracking.

As you both dig into your meals, the conversation flows naturally. You talk about your trip so far, the sights you've seen, and the memories you've made. Rafe tells you about the time he visited Germany as a child with his parents, and how he's always wanted to come back and share the experience with you. You laugh at his stories, the sound echoing softly in the romantic setting.

The evening wears on, and the restaurant starts to empty out. The music gets softer, the candles flicker lower, and the ambiance becomes more intimate. The waitress, who has been attentive all night, brings out a bottle of champagne with a knowing smile. Rafe's eyes never leave yours as she pops the cork and pours the bubbly liquid into your glasses.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. Your heart leaps into your throat as he opens it, revealing a ring that sparkles like the stars in the clear night sky above. "I know we've talked about this before," he says, his voice steady but his hands shaking slightly, "but I wanted to ask you again, in the most beautiful place I could think of. Will you marry me?"

You can't believe what's happening. Your eyes well up with happy tears, and all you can manage is a nod. The words feel lodged in your throat, too precious to speak. Rafe takes your trembling hand and slides the ring onto your finger, the diamond glinting in the candlelight. It fits perfectly, like it was made just for you, which of course it was.

The restaurant goes quiet for a moment, and you realize everyone is looking at you. You blush, feeling a mix of embarrassment and excitement. The patrons erupt into applause, and the chef himself emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron, to congratulate you both. The waitress brings over a complimentary dessert, a beautiful black forest cake with a single candle in the center. Rafe whispers something to her, and she smiles conspiratorially before lighting the candle and retreating.

He leans in closer, his eyes searching yours. "Make a wish," he says, and you know he's not just talking about the candle. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and make a silent wish that the love you share will only grow stronger with time. As you blow out the candle, the warmth of the flame tickles your cheeks. When you open your eyes, Rafe is grinning at you, looking happier than you've ever seen him. You smile, feeling a new sense of pride in your fiancé.

taglist: @rafecameroncoke, @0xstarzx0 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @v4mqvs , @aariahnaa, @congratsloserr

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

obligatory end of the year thank you post

thanks to everybody who followed and interacted ever since i started this sideblog - i'm enjoying writing very much at the moment, bringing my delulus to life, and it makes me happy to see that other people enjoy my silly drabbles as well - i really appreciate you all <3

Guten Rutsch (literally 'good slide (over to the new year)') as you say in german and a happy and healthy new year!

What would it be like to spend New Year's Eve with König?

This was brought to you by these pictures of Peter Steele with that fucking cap on and the fact that metalhead!König (like every König, really) would be so desperate to have you sitting on his face.

(cw: nsfw mdni, smutty smutt, bit of butt stuff)

“What are you doing?”, I ask him, surprise painting my voice. I just walked back into the living room where we’ve been sitting, listening to music, drinking red wine, waiting for the new year to start.

“Nothing.”, he says, the typical devilish grin playing around the corners of his mouth. It sure doesn’t look like nothing.

He’s lounging on his couch. The black shirt that had been buttoned up all evening isn’t buttoned up anymore, showing off his chest that is wrapped in a harness. The sleeves are rolled up, his tattooed forearms on full display. Handcuffs around his wrists, the ones with the soft cuffs that he already used on me once or twice. A leather cap sitting on top of his head. His long dark hair flowing over his shoulders.

I stare at him with a slacked jaw which makes him chuckle. “Like what you’re seeing, huh?”, he asks teasingly. I nod, finally picking up my chin from the floor, coming closer. He’s looking like a kinkily wrapped up present, waiting patiently for me to finally do something with him. To him.

“Lie down.”, I tell him briefly, and he does as I order, lying down on the soft cushions, his legs hanging over the one side of the couch because even his own furniture isn’t big enough for him.

I get rid of my clothes in an instant, climbing over him. Hovering my pussy in front of his face, while I place my thighs beside his head.

I smile down at him, teasing him, by pulling back up when he goes to nudge his nose against the wet folds. He groans, jerking up a bit, which lets the leather cap topple from his head. I take it and put it own my own head, grinning at him teasingly. His bound wrists keep him from taking what he wants.

“Please just fucking sit on my face.”, he groans, sounding desperate.

“So impatient.”, I reprimand him, getting up again, giving him a full view of everything without a chance to put his mouth on me.

“You’re killing me.”, he whines which puts a sly smile on my lips. But I finally do as he wants placing my pussy on his face. Still hovering a bit to let him breathe.

“Sit down.”, he growls against the wetness, lapping at it, dipping his tongue into me.

“I don’t wanna suffocate you.”, I protest, and the look he gives me lying there under me speaks volumes.

“I said, fucking sit, don’t worry about me.”, he repeats his words. And I follow his order, pressing my wet pussy onto his lips, letting my weight come down.

The hum I feel against my core is deep and satisfied as he starts to really lick and suck, nibbling at my clit, pushing his tongue into me repeatedly.

I hold onto the armrest in front of me, moving my hips at my own pace, grinding against his mouth, desperately looking for release.

He shimmies down a bit until he’s not eating my pussy anymore, but my ass. I look down in surprise, his hungry gaze up at me a clear indicator that he’s content where he is. Oh god. My thighs start to shake when his tongue dips inside me, fucking my ass. Oh fuck. My hand wanders to my clit, my fingers feverishly circling it, as I’m chasing the high. I cum on top of him, the gushing wetness hitting his face as he laps up everything I give him.

“I need to be inside you.”, he pleads, finally coming up for air again, and I get up from his face and free his wrists – something he could have easily done himself, but he was waiting for me to do.

As soon as he’s free though, he lifts me, puts me down on the couch, my back against the soft cushions, and pulls out his dick. He groans as he grabs it, looking painfully hard, precum smeared all over his tip. I grin up at him, a bratty comment already on the tip of my tongue.

It falters when he pushes my legs back and lines his dick up, pressing it into me. The sultry smirk on my face contorts to an O, mewls dropping from my lips as I stretch around him, until he bottoms me out, the familiar sting of pain dissipating into pleasure. Taking his length still has me struggling a tiny bit every time, but I relish the feeling that comes after.

