Thereâs an owl hooting like right outside my window as Iâm trying to sleep. Iâve never wanted to murder a bird so badly before.
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i hate that they named that character Makarov cause for almost a full decade of my life I was obsessed with this anime called Fairy Tail so my first thought whenever I hear see that name is this guy
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@ghouljams android au is getting to meâŠâŠIâve started thinking about my sex bot au again
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Unfortunately my dash has once again been flooded with âControversially Young Gfâ posts for my beloved COD boys. I must write Milf and Dilf readers now to balance out the scales and soothe my soul.
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Being human sucks. Why canât I be a porcupine?
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Just realized that my username spells SAM
S&M
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Iâm Godâs personal jester. My misery is his entertainment.
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Ugh. Legit the only thing i miss about tik tok is this vid where these people do a dirty as hell dance to Ashnikkoâs âSlumber Partyâ. That shit was so good, I dream of it every night.
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A sketch of my oc, Sister, for @ghouljams cowboy au! Iâm not entirely satisfied with this but I think I did good for someone who doesnât usually ever do this style of drawing. I wanted to add some baby hairs peeking out from under the veil but they just kept looking like scribbles. Something to work on!
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I want to bite Gazâs shoulders and rake my nails down his back. Fuckkkkk, I want him so bad.
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I really did try my best to capture her fear! Sister has a very long andâŠ..unpleasant history with needles. A history that lead to her joining the convent in the first place!
Poison and Rot
Summary: The introduction of my oc for @ghouljams Cowboy au, Sister! And along with that, her fear of needles and the âsheâs a little fucked up, actuallyâ energy.
Warnings: Needles, shots, mental illness, self hatred, self worth issues
A needle glinting under dim lights, poison filling the barrel. Sisterâs eyes twitched, transfixed on the swaying liquid that filled the syringe. Sloshing back and forth, time slowing inside that clear cylinder.
âThis wonât hurt a bit.â A voice, sweet like vinegar, coos in her ear. Thick with so much false affection that it left her feeling slimy. Dirty.
Ruined.
âAre you okay, Sister?â The doctor asks, snapping her out of her thoughts momentarily.
âOh, Iâm just fine, Doctor.â Sister says, lips curling into the ever natural smile she always wore, even as her fellow nuns glanced at her worriedly from their own seats in the pharmacy. Some were waiting for their own vaccines while others were already done, softly conversing amongst themselves while shooting her concerned glances. Quick and easy.
Painless.
âI just need you to stay still.â
She shook her head, holding her arm out for the doctor, letting him roll up the sleeve of her robe with cold weathered hands, focusing all her attention onto her bright pink sneakers that just barely peaked out from under her skirt.
âAs I was saying, this wonât hurt a bit.â The doctor reassures her, swabbing antiseptic against her arm before grabbing for the syringe, the click of it against the metal tray like a gunshot to her ears. Drowning out all other noise, everything else just fading into the background.
âOf course.â She whispers, taking a shaky breath in before letting it stutter back out of her lungs. In. Out. Just like you were taught.
The procedure was quick, from all points but hers. In her mind it took over, a painfully slow crawl to move that needle from the tray to her arm, every hair standing on end, goosebumps prickling beneath her clothes. And when the metal finally pierced her skin she couldnât help but shriek out of instinct, nearly jolting the poor doctor out of his chair, all eyes snapping towards her.
Eyes. So many eyes. All of them looking at her, judging her. Appraising her worth and finding her wanting.
They can tell that youâre rotten inside. A voice snarled, all teeth and claws, ripping away at her spirit. Canât hide rot like yours beneath all that sugar sweetness. Eventually it starts to smell. It wonât be long before they all catch on to how worthless you are.
âIâm sorry.â Sister whispers, body trembling so hard the chair practically vibrates.
Are you okay, Sister?â The doctor asks, clearly skeptical of her hurried nod. But he doesnât push. Just rights himself before finishing up her shot, barely even having a chance to pull the needle free before she was standing and fixing her sleeve, arms wrapping tight around her torso in a self hug.
âThank you, doctor.â She says, giving him a small nod before turning and fleeing from the pharmacy, deaf to her fellow nuns calling out to her, begging her to wait. All she could hear was the grating of metal on metal, the splashing of liquid, crying.
Laughter.
In. And out.
In.
Out.
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Poison and Rot
Summary: The introduction of my oc for @ghouljams Cowboy au, Sister! And along with that, her fear of needles and the âsheâs a little fucked up, actuallyâ energy.
Warnings: Needles, shots, mental illness, self hatred, self worth issues
A needle glinting under dim lights, poison filling the barrel. Sisterâs eyes twitched, transfixed on the swaying liquid that filled the syringe. Sloshing back and forth, time slowing inside that clear cylinder.
