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horror-beeings-artandwriting · 4 days

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Dark choco cookie headcanons/backstory for my au

Quick thing: this is my AU! If ya don’t like the headcanons they aren’t about Canon DC they are just about my version of him, thanks for the understanding and enjoy the read!

AN/TWs: this will include, some doodles of him, OC x canon art, some gore(not graphic), scars, and in one he is just in boxers, not sexual just scar mapping, mention of just in general disturbing topics. read at your own risk, and please everyone, take care of yourselves you are loved never forget that!

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Firstly, Dark Choco cookie does not get his redemption arch, My version of dark choco isn't the best person per say. Unlike canon DC he's fine with that, he tried when he was younger to get rid of the sword, but slowly as he got older, he gave up and started to give into the Strawberry Jam sword. His backstory goes as such When he was younger(Young prince) He was the pride of the cacao kingdom, one of their most gifted worriers, he took interest in things that the others found odd or worrying, such as were every fatal point in the body was, or torture devices.

he was friends with Lady Rose Tea cookie, for many years, from the time he was 10 and she was 7 in the image above she was 18 he was 20. Choco was originally going to marry rose but the day before he got to see her again, he decided to go off and look for the Sca-strawberry jam sword. He has never forgiven himself for this. /silly The day of his fall, IE the day he picked up the sword went rather horribly(duh) Choco spent hours looking, he brought his own sword, but it was shattered almost instantly against the monsters protecting the temple the sword was put to rest in. Once Choco picked up the sword, lighting struck him setting fire to only half his body, leaving burn scars but also taking one of his eyes Pictured here.

Leaving him burned and bleeding, he ended up outside the temple and threw himself onto the snow, it stung and didn't help much, but enough to numb him for a while. he ended up limping back to the cacao kingdom, collapsing at the gate, the sword still gripped in his burned hand. cacao panicking brought his son inside the castle not caring about the sword, getting his best healers, a couple days later choco woke up, half his hair was charred, well half his body was. it hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, but then he started hearing whispers.

He tried to ignore them, and fell asleep. Then he woke up, in front of a bleeding Cacao, holding the sword he swore would save his kingdom...All he heard was "Leave, and never return." From his father, so he ran. He ended up discarding his armor from the cacao kingdom, after a few weeks, then he cut the rest of his hair. It still hurt to move. But he kept forward. Over the years he had started to give into the swords violent thoughts...no his violent thought. He ended up stealing some old armor from a museum. It worked well, and was made. Soon after he joined the cookies of darkness, he didn't really care about what dark enchantress does, or her cause. It let's him get out his violence in what he sees as a controlled environment. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Headcanon time!

Choco:

Choco keeps his hair short to stop himself from looking like cacao even more than he already does.

Him and sovereign are two different people, sovereign happens to be trapped in the sword and is sometimes able to possess choco.

He can open his eye but not normally , he has to use his hand to open it; and it is just a bloody socket. He has used this to scare the other cookies of darkness.

He used to idolize cacao now he, would rather be set ablaze again then be in the same room as him.

Choco doesn’t really talk to any of the cookies of darkness, other than poison mushroom cookie, who has started to treat him as an uncle. Choco doesn’t know how to handle this.

He’s a high ranking officer; basically a general of dark enchantresses army. (Mostly the cookie part of that army)

Choco is in his early 40s in this au. (He’s 42)

Choco doesn’t ever outright state his sexuality to in the au, he has only ever been attracted to rose. (Personally I see him as Demisexual, demiromantic and straight) he is literally the only straight member of the cookies of darkness.

He has known rose tea for about 30 years, they lost contact after he, know got cursed.

He has an interest into torture devices(one of his first hyper fixations) and swords.

Most of chocos scars aren’t from fighting but more due to dumb mistakes on his part, IE one time he ate if downs flight of stairs, and then slammed into a glass door, with his arm and cutting it open, he’s okay now.

Choco doesn’t really have any defined muscle, like looking at him outside of his armor he has a dad bod, but is freakishly strong because of the curse.

Speaking of the curse, it enhances a lot of things, mainly it made him really tall, (he’s almost 7ft tall now-) very strong, being able to lift almost 50x his body weight. And increasing his overall stamina and durability.

Canonically in the au, the armor he wears all the time, he stole it form a museum, it was an old piece of armor from one of the sovereign exhibits.(it wasn’t sovereigns armor thankfully-)

His fighting style is very different from most cacao worriers he’s, what would be to them, sloppy, since he can’t get hurt as easily he is more open to being very aggressive with his fighting style.

Choco has 2 dads one being cacao and the other being cacaos husband coconut cookie(who is owned/created by @hunterwritesstuff, I just love their ship, they are a set you cannot separate them)

Sovereign:

Sovereigns armor has funnily enough, rose thorns embedded into them, due to him being a weirdo.(he wanted to see if he could still fight that way) this however doesn’t apply to when he possesses choco.

Sovereign heats up, fast, choco is a naturally warmer person, but sovereign is always around 3000c or 5432f(I’m American I just did both cuz idk if some people are European-) he can cool himself down, but only for a couple minutes.

Both choco and sovereign have sharp teeth, covering just smiles more so you see his teeth more.

Sovereign is also more likely to abuse the powers that the strawberry jam sword gave him and choco, Choco doesn’t really use to magic as much as sovereign does.

Sovereign has a lot more control over the curse then choco.

Sovereign insists upon praying to scarlet night cookie before every battle, this; Annoys choco.

Sovereign even though he is technically a ghost, is connected with chocos emotions, like he feels them but 100x worse, his guilts and regrets; his fears, his obsessions. Sovereign doesn’t really care about the regret and guilt since he’s insane, but the obsessions. *looks at rose* yeah��.just yeah…

Sovereign is mainly able to possess choco when he is really stressed, or angry.

Scar headcanons!

He’s fine, they don’t hurt anymore.

And some extra doodles!:

Here is his beta design :)

Some blood rose stuff!

Some finally an explain my ship in 5 minutes!

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and thats all, my hands hurt. :\

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run #cr kingdom #crk headcanons #dark choco x oc #dark choco redesign #dark choco headcanons #cookie run headcanons #cookie run au #crk au #crk fan art #dark choco crk #crk dark choco #dark choco cookie #bees au #cr kingdom au #bee posts #bee writes stuff #rise and shine bee is buzzing(start tag)

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sad-endings-suck · 9 months

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same person different font

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grainsofvanillaau · 25 days

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Animatic -they see right through me x always an angel

#grains of vanilla au #crk au #cookie run kingdom au #pure vanilla cookie #is also pure sun cookie (who is grian)#pearl is rising moon cookie (who turns into bloodied moon cookie)#martyn is unending time cookie #philza is absolute wither rose cookie #also includes #white lily cookie #dark enchantress cookie #black raisin cookie #shadow milk cookie #and his previous identity/form

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maskyartist · 1 month

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Feel like I should give y’all a reason why I’m not really here much lately,,,,but ngl I don’t got one

Might be kinda mia for a bit ain’t too sure. Ask box’s always ops tho.

#masky says #like mm wanna make stuff. wanna do smth #but I don’t got any ideas..#maybe I should fiddle with more explosive kingdoms stuff #or finally buckle down and watch the trilogy again #for the sake of the aus…#idk getting real in the tags for a sec-#very bad spot in life I think. i think cause m not sure. maybe this is where I’m supposed to be.#too young to matter n too old to stop yknow?#just want it all to just stop moving forward…#go back. just go back I wanna go back. but the world keeps saying no and I keep trying to pretend I don’t hear it #but I do. and I see it. how the sun rises and sets. how the moon comes and goes.#how the sky goes through an entire rainbow of colors before blanketing the world in warm darkness #we can’t just stop…it wouldn’t be fair to the world that worked so hard to make things turn like this.#but fuck if I don’t wish it’d just slow the hell down for awhile.

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nellywizard · 3 months

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// TOTK Spoilers

Where Are You? (LU x TOTK AU Comic)

“Hours later, when the ground began to shake and rubble fell from the sky as they rushed outside to watch Hyrule Castle rising off the ground, malice flooding out of every crack in the land, and one of their members declared missing in the aftermath, Twilight found himself desperately wishing he had pushed a little harder.” — CubanCracker62. “Dark Clouds on the Horizon.” Archiveofourown.org, 11 June 2023, archiveofourown.org/works/47814853. Accessed 20 Jan. 2024.

The making of this comic and story was very heavily inspired by CubanCracker62 on AO3 and their Tumblr @wizard-finix , I highly recommend that you check out their story on AO3, send them your support and kudos, and boost their “The Chain in TOTK” and “Linked Universe fics” series!

This comic in itself was a one-by-one project that I worked on when I could find the time for it. So if you notice how my style changes on each page, it was from weeks to a month or so of improvements in my skills (which I’m highly proud of!).

Linked Universe © jojo56830

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom © Nintendo

Dark Clouds on the Horizon © CubanCracker62 on AO3

#linked universe #tears of the kingdom #legend of zelda #lu wild #lu twilight #lu flora #totk roleswap au #loz totk #totk #lu time #lu wind #lu sky #lu x totk au #twilights pity party #no invites either #DAMN I FORGOT TO @

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 days

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Winter's King 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: this one came out of no where.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s uncharacteristically grim on the plains of Debray. Rains pelt the tall green grasses, flattening them in a slanted downpour that dims the horizon. Clouds blot out the daylight and lend to atmosphere of unease in the warring lands.

Behind the castle walls, one can forget about the bloodshed staining the counties red, though it is all the dukes and his audience can speak of. The lords that bluster through those gates, sometimes at the toll of morning, some in the black swathes of night. You can’t count them all, you can name even fewer, but they come anon and leave just as brusquely.

