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sunshine-and-moonshine · 19 days

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Reblogging cause I posted this so late at night yesterday.

Bluebeard

Summary: After a string of unfortunate marriages, the Lord König has set his eyes on you. You’re in no place to refuse, but you make the best of your circumstances.

Warnings: Brief smut mentions, secrecy, blood, bugs, I tried to keep the reader GN but I accidentally fucked up with the Three Bears and a pronoun so tell me if you spot anything. Afab!Reader (tits mentioned), brief mentions of a wedding dress and night gowns.

Pairing: König x Reader

Your husband was…..a strange man. Taller than the giants from the stories your nanny told you as a child and twice as fearsome. You were constantly on the verge of asking if you had upset him in some way, your poor heart breaking every time his cold eyes swept over you before just as quickly looking away. Like he held no interest in you, despite the fact that he was the one who had chosen you over all 5 of your elder sisters.

Your engagement had been a short affair, your wedding somehow even shorter. A flurry of movement too quick to even distinguish. All you could remember was your Mother’s soft hands lacing up your dress, her lips on your cheek, and then your father’s rough arm practically dragging you down the aisle to your soon to be husband and the priest. The knot tying hasty and sloppy, the words falling from your mouths rushed, you had hoped it wouldn’t be a bad omen for your marriage but it seemed that it was in vain, barely even a moment to say goodbye to your mother and sisters before you were being packed away into the carriage like another piece of luggage. And then it had just been silence, occasionally broken by your soft questions answered with only rough grunts or hums from your new spouse.

Your new home was smaller than expected, but still much bigger than your father’s house. It was simpler too, no gold detailing or overly luxurious furniture. Just barely enough to pass as the image of a nobleman’s house from the inside. But you were still in awe of it when you walked through the halls that day. And when night fell….you had expected coupling to happen that night, and you weren’t wrong. But it was nicer than you had been expecting. Not sweet or romantic like you might have once hoped, but he had been far gentler with you then many husbands were to their wives. Opened you with his fingers, his lips on your neck, made sure you were as slick as water before his cock even touched you. And even when he was inside you he was good to you, rough but not cruel, ocean blue eyes staring into your soul the entire time, watching as tears and smeared makeup ran down your cheeks, listening to the wet squelches of your hole and your bitten back moans. But he only spilled inside of you when you reached up, shaking fingers caressing his cheek.

It was your first and only time experiencing that intimacy with your husband before he had run off on a series of ‘business matters’ to attend to, leaving you with a belly full of seed and a ring of keys that unlocked almost every door in his keep. Told you to explore to your heart’s content, and you had. Went into every room, touched everything there was to touch, roamed the halls, met the few scant servants, had cake and meat and every kind of food you could think of. And you became so terribly terribly bored in König’s absence. Until he came home.

So excited to see him again that you did everything you could to welcome him home. Hung colorful banners, had specialty cakes made, stayed by the front door and rushed him when he walked in, taking him by complete surprise. Sat by him at the table and stared up at him adoringly, trying so so hard to make him look at you the way your father once looked at your mother, with love and joy, a certain kind of tenderness that you’d never had before.

And that night, when you crawled into bed with him, you embraced him fully, holding him until the stiffness of his muscles melted away and he was left snoring, curled against you, his head buried in your neck and his hands clutching at your nightgown like you might disappear in the night.

He left before sunrise the next day, leaving you only a note that said he’d be back in a week's time, and a new key to add to your ring. This one opened the personal armory he kept, full of muskets and broad swords and daggers of all kinds. Only one was missing from its place, you hazarded a guess that it was the one he always wore on his belt. A slight thing, with a sapphire embedded in the pommel.

You spent the day aweing over the vast collection of weaponry, picking up some, pretending to fight with some thief or scoundrel, giggling until your heart didn’t feel so empty. But it lost its appeal by the day’s end, and the week dragged along even slower than before, your mood growing ever more dour and downtrodden until your husband returned once again, this time carrying a small chest in his arms.

“Das ist für sie.” He had said, placing the delicately crafted box at your feet, carvings of flowers and dragons on every border. A thing of beauty by itself. “Open it.” He said before plopping down into the nearest seat, leaning back lazily, but those blue eyes of his were laser focused on you.

You were hesitant to do so but quickly conceded to his wishes, kneeling in front of the chest and lightly touching it, reveling in the artistry and time that must have gone into making it. Even the thick leather belts and silver buckles used to hold it closed seem to have had hours put into them. You were careful to open it, pulling the lid back to reveal….books. Many many books. Some plain and leather bound that you assumed were for sketching, others with colorful and hard bindings. History books, cook books, fantasy novels, tragedies, plays. So many books you could hardly number them all, a large smile pulling your face taunt as you took your time pulling out each and every one, tracing the covers and skimming through the pages before looking up to him and meeting his now softened eyes.

“Thank you.” You whisper, hiding the lower half of your face behind the last book, something that appeared to be about medieval weapons and war tactics. “I love them.”

“I’m glad.” He whispered, and you hoped he was smiling under that stupid cloth he always wore over his face. “I figured you would be bored. The servants told me you didn’t invite anyone over this week.”

