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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days

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The Man 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stand behind the counter, ready to serve the next customer that comes through the door. If you thought the rush was bad, the lulls are worse. The time drags by as the clock seems to taunt you. You sigh again as you hear Bre clattering around in the back room. You’d rather be back there folding up empty boxes and scouring trays.

You yawn and waver on your feet. The small local cafe doesn’t have the consistent traffic of the franchised kiosk just down the block but there are still hectic rushes. The mornings just after nine, then at noon when the office workers run out for a refresh espresso or a lunchtime sweet, but the afternoons usually deliver no more than the errant college student on their laptop or a few friends in between visits to boutiques.

The door opens and you glance over at the man who walks through the door. He strikes you as out-of-place as he struts across the cafe, hitting a table with his thigh, and sneering at it as if it insulted his mother. He’s tall with broad shoulders, and his hair is slicked back while the sides of his head are buzzed. He wears a black turtle neck under and open jacket and a pair of matching slacks that show off his ankles. His loafers are a rippling grey and black snakeskin print with a shining silver buckle.

You grip the sides of the till as he approaches but he doesn’t look at you. You stare, a little put off by his lack of acknowledgement as he peers up at the menu. He steps forward, tapping his fingers on the counter as he blows out between his lips. A golden signet ring flashes on his pinkie. You’re still not sure he’s in the right place.

“Hello, sir, can I get you--”

“Shh,” he hisses and holds up his finger. You snap your mouth shut and blink. He squints at the menu. He hums, clucking as he gives a thoughtful look to the hand-painted letters. Alright?

You wiggle your foot impatiently, biting your tongue. You’re not an inherently rude person but some customers make you wish you were. You watch him and he finally lowers his chin.

“Oat latte. Half blonde espresso, half regular, with the toffee nut syrup and a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

You nod as you punch in his order. It’s quite the drink. Sometimes you think people just pile on to see how far they can push service workers. They can’t just have a simple drink. Some even request the temperature to the digit.

“Alright, got it, it’s fifty cents for the syrup, is that okay?”

“Fifty cents?” He echoes haughtily, “no, that’s not okay.”

“Um, okay, well, it’s uh, on the menu,” you crane to look behind you, “fifty cents for a flavour shot, twenty-five for whipped cream.”

“I didn’t ask about goddamn whipped cream. They don't charge me here, doll. Get me the goddamn drink,” he demands.

You reel. Admittedly, you’re new. You’re learning but your first lesson was simple; customers are awful.

“I can just take the syrup off, I guess,” you hit the x and the whole order disappears.

“Didn’t you hear me? No charge, honey. It’s on the house.”

You purse your lips and look at him. You raise a brow. Alright, this is a new one.

“Um, if you’d just hold on, I think... uh, I should ask--”

“Yeah, you better fucking ask,” he sneers as swipes at a stack of paper cups and sends them flying. You flinch out of the way and spin to burst through the door to the kitchen.

“Uh, Bre,” you say, “there’s a really angry dude out there and he wants a free latte so uh, what do I do about that?”

She looks over at you as she puts a tray of cookies on a cooling rack. She frowns and her forehead stitches. She pulls of her oven mitt and checks her fitbit.

“Shit, it’s Thursday,” she mutters as if it’s the end of time.

“Yeah, it is, so uh--”

She waves away your words with the mitt and tosses both on the counter as she hurries past you. Confused, you turn to follow her through the swinging door. You stay behind her as she goes to the till.

“Mr. Hansen, so lovely to see you, what were we getting today?” She chimes, more lively than you’ve ever heard you. At any other time, she’s dulcet, almost monotone, completely over the cafe lifestyle.

He scoffs and his eyes drift from her to you. He pokes his tongue into his cheek, “oat, toffee nut, half blond, half regular, cinnamon on top,” he notes each element tersely, “and how about you teach this one some goddamn manners.”

He glares at you and you give a wide-eyed look. You shrug at Bre as she glances over at you. She shakes her head subtly. You take a step back.

You grab a cup and she quickly takes it out of your hands, “I got it, stay out of the way.”

You put your hands up and back away. You don’t know what you did wrong. Who is this man? He smirks and hovers on the other side of the counter as he crosses his arms over his puffed chest. Bre brews a fresh espresso and steams the oat milk.

