Extremely self-indulgent ugly!f!Reader x König Medieval AU. Rated E for one saucy bit. Part 1 of 2.
Big thank you to @konigswaifu for inspiring me to post. Please check out her amazing Knight König series!!
Through merit and noble birth, you rose through the ranks to become an indispensable member of the monarchy’s inner circle. Your sharp mind helped secure your kingdom’s borders and ensure prosperity for those who live within them. Life in the castle was never dull, even when you weren’t working - entertaining foreign diplomats, attending events like jousts and feasts, or listening in on lectures in the conservatory made for a full schedule.
You also occasionally took part in the more salacious activities that keep the royals from getting bored. The Queen held decadent private parties where the most attractive commoners offered themselves up in hopes of stealing the heart of someone high-born. It was quite common for nobles to have human pets that tagged along for their activities throughout the castle: a pretty lady to sit on their laps during meetings, or a handsome man to rub their shoulders while they ate dinner. The public would likely make more of a fuss about the practice if the kingdom was not currently enjoying a golden age.
You’d never had a pet. Not because you couldn’t get one, but because you thought it would be cruel to force someone to dote on you. Plenty of people in the castle deserved that level of devotion for their beauty, and it was even clear that many of the pets enjoyed their positions. They lived in luxury alongside their masters and mistresses, even if they were occasionally traded like commodities. It was better than toiling in the fields all day or selling goods for pittance in the market. Besides, who wouldn’t wish to bring pleasure to someone as gorgeous as the princess, or as strapping as the knight-commander?
You simply… weren’t those things. Gorgeous, strapping. The kindest word that could be said about your face was “plain,” and the proportions of your body were undesirable by any standard you could imagine. People were kind to you, but no one had ever expressed interest. The few trysts you’d had were clearly attempts by social-climbers to ingratiate themselves with the inner circle.
Then one day, at the close of a grueling but ultimately successful trade negotiation with a neighboring kingdom, one of the diplomats approached you. A provision you fought for in the agreement greatly benefited his family, he explained, and he wanted to show his gratitude in the form of a gift. You had only advocated for what you thought was the best outcome, but you were flattered nonetheless. He assured you that the gift would arrive at the castle in a few days.
You did not think much of it until you were summoned from your chambers to the portion of the stables where deliveries were usually received. Two knights stood on either side of a towering man, his hooded head bowed in submission and his hands tied before him. He wore simple, black garments that did little to hide his muscular build.
It did not occur to you that the man might be your ‘gift’ until one of the knights introduced himself as an emissary from the kingdom you’d negotiated with. He explained that this man was a foreign warrior captured during a recent conflict who was spared due to his exceptional martial prowess. He had evidently spent several weeks in a cell as they tried to figure out if he could be trusted to fight alongside the very knights that had captured him. It was decided that gifting him to an ally was the safest option, especially when the grateful diplomat from the negotiations noticed that you didn’t have a pet of your own.
At first you were so shocked you didn’t know what to think. Never, not in a million years, would a man with such a formidable appearance look twice at someone as homely as you. The most you’d ever received from men this attractive was a polite nod in the corridor. Your old conviction that taking a pet would be cruel crept into your mind.
But looking at the most perfect human being you’d ever seen, even with a mask obscuring his face, desire overcame you. You accepted the gift and were handed the ropes attached to his wrists.
In your chambers, you undid his bindings and went to remove his facial covering. He tugged it back down and shook his head in a panicked no. “Don’t worry,” you told him gently, holding up your hands and backing away. “You can keep it. I just want you to be comfortable, here.”
You learned a lot about your new pet over the next few days. The first was that he did not speak your language, though you suspected that even if he did, he wouldn’t be the talkative type. He seemed to understand you well enough when you showed him around the castle and gave simple instructions, but offered little in the way of reactions. Still, his soulful blue eyes spoke volumes to you. You could tell he was intelligent, observing and absorbing everything around him, even if he declined your many invitations to share his thoughts. It took less than 24 hours for you to become completely besotted with him.
On the second day, he asked you brokenly if you were the Queen. You laughed, finding his ignorance of the hierarchy adorable, and explained that you were only a noble. “But if I were the queen,” you told him sweetly, taking his hand in yours, “I would make you my king.” You weren’t sure if he understood you, but the pink blush that swept beneath his blue eyes made your heart swell.
You were desperate to learn more about your darling pet. He wouldn’t tell you his name, but you did succeed in figuring out that the language he spoke was German. With a little help from the court interpreters, you learned a few phrases so you could communicate with him and resolved to continue your study of the language. He was shocked when you casually tossed him a “Guten Tag,” and then nearly fainted when you began referring to him as “mein König.” Eventually, you dropped the article and he simply became König.