A peel of thunder shakes the land and a dark line limns the curve of the horizon. What appears first as a storm cloud advances quickly through the fields, appearing more clearly to the naked eye, distant nonetheless. Men. Another party fast on the approach.

The alarm goes up at a man’s holler. Ethred, man at the gate hollers to the other men in mail. Niam peers out from the vantage of the tower and calls back down. A hush falls and bodies scurry all around, metal clinking and boots crunching. There’s something amiss. Something you can’t quite place.

You turn away from the window, the steam rising from the basin in your hand swirling around your head. You carry on down the corridor, wool skirts around cautious steps as you balance the swaying water in the vessel. You approach the lady’s door and give it a rap with your knee. Merinda, another handmaid, opens it from within.

You enter without a word and place the basin on the vanity table. The duke’s daughter preens herself with a painted fan, fluttering her lashes at her reflection as her curls spill down her long back. She tilts her head this way and that. She snaps the fan shut and puts it down, touching her soft brown cheeks with a devilish grin.

“Do you know what father mentioned last eve?” Jazlene asks with a vain flutter of her lashes.

“What did he mention?” Her mother, Lady Rezlyn prompts lazily as she plucks another cherry from a dish heaped in fruit.

“A husband,” the daughter grins coyly at herself, “it is well due, isn’t it, mother? Who do you think it might be? Lord Gai, perhaps? He is young still.”

“Perhaps the Earl of Mesafin,” her mother taunts back to a disgusted gasp.

“Do not,” Jazlene pouts, “I could never... I am much too pretty for that haggard beast.”

“Well, then, who might you have, precious?” Rezlyn goads.

There is a clamour in the hall that keeps the younger of the woman from answering. She rolls her eyes and darkly glare at the door. You peer back behind your shoulder as a wail goes up carrying her father’s name; ‘Lord Dustan!’

“What is all that?” Jazlene whines, “as if it isn’t enough with the rain and the winds. It is summer!”

“It’s always summer in Debray, darling,” Rezlyn scoffs, “otherwise I’d have never married your father. Pray you don’t hook yourself a winter lord.”

You peek over your shoulder as you stand near the door, in your vigil, awaiting your next order. You face the ladies again as the elder continues to feast and the younger fusses over her thick brows. You scrunch your lips back and forth, a habit that often has your jaw aching.

Jazlene turns to narrow her eyes at you, “what is it then? What has you making faces?”

You bow your head, appeasing her ego, “my lady, there were men coming. A party approaching from the north.”

“There are always men,” she shakes her head, “who was it then? Anyone I should wear silk for?”

Her mother laughs, “I warn you, daughter, that trite tongue will not endear any husband.”

“I do not know, lady,” you answer.

“Ugh, useless, must I work as my own handmaid?” Jazlene tisks, “come, pin my hair. Merinda find me a gown. Mother... wipe the dribble from your chin.”

“Eh, watch yourself,” Lady Rezlyn rises and wipes her lips with her sleeve. She wears muslin in a dark shade of burgundy, embroidered with little copper finches. “Or hope you marry above me before you lash that tongue at me.”

Jazlene merely trills with laughter. You take the pins and work at twisting her fine curls into place. Merinda brings to her a dress of teal satin and is promptly shooed away, “something pink. It brings out my bosom.”

You ignore her bawdy jest as her mother harrumphs. You work in quiet tandem with the other handmaid. You add a touch of paint to the lady’s cheeks and kohl around her eyes. You tint her lips with pigment and she pushes out her lips at the mirror. You help Merinda dress her, pulling the noble daughter’s corset tight enough to leave her lightheaded.

The pair of ladies, elder and younger, leave the chamber with you at their skirt tails. They sweep through the corridors with chins up. They are queens in their own minds. Their fine dresses and sparkling gems are untouched by the disparity of war. The lives lost are squares on a game board, tawdry talk for men in their studies.

“Lord Dustan,” Lady Rezlyn mimics the earlier call for the lord of the castle, “my husband. Dear, dear husband!”

The women go to the banister and look down upon the great hall as the flurry continues below. You and Merinda loom behind, not daring to stand at a level with the pompous nobles. You have never volunteered yourself for their impetuous lashings.

“Woman!” Dustan booms back up, “do not trouble me now.”

“Oh, has another lord come? Perhaps a suitor for our lovely daughter--”

“Cease!” The duke demands hotly, “now is not the time for womanly games.”

“Tell me it true, husband, she will be an old maid before you find a suiting son-in-law--”

“Go away to your chambers. Now. The men who come are not to be trifled with and you lot do trifle overly much!”

“Bah! Oh do not be so uncouth!” Rezlyn decries.

“Father, please, is it a husband?”

“Go before I send my guards up to put you away like thieves in a dungeon. Hear me when I warn you that this does not concern you. Not as yet,” Dustan snarls, “you would spoil this war with your puny concerns.”

“Ugh,” his wife puts her hand to her forehead, “he does tax me. All I ask of him is to take care of us, daughter. As any husband should.”

“I should have your lips sewn shut!” Dustan rebukes hotly, “be gone before I find a tailor.”

The women share an aghast look. The turn back to flutter away in their skirts. You and Merinda follow them to the drawing room, closing them in as they fall onto the velvet cushions. Jazlene reclines dramatically on the chaise as her mouth mopes on a sofa.

“Shall I be alone forever, mother?” Jazlene snivels, “why won’t he let me marry?”

“He only wants to find the right man, that is all, darling,” Rezlyn coaxes. “He is overprotective and that is good for it means he will find a husband for you with a similar bearing.”

“Such sweet words cannot convince me. He punishes me. When all my lady friends have wed and borne a whelp or two, I remain with the dust and stone.”

“Do not be theatrical,” Rezlyn girds, “you are silly.”

“I am not silly, mother. I am afraid. I am twenty and three and I have no suitor. I have only a war butchering any man who might have my hand. Why must this go on? Why must I suffer for the gripes of stubborn kings.”

“We cannot fear. This war will be won and you will have a knight for a husband. Isn’t that better? To have a warrior you can be proud of than some bookish lord in his tower?” Rezlyn stands and moves to sit with her daughter, petting her as she cooes, “oh my beautiful, no man can resist you. You will see.”

⚔️

Some hours pass with the restless women, pacing and chattering, about careless things beyond marriage and war. Like needlework and a banquet that should be had upon the truce. Would that the day would come sooner.

You and Merinda stifle yawns that pass between you. The act is contagious as you stand in the tedium of the wealthy and wait for a duty to be called upon you. The hours you spend watching the women preen and swoon make you envy the stable boys and the shit shovelers.

The noise beyond those walls continues. You heard the moat open and the clopping hooves of horses, even the clatter of carts. The voices had since hushed but footfalls carried back and forth. The wordless activity betrays an air of impatience, almost of nervousness. As the ladies within mirror the sentiment.

Finally, as the windows darken and the candles burn brighter, a knock shakes the door. The ladies snap their heads around. Merinda is asleep on her feet as you move first. You open to a man in grey and black waits on the other side. He is not Lord Dustan’s.

“The duchess and her daughter,” he garbles through a mouth that sounds full of salt.

You dip your head and look to the ladies in question. There is a tension, of unease, of unknowing, of excitement turned to dread. This is not as it has been. There is not call to the dinner table. There is no buoyant introduction of a lord Dustan met as a young scamp. There is silence and fear. Has someone died? Has a battle been lost?

The women emerge and greet the man with niceties and tight-lipped simpers. He does not pay them heed as you and Merinda exchange looks. You trail after the ladies but the man stops. He turns back, a hand on the pommel at his waist, and sneers, a furrow in his brow.

“One of ya,” he grits.

Jazlene says your name. She must’ve noticed Merinda swaying on her feet. If she even cares so much about a maid. You keep your head down and follow as they press on. Down the corridor and around the duke’s study, recently deemed his war room. You’ve never been within. It is not the domain of women.

The grey and black soldier thumps on the door. Mother and daughter clasp hands. Even they can sense the unusual frigidity. The door opens from within. It is Lord Dustan. He wears a serious look on his lined face. The ladies are beckoned in and the soldier nudges you after them as you hesitate.

Lanterns light the space from the desk at the rear of the chamber. The large table draped in maps, wooden horses, and little wooden pucks stands central on a thick rug. A figure stands behind it, head down as his burly and broad silhouette seems to sop up the shadows.

The ladies follow the duke to stand across from the man. His head is down as he slides a horse along a road on the map. He stops it and grips it tight. He looks up and the lantern light dances on his features. You suck in a breath, as the rest do, stunned by his appearance.

His hair is white, his eyes are a goldish yellow, pupils deep pools of black, and his square jaw is just as thick as the rest of him. You have never seen a man like him before, but you have heard of one. Of him. King Geralt of Rivia.

You stand in similar confusion to the ladies. Their silent confoundment is broken by Duke Dustan as he nears the table. He sniffs and presses his fingers to the table top.

“Your highness, my wife, Lady Rezlyn, and my daughter, Lady Jazlene,” he introduces.

The women glance at each other then curtsy to the white king. He watches them dully. You fold your hands, taking it in curiously. It is rather something to witness the scene. You are so unimportant as to not be a part of it.

“Your highness,” the recite, “it is...”

“An honour,” Dustan finishes for them, “of course it is. We fondly welcome you and your allyship. We hope that we will be essential in ending this war. In helping you attain the peace you have so valiantly fought for--”

The king raises his hand to silence the lord. You can’t help but quork your head. Allyship? But King Geralt, he is of Rivia, he is of the hinterland, he is the one who invaded the summer country and bid it his own. He is the foe. That is what they told you.