"Good girl.", he coos, stealing back the leather cap placing it on his head again, then he places his hands right beside my head on the back of the couch. The praise washes over me, letting me relax around him, then he starts to roll his hips against me, fucking me into the cushions.

I scramble to hold on with the pace he’s going at, my hands clawing at his pecs and stomach, leaving red streaks, until I get his harness into my grip, my fingers clasping onto the soft leather strap in the front. My moans and his grunts, accompanied by the hard slapping of skin against skin, intermingle with the music still playing from the speakers.

We get carried away and miss the countdown to the new year, though the sound and lights from fireworks in the distance outside should have given us a hint.

When we look at the time again, it’s already 00:34, but it doesn’t matter. König only complains for a little bit, that apparently we didn’t hear the most important bell in Austria – the Pummerin – ring in the new year. I tell him he better stop complaining about missing the sound of a bell over being ballsdeep in my pussy.

Which only makes him laugh. He takes my chin between his thumb and pointer and kisses me slow and sweet to make me shut up, also getting his new year’s kiss for good luck. Then he looks for a song on his phone. When I ask what he’s doing, he tells me he wants to dance the Wiener Walzer with me. To An der schönen blauen Donau by Johann Strauß Jr.

“It’s tradition.”, he explains.

“But I don’t know how to do the waltz.”, I say, looking up at him all confused, still trying to puzzle the two together, the huge tattooed man and dancing the waltz.

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you.”, he says, grabbing me and showing me the position you’re supposed to do a waltz in. Putting my left hand on his shoulder which makes me dig the fingertips into the ink covered skin. Putting his right hand on my lower back, letting it drop deeper than it actually supposed to go. I shoot him a look, but he only smiles at me apologetically. Bringing our other hands together. Then he shows me the steps. The “Down, Up, Up”. Leading me in the dance.

So, we dance the Wiener Walzer together, rather poorly, but that doesn’t matter.

He’s still in his harness and jeans, the stupidly hot cap on his head. I put on his shirt, haphazardly buttoning up the front. That’s how we twirl through the living room, both barefoot and a little tipsy.

I stumble over his feet which makes us both trip and we almost tumble onto the floor. He catches me though, the strong arms wrapping around my waist.

I start laughing and I can’t stop anymore, lying in his arms giggling. Grinning from one ear to the other. He joins in until we’re both holding our stomachs with how hard we’re laughing. I look up at him again, the way he’s looking at me is taking my breath away and my heart is just so fucking full.

We dance some more, we drink some more and we fuck some more. Truly, this man is insatiable. Until we finally fall into bed in the early morning hours.

I thought he might have the decency to let us sleep in, but apparently, we need to watch the Neujahrskonzert by the Vienna Philharmonics. That’s tradition as well.

That’s how we sit in front of the TV, all bundled up in a blanket. My head hurts from the little hangover I have because I don’t do well with red wine. And my pussy is sore which I complain to him about playfully, but he only asks me if he needs to kiss it better. I roll my eyes and smack his right pec, which pulls a laugh from his lips.

I snuggle into him, watching the classical concert, and think about how I don’t ever want to leave his arms again.

I couldn't resist putting in some Austrian New Year's traditions... so if you're interested: info on the new year's concert here and here, where to possibly watch it tomorrow here, video of the The Blue Danube Waltz with the Pummerin at the start and the ballet company of the Vienna State Opera dancing here - thanks for reading <3

~ More Stuff in the Masterlist ~

[orphicdreamers-wp]

Still Falling For You — Nico Hischier

Summary: Nico finds out your learning how to make his favorite Swiss foods and it adds another reason to why he’s still falling for you

Content Warnings; Subtle angst at first, med student reader, poorly translated German (blame google translate)

Pairing; Nico Hischier x Fem Reader

A deep sigh left your lips, “I understand that you miss Switzerland but I can’t just drop everything and run to Switzerland for a month Nico!” Nico scoffed as he slammed his dresser drawer shut, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m gonna go stay with Jack for a while. I’m sorry.” You let out a defeated sigh, “Ich lebe dich, fahre vorsichtig. Schreib mir eine SMS, wenn du dort ankommst?” Nico hummed, “Wie auch immer, ich gehe jetzt.” You watched in silence as your fiancé left your shared apartment without so much as a kiss goodbye. That was over two weeks ago.

You’d gone to all of Nico’s games in the meantime and crammed for your MCATS all while taking cooking classes in the meantime. You were taking something out of the oven when the door opened, “Y/N?” Jack’s voice pulled you from the kitchen, “Kitchen!” Jack walked into the kitchen to find you in a hot pink apron adorning bright yellow oven mitts and a orange chef’s hat. Jack burst out laughing, “What the hell are you wearing dude?” You glared at him as you set the pan of Rösti on the stove, “Can it squeaks. Is Nico coming home anytime soon?” Jack shrugged, “Dude I have no clue. Get him off my couch, Maisie won’t even sleep in the same bed as me while he’s on our couch.”

You sighed, “I’m trying Hughes. Have I ever screamed chef to you?” Jack paused for a minute to think, “Not particularly, speaking of what is this stuff?” You sighed as you put the pan of cake batter in the oven for the Zuger Kirschtorte. You turned to Jack, “I called his mom, I had to bribe her with my peanut butter fudge the next five times she visits to spill his favorite Swiss meals. He keeps talking about how much he misses Switzerland. I can’t go to Switzerland with my MCATS coming up, that’s why we’re fighting. So I wanted to make it up to him. I need you to get him here tonight at 6. Please Hughie?” Jack smiled at your romantic spiel, “I can try my hardest Y/N. This is really cute by the way.” You smiled, “Thanks Jack. Now go I still have to finish making the food and shower and look cute for my guy.” Jack grinned as he excused himself and left the apartment.

You checked the cake and it wasn’t anywhere near done so you placed the bottle of Oeil-de-Perdrix, Nico’s favorite Swiss wine according to his mom, in the freezer to chill while you hurried into the bathroom and turned the shower on and quickly showered before changing into a simple pair of jeans and one of Nico’s favorite shirts of yours. You made it back to the kitchen and got the cake out and iced it and it was only 5 now. You smiled to yourself as you moved all the food out of the kitchen and onto the table. You tied the apron back around you as you started the rinsing dishes and put them in the dish washer. You took the wine out of the freezer and placed it in the fridge to stay cold.