Your favorite pastime quickly became pampering and doting on your precious pet. Everything about his shy demeanor delighted you. He did not seem to mind that you babbled at him incessantly, explaining different aspects of your job as you went about the day. He let you hold his hand when you walked him from place to place, and though you desperately wanted to perch yourself in his lap, you only allowed yourself to sit thigh-to-thigh with one arm curled around his bicep.
The inner circle got used to seeing König with you everywhere - at meetings, during each meal, and accompanying you on your evening promenades in the garden. Most were happy that you’d finally found a pet for yourself; a few balked at the absurdity of you allowing the man to continue to wear his mask, or that you were the one feeding him grapes rather than the other way around. Their opinions did not concern you. In a matter of weeks, König had become your entire world. Every day you grew more and more devoted to him.
For his part, König remained largely a mystery, as your efforts to chip away at his shell were slow to bear fruit. You were so pleased the first time you heard him chuckle at one of your wry comments, and occasionally he would oblige your requests to teach you words in his language. Your original assumption that he was the quiet sort proved valid, but you were learning that he didn’t always need words to communicate.
The relationship between nobles and their pets tended to have a sexual component, although not always. Some were very blatant about it, bringing pets on leashes to the Queen’s parties or fondling each other in the courtyard. Although you felt supremely comfortable with König in all other regards, this was the one aspect that gave you pause.
You desired him immensely. It was well within your rights as his mistress to demand favors of him, but it was impossible for you to discard from your mind the chasm of difference between your appearances. He was a mighty warrior with striking blue eyes and a body that was aesthetic as it was adept. Back in his kingdom - Osterreich, he’d told you - before his capture, surely he bedded many beautiful women, or perhaps even had his own pets. And who greeted you each morning in your looking glass? A munter with an unprepossessing face, blotchy complexion, and pudginess under her chin and arms rather than hips and breasts. Any sexual encounter between the two of you would deeply disappoint and perhaps even disgust him.
Yet as the days wore on, your resolve began to crumble. König slept in a pile of furs in front of your fireplace, which he insisted was all he wanted, and you weren’t sure if that was because he was repulsed by the idea of sleeping beside you or because his large frame would not fit comfortably on the mattress. You began to invite him to your bed each night, only to have him politely decline. It became a ritual as you continued to ask, even knowing what his answer would be. He did start sleeping without his mask, though, which you took as a sign of trust. You were unsurprised to find he had a rugged appeal, with thick brows and defined cheekbones.
One night, when it was dreadfully cold outside, you convinced him that you needed his body heat. It was under this pretense that he finally joined you in bed, his enormous body crammed as far away from you as possible at the edge of the mattress. You boldly slung an arm over his side and rested your hand on his stomach, assuming the position of the littlest big-spoon in the castle. König stiffened, but did not push you away.
By degrees, you moved your hand down his body and began to plant little kisses on the back of his neck. He did not react at all, which you considered much better than outright rejection. When your fingers finally brushed his cock, you released a sigh you had been holding practically since you met and told him how beautiful he was. You stroked him over his trousers and eventually reached beneath them to pump him properly. All the while you whispered sweet things in his ear. “You are like a rare gem,” you said as you pressed your chest against his back. “Since I met you, I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” you confessed as you sucked on the freckled skin between his neck and his shoulder. “Hung like a king, too, huh?” you teased as you swiped your thumb over his cockhead.
He came with a whimper that wedged itself firmly between your legs.
“Stay here,” you commanded, retrieving a cloth from your washbasin. He had not moved an inch when you returned, his eyes squeezed shut, taking in shuddering breaths. You gingerly cleaned him off and discarded the rag, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Sleep for me, now, alright?” You settled back to your side of the bed and, though you were pulsing with lust, managed to calm yourself enough to drift off.
Things were normal between you the next day, to your immense relief. Thrilled at the progress you’d made, you decided not to push your luck until another cold front swept through and provided you with an excuse. But that night, you noticed König lingering by his furs as you brushed your hair. On a whim, you asked if he wanted to join you in bed and he nodded with no complaint. You repeated an exact performance of last night, relishing the feel of his warm, heavy member in your hand, and cleaned him up just as before. Night after night this continued, until you were brave enough to grind yourself against his body to achieve orgasm yourself. Neither of you ever spoke openly about the arrangement, or made any effort to move these encounters into daylight hours.