âThis wonât hurt a bit.â A voice, sweet like vinegar, coos in her ear. Thick with so much false affection that it left her feeling slimy. Dirty.
Ruined.
âAre you okay, Sister?â The doctor asks, snapping her out of her thoughts momentarily.
âOh, Iâm just fine, Doctor.â Sister says, lips curling into the ever natural smile she always wore, even as her fellow nuns glanced at her worriedly from their own seats in the pharmacy. Some were waiting for their own vaccines while others were already done, softly conversing amongst themselves while shooting her concerned glances. Quick and easy.
Painless.
âI just need you to stay still.â
She shook her head, holding her arm out for the doctor, letting him roll up the sleeve of her robe with cold weathered hands, focusing all her attention onto her bright pink sneakers that just barely peaked out from under her skirt.
âAs I was saying, this wonât hurt a bit.â The doctor reassures her, swabbing antiseptic against her arm before grabbing for the syringe, the click of it against the metal tray like a gunshot to her ears. Drowning out all other noise, everything else just fading into the background.
âOf course.â She whispers, taking a shaky breath in before letting it stutter back out of her lungs. In. Out. Just like you were taught.
The procedure was quick, from all points but hers. In her mind it took over, a painfully slow crawl to move that needle from the tray to her arm, every hair standing on end, goosebumps prickling beneath her clothes. And when the metal finally pierced her skin she couldnât help but shriek out of instinct, nearly jolting the poor doctor out of his chair, all eyes snapping towards her.
Eyes. So many eyes. All of them looking at her, judging her. Appraising her worth and finding her wanting.
They can tell that youâre rotten inside. A voice snarled, all teeth and claws, ripping away at her spirit. Canât hide rot like yours beneath all that sugar sweetness. Eventually it starts to smell. It wonât be long before they all catch on to how worthless you are.
âIâm sorry.â Sister whispers, body trembling so hard the chair practically vibrates.
Are you okay, Sister?â The doctor asks, clearly skeptical of her hurried nod. But he doesnât push. Just rights himself before finishing up her shot, barely even having a chance to pull the needle free before she was standing and fixing her sleeve, arms wrapping tight around her torso in a self hug.
âThank you, doctor.â She says, giving him a small nod before turning and fleeing from the pharmacy, deaf to her fellow nuns calling out to her, begging her to wait. All she could hear was the grating of metal on metal, the splashing of liquid, crying.
Laughter.
In. And out.
In.
Out.
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Sorry for being so very not normal about Kyle âGazâ Garrick. It will happen again. đ
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Reblogging cause I posted this so late at night yesterday.
Bluebeard
Summary: After a string of unfortunate marriages, the Lord König has set his eyes on you. Youâre in no place to refuse, but you make the best of your circumstances.
Warnings: Brief smut mentions, secrecy, blood, bugs, I tried to keep the reader GN but I accidentally fucked up with the Three Bears and a pronoun so tell me if you spot anything. Afab!Reader (tits mentioned), brief mentions of a wedding dress and night gowns.
Pairing: König x Reader
Your husband wasâŠ..a strange man. Taller than the giants from the stories your nanny told you as a child and twice as fearsome. You were constantly on the verge of asking if you had upset him in some way, your poor heart breaking every time his cold eyes swept over you before just as quickly looking away. Like he held no interest in you, despite the fact that he was the one who had chosen you over all 5 of your elder sisters.
Your engagement had been a short affair, your wedding somehow even shorter. A flurry of movement too quick to even distinguish. All you could remember was your Motherâs soft hands lacing up your dress, her lips on your cheek, and then your fatherâs rough arm practically dragging you down the aisle to your soon to be husband and the priest. The knot tying hasty and sloppy, the words falling from your mouths rushed, you had hoped it wouldnât be a bad omen for your marriage but it seemed that it was in vain, barely even a moment to say goodbye to your mother and sisters before you were being packed away into the carriage like another piece of luggage. And then it had just been silence, occasionally broken by your soft questions answered with only rough grunts or hums from your new spouse.
Your new home was smaller than expected, but still much bigger than your fatherâs house. It was simpler too, no gold detailing or overly luxurious furniture. Just barely enough to pass as the image of a noblemanâs house from the inside. But you were still in awe of it when you walked through the halls that day. And when night fellâŠ.you had expected coupling to happen that night, and you werenât wrong. But it was nicer than you had been expecting. Not sweet or romantic like you might have once hoped, but he had been far gentler with you then many husbands were to their wives. Opened you with his fingers, his lips on your neck, made sure you were as slick as water before his cock even touched you. And even when he was inside you he was good to you, rough but not cruel, ocean blue eyes staring into your soul the entire time, watching as tears and smeared makeup ran down your cheeks, listening to the wet squelches of your hole and your bitten back moans. But he only spilled inside of you when you reached up, shaking fingers caressing his cheek.
