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comfortless · 10 months ago

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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.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #okay i lied two hours early but i’m tired of looking at words today #f: only other

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scapinoz · 17 days ago

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MY MAD DOG (all mine).

yandere male oc x male reader.

prologue.

first of all, thanks for reading. this is my first time publishing one of my original works :) disclaimer that English isn’t my first language and that i don’t pay attention to grammar lessons at school, so there might be a few errors. sorry in advance about that !!

warnings: mentions of firearm and cursing. maybe a bit of child neglect. nothing too dark…yet (we’re just getting started)

Ilarion Lucero had always wanted a dog– a german shepard, to be precise– when he was younger. He had always gotten everything he had ever wanted back then; Ilarion was his father’s only heir, the young master of the household. Everyone– the maids, the servants, the butlers, his father’s men, even his mother– was at his beck and call all the time back then; when he was young. Because God forbid that the young master should ever once feel yearning or sorrow.

Ilarion Lucero had never once asked for anything; because everything he ever desired was handed to him in a bloody silver platter before he opened his mouth to ask for it.

Yet, despite the endless parade of silver-plated indulgences, there was one thing Ilarion had asked for.

A dog.

Ilarion, perhaps when he was five or perhaps six, went to his father’s office, barging in without knocking. (back then he hadn’t paid much mind to the gun that sat atop his father’s maghony desk). He had demanded that his father should get him a dog, because a boy from his class got one; a white one, covered in fur and had wide and glossy eyes. Ilarion had also wanted one. He begged, he cried, he pleaded with all the fervor of a child who had never known denial. And yet his father’s answer remained the same.

No, his father had said, you’re not responsible enough to take care of a dog.

He didn’t face his father for three days after that. His mother had begged him to eat; even had the chefs make his favourite food. But he did not budge. He had hoped that his father would feel some kind of remorse in his cold heart and buy him a dog so that he could brag to his classmates about having a dog as well.

But his father did not do that.

Ilarion had always known that his father was rather unsympathetic (it was the kindest word Ilarion could scavenge to describe his father). His father smiled, of course, the man never compressed his emotion (though it was only in his later years that he realized the smile was fake). The older man loved his son, his mother had always told that his father loved him when he was younger whenever he would ask about why his father never quite kissed his cheek and embraced him as his mother did. Love, he thought, was not something that should be hidden. Love was warm kisses, soft words and long embraces (things his father never gave him).

Illarion never quite believed it. He wasn’t stupid after all (in his six year old brain acing his exams made him feel smart). His father did not love him. Nor did his father love his mother. He had heard them argue back and forth; his mother asking his father to quiet down so that their son wouldn’t hear them and his father said, ‘let him hear then.’

And Illarion knew that he was only his father’s heir; not his son, or his beloved boy, but only his heir.

And an heir should be kept happy, right?

So, he asked for a dog once again.

He cornered his father during breakfast, pleading more. This time his father simply looked at him before walking away, the man that was always with the older man (Rylan, his father’s right hand man) following him.

Later that day he asked again (Illarion really wanted that dog), during dinner. Surely, in the warmth of their home, with food and wine laid before them, his father might soften. But his father did not. his father left the table and his mother, silent and withdrawn, didn’t say a word.

Illarion sought out his mother after dinner. Seeking solace and perhaps an ally in his crusade for a puppy. Hence he made his way to his parents’ bedroom, more than ready to risk his father’s wrath.

His mother wasn’t there in the bedroom. Rather he only found his father and Rylan conversing. And for a moment illarion could swear that he heard his father say, “take the fucking kid outside.”

and Rylan, ever the loyal servant, took illarion out of the room.

“What kind of dog do you want?” He asked.

And Illarion didn’t waste a second answering (he had rehearsed the answer to this question, in case his father was to ask). “A big one,” Illarion said, “like those dogs that the guards had in the last gala.” And then Illarion realized that Rylan didn’t attend the gala which took place last week, which could possibly mean that the older man didn’t know what dog Illarion was talking about. “The big one, full of fur and like a long nose,”

Rylan cut him off, “A German Shepherd, kid. I know. Your father told me.”

“Oh.”

“Do you really want a dog?”

“Yeah,” illarion nodded, “I want one.” Maybe he’ll try asking during Christmas or his next birthday.

“I’ll see what I can do, kid.”

Illarion doubted that Rylan could do anything about it. After all, Rylan was just his father’s lackey and would just follow his father’s words like it was the holy scripture.

But two days later Illarion was proven wrong.

His mother didn’t join him for dinner that day. It was just him and his father eating in silence until the door opened, revealing Rylan accompanied by a boy.

Illarion immediately focused on the boy, who seemed to be around his age. But tall, so incredibly tall. Perhaps the boy was at least two or three years older than Illarion. Ilarion blinked. The boy had striking features that mirrored Rylan’s. But where Rylan stood rigid and composed, the boy exuded an air of defiance (Another difference was that Rylan wasn’t covered with bandages and dinosaur bandaids like the boy was).

“I’m sorry about the delay,” Rylan said, ushering the boy towards the dinner table. “This is my son.”

illarion heard the boy scoff and cross his arms over his chest. And it took him a minute to notice what the boy was wearing…a pair of jeans and a tank top— so casual that it bordered on insolence.

“It’s a pleasure,” Illarion’s father murmured, taking a sip from his glass of wine. “I’ve heard so much about you, Y/N.”

The boy— who Illarion now knew as Y/N— didn’t reply until Rylan nudged him . “Likewise,” came the reply, bored and nonchalant.

Ilarion watched in disbelief as his father allowed the insolence to pass unchallenged. It was the first time he had seen anyone address the man with anything less than deference and leave unscathed.

While his father was amused, Rylan looked the opposite. Perhaps a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance (the same expression that was mirrored on his son’s face).

“Y/N,” Rylan said through gritted teeth, “Go sit beside Illarion. He’s your friend now.”

And the boy complied, dragging his feet as if the short distance to the table was a long gruesome journey in the desert with no water. Illarion watched, bewildered, as Y/N plopped onto the chair beside him with all the grace of a sullen street cat.

Illarion’s father turned to look at him for the first time that night. “He is yours to look after now, illarion.”

Ilarion stared at the boy beside him, at the bandages on his arms and the fire in his eyes. He had asked for a dog, a loyal and silent companion. What he had been given was something else entirely— a mad dog, wild and untamed.

quick yap session :) it was like three a.m. when i wrote this, partially high on caffeine and sugar. idk what i was trying to achieve with this, actually. side note, im doing this just for shit and giggles actually. don’t take this seriously.

and if you’re interested in reading, comment down below and it might encourage me to write quicker and release more parts or else this might just collect dust like most my books.

#male reader #Yandere x male reader #x male reader #yandere male #yandere oc #mob boss oc #yandere x reader #yandere male x reader #idk what else to tag #oc x reader #yandere x y/n #big buff y/n #yandere mob boss x reader #mob boss x male reader #yandere x you

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pitchsidestories · 1 year ago

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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.“

#katie mccabe #katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #woso one shot #awfc #arsenal wfc

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sparxyv · 5 months ago

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Milena Student ID 💜🦅

[EDIT: Milena does NOT look like this anymore! See my newer posts for her revamped design 😙]

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!