By the time you finished it was still 5:15, you brought the food back into the kitchen and cleared a space in the living room, overlooking the beautiful city view that drew you into the apartment to begin with. You moved the table out onto the balcony and placed a tablecloth on the table to give it a restaurant quality look. You began to plate up food for both you and Nico. Once you were done with that you found an old record that neither you nor Nico had played since you got engaged over a year ago. You dusted it off and put it on the record player and allowed it to start as you found the perfect dimness of the lights.

You had 15 minutes to spare so you used that small window of time to style your hair into a cute simple half up half down hairstyle you wore on you and Nico’s first date. You put on a small amount of makeup, majority being your winged eyeliner and the lip liner and lipgloss on your lips. You felt awkward not having shoes on so you slipped on a pair of sandals and poured you both a glass of wine as you waited for Nico to come through the door.

You pick up yo ur phone read the time, 6:17. For a brief moment you believe he isn’t coming and you feel your heart drop. Maybe Jack had forgotten to tell him, maybe Nico just decided he wasn’t coming, maybe he’d decided he was done and didn’t have the heart to tell you. Until your phone buzzed with a text.

J. Hughes: He took more convincing than expected. Told him he need to get a clean suit for tomorrow’s game. He’s on his way up now.

You smiled as you heard the door open. Nico froze in the doorway of his home. Granted he hadn’t been home in a few weeks but he was almost certain that his kitchen table was missing. And his house smelled like Mahogany and Teakwood, his favorite candle. That he happened to know that his fiancée hated the smell of. Love Me Like There’s No Tomorrow by Freddie Mercury faintly played through the apartment as he walked further inside, “Honey?” He hadn’t spotted you on the couch where you usually sat and studied around this time of night. The dimness of the home coupled with the silence hanging heavy in the air worried Nico slightly.

You had heard his footsteps just inside the balcony. He opened the curtain and spoke softly, “Hi pretty lady. What are you doing out here all alone?” You smiled up at him, “I’m not alone anymore. Sit before the food gets any more cold.” Nico looked at the food on the table, “Where did you learn to cook these?” You smiled at your fiancé, “The internet is a helpful place sometimes.” Nico sat down as he looked at the foods he’d loved most during his childhood in front of him and the woman he loves most in the world having made them, “Danke meine liebe.”

You smiled at him, “Es war mir ein Vergnügen, Hübscher.” Nico spoke almost sadly, “I’m sorry for how I acted angel. I really appreciate this.” You smiled, “What can I say, I love doing things for my people.” Nico smiled, “I know. It’s one of the things I find myself still falling for you because of.”

[ilovespec]

A loving but dangerous winter ~

|Yandere Fem! serial killer × shy! Reader| part 2

Warnings:slightly yandere behavior, already a small red flag ? excessive care, size difference, height difference.

5819 words.

Y/N finished her work shift, and patiently waited for Agafya at her coffee shop... She purposely finished her shift early so that she would have time to put on some makeup and how to say it.. "Get prettier." After 10 minutes, she heard an exclamation from some guy, obviously he was drunk.

Drunk guy: Hey pretty girl! Do you want to spend time with a stud like me? ~

Y/N: I'm sorry... uh...B-but I'm already expecting someone..

Drunk guy: Come on! ~ I am sure that I am much better than this "something" of you-!!!

The drunk guy stops at half a word, and in shock, with fear in his eyes, looks behind Y/N...

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

Agafya was standing behind Y/N ! And she had a bouquet of flowers in her hands!! Surprisingly, it consists of gardenias...light carnations..and jasmine. A rather unusual, but bright and cute bouquet... But I think I got distracted!

An angry expression froze on Agafya's perfect face , and she took a step , shielding T/I with her wide , muscular back. Looking straight at the guy. He was very unlucky to meet them.

Agafya: A young man. It is better not to encroach on someone else's property..

Agafya moved back slightly... She wrapped her free arm around T/I's waist, hugging her to her chest... T/I's face immediately turned a tomato shade. And Agafya, casting another look full of hatred at the poor drunk guy, gave T/I a bouquet and gently took T /I to the car (opening the door to her in advance, why is she so romantic???!??!!! >-<) And getting into the driver's seat , next to Y/N

Y/N: thank you... And the bouquet is very beautiful! Thanks again..

Agafya only smiled toothily , showing her pure white and strangely sharp teeth

Agafia: You're welcome, I'll always protect моего кролика...

and again.. Two more words in Russian, someday T/I will ask what they mean , but not now.

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

After a while , they drove up to a fashionable , and obviously very expensive restaurant . Agafya got out of the car , and opening her door carefully helped her out of it , and put her arm around her shoulders .

The girls entered the restaurant , And some guy... Apparently, the manager asked if they had reserved seats, but then looking at Agafya's face, he turned slightly pale , and said it:

Manager: Uh... ah.... Haha... I-It's you, Miss. Langer f-for you, we a-always have a t-table..

weird... Why is this guy stuttering? Perhaps Agafya has some kind of not very bad reputation...? Well , nothing , so far we don't have to jump to conclusions... Yes...?

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

They sat down at a table, and the menu was brought to them...

Agafya: order what you want, dear..

HAAAAA?!!??! WHAT DID SHE CALL HER NOW?!!!?!! Y/N blushes visibly and nods slightly... WHY ARE THE PRICES SO HIGH HERE?!!??? WHAT THE HELL ???

As if reading her thoughts, Agafya said

Agafya: don't worry, your order won't affect my finances, for your information, I earn not so little, don't worry about that.

Y/N, still nervous when the waiter came up, ordered (your favorite dish) and (your favorite drink) . And Agafya ordered herself a steak , and a bottle of wine...