“They weren’t who I wanted to see.” You tell him after a moment of silence, watching him perk a bit, tilting his head ever so slightly. But he didn’t ask, and you didn’t give him any answers as you carefully repacked the books to be brought back to your shared bedroom. “I asked the cooks to make that stew that you like for dinner, and I special ordered a loaf of bread from the bakery.”

“Thank you, Engel.” He whispered, grabbing your wrist as you passed by, placing a soft kiss on the back of your hand, lips lingering on your soft skin before ever so reluctantly letting you slip out of his fingers. You swore you felt his gaze on you the whole way down the hallway.

That night the bedding was needy, full of heat and sweat and barely stifled groans as he buried himself in your hole repeatedly, filling and then overfilling you with his thick white seed. He made it feel like he was doing it for more than just his duty, for more than a need to have an heir to his estate and titles. Especially when he stared into your eyes like that the whole time, his hands cupping your face, not giving you a chance to look away from him or hide yourself.

The next morning was spent in bed, lazy and soft, starting off with another round of coupling full of slow thrusts and sloppy kisses. Then it was breakfast in your shared bed, strawberries and whipped cream on the side that you both eagerly enjoyed, feeding each other by hand until a dollop of cream landed in the valley of your breasts, prompting him to bury his face between the soft mounds, licking away the mess and creating a whole new one that had neither of you leaving the bed til midday when he unexpectedly left again, adding another new key to your growing collection before he took off on horseback.

“For the attic.” He’d said hurriedly, servants scurrying around you trying to re-pack the carriage with his necessities, but it would still be a few hours behind him on the way to his destination. “It’s rather dusty so be sure to ask the maids to clean it before you go up there, I’d hate for you to ruin your clothes.”

It was all he said before placing a tender kiss on your head then riding off, leaving you heartbroken and lonely, clutching the keyring to your chest. It took two days before you went into the attic, not even bothering to heed your husband’s words, something you only slightly regretted and you inhaled a lungful of dust just after opening the door while two maids fretted at the bottom of the ladder, fearful of you falling and bumping your head, successfully killing the only bride their lord had ever had return his affections in full.

It was a boring place, the attic. Many stored trinkets and cloth, but some paintings and photographs as well. Most seemed to be of your husband as a child but there were a few of him more recently, poised and masked beside women in beautiful dresses with lovely smiles and tired eyes. You counted six different women in total.

His previous wives.

The sight of the photos left you nauseous and mournful, nearly dropping yourself down the ladder instead of climbing down, rushing past worried maids and into your chambers where you could successfully hide your tears in one of the pillows from König’s side of the bed, still tinged with his scent. It was where you stayed for several days, barely eating, barely moving. A sniffling mess that couldn’t be persuaded out of bed.

Not until he came home.

You didn’t even realize it was him at first, too distracted by self pity and jealousy, sniffling occasionally. You didn’t even see him, barely heard the door open. Only paying attention when the other side of the bed shifted and dipped beneath his weight, a sigh falling from his lips.

“Are you sick, Engel?” König asked, big hand reaching out to run along your arm until you pettily turned away, leaving his hand in the air, fingers twitching.

“No.” You tell him, feeling him shift again, laying on his side and wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer, not giving you a chance to escape this time.

“Then what is it, Engel?” He asks, lips pressing against the back of your neck. “Let me make it better for you. I do not like seeing you so upset.”

You went quiet, choking on your tears as he rubbed his hand over your belly, nuzzling his nose against your shoulder in a way that was comforting even when you didn’t want it to be.

“Tell me.” He told you, voice on the edge of desperation and begging, and you were sure his eyes would be big and worried if you turned your head to see them.

“It’s stupid.” You finally end up saying when he started to press affectionate kisses to your shoulders and along your upper back.

“Nothing you say is ever stupid, Engel.” He says, curling his fingers into your gown, holding it tight.

“I went into the attic.” You start, breathe hitching with a held back sob. “And I saw-I saw-” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, turning your head as your body started to shake with renewed cries.

“Was it the paintings?” He guessed, seemingly taking his answer from the way you only sobbed louder. “Oh, Mein Engel.” He mumbled, strong hands turning you away from your cocoon of safety and into his chest. “Hush now, it will be okay. I’m sorry. I will have them burned.”

“You-You don’t have to do that.” You try and say, though you knew it lacked the conviction you wanted it to.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He says, shaking his head. “Those women….they never meant anything to me. But you mean the world.” He tells you, and you can practically feel your heart stopping before it sped up, practically a vibration in your chest. “You are mein engel. I will burn them, and then I will fill the walls with pictures of you so that you will never forget what you are to me.”

“Us.” You say, red rimmed eyes finally peaking up at him through your lashes, sniffling softly. “Pictures of us, you mean.”

“No. Pictures of you.” He says, ducking his head to plant a kiss to your temple. “Ones of you in the garden, ones of you reading.” His lips twitched into a smirk as he started to whisper. “Ones of you spread and leaking.”