“Enough...” the king speaks in a silty tone that scrapes in his throat. His eyes wander over the women and narrow. You wince as your own meet his golden irises and you shy away, putting your chin to your chest. That’s a mistake. “...words.” He slaps his hand down, “you do not win wars with words.”

“Yes, your highness, you are correct. I know it well. It is why I invited you here. It is the very reason I made my entreaty. You have my men, they will win this war for you.”

The king is hardly impressed by the fact. He looks back to the table and moves the horse further before turning it back. He knocks it over and stands completely straight.

“And the daughter of Debray, your highness. To have a wife of summer’s blood, men will bend the knee. If you show them you do not mean to eradicate but to join with them,” Dustan moves to stand closer to his daughter, “isn’t she a fine queen for a fine kingdom?”

Jazlene swoons and falls against her father. She’s fainted. Rezlyn grabs onto her other shoulder and you peek up at the chaotic scene. You come forward to help, snatching a pillow from the single couch, and you place it under Jazlene’s head as they lay her down on the floor.

A shadow shifts as Dustan and Rezlyn fuss over their daughter, fanning and calling to her. You look up as darkness clusters over you. You see the king staring down at the scene. No, not them. He staring at you. Before he can reprimand you, you put your head down.

You must quit that lest you find yourself at the wrong end of a switch.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt of rivia #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #winter's king #au #medieval au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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solecize · 11 days

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fic announcement: through the mist | jungkook x reader

remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light now, i just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes. ten years of lies and love and crawling back to one another. once shy, budding first love that blossomed before the weight of fame, the cracks begin to surface amidst your respective rises to stardom and navigation of your twenties. either finding euphoria or the end of the world, there's never any in between in existence for you and jungkook. as you build each other up and break each other down in front of millions of eyes, there is a crossroads ahead with words of "marriage" and "military" looming in the air - all while ignoring the price of fame breathing down your necks. this is the story of love and the lessons learned from the man you made your religion. and i wouldn't marry me either, a pathological people-pleaser who only wanted you to see her

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), infidelity, foul language, substance use 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of events that have occurred in real-life. the main character is a member of a fictional idol group. more warnings may be added as the story is written. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒. wip.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #kpop fanfic #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook fic #*** / through the mist.

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kittyscupcakeandbunny · 10 months

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Made by me

The Masterlist

CRAZY OVER YOU

[HYBRID AU]

[FINISHED]✅

Side Characters: Namjoon/doctor, Seokjin/doctor, Taehyung/Hybrid Tiger, Jungkook/Bunny Hybrid, Hoseok/assistant.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of blood, sharp objects, rut, beast behavior.

Genre: Fantasy, hybrids au, smut.

SUMMARY》 Yoongi is a black mamba hybrid one of rarest species of hybrids, who’s about to be put down due to his lack of interest in living. But everything changes after the new medical assistance (y/n) takes a liking to him. Meeting after meeting he realise his feelings for her are not the only thing growing.

INTRO - In the books they say

ONE - Love at first bite

TWO - Bath me with your love

THREE - Hungry for your love I

FOUR - The truth untold II

FIVE - Bitter taste, Jealousy and bites

SIX - Take Me Home

SEVEN - The last bite OUT NOW

SET ME FREE

[MAFIA AU]

On Going

Side Characters: Min Yoongi as Agust D/Mafia boss, Jung Hoseok as Jack/Concierge, Namjoon/Police detective, Jungkook/Police detective, Park Jimin/thief and gang leader, Taehyung/Mafia member FBI Mole, Paradise owner. Jin/unknown, Busan/Mafia boss.

Warnings: This story contains nsfw content (descriptive blood, gore, etc.) as well as sexual content. Mentions may include violence, consumption of alcohol, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, description of injuries, themes of major horror and also explores obsessive behaviors and codependency, robbery, killing, guns, torturing, fire, toxic yandere men, violence, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships.

SUMMARY: You made it. Now a police intern as you always promised to your father before he died, you were more than happy to finally be able to help people like he did. But the law was not what you expected to be like. You did not know how lonely it would be for a young woman to grow her career in this kingdom. Having to take care of your 18 year old brother wasn't easy too and things just got a lot worse when you've met Agust D. The king of the mafia Min. He sure knew how to make a life turn into a hell hole.

INTRO

ONE - Red Chopsticks

TWO - I’ll find you in a dark Paradise

THREE - A deal with the devil

FOUR - Welcome to my world

FIVE - Good girl gone bad COMING SOON

SIX - Dance with the devil COMING SOON

7 FINAL DESTINATION - LILITH

BREATH OF FIRE

[HYBRID GODS AU]

On Going

Side characters: Park Jimin/White fox hybrid.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, violence, sharp objects, suggestive words, smut, alcohol, killing.

Genre: Fantasy, romance, strangers to lovers, R +18.

SUMMARY: Did you know a fox only mates once in their life? For almost 400 years Min Yoongi never mated before, all theses years of emptiness and loneliness. He had tried so many times to end with his own hands. Until one night a hint of sweet and fire blows towards his nose, the smell was something he never felt before. And blood. Running for your life you felt hopeless in front of a lake, two man following you behind. Their disgusting smiles and eyes savoring your female body, you knew what they would do but you'd rather die. It all started with fire.

INTRO - Run little girl

ONE - Wood, cinnamon and honey.

TWO - Please wash away this blood on my skin

THREE - A taste of honey and dreams

FOUR - A rise from the shadows (coming soon)

FIVE - Lost in two words (coming soon)

SIX - coming soon

SEVEN - FINAL BREATH coming soon

BUNNY BUNS

[HYBRID AU]

COMING SOON

Side Characters: Yoongi/black cat hybrid, Hoseok/human, Taehyung/golden hybrid.

Warnings: Smut, violence, mentions of blood. And finally some fluff.

SUMMARY: Jungkook needed to hide. He was on the run. And what better place for a bunny hybrid to hide then a Bunny coffee shop? How could he resist? You smelled sweet and looked nice. All it took was one smile of yours and a bunny bread and he was on all fours for you.

INTRO - Bunny on the run

ONE - Bunnies don’t like water ( coming soon)

TWO - Carrot Cake 🥕(coming soon)

THREE - Bunny in the kitchen coming soon

FOUR - I’ll take care of you coming soon

FIVE - Bunny on the run coming soon

SIX - The last Bun. Coming soon.

ONE SHOTS

Coming soon

YOONGI

My Best Friends Crush

Characters: Min Yoongi/music theory Teacher, Jung Hoseok/dance teacher, Jungkook/art and design student, Jimin/danc student, reader/art student.

Genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden love?

Warnings: mentions of explicit language, sexual references(smutty material), consumption of alcohol, age difference.

Summary: “my whole life I always hated rules and protocols, growing to fin comfort on art as I could express myself unapologetically and freely. But there was one rule I made with myself; never fall in love with your friend crush.

With my rebellious nature, it was bound to be broken but I just never meet someone who would take that seriously.”

HOSEOK

JIMIN

JUNGKOOK

JIN

NAMJOON

TAEHYUNG

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meechatuck · 16 days

Text

Dark Kingdom Rising

Heads up peeps, I have a very busy day tomorrow (and I have procrastinated just a smidge) so the next chapter will be up on Saturday. I am working a shift for an old co-worker and I have my son's birthday party to host so it's going to be a busy Friday. But the chapter will be up on Saturday!! I promise! Okay that is all, go on about your lovely day.

#Dark Kingdom Rising #Dark Kingdom Rising fic #Dark Kingdom Rising AU #meecha writing

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huramuna · 2 months

Text

even in undeath - chapter 1.

lich king aemond x reader a 'world of warcraft' AU. prev | next

The Lich King is the master and lord of the Scourge. Consisting of thousands of walking corpses, disembodied spirits, beasts of the north, and damned mortal men, the Scourge is a terrifying and insidious enemy.

word count: 2.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, DUBCON, smut, heavy heavy angst, graphic depictions of violence, allusions to cannibalism, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, suicidal thoughts and ideation, mutilation of corpses, obsessive aemond, dark aemond, a happy ending is not in our future. PLEASE MIND THE TAGS! This story will be pretty dark.

story playlist

It was dark and cold. There was a faint dripping of water somewhere off to the side, but you couldn’t quite see where. The echoes of whimpers ricocheted off of the craggy walls, stinging your eardrums.

This was the descent into madness, wasn’t it?

You weren’t sure how long you’d been chained up for— how long had it been since your village burned to the ground? Since you watched the ghouls rip apart the cow farmer from down the road. Since you watched hellhounds crunching on little Mary Jay’s bones. Since you had watched your mother and stepfather plead and beg for their lives, for forgiveness, for mercy, for absolution of their supposed sins before the death knight’s sword lopped their heads off.

How long has it been?

Shifting slightly, the chain tied to your throat clinked against the wall. There was no light, no passage of time to be had in the dank, pitch black cave they stowed you and a few select others in. You only had on a ragged potato sack as a dress, the sensation of dirt and grime caked on your hair and under your nails making you feel less than human.

But— you were still human. For now. The Scourge had ravaged the Eastern Kingdoms without mercy, swiping through the North and South like a fast traveling plague, curdling and damning everything it touched. Hordes of undead zombies, ghouls and hellhounds were the first to raze the cities, driving out the people like mice from the walls. Then the banshees came, along with the necromancers to raise the dead, adding them to a forever amounting army.

Not even Quel’thalas had been able to resist it, an ancient elven city hewn in magic.

What chance did you have?

More than most, evidently. Your mind wrought itself over and over as to why— why were you alive? Why were you still human and not merely a risen thrall?

The clinking of armor scared you as it ascended the hallway. You pressed close to the wall and closed your eyes.

Please don’t stop here, please don’t stop here.