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

All the time they were being served the order, they started talking and Y/N found out that Agafya's favorite color is (the color of your eyes). In fact, she is 30 years old, her exact height is 195 centimeters. She is half German and half Russian, and used to wrestle, but she gave it up... And this is clear from her muscles, which stand out against the background of her turtleneck!.. Stop!!!Stop!! What is she thinking about?.. Y/N blushes slightly, and the waiter brings their dishes and fills their glasses with wine.

Agafia raises her glass and says:

Agafia: for us , and for this evening.

They clinked their glasses....

The evening flew by unnoticed.... Just like the bottle of wine , Y/N and Agafya got into the car (or rather , Agafya carried Y/N in her arms , since she had drunk too much) and then everything was vaguely remembered...

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

The next morning, she woke up with a headache and a dry throat... But she felt that something soft was pressed against her face....and a large and warm palm was stroking her back.. She opens her eyes and sees that SHE 'S SITTING ON AGAFYA 'S LAP , IN HER OWN APARTMENT !!! And Agafya is not sleeping at this time, and calmly strokes her back ...

Agafya: oh, did you finally wake up?

Y/N immediately shudders in shock and tries to get off Agafya's lap, but she hugs her with her free hand around her waist ..

Agafya: Well... well.... Stop twitching, you were sleeping so sweetly... And yes, don't worry, there was nothing between us, and you didn't do anything wrong when you were drunk.

Y/N calms down slightly.

Y/N: but then why are we in my apartment...? And why am I sitting on your lap..?

Agafya: everything is easy and simple. Since I drank one glass of wine and you finished the rest of the bottle, you got very drunk. And I took you home, but while I was bringing you to your apartment, you passed out in my arms.. And you looked so cute in your sleep that I just couldn't help but stay.

Y/N finally calmed down.. But... Stop. DID SHE STAY UP ALL NIGHT AND STARE AT HER?!??! Okay... It's creepy but... Okay...?

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

After 30 minutes, she was already sitting in her kitchen, illuminated by the bright morning sun and eating the breakfast that Agafya had prepared for her .

(Y/N finishing): Everything was very tasty... Thank you so much..

Y/N got up and was going to take the dirty breakfast plates to wash them, BUT!!! Agafya picked her up like a princess, and carried her to the sofa with the words "rest a little." BUT TAKE A BREAK FROM WHAT ?!!??!!!

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

From that day on, their life together began... Their dates became more frequent and became daily. And they got a very....uh... how to say... "a pleasant ending". Agafya now drove every day, and came to work for Y/N... And even these terrible gifts and notes in her house stopped! Perhaps Agafya scared her creepy stalker!! AND THE TWO OF THEM STARTED DATING!!! Y/N hoped with all her heart that they would have a normal relationship...

To be continued >^<

write your impressions in the comments ;)

Моего кролика : my bunny

[otdiaftg]

The Raven King - Chapter Fourteen

Day: Thursday, November 23rd Time: 6:45 PM EST

Afterward they collapsed anywhere they fit in the den. Neil didn't think he'd eat again for at least a month, but somehow the others had room for wine. Nicky, who'd never seen Neil willingly imbibe alcohol, was still optimistic enough to offer Neil his glass. "Even on a holiday?" Nicky asked when Neil refused. "He's underage," Abby said. "So are Aaron and Kevin, but you're not stopping them," Nicky pointed out. "I'm not encouraging them, either," Abby said. Kevin had watched the exchange where he was sitting against the entertainment center. When Nicky sighed and subsided, Kevin spoke up in French. "I will watch you. If you want to drink tonight," he added when Neil looked at him. "I won't let you say something you'll regret." "You'll be drunk inside an hour," Neil said. "Then who'll stop me?" Kevin gave him a cool look. "I would stop drinking." "Rude," Nicky said, sitting up and looking between them. "What did you just say? I can't understand you. That's not fair." "Think about that the next time you use German at my practices," Wymack said. "That's different," Nicky complained. "I only see that look on Neil's face when someone tries to do something nice for him, but we all know Kevin's as bratty as they come. What did you say, Kevin, and do I need to defend Neil's honor or what?" Kevin didn't waste his breath responding. Neil answered, but he meant the words more for Kevin than he did Nicky: "I'm fine. Thank you, though." Kevin accepted that with a shrug and went back to drinking. Nicky looked between them again, realized he wasn't going to get an explanation, and subsided with a put-upon sigh. The room sank into comfortable silence.

Art used with permission by Esklinray. Thank you so much @esklinray

[automaticpizzahologram]

I'm not German or speak German so sorry if I translate it wrong just blame Google translate

Both bill and the reader are 16

" Hallo i-ich bin y/n" ( hello I'm y/n).

I say, well try to say. I'm trying to learn German by myself just for something to do. I don't think I will ever need it but it's gonna be awesome to say I can speak more than one language and that's German, plus German people have amazing accents that make them sound fantastic.

I sit on the swings staring down and the miniature sized book in my hands . Even though I'm swinging slightly the swing still  screeches . It's not the best park, it has a broken roundabout that barely spins, the slide gives kids burns no matter what you wear. The over flowing bin thats full of beer bottles and other stuff I probably don't want to know about.

Everything in the park has worn out, dull paint on it. It looks like no one has been in for years and that's kinda true ever since the new park was added all the younger kids go there, it's in the nicer part of town as well.

It seems as though only drug addictics, drunkes and some teens go to this park now which is normally at night so sometimes I get this place all to myself.

My eyes quickly skim the page.

"alright so they pronounce their 'w' 's as v' s. So wine would be vine?" I look up to the clear blue sky and sigh. Closing the book I put it on the floor. I pick up my phone from the ground and skip my music till I find a more upbeat song, I place my phone back on to the floor then I start to swing getting higher and higher.

I sit swinging for about 45 minutes being in my own little world while listening to music watching the world go by. I slowly slow down draging my feet on the gravel and pull myself to a stop. I slip off my headphones and place them around my neck. Jumping of of the swing I bend down and pick up my book, phone and my bottle of water, I place my phone into my Jeans pocket. I start to head out of the park when I drop my waterbottle . I reach down stretching my arm out ready to grab the bottle when another hand beats me to it. I look up at the person ready to say thank you and I'm met with a really pretty, tall, skinny boy with longish black hair. 