“I’m waiting, sweet lips,” he cups a hand to his ear, his other arm still over his chest.

You look back and forth.

“Apologise,” he demands.

Bre clears her throat and you glance over, your mouth falling open dumbly.

“Oh, uh,” you face the man again, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know--”

“Well, now you fucking do,” he sneers as Bre places a cup down before him and a paper bag.

“Mr. Hansen, there’s a cinnamon bun for you too. We just took em out of the oven.”

“You’re such a dear, Bre Bear,” he cooes, sending you a venomous snarl.

You cringe as he spins and strides out with his fare. You watch after him, still thoroughly perplexed. Bre wipes the counter with a cloth.

“The next time he comes in, give him whatever he wants,” she says quietly.

“Oh, I didn’t... who is he?” You garble.

“Better you don’t know. Just think of him as the boss,” she sends you a desperate look, her eyes gleaming, “if you know what’s good for you, you’ll smile and listen.”

She brushes you with her shoulder as she goes back into the kitchen. You furrow your brow and glance towards the door. The man’s just outside the windowed walls, watching you. He winks before he disappears beyond the next facade

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #series #drabble #the man #mob!au #au

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driftsart · 13 hours

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An in-between-homework doodle of my updated designs for these three lmao =D

Plus some facts ;D ⬇️

#transformers #au #doodle #character design #original design #redesign #fanon #robot #mecha #maccadam #scifi #art #sketch #alternate universe #seekers #Skywarp #thundercracker #Starscream #decepticons

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garbagechocolate · 2 days

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Know your Sunspots

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holografrick · 2 days

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bakudeku fishing!! @beybuniki ‘s au !

#my hero academia fanart #mha #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #midorya #izuku midoriya #deku #kacchan #bakudeku #au #fishing au #holografrick

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to00fu · 1 hour

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smth for my hikaru ga shinda natsu tojikuna au

#fanart #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #art #sketch #ryomen sukuna #toji fushiguro #au #hgkn

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st-alia-atreides · 22 hours

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(x)

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klodwig · 2 days

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Dnd!Hux

Wild Magic!

#art #star wars #kylux #armitage hux #au #crossover #dnd #dnd sorcerer

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crumplstiltskin · 7 hours

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#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #fanart #my art #itadori yuji #ryomen sukuna #au #sketch #hes a bully but thats ok cus it builds character

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bahnloopi · 2 days

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[DBS AU] - "We just couldn't get a planet with a beach on it, could we?!" Scene prompt with my OCs, Jinja and Nion. They're two of the Sento Ancestor Saiyans (pre-Planet Sento) while still in U7. They served under King Vegeta the First in King Cold's prime era of reign. They were sent to oversee the conquest of a planet with Razorians (razor lizards) on it. (The razors can cut through the armor) I'll do more scene prompts like this. The story has the events split with the before being their lives on Planet Vegeta before they were ported to U1 to Sento and the after to where their post-evolution from the planet's properties changed their whole genome/appearance to Modern Sentos when Goku and Vegeta meet them. There's a certain way I want everything to move but I'm figuring it out.

#bahnsart #art #au #ocs #sento saga #dragonballsuper

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starryeyeddreamer21 · 3 days

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So I have this idea for a Hazbin Hotel au and just hear me out okay.... CO PARENTING AU

Like the hotel residents are just chilling when the doorbell rings and Charlie goes to answer it hoping that it's a demon that wants to be redeemed but no it's a little baby wrapped in a fuzzy pink blanket

Charlie freaks out, y'know as you do when there's a baby on your doorstep, and she calls the others over

Angel is the first to respond he squeals and picks up the baby Nifty climbs onto his shoulder to get a closer look

"Can we keep it?"