Clink, clink, clink… closer… closer…

Then it passed, descending further away. You let out a breath, your blood still pumping in your ears.

Clink, clink, clink. They were coming back. Clink… silence. You felt bile rise in your throat as you shook, the chains rattling noisily. You knew they were standing there, you knew they were here for you.

A harsh tug upon your chain, your head hitting the floor— some words were mumbled, the voice sounding far away and broken. Your eardrums rang with the ferocity of your fall, drowning out any semblance of what your jailer was saying to you. Then, you were tugged upward, the cool metal of the collar biting into your skin as you were dragged like a petulant child away from your cell…

You didn’t want to open your eyes. You couldn’t face the horror you knew was around you— corpses, living ones and dead, the clatter of bones, the heavy breathing of gargantuan abominations, bodies and faces of countless people stitched together into a new body, hewn with thread and necrotic magic until it gave way to something else entirely. Something unnatural, something made of nightmares. The dermis of those who were used to make the monsters would still twitch, reach out on its own, and if it had a mouth, it would be twisted into a scream. You swore that you heard them whispering as you were dragged by.

The monstrosities were one of many abhorrent creatures at the Scourge’s disposal. Hellhounds, ghouls, gargoyles, wraiths, crypt lords, geists, banshees, and other things of horrific nature were only some of the power wielded by the Scourge. It felt like it was all pulled out of a child’s fairytale, changed and twisted and defiled into what it was now.

It all felt like a very bad dream.

Your eyes opened on their own and you took in the image of death knights, former paladins who served a higher power, the Light— now are nothing but undead heretics, glowing eyes and gaunt stares that bored through you.

Some of the monsters chittered as you were dragged past them, leering and looking hungry.

‘Scrawny that one. Perhaps she will suffice for hellhounds to pick their teeth.’

‘Speak for yourself, her skin will do beautifully on a new abomination.’

‘She won’t be knighted. Merely a maid’s bastard, I’ve heard.’

You forced your eyes to close once more, the sudden light stinging them. You forced yourself into another time, a better memory than what you were experiencing.

They were right, you were a maid’s bastard. Your mother had served in the royal keep for years, with you under her feet. You didn’t know who your true father was, nor did you care.

You became attached to the second son of the King— Aemond Targaryen. He was a sprightly boy with near white hair and luminous violet eyes. The two of you were attached at the hip.

Childhood friendship blossomed into more as you grew into teenagers and young adults— you shared your first kiss together, you held hands and shared sweet nothings. As he trained by day to become a paladin of the Light, he held you close by night, vowing to never let you go. You were both terribly in love and so terribly, terribly naive. He was your first in everything– your first friend, your first kiss, your first lover. You promised yourself that he would stay your first and only.

‘You can never marry a maid’s bastard, Aemond! You’re a prince of the realm-‘

‘I don’t care! I want her, father. I’ve always wanted her!’

Your mother quit her job at the castle— moreso, threatened into quitting by some of the King’s advisors. She was given a considerable amount of coin and told to take you far, far away and to not contact the prince again.

Heartbroken, you left him your sapphire ring, the only thing of value you ever had, which had been passed down through your mother’s family for generations.

It was left on his desk with a note of few words but much feeling.

‘I love you. I’m sorry.’

That was over ten years ago. You hadn’t seen him since, but you missed him horribly. Especially now. You wondered if he was still alive, fighting against the Scourge like his knightly vows dictated.

Maybe he was married and moved across the sea to Kalimdor where it was safer.

Or maybe he was dead. Dead like almost everyone else you knew.

You heard a rumor, fleeting and without much more information, that his father had died– no, that his father had been murdered. The fall of the king, Viserys, is what started the Scourge war. Did Aemond know, wherever he was?

You imagined him holding his arms around you, kissing your neck and fanning his breath over your skin. He liked to encompass you completely with his body when you laid together— you never could emulate the feeling with heavy blankets and pillows, as much as you tried. Putting yourself back into that memory, you wrapped your arms around yourself, willing warmth into your body.

But you didn’t feel any warmth. All you felt was cold, cold down to your bones. They felt brittle, like ice, splintering into shards as you were thrown on the floor again in a different room. Pain bloomed in your arm as it cracked at an awkward angle. Broken.

Your ears rang again as your mouth opened into a scream, tears of pure anguish squeezing from your eyes. But you didn’t hear a thing besides the rush of blood dampening your senses— and the sickening crunch of your broken bones.

‘What have you done to it, Lady Deathwhisper? It looks broken.’

‘It’s human bones are so brittle, it was merely a slip of the hand. I cannot help that their living constitution is so weak.’

‘His grace will not be pleased if it is broken beyond repair.’

‘Worry not, Lady Alys. Most things can be mended— and if not, it can always be raised.’

‘Physical defects aren’t the only issue. What of its mind?’

You feel an acute sensation over your skull, reaching into the depths of your cranium. Its cold, but not stinging— like a soft caress upon your brain as your mind is rifled through like a tome. You can feel your memories being perused, all of the most intimate moments of your life flashing in your head like playwright’s prose. The physicality of your mind being invaded wasn’t painful, but the act of your memories being ripped from you was damning. Tears fell down your face on their own, your mouth opened into a silent scream.

‘She is the one— I saw it. You are lucky that you did not break her mind completely, Lady Deathwhisper.’

‘As are you. You do not have a deft hand when it comes to memory perusal, Lady Alys. I am surprised that it still has a brain in its skull.’

‘Shut up and bring her to him. He will be pleased she is still alive. Barely.’

You felt yourself being moved again, still reeling from the invasion of your mind. You tried to put yourself back into the safe haven of memories, but they were… locked. Locked behind an iron door with no keyhole. They were lost to you.

What were you trying to remember?

Flashes of white hair and violet eyes flitted behind your eyelids, soft caresses and kisses, heavy breathing and love filled promises, the sensation of skin to skin…

Your eyes opened, vision bleary. A helmed woman followed behind you, wings outstretched. You could see the glint of green eyes under her helm. Val’kyr. The woman behind you was a Val’kyr, a spirit guide who defected to the side of the Scourge. They could move between the realm of living and dead as simply as taking a breath.

“The little human is awake,” she mused. “Your mind isn’t broken after all? I do see a glint of intelligence behind those eyes. Keep them on me, you shan’t wish to look upon Lady Deathwhisper.”

You didn’t want to speak, words caught in your throat like food stuck in your craw. A val’kyr was basically an angel of death and talking to one must mean you are dead.

You wish you were.

The chains scraped against the floor, which was no longer stone like before, but rather, hardened ice. You were ascending upward, it seemed. The architecture of the building was nothing like you’d ever seen— dark metal was plated upon the walls, inscribed with glowing runes. The runes looked… familiar to you, somehow. But the memory that contained them was locked away, or mayhaps stolen by the Val’kyr, Alys.

The temperature was cold, you were being lofted upon ice, of course, but you didn’t wholly feel it. You were partially numb, heat radiating from your broken arm. You knew you should be feeling pain— but you were just… numb.

Your escorts stopped in front of two large doors, inscribed with the same glowing runes. Against Alys’ advice, you glanced at ‘Lady Deathwhisper’. She was skeletal, floating upon the ground with no legs to speak of. Her robes were purple fabric, molded around an incorporeal body. She spoke in a language you didn’t understand, the scratchy voice of hers coming out of a bone skull, but the mouth wasn’t moving, maw open as the words came out.

You should have listened to Alys.

The door opened with a rumble, opened by ancient magic, likely imbued by the runes, as they flickered and flitted above your head as it opened. The room beyond was open and bereft of almost anything, except for a throne. A throne forged of ice and swords.

Someone was sitting upon it in a lazed position, one plated gloved finger tapping on the arm of the throne.

“We’ve brought her, your grace,” Lady Deathwhisper growled, shoving you forward. You skidded across the floor, which felt slick like grazing atop an ice-capped lake. “Alys confirmed it is her.”

The clinking of armor caught your attention, the sound of metal grazing against ice. It was irritating and made you grind your teeth. As whoever was on the throne got closer, the force was oppressive. Whimpers and tiny cries were ripped from you as they walked towards you, the aura exuding from them causing you to fall flat to the ground, feeling as if someone was sitting atop of your chest and not letting up.

The steel plated boot was in front of you now and your hair was grabbed rather harshly, pulling you up.

Don’t look, don’t look. You cannot look.

“Look. At. Me.” the voice growled. It was quiet but commanding at the same time, rattling in your bones and making a home amongst the marrow. It felt familiar… so…

You lifted your bloodshot eyes, not out of your own volition, but from the authority of the voice.

“Hello, little dove.” he mused.

It was him. It was… it… Aemond. You knew him so well, even with ten years gone. His chiseled jawline and chin and the dimple of the tip of his nose…

But his eye was missing, a jagged scar bisecting it. In its place was a sapphire. The sapphire from your ring, grown into something to make home in the socket.

You felt everything and nothing all at once, your stomach flipped and flopped like a fish hoisted from the sea, sputtering for air. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t–

Your best friend, your lover, the one you vowed to never forget, to never forsake.

Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond Targaryen was the Lich King. A defiler, a mass murderer, an unholy being in his own right.

“Now you won’t be able to leave again, will you?” Aemond murmured, his violet eye roving you. It was glowing slightly– his skin was a pale gray pallor, cheeks sunken slightly. He was undead.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, vision going black.

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fic #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #dark aemond smut #dark aemond angst #my writing #even in undeath #hotd au

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sprout-fics · 2 months

Note

Sprout, you’re spoiling us with this the Valentine’s Day requests! I’m so excited to see what you come up with for them 🥰

Could I please request Soap x Reader with the following prompt?-

“If I wed your sister, it will bind me and you together for eternity, and I will spend every day of my marriage wanting you, dreaming of you, dreading the day when my last thread of honor finally snaps.”

