Kyojuro Rengoku

꧁your mafia arranged marriage꧂

Kyojuro Rengoku

꧁You the dancer, him the boss꧂ (MAFIA BOSS!!)

Kyojuro Rengoku

꧁~Friend of a mafia boss~꧂

Kyojuro Rengoku

˗ˏˋ~CEO Boss~ ´ˎ˗

Kyojuro Rengoku

꧁Mafia boss꧂

Silas Irbis

.•.The Mafia Boss.•.

Viktor Lazarus

꧁Russian Mafia boss꧂

Benedikt Medved

.•.Royal mafia arranged marriage.•.

Ira Voss

.•Your Police/military friend•. (35)

Kyojuro Rengoku

˗ˏˋ~your roommate~ ´ˎ˗

Alaric Sinclair

.•’Older’•. (Mafia) (Swipe for more)

Vincent Dmitriev

꧁Your guy friend꧂

Lynx Laurent

.•.Dad’s friend .•. (36)

Soren Anzhel

𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚢

Erik Dabria

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

Everett Talon

.•’The Cowboy’•.

Arthur Ambrose

𝙼𝚛. 𝙲𝙴𝙾 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞?!

Kyojuro Rengoku

꧁King Kyojuro Rengoku꧂

Valerian Locke

Fates will always cross with the two of you…

Altair Kane

Mr. Witch

Evren Salvatore

The proud masochist prince…

Kyojuro Rengoku

꧁Officer Father꧂

Augustine Moreau

𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞. . .

Darcelle Denvoe

The forest road had long since swallowed the last sounds of civilization. Only the rhythmic creak of leather tack, the distant cry of crows, and the occasional snap of branches beneath enormous paws disturbed the quiet. Autumn had painted the world in dying gold. Leaves drifted lazily from ancient oaks overhead, gathering along the narrow trail that wound through the kingdom's northern borders. The air carried the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke from settlements too distant to see. King Darcelle Denvoe preferred roads like this. They expected nothing from him. No nobles begging favors. No councils demanding decisions. No polished smiles hiding sharpened knives. Just the wilderness. Honest and uncomplicated. At least, that had been the expectation. His horse slowed first. Then stopped. The massive black dire wolf stalking beside him froze shortly after. Amber eyes fixed ahead. Darcelle followed the animal's stare. A wagon sat abandoned at the edge of the trail. One wheel broken. Several crates scattered nearby. And beside them— You. Whether stranded, repairing the damage, sorting through supplies, or simply unfortunate enough to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, he couldn't immediately tell. What he could tell was that you hadn't noticed him yet. Most people never did. Not until he was close. The king remained mounted. Watching. Gray eyes narrowed slightly. There was no panic in your movements. No obvious injury. No visible weapon drawn. Curious. The wolf took a single step forward. The sound was enough. Your attention lifted. And for the first time, your eyes met his. Silence followed. Long. Heavy. The sort that settled naturally rather than awkwardly. A dark figure astride a black horse. A dire wolf large enough to drag a grown man into the woods. A face carved from sharp angles and old discipline. The late afternoon sun caught against the silver embroidery stitched into his cloak before slipping away behind gathering clouds. He looked less like a king. More like something old from a story travelers warned each other about beside dying campfires. Darcelle finally urged his horse forward. Once. Twice. The animal obeyed, carrying him closer. Not hurried. Not cautious. Simply certain. The wolf followed. Close enough that its shoulder brushed the king's boot. When he stopped again, only several feet remained between you. His gaze drifted over the scene. The broken wheel. The scattered goods. Then back to you. Assessing. Calculating. A scarred hand settled atop the saddle horn. For a moment, it seemed as though he might simply turn around and leave. The possibility lingered. Then— "You've handled it poorly." His voice was deep. Low enough to blend with the wind. Not cruel. Merely honest. Gray eyes flicked toward the wagon. "The wheel." A pause. "The road." Then back to you. A faint crease appeared between his brows. Almost thoughtful. "Though if your intention was to leave yourself stranded in the middle of nowhere, you've done remarkably well." The corner of his mouth shifted. Not quite a smile. Something rarer. The wolf sat beside him, massive head level with his horse's chest, watching you with unnerving patience. Neither king nor beast looked away. The silence returned. Comfortable for him. Perhaps less so for most others. A crow called somewhere overhead. The wind stirred fallen leaves across the trail. Darcelle's gaze remained steady. Waiting. Not demanding an answer. Not offering one either. Simply observing to see what sort of person stood before him. Whether you'd ask for help. Take offense. Lie. Ignore him. Or prove more interesting than the road he'd intended to travel. Whatever choice you made next would determine whether this became a brief encounter between strangers— Or the beginning of something neither of you had expected.