" Thanks, you didn't have to do that but I appreciate it"

"Don't worry, it was no problem. I'm Bill" the German accent catching my attention. Bill holds my bottle out and I reach to get it.

" Thanks" I say again "I'm y/n" grabbing the waterbottle.

Bill steps to the side  slightly and that's when I notice another boy with dreadlocks.

"This is my brother Tom."

" it's nice to meet you but I probably should be going. Have a nice day" I say and continue to walk out of the park and along the path heading home. I turn to look back at the park and catch bill still looking at me, he doesn't turn away quickly as I thought he would, he just continues to look. I turn back around and continue my way home.

~~~~~~~°°~~~~~~~°°~~~~~~~°°~~~~~~

I kick my shoes of at the door and set down my book and waterbottle on the bench. I look at my waterbottle thinking back to the boy in the park and his brother, they looked about my age.

I open the snack cupboard and take out a pack of sour patch kids I grab my book and water and head up to my room.

Closing the door I chuck the sour patch kids on my bed as well as my waterbottle .

My room isn't very big. It has light gray walls with windows on both the front and the back of my room. My beds near the front of the room, my conserlation bedding make my room look more  neater for some odd reason. I have about fifty thousand plants dotted around in different coloured plant pots. My room doesn't really have a theme it's just random.

For a small room I have a lot of stuff and I don't even need it. I don't use the things so there's no point in having them but it's the fact that most of the stuff is gifts and things that I might in the future, who knows.

I walk over to my bed and  get on. lying on my stomach I reach to my right and put my book on my book shelf that has far to many books for it, and if I'm being honest I have 4 books on the go that need finishing.

I open the bag of sour patch and start scrolling on Instagram.

After about 15 minutes I get bored. I chuck my phone to the side and get up from my bed streching as I do so.

I hear the door open and close from my mum coming in from work.

"I'M BACK " she shouts. My mums pretty chill, just don't get on her bad side.

"OK" I shout back

"is your sister In?"

"no, she's staying at jasmine's tonight"

" should we order in tonight then"

I run out of my room and down the stairs into the sitting room. Not only is my room small every rooms small. My mum's sitting on the sofa scrolling through what I'm guessing is a takeaway menu.

"how does Chinese sound?"  mum says looking up from the menu on her phone.

"yeah that sounds great"

We normally order in if maddison is out because she doesn't like eating fatty foods, she says its going to ruin her skin and figure . I mean when I was 14 i had okay skin a few spots every now and then  but I didn't stop eating stuff  because of it. The acne has gone now thankfully, and I'm happy about how I look because I relised that unless I get plastic surgery, which is hella expensive, I can't change the way I look.

About 12 minutes later mom gets a phone call.

I don't pay attention until I hear my name being mentioned, I turn my head towards mum now interested in the conversation that mums having.

"No, I'm sure she'll be fine with going, one sec, I'll tell her"

"y/n, sweetheart, maddison wants to go to this concert thing with jasmine in 2 or 3 weeks, apparently they have vip tickets or what ever you call them. And they want you to go are you okay with that" she says looking over to me

"yeah, sure, I don't mind"  mum turns back to facing forward again.

" your sister says yes she'll go with you"

"Okay, bye love you" mum hangs up the phone and turns back towards me.

" Are you sure you're okay with going?"

"yeah I need to get out anyway, did she say who we're going to see"

"no I don't think so, only that they have back stage passes, apparently jasmine's parents bought them for her and accidently bought 3 instead of two without knowing. You know how rich people are"

Hi everyone thanks so much for reading.

I have no clue what happens at a concert cause I have never been to one never mind back stage so please bare with me. I'll try and update as much as I can.

[skywalker1dream]

Title: New Beginnings

Note:It is short, if you want the part 2, I think I have it in drafts, hope you have a good day or night..and And don't forget to drink water [oh and I wrote this at 4 am] If you want me to write something, I am open for requests..

Summary: you visit retired Sebastian Vettel at his countryside home. Despite your secret romantic feelings for him, you cherish your deep friendship. The story ends with a toast to new beginnings and a promise to treasure your journey together.

Warnings:Unrequited Love, (anything else?) Use of nickname [Schatz]

Retired!Sebastian vettel x bestf!reader

The sun cast a golden hue over the sprawling German countryside as you drove up the winding road to the modest estate that Sebastian now called home. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of blooming wildflowers and freshly cut grass. It was a stark contrast to the bustling paddocks and roaring engines that had defined Sebastian's life for so many years.

Sebastian Vettel had retired from Formula 1. The announcement had shocked the motorsport world, but those close to him understood. After years of dedication, victories, and challenges, he had decided it was time to step back and focus on what truly mattered: family, passions beyond racing, and a life of simplicity.

You parked the car in front of the charming, ivy-covered house and took a moment to soak in the peaceful surroundings. This was Sebastian's sanctuary, a place where he could be himself, away from the limelight and pressures of the racing world.

As you stepped out of the car, Sebastian emerged from the house, his face breaking into a wide smile. He looked different now,more relaxed, happier. The stress lines had faded, replaced with a serene contentment.

"Schatz!" he called out, jogging down the steps to greet you. He enveloped you in a warm hug, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the earthy aroma of the countryside filling your senses.

"Hey, Seb," you replied, pulling back to look at him. "You look good. Retirement suits you."

He chuckled, a sound that always made your heart skip a beat. "Thanks. I've been keeping busy. Come on, let me show you around."

You followed him inside, where the interior of the house was just as inviting as the exterior. The decor was simple yet elegant, with personal touches that made it clear this was a home, not just a house. Photos of his family and his career adorned the walls, each one telling a story of its own.

Sebastian led you to the back patio, where a table was set up with a spread of fresh fruits, cheeses, and a bottle of his favorite wine. You both settled into comfortable chairs, the view of the rolling hills providing the perfect backdrop.

"So, how's life treating you?" you asked, pouring a glass of wine for each of you.

"It's been great," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I miss racing sometimes, but I'm happy. I've been spending a lot of time with the kids, working on my garden, and just... enjoying life."