"If I wed your sister..." (Valentines day requests)

Tags: Arranged marriage, Royalty AU, Courting, Prince Soap, Forbidden love

The young prince of Scotland, you think, is as handsome as he is brash and bold.

He arrives in your kingdom with great fanfare from your royal family, riding atop a great dark steed and flanked by three of his most loyal knights. His eyes are the color of a cloudless summer day, and when he speaks his voice carries the melodies of his highland home.

You are utterly besotted by him.

At dinners held in his honor you listen raptly as he regales the court with tales of conquests, hiding giggling laughter at his sharp wit and broad smile. His eyes twinkle as he catches your own wide-eyed stare, grinning broadly at your delight.

You sister is not as enthused as you. She listens politely, but you catch her examining his fingernails, eyes wandering over to some of the prince’s heralds with their battle-worn eyes. When the prince tells her the nickname his fellows gave him, she wrinkles her nose and asks “What on earth kind of name is ‘Soap’?”

Your jealousy that she is to be his bride knows little bounds.

She seems unenthused at the prince’s attempts to woo her, entertaining them only out of duty and little else. She rises with a sigh from the sitting room you share when a maid announces the prince is there to take her on a long stroll, eyes the favors he’s given her with blatant disinterest, and returns his letters with dry responses.

You, however, watch Soap as he spars with his knights, watching with warm cheeks as the sun catches his nimble form and skin glistening with sweat. You catch him at the stables as he tends to his mare as opposed to letting some young servant boy do so. When a bard comes and strings melodies of love, he risks leaning towards you with a sarcastic remark that makes you cover your sorting laughter with a cough.

He comes to you under the guise of seeking guidance on courting your sister, but you find yourselves hardly ever speaking of her. Instead you spend long hours discussing his homeland, the kingdom’s politics, his fondness for the arts and his time spent in battle. The brief meetings begin to evolve into a secret rendezvous after dark, sitting in a dark corner of the garden under the moonlight as you watch his eyes soften as your laughter. He catches you alone in the hallways and presses kisses to your knuckles, blue eyes never breaking contact, winking mischievously before vanishing.

You want so desperately to be his.

Yet you’re forced to keep to appearances. Your sister’s hand in marriage must come first by birthright. To have you, her younger sister, marry first would dishonor her. Instead you must wait for her to be wed before you find a match of your own.

Yet when you ask her about the Scot her answer remains the same: “If I must.” She comments idly, eyes distracted as she watches the knights training from a balcony high above. Distracted, deferent to tradition but indifferent to the man who would be her groom. You find her instead giggling with some knight who stuffs her kerchief into his doublet, or a young marquess who sends her flowers with a love letter scrawled with praises of her loveliness.

Yet she does not send Soap away.

You catch him outside, staring at a lake at the perimeter of the castle grounds. His eyes are fond but lonely, gazing reminiscently at something you can’t see. When you appear at his side, his visibly brightens.

“Reminds me of home.” He tells you. “Of the North Sea.”

You’re silent, contemplative before answering: “My sister has always hated the water.”

Soap nods, sighs.

He turns to you then, eyes grim, jaw set. It startles you, this stormy look of his, but your surprise pales to your shock at his next words.

“Let me ask for your hand.”

You blink, tongue-tied, before offering “B-but, my sister-”

“Will never understand me.” He finishes for you, taking your hands, grimacing as he gazes down at them. “Not like you.”

You try to speak, but find yourself empty of words. At your silence, he continues.

He looks up, and once more you’re enchanted by the blue of his eyes.

“I want you, bonnie. Just you.”

You find yourself lost helplessly in his gaze.

And you know inside your heart, you’ll never be able to deny him this.

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #valentines day requests

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the-marshals-wife · 3 months

Text

New Horizons (Arthur Curry x Reader)

A/N: Requested by @dantes-devil-huntress. I can't believe this is my first Aquaman fic! This was so much fun to write, I hope you enjoy!

Premise: Trying to figure out his place in the world as the newly crowned king of Atlantis, Arthur meets someone who may just help him find the answers he looking for.

Description: Arthur Curry/Aquaman x Fem!Reader (Human), meet-cute fluff! | Warnings: alcohol, mild language | Setting: AU w/o Mera endgame, before The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 3,468

Edit: here's my Orm Marius x Reader fic for my fellow Orm girlies ;)

Gif credit: user jasonmomoaonline

Imagine Arthur giving you shelter when you're stranded in a storm, and discovering his true identity

Getting stood up for your date had been the worst part of the night, until the moment you got into your car. Instead of the engine turning over and sputtering to half-life like usual, it only stalled.

"You have got to be kidding me," you say, gripping the steering wheel and turning the key until you thought it might snap, "Come on, come on, come ON!"

Throwing open your door, you pop the hood and stumble back out into the chilled night. You mutter curses under your breath as you survey the labyrinth of steel and hoses before you.

"At least nothing's on fire this time," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

You step back and stare at the bucket of bolts the salesman had called "like new." Besides coming to this bar, buying this car was quite possibly your biggest regret. It wasn't quite a lemon, but it wasn't a Rolls either. And most of all, it was all you could afford.

You exhale, glaring up at the flickering light of the bar's neon sign. The last thing you wanted to do after waiting nearly two hours alone like a fool was show your face inside again. You retrieve your phone from your back pocket, just to see the blinking bars in the top corner. No service.

"Wonderful," you groan.

Like a bad joke, thunder rolls in the distance. You look up to see the lightning flashing on the horizon across the bay. The brisk, salt air rises up from the water and cuts right through you.

"Could this night get any better?!" you lament, an angry shriek escaping your lips as you kick the front tire.

"Excuse me, Miss?" a voice from behind interjected.

You jump and turn to see a man approaching, nervous smile on his bearded face. You appraise him wearily: tall, dark, and not at all lacking in style, clad in both leather and jewelry. He looked a sight better than the drunken fishermen you'd observed stumble about the bar, which you concluded was about ninety-percent of the clientele. Even from where he stood, he certainly seemed to smell better.

"Uh, I don't mean to interrupt, but you sound like you might need some help," he offers hesitantly.

Despite your initial scare, something about him puts you at ease.

"Oh, um...yeah, actually" you smile embarrassed, tucking your hair behind your ear, "My stupid car won't start. Again."

"Mind if I take a look?" he asks, pointing.

"Would you? That would be great, honestly," you say, folding your arms against the cold, "I just had it in the shop last week. I have no idea what's wrong now."

He pats the fender as he circles around to the front, "Let's see what's got you all clammed up here, buddy."

"Your guess is as good as mine," you say exasperated, stepping to stand behind him a ways.

He chuckles and pushes up his sleeves, ducking underneath the hood. You take note of the intricate tattoos, realizing this friendly stranger was becoming more interesting by the minute.

"Hmm, nope. Not that," he says, craning his neck, "Not that either."

You bite your lip and sway on your feet, silently praying he could find the source of the problem. Any easy fix was probably too much to hope for, but your fingers stayed mentally crossed nonetheless.

"Ooh, maybe- no, definitely not," he says, followed by a clinking sound, "That should not be there."

"I really appreciate this," you say after a moment, peering over his shoulder, "I can change the wipers and put on a spare if I have to, but that's about the extent of my car expertise."

"No shame in that," he grunts, his voice strained, "Oof, now that might be a problem."

"Did you find something?" you dare to ask.

"These spark plugs are kaput. Like, 'not even a necromancer can bring them back' kind of kaput."

"The guy said they were fine!" you exclaim, "I knew I shouldn't have gone back to that place. Probably just took my money and laughed."

The man finally stands up and winces.

"And your alternator is on its last leg," he says with a grimace, "Even if you could get it to start, I wouldn't go more than five miles in this thing."

"Great. That's just wonderful," you sigh, shaking your head, "Well, thank you for looking. It'd have taken me forever to figure that out. Google only goes so far."

"No problem, wish I had better news for ya," he says, wiping his grease-tinged hands on his jeans before extending one towards you, "I'm Arthur, by the way."

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Arthur."

"Nice to meet you too."

Despite your frustration, you couldn't help but grin. As Good Samaritans go, he was quite a handsome one. Something in the back of your mind whispered that you had seen his face before, but you couldn't place when or where.

Before you could speak again, a bolt of lightning strikes just across the harbor, followed swiftly by a crash of thunder.

Arthur looks off to the darkened horizon, his expression souring with concern.

"Storm's coming in fast," he observes, the sea breeze blowing through his long, sun-kissed hair, "Do you have someone you can call to come pick you up?"

He turn back to you, and only now do you notice just how rich and golden eyes his eyes are. For a few dizzied seconds, you forget to answer.

"Uh, not really. I'm pretty new to the area. I don't know very many people," you reply, feeling shy all of a sudden, "I can just call a Uber or something. If my service ever picks up."

"Yeah, definitely," he nods, clearing his throat, "They have a phone inside."

"Thank you again for helping me, Arthur," you say, starting to walk towards the door.

"I didn't really help, though..." he trails off, disappointment in his voice as you step past him.

Your hand is almost on the handle when he pipes up.

"Uh, look I know you don't know me, but my dad's place is just down the road from here. He's the lighthouse keeper. Him and my mom are actually away on little retreat, and I'm watching the place for them," he explains, "It's dry, warm, and definitely has a lot less drunk guys. You could wait there while the storm passes, if you wanted."

You turn back to him, trying to conceal your renewed hope, "I couldn't impose on you like that."