Husk facepalms (mostly to hide his smile because Angel looks so cute with that baby)

Vaggie is horrified and continues refusing to let Angel keep this baby

Angel just goes on a whole rant about how her parents left her there and he wasn't going to abandon her (he's really going for guilt tripping them tbh) In the middle of the rant he thrusts the baby into Vaggie's arms and she just stares down at this baby and you can see her fall in love right then and there

Charlie is watching this with heart eyes because Vaggie looks so soft right now

Sir Pentious is just like "Sssso are we keeping it?" (He's not very good with kids)

Spoiler alert: they kept her

I've been thinking about this way too much so here's what I think they'd be like as parents

Most of them in the same boat where they're good with kids but being good with kids and raising them is a whole nother story

Vaggie: is a little too strict at times and is probably the one saying you can't have too much sugar. She didn't really have a childhood so she's trying her best to give the baby the best childhood she can while also keeping her safe and probably being way too overprotective

Charlie: is spending as much time with that child as possible. She never wants her to think she's being abandoned and wants her to know that they love her more than anything. She's basically just trying to be there the way her parents weren't.

Angel: His style of parenting is very different from Vaggie's. He's not strict at all he just really wants to be liked. He's still a good parent though. He's basically trying to give her the childhood he didn't get and is definitely overprotective. He's terrified of what Valentino would do if he found out about her which he knows is irrational because she's got the most powerful family in hell but he still has nightmares about it. He will definitely bring the baby into his bed a lot of nights instead of leaving her in her crib. He talks to her a lot in Italian and sings her lullabies.

Husk: He's an amazing father. He's logical but chill enough to be a good middle ground in the middle of all the crazy. He's basically the kind of parent we all need. He's very intune with others feelings and always knows what's wrong when she's crying.

Nifty: She takes on a lot of the important stuff like changing and bathing her. She's tiny and can't actually pick the baby up but she's a surprisingly good parent anyway. She's still Nifty though so she's definitely making toys out of roach corpses and entertaining her with those puppet shows.

Sir Pentious: Okay this man has no idea what he's doing at all. He's not very good with children just because he doesn't know how to interact with them but he shows love in his own way. He's the one that makes her crib and most of her toys. He's definitely the one that teaches her math and science when she's older and they would probably invent together too.

Alastor: He wanted absolutely nothing to do with this baby. He was against bringing her into the hotel all together but eventually he warmed up to her. It starts when everyone else is asleep and he hears the baby crying. After a minute of contemplation he decides to go see what's going on. He ends up rocking her and humming his jazz music until she falls back asleep. He starts doing this every night (someone has definitely walked in on him doing this but nobody mentions it to his face). He's the kind of parent that takes a vow like "I will protect you to my dying breath" y'know some crazy shit like that

Lucifer: He's there all the time helping out. He's the kind of grandparent that would brag about his grandkids, he's showing everyone pictures of this baby it's honestly embarrassing. He's really doing his best to make up for not spending enough time with Charlie. He's also the only one who knows anything about children like they wouldn't even know how to feed this kid without him.

#hazbin hotel #co parenting #huskerdust #chaggie #angel dust #husk #charlie #vaggie #nifty #sir pentious #alastor #lucifer #incoherent rambling #au #hear me out #co-parenting au

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sneverussape · 3 days

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no pram, no problem.

—

draco staying with severus often was a winning situation for everyone: lucissa were able to get some downtime and could sneak in more date nights, severus would be forced to take care of himself and cook (and eat, if he wanted enough energy to chase after a hyperactive toddler) actual meals, and draco got exposed to people beyond the confines of wiltshire. severus’ neighbors didn’t even question the wee bairn’s visits and often came round to give him more choccy biccies than he deserved.

#my art #godbrat!draco #cokeworth #babysitter!snape #snape #au #hp

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days

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Winter's King 7

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: another week ahead.

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. 💖

The gates open as horses snort and kick. The dawn air is ripe with impatience. You and Merinda watch as you stand east of the front doors. The luggage is clustered near the stables, to depart once all of the nobles have trotted their steeds from within the walls.

Your encounter with the king lingers in your head but the echo of his anger and the scent of spilled ale is enough to deter you. A maid will not be missed. Merinda can’t tear her eyes away from it all. Her expression is longing and doleful.

“A pity we must stay here with Lady Rezlyn,” she mutters, “she’ll be miserable without her daughter.”

“I’m certain she will miss her,” you agree.

“She won’t have any to indulge her,” Merinda sniffs, “or distract her.”

“Mm, I suppose. Perhaps she will be too sad to be angry,” you suggest.