You smiled, watching him talk about his new passions with the same enthusiasm he used to have for racing. "I'm really glad to hear that, Seb. You deserve it."

He looked at you, his eyes softening. "You know, Schatz, I couldn't have done any of this without your support. You've always been there for me, through the highs and lows. I can't thank you enough."

You felt a warm blush creeping up your cheeks. "It was my pleasure, Seb. You know I always believed in you."

He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. The touch was gentle, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through you. For years, you had harbored feelings for Sebastian, feelings you had never found the courage to confess. You cherished his friendship too much to risk losing it, so you kept your emotions buried deep within your heart.

"I don't just mean during my racing career. You've been my rock, my best friend. And now, I want you to be a part of this new chapter of my life.

Your heart swelled with emotion, but you managed to smile. "Seb, we've been through so much together. I wouldn't have it any other way. Best friends for life, right?"

"Best friends for life," he echoed, his smile brightening. He squeezed your hand, then let it go to raise his glass. "To new beginnings, and to us,always having each other's backs."

You clinked glasses, taking a sip of the crisp wine. It was a moment of pure contentment, surrounded by the beauty of the countryside and the warmth of Sebastian's friendship. The future was uncertain, but with your best friend by your side, you knew you could face anything together.

As the sun continued to set, casting long shadows and a soft glow over the landscape, you couldn't help but feel a pang of bittersweet longing. You would always love Sebastian, but for now, being his best friend was enough.

In that quiet moment, with laughter and dreams filling the air, you silently promised yourself that you would cherish every second of this new chapter. After all, life was about the journey, not the destination and with Sebastian by your side, the journey was sure to be extraordinary.

Hope you liked it, comment how it was (I don't bite I promise) and I have And I have a lot of drafts so if you want I can post it ;3

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

The Taming of Man - Dragon-shifting Katsuki Bakugou x F!reader

Ay Yo, Starting a series maybe perhaps??? Idk, felt cute, might delete later. seriously though, lemme know what you think, because I'd really enjoy writing this out all the way.

EXTREMELY BASED ON The Willow Maid by Erutan, pls listen for best experience, lyrics at the end are from this!

words: 1,958

warnings: cursing, blood, probably poorly translated German, reader is she/her and will be AFAB in the future if I write this all the way out

"Fuckin' Bluebloods," Katsuki grumbled to himself, waving the Pyre Pine twig he'd picked up, batting at cobwebs and whipping tall Acrimony Trees. The trees, true to their namesake, warped their crimson roots up through the maroon dirt to try and trip him. He had been in this forest a thousand times before though, and simply dodged them, hopping on top of them as his clunky boots pounded into the ground.

He kicked at popping Portobello's, their ashy and highly spiced spores exploding out with a crackle into what fittingly appeared to be mushroom clouds, and jabbed at the star-shaped Fire flowers, which attempted to burn away his stick with flickering flames and a high-pitched squealing sound. The good thing about Pyre Pines is that they were fire-resistant, so the flowers died without retribution.

Yes, Prince Katsuki of Forrmidūl was in a terrible mood, and it was all thanks to some rich asshole who thought he was better than him. He had met with the prince of Novia earlier that day, Katsuki's mother and Prince Tenya's Father hoping for some kinship between them as the people of their countries were viciously feuding. Sure, the guy was civil, nice even, but Katsuki hated the way he looked at him. Like he was a brute. A savage. He hated the way he picked at their nations best delicacies, scraping off perfectly good Portobello paste, and he hated the way he couldn't do anything about it.

The very remembrance of it made his jaw clench, his fists tightening. He wacked at a blazing thistle with all his strength, the wine-colored stemming tips of the petals shooting off into mini red fireworks. A couple went wayward, flying into the skin of his arm. Shit. They set off, causing wounds similar to ones you might get from being shot with a BB. "God Fucking Dammit," He yelped, gripping at his left tricep and scowling at the dead plant. He swung at it a couple times more, beating the poor thing to a red mess. It wasn't blood, of course, but rather crimson chlorophyll that all plants this ring of the forest contained.

You see, he was currently in the first and largest ring of the Farbenreich Forest, known as either Böse or simply Rot, an area many dared not enter. Sure, other countries sat near the outer rim of it, but none were brave enough to seek entertainment or peace there. The area was highly dangerous, as you could definitely see, and the only people who explored it were highly skilled Dragonborne such as the Soon to be king, Katsuki.

The rings of the rainbow forest went as followed:

Böse or Rot; the ring of Rage

Eisen or Orange; The Ring of Protection

Schatz or Gelb; The Ring of Treasures

Leben or Grün; The Ring of Life

Nebel or Blau; The Ring of Mist

Unbekannt; The Unknown.

Some called Unbekannt, the center, Leela, assuming it'd be purple and follow the pattern of all the other rings, but many simply called it Unbekannt because that's what it was; Unknown. Katsuki had read about each ring in books, craving to know what was in the center, but he himself actually feared it. He never went farther than the very beginnings of Eisen, something deep within him compelling him to turn back.

He sighed, taking a seat on a rock and making sure no moss was present. The vivid memory of traveling this place with his father and sitting on a rock covered in Magma moss still haunts him. If he could recall, he couldn't sit down without being in pain from the burns for a month after. He hung his head for a moment, regaining what little calm he had, and tried to figure out what to do about his little wounds.

They'd heal in no time, surely, but at the moment blood was trickling out of each little indent in his skin. he decided to take off his linen shirt, ripping off the sleeves. He wrapped one around his muscled arm, flexing after securing it to make sure it wouldn't fall off. He took the other one and repeated, adding two layers of protection.

He told his mother he'd go camping tonight, bringing nothing with him so he could truly rough it like he always did, but given the circumstances he decided it'd be best to head back home. He stood up, turning around to head back, before something reached his ears. What was that? The humming of a dragonfly? no, it wasn't dragonfly season...no, it was definitely someone singing. Singing like an angel. He turned to the sound, whipping around but unable to face it. Who the hell was in here?!