#i hope i worded everything alright 😭😭#i'm terrible with words - i read this about 100 times to see if it made any sense 🥲#i have so much about her and her family in my brain i just need to figure out how to properly put it out there 🙏🙏#this has been in my drafts for so long but i've been so sick and stuck in my bed so i was like.. just finish it now while you have the time #admittedly i fell asleep typing about twice during the last part though 😙😙😙#if you read all or majority of this.. i love you 🫵💜#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy art #hogwarts legacy fanart #hogwarts legacy oc #hl mc #ravenclaw #milena chase #sparxyvdoodles #i'm thinking of making one of these for mousey as well 😋

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theemporium · 1 year ago

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💰 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.”

#cece's slumblurb party #sebastian vettel #formula one #f1 #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel x y/n #sebastian vettel fic #sebastian vettel one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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pankowblues · 4 months ago

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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

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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 1 year ago

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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 ~

#metalhead!könig #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig x reader #tw: age gap

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orphicdreamers-wp · 1 year ago

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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.”

#fanfic #hockey #hockey player x reader #nhl #nhl fanfiction #nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nj devils #swissarmy #switzerland

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powerfultenderness · 10 months ago

Text

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.”

#könig x reader #könig x fem reader #reader insert #x reader #not at my pc so i don't have access to my usual dividers 😞

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barbex · 6 months ago

Note

For DADWC: “I swear, it’s not always like this” for whichever DA2 companion you think has the messiest bedroom. my money's on Anders.

Oh it's so Anders! Thank you for this prompt for tonight's @dadrunkwriting. A little fenders modern AU

---

"Hey man! I know you won't li...ke it but you got...ta do me a favor." Hawke's voice sounds distorted over the phone, microshort pauses cutting the words in half. "You got...ta pick up Fenris, he got kicked out."

"Me?" Anders wipes his face, getting his fingers tangled in his hair. The rain is relentless. "Why me? He hates me."

"... doesn't ...ate you. He just doesn't li... y... magic."

"Big difference." Anders thinks of complaining more, but what is the point? He will do this anyway. That's what friends to, even if one friend is a prickly bastard who doesn't trust you at his back. "You're breaking up, where is he?"

"Gaslight Cafe. He's..."

"Hawke?" His phone beeps at him, the connection is lost. "Where the fuck are you this time?" It's rhetorical question. Hawke could be anywhere, and judging by the bad connection he is either in Antarctica or on a german Autobahn. Anything is possible with Hawke. Definitely a more glamorous life than Anders'.

He takes the metro to the other side of the city. The Gaslight Cafe is close to the train station but the rain has gotten even worse and when enters the cafe, he is soaked head to toe. Before he drips all over the floor, he stops on the big doormat, letting himself drip. It's not difficult to find Fenris, his white hair unmistakable. And he is, objectively, the most attractive person at this place. If it weren't for his angry scowl, he probably would have several admirers around him.

Anders raises his hand to catch Fenris' attention. Fenris sees him, his eyes widening, and then he lowers his head again. After finishing his glass of wine, he picks up his bag and pays at the bar, before finally looking at Anders again. "Did Hawke send you?"

"Yeah, he called me a few minutes ago, I haven't even been home yet."

"Sorry for the inconvenience." The bitterness in Fenris' voice is unmistakable.

Anders can't think of anything to say but something mean and vicious, the usual kind of conversation between them. But he's tired, wet, and just wants to go home and cuddle the cats and really, would should he say? That it's not an inconvenience? That he doesn't mind having Fenris around? As if he would believe that.

"Come, the metro should be there in three minutes."

Fenris follows silently, steps into the metro, and sits down next to Anders just as silently. It's honestly unnerving.

"Have you eaten?"

"That is not of your concern, mage."

Anders rolls his eyes. "Chill, it was just a question. I'm going to pick up a some kebab on the way and wondered if you want something too."

Fenris is silent again. He stares at the bag on his lap, a rather small thing for something that is supposed to contain his whole life. The Metro approaches the station and Fenris flinches when Anders gets up. Anders waits for him to stand up, watching his body language. He is too careful, too tense, looking like he's expecting an attack any moment. Something is very wrong.

On the way to Anders' apartment, they stop at the kebab place. Fenris stands back, holding his bag to his chest. Anders debates several things he could say and finally settles on, "I don't know what happened, but you're safe now. You're safe with me, I promise."

Fenris looks up, his shoulders marginally relaxing but his mouth still a hard line. "A promise by a mage."

Rolling his eyes once again, Anders turns away. "I may be a mage but I can't magic food into my fridge, so if you want to eat..."

"I would like kebab too." Fenris stares at his bag again. "I will pay you back."

"Two kebab boxes with everything, Muhamad, and extra fries, thanks," he orders, and fishes a few crumbled bills from his pocket. "Don't worry about it," he says to Fenris. "You can pay next time."

"Next time?"

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to, I just thought —" he just thought how nice it would be to have some company, to get to know Fenris better, to talk, to — where had that come from?

He's still chewing on these strange thoughts as he carries the bag with their food to his apartment. Fenris and him have hardly ever spend more than two minutes alone with each other but somehow this doesn't feel too strange now. Fumbling one handed with the keys, he kicks the door open and ushers Fenris inside.

"I don't want the cats to get out." He closes the door, just as a demanding meow announces a hungry cat. "Yes, Pounce, I know."

Pounce meows again, producing an impressive scream for his size.

"Are you sure that is not a demon cat?" Fenris eyes the cat with suspicion.

"He's just hungry." Anders opens a can of wet food and fills half of it into a bowl. He puts the other half into a second bowl and carries it to the other side of the living room/kitchen area.

Fenris gestures at the bag with their kebab. "Are we not going to eat?"

"First I have to take care of Mamma cat."

"Another cat?"

Anders carefully opens the door to his bedroom and gestures for Fenris to follow him. "It's only been three days. I found her behind the dumpsters, with one baby. I looked everywhere, but if she had more kittens, they're probably dead." He places the bowl on the floor close to the pile of blankets and cushions on the floor, where mamma cat hides with her kitten. "She's still shy." He looks at Fenris, noting how he looks around the mess on the floor.

Apart from the blanket nest, dirty clothes lie on the floor, next to sticky plates and books. "It's not always this bad, I swear. I had like zero time to clean up for the last week and then with Mamma cat —"

A smile plays on Fenris' lips. "And here I thought you would be excessively clean and orderly."

"How did I ever make that impression?" Anders shakes his head.

"At the clinic, when you work. You are..." For the first time, Fenris looks into his eyes. "You are careful, attentive, and precise. I feared I would have to follow many rules at your place."

"Pfff." Anders laughs out. "The only rule is not to feed weird shit to the cats and maybe help with the dishes, sometimes." He picks up some of the books to put them on the desk at the window. "I'm just gonna clean this up, don't want you to break your ankle if you have to get up at night."

Fenris looks from him to the bed and back. "You plan for me to sleep here? In your bed?"

"I don't have another." Anders looks up at him. "The couch is not big enough for sleeping." A sharp frown forms on Fenris' forehead. "You don't like it, I understand. I'm... I'm gonna think of something. Let's eat now."

They eat in silence, again. Always so silent. Anders is almost getting used to it. Shoving the last bite in his mouth, he gulps it down with water and stretches his arms over his head. "I'm beat, I'm gonna go to sleep. I should have a yoga mat somewhere, if I —"

"No," Fenris says, startling him. "I will not kick you from your bed, mage. I can take the floor."

"Not gonna happen, you're not sleeping on the floor."

"Why not? It would not be the first —" His eyes widen as he snaps his mouth shut.

Anders blinks, his brain spinning with guesses as to what has happened to Fenris. "No one sleeps on the floor, that's why."

"Only the cats," Fenris says quietly.