It was your first and only time experiencing that intimacy with your husband before he had run off on a series of âbusiness mattersâ to attend to, leaving you with a belly full of seed and a ring of keys that unlocked almost every door in his keep. Told you to explore to your heartâs content, and you had. Went into every room, touched everything there was to touch, roamed the halls, met the few scant servants, had cake and meat and every kind of food you could think of. And you became so terribly terribly bored in Königâs absence. Until he came home.
So excited to see him again that you did everything you could to welcome him home. Hung colorful banners, had specialty cakes made, stayed by the front door and rushed him when he walked in, taking him by complete surprise. Sat by him at the table and stared up at him adoringly, trying so so hard to make him look at you the way your father once looked at your mother, with love and joy, a certain kind of tenderness that youâd never had before.
And that night, when you crawled into bed with him, you embraced him fully, holding him until the stiffness of his muscles melted away and he was left snoring, curled against you, his head buried in your neck and his hands clutching at your nightgown like you might disappear in the night.
He left before sunrise the next day, leaving you only a note that said heâd be back in a week's time, and a new key to add to your ring. This one opened the personal armory he kept, full of muskets and broad swords and daggers of all kinds. Only one was missing from its place, you hazarded a guess that it was the one he always wore on his belt. A slight thing, with a sapphire embedded in the pommel.
You spent the day aweing over the vast collection of weaponry, picking up some, pretending to fight with some thief or scoundrel, giggling until your heart didnât feel so empty. But it lost its appeal by the dayâs end, and the week dragged along even slower than before, your mood growing ever more dour and downtrodden until your husband returned once again, this time carrying a small chest in his arms.
âDas ist fĂŒr sie.â He had said, placing the delicately crafted box at your feet, carvings of flowers and dragons on every border. A thing of beauty by itself. âOpen it.â He said before plopping down into the nearest seat, leaning back lazily, but those blue eyes of his were laser focused on you.
You were hesitant to do so but quickly conceded to his wishes, kneeling in front of the chest and lightly touching it, reveling in the artistry and time that must have gone into making it. Even the thick leather belts and silver buckles used to hold it closed seem to have had hours put into them. You were careful to open it, pulling the lid back to revealâŠ.books. Many many books. Some plain and leather bound that you assumed were for sketching, others with colorful and hard bindings. History books, cook books, fantasy novels, tragedies, plays. So many books you could hardly number them all, a large smile pulling your face taunt as you took your time pulling out each and every one, tracing the covers and skimming through the pages before looking up to him and meeting his now softened eyes.
âThank you.â You whisper, hiding the lower half of your face behind the last book, something that appeared to be about medieval weapons and war tactics. âI love them.â
âIâm glad.â He whispered, and you hoped he was smiling under that stupid cloth he always wore over his face. âI figured you would be bored. The servants told me you didnât invite anyone over this week.â
âThey werenât who I wanted to see.â You tell him after a moment of silence, watching him perk a bit, tilting his head ever so slightly. But he didnât ask, and you didnât give him any answers as you carefully repacked the books to be brought back to your shared bedroom. âI asked the cooks to make that stew that you like for dinner, and I special ordered a loaf of bread from the bakery.â
âThank you, Engel.â He whispered, grabbing your wrist as you passed by, placing a soft kiss on the back of your hand, lips lingering on your soft skin before ever so reluctantly letting you slip out of his fingers. You swore you felt his gaze on you the whole way down the hallway.
That night the bedding was needy, full of heat and sweat and barely stifled groans as he buried himself in your hole repeatedly, filling and then overfilling you with his thick white seed. He made it feel like he was doing it for more than just his duty, for more than a need to have an heir to his estate and titles. Especially when he stared into your eyes like that the whole time, his hands cupping your face, not giving you a chance to look away from him or hide yourself.
The next morning was spent in bed, lazy and soft, starting off with another round of coupling full of slow thrusts and sloppy kisses. Then it was breakfast in your shared bed, strawberries and whipped cream on the side that you both eagerly enjoyed, feeding each other by hand until a dollop of cream landed in the valley of your breasts, prompting him to bury his face between the soft mounds, licking away the mess and creating a whole new one that had neither of you leaving the bed til midday when he unexpectedly left again, adding another new key to your growing collection before he took off on horseback.
âFor the attic.â Heâd said hurriedly, servants scurrying around you trying to re-pack the carriage with his necessities, but it would still be a few hours behind him on the way to his destination. âItâs rather dusty so be sure to ask the maids to clean it before you go up there, Iâd hate for you to ruin your clothes.â
It was all he said before placing a tender kiss on your head then riding off, leaving you heartbroken and lonely, clutching the keyring to your chest. It took two days before you went into the attic, not even bothering to heed your husbandâs words, something you only slightly regretted and you inhaled a lungful of dust just after opening the door while two maids fretted at the bottom of the ladder, fearful of you falling and bumping your head, successfully killing the only bride their lord had ever had return his affections in full.