But as the winter finally melted into spring, something began to change. König, of course, remained loyal and steadfast, following you everywhere and acquiescing to any request or suggestion you put forth. No, it was you who changed. As your obsession with him grew into something you might call love, you could no longer ignore the guilt weighing down your heart. König was too magnificent to be forced to spend his days with someone so ugly that you could not even face him as you came together. Melancholy began to overtake you as you gradually distanced yourself from your pet. König seemed to notice, but never asked you about it directly.
As flowers began to bloom on the trees in the courtyard, you contrived a plan that would put the power in König’s hands for the first time since he arrived half a year ago.
When your pet returned from his trip to the baths that evening, he found you sitting in your chamber with one of the court interpreters at your side and a mahogany box in your lap. You gestured for him to sit on the bed, which he did cautiously. You had not wished to invite a third party, but it was necessary to prevent miscommunication.
“König. You have truly become the sun around which my world revolves,” you told him, the interpreter translating your words quietly. “I have grown to love you so much that it pains me to keep you bound here as a pet, when you deserve to be treated as a king. I want to give you a choice about your future.”
You handed over the box and gestured that he should open it. Inside were three silk cloths: one red, one white, and one golden.
“I can offer you three paths. The first is a complete separation from my life and this castle. I will renounce my ownership of you, give you as much coin as possible without alerting our chamberlain, and secure a horse. You can start a new life for yourself, in Osterreich or elsewhere, without fear that I will pursue you.
“The second path is to remain as we are, mistress and pet, living here in the castle.
“The third path is an offer of marriage. I cannot make you a king, but I can elevate your status to that of a noble and provide a good life for you here in the castle. We will live as equals in luxury for the rest of our days. All I would ask in return is fidelity.”
König remained stoic throughout your speech, his eyes trained intently on you as the interpreter shared your words. His mask, as usual, hid any indication of what he was thinking.
“Tonight, I have made alternative sleeping arrangements for myself so you may have these chambers. When I return in the morning, I will look on my pillow to see which cloth you have left to signal your choice. The red cloth means you want to sever ties with me. White means you wish to remain as we are. With the golden cloth, you accept my marriage proposal.”
He furrowed his brow, beginning to speak to the interpreter, but you held up a hand. “Please take the night to consider,” you insisted. “I will honor whatever you choose. Do you understand?”
König looked at you for a long time, glancing just once down to the box in his hands. Finally, he nodded his head.
“Good.” You got to your feet as did the interpreter. You’d paid him handsomely for his silence on this very personal matter. “I wish you a peaceful night, König. I look forward to your answer tomorrow.”
Sleep evaded you as you agonized over what the sunrise would bring. On the balcony in one of the guest wings, you stared at the starry sky until your eyes blurred with tears.
When the church bells finally signaled morning’s arrival, you walked down the corridor to your room and opened the door.
There on your pillow lay a red, silk cloth.
===
Thank you for reading! Let me know if you want Part 2. You can also read my other much longer Konig x Reader fic here. 💘
Summary: everyone knows that Franco has a thing for older women, okay … so when his team principal turns out to be a (stupidly attractive) older woman, he can’t be held responsible for his actions
Franco sprawls in the chair, arms crossed over his chest like he’s holding court instead of facing an emergency meeting. His grin is wide, cocky even, and wholly unapologetic. Across the desk, you pinch the bridge of your nose, willing patience to come like some kind of divine miracle.
“Explain,” you say, voice flat, your tone giving nothing away. You refuse to let him see how utterly exhausted you already are by this conversation.
“I sneezed,” Franco says with a shrug, “and liked all your pictures. Really, it was — how do you say — an accident.”
You stare. No, you glare. "And commented damn mommy on all of them?”
Franco falters — barely. There’s a half-second where his grin wavers, his bravado cracks, but then it’s gone, replaced by another shrug. “I-I have the flu?”
Your exhale is sharp, just shy of a growl. “Franco.”
“What?” He leans forward now, feigning innocence. “Is it so bad? You look muy guapa in your photos. Should I not celebrate my team principal’s beauty? This feels sexist, no?”
“Sexist?” Your eyebrows climb so high they might leave your face.
“I’m a feminist,” he announces, as if that explains everything.
“Do feminists call their bosses ‘mommy’ in the comments?”
“Only the hot ones,” he shoots back without missing a beat, then quickly adds, “Joking! I’m joking.”
You slam your palms down on the desk, the sound sharp enough to make him flinch, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. If anything, it widens. “Do you even understand how unprofessional this is? I have sponsors asking me if I’ve been hacked! The CEO of Dorilton Capital called me himself this morning!”