"That's right." A grin spreads on his face. "Only the cats sleep on the floor. Do you have a toothbrush?"

When Anders comes out of the bathroom, Fenris already lies on the bed, under the cover. He is stiff like a plank, all the way on the side, nearly falling off when Anders lets himself fall on the mattress. "There's enough room, you don't have to make yourself small." Anders curls up on the side, exhaustion taking over. He is nearly asleep when Fenris moves, scooting closer to him. Just as he dips into the darkness of sleep, he feels Fenris sliding his fingers under Anders hand. He hesitates for a moment, and then closes his finger around Fenris' hand.

"Good night, Fenris."

"Good night." There is a breath. "Good night, Anders."

#dadrunkwriting #dragon age #Fenris #Anders #fenders #Fenris x Anders #fenders fic #dragon age fanfiction #my writing

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headingalaxys-spicy · 4 months ago

Note

Thinking of Ludwig slowly becoming a yandere after being in a relationship with his s/o for years and s/o just accepts it because they love him so much. They take every punishment he gives, and feel torn between wanting to escape but they love him too much to leave. They’re timid around him and he takes advantage of that, teasing them for his own pleasure- that’s what I’m thinking about 😅

Hello there you beautiful human. Thanks for waiting in purgatory for your ask to be answered. I hope it satisfies you ✨

Gonna put the warning here : Totally touches on things like toxic relationships that are abusive so if that’s triggering for you then yeaaaah skip this one.

How you first encountered Ludwig:

You were having a blast at a small German town's annual summer festival. You’d gotten separated from your friend group as you spotted some fancy Deutsch wine crafted by a family doing it for over 200 years. You hadn’t realized that you were pretty drunk when you’d bumped into the German General & spilled your cherry red wine all over him as you took a tumble to the ground.

“Oh Sheibe! Es tut mir leid! Ich kann diesen Kleidung sauber helfen.” Panicked, you pulled out many napkins and water bottles to assist him with removing the stain. Ludwig may have been annoyed but became relaxed & spellbound by your beautiful face, perfectly framed by your freshly trimmed hair.

‘Humph. Well, at least they’re remorseful.’

“Es ist okay. I have dry cleaners I can drop this uniform off at and more to wear, but…” Ludwig reached into his back pocket to pull out his business card.

“If you’re around in Berlin & want to get the best Wurst in all of Germany, call or text me. Ciao”

[He learned his rizz from Italy.]

The first date was a smooth yet fantastical affair. The two of you dawdled through the sprawling city of Berlin. From the Brandenburg gate to the TV tower, & down to the River Spree. You got to be fully immersed in the capital city of Deutschland by none other than its resolute representative, Ludwig Belischmidt.

You were dazzled by all the history he knew of, down to tiny details you knew couldn’t be found in a surface-level history textbook. Your admiration of him, combined with your cute face & intellect, make it much easier for Ludwig to catch feelings.

As the two of you moved past the honeymoon phase and into the waves of a long-term relationship, you began to notice subtle changes in Ludwig.

He wouldn’t complement or encourage you as much. Instead, his adoration would be criticism or telling you whatever you accomplished wasn’t good enough / didn’t meet his skyscraper-high standards. This breaks down your self-esteem, so you’ll doubt yourself more. Ludwig will want you always to be pining for his approval.

When you do something that significantly displeases him, he will have you do something that will physically break you down. Ludwig is like a loving but stringent drill sergeant. Here is a short list of things you’ll have to do in order to get back into his good graces:

50 Push-Ups

100 Jumping Jacks

Hold the ‘T’ pose for 30 minutes to an hour

Planks

5 to 15-mile runs (depending on how Sadistic he’s feeling, if someone tried to get close to you, and your level of non-compliance will depend on how long you’ll have to run for)

These are all things that will exhaust you and prevent you from wanting to talk back, argue with him, etc. This rigorous training also mitigates 80%-85% of your free time to socialize with others.

Ludwig does his best to avoid putting his hands on you because you’re a human. You’re incredibly fragile. You weren’t meant to withstand him at his maximum strength. However, when you cross him, he has a leather belt to put you back in your place. For the most part, it's not something he takes great pride in, but he needs to keep you under control. He’s realized over the years that once you’ve become emotionally attached to him, he could get away with more & more problematic behavior. All he had to do was hit you with the line: “Es tut mir leid, Liebling. I had to. It was for your own good. I’ll make it up to you.” Ludwig will give you a chastised kiss on the forehead. This gesture never failed to make you turn bright red and send butterflies pouring through your guts. Your heart would sprint due to feeling the adrenaline that comes from being in love. However, your nerves would be feeling a dry stick rubbing against them gaining friction that produced a thick smoke.

Your typical response to his apology would be followed up by a brief:

“Kein problem. I forgive you, Ludwig.”

Even though Ludwigs' smile touched your skin like an early morning Fall sunray heating up your chilly skin, the glaring truth about him and his progressively toxic tendencies became far more difficult to ignore as time continued.

You evaded his gaze this time when you accepted his apology. You wondered how many times he’s said that to you now.

‘But all relationships are like this. I shouldn’t have upset him in the first place.’ This was one of the many rationalizations that you told yourself.

You often wondered how many more times you’d hear him say “sorry” when you cried out for him to “stop” or say “Ludwig, please! It was just a mistake!!!” As more lashes came swinging through the air & made the all too familiar crack against your soft skin. It never failed to vivid crimson 4-inch whiplash there.

‘Is my relationship with Ludwig actually normal, though?’ Came the uncomfortable question that came to your mind every now & again. It normally materialized after you’d faced another grueling punishment of military-style exercise, a lashing, being denied access to friends, fun, and family, a disagreement, etc. You longed not to have to walk in a minefield of broken glass, eggshells, & razors when navigating conversations with him.

“Y/N?” Ludwig says sternly with a touch of concern. Your lack of eye contact with him when accepting his apology was a subtle signal to him that he had to go all out when he planned your latest couples' make-up trip. It had to be something spectacular.

“Yes?” You say in an exhausted tone that was weighed down by the conflict between your heart and your head. You continued to stare at the concrete of the garage.

“Where do you want to go for dinner?”

Ludwig would ignore your gradually growing frigid demeanor since you’d been together for such a long time.

‘It’s just a rough patch. They’ll get over their hesitations soon enough. A well-planned and thought-out day always wins Y/N back.’

This is what Ludwig tells himself in order to keep up the delusion that he’s doing nothing wrong and that your relationship is normal. It’s always been this way.

Why would it be any different now?

A vacation was the only thing Ludwig needed to get the two of you back on track.

Usually, Ludwig relished in silence, but not when you refrained to talking to him at all. You would at least give a few compliments about something or try to start a conversation. Only having spoken the basic pleasantries of “Guten Morgen” or “Guten Nacht” with no attempt at speaking more did make him feel uneasy. But not enough to make him rethink where he was going next.

“Y/N, while planning our trip, I thought we could do something far more exciting.” You stopped staring at your food to move your eyes up to meet his. “We’re going to climb up Watzmann.” Ludwig knew damn well you hated heights.

“And …..why, for the love of God, would you think I’d enjoy that?” Not being able to hold back your disbelief and irritation.

“Well, all that training you’ve done. It’s time to test your mettle Y/N! You can’t let all of my hard work go to waste!” Utterly oblivious to the fuse he’s just ignited.

The tense and uncomfortable silence choked any peace out of the atmosphere. It stayed that way for 90 seconds as the sparks set off the bomb. Its flames made its way through your veins.