It was a boring place, the attic. Many stored trinkets and cloth, but some paintings and photographs as well. Most seemed to be of your husband as a child but there were a few of him more recently, poised and masked beside women in beautiful dresses with lovely smiles and tired eyes. You counted six different women in total.
His previous wives.
The sight of the photos left you nauseous and mournful, nearly dropping yourself down the ladder instead of climbing down, rushing past worried maids and into your chambers where you could successfully hide your tears in one of the pillows from Königâs side of the bed, still tinged with his scent. It was where you stayed for several days, barely eating, barely moving. A sniffling mess that couldnât be persuaded out of bed.
Not until he came home.
You didnât even realize it was him at first, too distracted by self pity and jealousy, sniffling occasionally. You didnât even see him, barely heard the door open. Only paying attention when the other side of the bed shifted and dipped beneath his weight, a sigh falling from his lips.
âAre you sick, Engel?â König asked, big hand reaching out to run along your arm until you pettily turned away, leaving his hand in the air, fingers twitching.
âNo.â You tell him, feeling him shift again, laying on his side and wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer, not giving you a chance to escape this time.
âThen what is it, Engel?â He asks, lips pressing against the back of your neck. âLet me make it better for you. I do not like seeing you so upset.â
You went quiet, choking on your tears as he rubbed his hand over your belly, nuzzling his nose against your shoulder in a way that was comforting even when you didnât want it to be.
âTell me.â He told you, voice on the edge of desperation and begging, and you were sure his eyes would be big and worried if you turned your head to see them.
âItâs stupid.â You finally end up saying when he started to press affectionate kisses to your shoulders and along your upper back.
âNothing you say is ever stupid, Engel.â He says, curling his fingers into your gown, holding it tight.
âI went into the attic.â You start, breathe hitching with a held back sob. âAnd I saw-I saw-â You couldnât bring yourself to say the words, turning your head as your body started to shake with renewed cries.
âWas it the paintings?â He guessed, seemingly taking his answer from the way you only sobbed louder. âOh, Mein Engel.â He mumbled, strong hands turning you away from your cocoon of safety and into his chest. âHush now, it will be okay. Iâm sorry. I will have them burned.â
âYou-You donât have to do that.â You try and say, though you knew it lacked the conviction you wanted it to.
âDonât be ridiculous.â He says, shaking his head. âThose womenâŠ.they never meant anything to me. But you mean the world.â He tells you, and you can practically feel your heart stopping before it sped up, practically a vibration in your chest. âYou are mein engel. I will burn them, and then I will fill the walls with pictures of you so that you will never forget what you are to me.â
âUs.â You say, red rimmed eyes finally peaking up at him through your lashes, sniffling softly. âPictures of us, you mean.â
âNo. Pictures of you.â He says, ducking his head to plant a kiss to your temple. âOnes of you in the garden, ones of you reading.â His lips twitched into a smirk as he started to whisper. âOnes of you spread and leaking.â
âKönig!â You say sharply, heat rising in your cheeks as he boomed out a laugh, cupping your face in his warm palms and planting a wet and heavy kiss against your lips.
âThose ones would be only for my eyes though, Engel.â He huffed, sitting up a bit to better adjust himself, thickening cock brushing against your thighs wantingly, straining through his trousers. âI would keep them close. Only take them out when Iâm lonely and missing you while Iâm away on business.â
You giggle nervously, digging your nails into his sides when he rolled over you, pinning you on your back beneath him, legs splayed open just for him.
It was several weeks before your husband left again, the paintings and pictures in the attic turned into ash and new ones of you and your love were placed all around the estate, some even still waiting to be finished up and framed. And it had been so so good. Every morning was woken in his arms and every night ended with him in yours. Hand feeding each other at dawn and sating other hungers at dusk. More perfect than any picture that was taken, then any dream you had. But you knew youâd have to wake up sometime.
The day he left again was even more heartbreaking than last time. The goodbye kisses lasted longer, the desperation ever growing, clinging to each other like that could somehow make his duties disappear.
âIâll be back in a fortnight.â He whispered against your lips, the carriage driver prudently looking away, keeping his eyes skyward so as not to make you feel awkward at the intimate display. âUntil then, take this.â He said.
What he handed you was another key, this one large and iron, so unexpectedly heavy that you almost dropped it when he slipped it into your open palm.
âWhat is this for?â You ask, brine shimmering at the corners of your eyes, a losing fight to hold back the tears.