"Oh you wouldn't be. It's just me and the dog. He's probably getting sick of me at this point. He could use a visitor," he chuckles, "But I understand if you'd rather stay here. Strange guy at a bar invites you to a lighthouse on a dark and stormy night. Sounds like a horror movie, I know."

You laugh, and so does he, bringing some much needed levity.

"I'll bring you right back if you change your mind, just say the word," he adds, sounding truly sincere.

Almost everything in you was saying not to trust a man you'd just met, but your gut was telling you otherwise. There was more to the warmth in his eyes than just the color.

"Well, it does sound like the dog could use some company," you say thoughtfully.

Arthur smirks. "Oh yeah. There's been a Hell's Kitchen marathon on for days, and I'm pretty sure he's sick of listening to my Gordon Ramsay impression. I can't resist, love that guy."

"I might have to hear that for myself."

"Let's get you out of this weather, and we'll see what I can do about that, then," he says with a wink, "My ride is just over here."

Not even the chilled wind could overcome the warmth of your cheeks. The excitement in your chest grows with every step as you follow him across the sandy lot. The ride in question, however, soon comes into view, and the knot in your stomach tightens all the more.

"Oh boy," you say, staring at the motorcycle.

"You're not scared of bikes are you?" he questions, stepping alongside it and reaching into the black saddlebag.

"Not exactly," you hesitate, "I've just never been on one before."

He pulls out a red, half helmet and offers it to you.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall off," he replies, amused.

You look between him and the headgear a moment before taking it.

"Besides," he says, swinging his leg over the seat, "All you have to do is hang on."

With no argument to make, and rain drops beginning to sprinkle down, you pull your hair back and fasten the helmet on. You nearly lose your balance trying to throw your leg over, having to grab his shoulder to steady yourself. He didn't seem to mind; you could have sworn you heard him snicker. You settle into the seat, heart racing from being so close to him. More anxious than ever, you lightly place your hands on his back.

"All good back there?" Arthur asks, a smile in his voice.

"All good," you repeat, unconvincingly.

"Alright then," he says, turning the key.

Seconds later, the motorcycle roars to life as he revs the engine. Arthur eases the bike back slowly, pivots out of the lot, and eases it up to the main road. The instant he accelerates, the force kicks you backward. You throw your arms around his torso, pulling yourself against him. Over the noise of the machine, you weren't sure if the rumbling in your ear that followed was thunder or laughter, but you figured was the latter.

With the bar now behind you, and the rain coming down harder with the increasing speed, you bury your face into his back and hold on tightly.

♆

The lighthouse comes into view just as the skies open up. Arthur maneuvers the bike up the slippery, sand driveway and quickly shuts it off. He gives you his hand as you climb off and leads you toward the house.

The helmet offers some protection from the downpour, but the wind blows the spray into your face as you squint to see. Lightning above illuminates the world like daylight as you scramble up onto the porch.

Arthur throws the front door open and lets you in first as you stumble inside the dark house. You take a few blind steps forward as he slams it shut behind him, thunder making the windows rattle.

"Man, someone must have really pissed off Thor," he laughs. His relief, however, is turned to exasperation as you hear a clicking sound followed by a sigh.

"Power's out. Awesome."

Still trying to catch your breath, you pull out your phone, struggling with wet fingers to use touchscreen. Finally the flashlight turns on, and Arthur throws his hand up over his eyes as you accidentally shine it right at his face.

"Sorry," you pant, pointing it down.

"No worries. That's a good idea, actually. I always forget about this thing," he remarks, grabbing his own phone and doing the same, "One second, I think Pops has some candles in the kitchen."

You nod as he disappears into the next room. Now remembering the dripping helmet on your head, you release the strap with your free hand and set it down on the mat beside the door. A shiver goes through you from your soaked clothes. You point your phone about the shadowy room to get your bearings, admiring the otherwise cozy living area. As you sweep the light downward, something large and metallic glints on the coffee table in front of the sofa and catches your eye. You move closer to get a better look, and then your heart drops to your feet. Lying beside a bag of jerky and the TV remote is a massive, gleaming trident of gold. A memory flashes through your mind of an article you'd seen weeks ago, with a fuzzy photo of an alleged aquatic hero holding a weapon just like it. The pieces come together all at once as you realize the identity of your host.

The very next second, you hear Arthur's approach. He returns with a lit candle in each hand and a blanket under his arm, only to find your expression of complete and utter shock.

"You...you're..." you stammer.

"Oof, I knew I forgot to put something away," he cringes, "My bad."

"You're the Aquaman," you gape, finding the words.

"Surprise," he says in a sing-song voice, flashing a nervous smile, "Yeah, I never really know how to bring that up.

You stare at him dumbfounded as he places the candles on the coffee table. "I can't believe it. Aren't you supposed to be like...well, in Atlantis or something?"

"I was, earlier this morning. Just about died of boredom in council meetings," he says matter-of-factly, proceeding to talk as if he had a desk job, "I'm kinda part-timing right now, between land and sea. It's complicated. I'm still new to the whole 'king' thing. Don't have all the kinks worked out yet."

"I'd imagine," you breathe, your mind still reeling.

"Here, figured you need this." He holds out the blanket, completely unphased by the previous subject, "Do you drink tea? I can make some for you."

You take the blanket and chuckle in bewilderment. "Um, sure. That would be great," you answer, "Thank you."

"One tea coming up," he smiles, "Uh, just make yourself comfortable, I'll get the fire going here a minute, after I find the dog. Pretty sure he's hiding under Pops' bed upstairs. He's terrified of storms. Ironic right? Lighthouse keeper's dog afraid of a little water."

"I don't blame him this time," you say, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, "I think you were right about Thor."

As if on cue, another boom of thunder shakes the walls. You both burst out laughing.

♆

A few minutes later, you find yourself sitting on the floor in front of a roaring fire with a warm mug in your hands, finally beginning to feel dry. Having been unsuccessful in coaxing the dog into joining him downstairs, Arthur settles down beside you crossed-legged, damp hair tied up, trading the tea for a can of Guinness. Your thoughts rage like the storm outside as you stare into the flames, agonizing about what you should say.

Arthur speaks a moment later, saving you the trouble.

"Sorry about the power. I'll call you that cab as soon as it comes back."

"That's okay, I'm not in a hurry," you reply.

You look over at him hopefully, meeting his piercing gaze for as long as you can. Mere seconds pass before you bow your head, heart racing while you repress a smile.

"I'm uh, sure you've got some questions about all this," he ventures, rubbing the back of his head.

"Honestly, with the night I've had, meeting 'Aquaman' is par for the course," you smirk.

"I didn't mean to spring it on you like that. I guess you can understand why I don't lead with the whole King of Atlantis thing. Kinda makes it hard to keep a conversation going once people know you 'can talk to fish.' They don't really see you the same after that."

"Yeah, I think I'd probably keep that to myself too," you agree, the awe returning full-force, "Still, it must be amazing. I mean, you're basically ruler of the ocean, right? Or is it just Atlantis?"

"Eh, I mean there's the other kingdoms-"

"There's more?!" you blurt out, wide-eyed.

"Oh yeah. Xebel, the Fishermen, the Brine, a couple of defunct ones no one wants talks about. We got a few."

"And you're the ruler over all of them?"

He shrugs. "More or less. I mean, they each have their own ruler. But then I'm also over them? Kinda? I'm still figuring crap out, they didn't exactly give me a rule book on my first day. Plus I have answer to this royal council and they've got sticks up their butts about everything I do and say," he groans, rolling his eyes, "I like to consider myself more of a 'protector of the deep' than a ruler. Sounds more cool, and less like an old fart with a crown."

You giggle, hanging on every his every word.

"And with this bad boy right here," he says, reaching behind him and patting the trident, "I command all life in the sea. The animals anyway. Between you and me, that's the best part."

"You definitely have a cooler job than me," you beam.

"It definitely has its perks. But most of the time, I'd rather be here," he sighs, punctuated by a swig of his beer.

A visible sadness washes over him as he looks into the fire.

"You aren't from Atlantis?" you question.

"No, I was raised by my father. My parents met on accident. My mother was queen of Atlantis, and she ran away from her not-so-nice guy fiancé. She got lost in a storm, and my father rescued her. They've always said it was..."

Arthur stops and turns his gaze towards you, realization in his eyes.

Your heart skips as you understand. "Fate?"

He nods thoughtfully. "Something like that."

You blink, letting him go on.

"Anyway, I know I have a calling to the sea, but the land is always going to be a part of me, you know?" His expression softens. "Here, I've always found everything I need."

His words linger in the air between you. You look down at your hands, your chest pounding.

He clears his throat. "Sorry, I know that was a lot of info."

"Just a little bit," you reply teasingly, "But your secret's safe with me, Arthur. I promise. I've got no one to tell anyway."

"Don't worry, I trust you," he says, waving his hand, "It's actually nice to have someone else to share it with."

"I'm honored that you did. I know it's not the same, but I do understand what it's like to feel that you don't belong," you confess, "I didn't fit in my 'kind' either. Moved out here to start over. I guess you could say I'm still trying to figure some crap out too."

He pauses in thought second before responding, "Do you mind if I ask you something, Y/N?"

"After everything I've asked you? I'd say it's definitely your turn," you chuckle, taking a sip of your forgotten tea.

"I saw you at the bar before you went outside. I couldn't help but notice that you were there by yourself..."

"You noticed correctly. I was supposed to meet someone for a date, but after saying he was on his way, he never showed. I tried to text him, but he blocked me. I don't even know why."

"Nothing like being stood up at some backwater bar," he concludes, frowning, "Well, screw that guy. He's a bum."

"Yeah, I figured that out too late," you agree, then give him a knowing look, "The evening wasn't a total loss. I did meet you, after all."