This was not what real love looked like. You pushed your plate away & slammed your fork and knife onto it. Your reaction hit Ludwig like a lightning bolt.

“I'm seriously done with you, Ludwig!”

With that, you went back to your hotel room in a huff. Some people stared silently at Ludwig, and others watched you march away.

You never turned back.

#hetalia #hws #yandere hetalia #headingalaxys spicy #ヘタリア #ludwig beilschmidt #headingalaxys writes stuff #hetalia fandom #hetalia fanfiction writers #hetalia fanfiction #gender neutral y/n #yandere germany #yandere hetalia x reader #yandere hetalia axis powers

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ilovespec · 6 months ago

Text

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

#i do not know what to write #oc's #oc #character #yandere woman #yandere behavior #female yandere #yandere character #yandere #yandere women #muscular yandere #fem yandere #the difference in size #age difference

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itskindofidontknow · 6 months ago

Text

What dreams know about love?

Chapter 10

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

Summary: The Queen of Love has grown used to the absence of her husband, the Dream King. After banning her from the Dreaming, they only saw each other when Morpheus summoned her for social or marital duties. He would go decades without calling for her, enamorated by a variety of mistresses. It broke Love's heart. Not that her husband cared. However, after being imprisioned for a century, The Dream King wants to regain his Queen's love. She doesn't believe him, not after centuries of neglect. The question is: Can dreams repair a broken heart?

Tag: Established relationship, arranged marriage, regency romance, eventual happy ending, angst, morpheus is a dick prepare to hate, love is eoster from west germanic mythology, typos are to be expected

TW: mentions of suicide

”My Lady!” Elijah grabbed Eoster by her arm after she stumbled upon her own feet. “I am fine! I am fine!” The Queen raised both arms, so the Cupid could get away from her. I took her a few seconds so her head could stop spinning around. Elijah looked to both sides of the empty marbled hallway, and anxiously took a glance of the hours at the main clock. They were lucky Morpheus didn't show up to pick her up and go to Lord Destiny’s realm.

The Cupid has been cold sweating since he woke the queen from her bath. She passed out drunk, noticeable thanks to the five bottles on the floor that he almost stepped on. They were small, like syrup bottles, and earlier, were probably full of wine. Eoster kept the drawers on her vanity and under the bed, full of them. Easier to hide from her husband that kept nagging her about her alcohol consumption and from Lucienne, that would definitely snitch on her. She knew the librarian meant well, but the librarian also didn’t fully know the pains the Queen had to soothe.

In one of her hands dangled another small glass bottle very similar to the other ones, but that was half-filled with a white milky liquid. Night blooming jasmine’s milk. ‘Great’ Elijah ironically thought to himself. She woke up in a jump, as the bottle slipped from her hands. Not that it helped, since she was completely dizzy, partially awake but not able to hold herself. The cupid had to carry her out of the bathtub and dress her like a doll. It took more than usual, after all, Eoster kept snoozing and falling to the sides of her chair. By this hour, Elijah was already sweating. He was perfectly aware that those Endless reunions were a stressful event to the king, and if he was stressed, he was in a bad mood. And if he was in a bad mood, everyone, especially his wife, suffered from it. And she would soothe her suffering on wine, and now, night blooming jasmine.

The whole situation with Lord Destruction didn’t help. There were rumors about the Harvest. He didn’t hear nor ask Lady Eoster, but he overheard the dreamaids gossiping about it. Apparently the Dream King saw something that no one could yet tell, between his wife and his brother, that made him indescribably jealous, and they had a fallout after the party. Of course, Elijah cut those rumors as fast as he could. He wouldn’t have those nosy maids spread rumors about his queen’s faithfulness in marriage. The cupid obviously didn’t believe that anything could have happened.

If his lady was having a sordid affair with her brother-in-law, she would’ve asked for his help in covering it and she would probably be happier and giggling.

Like mortals do when they are trapped in unhappy marriages and live forbidden affairs.

A knock on the door came just as he was trying to put her hair in place. His queen was mumbling a thousand subjects at once, none of which made sense. He responded with robotic ‘uh-uhs’ and ‘yes, of course’ and ‘no, of course’. Elijah waited a second before opening a small crack of the door, taking a deep breath and fixing his face, to not look like he was freaking out. “Yes?” He spied over the small opening, not wanting anyone to see his queen.

”Is our lady ready yet?” Lucienne frowned and tried to stepped inside, hoping Elijah would open the door, but the cupid didn’t move. “ Almost.-“He pretended he didn’t see that she was bothered by the small window she had to talk to. He rolled his eyes in annoyance “These things take time, Lucienne. It’s not just a black robe and black shoes. I am certain you can understand...”The cupid said as a toll to the king and looked the librarian up and down “In some capacity.” He smirked as the librarian shifted the weight of her feet, feeling a bit self-conscious about something she didn’t actually care about.

That was something she hated about the Cupid: He’d always make her feel self-aware about things she didn’t care about or wasn't at all important. Clothes, social agendas, complicated protocols and confusing etiquettes and hierarchies from the Garden. Some, she never got the answer for: Why did Lady Eoster needed more than five maids? Why did she need maids at all? And why did she need a room just for her attires? Why did she had protégées, entities from other realms, living in her own realm? And Elijah was not very helpful in making her understand any of this.

”She is not…is she?” Lucienne whispered, the Queen's likeness for wine or any beverage was becoming a small inconvenience to Dream, which meant it was a huge trouble for Lucienne and the palace staff. It was becoming more frequent to find the Queen passed out in the palace. Usually the library. But Lucienne and Mervyn caught her previously asleep in her private garden, during her daily baths, at the dinner table, after waiting awake for Morpheus, at her bedroom, half her body on the bed half on the floor. Usually a small bottle hanging loose from her fingers. Lucienne had no idea where she was getting them, and Elijah always played dumb. She knew he might think he was helping, but if he saw how Lord Morpheus got when he noticed she was drunk. He wouldn’t encourage her to keep drinking.

Elijah sembled darkened. He absolutely did not accept any dream creature, not even a right-hand librarian like Lucienne, to talk about his queen and her bad habits, that, as a matter of fact, her king was responsible for. She wouldn’t have to drink this much if he didn’t make her life a nightmare. The cupid knew the dreamfolk didn’t have the same etiquette as the lovefolk, but he didn’t care, it was unacceptable to question it. It was fine for him to inform them about her state. Not otherwise.

She tried to take a look over Elijah’s shoulder. Even though he knew she couldn’t see much, he moved, trying to cover any glance those librarian’s glasses could have. “The Queen is perfectly fine. Why don’t you go see if the King is throwing a tantrum on the other side of the palace? He may need you to dust off the rest of some nightmare he sent to the darkness.” He sarcastically smirked, before closing the door in her face, not waiting for the moral lesson about his audacity in speaking like that about his king.

Well, she was the one who started. Asking intrusive impolite questions that happened to be true.

With Eoster ready, dressed in her long sheer white dress, with a see through cape brocaded in a pattern of constellations, and a high updo, locking all her curls in a tight hairstyle with a delicate silver tiara, the fluster in her cheeks could pass by rouge, Elijah hoped. What couldn’t be hidden was her uneven walk, tripping on her feet, stumbling on the walls. Before they left the room, Elijah gave her a morning jasmine tea. The tea was supposed to alleviate the drunkness, but its effects could not take longer to come.

