#aph x reader

[married-to-google-translater]

Can I request Russia x female reader where S/O tells Ivan how much she loves him? He's a big sweetie who needs love! (Just some cute stuff where someone says that they love Russia without being creepy and related to him)

This GIF is gold lol.

Ivan Braginski

You and Ivan would have a really good relationship.

Except that he would be a little unsure that you would leave him.

You wouldn't be the first person.

Some days he would be more insecure than others.

And on those days, he would need reassurance that you love him.

Or you don't and you notice that a tracker has appeared on your phone XD

Today would be one of those days when he would be insecure and need love.

Maybe he had a nightmare where you left him.

And even if this was a dream it would shock him badly.

Ivan would need you to tell him how much you love him…

And of course lots of hugs and kisses.

One kiss is definitely not enough.

This goes on for at least half an hour.

If you also tell him verbally how much you love him that would also help a lot.

Bonus points if you can speak Russian...

Ivan would really feel better.

He would really believe you when you said you don't want to leave him.

You might still get a tracker on your phone… Because why not.

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

So I was reading Phantom of the Opera and some of Erik's descriptions made me think so much of Gil! I remembered how amazing your Hades and Persephone fic was, and I was hoping you could do something with the Phantom too? Thanks so much!!!!

Hello, Anon! I absolutely adored Erik in the book, and now that I read your ask, I can easily see the similarities, too~ I grew up on a weird blend of the book, musical, and both the 2004 and Lon Chaney films; I tried to honor that blend in this a bit, but a majority was pulled from memories of the book. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for your patience~

The theatre was filled to bursting, the audience awed, riveted, mesmerized, your voice weaving an enchantment over hundreds of unsuspecting admirers.

He was proud of you.

Your voice reached him even in the highest and most of isolated rafters, a platform forgotten- abandoned- by the stagehands stationed several stories below. Your voice was full, carrying all of the strength and conviction and passion as the character you were playing.

Gone was the timid spirit he had stumbled upon all those years ago, broken and shattered from loss, left with only the protections of a then-aloof guardian and a firm, dispassionate teacher.

He was drawn to you from that first day, a twist of compassion, of understanding; in spite of your upbringing and (even then) impressive talent, you were still an outsider, your peers and the other students keeping their distance, leery of your background, and some envious even then.

Yes, the companionship and camaraderie would come in time, but in those first few months, he saw the same loneliness and sadness in you he'd once carried so heavily himself, and his heart ached to comfort you.

The first time he spoke to you was purely accidental, a slip of a whisper he prayed you would dismiss as a ghost, or mere imagination. He had grown too comfortable in answering you when you were alone, his voice always near silent as you spoke to your mother, your father, and sometimes the angels themselves.

It was the latter with which you had caught him, crying out with a broken heart after discovering another student had sabotaged your satin slippers, intent on seeing your failure, your embarrassment, and (as likely was the case with that particular little shrew) your dismissal from the school.

But you persevered, successfully completed your performance, never once showing your distress until you were away from the others. It was only then, hidden away in a forgotten practice room that you showed your anger, your sadness, your hopelessness. The mask had fallen, and he was once again struck by the beauty of the fractured soul he admired so deeply.

"Please," you whispered, and it broke his heart to hear it, "I feel so alone."

It ached, being unable to comfort you, seeing your progress and healing of the past few months tested so needlessly. He ached for you; he was angry for you.

"You are not alone."

It was a fleeting, foolish slip, his temper and his longing both getting the better of him. Your sudden silence choked his own breath, his entire body freezing in terror.

For a moment, for an eternity, there was naught but silence.

He didn't dare move, fearful of how even the slightest shift of fabric could give him away, could startle you, could-

"I was half-afraid I had gone mad, speaking with shadows and expecting them to finally reply."

You were... teasing him, only a little, though at the time he was still petrified that you would demand he reveal himself. You had moved closer to the false panel, studying it closely, seeking out any faults that might give away its secrets. For a moment, your eyes were perfectly level with his own, and he feared you could hear his heart racing in his chest.

But soon enough you had drawn away, crestfallen. "Perhaps I have gone mad," you murmured, sighing in defeat. "Perhaps the rumors are true, and you are nothing but a ghost."

Memories of his time spent serving in the court of a distant empire flickered to memory, a rueful sound resembling laughter slipped past his defenses. "Of the many things they may wish and claim me to be, dead is not yet among them."

Your focus once more returned to the panel, and he instinctively took a step back. "Please-" he began, quickly cutting himself off.

Where others would have pressed forward, you paused, then took several steps away from the wall, granting him his distance, a warm sense of appreciation, and another he couldn't name at the time, sparkling to the surface at the warm breath of relieved laughter you released soon after. "You- You're really there."

That moment, one he could still so clearly remember as the peripeteia, the decided, unexpected change to a familiar script, one which would set the trajectory of both of your lives for the next ten years. It would lead to many late nights spent in practice, in conversation, in debates about the literary characters you loved so dearly. "I am always here."

Your aria had drawn to a close, the spell broken by the deafening roar of the audience's applause, and Gilbert was pulled from his memories, unable to conceal his smile.

Brava, Schatz. Bravissima.

He stood to his full height and began to make his way towards the nearby ladder.

For your role, another scene yet remained- a joyful reunion between your character and the valiant hero following the defeat of the jealous villain, a happy end to a romance so riddled with tragedy.

Gilbert needn't see the ending; it was a tale as old as time.

His footsteps were silent and certain, following a path he could traverse in his sleep; he had already paced it many times in his dreams.

Of all the false doors he had constructed in his opera house, there was one he had yet to pass through, one which now loomed before him. The room beyond was bathed in the ethereal golden glow of candlelight, a world outside of the darkness, fueling even more of the torment already plaguing his mind.

He was haunted by his doubts, by his need to... His need to properly introduce himself.

You had risen so high, could fly even higher, could rise above anything the fools in this theatre could ever hope to imagine. With your voice, your grace, your elegance, and your perspicacity, he had no doubts you could soar to a realm where only angels once dare tread. Perhaps it was wrong to want to burden you, to-

Movement on the other side of the glass brought his thoughts once more to a standstill. You were laughing, carefree, glowing with happiness and a brilliant light which followed everyone through the corridors after a triumphant performance. His heart fluttered to see you so beautifully framed, a living portrait he yearned to touch.

He frowned at the thought.

These feelings...

He had cared for you when you first arrived, a deep friendship slowly growing, even as he never allowed you to glance upon him. Slowly, then almost in an erupting whirlwind, those feelings had adapted, deepened, solidified. He was left hoping, wishing...

You were an Angel, in the most benevolent, compassionate of ways, but even an Angel would surely shun a Devil's Child.

For that was what his eyes and his appearance had always been: that of a devil. And surely-

Another figure was entering the room, and you were quick to abandon the comfort of your velvet settee, rushing to embrace-

No.

You were laughing, falling into conversation with an ease that only came-

You were familiar with this... this boy.

Perhaps even intimate, his traitorous thoughts interfered, the herald to the invasive darkness which followed.

It was a cold, bitter thing, rising from the depths, twisting and corrupting his every breath.

He had been careless, allowing you your freedom, allowing you to slip away to the gilded sanctuary of your guardian's maison de ville.

This boy dared to presume he could even look upon you, let alone embrace you, speak with you so candidly, even addressing you by your given name-

Gilbert felt his rage, his envy, grow stronger, even as that bedamned Raoul finally departed for the evening, leaving your bright smile in his wake.

You often called Gilbert your "Angel of Music," a bringer of light to your once dreary and dark days. You used it affectionately, a term of endearment for one you saw as a companion, a compatriot in curiosity.

But much like his namesake, Gilbert was Fallen, cursed, a creature of shadows and Night.

It took so little to pull him back into the Darkness, and now, with the sting of envy plaguing his every thought, Avarice and Doubt whispering in his ear, his ambitions had changed.

You were his.

He would ensure no one else could dare claim you, would have the slightest chance at your heart.

With skill honed from years of practice, Gilbert silently slid open the trap door, his voice carrying over to you in a tone he himself barely recognized. "Insolent boy. The impertinence of him, sharing in our triumph."

You startled at his voice, turning to him instinctively, your eyes widening in disbelief, before you graced him with your brightest smile yet.

Your joy glittered with more radiance than any star in the heavens, but its glimmer eclipsed your awareness, obscuring the darkness in the figure stealing ever closer.

"Hello, Engel."

Thanks for reading!

Special shout-out to @the-scribe-and-her-scribbles for unwittingly inspiring me today to finally sit down and write. She's an amazing writer, and if you haven't checked it out already, I highly recommend her ongoing series It Will Come Back.

[doki-doki-imagines]

Hey there! Can I have a headcanons request of Germany, England and France who have darlings that are quite, calm, introverted and composed most of the time but during their game/fight. Their darling can be very intimidating and dangerous as their rival would be afraid of them (If you know KNB. They are like Akashi Seijuro)

Ludwig Beilschmidt:

-He is so surprised. Like, shocked.

-You have always been so cute and nice…totally didn’t expect that and at first, he thinks it is a joke.

-But Ludwig can’t say he isn’t intrigued by this new side of your personality…unless you get violent. That is a big no-no for him.

-He’ll try to bring that side of you out, not often, but mostly to understand when and with whom it comes out.

-Yeah, he will study you lol. A way to understand every shade of you.

Arthur Kirkland:

-He worries a lot!

-Not for you, for the rival obviously.

-He can recognize the aura around his partner, he and Francis often get it when they meet.

-Gonna kiss your forehead after you destroy your rival and go back home.

-He had to reprimand you in front of others because he is a gentleman, but his true self is so proud of you.

Françis Bonnefoy:

-As Arthur, he recognized the aura around you immediately.

-He has to admit that he prefers your nice and more introverted side of personality.

-Mostly because he doesn’t want you to get hurt.

-Like, it is hot how good you kick ass, but please don’t get hurt, Françis likes to wear his nurse outfit for entirely different motivations.

[appleandsnow]

Vash and Walks

You're taking a walk with Vash after tea.

Sometimes you wonder if it would be awkward to compliment all the natural beauty around you.

It was, after all, all part of Switzerland.. so would complimenting nature be the equivalent of complimenting his appearance?

It was a strange thought and even stranger to ask, so, instead you hold his hand and squeeze it twice - a gesture you had come to share.

He blushes and gives you two squeezes back

[opticfile]

hi there! i absolutely adore your writing it's so scrumptious !!!!!!!

i was wondering if i could request an alfred x depressed! gn! reader drabble? where reader has just been stuck in a major depressive episode for weeks and yeah, you can take it wherever you'd like. thank you so much! :))

✧ thank you?? for the req?? this is the first one I've gotten and its not for genshin YIPPEEEEE,,,,, also warning my only point of reference for a depressive episode is my own experience so I'm sorry if this doesn't represent what its like completely accurately!! i also didnt want to like be too heavy in "you're so sad rn!!1!!!1! and depressed!!!!1!!111!!!!" so i tried to make it like,,, moreso implied? I'm doing my best here D: also had no clue how to end it LMAO

—✦ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 // insinuations of depression, self loathing, fluff, bathtime teehee, completely sfw

1.7k words

Alfred wiped his feet on the welcome mat in front of your apartment’s door. He transferred a few of the grocery bags from his right hand to his left and fished his keys out of his coat’s pocket, humming gently to himself. The air was humid and chilly; he just wanted to see you but when he walked into your home he did not find the warmth he usually found.