"That's true," he concedes, playfully stroking his beard, "I may be a half-breed rookie king, but I'm not a bum."

You snort and gesture to the television set on your right, "So much for your marathon though, huh?"

"Ah, that's alright. They were all re-runs anyway."

You raise your eyebrow. "Think I could still hear that impression?"

He holds a finger to his chin in mock deliberation, "Hmmm, have I had enough to drink for that?

"I don't know, have you?" You lean in with anticipation.

He flashes a sly grin. "Of course I bloody have," he declares in the most hackneyed attempt at a British accent you'd ever heard, "And you better listen up, because I'm about to tell you everything there is to know about how to cook a bloody good flounder."

Your sides ache with laughter as he continues to go on a tangent about how to properly sauté shallots and season the perfect demi-glace. The voice sounded nothing like the infamously tempermental chef, of course, but you still thought his attempt was cute. By the time he was yelling at his invisible staff for serving him raw fish, the storm outside had passed, and neither of you noticed.

As Arthur went to light the stove to warm up some "gourmet" SpaghettiOs, still boisterously carrying on as Chef Ramsay, your excited thoughts returned to the story about his parents. You couldn't help but wonder about your own stormy night, the man you had met, and how much of a hand fate had played in it. The horizon seemed so much brighter than before, and for the first time ever, you were grateful to have bought that car.

#arthur curry x reader #aquaman x reader #aquaman imagine #arthur curry imagine #aquaman and the lost kingdom #jason momoa #arthur curry #aquaman 2 #aquaman fanfic #my writing #request

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fairyhaos · 8 months

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❍ the 2k event: jeonghan + empire

vote for this fic in the poll!

alternative title: burn, palace, burn

pairing: prince!jeonghan x f!empress!reader

genre: historical au, empire au, enemies to lovers, angst

word count: 1517

warnings: mentions of blood, war, death, manipulation, imprisonment (yeah,,, this ended up a little dark)

event taglist (send ask to be added): @slytherinshua @rubywonu @pepperonijem @amxlia-stars @weird-bookworm @hannyoontify @my-moarmy-heart @suminsfav @minhui896 @haocovr @lockburn-castle @jeonwonwoo

War is never something you’ve enjoyed.

Bloodshed is horrifying, and the amount of lives lost, often futilely, make your stomach churn and your heart ache. The effects of war are almost always felt for generations after, staining child after child and traumatising the land beyond belief, the blood of enemies and allies and victims painting nightmares into the soil.

What a shame that your hands are dripping in that very blood.

You sigh, straightening yourself in your throne, brushing at the delicate golden chains dangling from your headdress as they touch your shoulders. However, you’ve been brought up by a tyrannical family, hell-bent on controlling their people. It’s always been your greatest desire to undo that damage, create a prosperous society, but that has proved near impossible.

That was a lesson your advisors had taught you, early on in your reign. As a woman, you’d have little power but to do as the men before you had done.

“Your Imperial Highness! The Great Sun of our land! Your imperial army returns from their latest battle!”

The doors to the throne room burst open, and in strides the head general, helmet under his arm, chest puffed, cheeks splattered with blood. It makes you feel sick.

But what makes you even more ill is the fact that he’s not alone. Behind him, two other soldiers drag in a man, tugging on his chains and forcing him to kneel before you. His head his bent, once-rich robes tattered and torn. There is a crown on his head, but on closer inspection, it looks to be a crude imitation of one, fashioned from tatty cloth and rotten sticks.

“We have returned from our conquest in the East,” your Head General says, proud. “The Kingdom of Thae has fallen to your mighty reign.”

Another kingdom acquired by your crown, you think weakly. Another kingdom for your advisors to lord over. Another kingdom for you to play at being empress to.

“Well done,” you say, and try to hide the discomfort from your voice. Masking it should come easily, given the countless times you’ve done this, but your horror at what has become of you never ceases to fade. “The Imperial Crown thanks you for your service.”

The Head General nods in acknowledgement, and point to the man kneeling beside him. “We have brought the prince of the Thae Kingdom here to you. Though their King and Queen have been slaughtered, Advisor Kim relayed that you would enjoy certain… spoils of war, if there were any left.”

Your head spins. This is horrific. You want to leave.

“Yes,” you manage to force out, as gracefully as possible. “Thank you.” You look down at the man, and his head is still bent, but his chained wrists shake from the way he clenches his fists tightly. “Pray tell, what is the prince’s name?”

The Head General smirks, and steps back. “Would your Imperial Highness like to take a look at him?”

It’s posed as a question, but you have no choice.

You rise from your throne, (lies, it’s not yours, it’s always belonged to anyone but you—) and descend the steps, kneeling before the man, the heavy silks of your skirt fanning out beneath you.

With one finger, you lift up his head, and your breath catches.

He’s beautiful.

“Prince Yoon Jeonghan, Your Imperial Highness,” your Head General introduces for you, and even his name is beautiful.

His hair, raven-dark and mussed up, is still velvet-soft as you tuck a lock behind his ear, mesmerised by his beauty. His eyes are like black diamonds, so dark that you could fall into them and yet endlessly bright and sparkling. His skin is pale, and he looks so small and delicate and you wish for nothing more than to whisk him away from this horrible, horrible world.

Jeonghan snarls, and his teeth sink into your wrist.

Immediately, the guards around him pull at his chains and tug him back, tug him so hard that he falls back, head crashing painfully on the cold stone of the floor.

“Oh!” You don’t even register the stinging teeth marks on your wrist, bleeding red beads, standing up and rushing to his side, holding the back of his head, even as he swats angrily at you, chains clinking. “Are you alright?”

Jeonghan stares at you as if you’ve gone insane, wrestling himself from your grip and receiving more harsh tugs for his actions.

“I gather that Your Imperial Majesty is pleased with this prince?” the Head General says, and the sick pleasure in his tone makes you look up.

“Indeed,” you say, with all the authority you can muster. “Now, leave us.”

There are little benefits to being a puppet empress, but at least the people still have to respect you.

Once they all leave, and the room is empty, you fall to your knees beside him once again, brushing at his robes, seeing if he’s alright. But Jeonghan pushes your hands away again, hissing.

“Leave me alone,” he snaps, and his voice is cracked and hoarse but the anger pulsates, ever-present and unable to be hidden. “I refuse to be your boytoy.”

“Let me help you,” you beg, noticing the bruises along his arms, the dried-up blood on his neck. “Please. I could— I could give you a good life here. I promise.”

Jeonghan’s eyes darken, icy flames dancing in his irises, every blink oozing hate. “Your promises mean nothing to me,” he spits. “I refuse to bow down to a bully like you. You’re a killer, a manipulator, and I want nothing to do with the likes of you.”

Every word is a steel shard struck straight into your heart, and it’s startling how much the hate stings you. You’ve conquered countless kingdoms before, albeit not by your own choice, and you know that this is how people must view you. And yet, it hurts, to hear the venom and calculated rage pouring out of this prince’s mouth.

“I’m not those things,” you say quietly, voice echoing meekly within the large throne room.

Jeonghan scoffs, opening his mouth to retort, and you rush to carry on.

“I’m not the one in charge. I have no power, no control here. I’m—I’m as much a prisoner as you are, a prisoner to my people, to my advisors, to my court. They prod me and push me around as they please, and I can’t do anything against them without being killed. Please, I— just let me help you.”

The hate does not waver in Jeonghan’s eyes. His delicate, pale face is contorted into an expression of such loathing that it makes you shiver in fear.

“If you’re all those things,” he says venomously, “then how can you help me?”

“I can keep you alive,” you say. “I can make sure you won’t die any time soon.”

Jeonghan freezes, and then slumps. He’s sitting on the floor of your recently polished throne room, satin robes torn and charred and splattered with blood. The floor shines, and his blackened fingers curl into the stone, fingernails scraping painfully.

“I just want my parents to be alive,” he says, quietly. “I want my life back.”

His words hit too close to home, and your heart constricts. It takes you several deep breaths before you manage to compose yourself again, and you rest a hand gently on his own.

“I can’t give that to you,” you admit, “however much I want to. I… I can’t even do that for myself.”

Jeonghan looks up, and there’s a question there, amongst the flickering flames of derision and fury and sadness.

“But I can give you a life,” you say. “It won’t be your old one, but it’ll be a life all the same. If you work with me, I can… I think I can free you. Free everyone.”

Jeonghan’s brow furrows, and a sheen covers his eyes as he thinks it over. He’s tattered and underfed and probably suffering several wounds, and yet he is taking the time to think of your offer, and part of you wonders faintly if Jeonghan, before all of this had happened to him, had been someone intelligent and calculating and revered by his people.

You feel even more ill for what you've done to him. For what others have done to him in your name.

“Very well,” Jeonghan says finally, and your eyes widen. His chains clatter once again, and he holds his hand out. “Help me, and I help you.”

You smile, and take his hand, gently helping him to his feet. “I promise.” You prod at the chains on his wrists. “I'll free you. I will."

The beginnings of a smile tug at Jeonghan's lips. He tugs at the golden threads of your crown, and you let him, let him push it off, let it crash to the floor in a tinkle of expensive and heavy metal.

"How noble of you, Empress," he says, but there's a light in his eyes, devious and cunning. He's a fighter, Jeonghan is. You can tell. He grins.

"Let's burn this empire to the ground."

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lycheedr3ams · 11 months

Text

Death's Angel

Part 2: Playing with Fire

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! Mentions of smut, eventual filthy smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

Part 1 | Part 3

.......

series inspired by the art below!