”Lady Love, there you are!” The cupid froze in place, as he heard the fast-pace walk of Lucienne, turning over his shoulder getting a glimpse of the librarian with the king walking behind her. Elijah looked at his queen, desperately trying to fix her hair and her clothes. Love was a drunk but she was a very dignified drunk. She snapped his hands away.”Elijah. I am fine.” She said, looking a bit more sober than before. Fixing her posture and enterwinding her fingers against her dress, as her husband approach. “He can’t tell the difference anyway.” She whispered with melancholy, passing through the cupid, going from his arms, to Morpheus, who barely batted an eye at her.

Elijah however felt a sting in his heart. What a bittersweet life must be to be with someone that doesn’t know you at all, to the extent, they can’t even tell if you are sober or beyond drunk. The Cupid could take one quick look at his Queen and know if she was sober, drunk, contempt, or sad. Of course he wouldn't expect her husband to be so observant after all, Eoster and her Cupid share a bond beyond any true marriage. The king also seemed to want as little as possible to know his wife. Not getting to know her, her realm.

Both Elijah and Lucienne stayed behind, with their hands behind their backs, as two parents seeing their children leave for school, as the couple went their way and disappeared in Morpheus’ sand.

”For your information, he wasn’t throwing a tantrum.”The Librarian said it proudly, without looking at him. Elijah rolled his eyes, sighing, with a swirl he turned his heels looking over his shoulder and down at the woman who was a good few inches shorter than him “For your information, she is drunk.”

——————— Eoster was a wreck. She looked very curated but she felt awful inside. Those night blooming jasmines mixed with wine made her sleep dreamless, but also impossible to rest. Her mind was tired and her body exhausted. Pretending not to be, was even worse. She stumbled for the third time during their silent walk through Lord Destiny’s garden, each time Morpheus had his grip on her, but each time, she seemed closer to knocking her face on the ground. He wasn’t going to say anything for Dream knew how reactive she got when she was drunk. Oh, yes. Different from what Elijah and Love assumed, he could perfectly tell when she was out of herself: The numbness and distraction in her eyes, the way her walk was light and unbalanced.

That didn’t bother Morpheus at all, Love could drink all the winery if she pleased. That is if the alcohol didn’t also free her suffocated regrets and repressed emotions, and made her desperate to share her own personal drama with everyone around her.

It didn’t happen when she was tipsy, like she was in most reunions. But especially today, she was far beyond tipsy. Morpheus cursed himself and her damn cupid. He should have obliged the pair to have Lucienne overseeing her preparations.

”If I may, my lady, you might want to have a light evening.” Morpheus stoically said, his eyes upfront. He wanted her to think this was a suggestion of a husband taking care of his wife's health. But Love scoffed, interpreting this as it was: An order to not drink. Well she had enough of her husband’s little orders. She was not Lucienne. “Yes, husband. I do need a light evening.” She sighed covering her mouth in a fake yawn. “I have not been sleeping well, maybe you can even help me, husband. You see, ever since the Second Harvest I’ve been waking in the middle of night panting and flushed, aching inside, my nightgown completely soaked, and I can’t remember what I was dreaming.” She could feel his stiffness under her touch. She knew it bothered him because he hadn’t been able to sniff around her dreams. “ But worry not, one thing I am certain is: It has nothing to do with you….” She signed, pretending to be bored “Maybe something with your brother.” Love knew she was poking a delicate topic at the wrong moment, all the fake hints of lately having wet dreams.

Little did he know she was not dreaming at all.

If Love’s sober self tried her best to not step on her husband’s toes, to not get in his bad mood, her drunk self made it her personal mission to antagonize him at every single opportunity she could. Completely ignoring the signs to be quiet and remember her place, rolling her eyes, like a petulant spoiled child, saying the first provocation that would pop into her mouth.

He angrily dropped her arm, and in a sudden movement, putting her against a wall, towering over Love, and holding her by the pulses along her body, as she stumbled back, hitting the wall beside her, her chest going up and down, struggling to free from his grip, not liking to feel trapped by her husband. He was too close, it sent goosebumps over her spine. He stared deeply into her eyes, sternly looking at her dilated green iris. “Your drinking is not of my business, but do not embarrass me tonight.” Love swallowed hard, a glimpse of sobriety into her eyes, as she failed to push her arm away from him again “Save your orders for you mistress! And you are perfectly capable of embarrassing yourself.” She spitefully said.

Morpheus never laid a hand on her, he might be emotionally abusive but never physical. He was a gentleman, to a certain extent. But even with this in mind, she couldn’t help but feel frightened. He was already angry with her, before today, and she was only fueling it. It took everything in her to stare back at him in defiance, her inebriated state giving her the courage to. “Oh brother, can’t you keep your hands off your wife for one night? What Destiny would say?” That sweet stick voice made the couple turn to the sibling.

Desire was meaningly teasing, very aware that Dream and Love were not in the middle of a romance. The couple was used to it, but it didn’t mean that they liked it. It was among their favorite activities to make fun of the misery of the couple.

”Desire.” Dream acknowledged his sibling, not moving away from his wife, Love slightly lowered her head in respect. “Look at you, Love Dove, all flushed.” Desire gave her a cheshire grin, which she ignored, turning her eyes to the floor, feeling her cheeks grow red, as she finally took advantage of her husband’s distraction and twisted both arms away from him. “Excuse me.” the brunette said it, eyes on the ground, stumbling her way to Lord Destiny’s palace entrance, wishing she could disappear back to her home, to never have to see Dream, Desire or any sibling-in-law ever again. To never had to deal with any of these overwhelming family dynamics, in which she seemed to be a puppet in strings.

“Love Dove giving you trouble? What could possibly have happened, big brother, that an obedient submissive little lady like Love would get so rebellious? How could you fuck up a perfectly good wifey like that?” Dream gave them a cold look, not giving them the pleasure of an answer. But Desire knew exactly how to get Dream’s attention. They were very aware of those delicious rumors from the Second Harvest. How the Dream King gave a very explicit display of affection to his wife, very unusual behavior. Especially after she was seeing dancing all night with his younger brother. Entities talk, and Desire is very good at listening.

Knowing Eoster, she was most likely to be completely unaware of it, while Dream probably would be hyper aware of it, biting himself by now. And since the first rumors started to arrive in their ears, Desire was planning a little something to them, alongside Despair. Desire knew how Dream could be possessive of his toys. Even dolls he didn’t want to play, like Love, were still his, not up for sharing. Unfortunately for Desire, Love was as faithful as a nun. Dream never had his reasons to doubt it. Not until now. And Desire would use those flimsy rumors to stir some fun at the boring family gathering.

” Stoicness doesn’t exactly make a lady weak in her knees does it? Did it ever occur to you, dear brother, that her sudden defiance might have come from finding someone else?” Dream rolled his eyes, ignoring them, walking to his brother’s palace entrance, after his wife disappeared upfront, but still listening. “ Maybe someone passionate, fiercely devoted…” Desire followed him, annoyingly continuing the subject “Prodigal…” Dream stopped. Desire smiled viciously. ‘Got him’.

”What?-“They asked innocently “You didn’t think she was going to tell you, did you?” They looked at the raven haired brother with a fake pity look, clicking their tongue on their mouth ceiling “Eoster is queen of love, not faithfulness. That is her cousin or sister, I think.” The endless started to walk slowly in circles around Morpheus, dragging their voice “Dear Eoster got a lot of suffocated love to give. Always needy and underappreciated….”

The golden eyed sibling sighed as it was obvious as the dawn in the mornings “You should know, brother. Don't unhappy mortal wives dream too?” Desire painted a very vivid image for Dream. The same he had been trying to erase since the Second Harvest. “Fantasizing about a strong, warm, broad knight in shining armor who will rescue them from their stoic cold uncaring husbands. It takes so little for their frustrated hearts to feel loved. They desire so little. It’s laughable, really.” That was one of the only things Desire didn’t distort.