âIt is for the basement.â He says, placing another parting kiss on the tip of your nose. âBut you must promise me not to go in. It is very important, Engel.â
âWhatâs in the basement?â You asked, watching his eyes harden before he forced them to soften, his hand tightening around yours.
âRats.â He said, voice stern and rough. âLots and lots of rats. And mildew. So do as I say, Engel, and stay out of it. I do not wish to stay by your sickbed as you foam at the mouth from rabies or burn away from a fever.â
âThen why give me the key at all?â You ask, trying to hand it back only to be met with him slipping it into your pocket.
âBecause this is your home too, Engel. It is only fair that you should be able to open every door to it.â He says, pressing his forehead to yours for a few moments before pulling away entirely, taking a deep breath. âAnd I trust you to heed my words and stay out of that room.â
âI will.â You say, grasping onto his sleeve before he could fully pull away. âI love you. Be safe. For me.â
âIch liebe dich.â König parroted, eyes soft like warm butter on toast. âI am always safe, Engel.â
And that was it, the last words he said to you before riding away, leaving you standing and watching his carriage til it was too far gone to see. Til not even a speck was left on the horizon and the sun disappeared behind the mountains.
It was a week before you disobeyed your husband.
A week of curiosity gnawing at you like a little beast deep in your chest, eating away at you piece by microscopic piece. Little bites turned into bigger bites so steadily that you barely even realized that it was growing and swallowing you up.
âCuriosity killed the cat.â Your motherâs voice whispered in your brain.
âBut satisfaction brought it back.â The voices of your sisters all giggled in unison.
It was what echoed in your head as you stood outside the door, key clutched in both hands as you stared at the lock apprehensively, conversing with yourself like a mad man before finally making up your mind and slipping the key into the hole, the grating of metal on metal an irritation to your ears. But the sound of the lock clicking open, that was a spark of excitement in the ocean of anxiety that had built in your belly.
The first thing you registered about the room was the darkness. Like a void had opened up somewhere in the room and ate away at the very fabric of the world. You couldnât see more then two feet in front of you, even with the lantern at your side.
The second thing you noticed was the smell.
Putrid, disgusting, foul. It hit your nose so hard that tears instantly welled in your eyes and you retched, mouth gaping as your breakfast tried to escape you to spill onto the rocky flooring. You stumbled in the darkness, trying to backpedal only to trip over your own feet and send your lantern skidding further into the room. Recklessly, you crawled after it, clothes catching on the jagged floor and tearing, the sound not even registering to you at first.
It was just as you caught the handle to the light that you saw it.
Fingers outstretched in the dark, splayed across the grey stone.
You froze, breath catching in your throat for so long that you went light-headed, eyes lasered in on those pale digits. Small fingers, delicate and smooth. Strangely, you thought of your motherâs hands. The feel of them straightening your clothes or cupping your cheeks.
Trembling, you raised the lantern just the slightest bit higher, choking on your own vomit when you saw it.
A heap of flesh and bone lying in the middle of the floor, bodies upon bodies, each in such varying degrees of decay that it was akin to a diagram. The bottom piece just a skeleton, no flesh to cling to anymore. And the topâŠ.she looked almost pristine from the angle you saw. Beautiful black curls and pink lips, milky eye staring into your soul, begging you for mercy. For help.
But when you reached out to touch her, to feel for a pulse, to help, her skull caved in and the mass writhed, maggots crawling out of mouths and ears, from skulls and arms.
You screamed so loud that even your mother and sisters must have heard you, all the miles away that they were.
âOh, Engel.â Your husbandâs voice called out behind you, followed by the heavy slam of the basement door. âI told you not to come in here.â
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Bluebeard
Summary: After a string of unfortunate marriages, the Lord König has set his eyes on you. Youâre in no place to refuse, but you make the best of your circumstances.
Warnings: Brief smut mentions, secrecy, blood, bugs, I tried to keep the reader GN but I accidentally fucked up with the Three Bears and a pronoun so tell me if you spot anything. Afab!Reader (tits mentioned), brief mentions of a wedding dress and night gowns.
Pairing: König x Reader
Your husband wasâŠ..a strange man. Taller than the giants from the stories your nanny told you as a child and twice as fearsome. You were constantly on the verge of asking if you had upset him in some way, your poor heart breaking every time his cold eyes swept over you before just as quickly looking away. Like he held no interest in you, despite the fact that he was the one who had chosen you over all 5 of your elder sisters.
Your engagement had been a short affair, your wedding somehow even shorter. A flurry of movement too quick to even distinguish. All you could remember was your Motherâs soft hands lacing up your dress, her lips on your cheek, and then your fatherâs rough arm practically dragging you down the aisle to your soon to be husband and the priest. The knot tying hasty and sloppy, the words falling from your mouths rushed, you had hoped it wouldnât be a bad omen for your marriage but it seemed that it was in vain, barely even a moment to say goodbye to your mother and sisters before you were being packed away into the carriage like another piece of luggage. And then it had just been silence, occasionally broken by your soft questions answered with only rough grunts or hums from your new spouse.