Your apartment was like a warm hug to Alfred. On cool fall days, you’d have a space heater on low in your living room and a candle burning in the kitchen. He would walk in and take a deep deep breath and smile. Your couch was plush and there were countless pillows adorning your bed and no matter where he was sitting he felt encompassed by warmth.  He found comfort in your home, and in your arms.

But today, he did not hear your voice call out for him when his boots hit your crooked rug.

The first thing his eyes found was days-old take-out boxes on your coffee table. He frowned, browline creasing as he suddenly felt this unease in his soul. It wasn’t like you to leave take-out boxes just sitting on your coffee table, especially not for days at a time, and the slight smell of old, possibly rotting, food was only deepening his frown. 

He ventured deeper into your kitchen and was met with dishes piled in the sink and grains of sugar still lingering on your countertops. The kitchen towel that was usually hooked over your oven’s handle had fallen to the mat below it and was piled upon itself. He gently placed the grocery bags in his hand on your floor, turning from the sheer mess in your kitchen to find you. He just wants to see you, he just wants to see you, he just wants to see-

You were curled up in your blankets dead-center on your bed. There were pillows discarded on the floor and clothes sprawled out across it. The corners of your room were collecting dust bunnies that looked as if they were huddling for warmth and shivering in the cold atmosphere of your home. Your phone was held loosely in your hand as your chest rose and fell.

Alfred turned on his heel.

Alfred was always told he knew how to lift someone's mood. He’s been called a golden retriever, a ray of sunshine, cheer incarnate. He’s always been able to make people laugh with any old joke he threw out, and he’s always been able to have a good time no matter what obstacles stood before him. Some people thought his joy and optimism were extreme, too much, annoying, obnoxious. Alfred has always been sunny, but even the weather got cloudy for him, sometimes. 

(and for you it was storming, and he wanted to be your umbrella)

But he was always told he could make anyone smile, and for you? He would give everything to see you smile.

So he grabbed your sponge and pumped it full of dish soap and got to work.

Your eyes were reluctant to open. 

Rain pounded against your bedroom window, your phone buzzed with the sound of a random YouTube video you weren't watching as you removed your hand from it and turned over in your bed. Your legs were tangled in the sheets—the ones you probably should wash soon—and the air was musty. If it weren't for the obvious shuffling you heard in the rest of your apartment you would stay like that and wallow in self-pity.

Your feet hit the cold hardwood and you made a mental note to find your slippers after you figured out who was in your home (you already had an idea of who it was judging from the light humming). You felt the grime and dust beneath your skin and you frowned. You really needed to sweep.

Your door opened with a creek.

You hated seeing the disgusting state of your home, you were ashamed of it frankly. You needed to clean and yet had none of the motivation to do it so you just sat in your dirt and grit your teeth. The smell in the air was heavy and stuffy and only reflected how you felt inside. You had been getting nothing done, no work, no chores, not even your little hobbies you did for fun were bringing the joy they usually did. 

But by far the place you avoided the most was the kitchen. The kitchen was nothing but one big chore. Dishes piled up and stains on your counter and spills down your cabinets were the only things you could see in that disgrace of a room. You didn’t even want to cook, it's not like you even could with the messy state of your stove, either. So the takeout boxes on your coffee table (which were now missing) stood as evidence of your laziness and poor habits and frankly you were sick of yourself can you do anything right-

“Y/n?” An all too familiar voice called out from the kitchen, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” You responded, voice groggy and mouth thick.

You rounded the corner to see Alfred drying his hands off with a fresh kitchen towel. Your kitchen was… spotless. Alfred flashed you that bright grin of his, pearly whites lined up perfectly straight, and you let yourself relax a bit as you waddled over to your lover.

You found comfort in Alfred’s smile, in his arms. In that sunny warmth of his that he always carried with him. It felt like the skies were clearing up when he wrapped himself around and nuzzled into your hair, kissing the top of your head and ignoring the fact your hair was a bit greasy and unwashed. Alfred didn't care. That’s why you loved him. Er, that’s not the only reason, but it sure did help that he could hold your hand as you puked your guts out from food poisoning and he would still kiss you after. 

“Hi.” You murmured into his chest as his arms tightened around you.

“Hey, baby,” He laid another kiss on your head, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” 

“Feelin’ ok? A little stormy?” He ran his nails along your scalp and scratched a metaphorical spot that no one else could even find in your soul as you nodded into his chest. “D’ya wanna take a bath?”

“Mhm.” You spoke weakly, eyes filling with tears at the sheer amount of care in his voice as he rubbed your back.

“Hey, look at me,” Alfred pulled back gently, hand now finding your cheek, “No crying, the hero’s here, remember? I’ll save you.”

You frowned. The hero. Alfred always was your knight in shining armor no matter what the issue was. When you got fired Alfred was the one to buy your groceries and pay your bills and help you with your resume. When you got food poisoning from a seafood restaurant he took you on a date to he was the one to buy you medicine and rub your bad when your stomach was killing you from the inside out. And now he’s the one who’s squeezing shampoo into his palms and rubbing it on your scalp while you choke on your own sobs.

He raked his hands through your hair and rubbed circles into your head and down your neck to try and soothe you as you fell apart in his hands and let everything out. It was the kind of breakdown that was snotty and ugly but Alfred still saw nothing but perfection in every part of your face. From the tear droplets caught in your eyelashes to the curve of your nose to the shape of your chin, he saw nothing but the love of his life.

He took the showerhead down and returned to his knees by the tub, water soaking through his jeans and socks as he kneeled next to you to wash your hair. He had you sit up a bit and put his hand on your forehead to shield your eyes from the water as he rinsed the shampoo from your hair and whispered nothing but love. Hiccups bubbled from your ribcage as you came down from the peak of your crying and let your nails scratch your legs, peeling dead skin away in red stripes.

“Feel better?” Alfred slathered some conditioner on your hair. 

“Mhm.” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” He raked his hands through your hair gently, “I would’ve come over sooner.”

“I wanted to, I just forgot.” You frowned, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I love you.” Alfred took the shower head and started rinsing out your hair again.

“I love you too, Alfie.”

He grinned at the nickname, heart fluttering against his ribs.

He stood from his place by the tub and stretched out a hand to help you out of the bath, handing you a fresh towel. He took one of your hand towels and draped it over your head, smiling brightly at you as you wrapped the towel around yourself and pulled you into his arms. Your skin was still damp and the air was hot and foggy as he wet his t-shirt with the water dripping from your hair.

The door opened and in flooded crisp, cool air as the steam fluttered out of the bathroom and the smell of a burning candle invaded your senses. 

You rummaged through your dresser and found a t-shirt and pajama pants, pulling them on before making your way into the living room to see Alfred fiddling with your T.V. remote.

“What’d’ya wanna watch?”

“Something funny,” You responded, plopping yourself down onto your couch and laying back on it. 

“Sounds good to me,” Alfred murmured as he crawled into your arms, sprawling himself over you as gently as possible so he wouldn't smother you.

“Do you wanna order takeout?” You ran your hands through his hair as your attention was grabbed by the T.V.

“Sure.” He nuzzled into your neck and finally relaxed in your arms, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

✧ navigation.

[hetaliaimaginesin2022]

This is for me, I love women and I love cute little games

Ukraine Playing Stardew Valley With Her S/O

Ukraine • Irunya Chernenko

Being a farmer with a love of cute things herself, the game piqued her interest when she saw you playing it at your computer

She asked a few questions, sitting in a chair next to you watching as you worked on your crops

Her obvious intrigue caused you to ask if she wanted to play, and when she said yes, you started a new game file for her and helped teach her how to play, and before you realized, you both had been taking turns playing for a few hours

That's when you decided to get the game for her so you could play together (she had a personal laptop she used for country business, so you decided that would work) so the next day, you helped her set up her Steam account and start the game

Once you begin playing it together, she's very giggly, excited to be doing something cute with you

She takes very good care of the crops while you're off fishing or in The Mines, finding herself really enjoying the in-game farming

She also really excited when she finds out you can take care of livestock too

Another aspect she enjoys is the cabin building aspect, expanding your home and furnishing it with different, cute little decorations, taking your own tastes into consideration while still trying to make it feel homey

When she finds out you can get married in the game, she shyly asks if you want to marry her with a giggle

On her free time, when she's stressed, she will play the game on a file different from the one you play with her on

She finds the game remarkably calming

[suvidrache]

Germany As A Father

age in bio when interacting. minors do not interact.

Word Count: 154 | Read it on AO3

Germany, as a father, he would have a routine.

Kids need consistency.

He wants them to do well.

He doesn't realize when he is being too hard and would apologize for his behavior.

He doesn't want them to fail, but he also doesn't want to be overbearing on them.

He would make sure that they're as safe as he could get them.

He would allow them to adventure and see things, but either he was with them or a bodyguard.

He feels like he needs to protect them, but at the same time, he's doing too much. He feels like he's not doing enough, and he's made mistakes. He wants to try to be perfect and make no mistakes. It bothers him when he makes mistakes. It bothers him that he isn't doing enough.

He might also read. Books on parenting? He's reading them, trying to follow the advice, and still failing. He's trying.

© SUVIDRACHE — do not copy, translate, modify, or plagiarize my work. reblogs are appreciated!

Tag List: @eli-chris, @sunmoongoddess, @117s-girl / Join my tag list here!

[sh1-n0bu]

congrats on reaching 300 followers!!! may i request for hetalia? (i’m not sure on the maximum amount of characters allowed so i’ll make a list, you can skip anyone you don’t want to write for) how would scotland, wales, spain, portugal, france and northern ireland deal with an s/o who’s always lost in their thoughts? like they’re always imagining up complex storylines with their own characters, impossible scenarios, procrastinating, giving themselves unnecessary anxiety, and it’s turned to maladaptive daydreaming at this point. they know this, and they say they’re trying to change, but deep down they really don’t want to because reality hurts, and they’d rather be lost in their own little world instead. am i self-inserting too much? probably-

✿ 𝙞’𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙 ✿

characters: francis (france), allistor (scotland), dylan (wales), antonio (spain) and siamas (northern ireland) x nb!reader

warnings: hints of maladaptive daydreaming, disassociation, insomnia, existential crisis, comfort, fluff, light angst

notes: phew it has been so long since i had last watched hetalia so i had to watch a lot of vids, comps and read the fandom articles to remind myself of them lmao. with that the characters also might come off OOC

hetalia fandom r u still alive????? if so then yall better prepare bc once my inbox gets flooded with hetalia reqs im gonna terrorize yall🕴🕴

francis is a romantic through and through and due to that he daydreams as well. whether it be romantic dates or acts you and him could do together, recreating gentle scenes from his favorite romance novels, plan out your date and anniversaries - francis is a romantic soul and he feels your daydreaming problem to a certain degree.

whenever he notices you suddenly go quiet, eyes hazy and unfocused, staring at something while fiddling with the strands of your hair, nails, the strings of your hoodie or anything you can get your hands on, the man would let out a sigh and sit behind you. pulling your body close to himself and slowly rocking you both back and forth gently - waiting patiently for you to come back to the real world.

but sometimes francis just can’t help but get a little bit selfish. wanting your attention only on himself but he knows it’s wrong.

so that’s why, when you stepped into your shared home with the blond after another draining day at work, he had already prepared a tea party setup with your favorite novel’s theme, dressed up as your favorite character with a charming smile and gentle eyes. candles lit, the freshly baked goods’ scent wafting through the air enough to make you drool alongside a hot, steaming marble pot filled with a chamomile tea.