It did take little to warm Love’s heart, and her desires were incredibly cliche and boring. The sibling was twisting the narrative, of course, distorting the truth, making it a bit more exciting. In reality Love’s desires were absolutely uninspiring. “If you even knew the sins darling Love dreams of. Blushing stuff, really. Never had any curiosity, brother? How she likes to be touched, kissed, what she likes to hear…”

Some would think that after years of an unhappy marriage, she would have fantasies about other gentlemen. But no. Even her wildest deviations were about the Dream King. Well, a version of him at least. Infatuated by her body and soul. Dull sweet love making in the glades of lavender gardens, unimaginative pleasing each other in the waters of milk rose lakes, boring reimaginations of her wedding night, lots of clichéd romantic gestures, embraces, impregnations, praises and cuddlings. Boring. Vanilla. Domestic.

The wildest ( and by that, Desire meant ‘less boring’) fantasy Love had was about her husband making her orgasm with his tongue while she laid in his throne. Something Desire was sure didn’t happen in reality, since Love was as frustrated and tense as any woman who couldn’t tell what an orgasm was by her life “Love Dove found herself a shoulder to cry, a chest to hug, lips to kiss, a member to plea-“The blonde sibling, now only steps away from his quiet infuriated brother, was quickly grabbed by their neck. “Hold your tongue, sibling. That is my queen you are talking about.” Desire smirked, even under a close threat. Dream may not fully believe in them, but it certainly put him in the right mood for the dinner “Is that what you were trying to remember her?” The raven haired king dropped them and stared at Desire, trying to find any hesitation that might say it was just a jest. But Dream could only find amusement.

Love passed through the dark metal doors with her breath hiking, she felt lightheaded, the voices seemed far and undistinguished. She needed a drink. That was the only certainty she had. Something to steady her mind, to fixate on something. She found a golden goblet of whatever her brother-in-law was serving, a dark liquid, that burned her throat as she took a sip. Stronger than Garden wine or night blooming jasmine . Love ignored the salutation protocol, finding the nearest seat and sinking into it. She held an upright posture, as if relaxing would leave her open to collapse.

Tears dared to inflict her eyes, hands trembling, she dug her fingernails into her skin, tearing at her cubicles. She'd not even noticed the pain of them. She barely even notices anything as she takes another considerable sip, closing her eyes to savor it. Letting the burn on her throat consume all of her attention. She would be at eternal damnation if her siblings-in-law could read her thoughts. How did she end up here? Miserable? Why affront Morpheus? Just for the attention? Just to have his eyes on her for a second? Even if it was a hateful stare? How could she even call herself Lady of the Four Loves, teach about the ways of the heart, if her own love life was a depressed sorrowful mess?

And Desire. Is it such good fun seeing a broken bird getting crushed every time? They never even owned up to being the one who plotted to marry Dream and Love. Even when Morpheus questioned them. Always with witty remarks and indications of Eoster’s involvement. Making sure she stayed in the punishment of marriage. The more Love tried to win Dream’s affection, to convince him of a different narrative than Desire’s, the more he slipped away.

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun” The incomparable dragged voice of Lady Despair, made Love look from her fingers to her husband's sister.”It is still my favorite, much better than Midsummer Night's.” Love gave her a weak smile “Just don’t tell my lord husband, he still holds grudges over it” Despair knew. Love decided to make another deal with Shakespeare, behind her husband’s back, to write nothing less, nothing more than the greatest love play the world would ever know.

She intended to give as a surprise gift to Morpheus. Morpheus saw it as his wife trying to undermine his own deal with the mortal, working her influence inappropriately. It didn’t help that the play became a success.

”Why dear sister! Don’t you cry! Is this about the waltz?” Love found the tears marking her cheeks, as Despair gave her a tight hug, as the brunette queen hid her face in Lady Despair's shoulder. Trying to compose herself, drying the tears that didn’t stop falling. A few minutes went until Love was able to speak, still with a crying voice, raising slightest her head. “T-the Waltz? No, it’s nothing of sorts. It’s…” Lady Despair started to rip her own skin, as Love reached for her hand, making her stop, her husband’s sister lowered her already low voice, looking at the sides “Sister Love you don’t have to hide from me, I feel your misery as if it was my own. I see your pain.” Love blushed. She liked Despair, but in her current state, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to confide in her. After all, she indulges in states of desperation, anxiety and failure. All three that Love was overwhelmed with. “The embarrassment of being used to provoke jealousy on a muse. It is low even for my brother.”

Love felt her blood freezing. Muse. Calliope? Was she there? Love didn’t see her. But Morpheus was indeed looking for someone else. Probably her. Did he find her? And jealousy? What-

The kiss.

It hit the queen like a shot through the chest. Embarrassment hit her entire body and Love wanted, desired, dreamed of leaving to go home. Not her husband’s home. Her home The Garden. Lock herself away and be indisposed for a millennium. .

The minute of frozen reaction was replaced by a burning quiet fury. That coward of a husband! That cheap manipulator! He blamed Love for acting flirtatious with his brother, which she wasn’t, while jealousy of his Calliope in the arms of another! Which was perfectly normal, since she was uncalled. And she was a muse. Muses had affairs left and right. If he wanted loyalty he should have settled for his wife!

She felt her stomach twist in a knot, if she had eaten anything she would probably have thrown up. That laughable display of affection. How the other entities must be amused by it. It would be the laugh of the century. All thanks to her husband.

Dream took her for granted, and something in the mixture of drinks she took as telling her that it was enough. She was Lady of the Four Loves. Usually she relied on familiar and spiritual love. But she was Lady of Carnal Love. She could force her hand and make mortals, entities, and Endless desperately yearn for her. It would be good for him to remember that. He already had a small delusion about Lord Destruction, didn’t he? Not liking the attention she received. Even going through her dreams to see if she had any sordid ideas. Which, if he slightly knew his wife, he would know that it never went near her mind.

But now? Let’s see when Love gives Morpheus something to actually be jealous of.

Lady Love finished her drink until the last drop, the burn made her squeeze her eyes, as the bell of the dinner rang. “Shall we, sister?”

Desire and Despair knew that to disturb the already problematic couple they needed different approaches. Love regarded highly how she was perceived by others, hating to be out of jokes, or the one to be whispered about and was very sensible to anything related to Morpheus’ love affairs. She preferred to not acknowledge them at all. And it was very unpleasant and unsettling when Love, Morpheus and Calliope happened to be at the same event. Dream on the other hand didn’t regard at all his public perception, but abided by his wife's need of showing at least a tolerable union between them. He did not take kindly to being made a fool of, especially by his wife. And Aunt Prim awoke in him feelings of possessiveness over his wife. Desire could make Dream furious with the thought of his wife hiding an affair with none other than his younger brother, who happened to be the complete opposite of him. And Despair could easily put thoughts and doubts in Love’s head. As Desire said to Morpheus, it takes very little to frustrated hearts to feel supported, and easy for them to trust a gossip that sounded like truth.

As soon as the couple sat side by side, occupying the same seats they always occupy, the twins knew their plan had worked.

Love knew she was savoring far too much, thinking Dream was actually jealous of her. It gave something to feed her starving ego. Love knew how damaging, living off those crumbs of attention could be, how it could poison one's relationship. The reserved part of her library was full of half-written books of romances that her cupids recall from the shelfs of the romantic love section. Every page of them, mortals seek love not in love itself but in side-feelings that give them morsels or blurred reflections of what love might be.