The noise of mail approaches and you look up. You expect the soldier to pass by as all others have done. It is the same steely soldier who’d been at the king’s side that morning. Merinda steps closer to you as the man’s grey eyes are fixed on you.

“Maid,” he barks, “find a cart.”

You frown and look over at Merinda.

“The king has sent for a lady maid for his wife,” the soldier explains, “you.”

He points at you with his gauntlet and you flinch. The king has not forgotten or changed his mind. It was wrong of you to assume. You grab Merinda through her sleeve and squeeze.

“Just me, sir?” you ask.

“We needn’t a dozen of the traitor’s servants,” the man scoffs in return, “come. You will travel with the others amid the bedrolls.”

You blanch and cling to Merinda. She whimpers and you turn to her, the reality setting in on your at once. Your chest feels as if it’s being crushed as you face your lifelong companion. As close to a friend as any might have in your position.

“Mer,” you croak.

“Save your tears, there’s no time,” the soldiers grits.

Merinda pulls you into an embrace. “Be safe,” she whispers with a sniffle.

“You too,” you part and look her in the face, “Mer, I--”

“Yes, I know, me too,” she frowns, “you must go.”

“Yes, you must,” the soldier insists and points towards the stable.

Merinda lets you go and the fabric of her sleeve slips from between your fingers. You follow the soldier, looking back at the lone maid as she watches after you. You can see her wringing her hands. She’s never been the nervous sort.

You take in a deep breath and turn forward. The soldier marches you to the back of a cart and points inside. There's just enough room for you among the chests and casks within. You climb up, moving your skirts from under your knees, and sit against the side. You don’t have anything to worry about leaving behind.

He stomps away and you lean to see him around the wall of the cart. He disappears and you sit back and huff. Off to the capital and then the Hinterlands. You look down at your dress, the apron and wool frayed with your labour. You will be cold once you turn north, you hope you might bear it.

There’s a clink of metal and horse hooves. You look up as a speckled grey steed appears by the cart. You gulp and gape at the large beast as its equally grey master holds it by the reins. The steely soldier shoves a wad of leaves into his mouth and chews.

“Come this far,” he grumbles through sloppy gnashing, “just to guard the luggage.” He snorts and shakes his head, “I’m not in the mood for trouble, maid. You keep in your cart.”

You lower your head as you bend your knees, and cross your arms across them, “yes, sir. Thank you.”

He chews in the lull between you. He turns to spit the leaves onto the ground and kicks dirt over them. His horse nuzzles at his shoulder as he shrugs it off.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he girds at last, “you won’t once you see the snow.”

⚔️

The day rolls by with the wheels of the cart. You jostle with the movement as the grey soldier rides abreast of the luggage train. Ahead, the royal party and soldiers lead the way on the long road to the capital. There’s a glimmer of excitement in you, a sensation you’re not used to.

You’ve only ever heard of the capital from your masters. Lady Jazlene’s tales of sparkling banquets and golden plates and raucous dances. Lady Rezlyn was more likely to talk of the courtly whispers, who is marrying who, which earl despises which count, and scandalous affairs of those already bound to another. Your anticipation is routed by a sadness; you don’t know that you’ll ever see Merinda again to tell her of all you see.

You pick at your nails and watch the rippling clouds above. The blue sky appears as a sheet of pure satin with streaks of soft ivory. The sunlight streaks from the horizon, weaving into the cornflower expanse and limns over the soft green leaves of swaying trees. The smell of pollen and dirt breezes from the forests and the rustle of tall wheat drifts in from the rich fields.

As you take in your homelands, you feel a twisting in your chest. You will miss it very much. You never put special thought to it before, you never considered the ties that bound you to this land, but now they tug and strangle you near to tears. This is what you know, it is what you don’t that terrifies you so much.

You rock as noon burns high, rattled by the bumpy earth below. The grey horse hovers closer and you look up to soldier scowling down at you. You shy away and cough as dust is thrown up by the wheels. The man grumbles and steers his horse closer. You slump your shoulders down, wondering why he hovers.

Perhaps it is your masters who cast suspicion over you. You are one of them. New allies forged in deceit. The more you think of Lord Dustan’s deception, the more uneasy you feel. You always thought the duke was at least a good lord, now, you don’t know what to think of him.

