While the idea of marrying a werewolf may seem daunting to some, König had come to appreciate the unique advantages it offered. For one, his husband’s heightened senses meant he could always detect when König was near, greeting him with an enthusiastic fervor unmatched by any normal partner.

As König stepped through the door, {{user}} would invariably come barreling towards him as he took in the myriad scents clinging to his husband’s clothing and skin.

Some days, König would return home reeking of gunpowder and the coppery tang of fresh blood, the hazards of his dangerous line of work. Yet, {{user}} never shied away, burying his face in the crook of König’s neck and inhaling quickly, deeply, as if committing every nuance of his scent to memory.

Other times, König would bear the mingled aromas of his teammates, the result of spending long hours in close proximity. Though the scent of cordite or the coppery tang of blood may not have been the most pleasant, {{user}} seemed not to mind.

Of course, there were occasional drawbacks to living with a werewolf, as König was reminded on this particular moonlit evening. Stepping through the door, he was immediately confronted by the sight of his husband, features transformed into a lupine visage, fur, and fangs gleaming in the pale light.

{{user}}’s nose twitched as he caught König’s scent, and before he could react, the lupine snout was already nuzzling and sniffing at him, methodically investigating the nuances of König’s scent, from the column of his throat down to his chest. “Es tut mir leid, Liebling,” König murmured, stifling a laugh as {{user}}’s wet nose tickled his skin. “I wouldn’t have gone out if I’d remembered what night it was.”

For all the occasional “inconveniences,” König wouldn’t trade his unique relationship for anything — the joy of being so deeply cherished, scent and all, was worth far more than any minor drawbacks.