The tension between the couple was palpable. Love, who was teary a moment ago, was squeezing her hands with such intensity that the whites in her fingers were evident. Dealing with Morpheus being Morpheus was one thing, to be told by her sister-in-law that wasn’t even in the Harvest that the only fragment of affection her husband showed her in years, was all a jealous act to provoke his mistress was beyond infuriating. It didn’t help that the room seemed unusually unfocused and unsteady. Or maybe her head was too light. Didn’t Elijah give her something to sober her up? Why did she feel worse than before? Well, it didn’t matter, it was a good thing she was intoxicated, she needed to be for what she was planning to do to spite Morpheus.

Besides, she wouldn’t be impolite to her brother in law. Leaving his wine untouched. It probably was a huge faux-pas in some etiquette book she couldn’t remember if it existed or not.

Love reached for her full glass and Dream slowly put his hand over hers, as a gesture of saying she had enough. Immediately, Love snapped her hand away, grabbing the glass, her glacial and defying stare at her husband, while emptying her cup. Morpheus stared back at her with the same intensity. Love could see he was rehearsing to quietly reprimand her without getting attention from his siblings, and she was eagerly waiting to loudly give him the answer he deserved.

Fortunately, thanks to a loud thud that everyone recognized as Lord Destruction, the silent confrontation between the couple was interrupted. The red haired endless sat in front of the couple, as usual. The Queen of Love did something that reminded her husband why he didn’t trust her and why her nature was as shifty and similar to Desire’s. At the same time, his brother sat, Love’s face immediately turned into a delightful smile. The same smile that Primness told Morpheus about, one that could melt the snow, awake springs and warm hearts. Even her voice became soft “Lord Destruction! How delightful to see you. It’s been a minute!”

Poor Lord Destruction was unaware, not very attentive to tensions between couples, or shared grins between siblings. Not at all aware he was the piece missing from Desire’s scheme to make a boring night, a dramatic show. “Love, how are you? I saw you sparkling from the other end of the hallway.” Love leaned on the table, tilting her head to rest on her hand, her elbow on the edge of the table. A mischievous smile dropped from her lips, as she lightly frowned, amusingly asking, a look that the Prodigal never saw in his sister-in-law.” Are you trying to woo me, my lord? “ She spoke with a lower voice, but loud enough to Morpheus hear.

The raven haired king stiffened as he heard his wife's provocation. The red haired endless choked with her words, giving an awkward chuckle. He knew now that Love was humorous, but her jokes at the Harvest were innocent, funny remarks, these seem dangerously provocations.” It’s simple the truth.” Love didn’t pay attention to his hesitation, quickly glancing at Morpheus.

The Dream King knew what she was doing, wanting a reaction out of him. To make a fool of himself. He knew what a brat she could be when intoxicated. But what a nerve she had, the same high morals as Desire, to provoke him with his own brother that she seduced. He didn’t want to believe in Desire, let alone to admit they were right, but his wife's behavior was making it impossible to think of any alternative. Could he blame Destruction, hate his younger brother because he felt for Love’s siren song? “Please, you are going to make me blush!” She crossed her leg under the table, making sure to let her thighs lightly brush against her husbands, and stretching her lower leg nudging against Destruction’s leg as she painfully slowly and discreetly slid her feet through his leg to his tight. She signed, pretending tiredness.

The red haired brother jumped in his seat, at the feeling, eyes went wide and he immediately glance from his brother to his sister in law, as he fumbled with a response and she smirked at his reaction, with his sister-in-law’s foot getting dangerously close to his crotch, and even though it was terminally wrong, it was a kind of touch he didn’t want her to stop “You have no idea, my lord…” She dragged her velveteen voice, like she was tasting every word. And even though his brother, her husband, was by her side, and they were at a table with his other siblings, their conversation seemed private, like all the time in the universe belong to them and nothing else mattered . “How hard it is to be admired these days.” Desire carefully watched the trio's interaction. They opened a smile, mouthing to their twin ‘watch it’.

Lady Death also was eyeing the couple, the thick tension between them, and Love’s sudden attention to the prodigal. She was usually inebriated, everyone could see that, although no one ever addressed it, but always very quiet and polite. Death knew Dream and her had problems. Especially since their marriage condition, and Dream didn’t like to talk about it. But after a century or two, she thought they settled in maybe a friendship. The gossip of their waltz, gave Death even a small hope that they could’ve found happiness in one another.

Seeing Dream almost opened a hole on the floor as he walked to the dinner, moodier than ever, and Love’s wet eyes and uneven walk. She knew the waltz may be the opposite of what she thought. The way her sister-in-law was behaving made Death pinch Desire’s arm “ Stop it, right now.” The golden-eyed sibling looked at her with a hand in their heart, pretending to soothe their pinched skin “Dear sister, are you trying to imply something? I am not doing anything.” This time Delirium, who was until now lost in her own mind, meddled in the conversation “ You are always doing something, Desire. You can’t not be doing anything.” Desire rolled their eyes “Well this time I am doing nothing. Now Love Dove, maybe she finally got bored of Dream.” Desire took a sip of their drink and Death signed, giving up the idea of counting with their help.

Love wasn’t discreet enough Morpheus wouldn’t notice what she was doing. He could feel the way her thigh was tense, the delicate motion somewhere away from him,”Even by your own husband…”

It began as a game, her own personal game of using her tricks as Lady Eros, but as the words left her mouth, her mind grew distant, memories recent and old took place as her eyes were lost in her empty glass, even her teasing under the table stopped, as she dropped her thigh. She frowned again “Do you think he wants me? That he cares?” She gave a humorless chuckle “That-that kiss was for me? A declaration of love?” Love raised her eyebrows and shook lightly her head, fighting the words as she fought her tears “What a joke…” She raised her eyes bitterly and definitely staring at her husband. “Tell him, husband, who those are for.” Dream merely mouth her name in a warning tone, as she continued. “No? I’ll tell them. Those are all for his pretty little who-“

Clearing her throat, Death prepared to say something to distract both Love and Dream. But as she opened her mouth, Morpheus raised from his chair roaring through the room “THAT’S ENOUGH!.” Love bitterly laughs, as she raises from her seat. Both face to face. Death, Destruction and even Delirium trying to say anything they could’ve come up with to try to stop the argument, but the couple was not listening. “Now is it enough? Now is it enough?! You treat a whore like a wife, and a wife like a whore and”

She was abruptly cut. Morpheus didn’t raise his voice again, angrily keeping it down, clenching his teeth, his jaw was hurting from the pressure “You don’t need me to treat you like one. Not when you are opening your legs to anyone who gives you a half-witted compliment!” That was when he felt the cold drink against his face. Silence reigned for a few seconds in the room, not even Desire, who was amusingly twisting in their seat, dared to interrupt. Not even Delirium. “ Know this husband: If it wasn’t against every vow, every inch of my benign.” It physically hurt her saying, her mouth was stiff, like the words wouldn’t come free and she had to pull them out by force. “I would very much do it. And I would make sure that everyone, every single entity knew it.”

Without any balance, and the tears making it even more difficult to see, Love made her way out of the table, angrily untying her long translucid cape, which was more complicated than it seemed, dropping it on the floor before walking away. She couldn’t care less, if Morpheus called for her or not, she needed to get away from him, and his siblings as fast as she could, her mind playing tricks on her, seemingly hearing the laughs, the pity, the ridiculous condescension. She had to ignore those, if she ever wanted to leave this place.