Franco’s face lights up like you’ve just paid him a compliment. “Darren! He likes me. He said I was charming.”
“He said you were a walking HR violation!”
His grin falters again, but there’s something annoyingly endearing about how quickly it returns. “Well, at least he talked about me.”
You sink back into your chair and drag a hand through your hair. God, you’re tired. “Do you even know how this looks? You went through every single photo I’ve ever posted. Franco, that’s-”
“Dedicated?”
“Obsessive,” you snap. “Creepy. Insane.”
“Romantic,” he offers, leaning back again like he’s just solved a puzzle.
“You are twenty-one years old!”
“And you’re …” He trails off, letting the sentence dangle in the air like bait.
You narrow your eyes. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
He smirks. “I was going to say timeless.”
“Franco, enough.” Your voice is sharp enough to cut through his bravado, and for the first time, he looks a little serious. “Do you have any idea what kind of position you’ve put me in? If this gets out-”
“It won’t.”
“It already has! You didn’t think people would notice when every post I’ve made since 2016 suddenly has your username in the likes and comments?”
Franco shrugs. “I’m a fan.”
“A fan?” You throw your hands up. “What are you even a fan of? My press conferences? My sponsor meetings? My ability to yell at you when you ruin your tires on lap seventeen?”
His grin returns, this time with a little more sheepishness. “How sexy you look doing that last one, mostly.”
Your head falls into your hands, and for a moment, there’s silence. You think — foolishly — that maybe he’s finally run out of things to say.
But no.
“You never answered my DM,” he says, voice lighter, teasing.
Your head snaps up. “Excuse me?”
“Last week,” he says, tilting his head like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I sent you a DM. Very respectful. Very sweet.”
“I don’t even check my DMs!”
“Well, now I’m offended.” He places a hand over his heart like he’s genuinely wounded.
“I’m going to lose my job,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.
“Don’t be dramatic,” Franco says, waving you off. “You’re too good to lose your job. Everyone knows that.”
You stare at him, incredulous. “You’re the one who’s dramatic! I can’t believe I’m sitting here having this conversation right now.”
“I can’t believe you’re not flattered,” he counters, leaning forward again. “I thought women liked grand gestures.”
“Grand gestures?” You bark out a laugh, humorless and sharp. “Franco, this isn’t a romantic comedy. You don’t win me over by cyberstalking me!”
“Cyberstalking?” His mouth falls open, mock-offended. “That’s harsh, no? I think of it more like … research.”
“Research?”
“Sí. I’m just a very dedicated employee.”
“Dedicated?” Your laugh this time is louder, more incredulous. “I swear to God-”
“Would it help if I apologized?” He interrupts, holding his hands up like he’s surrendering.
“Yes,” you say immediately.
He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, watching you in that unnervingly focused way he sometimes has, the one that makes you feel like he’s cataloging every detail of your expression. “You wouldn’t believe me, though. Even if I apologized, you’d think I was lying.”
“Because you would be lying.”
“Touché.” He grins again, but this time it’s softer, less of a weapon and more of a shield. “Okay, so maybe I’m not sorry. But I didn’t mean to cause problems for you.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter.
“I mean it,” he says, and for the first time, there’s something like sincerity in his voice. “I thought it was funny. I didn’t think-”
“That’s the problem, Franco. You didn’t think.”
There’s a beat of silence. For a second, you think you’ve finally gotten through to him. His expression shifts, the grin fading into something that almost looks like remorse.
Then he says, “But if I had thought about it, you’d still be mad, so really, why bother?”
“Franco!”
He laughs, bright and unrepentant. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. I promise. No more liking your pictures, no more comments, no more DMs. Contenta?”
You eye him warily. “You swear?”
“On my life.”
“Franco.”
“On my seat,” he amends, holding a hand to his chest.
You sigh, long and heavy, but you nod. “Fine. Just — keep your head down for a while, okay? Don’t give anyone else a reason to call me about this.”
He stands, smoothing his shirt with exaggerated care. “Anything for you … mommy.”
“And don’t call me ‘mommy,’” you snap as he heads for the door.
He pauses, hand on the handle, and glances back over his shoulder, smirk firmly in place. “Not even in private?”
“Franco!”
He’s laughing as he leaves, the sound echoing in the hallway long after the door closes behind him. You sink back into your chair, exhausted, and wonder — not for the first time —if this job is going to kill you.
And if it does, you think grimly, it’ll probably be Franco Colapinto’s fault.
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