“König!” You say sharply, heat rising in your cheeks as he boomed out a laugh, cupping your face in his warm palms and planting a wet and heavy kiss against your lips.

“Those ones would be only for my eyes though, Engel.” He huffed, sitting up a bit to better adjust himself, thickening cock brushing against your thighs wantingly, straining through his trousers. “I would keep them close. Only take them out when I’m lonely and missing you while I’m away on business.”

You giggle nervously, digging your nails into his sides when he rolled over you, pinning you on your back beneath him, legs splayed open just for him.

It was several weeks before your husband left again, the paintings and pictures in the attic turned into ash and new ones of you and your love were placed all around the estate, some even still waiting to be finished up and framed. And it had been so so good. Every morning was woken in his arms and every night ended with him in yours. Hand feeding each other at dawn and sating other hungers at dusk. More perfect than any picture that was taken, then any dream you had. But you knew you’d have to wake up sometime.

The day he left again was even more heartbreaking than last time. The goodbye kisses lasted longer, the desperation ever growing, clinging to each other like that could somehow make his duties disappear.

“I’ll be back in a fortnight.” He whispered against your lips, the carriage driver prudently looking away, keeping his eyes skyward so as not to make you feel awkward at the intimate display. “Until then, take this.” He said.

What he handed you was another key, this one large and iron, so unexpectedly heavy that you almost dropped it when he slipped it into your open palm.

“What is this for?” You ask, brine shimmering at the corners of your eyes, a losing fight to hold back the tears.

“It is for the basement.” He says, placing another parting kiss on the tip of your nose. “But you must promise me not to go in. It is very important, Engel.”

“What’s in the basement?” You asked, watching his eyes harden before he forced them to soften, his hand tightening around yours.

“Rats.” He said, voice stern and rough. “Lots and lots of rats. And mildew. So do as I say, Engel, and stay out of it. I do not wish to stay by your sickbed as you foam at the mouth from rabies or burn away from a fever.”

“Then why give me the key at all?” You ask, trying to hand it back only to be met with him slipping it into your pocket.

“Because this is your home too, Engel. It is only fair that you should be able to open every door to it.” He says, pressing his forehead to yours for a few moments before pulling away entirely, taking a deep breath. “And I trust you to heed my words and stay out of that room.”

“I will.” You say, grasping onto his sleeve before he could fully pull away. “I love you. Be safe. For me.”

“Ich liebe dich.” König parroted, eyes soft like warm butter on toast. “I am always safe, Engel.”

And that was it, the last words he said to you before riding away, leaving you standing and watching his carriage til it was too far gone to see. Til not even a speck was left on the horizon and the sun disappeared behind the mountains.

It was a week before you disobeyed your husband.

A week of curiosity gnawing at you like a little beast deep in your chest, eating away at you piece by microscopic piece. Little bites turned into bigger bites so steadily that you barely even realized that it was growing and swallowing you up.

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Your mother’s voice whispered in your brain.

“But satisfaction brought it back.” The voices of your sisters all giggled in unison.

It was what echoed in your head as you stood outside the door, key clutched in both hands as you stared at the lock apprehensively, conversing with yourself like a mad man before finally making up your mind and slipping the key into the hole, the grating of metal on metal an irritation to your ears. But the sound of the lock clicking open, that was a spark of excitement in the ocean of anxiety that had built in your belly.

The first thing you registered about the room was the darkness. Like a void had opened up somewhere in the room and ate away at the very fabric of the world. You couldn’t see more then two feet in front of you, even with the lantern at your side.

The second thing you noticed was the smell.

Putrid, disgusting, foul. It hit your nose so hard that tears instantly welled in your eyes and you retched, mouth gaping as your breakfast tried to escape you to spill onto the rocky flooring. You stumbled in the darkness, trying to backpedal only to trip over your own feet and send your lantern skidding further into the room. Recklessly, you crawled after it, clothes catching on the jagged floor and tearing, the sound not even registering to you at first.

It was just as you caught the handle to the light that you saw it.

Fingers outstretched in the dark, splayed across the grey stone.

You froze, breath catching in your throat for so long that you went light-headed, eyes lasered in on those pale digits. Small fingers, delicate and smooth. Strangely, you thought of your mother’s hands. The feel of them straightening your clothes or cupping your cheeks.

Trembling, you raised the lantern just the slightest bit higher, choking on your own vomit when you saw it.

A heap of flesh and bone lying in the middle of the floor, bodies upon bodies, each in such varying degrees of decay that it was akin to a diagram. The bottom piece just a skeleton, no flesh to cling to anymore. And the top….she looked almost pristine from the angle you saw. Beautiful black curls and pink lips, milky eye staring into your soul, begging you for mercy. For help.

But when you reached out to touch her, to feel for a pulse, to help, her skull caved in and the mass writhed, maggots crawling out of mouths and ears, from skulls and arms.

You screamed so loud that even your mother and sisters must have heard you, all the miles away that they were.

“Oh, Engel.” Your husband’s voice called out behind you, followed by the heavy slam of the basement door. “I told you not to come in here.”

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