“Aye,” something hits the cart, landing next to your feet. It’s a water skin, a thick hide strap attached to it. You peek up at the soldier and reach for it, the water swishing within. “Your summer lands are dry as ash.”

You consider the skin before you uncork it. You pause and try to see the man through the beaming rays of midday. “Thank you, sir.”

“Mm,” he grumbles and keeps his horse in line the end of the cart.

You drink, not too much, just enough to sate, and you offer it back to him over the side of the wagon. He takes it and strings it back around his shoulder. You sit back, facing away from him. The horse trods on without expedience.

The soldier is just as silent as ever. You hear some shuffling, something brushing, it is barely discernible from the leaves fluttering in the distance. There’s a nudge on your shoulder, the man holds a small bundle of cloth in his gauntlet.

“Sir?” You crane and turn your body. You accept the handful. “Thank you.”

He nods and sets his sights on the horizon, undeterred by the blazing sunlight. You look down and carefully unwrap the linen from around a medley of nuts and a hunk of cheese. You suspect they were taken from the castle kitchens.

“I...” you glance over at him, “would you like some too?”

You cradle the food towards him and his brows form a vee. He reaches beneath his mail and pulls out a stick of dried meat. He wiggles it at you and takes a bite.

Your lips curve slightly, “thank you...”

“You have better manners than the turn cloak’s daughter,” he bristles through his mouthful.

You take a nut and turn it over between your fingers. You don’t know what to say to that. You nibble on the nut, crushing it between your teeth noisily. You look up and meet the soldier’s grey irises.

“You are kind,” you gesture to the food, “not like the guards at the castle.”

“Mm, a symptom of the summer lands, I fathom,” he mulls with a shake of his head. “Though war can make any unkind.” He pets his horses main, a thoughtless act as he speaks, “soldiers are plunderers more oft than not.” He drags his hand back and adjusts the reins, “you will not stray far when we make camp. These men have been marching for months.”

You blink as you break off a piece of the hard cheese, “yes, sir.”

“You understand me,” he states, not asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“Bryce,” he says curtly. “And your name, maid?”

You take a moment to process his request but you issue your name before tasting the bold cheese. You make a face. It is not your favourite. You often live on the dry rye bread and butter, and the chunk broth leftover from the hearty stews served to your masters.

“Aye, I didn’t like it either,” he remarks, “let’s hope there is better fare awaiting us in the capital.”

⚔️

Night falls and the party makes camp. You help cover the wagon with a few other servants, ready to sleep beneath the canvas with the chests of clothes and books. You sit beside the wheel in the dirty, watch the sky glitter with stars as you bask in the cool night. You’ll retire soon but the sun lingers in your skin and burns.

Footsteps mulch towards you. You look up, expecting another servant headed for a piss in the trees. The figure is broad and stiff. You recognise Bryce before he reaches you. You stand expectantly to meet him.

“I was only about to retire,” you assure him and turn to touch the canvas, recalling his earlier foreboding.

“No,” he says, “your queen requires her maid.”

You pause, “oh, yes, certainly.”

He sighs, “she requires many things I would not put to word.”

You flutter your lashes, not quite sure of his meaning, though his tone is sharp. Lady Jazlene does not always inspire kindness. You put your head down and turn to follow the soldier.

Bryce walks beside you through the camp. Soldiers snore or sit and chatter, others clean their blades, and several sit around fires roasting whatever they could catch in the brush. Towards the front of the train of slumbering steeds and stalled carts, larger than the canvas on crooked poles, is a grand silk tent, glowing from within.

Your escort stops just outside, exchanging a nod with the two soldiers standing before the flap. You can hear Jazlene’s shrill voice from within. It is too dark to make out the expressions of the guards or the man at your side. One of the soldiers pulls back the fabric to let your through. You bow your head as you enter.

“This isn’t fair!” Jazlene roars, “I am a queen now and I will not be treated as a child!”

You peer around, expecting another to be at the mercy of her wrath. It is only her. She rages around the space, stamping and snarling. Her skirts are stained with the dirt of the road as her steps hitch now and again.

“I will not sit a horse again! It is not good for a lady to ride as such!” She stews, “Where is my father?” She rushes towards the door, brushing by you as she pushes through the flap, “fetch me my father, now!”