“mon amour, would you care for a tea with me?”

before you two started dating, allistor thought of your stimming and daydreaming moments as something familiar to his brother, arthur.

perhaps you saw something that the normal people couldn’t see and interact with them like his little brother, so the redhead didn’t ask anything of it nor did he thought it’s anything problematic. however he got smacked in the face by how deeply your maladaptive daydreaming problems run when after your date at the cafe together, you almost got hit by a car when crossing the street with unfocused eyes and slow, dragged steps.

since then, allistor took it upon himself to study and research more about the differences of daydreaming and maladaptive ones, what causes them to happen, the reason for one to end up having such an odd yet harsh behavior.

whenever you would end up stimming with your headphones plugged in, mindlessly and robotically going through your work with an eerie silence - the man would observe you for a while, trying to decipher if you’re slipping a bit too deep into the dreams before walking over to you and gently tapping on your shoulder.

when your lovely eyes would lock with his own bright blue ones he would give you a smile and reach out a hand. a silent invitation for a slow dance with him - a formerly talked upon agreement that you two made to help you reground again after another slip.

“dalrin’ would you care to share your dreams with me?”

dylan loves fantasy creatures and stories like his brothers and due to that the blond daydreams quite often as well. about the different mythical creatures, their origins, territory, how they would live and interact with one another - all sorts of things.

he tends to stim a lot without even noticing as well so dylan would be the best person to share your struggles of maladaptive daydreaming. not to mention the short man always carries around a big sponge or those cute, character shaped stress balls.

the first time when he found you completely unresponsive laying on your bed with your headphones in, dylan immediately knew what was going on. so he silently slipped into the bed next to you, held your hand in his own and rubbed slow circles into the flesh until you came back again.

since then you both had made a promise to each other to try and get better. slowly but surely working on your behaviors, problems and sudden slips. and it’s safe to say that you both had gotten better.

“cupcake! if you slip down the rabbit hole again then take my hand and drag me down with you! ‘cuz i don’t ever want to be without you.”

antonio is a bright and optimistic young man, however sometimes he comes off as blunt and insensitive due to him not fully being able to read the situation at hand.

perhaps it’s due to his inability to read the room that he was able to snap you out of your slip so easily and effectively when you two first met. a simple pat to your shoulder and voice asking you “what are you doing sitting around without doing anything for?” definitely stopped your daydreaming.

after you had said your answer to him in an unsure voice, the bright smile wearing man simple smiled even brighter and asked you if you wanted to be friends.

and since then antonio and you two became friends. meeting up in small shops, restaurants, gardens, everywhere anywhere all at once until one day after almost 2 years of friendship the young man asked you if you would like to take your relationship a step further.

whenever he finds you stimming with your fingers while gazing at someplace far away, he just can’t help but get a bit sad. you wanted to be someplace that’s not here and antonio didn’t want you to go somewhere where he can’t be with you.

so he would always rubs simple shapes into your hand or shoulder, giving you an unusually melancholic smile with his pinky raised.

“pinky promise to always come back from your wonderland to me?”

siamas is a loud and chatty fellow - the perfect human representation of a golden retriever if only he had blond hair instead of red.

it was all thanks to his bright personality that you have been getting better and better at regrounding yourself back again when alone.

when siamas first saw your behavior with his own eyes he immediately knew what it was. so the redhead calmly walked over to your sitting form on the couch, kneeling before you and started to plant butterfly kisses on your cheeks. trailing them slowly over your acnes/moles/freckles until you snapped back and let out a giggle at his sweet antics.

he always has a lot of different toys, chibis and cute little bracelets connected to his keychain so whenever you two are going out kn a walk or a date, when he feels your hand become loose in his own he would proudly pull out his keychain and put one of the toys into your hand. gently squeezing yours - which is holding the toy - in his own, giving you a smile and a proud kiss to your forehead when you ground yourself back.

“welcome back honey. so what do you think of getting for dinner today?”

[flannel-cladpika]

Hot Cocoa - Human!Sweden x F!Reader

A/N: Wrote this many years ago, but decided to come back to it and touch it up a bit.

TW: Fluff

The sound of wood being cut was the first thing to greet your ears as you opened your eyes. 

You looked out the frost-covered window beside your bed, only to see the familiar tall stature of your blonde housemate out in the mid-calf deep snow, wielding an axe and cutting up logs in only a sweatshirt and thick pants.

You reached for your phone on your bedside table. It was still only 7 in the morning and the current temperature outside was -28 degrees C.

You sighed. "He knows better than to go out without his coat."

You'd known the "Nordics" since childhood, and had grown up in the same neighborhood as them for a few years. Even when they all moved back to their homelands, you all still kept in contact regularly.

When you had decided to moved into an apartment in Sweden, you were welcomed by all your friends with a party and booze, which ended with a very drunk Matthias needing to be cared out the door by Tino and Lukas while Emil and Berwald looked on in a mixture of amusement and disapproval.

However, about a month into your stay, your apartment was flooded due to a plumbing issue, and left you with nowhere to stay for at least a few months. Berwald came to help you pack up everything that could be salvaged, and even offered up his home for you to stay in. You had agreed, thankful for his generosity.

You didn't know that you'd be finding yourself still staying there a year later, since the house was three times the size of your apartment and Berwald had insisted that you stay with him instead of going back to that "run-down place". He had a point. The place was old and there was always something that needed to be fixed.

Even after having stayed with the Swede for over a year, you still worried for his health whenever he went out into the cold underdressed.

So, after climbing out of your comfy nest of blankets and putting on the fluffiest coat in the closet along with your thickest sweatpants and snow boots, grabbed Berwald’s parka and headed out into the snowy wonderland.

“Berwald!” you called as you opened the back door, stepping outside and immediately noticing how the snow came up to your knees.

Said man stilled his axe at the sound of your voice. The male turned to see an image that made him almost chuckle.

There you were, trudging through the deep snow, bundled up in the large white fluffy coat he bought you (which he bought because he thought you looked cute in it), carrying his parka in your arms. You looked like a little snowshoe hare.

However, he soon became worried once he remembered how cold it was, and instead walked towards you to meet you half-way.

You reached up and put the large coat around the Swede’s shoulders, sighing as you did so. “Ber, I know you’re used to the cold, but you’re still human, and you need to stay warm! How many times must I remind you?” you scolded softly, not a trace of malice in your tone.

The man’s eyes softened at your actions, proceeding to put his arms through the sleeves of the winter garment. “Tack.” he replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

You smiled. "You're welcome. Now, I'm going to head in and go make us something warm. I'll see you inside." 

He nodded and turned back to the pile of yet to be chopped wood.

Stepping through the snow, you made your way back, taking off your coat and snow-covered boots once inside and changing into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt that said 'Let Me Have My Coffee First.' It had been a gift from Berwald, and while it was too big to wear out, you found that it made the perfect sleep-shirt.

You contemplated what to make as you looked through the fridge and cabinets. Having found milk, heavy cream, and chocolate, you decided that hot chocolate was a good option.

Just as you grabbed a medium pot that was hanging, you heard the back door open, letting in a small gust from outside.

You peeked out from the corner of the kitchen to look at the man who'd just come in.

It was a little comical. 

There he was; coat, pants, and boots all caked in snow, and a large arm-full of chopped logs in his hold. His hair and eyelashes still had snow stuck to them too, reminding you that you should’ve brought him his hat too.

You smiled a little before returning to the kitchen, hearing the blonde setting down the wood in the metal firewood holder next to the fireplace in the living room.

"I'm done with the firewood." the man stated aloud in his usual monotone and heading upstairs, likely to change out of his current clothes and into something more comfortable.

"Ok! Just starting on the hot cocoa!" you called from the kitchen, pouring the milk and heavy cream into the pot as you put the heat to medium-low.

After a bit, you heard Berwald come back down the stairs and head into the living room. You heard him opening the flue of the chimney and putting logs into the fireplace as well as the sound of him striking a match.

You smiled at the thought of a nice warm fire to sit by.

You continued to smile as you absentmindedly stirred the milk and cream, making sure the mixture didn't scorch.

After a few minutes of stirring and then adding the chocolate and a bit of cocoa powder to undercut the sweetness, you finally turned the stove off and went to grab two mugs from the cupboard.

Unfortunately, the mugs were on the top shelf and you couldn't quite reach them, though it wasn't without trying.

Suddenly, there was a toned chest pressed against your back and a muscular arm steadied on the counter to the your right while the other reached up and easily grabbed both the handles of the mugs you were hoping to get.

"Here you go." Berwald said, backing up to hand you the cups and look into your eyes as you turned around to face him.

You had to suppress the blush that wanted to creep onto your cheeks from the blonde's close proximity. He wore a pair of black sweatpants that seemed to hang off his hips, and a grey t-shirt that hugged his form just enough that you could make out the faint outlines of his muscular figure.

"Thank you." you said as calmly as you could, turning back to the stove with the mugs.

"No problem. I'll go get some blankets." the male stated, heading off towards the hallway closet.

You let out a small breath of relief before pouring the chocolatey contents of the pot into the two cups and adding some mini marshmallows from the pantry.

You walked into the warm, fire-lit living room with the two mugs in hand. Berwald opened up the large fuzzy blanket he'd grabbed and motioned for you to get under the covers. You carefully sat down next to him on the couch, offering him the mug that said "Viking Life" on it.

The icy-blue-eyed man hummed in satisfaction once he took a sip of the hot beverage, a miniscule smile on his lips.

"It's good." he stated plainly.

"Thanks." you replied, scooting slightly closer.

"(Y/n)?" the man asked, turning toward you .

"Yeah?" you responded turning your head to face the man whom you'd slowly grown to love over the past year.

Just as you faced the blonde, he leaned down and kissed you, catching you off guard. It wasn't forceful or needy, but it wasn't entirely chaste either. It felt like a kiss that you’d give your spouse as you left for work. 

Your cheeks bloomed with a red that would’ve put the Danish flag the shame.

“W-Wha-” you began, before being cut off.

"Jag älskar dig. I want you to marry me." Berwald said without a hint of hesitation or jest.

Your eyes widened as you took in that information. After a few moments however, you began to laugh.

"Is something funny?" Berwald asked, genuinely confused.

You sighed. "Ber, you can't just say you want to marry me when we haven't even dated." you explained.

"Do you love me?" the blonde asked, still straight-faced and no sign of being nervous.

You blushed at the question, but shyly nodded.

"Do you not want to marry me?" he followed up.

The blush on your cheeks only reddened. 

"I never said that." you replied.

"Then what is the problem?" the Swede inquired, seeming not to understand the issue.

"Berwald, we haven't dated or even had any kind of romantic relationship. Wouldn't you say that it's a bit too early for us to get married?" you asked.