It's only been a week since konig carried out his first execution at your castle, but you've seen him more times in those few days than you saw your old executioner in 10 years. You found any excuse at all to even just glimpse at him. He was sharpening his axe outside the blacksmith's hut? Suddenly, you remembered you left something outside that just so happened to be right by the blacksmith. He was scrubbing his clothes in the nearby stream? You were planning on dipping your feet in the cool water anyway.

his eyes would linger on you whenever you were in his proximity, but he was always silent. even when you politely wished him "good morning" when you went out of your way to see him, or sent a kind smile his way, all you were met with was a pair of unblinking eyes concealed by a hood as dark as the void. was he playing hard to get? you almost forgot yourself. you are a fucking princess, after all. and he's the new executioner with so much blood on his hands that he'll never be able to scrub off, who has cut off more heads than days he's spent on this earth. he had no business even looking or breathing in your direction.

and yet he still did.

his eyes always found you, even during the rare times you didn't notice him in your proximity. he'd watch the way your dress perfectly hugged your hips, or how perfect your feet looked under the cool water of the stream. on the rare occasions he was able to make direct eye contact with you, his gaze was unwavering. unblinking. he simply couldn't miss a second of anything with you.

your sisters giggled about him, making fun of how tall he was. you defended him each time, but that only led them to teasing you. they wondered why you were sticking up for the troll who lived in the basement of the castle in the most untouchable servants' quarters, where even the light of the torches couldn't reach. you covered your motivations simply by stating your morality, that all people deserve to be treated equally. your sisters got a rise out of that.

you had to be more careful moving forward. if you sisters saw you around the untouchable behemoth you defended, what would they say if they saw you looking at him, smiling at him? You didn't care about your own status or image. It was him you were worried about. so you kept your interactions with him contained within curious glances and smiles when no one was looking. and he drank it all like you were the fountain of youth. but you wouldn't know it, the way his face was always perfectly veiled. a wall.

the autumn harvest ball was finally here. everyone in the castle was preoccupied with something: your parents with looking as perfect as they could, your sisters securing love interests, the servants bustling around the castle, the knights on guard. every living being in the castle tonight was alive and buzzing.

except him. except the untouchable ones who lurked in the castle basement. an unspoken blight on the royal family, yet a necessity for the peace. as you sat in your chair at the family table that overlooked the banquet hall, you wondered what konig was doing right now. had he even eaten? with all the food that needed to be prepared for the banquet, it was likely that his own meal had been overlooked. could he cook his own food? surely he could, but did he even have food to cook, or pots and a fire to cook with? you'd never been down to the lowest servants' quarters, where it smells cold and damp and whispers echo in dark corners. yet your worry for the brooding giant below could not be quelled.

"mother," you leaned over as you whispered. "i am feeling unwell. I might be catching a cold. I think I'm going to lie down for a while."

your mother looked concerned and began to wave some servants over. "they'll tend to you. please come back as soon as you are well again."

your sisters were too busy buttering up whatever sorry chap they each managed to enchant to see you being escorted to your room by some servants. you formulated a plan as they walked you to your room.

"i'm still a bit hungry, would you mind bringing me a plate of food?" you asked one servant. she quickly ran off with a bow. the other servant helped you out of your formal gown and into a much more comfortable and loose dress, but one that still showed your figure. your mother insisted that you always look comely, even in the privacy of your own room. the other servant came back with some food, while the other began to dap your forehead with a cloth.

"you two are dismissed. I've got it from here. thank you," you said with a smile as you took the cloth from the girl. They bowed silently and left you in your room. you leaned against your wooden door and listened until their footsteps could no longer be heard.

You wrapped the plate of food - which had the finest chicken, the best quality of cheeses and fruits - with a spare clean cloth from your drawer. you put on a slight cloak and pulled it over your head, tucked the wrapped plate under your arm precariously, and quietly shut your door as you left your room.

the only issue was, you didn't exactly know how to get down to the basement. there was never any need for you to be there. but luck was on your side, since all servants were in the banquet hall, so no one could see how you snuck around the castle, opening side doors and going down staircases only to get to a dead end. the food was growing cold, and you became worried. finally, you found the passageway down to the basement. but it was guarded by two knights.

you shook your head to yourself. they're technically you're knights, who are they to say where you can and cannot go in your own castle? you walked right by them with a bowed head, as if you frequented the bowels of the castle, and carefully looked around for anything that could pass as an executioner's quarters. it took a while for your eyes to adjust to the low light - you were always used to the well-lit, stained-glass hallways of the main areas. you quietly creeped down a stone hallway, shivering in the cold. you passed by small rooms with no doors and hay beds on the floor, and felt disgusted. how could your parents treat their own servants like this? you kept going, and the hallway ended at a staircase, spiraling down into the earth. this must be the way to konig's quarters, you thought. so, you braced yourself and carefully descended down the stairs.

you reached a point where there was almost no light, and began to be afraid, when you finally saw a single torch at the bottom of the staircase. there was a single door at the bottom, and it was shut. you collected your breath, straightened your back, and knocked a lot more timidly than you had meant.

you heard a wooden chair squeak as he got up and walked towards the door. you heard shuffling of cloth - had his mask been off? and you looked up at him nervously when he slowly opened the door. even in the low light, you could see how wide his eyes were to see you there. he thought you looked perfect, all doe-eyed looking up at him. vulnerable. he could drag you in his room and take you right now if he wanted. but he instead stared at you with his eyes almost popping out of his head.

you cleared your throat and brought the covered plate out from its hiding place underneath your arm. you held it up to him with both hands, saying nothing. your shaking hands told him all he needed to know.

"you shouldn't be here," were the first words he ever spoke to you. your heart dropped.

you blushed and spoke quietly, staring at his chest rather than his eyes that seemed to burn right through you. "i...i didn't know if you had eaten...since all the food in the castle is for the harvest...please...i want you to have this." you held up the plate again and closed your eyes, prepared for him to slam the door your face, when you felt the weight of the plate being lifted from your hands.

he took the plate and stared down at you. "thank you," he barely whispered. you perked back up and looked at him, the fear in your face now morphed into a mixture of happiness and concern. you were practically serving yourself on that plate for him. after a moment of staring at each other, you realized he wasn't going to speak again.

"i hope you like the food," you said timidly as you stared down what almost seemed to be the devil himself. this man was so dark and brooding, like a horrible thunderstorm that was standing at a respectable distance from you, just waiting for the right gust of wind to blow him your way.

konig wordlessly turned around and made a bee line for the crude wooden table in his living quarters. he left the door open. an invitation? you looked at him, spooked, but his back was to you as he sat down and removed the cloth from the plate. you tiptoed your way inside his room and looked around. there was a modest bed in one corner, the table he sat at with two splintered wooden chairs, and a rotted chest at the foot of the bed. you approached the table cautiously, afraid he might turn and sink his teeth into you, before you sat down at the other chair across from him.

he ate the food with his hands, which you found oddly endearing. if you saw any other person doing that, you would've been disgusted. but the way he carefully pulled apart the chicken and reached up into his mask to eat, almost like how an elephant eats, tugged on your heartstrings. you noticed, however, that he was eating very fast. almost like he was starved. looking around, you didn't notice any other plates in the room.

"i trust you're being fed well?" you asked, not bothering to hide the concern dripping from your voice. he glanced up at you before returning to his meal. "please tell me if you're not being fed enough -"

"i am," he roughly uttered as he swallowed a large piece of chicken.

"the way you're eating, it looks like you haven't eaten in days," you observe with a slightly teasing tone to your voice. he finally finished eating and wiped his hands on his pants.

"not your concern," he said as he gently threw the cloth you wrapped the plate with across the table. despite his rough words, you knew his intentions. there was no bite, no malice, in his tone. as a princess, you weren't supposed to be worried about him. you weren't even supposed to look at him. and here you were, in the executioner's room, making sure he's being fed and cared for.

"keep it," you say as you shake your hand. "you might need it for something. and I know it's not my concern, but I do want to make sure that you..." you cleared your throat and blushed "and everyone else in this castle is well taken care of."

konig stared at you so intently that you felt glued to your chair. your heart stopped in your chest.

"you play with fire, princess."

your breathing got deeper, which did not go unnoticed by him. princess was literally your title. it wasn't supposed to make your panties soaked or your nipples hard when you were called that. especially not when you were called that by the executioner. in his room. in the lowest part of the castle. he could have you screaming his name, and no one would be any wiser.

"there's nothing wrong with fire," you clumsily tried to flirt, or ease the tension. you weren't sure. "it's warm. it keeps us safe from beasts. brings us together."

"it burns. destroys." he said deeply.

you gulped. "yes, it can do that as well. you just have to handle it properly."

konig was near speechless at your effortless banter, the way you tried to convince him that he wasn't whatever beast he thought he was. he fell silent and stood up abruptly from his chair. he looked at you, almost confused, before walking towards the door.

"you should go," he said as he stood by the door with his hand holding it open.

part of you wanted to tease him, wanted to tell him that you wanted to stay. but he was probably right. if your sisters or mother found out you were away from your room for too long, things could get bad. you stood up and walked towards the door. you were about to wish him goodnight as you passed the entryway when he spoke again from behind you.

"you always stare at me," he stated plainly.

You turned and blushed as you looked past his muscular frame and at the wooden table. "does it bother you?"

"no."

feeling a surge of confidence, you smiled up at him. "goodnight, konig. i'm glad you enjoyed the food."

you nodded your head at him in respect before sneaking back up to your room. when he shut the door behind you and threw off his hood, he couldn't admit to himself how red his face was, or how his cock strained in his pants. he didn't tell you how he had never had food of such high quality before, or that a girl has never shown him kindness like you did. he didn't tell you the things he wanted to do to you as you sat timidly in that chair. how he would have rather been feasting on your core than the chicken you so kindly brought him.

and you let him keep the cloth. you were so innocent, he almost felt bad.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome

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