Midway to the garden, She bumped into her host. Looking up to Destiny, she couldn’t think of an apology, or an excuse, he already knew what happened. Of course he knew it. Before it even happened, really. He remained standing still, looking at his sister in law with an indecipherable expression. She knew she could ask him. She could plead right now. To make it go away, to make the pain stop. She dropped her shoulders, grabbing her arms, her throat hurting from holding a sob, as she tried to calm herself not to embarrass herself even more. If only she had more courage, she would ask him. It would be for the better. Dream would be free, Desire would lose his favorite joke, Love could be free, she could breathe. She opened her mouth praying the words would come, but as she tried to ask for the unimaginable, Destiny interrupted her “There is nothing to forgive, my sister. You are tired.” She puzzledly looked at him, as he followed his path. Not giving her any time to think about questioning anything else.

-----------

Love thanked all the stars for Elijah not being in her room. He would be fulming if he saw what she did to her cape, and her heels, since one of them broke and was now lost somewhere in her brother-in-law’s realm. Destiny was right, she was tired. Love was careful in locking her door slowly, so neither Elijah or Lucienne would notice she was back. Her heart was racing, and the complete silence of the Dreaming, made it finally, private enough for her to let go of a painful sob, copiously crying, tripping to the side of her bad, falling in her knees, pressing her face against the bed, staining the white sheets with tears, trying to suffocate her loud sobs. Her whole body trembled, and the only attempt to move was to search for a syrup bottle forgotten under the bed.

She was far beyond drunk by now, but prayed for it to have a sip of wine, something to make her tears blurry and the world blurry again. She was already too sober, in her opinion, too aware of her surroundings, of her life. As she put it to her mouth, her husband appeared by the door. He didn’t knock, of course, neither asked if he could get in. It was his realm after all. Not hers, as he made sure she never forgot.

Morpheus looked at his wife, up and down, the image of misery, the hem of the dress was muddy, and her hair was a wild mess of curls. Half her body splashed on the floor, her back against the side of the bed. One of her heels dangled in her foot, the other was in his hand. Love laugh with herself. What an irony!

The prince with the lost shoe, looking for the princess who lost it. Both wishing it didn’t fit.

Her laugh made him angrily frown. “Do you think this is funny?” She looked him dead in the eye. “You don’t get to be angry at me. Not after what you did.” She stared at him. He wanted a fight? She would give him a fight. What could he possibly do anyway? Send her to Hell and give Lucifer a free opportunity to make alliance with his eternal wife? “What did I do? You were the one using your siren tricks on my own brother! You have no decency.” He walked front to back, as he walked near her bed, the Queen jumped from the floor, she tried to steady herself, but stumbled having to hold on to Morpheus, as he took her hands out of his chest, not waiting if she was steady or not. He couldn’t care less if she was. “You are one to speak of decency! You! I only gave you a taste of what you submit me every single hour, every single minute and second, since you realize you married me, not your dear muse!”

Love turned her back, taking two steps away before turning again. “ Why didn’t you leave me to die? Pray you tell me, why? You didn’t want me, you didn’t love me and is incapable of trying. Why submit me to such misery and you, as my lord likes to say so much, to such embarrassment?”

Morpheus looked at his drunk queen, Love made very uncomfortable questions for someone as drunk as her. The truth is, he couldn’t have left her. From the moment she fainted at his feet and he recognized the beautifully dressed woman at his feet, as Lady Love. Drained of all colors, lips ghostly white. He kneeled lightly caressing her cheek, taking the hair out of her face, she felt cold under his touch. Different from the vibrant young maiden he saw many times, clinging to Desire’s arms, rushing through ballrooms, hiding behind handfans, sweetly denying suitors, blushing when first meeting him.

At that moment, he didn’t think of her as the cruel seductress that deserved punishment, he saw a beautiful queen, a smile that lightened rooms, a caring ruler. Dream couldn’t leave her.

He knew he was completely damned from this day.

That brief moment, a life-and-death minute, was it for the king of dreams. Something changed in his heart, he felt glimpses of it and he shut it. Not that he understood, it would take him a good thousand of years to understand why he couldn’t leave her there. Why he finished his vows, and carried her back to the Dreaming. It wasn’t until later, alone in his throne, he would let his own mind decide what the woman he married and saved was. To think rationally on to whom his Queen was associated to, who orchestrated that arrangement.

But he couldn’t say that, not when fury was the one guiding his heart. Even if he could, he wouldn’t know how to put it in words. It was also a door he liked to keep close. So he answered, in the way he thought would hurt her the most, because that was the game they knew how to play, that is how they communicated. “You are dutiful to your subjects and devoted to the mortal worlds. I couldn’t risk your reincarnation being chaotic.”

If there was still an intact piece of her heart that wasn’t already broken, it would’ve broken. Not a hint of regret in his words, not a hint of emotion. Simple, solid facts. She didn’t know there was still some part of her that hoped for a different answer. “ I thought you would be more sensible.” He shrugged.

Not only break every piece of her, he also had to diminish her. Eoster tried to take a deep breath but her teeth were clenching in a way that she shivered from only trying. She was furious. Scared, tense, ashamed, everything was gone. Her blood was boiling from the only thing she could feel: fury. That man stole years from her life. He made her lonely, miserable. He took her innocence and crushed her spirit. But she refused to let him win.

”Sensible? Me? No. You are right. I am not sensible at all. I spent years smiling through all the humiliations you put me through. “ He started to interrupt her, questioning those humiliations that she thinks he put her through. She threw a bottle at his direction, hitting the mirror of her vanity “No! You listen to me! Every time that someone approaches me with that pity condescending look asking ‘how can you tolerate it?’ ‘Poor dove, how can you still walk in public with him?’ ‘You endure it with such class, I envy you’, ‘ The King was here the other day with her’. Of course you don’t know any of these sorts. It doesn’t get to you. No, you know what you hear? You hear that you are lucky, that you chose right, that they envy you because you have it all: A beautiful wife that sweetly welcomes you home and turns to the other way when you are whoring around having bastards sons…” The raven haired king, took feral steps, seeing pure red.

She never pushed him, not like this, it was different from every other quarrel. The way he came to her, a bull ready to hit his target, she thought he would pass right through her, when he stopped, inches away from her, so close that she felt his breath against her neck. Hot, irregular. But she didn’t flinch. Love stared back in his fury. “ Do you want to hit me? Do you?! Then fucking do it!” She was shivering, tears returning to her eyes, incapable of stopping, her voice trembling as she tried to speak with assertion “Make me feel something.” Other than humiliation, other than embarrassment and bitterness.

The second she saw him flinch, she closed her eyes expecting the hit, expecting the sting of pain. It took a few seconds of silence, hot, dense silence and unsteady chests rising, to hear her husband come to himself. “Leave.” He wasn’t looking at her anymore, dropping his hands at his sides. She opened her eyes to see him taking a step back. She just looked at him, not moving, not saying a word.

He took more steps away from his wife, as he needed for his and her safety to get away from her. “ Leave the Dreaming.” He repeated. Still the words couldn’t ring a reaction of the brunette “I am banning you, Lady of Love, Queen of the Four Loves, from the Dreaming. You shall return only on my command.” Love turned her face to him. He couldn’t look at her. “You can’t- I am your wife.” She mumbled as he nodded. “A True Marriage does not require us to live together. It requires being married. You shall continue your duties at the Garden.” With his head down, staring at the floor, he walked out of her room, leaving her with his final words “Leave until early dawn.”

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