The Nordic man pondered your words for a moment. He’d loved you for a long time, and from your reaction to his kiss and your answers to his questions, you felt the same.

"No, I don't. We have lived together for over a year and we've known each other for a lot longer. I love you and you love me, so I don't see any problem." the man stated, as though he wasn't talking about one of the biggest decisions of a person's life.

"I-I, b-but...umm.." you stammered, trying to think up a rebuttal to that statement.

"Well, y-you don't even have a ring for me, so-" you started.

But you were promptly cut off by the man before you fishing into his pajama pants pocket and pulling out a little velvet box. He opened the lid to reveal a modest but beautiful silver ring with a small icy-blue gem in the center.

Your jaw dropped at the realization that he was completely serious about this.

"Will you marry me?" Berwald asks, a faint hint of a smile on his lips.

You sighed with a chuckle. There was just no convincing him, was there?

"I will." you answered with a smile, kissing the man’s chocolate-flavored lips as he put the ring on your finger.

-THE END-

A/N: Sorry I’ve been gone for a while! I swear I’m not dead! Just been low on motivation and inspiration. This took A LOT of rewriting, as I wrote this many years ago back when I was in high school. I’d say about half of this is rewritten or completely new additions to the original draft.

Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you guys enjoyed!

Translations

* Tack - Thank you

* Jag älskar dig - I love you

[dearestones]

Yandere! Belgium Headcanons

Warnings: Yandere character, yandere behavior, manipulation. 

Anonymous Request: Could I have headcanons for yandere Belgium?

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Platonic or not, Belgium will instantly act motherly and overwhelm you with affection. It doesn’t matter your race, your gender, or your interests, once she’s interested in you, she will forever be interested in you.

So what makes her interested in you in the first place? As a Nation who isn’t as flashy or as openly extraverted as many of her peers, she’s content with either people watching or hanging out in the background. What catches her eye, at first, would probably be the fact that you notice her first. Saying hello to her before meetings, carrying her things whenever she has trouble, or holding the door open for her is one of the many ways that you can steadily worm your way into her heart. She has bold, intriguing features, but she dresses in a way that is inconspicuous and not as fashionable as some of her neighbors. To know that you consistently look out for her in the crowd makes her heart flutter. 

Soon, Belgium’s mothering nature blooms into full fruition when she realizes how much she craves your presence in your life. Whenever you say hello to her while passing each other in the halls, she’ll immediately break away from her previous arrangements just so she can run up to you and wrap her arms around your figure. Hugs are basically her love language—second to making waffles and quality gourmet food, of course! 

Speaking of waffles, while she does have an insurmountable amount of pride in that beacon of deliciousness, that doesn’t mean she’ll woo you over with just that. Once she has you in her grasp—a hug! she loves her hugs—she’ll cook you her favorite comfort foods that not a lot of foreigners talk about when they visit her house. If you do beg for her Belgian waffles, she’ll roll her eyes in good nature, but don’t be surprised if she decides to feed you something completely different, but another signature of hers. 

She might ask you what made you so intent on noticing her in the first place. Was it because she was such a beautiful Nation? Her physical features that France even said were on par with his own beauty? Or was it something else? She’s obsessed with you no matter what you say, but consider your fate sealed when you say something that she doesn’t expect from you. 

Belgium’s fascination with you grows into an obsession. She would never resort to kidnapping you. Oh no. If anything, she’ll make you come to her. Willingly. Enticing someone like you would be easy, she thinks. If it was her physical features you found attractive, she’ll dress up just a smidge nicer to gain and keep your attention. If her food was the reason, she’ll shower you with meals until you decide to visit her house just so she doesn’t leave to give them to you. If it was something else, Belgium will be sure to enact or do it just to keep your attention only on her.

Belgium is a patient Nation. She has to be when she’s surrounded by her brothers of opposing personalities and the many powerful neighbors that have warred with each other in the past. However, while she is as patient as she is virtuous, she has a business mindset that has not disappeared in modern times. Every action that pertains to you—indirectly or directly—will be calculated many moves in advance. Chess has always been a longtime pastime for many Nations, what difference did it make that she was trying to mate you in the long game? Her every action is insidious, but you will never see it coming. Even if you ever have any doubts about her intentions, you might end up dismissing your instincts. It’s Belgium! She would never think about hurting you!

If you are far too enamored with her to ever think about leaving, Belgium’s motherly nature turns for the worse. She goes from meddling to mothering. From mothering to outright smothering. If you don’t set up boundaries right away, she will dictate what you eat, wear, what activities you should do, etc. Oh, you’re free to leave any time you want, but she just wants what’s best for you! And if you do successfully leave, then why do you feel so guilty? Why do you remember all the good times that you had with her? Please don’t fret if you find that your guilt outweighs your self-preservation; Belgium will make it all better!

Belgium will always make it better. 

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DISCLAIMER: I do not condone yandere behavior outside of fictional settings. Please don’t mistake the actions of fictional characters displayed in works of fiction to be considered harmless in real life.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

HETALIA AXIS POWERS/WORLD SERIES MASTERLIST

[hetaliatrashlife]

Fear of the Unknown - (Aph!America x Reader)

Hey guys, a longfic here I decided to fix up from my drafts! - 3,500 Words (Will hopefully be a second part if wanted!)

WARNING - Foul Languages and depictions of Kidnap, proceed with caution! 

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Awaking to the feeling of warmth, knowing that where I laid my head the night before definitely wasn't a warm and comforting place, sitting up quickly on edge as you were on a serious under cover mission and couldn't risk dawdling around. Throwing the covers off of you feeling around what you assumed to be the motels bedside table for your glasses, putting them on quickly, you felt the arms of someone wrap around you and snuggle into your back. You stiffened up, throwing the assailant out of bed and onto the floor, pinning his arm behind his back and shouting, "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" with a grunt, he turned to face you, vision still blurry due to the dim light, "(Y/N)...it's me? " Your eyes widened, how was your target here in bed with you? A literal hitman you'd been chasing most of your career, was just underneath you, you picked him up and pinned him to the wall, his back hitting with a loud thud as he winced, his face covered in concern and confusion, "Don't play dumb Jones, why in the world are you in my room huh? You're coming with me! " He grabbed your wrists before you could even try to begin placing the cuffs on him, "I don't know what's wrong with you, but I am a cop-", She looked at him and began laughing, "Is this another ruse? Another ploy huh? Impersonating a cop, what sick games are you up to now? " You ripped yourself from his grasp, disgusted by his touch. Alfred could do nothing but analyse the woman before him, she looked exactly like his partner (Y/N), but there was something about her...the usual vibrance in her eyes diminished to nothing but anger and hatred, Alfred knew it was directly pointed at him, his heart ached a little even amidst the confusion he disliked the thought of you hating him, "(Y/N)...I think you need to sit-", "STOP TALKING TO ME LIKE THAT! You don't get to be sweet with me you prick." Her words oozed hatred, with each glare Alfred felt his heart pang, "Please, can I explain something to you! " Her gaze didn't soften, but her grip on him sure did, especially when she began analysing the room, it definitely wasn't the cheap run down motel she had been staying in the night previously, this was more homely and sweet, "Did you genuinely kidnap me Jones? Trying to live out some fantasy? " She crossed her arms, still standing infront of him still cornering him into the wall, Alfred had never seen this sort of look from his partner, let alone the woman he loved and he knew that she was serious, the thoughts of amnesia quickly dissapated out of his mind when he saw your clothes, a shaggy black hoody, black ripped tank top stained to high hell, black skin tight jeans and scuffed combat boots laced up to the knee. You looked exhausted, almost worn down but there was still that fire in you, a fire he knew all too well. Alfred lifted his hands up slowly, moving to turn the light on and as he did you blinked a few times, to accustom yourself to the brightness, "Look (Y/N)...I think you're (Y/N) anyway, I'm Alfred Jones yes, but I work for the NYPD and I'm far from a wanted man..." You scoffed at him, "I hate liars." You grabbed your gun and pointed it straight at him, he waved his hands infront of him as he rushed into the draw from the cabinet you'd just picked your glasses up off, he grabbed a badge and slowly handed it to you, "Please just look, it's all legit you can even call my superior..." You raised an eyebrow as you snatched the ID badge, still holding the gun with one hand pointed at him, "Do you mind putting that do-", "No. Until I can prove you're some sort of replica and not the actual Jones I'm looking for you'll deal with it, okay? " Her words weren't questioning in any sense, they were orders...commands and the emotion behind them made Alfred shut up real quick. As you inspected the ID, he drank you in, your nails were chipped...brittle almost, your hair unkempt in a messy poytail, Alfred wondered how he'd allowed her to just over power him like this but then again...she was YOU...she even answered to your name, he couldn't bring himself to harm you even if it wasn't the you he remembered.