He finally pinpointed it, realizing it was coming from deeper in the forest. Dare he wander farther? He heard many a story of mischievous Faerie creatures luring unsuspecting men to their deaths, but it was all fiction. He just wanted to know what it was...who it was...

He hesitantly began walking farther into the woods, his attention no longer on abusing the flora. He stopped periodically to close his eyes, keying in on the sound to be sure he was following it closely. Before he knew it, he was already entering Eisen, The sturdy and squat mahogany trees practically forming a wall, a maze of sorts. Mind you, when I say Mahogany, I mean the color and not the breed of wood we know.

He walked as far as he could, before the grove became too tightly packed for his muscled body to fit through. He looked around, determined to move forward and find the source of the lovely music, before finally looking up. He immediately began to climb up the dense tree formation, climbing for a solid 2 minutes before reaching the top. He stood amongst the tangerine leaves, examining what was before him.

These trees were hardly as tall as Acrimonies, so he couldn't see far, but he could see a break in the amber foliage. He carefully hopped from tree to tree, the leaves and branches unmoving, thanking whatever deity blessed him to have this adventure in the fall when most snakes and other deadly animals were hibernating. He eventually was able to make his way down, already at the joining between Eisen and Schatz.

He looked down, the soft orange grass transitioning into golden shreds. He carefully stepped on the new grass, grass he had never seen the likes of before, and it crunched beneath his feet. Pulling back, He saw that it bent like metal flakes, curling under. He began to continue his trek inward, looking around at the tall and thin fruit trees that appeared to be made of solid gold or silver. They held apples made of ruby, blueberry bushes made of sapphire, acorns of diamond...even the leaves were made of paper thin shreds of metal. Everything was shiny, and it appeased his dragon brain.

He reached up, snatching an apple off its lustrous stem, something that would take the average man all his strength to do. Stuffing it in his pack, he continued to grab up different leaves and gemstone fruits. It was heavy, really fucking heavy, but he was compelled to take as much as possible. At least, he was, before stumbling upon a skull. A human skull. A human skull, who's body was crushed beneath piles of treasure. Yeah...fuck that. He immediately dropped what was in his arms, whatever dragon instinct that had enraptured his brain being forced to silence for a moment.

Besides, that voice was getting louder, meaning he was getting closer. At this point, he could just barely tell that the singing wasn't just a tune, it had words, words that hurt his ears to try and make out at this distance. He shook off the greed he once felt, forcing himself to carry on and simply avoid looking at the stuff around him.

This section felt like the longest because of the fact that he'd have to ignore his animal brain, but it was probably smaller than all the others. He finally reached Leben, the smell hitting him before anything else. He could smell rain, and fresh flowers, and dirt. It was earthy, it was floral, it was life. He stepped to the border, watching the plants fade from gold to green. All around him was green, he'd never seen anything like it.

The trees had spirals of moss growing up the sides, a cool breeze flowing through the flora and ventilating the area. Pink flowers, similar in look to the fire flowers, sat close to the ground, it's petals facing up to the sky. Katsuki watched as a fly slowly and leisurely buzzed past, before one of the flowers shot up and snapped around it like a shark closing its jaws. Good to know.

Katsuki trod through the forest, the damp and rich soil sinking beneath his weighty step, doing his best to touch nothing as he needed to stay cautious. As he moved along, the singing got louder, and he finally could make out a couple words. The ones that stood out to him were "man" and "Forest."

He had to know what this was, who this was. He didn't even realize he had been walking for two hours in total, nor did he realize that the end of Leben was fast approaching.

The air became wetter as he reached Nebel, and he could see the misty area ahead. It was as if there was a wall of fog, a marker for the point of no return. He took a deep breath, gulping a little. "Toughen the fuck up," he muttered to himself, before finally stepping in.

The second he entered the area, it was as if night fell. He couldn't see the sky, nor the plants, nor the ground. Only fog. Even with his night vision he was blind here, and it irritated him. He began to walk forward, keeping his eyes open to try and see the slightest differences, but soon found himself re-entering Leben.

The fuck?

He tried again, and again he was in Leben. He knew now why Unbekannt was Unbekannt. He sighed, closing his eyes. This time, he saw with his ears. He cued in on the beautiful voice, the tone, the words. He slowly began walking towards it, redirecting himself when the sound began to get farther instead of nearer.

Louder and louder the voice became, Clearer and clearer, Until he no longer felt wet fog on his face. He opened his eyes, and what he saw amazed him. The trees were full of life, vibrant with fruit and leaves of all colors hanging from them, wildflowers growing in hefty fields in all arrangements of hue and style, and best of all, the singing maiden.

She was sitting on a ginormous tree stump, centered in the ring of trees, washing her feet in a brook that shimmered in all the colors of the rainbow. Her clothes looked handmade, a sage green dress layered atop a tight silk button up shirt and a white flouncy underskirt. She had more clothing in a basket next to her, presumably to wash.

Song poured from her lips like honey, her face serene as she unknowingly preformed for her audience of one.

"A young man walked through the forest With his quiver and hunting bow He heard a young girl singing And followed the sound below There he found the maiden Who lives in the willow He called to her as she listened From a ring of toadstools red Come with me, my maiden Come from thy willow bed' She looked at him serenely And only shook her head"

you were mesmerizing. You were a faerie.

You guys don't understand, this is BARELY THE BEGINNING 😭 please comment if you want more, really I'd love the feedback.

Check the comments for extra info!

[sebadztian]

This particular scene is so annoying to me.

Ciel is being such a gentleman at such a young age, defending a woman from a drunk and a pervert, and ended up getting splashed in the face with champagne/wine/whatever it was - not important.

And then, the woman's boyfriend tried to defend her honour by throwing a bottle of champagne at the drunk man. Was it gentlemanly? Probably not. But he's angry, you get the point. And that's not my point anyway.

At this, Sebastian jumped in (literally) and caught the bottle before it hit the German guy.

Yeah, I get it. Can't have the Phantomhive name ruined by having the 'guest of honour' got smacked in the face by a bottle, blah blah blah, but that's not why I find this scene annoying.

You'd think that Irene would have at least thanked Ciel, right? Like, "Oh, my lord! I'm so sorry you got drenched in champagne because of me. Thank you for defending me."