Your new home was smaller than expected, but still much bigger than your fatherâs house. It was simpler too, no gold detailing or overly luxurious furniture. Just barely enough to pass as the image of a noblemanâs house from the inside. But you were still in awe of it when you walked through the halls that day. And when night fellâŠ.you had expected coupling to happen that night, and you werenât wrong. But it was nicer than you had been expecting. Not sweet or romantic like you might have once hoped, but he had been far gentler with you then many husbands were to their wives. Opened you with his fingers, his lips on your neck, made sure you were as slick as water before his cock even touched you. And even when he was inside you he was good to you, rough but not cruel, ocean blue eyes staring into your soul the entire time, watching as tears and smeared makeup ran down your cheeks, listening to the wet squelches of your hole and your bitten back moans. But he only spilled inside of you when you reached up, shaking fingers caressing his cheek.
It was your first and only time experiencing that intimacy with your husband before he had run off on a series of âbusiness mattersâ to attend to, leaving you with a belly full of seed and a ring of keys that unlocked almost every door in his keep. Told you to explore to your heartâs content, and you had. Went into every room, touched everything there was to touch, roamed the halls, met the few scant servants, had cake and meat and every kind of food you could think of. And you became so terribly terribly bored in Königâs absence. Until he came home.
So excited to see him again that you did everything you could to welcome him home. Hung colorful banners, had specialty cakes made, stayed by the front door and rushed him when he walked in, taking him by complete surprise. Sat by him at the table and stared up at him adoringly, trying so so hard to make him look at you the way your father once looked at your mother, with love and joy, a certain kind of tenderness that youâd never had before.
And that night, when you crawled into bed with him, you embraced him fully, holding him until the stiffness of his muscles melted away and he was left snoring, curled against you, his head buried in your neck and his hands clutching at your nightgown like you might disappear in the night.
He left before sunrise the next day, leaving you only a note that said heâd be back in a week's time, and a new key to add to your ring. This one opened the personal armory he kept, full of muskets and broad swords and daggers of all kinds. Only one was missing from its place, you hazarded a guess that it was the one he always wore on his belt. A slight thing, with a sapphire embedded in the pommel.
You spent the day aweing over the vast collection of weaponry, picking up some, pretending to fight with some thief or scoundrel, giggling until your heart didnât feel so empty. But it lost its appeal by the dayâs end, and the week dragged along even slower than before, your mood growing ever more dour and downtrodden until your husband returned once again, this time carrying a small chest in his arms.
âDas ist fĂŒr sie.â He had said, placing the delicately crafted box at your feet, carvings of flowers and dragons on every border. A thing of beauty by itself. âOpen it.â He said before plopping down into the nearest seat, leaning back lazily, but those blue eyes of his were laser focused on you.
You were hesitant to do so but quickly conceded to his wishes, kneeling in front of the chest and lightly touching it, reveling in the artistry and time that must have gone into making it. Even the thick leather belts and silver buckles used to hold it closed seem to have had hours put into them. You were careful to open it, pulling the lid back to revealâŠ.books. Many many books. Some plain and leather bound that you assumed were for sketching, others with colorful and hard bindings. History books, cook books, fantasy novels, tragedies, plays. So many books you could hardly number them all, a large smile pulling your face taunt as you took your time pulling out each and every one, tracing the covers and skimming through the pages before looking up to him and meeting his now softened eyes.
âThank you.â You whisper, hiding the lower half of your face behind the last book, something that appeared to be about medieval weapons and war tactics. âI love them.â
âIâm glad.â He whispered, and you hoped he was smiling under that stupid cloth he always wore over his face. âI figured you would be bored. The servants told me you didnât invite anyone over this week.â
âThey werenât who I wanted to see.â You tell him after a moment of silence, watching him perk a bit, tilting his head ever so slightly. But he didnât ask, and you didnât give him any answers as you carefully repacked the books to be brought back to your shared bedroom. âI asked the cooks to make that stew that you like for dinner, and I special ordered a loaf of bread from the bakery.â
âThank you, Engel.â He whispered, grabbing your wrist as you passed by, placing a soft kiss on the back of your hand, lips lingering on your soft skin before ever so reluctantly letting you slip out of his fingers. You swore you felt his gaze on you the whole way down the hallway.
That night the bedding was needy, full of heat and sweat and barely stifled groans as he buried himself in your hole repeatedly, filling and then overfilling you with his thick white seed. He made it feel like he was doing it for more than just his duty, for more than a need to have an heir to his estate and titles. Especially when he stared into your eyes like that the whole time, his hands cupping your face, not giving you a chance to look away from him or hide yourself.