Peering down at the ID, your eyes widening in shock as he must've been telling the truth, all the details were there...but you couldn't trust him, thinking it could be a fake ID badge you knew you had one last safety check, making your way over to the side table next to Alfred once more and picking up the phone, dialling with one hand the number to his super intendant, "Hello, is this Mr Kirkland? " A british tone made it's way through the speaker, "Hello, yes it is. What can I help you with? " Your eyes shot wide, this was your...boss? But he sounded sweet, almost soothing, not like the rough englishman you grew up with, "E-Ermm...", "(Y/N) is that you? What's bloody happened? " Thinking exactly the same you shook your head, eyes darting straight at Alfred, "I'm not (Y/N), I bumped into your colleague and I just wanted to make sure that a Mr Alfred Jones is employed with you? " Her heart raced, head spinning almost as she came to the realisation that this...this wasn't her reality, it couldn't be. Things were too bright, too nice it seemed. "Well yes, of course he is why would you ask? " It felt like your world had been shattered, you were in some dream it seemed, the same man who had brutally killed people all over the USA was employed by the NYPD? Your hardened gaze fell slightly, the fear apparant as you placed the phone on the reciever, "I-I...I don't know what to think..." Your world had shattered in seconds, pinching yourself to make sure this was real and not some deluded nightmare your brain had convuluted from forgotten past memories. You walked up to the man still stood by the wall, your hand reached up to his face and gently rubbed his cheek, he seemed to invite the warmth of your touch but before he could reminisce you pulled back, "I...I don't know what sort of fucked up place I'm in, but me and you we're enemies...I've been hunting you down since I was eighteen, it's been eight years of constant under cover work and still never being able to stop you...you killed so many people...the piece of you I had from childhood died when I took my first case..." Alfreds eyes widened in horror, disgust even and he couldn't fathom ever being a cold hearted killer, let alone one that does it purely for money. You threw yourself down on the bed, defeated and more than a little torn. Alfred sat next to you, making you jump slightly he waved his hands infront of him once more, "Hey, I know the Alfred you deal with is like that but I seem to be the complete opposite...I understand you might be a little scared of me, but I want to help you find where you belong and I'd also like to find my (Y/N)-" He heard you laugh sorrowfully, "Your (Y/N) huh?...It's hard to imagine myself ever getting with you, no offence..." He smiled slightly, "None taken dude, now let's get changed and sort some kind of game plan out yeah? " You still couldn't believe this was Alfred, I mean you could because it reminded you of the piece of Alfred you hid deep down and kept under lock and key, the sweet caring boy he was before whatever happened snapped him into the evil monster he was now. But looking this Alfred up and down made your chest heave, "This is what I could of had huh? " You whispered to yourself, your eyeline boring into the carpet beneath you with so much intense sadness Alfred couldn't contain his emotions as he wrapped you in a hug, his hands gripping you so tightly as if he was scared you’d slip through them, your body once more stiffened up against his touch as it was so alien to you, "S-Sorry, it's just you look almost identical to my (Y/N) and I would always comfort her...if you don't like it, I can get off? " You felt tears prick at your eyes, they fell in heaps landing on clenched hands beneath you, succumbing to the comforting warmth of his touch, almost envious that another version of you got to enjoy each and every moment with him. Your eyes soon made their way to Alfred, noticing the man was..."E-Ermm...I am so sorry, but would you mind getting some clothes on?..." Your face heated up within seconds, the mans chiselled body so close to you, with each scar telling a story that you could only begin to imagine. "O-Oh I'm so sorry, of course!" He quickly parted from you, his touch lingering on your skin making it yearn for more. Seeing Alfred be this kind to you sent you into a whirlwhind, after spending most of your career chasing after the same man stood before you...but this wasn't him was it, it was the better version...the version you desperately begged for all these years, you couldn't help but satiate this fantasy for just a little while longer. You watched as he grabbed a couple of things from a dresser then throwing them at you, you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at him, "You look like you need a change of clothes and i'm more than sure you'll both be the same size..." You nodded quietly, unable to meet his gaze whilst he was still practically naked, "Thank you...", "You can call me something like a nickname if it's more comfortable for you? How about Alfie?" Eyes widening at the nickname, "I-I can't...Jones seems just fine for now..." He scratched the back of his neck, guessing that you had nicknamed your Alfred that too before he went all psycho killer, "Well I'll leave you to get dressed, meet me downstairs in the kitchen and I'll cook us up some breakfast." You nodded again, thoughts still whirring around in your head, 'What's happening?' 'When will I wake up?' You heard the door softly close and lock into place, as soon as it did you finally allowed yourself to breathe a deep sigh, painful almost gasping for air. You couldn't fathom that this is what your life could've been, you peered around the beautifully decorated room stroking your hands across the plush bedding beneath you, knowing that you hadn't felt linen this smooth in a long time. Your eyes stopped on a framed picture on the bedside table, shakily moving your hand towards it knowing just what would be peering back at you...there it was, you and Alfred on a date in a different country, holding eachother close and smiling like the world didn't matter. You watched as drops hit the glass, wiping them away as you stroked Alfred's face, you took a double take at the smiling woman looking back at you, this (Y/N) had shorter well kept hair, she wore brighter clothes and her nails looked so perfectly primed. You stared at yourself in the reflection, not understanding how you drew such a short straw, "She got it all huh? " You chuckled grimly to yourself, placing the picture back on the bedside once more, standing up to assess the clothing you'd been given, a white off the shoulder top with a pair of blue high waisted jeans, "Damn, she really is different..." You hurriedly got dressed, grabbing a pair of socks and your boots as you made your way into the hallway.

Eyes immediately drawn to the hundreds of photo's littered around the place, your heart ached at the smiling face looking back at you...no she was looking down on you, 'You never deserved this...' Your thoughts seeping in again, you shook your head slightly and gave the bridge of your nose a pinch, "I look...so happy..." Your words thickened the air, the envy almost sickening to you...what you would do for this sort of life, one that seemed ever so perfect and happy. Making your way down the smooth carpeted stairs, you turned a corner to be met with another hallway, a certain picture stood out amongst the rest making your stomach churn and bile shoot into your throat, "That's...-", "Oh yeah, that's when we-...I mean me and my (Y/N) went on a camping trip in highschool, she always kept that picture even though I hated it...but now I can't help but look back and see our beginning you know?..." He quickly stopped himself as he saw your body language, you looked defeated and broken, all's the blonde wanted to do was wrap you up in a blanket and protect you, you may not of been his realities (Y/N) but you were still a (Y/N) and he couldn't understand what went so horribly wrong with himself that he left you like this, a shell of a woman who used to be so vibrant so hopeful, your eyes looked bleakly as you grabbed a wallet out of your pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper to reveal the same photo Alfred described to you, "You mean this one?...Yeah I do treasure it, more than he'll ever know..." The picture was stained and slightly torn at the edges, showing just how much use you got out of it, "I...I'm so sorry..." He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, he expected you to flinch away or push him off but you just kind of accepted the gesture, it had been a long while since you'd felt the touch of someone, the feeling of human contact was so rare to you especially with the whole undercover thing, you couldn't make friends and whatever family you did have thought you were probably dead. Your hand reached up slowly and cupped his, squeezing it almost like a lifeline, just wanting to know someone cared about you. "She's very lucky to have you...." Your smile didn't portray happiness, bitter jealousy if anything but the only thing Alfred saw was pain, you turned yourself towards the kitchen doorway as not to see the cherished memory you had once lived through. Alfred's hand pulled back slowly as if he wanted you to know he cared, that he was there for you. "I was lucky...I am lucky...you saved me-" He heard you chuckle dryly, making your way to the pristine modern kitchen you placed yourself at the breakfast bar, "If only you knew what happened in my reality huh? You wouldn't think so highly of me..."

Other Reality (Y/N):

You awoke, the stench of vomit and sweat instantly filling your nostrils like a pungent wake up call, "W-Where am I? " You muttered out, grabbing your glasses and swiftly placing them on your nose, you searched your surroundings. "A Motel? Why an earth would I be here? I must've been kidnapped..." You used your detective skills to assess the room, make sure if it was a kidnapper he wasn't still in the room or on the premises, then the fear set in, "Alfred...he wouldn't of ever let this happen so what if they've got him?!" You couldn't calm your beating heart, everything felt dark and gloomy especially without his bright smile to awaken you, his laughter was always your favourite melody. "No, he's fine. I have to be hopeful, I know he's got this and that whatever's going on he'll save me! " Making your way to the bedside cabinet you spotted some things, a mobile phone and keys, you thought this was your bingo until you saw the password protection, "Shit, they don't even have a background..." Then a text flashed on the screen from a private number, "You're getting colder little mouse, I'm waiting." The tone of the text was sinister, repulsive even. It was like they were hunting you down like prey, a wild animal and this was their hunting ground. You made sure to search the room for supplies, knowing that anything could be left in this godforsaken hell hole. Finding a duffel bag, you ripped it open and saw, "Ammo?...Guns?...Freaks got a whole travel bag, but...if they're leaving it for me are they expecting me to play? I-" You sat yourself on the side of the bed, backtracking everything that happened the night before, falling asleep in Alfred's arms to the feeling of him playing with your hair was the last you remember and then this...you couldn't wrap your head around it, but you knew you had to get out and find your way back to him. Another buzzing sound came from the locked phone, the text reading, "428 Hampton Boulevard. 30MINS." Having no choice but to grab the duffel bag and meet this maniac at his desired location, you knew that with them you'd more than likely find your answer's to the other questions that have been plaguing you. Your eyes fell onto a pile of clothes, grabbing them without hesitation you saw, "Women's?...They're my sizing, they must really have it out for me...to know this-" You shivered thinking of all the times you'd haphazardly left your clothing in places it could be easily picked up and from the looks of it this person knew a lot about you. Throwing the clothes on as quickly as you could you grabbed the duffel bag, throwing it over your shoulder seamlessly, grabbing the keys on the side knowing that if you got pulled over you could always call in to your boss, "I'm sure Artie won't mind covering for me if theres a psycho after me..." Making sure to take the burner phone with you, in case things got too much for you and you had to call the emergency number, Alfred would be so proud of you for facing such a feat head on but you also know he'd be angry for endangering yourself if you have him, you thought to call him but the motel didn't have a phone and the mobile you had wouldn't make calls unless unlocked. You speed walk past the receptionist who gave you a weird look, 'Yeah I'm sure seeing a kidnap victim would make my head turn too love...'

You grabbed the car keys in your hand placing the key between your fingers just in case this creep decided he would rather meet you here, you surveyed the area and didn't spot anything too out of the ordinary. You examined the keys to try and identify what car they'd be used for, they looked eerily similiar and seemed to belong to a car you owned back when you were a teenager so you recognised the car almost immediately..."Red Honda...95 plate..." Eyes widening in shock, this couldn't be right? It looked exactly like your old car down to the busted tail from where you got rear ended by Alfred after he'd just learnt to drive, shaking the thoughts out of your head you pressed onwards not being someone to stray away from a fight especially when it meant you getting closer to being home again, safe in Alfred's arms. Starting the car up was easy, remembering how to drive manual was not though, the brain fog was over bearing from being in fight mode and you honestly couldn't think straight but for some reason as soon as you'd clicked in that belt and revved the car to life, it's like you were teleported to being that sweet naive eighteen year old again, not a care in the world. Staring at the clock you knew you had fifteen minutes left to get to your destination, but fortunately you were perfect with directions and from patrolling that area in downtown new york so often you knew exactly where you were headed. Not bothering to check the car out, knowing that being superstitious would get you nowhere but trouble you headed for the place. The tires screeched beneath you, the car coming to a halting standstill the phone barely alive but just enough in case you needed to dial in an emergency.

Scanning the area for this unknown assailant you couldn't see a thing, it may have only been 7am but it was downtown on a Sunday no one was going to be up and around just yet, atleast not the people you'd want to bump into anyways. You felt something- no someone staring holes into you, your eyes widened spotting a hooded figure in the alleyway, grabbing a gun cautiously you made your way towards the spot, "Hello?..." Quietly you made your way towards the person, gun pressed firmly behind your back finger on the trigger waiting for the perfect moment. This was presumeably a man by the build and height, you heard a chuckle but the feeling of fear was now overcome with that of confusion, you began shaking as you'd only ever heard one person with that specific laugh, "Alfred?..." Before you had time to react or to question the person before you, you felt a rag slam into your face the sweet stench of chlorophorm filling your every sense, your gun shooting as you pulled the trigger almost on instinct, pain searing up your leg knowing full well you'd just shot yourself, your eyes began to glaze over in realisation, this was Alfred...but it couldn't be? Struggling with the man as he kicked your newly bleeding leg, dropping the gun shaking you used the last of your strength to throw your hands up and around his face, knocking his hood down to show his face...you froze with fright shaking uncontrollably now, this was Alfred...but he didn't look the same? He was glaring daggers at you, grinning from ear to ear, a large scar adorning his once fresh face, the beautiful cerulean eyes that gave you peace of mind now dim with zero emotion, he pulled you against him tightly almost suffocating you, "I've got you my little mouse..." He almost purred into your ear, your eyes welling up with tears as darkness overcame you. Awaking what felt like moments later, your eyes shot open darting across the scenery before you, your arms writhing beneath the sturdy ropes that pinned you into what seemed to be a chair of some sorts, your eyes landed on the man sat infront of you still grinning like a cheshire cat, "Naughty girl, I didn't think you'd come running...you never usually do but then again you don't look how you usually do..." He stood up, distain spread across his face as he ripped your mouth piece off with little to any thought, "Who...who the fuck are you?!" He leaned in close, the smell of booze permeating his breath as he spoke, "Why...I could ask the same of you? "

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Thank you for getting this far, I posted this as it’s the first thing I’ve written in a long time that I’m actually proud to post, I’ll be sure to add part 2 as it’s already written if people want it! 