But NO! Not happening at all. I don't see her speaking to Ciel (who's essentially her host too), let alone thanking him. But instead, this happened 👇

She thanked the bulter instead because of... what exactly? Because he saved the perverted drunk who tried to grope you and every other female in the room?

Or is it because the guy looks like a character from the Oscar Wilde novel?

If you said that she was trying to thank Ciel here, then Ciel would be in the panel box with her, not that elite trash.

Am I missing something here?

Well, Sebastian ignored her and went straight to his master, of course, but her action is... rude? Annoying?

[powerfultenderness]

Home

Pairing: König/F!Roommate!Reader

Rating: T+

Summary: After a long deployment, König's roommate helps him return home.

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 1130

A/N: There was a whole backstory about how Reader came to live with König, but I've been struggling so much with writing lately, I'll take whatever my brain will let me write.

[Multi-fandom Masterlist]

You shouldn’t have had that extra glass of wine with dinner. It wasn’t that you drank too much, you weren’t going to be nursing a hangover tomorrow, but it made you wake up at an unreasonable hour to relieve your bladder. You made it to the restroom without turning on a single light, saving your eyes for just a few moments more before you flipped on the light in the bathroom. 

The flat had two bedrooms and two baths, one connected to the master bedroom. The master bedroom was not yours, so you had to cross the hall to get to the bathroom. Your eyes were still adjusting to the light when you left the bathroom, and caught sight of a dark looming figure in the living room. 

You gasped and rushed to the hallway light, thankful that when it flickered on, the figure in the living room actually turned out to be someone familiar.

“König!” You sighed with a hand over your heart, “shit, you scared me!” But you smiled and crossed the cold hardwood to the living room, excited to see your roommate, your friend. “When’d you get…back?”

Your excited question faded as he stood and turned to face you. You knew he was partial to masks, from simple medical ones and balaclavas, but you had never seen this. A black hood draped down his shoulders to completely cover his face. His eyes were startling, with crudely cut holes in the fabric and bleached stained tears trailing down the face. 

König stared at you, the black paint over his skin and the black fabric of his mask made his eyes pop more than usual, but there was a frightening sharpness to them. “Get some rest, I’ll take watch.” 

“Uhm,” you fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other, “but. But you don’t have to. Not uhm, here.” 

He stared at you for a moment then blinked once before he mumbled your name. 

“Uh-huh,” you swallowed thickly and slowly raised your hands. You eyed  what looked to be a giant bowie knife in his hand. “Think you can put that down, big guy?” 

He tilted his head, the creepy hood swaying with his movement as he looked down to where you gestured. “Shit.” He set it down on the coffee table and looked back at you, his own hands flying up in a mirror of yours. “Hello, darling.”

Your smile went from tense to genuine as you heard him greet you in German, using that cute little nickname he often used for you. He continued in English, “I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

There was your gentle giant of a friend! 

You gently tapped his arm and nodded towards the couch. “Soo, guess you can’t sleep? Wanna sit?” 

He sighed, “do not worry about me, darling. You should go back to sleep.” 

You shrugged and sat down, patting the cushion next to you. “Don’t think I’d be able to after the scare you gave me.” 

He sat down next to you with another apology on his lips.

“Don’t worry about it. This is your home, after all. If you need to sit and stare at the door all creepily in the dark, then you should be able to.” 

Thankfully he didn’t take offense to your little quip, chuckling instead. 

“You ok?” 

He was sitting stiffly and kept glancing between the door and window. Finally he heaved a sigh and looked at you. “I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me, darling.”

You nodded, “ok, well then can I hug you?”

His head snapped to you, eyes looking comically wide within all that black. “What?” 

You grinned at him, “you can’t think that’s a weird question! We’re friends, König, and you’ve been gone for three months!” 

He tilted his head, his eyes darting up for a moment before he nodded, as he recalled how you had hugged him rather tightly before he left. “Alright.” 

Even as you threw your arms around him in a bit of a clumsy hug he remained stiff. He hadn’t turned to face you, and your arms couldn’t even reach across his broad chest, so you ended up with your hands resting on his far shoulder instead. 

You started to pull away just before things started to get a little too awkward. His hand gently catching the back of your arm stopped you, though. 

“Wait.” His whisper was so quiet you almost didn’t hear him. “Stay.” 

You pulled out of his loose embrace anyways. He finally turned towards you, his eyes locking with yours and silently pleading for you to stay. 

You smiled at him, reassuring him that you weren’t leaving quite yet, and put a hand on his arm. “I have an idea,” you shifted from your knees to standing in front of him.

König looked up at you as you stood between his knees and put a hand on either of his shoulders. “But, can you take this off?” You gently plucked at the hem of his mask. 

He cursed under his breath and ducked his head down and pulled the mask off. “Sorry. I wear it in the field-” 

“Yea, I figured.” You glanced down and noticed the iron grip he had on the mask. 

Then you gently cupped his face in one hand, your smile growing a bit wider when he leaned into your touch. “Hi.” 

His eyes flicked up to yours, a smile of his own finally gracing his lips. “Hi.” 

And his smile fell, eyebrows shooting up, as you slowly, one knee at a time, straddled him. “Wh-what-?”

You moved your hand from his face to the base of his neck while you wrapped your other hand around his shoulder. “Relax.” You guided his head forward until his forehead was gently resting against your sternum. 

Once again he was stiff, unsure of what you were doing, but when you started to softly run your fingers through his hair, he sighed and finally started to calm down. He shifted a little, turning just enough that the side of his face was resting against your chest, the warm plush of your flesh and soothing heartbeat lulling him further into relaxation. 

His hands, which had been in tight fists before, first settled on your hips, then he thought better and fully wrapped his arms around you, his hands nearly spanning the entirety of your sides as he pulled you flush to him. The new position had you slightly arching your back, with his face now settled on top of your breasts. His mask fell to the couch, forgotten for now.

“Welcome back, König.” 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, your warming scent enveloping his senses bringing him back to where he should be. Home.

“Thank you.”