The next morning was spent in bed, lazy and soft, starting off with another round of coupling full of slow thrusts and sloppy kisses. Then it was breakfast in your shared bed, strawberries and whipped cream on the side that you both eagerly enjoyed, feeding each other by hand until a dollop of cream landed in the valley of your breasts, prompting him to bury his face between the soft mounds, licking away the mess and creating a whole new one that had neither of you leaving the bed til midday when he unexpectedly left again, adding another new key to your growing collection before he took off on horseback.
âFor the attic.â Heâd said hurriedly, servants scurrying around you trying to re-pack the carriage with his necessities, but it would still be a few hours behind him on the way to his destination. âItâs rather dusty so be sure to ask the maids to clean it before you go up there, Iâd hate for you to ruin your clothes.â
It was all he said before placing a tender kiss on your head then riding off, leaving you heartbroken and lonely, clutching the keyring to your chest. It took two days before you went into the attic, not even bothering to heed your husbandâs words, something you only slightly regretted and you inhaled a lungful of dust just after opening the door while two maids fretted at the bottom of the ladder, fearful of you falling and bumping your head, successfully killing the only bride their lord had ever had return his affections in full.
It was a boring place, the attic. Many stored trinkets and cloth, but some paintings and photographs as well. Most seemed to be of your husband as a child but there were a few of him more recently, poised and masked beside women in beautiful dresses with lovely smiles and tired eyes. You counted six different women in total.
His previous wives.
The sight of the photos left you nauseous and mournful, nearly dropping yourself down the ladder instead of climbing down, rushing past worried maids and into your chambers where you could successfully hide your tears in one of the pillows from Königâs side of the bed, still tinged with his scent. It was where you stayed for several days, barely eating, barely moving. A sniffling mess that couldnât be persuaded out of bed.
Not until he came home.
You didnât even realize it was him at first, too distracted by self pity and jealousy, sniffling occasionally. You didnât even see him, barely heard the door open. Only paying attention when the other side of the bed shifted and dipped beneath his weight, a sigh falling from his lips.
âAre you sick, Engel?â König asked, big hand reaching out to run along your arm until you pettily turned away, leaving his hand in the air, fingers twitching.
âNo.â You tell him, feeling him shift again, laying on his side and wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer, not giving you a chance to escape this time.
âThen what is it, Engel?â He asks, lips pressing against the back of your neck. âLet me make it better for you. I do not like seeing you so upset.â
You went quiet, choking on your tears as he rubbed his hand over your belly, nuzzling his nose against your shoulder in a way that was comforting even when you didnât want it to be.
âTell me.â He told you, voice on the edge of desperation and begging, and you were sure his eyes would be big and worried if you turned your head to see them.
âItâs stupid.â You finally end up saying when he started to press affectionate kisses to your shoulders and along your upper back.
âNothing you say is ever stupid, Engel.â He says, curling his fingers into your gown, holding it tight.
âI went into the attic.â You start, breathe hitching with a held back sob. âAnd I saw-I saw-â You couldnât bring yourself to say the words, turning your head as your body started to shake with renewed cries.
âWas it the paintings?â He guessed, seemingly taking his answer from the way you only sobbed louder. âOh, Mein Engel.â He mumbled, strong hands turning you away from your cocoon of safety and into his chest. âHush now, it will be okay. Iâm sorry. I will have them burned.â
âYou-You donât have to do that.â You try and say, though you knew it lacked the conviction you wanted it to.
âDonât be ridiculous.â He says, shaking his head. âThose womenâŠ.they never meant anything to me. But you mean the world.â He tells you, and you can practically feel your heart stopping before it sped up, practically a vibration in your chest. âYou are mein engel. I will burn them, and then I will fill the walls with pictures of you so that you will never forget what you are to me.â
âUs.â You say, red rimmed eyes finally peaking up at him through your lashes, sniffling softly. âPictures of us, you mean.â
âNo. Pictures of you.â He says, ducking his head to plant a kiss to your temple. âOnes of you in the garden, ones of you reading.â His lips twitched into a smirk as he started to whisper. âOnes of you spread and leaking.â
âKönig!â You say sharply, heat rising in your cheeks as he boomed out a laugh, cupping your face in his warm palms and planting a wet and heavy kiss against your lips.
âThose ones would be only for my eyes though, Engel.â He huffed, sitting up a bit to better adjust himself, thickening cock brushing against your thighs wantingly, straining through his trousers. âI would keep them close. Only take them out when Iâm lonely and missing you while Iâm away on business.â
You giggle nervously, digging your nails into his sides when he rolled over you, pinning you on your back beneath him, legs splayed open just for him.