I hope you have a wonderful Evening // Morning! ;3;

[married-to-google-translater]

Yandere Italy with an S/O who likes to playfully bully him

Yandere (north) Italy

Oh poor boy.

Feli is definitely not mentally prepared.

Maybe your kidnapping was a bad idea.

This would be an emotional roller coaster.

more than 60% of the time downhill.

You can be really sadistic.

( Sadistic = you don't give him hugs. )

You are really creative.

Feli always doesn't understand sarcasm and that you enjoy teasing him.

Although he grew up with Romano.

However, Feli will take it.

He won't punish you either.

This is part of your personality and he loves you for it.

But once you went too far.

You cut the pasta before you started cooking it.

Feli was really shocked.

This was indeed wrong.

You must have been punished for this.

Don't mess with his food.

They are a good thing for him.

In addition to you.

[applsauss]

Östliche Helden | II

Description: “The wall will fall. Because we want it to, and because it can’t stay up forever. And we’ll be there when it falls, or when it gets torn down by people, you know?”

Fandom: Hetalia


Pairing: Human!Prussia (Gilbert Beilschmidt)/Reader

Word Count: 2.9k+

Warning(s): None.

Somewhere along the route to your apartment building, both you and Gilbert give up on the race. Now you’re pushing your bikes under a silent truce. It is unspoken, the way you drag your feet to milk further whatever time you have together.

Gilbert is on the sidewalk, and you’re walking along the road, occasionally taking the long way around parked cars. “--and so I feel like I’m getting close, you know?” Gilbert says, skirting his bike around a small, planted tree. The wind pushes a cloud over the sun, and the street is suddenly thrust into grey shadow. Just as quickly, however, the sun is back to warm the top of your head and shoulders.

“Of course you are,” you reply, watching the profile of his face. “You’re smart and hard-working, more so than half of the guys on the site, I’ll bet. Your superintendent would have to have tomatoes on his eyes if he doesn’t see you’re a good fit to be a welder.” 

He comes to a stop, huffs, then fixes you with a rueful smile, like he almost doesn’t believe you. “Yea?” 

“Of course, Gib! Don’t look so surprised! When will you know for sure whether or not you get the job?” You park your bike next to his and reach over to give his shoulder a little shake. 

“Wednesday.”

You realize belatedly that you’re standing in front of your building, the Plattenbau standing up tall. You squint up at it, and find that each apartment’s large, luxurious windows reflect the blue of the sky. Gilbert glances around sheepishly, dwarfed by the structure. “Well... I’m off.” He makes to leave, but you tug on his shirt and raise an eyebrow at his sudden, subdued attitude. 

“Gilbert?” 

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.” He leans over his bike and leaves a chaste kiss on your lips. When he pulls away, he’s smiling again, pale eyes flashing with color.

“See you tomorrow, right?” you ask, half in an attempt to draw the moment out.

He shakes his head. “I’m working late. Saturday instead?” The breeze cools the heat of the sun on your back.

You nod. “Sounds good. At the factory?” 

“I’ll meet you there. Twelve, or?” 

“Twelve.” You lean over his bike and press up onto your toes to leave one more kiss on his face, which catches more cheek than mouth. His fair stubble is rough under your lips. You smile. Then he steps back, swings a leg over his bike and sets a foot on the pedal.

“Tschüss, Gib.” 

“Bye. See you soon.”

You watch him pedal off, then turn and enter the building.

***

“Bounce-and-bounce-and-bounce!” you coo, bobbing your knee under Michael, your nearly two-year-old nephew as he squeals. His smile is so charming; his chubby, malleable cheeks pushed up in a wide grin. You want to bend down and blow a raspberry on his tummy so he’ll giggle in that high-pitched, uncontrollable way children do.

“Silly!” He reaches out and makes grabby hands at your face. You smell peanut butter on his fingers and wrinkle your nose. 

“Nooo,” you say, leaning back so he can’t touch your face or grab your hair with his sticky hands, “Micha’s silly. Micha, why are you so silly?” 

“Silly!” He giggles. You wiggle your fingers in his armpits and he squeals, arms flailing, then squirms in your hold, nearly throwing himself off your knee before you grab him and twist him around so he’s sitting in your lap. 

“Be careful, silly!” you chide gently.

Elizaveta laughs, watching this unfold, and the sound turns Micha’s attention back onto his mother. 

“Mami!” He wiggles off your lap and lands on shaky legs, his knees bowing and almost giving out under his own weight. He allows you to help him as he catches his balance, then takes off toddling towards his Mami. Elizaveta smiles, and reaches out before he can round the sharp corner of the coffee table. 

“Yes, Liebe, hello!” Micha laughs as she sweeps him off his feet and into her lap, cuddling close to him.

“Silly Mami!” He reaches up to her and she takes his hand in her own and kisses his knuckles. 

“No… Micha’s silly. And you smell like peanut butter. Did Vati not wash your hands like I told him to?” she teases Micha, who only seems to understand the words ‘Silly’ and ‘Vati’. He giggles again, then slips off Elizaveta’s lap and waddles on over to the dining table, where Roderich and your father are sitting. He grabs Roderich’s pant leg, who smiles and smooths Micha’s hair back.

“And how are you coming along with the sonata?” your father asks Roderich over his clasped hands.

Roderich pinches Micha’s cheek, then turns back to your father. “Fine. Leonard was having some trouble on the second half, but we managed to smooth it out in the afternoon.”

They’re sharing a conversation about the Konzerthausorchester, or the Concert House Orchestra, based out of East Berlin’s resident concert house. Both your father, and your brother, Roderich, are members; the first as a conductor, and the second as a pianist. They were both disappointed when you told them you did not want to continue with the viola in secondary school. Even your late brother Michael was on track to follow in their footsteps.

“How are your classes going?” Elizaveta asks, drawing your attention back to the sitting room. The velvet fabric of the couch beneath you is soft, and the radio is tuned to a classical station and playing at a low hum. 

You pinch the inside of your arm hard and shrug nonchalantly. “Fine. Fluid mechanics and hydraulics are interesting courses to take.”

Elizaveta nods amicably. “You don’t miss…what was it you were studying before?” 

“Nuclear engineering,” you supply with thinly veiled resentment.

She tilts her head. “Do you miss it?”

“No,” you lie.

“And what are you studying now?” Elizaveta asks.

“Civil engineering.” 

“Ah--” she sits back and nods in recognition-- “to design cities.” 

“Yes. And roads, the Reichsbahn, even, or the wall.” 

“It sounds important.” 

“Oh, it is!” your mother says suddenly, as she sets a tray of biscuits and tea on the coffee table. “We’re so proud, even if Y/N doesn’t want to go into the orchestra like Marcel and Roderich.” 

You glance over to where your father and brother are sitting at the mention of their names. “I’m just better at numbers,” you deflect. 

Elizaveta gratefully accepts a mug of tea from your mother, then looks back and fixes you with a smile. “Oh! Marcel told me and Rod you’ve made a friend in philosophy.”

“Kristian Richter,” your mother says, and you scoff as she continues, “Marcel knows his father; they were soldiers together, in the same unit.”

“I don’t want to be his friend,” you tell Elizaveta when your mother sits down on the couch next to you.

“Ah--don’t say things like that,” your mother scolds lightly .

Elizaveta frowns. “Why don’t you like him?” 

“Can’t you tell from the name?” She gives you an amused look, and you lean over to dramatically whisper: “Stasi snitch. Him and his father both!”

She laughs. 

“That, and he won’t stop asking me out on dates.” 

“He’s a nice boy,” your mother argues. 

You frown and shake your head. “Gilbert is nicer.” 

Elizaveta’s sudden, loud laugh seems to surprise even her. She slaps a hand over her mouth and her face turns beet-red, while your mother simply watches, weary, but on some level amused as well. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to someone calling Gib ‘nice.’” Elizaveta grins at you, and her words take on a teasing quality. “He was always just a brat to me, you know! He wouldn’t stop pestering me to play with him growing up.” 

You laugh and relax into the topic of conversation like a warm bath. Elizaveta grew up in the apartment above Gilbert and Ludwig. “He told me you used to beat him up when you pretended to sword fight,” you say, your voice barely containing the laughter you feel bubbling in your chest at the thought of little Gilbert pouting.

“Well,” Elizaveta says, “it wasn’t my fault he was so bad at it.” Micha toddles over and tries to take a cookie off the plate. Elizaveta stops him before he can reach, but shares some of hers with him. 

“See? Why would I want anyone else when I can have someone as bad at sword fighting as Gib? Kristian can--”

“Kristian Richter?” You glance up to find both your father and Roderich standing behind Elizaveta’s chair. “He’s a good boy. We’ll be having his family for dinner next week, you know?” your father continues.

“What? All of them?” you ask.

“Of course!” 

You cross your arms. “Fine. I’ll be out that day, then.” 

“You will not.” Your father fixes you with a hard look, and your eyebrows knit together in scrutiny, then a sinking suspicion. It would be just too perfect for your father if his child and the son of a well-off acquaintance began dating.

 “We’re a family,” your father continues, “and we’ll eat as one when we have company.” He turns to your mother and softens his tone. “Me and Rod are going out for drinks. Would you like to come?” 

“Ah,” your mother says, “no thank you, but I’m sure Elizaveta would.” She takes Micha out of your sister-in-law’s hands and ushers her up. “Go and have some time away from the baby. He’ll be fine here with Oma. We’ll do a puzzle and eat more cookies.” 

Your father and Roderich depart for the door, but Elizaveta lingers by the chair. “Oh, thank you. Are you sure, Julia?”

“Absolutely. Now go!” 

Elizaveta smiles gratefully, then hurries to meet Roderich at the front door, who’s waiting with her coat. You watch them leave, then flop back against the couch cushions and switch on the TV. It is already tuned to a western channel running yet another story on the Chernobyl disaster that took place months ago. 

You glare at the TV, then roll off the couch and stalk back to your room.

***

It’s a hard thing to do, let go of the raw anger you still harbor from having a decision that you’d been promised ripped from your hands once again. It’d been a hot summer. East Berlin was choked by the heat, the stench of Trabis and what some joked was nuclear fallout from the reactor meltdown in Chernobyl. 

Two years into your nuclear engineering degree was when your father had decided that he thought it was too dangerous a field for you to go into, as if what happened in Chernobyl was commonplace. It’d been the career you’d decided on after compounding all your childhood interests, and you were infinitely curious of the cutting-edge work nuclear scientists had the honor of performing; of discovering. 

Civil engineering is barely a science in comparison--and still, your father marched you down to the University under the hot summer sun and told the counselor to switch all your courses, not listening to a word. His mind was already made up. You couldn’t bear to look at him on the way home.

“I saw Marcus today,” Gilbert says. You’re asleep, in your thoughts, and his sudden voice feels like a bucket of ice water dumped over you.

You look up, surprised to hear about your old classmate. You, Marcus and Gilbert, the three of you had been close, but Marcus had dropped off the face of the earth ever since he signed his name away to the Volksarmee. “Oh, really?” you ask, perked up.