“Get inside,” a soldier growls.

“You do not command me! I am the queen--”

“The king bids you stay within,” another drones without emotion.

“Ugh, stupid men,” she retreats and swirls, her skirts swishing against you, “empty-headed soldiers! What do they do? Carry their swords and run to their deaths! I am a lady, a queen! And they speak to me as if they are above me!”

Her rant continues as if you are not even there. Even having touched you, she has yet to notice your presence. You look around and go to the corner where a bottle sits on a crate, with a wooden cup near it. You pour the wine as the queen continues her tirade.

“Your highness,” you offer the cup, though you avoid her harried route around the tent, “you must be tired from the road.”

She stops short, looking at you as she pulls her chin back. You cannot tell if she is surprised or affronted by you. She huffs and stomps towards you. You steel yourself as she snatches the cup and sniffs the contents.

“Food! I am hungry,” she snaps.

“Yes, your highness, I will fetch something,” you assure.

She narrows her eyes at you. Her lips slant. “Your highness, yes, you recall, I am the queen.”

You turn and go to the entrance. You poke through and the soldier angles his spear across your path. You gulp and stay at the threshold.

“She is hungry. Is there food?”

“Aye, I will fetch it,” Bryce’s voice startles you as he looms in the shadows.

You thank him before you retract back behind the silk. You stay close to the door as you wait and Jazlene slurps down the wine between furious mutters. As she reaches the bottom, she turns the cup upside down and wiggles it in your direction. It’s empty.

You take it and refill it to the brim. The wine might calm her should she imbibe enough. Lady Rezlyn was always jollier when she had a healthy helping of red.

As you bring it back to her, she faces you with a sneer. She glares at you and takes the cup. You stand, trapped in her distaste. You cry out as you feel something sharp on your stomach. You look down as she pinches you through your apron and twists. You clamp your jaw tight as you hold back a squeal.

She lets you go and drinks deeply as she struts away from you. You put your hand to the sore spot and resume your place by the door. It is better than a slap, though that may still be to come.

As you stand just inside the flap, you hear the approach of boots. The soldiers utter low words, ‘your highness’ and you barely step out of the way as the silk is drawn back. The king steps inside as you sidle away. You still as he glowers around the space, the flicker of the torch planted in the ground reflects in his golden eyes.

“Wife, half the camp can hear your tantrum,” he says, “queen’s do not behave as chil--”

Before he can finish his remonstrance, Jazlene is billowing towards him in her satin skirts. There’s a splash that fizzles in the air, tense silence rising as the king’s words die on his tongue. He closes his eyes against the liquid assault, wine dripping down his face and wetting his dark lashes. He sucks in a deep breath and his hands fist as Jazlene snickers cruelly and throws the cup at his chest.

“If you treat me as a child, then I may as well act as one,” she retorts.

The king doesn’t react. His posture is locked, his shoulders squared and his jaw set in stone. Slowly, he expels his breath and opens his eyes. Jazlene’s mocking smirk trembles and falls.

“You are worse than a child,” he accuses and grabs her by the shoulders, “you are nothing more than a vicious cat.”

“Get your hands off me,” she sneers as she writhes in his grasp, “unless you mean to be a husband, eh? Do you think you might prove yourself this time?”

He growls and squeezes so she winces. She whimpers and beats on his thick arms. He walks her backwards as her feet shuffle beneath her to keep from tripping.

“Husband, you cannot blame me for being unhappy. I have not been t-treated as a queen should--”

“You have not earned it,” he shoves her and she lands on the stuffed mattress across the ground. “Be quiet. The camp needn’t lack sleep on your account.”

Jazlene pouts up at him. You see the battle in her, of anger and fear. The king snarls down at her, “go to sleep.”

She bats her lashes and pushes herself up on one elbow. She reaches to her skirts and tugs them up, “husband...” she shows her leg, “please...”

He doesn’t move. He stares down at her for a moment then turns on his heel. He takes a step then falters. His gaze meets with yours. You quickly look down, realising then he was unaware of you. You shouldn’t have seen that. He falls back into step.

“Do not make me return,” he barks as he shoves through the silken flap.

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

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