It was several weeks before your husband left again, the paintings and pictures in the attic turned into ash and new ones of you and your love were placed all around the estate, some even still waiting to be finished up and framed. And it had been so so good. Every morning was woken in his arms and every night ended with him in yours. Hand feeding each other at dawn and sating other hungers at dusk. More perfect than any picture that was taken, then any dream you had. But you knew youâd have to wake up sometime.
The day he left again was even more heartbreaking than last time. The goodbye kisses lasted longer, the desperation ever growing, clinging to each other like that could somehow make his duties disappear.
âIâll be back in a fortnight.â He whispered against your lips, the carriage driver prudently looking away, keeping his eyes skyward so as not to make you feel awkward at the intimate display. âUntil then, take this.â He said.
What he handed you was another key, this one large and iron, so unexpectedly heavy that you almost dropped it when he slipped it into your open palm.
âWhat is this for?â You ask, brine shimmering at the corners of your eyes, a losing fight to hold back the tears.
âIt is for the basement.â He says, placing another parting kiss on the tip of your nose. âBut you must promise me not to go in. It is very important, Engel.â
âWhatâs in the basement?â You asked, watching his eyes harden before he forced them to soften, his hand tightening around yours.
âRats.â He said, voice stern and rough. âLots and lots of rats. And mildew. So do as I say, Engel, and stay out of it. I do not wish to stay by your sickbed as you foam at the mouth from rabies or burn away from a fever.â
âThen why give me the key at all?â You ask, trying to hand it back only to be met with him slipping it into your pocket.
âBecause this is your home too, Engel. It is only fair that you should be able to open every door to it.â He says, pressing his forehead to yours for a few moments before pulling away entirely, taking a deep breath. âAnd I trust you to heed my words and stay out of that room.â
âI will.â You say, grasping onto his sleeve before he could fully pull away. âI love you. Be safe. For me.â
âIch liebe dich.â König parroted, eyes soft like warm butter on toast. âI am always safe, Engel.â
And that was it, the last words he said to you before riding away, leaving you standing and watching his carriage til it was too far gone to see. Til not even a speck was left on the horizon and the sun disappeared behind the mountains.
It was a week before you disobeyed your husband.
A week of curiosity gnawing at you like a little beast deep in your chest, eating away at you piece by microscopic piece. Little bites turned into bigger bites so steadily that you barely even realized that it was growing and swallowing you up.
âCuriosity killed the cat.â Your motherâs voice whispered in your brain.
âBut satisfaction brought it back.â The voices of your sisters all giggled in unison.
It was what echoed in your head as you stood outside the door, key clutched in both hands as you stared at the lock apprehensively, conversing with yourself like a mad man before finally making up your mind and slipping the key into the hole, the grating of metal on metal an irritation to your ears. But the sound of the lock clicking open, that was a spark of excitement in the ocean of anxiety that had built in your belly.
The first thing you registered about the room was the darkness. Like a void had opened up somewhere in the room and ate away at the very fabric of the world. You couldnât see more then two feet in front of you, even with the lantern at your side.
The second thing you noticed was the smell.
Putrid, disgusting, foul. It hit your nose so hard that tears instantly welled in your eyes and you retched, mouth gaping as your breakfast tried to escape you to spill onto the rocky flooring. You stumbled in the darkness, trying to backpedal only to trip over your own feet and send your lantern skidding further into the room. Recklessly, you crawled after it, clothes catching on the jagged floor and tearing, the sound not even registering to you at first.
It was just as you caught the handle to the light that you saw it.
Fingers outstretched in the dark, splayed across the grey stone.
You froze, breath catching in your throat for so long that you went light-headed, eyes lasered in on those pale digits. Small fingers, delicate and smooth. Strangely, you thought of your motherâs hands. The feel of them straightening your clothes or cupping your cheeks.
Trembling, you raised the lantern just the slightest bit higher, choking on your own vomit when you saw it.
A heap of flesh and bone lying in the middle of the floor, bodies upon bodies, each in such varying degrees of decay that it was akin to a diagram. The bottom piece just a skeleton, no flesh to cling to anymore. And the topâŠ.she looked almost pristine from the angle you saw. Beautiful black curls and pink lips, milky eye staring into your soul, begging you for mercy. For help.
But when you reached out to touch her, to feel for a pulse, to help, her skull caved in and the mass writhed, maggots crawling out of mouths and ears, from skulls and arms.
You screamed so loud that even your mother and sisters must have heard you, all the miles away that they were.
âOh, Engel.â Your husbandâs voice called out behind you, followed by the heavy slam of the basement door. âI told you not to come in here.â
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The König piece is fucking DONE. Begone, foul beast. Leave my docs!!!!
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Need to stop making more WIPs. Anyways, started a little 141 x AMAB!Reader WIP đ€
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