“Yea. We’re going out for drinks on Thursday. Want to come?” 

You slump back against the wall, aware of how over-dramatic you’re being. “My parents are having Kristian and his family over on Thursday.” 

Gilbert purses his lips and looks down at his knees. “Oh. Too bad.” 

You regard him critically for a moment, then say, “I’ll still go. Afterwards, I mean. I have a feeling I’m gonna need it.” 

Silence.

“He’s a border guard now, you know. Marcus, I mean,” Gilbert says after a long pause.

“Really?” 

“Yea.” Gilbert nods. “He said he’s stationed right here in Berlin.”

Both you and Gilbert are sitting on top of a broken chest of drawers on the far side of the room, next to the poster you’d been inspecting days earlier. In front of you is the window, and through it is West Berlin, lit up like heaven under the golden sun.

The afternoon is lazy, and the weather is mild, even for early autumn. You wonder if it might even be warm enough for a swim.

The radio is playing another popular American song that neither of you are paying attention to. The announcer cuts back in with another product endorsement, and Gilbert grunts, turns the knob controlling the volume down, and sits back. 

Now it’s quieter, and you both watch as the windows glitter in West Berlin. 

“They’re just trying to upstage the Soviets,” your mother had said bitterly one day, after the western channels all broadcasted the same showcase of their clean streets, shiny autos and happy, smiling people, like the ones in the posters. “Nothing is ever that good.”

“Do you think it’s good, living there?” Gilbert asks suddenly, in the quiet voice he uses when he’s thinking about something, and not sure how to put it into words.

You let out a huff, thinking of your mother’s words. “Of course. They’re free, aren’t they?” 

“Free… But they still have a wall around them.” He picks up his radio and runs his thumbs along the edges of the speaker. “They’re more stuck than we are, at least in West Berlin, right?” He sets the radio back down beside him. The broadcast crackles, and so he fiddles with the antenna.

You watch him for a moment, buzzing emotion mounting in your chest, then turn back to stare at West Berlin. “Their wall has ways around it. They can hop on the train whenever they like, or take a plane. It’s different. And they have choices. Nobody tells them what job they can or can’t have, or where they’re allowed to go and for how long.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, and you both stare out the window. “Do you think the wall will ever fall?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Sometimes...” Gilbert swallows thickly. “Sometimes when I watch TV, I’m jealous of how much everyone else seems to have. Like you said, in the West it’s different. Everyone drives cars and drinks sodas and are free to be whoever they want to be without ever really having to think about it. What we have… Compared to what they have…”

“Then it’ll fall,” you say with confidence that surprises even you. 

“What?” 

“The wall will fall. Because we want it to, and because it can’t stay up forever. And we’ll be there when it falls, or when it gets torn down by people, you know?” After a moment you add, “and besides. We’re Germans, aren’t we? We’re all the same. It’s not right to be seperate, to pretend some of us deserve less. Everyone thinks that.” 

He offers you an exhausted laugh in response. “I guess… They can’t shoot all of us, can they?”

You try and smile, but you’re not sure. There probably exists enough bullets, but you don’t think escaping to West Berlin is what he’s upset about. A new song starts. “Of course not,” you say anyways. 

You hop off the chest of drawers, turn the volume of the radio back up, then grab Gilbert’s hands and tug him back towards the center of the room with you. He gives you a wry grin, like he understands what you’re doing but is letting it happen anyways, and twirls you, then draws you back and continues to dance with you to the upbeat melody. 

“Help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure,

Nothing ever lasts forever,

Everybody wants to rule the world.”

Gilbert’s hands are rough in yours, as you tug him around the room and shimmy to whatever nonsense pop is playing. It’s easy for the English to fade into the background. You stretch up on your toes to twirl him, and he laughs but ducks under your arm anyways. You hear the ending riff of the song, then dip him as low as you can, and he shouts, scrabbles for purchase on your shoulders, but doesn’t fall. 

You pause for a moment to stare at his face as he smiles, and feel the same emotions you felt before choke you--resentment of your education, uncertainty for the future, worry for Gilbert and what he isn’t telling you. You lose the battle to keep it on the inside.

“Gilbert--”

He tugs your head down to touch his nose to yours, sharing air, smiling gently up at you, then he catches your mouth with his. You let out a small puff of air, and let him kiss you; eyes closing and eyebrows unknitting as he stands to his full height, just tall enough so you have to tip your chin up to slant your lips under his.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into your mouth. He guides you back to the chest of drawers, and when you knock into it, you huff, pull back just enough to suck in a breath and maybe say something, but the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to speak. His face is awed, eyes looking over your expression, thumbs dipping under the hem of your shirt.

 “Gilbert…” you manage to whisper before he kisses you solidly again, and you let the physicality barge its way into your head and wipe clean whatever worries you’d been holding on so tightly to. They don’t matter anyways. Not when you have this instead.

***

Translations:

Tschüss. Bye.

Mami. Mommy (Hungarian).

Das Konzerthausorchester. The Concert House Orchestra. Based in East Germany, rival to West Berlin’s orchestra, Berliner Philharmoniker.

Stasi. Short for Ministerium für Staatssicherheit (The Ministry of State Security). The GDR’s secret police. Widely considered the most efficient and repressive intelligence agency to have ever existed. Of the GDR’s total population, 1 in 7 people were thought to be Stasi informants.

Oma. Grandma, Grandmother.

Trabis. Plural of Trabi. Short for Trabant. A mass-produced car made by an East German company. Because the company was a state monopoly, East Germans buyers were commonly put on a waiting-list of up to ten years. The Trabant was also a comically awful car (It was made cheaply, awful to look at, slow, unreliable and the exhaust stunk).

Nationale Volksarmee. The GDR’s army. (Literal Translation: National People’s Army)

Masterlist | Posting Schedule

[doki-doki-imagines]

Send in either a palette (The capital letter at the top of each one) or a code + character and I'll write a drabble or headcanons based on the vibes!

[appleandsnow]

Yao and Cooking

You're standing in the kitchen as he cooks.

His attention is divided between the simmering pots and the vegetables he's chopping, even as he talks to you.

He's venting about Hong Kong spending too much time on his phone and how ridiculous the neighbors are.

You pick up a coined carrot and eat it, much to Yao's surprise.

"If you were hungry, you could have said so" he says and starts chopping the cucumbers into little coins for you.

[opticfile]

𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐡é

—✦ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 // in which a player (Lutz Beilschmidt himself) falls for real this time, and the girl he's enamored by has to overcome his reputation.

✧ taken from my old quotev!! not stolen work!!!

—✦ 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 // Lutz Beilschmidt (APH 2p!Germany)

—✦ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 // drinking, angst, assumed cheating, betrayal, fluff

3.3k words

The pounding in your head was only outweighed by the obnoxiously loud sound of the music blaring from the living room. It was another frat party, one you didn't intend on going to, but hey, you only live once. At least this time there was more of a theme, it was a Halloween costume party—though that mostly just meant sorority girls got to add a cat ear headband to their usual miniskirt and heels.

You and your friends were not dressed in the classic slutty animal costumes, and the more and more this party went on the more you were both thankful and regretful. Emma convinced you and Darcy to dress like... wizards. Not the cute, girly kind, the kind with the 2-foot beards and starry robes. Then again, Emma still managed to make the shapeless robes sexy, and she discarded her beard long ago. You were about to rip off your own, the synthetic material was getting itchy. 

The whole thankful and regretful part came in when you saw possibly the most notorious trio on campus, the biggest players to grace the university in about... what? 20? 30 years? Allen L. Jones (he claims the L stands for Liberty), Zao Wang, and none other than Lutz Beilschmidt stood in the middle of a group of girls, dressed as... holy shit, are they dressed as the Powerpuff Girls?

"Oh my god their shorts are so... short!" Emma giggled, "You can see every muscle..."

"When did the Powerpuff Girls get so slutty," You scoffed, itching under your fake grey beard. "...and buff."

"I see Lutz hasn't changed a bit," Darcy snorted, "Still as much of a manwhore as ever."

"I still can't believe he played you like that." Emma grimaced.

"Like a fiddle." You added in.

"Let's not revisit that..." Darcy dragged her hands down her face.

As Emma and Darcy got caught up in drinks and boys, you found yourself needing a breath of fresh air. Maybe if you were drinking right now, or at least a little tipsy, you might be able to deal with the sight of Allen showing off his biceps to four women. The backyard wasn't really that much better—toilet paper strung through the trees, the blaring music still within hearing, and a random couple making out behind a bush—but it was an improvement. You sat on the wooden steps of the deck, itching under your beard again. You hoped it wouldn't leave a rash...

“Merlin?”

“Huh?” You turned your head to be met with... Of course! Lutz! Probably the last person you wanted to see right now.

“Gandalf?”

“Oh, uh, more like… unlicensed no copyright generic wizard character…” You turned back forwards, praying he would go away.

“Gotcha, my favorite.” He sat next to you. Great! 

"Shouldn't you be, ya know, whoring out?" You snorted, glancing at him as his face distorted into an amused grin.

"Hey, I'm not all slut. I need breaks from the noise too sometimes." He nudged you, “I don't think I’ve seen you around.”

“Oh, we actually have the same world history class-" Unfortunately. "-with Professor Neilson?" He stared at you owlishly,  "Here, wait, maybe removing the beard will help.”

You pulled down the itchy beard and Lutz drank in your facial features. Scrunching up your face, you removed it completely and tossed it on the steps beside you.

“Oh, now I recognize you!" He smiled, before letting it morph into a more sheepish expression, "…Can I get a name though orrrrr…”

"...Y/n." You exhaled through your nose, turning away from him. "Don't worry, I already know your name."

"I'm glad!" He grinned broadly, "Introductions were never my favorite."

"..."

“Sooo... Can I get you a drink?

“I’m actually the designated driver so I’ll pass.” 

“Ah, respectable. Maybe something non-alcoholic then?”

“Actually I probably should be getting home to my, uh, my fairy godmother.” You internally facepalmed, god you were mixing up your fairytales. “Like in uh, Cinderella.”

“I didn't know unlicensed no copyright generic wizard character was a Cinderella character.” Lutz snorted,

“He’s from a remake, Cinder…wizard… It’s really popular overseas.” You checked your nonexistent watch, “Oops, clock is about to strike twelve.”

"Is your fake beard the Cinderwizard version of a glass slipper?" He chuckled, eliciting a genuine giggle from you—god you were gonna have to shoot yourself later.

"Sure, but it's stretchy so it's probably more like a one size fits all.

“Well… seeing as I know what you look like and where to find you, I’d say I'm a few steps ahead of Prince Charming.”

“Yeah, ‘I know where to find you’ isn’t creepy at all.”

“Sorry,” He laughed airily, “I’ll see you around then.” 

You quickly excused yourself and hurriedly walked back into the party to meet with Emma and Darcy .

"Was that Lutz? Why was Lutz talking to you?" Darcy inquired, hushedly but urgently.

"He was just asking for bathroom directions!" You made up an excuse.

"Isn't this... his frat house?" Emma raised a brow.

"Okay, okay, listen. He just- He just came over and he wouldn't leave and then told me he knew where to find me and- I don't know it was torture!" You whined.

"God, don't tell me you're his next victim..." Darcy shivered, "We need to keep you away from him, at all costs."

"Y/n L/n and Lutz Beilschmidt..." Professor Neilson continued to announce the pairs for a group project, and you felt like you were dying inside. Lutz's head popped up from his resting place on his desk.

"No way." You said in unison (though one was obviously far more excited than the other), and you glanced at him to see him grinning widely at you.

The moment class was dismissed and students began funneling out you made your way to Professor Neilson's desk with some very strong words and a lot of questions.

"Professor, not to question your judgment but why was I paired up with Lutz?" You frowned.

"I think you'll be a good influence on him-" 

"But-"

"-and he isn't a slacker so you won't be doing the project alone. You and Beilschmidt need to work together, just for this week." He said, sternly as he turned back to the various papers spread across his desk.

"C'mon, don't tell me you're trying to get rid of me already." A very familiar German accent purred behind you, an arm—a muscular arm but you tried not to go there—slung around your shoulder.

"Of course not, partner." You grimaced. "You smell like beer..."

"Sorry, süße, I'll wear cologne when we study." 

You shrugged off his arm with a groan, walking out of the classroom as Lutz trailed behind you. He easily kept up with your speedy strides, damn him for being so tall and quick on his feet, you were hoping all that muscle would weigh him down.

...You really have to stop thinking about his muscular build.

"Hey, wait, I thought we got off on the right foot." Lutz continued following you like a lost puppy until you turned around and glared straight at him.

"Listen, Lutz, I know a little too well what kind of guy you are and I really don't want to get involved so can you please just..." You sighed, "Just do your part and let's not get buddy-buddy."

"Hey, I was looking forwards to getting buddy-buddy..." He huffed, "Listen, Y/n, I know I have a reputation but that doesn't mean we can't be friendly, I mean c'mon, give me a fair chance."

You glanced between him and the crowd of students trailing the hallways, groaning as you gave in.

"Fine. But make one wrong move and I'm out."

"He's your what?" Emma gasped.

"My history project partner..." You whined, "I cannot believe Professor Neilson would do that to me, I mean come on I thought I was his star student. Why is he torturing me with Lutz."

"Not my monkey, not my circus." Darcy snorted, "You're on your own here."

"How did you get rid of him, Darcy?" You pleaded.

"I liked him." She sighed.

"Oh... Right..." You let your face fall into your arms, "God I'm never gonna shake him, am I?"

"She's your what?" Allen snorted. 

"My history project partner!" Lutz fist-pumped, "God, I thought Neilson was a hardass but he really hooked me up this time."

"She is kinda bad," Zao smirked, "You gonna... ya know..."

"She said no getting buddy-buddy but, well, you know me," Lutz smirked, Allen and Zao whistling and cheering. "I mean... I dunno, maybe I won't go too far with her..."

"What? Are you going soft on us, buddy?" Allen cackled.

"Hey man, shes not really like other girls ya know, she didn't really fold fast at all. I kinda wanna see where it'll go..."

"'Not like other girls' is wild," Zao snorted, "she's gonna end up like every single one of them did, in your bed. Or mine. Might snatch her up since you're hesitating~."

"I mean it, I kind of... like her. I don't really want to make her into another fling.." Lutz leaned back in his chair, groaning. "God, what am I gonna do..."

Lutz had been studying with you every day this week, and you don't think you've ever seen him this dedicated to the class itself. When he could, he would invite you to his place—goofily kicking aside the stray socks and boxers left strung across the floor by his roommates—but when he couldn't, you would study on campus.

Today, however, it was raining.

Lutz (yuck) 3:42 Y/N lemme just come to your dorm pls my place is busy rn zao is dealiong drugs or smth ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ Y/n3:43 no we can study tomorrow you're not coming in my dorm stay away far away ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ Lutz (yuck) 3:43 P[LEASE ill be on my bestest behavior trust

You gave in eventually.

"-and in retaliation, they..." You glanced up at Lutz, scooting away a bit. "You're this close to sitting on me, dude."

"Sorry, the words are so small, I can't read them..." He slowly grinned, "Hey, maybe you should sit on me, süße-"

"Don't even start, Lutz." You groaned, punching him lightly as he practically giggled beside you.

"It smells great in here, what is that, vanilla?" He sniffed.

"I think my roommate has a candle in the bathroom," You said, "but I think its lavendar so I'm not sure where youre getting vanilla."

He hummed, and though you couldnt see it, he was staring at you as your rattled on about some random history thingy—he wasnt really listening in the first place. Lutz had grown a soft spot to you, much to Allen and Zao's amusement, it had gotten so bad he was turning down girls. Lutz Beilschmidt was turning down girls. He was whipped, but he was too lovesick to be ashamed.

You flipped the page gently, but Lutz reached over and flipped it back. When you looked up at him, his face was hovering inches away from yours and he was practically drowning himself in your eyes.

"I wasn't- I wasn't done reading." His voice came out low, his tone intimate even.

God, what was happening to you?

Charcoal nuzzled into your neck as you leaned back in Lutz's beanbag chair. He pouted at you from his desk chair.

"Charcoal doesn't even do that with me."

"What can I say, he must just like me more." You smirked, sticking your tongue out at Lutz as you rubbed the top of Charcoal's head.

"Maybe you're like his mom." Lutz grinned, "Which since I'm his dad that would mean-"

You threw his dirty socks at him.

Emma and Darcy were supportive of you, even if they did think you were a little stupid for falling for Lutz (though, Emma meant stupid in an endearing, cute way!). However, sometimes you wondered if Darcy was jealous, and sometimes it seemed like she was. When you were talking to Lutz in the hallways, him begging you to come hang out with him with the saddest puppy-dog eyes Darcy had ever seen, her browline creased and her lips downturned. When Lutz was texting you, begging for your attention, Darcy was glaring at your phone screen. When you were complaining about Lutz being a little too comfortable, Darcy was bitterly making comments like "must be hard" and "poor you".

"I was gonna go to a party at Theta Theta this weekend." Darcy said as she scrolled through her phone, "You guys wanna come with?"

"Isn't that Lutz's frat house?" Emma said, bobbypin in mouth as she braided your hair, "Ya know, the guy Y/n is head over heels for?"

"I am not head over heels for Lutz-!"

"I'm not letting that loser stop me from partying," Darcy grinned, giggling, "Plus, it gives little miss Y/n a chance to meet someone new~."

"Oooh!" Emma giggled, "We can find you a man to make Lutz jealous!"

"Guys I cannot believe youre trying to rope me into doing that in his god damn house, are you kidding me?" You griped, "I am not going."

You sipped lightly on a hard lemonade, the blaring music echoing through your ears as you looked through the crowd for any sign of Lutz. 

(Yes, you gave in)

Since arriving, you had lost Darcy in the crowd and hadn't seen a single glimpse of the fluffy blonde hair you were so familiar with. Emma suggested going up to his room, teasing you and saying you might've made him retire from his partying ways. You rolled your eyes, but carefully made your way up the stairs anyway. Immediately, you saw Lutz exiting his room, looking a bit dishevelled but, hey, he's a frat boy. You smiled widely as you went up to greet him.

You never made it to him.

No one other than Darcy, your best friend since before highschool, walked out of his room behind him. Her lipstick was smeared and her hair messy. She barely spared you a glance before wrapping her grimy hands around Lutz's bicep.

"Babe, come back~."

You and Emma drove home in silence. Emma was horrified at the news, you could hear her acrylics tapping away at her phone screen and you could only imagine the shit storm that Darcy was getting. Your own phone was blowing up, actually, and you had to put it on do not disturb to be able to focus on driving at all. The threat of breaking down and crying pricked at your eyes and made your nose feel ticklish, you felt ill, and you stomach wouldn't stop doing backflips.

When Darcy said you lose Lutz by liking him, she wasn't lying.

At the same time as you were fighting a breakdown, Lutz was cussing out a very smug Darcy.

"Holy shit what is wrong with you?" He scolded, "I'm sorry that I didn't like our fling and I'm not in love with you, but you are some kind of evil for doing this to your best friend. Like jesus fucking christ, what are you even getting from this?"

"Come on Lutz, we were better than whatever you had going on with her, she could never-"

"Don't even finish that thought." He spat, "Get out of my god damn house."

You were awoken from your sleep by pitiful, desperate pleas at your door. You heard the frantic knocking, the begging and crying and whining, and you knew who was behind it. You rubbed your eyes, still puffy from crying yourself to sleep, and checked your notifications.

Lutz <32:13 A.M. please its not what it looks like i know thats like a stupid overused excuse but its not an excuse darcy told me she wanted to talk to me about something she set it all up please i dont want anyone else

Lutz <3 2:43 A.M. please respond pick up my calls i swear to god Y/n i promise nothing was going on i'm not like that  i swear

You snorted at his texts, he was saying every excuse, using every cliché line that people use when they get caught.

"Y/n I know you're in there I just want to talk I swear nothing was happening," As you walked closer to your door you heard Lutz bang his head against the other side, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please just let me explain."

When you opened the door he stumbled in, his face painted in shock and sadness and relief all at once, and the moment he laid eyes on your pitiful expression he looked like the wind had just been taken out of him. He tried to place his hands on the sides of your face to wipe your tears, but you gently pushed his hands away by the wrists and stepped back.

"Y/n..."

"You have 10 minutes to explain." You sniffled. "And then I'm kicking you out for being a dirty, lying, unfaithful asshat!"

"No! No, nonono, I wasn't unfaithful nothing ever happened I swear. On my life, my brothers life, my mother, father, cat, on everything important to me I swear to you that nothing happened between me and Darcy." He pleaded, "When you guys got to the party I was just hanging out in my room, watching videos, you know how it is. Darcy had knocked on my door and I- I went to open it and she just walked in like she owned the place. It was gross she was acting like we're super close and she was all flirty and it-

"Either way, she was trying to be all handsy and I had pushed her off and stepped out and that when you came up the stairs. She just came out after me and I knew it looked so bad and I didn't know what to say and-"

Were his eyes glossing over?

"Look, look at my texts with her and- and you can see that there really isnt anything going on and I swear you're the only person I want. I don't even have her number saved in my phone, Y/n, she's nothing to me."

You snatched his phone, scrolling through countless texts of Lutz being so irreversibly angry and distraught while Darcy simply defended her actions. You checked her number, it was really Darcy, and you felt fat tears roll down your cheeks.

"Oh my god you're telling the truth." You sobbed as you launched forwards into his chest.

He smelled a little woody and his shirt still smelled like laundry detergent and yeah there was an underlying hint of alcohol but it wasn't nearly as strong as it was the day you became his project partner. You melted into him as he rubbed his (rather large) hands over your back, calloused fingers wrapping around your arm as he brought you closer and closer to him and if it weren't literally impossible you thought you might have ended up merging with him. He kissed the crown of your head, muttering words of reassurance and affection. 

Lifting your head up, he wiped the tears away from your face and brushed your hair behind your ears. He gently caressed your cheeks, letting his fingers dance over every detail of your cheek and jaw before shakily bringing himself closer and closer to you until his lips met yours and you melted into each other with so much passion and affection you thought you might drown

"I think I'm in love with you."

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