Omg thatās so cute! Kƶnig would love to see his darling vulnerable like this, placing her trust in him completely š„ŗ She looks like a poor prisoner angel, Kƶnig has so many tender and vile thoughtsā¦
Rigger!Kƶnig x Rope Bunny!reader
CW: Dom/sub undertones, fluff, praise kink, dacryphilia, cunnilingus, shibari obviously, love at first sight vibes
He told you to arrive in whatever clothes you feel comfortable in, preferably loose or flowy. No jewellery or scents, hair could be loose or tied. The first session is free of charge, to help you see if you even like the concept since youāre new to Shibari, but when you arrive to the class in a romantic, flowy white dress, the rigger king who opens the door for you, swallows.
You can see why they call him that, big and tall as he is, but he looks harmless enough to you. Immediately distraught by your innocent little dress, you wonder if this manās aftercare is done with a wide-eyed blush as wellā¦
But it turns out heās good. Really good. Of course you have no one to compare him with, but you like it how decent he is, soft in his dominant role. Asks if thereās any place you donāt want him to touch? Where you donāt want the rope to touch? If thereās something else he needs to know about you or your body before you begin.
You are nervous in his presence already, but itās a good kind of nervous. You softly tell him that genitals and breasts are off the limit. Your neck, maybe, and face? Youāre not sure if that even needs to be said, but he only nods and says he understands. Reminds you that you can change the protocol whenever you feel like it, tell him immediately if you want out of the ropes.
Everythingās clear, and youāre both good to go, but the first tie he makes is only a simple arm tie. You look very submissive and cute in it, and feel a warm glow pool in your stomach when he holds you with soft, firm care while tying the knots.
But he refuses to go anywhere further from there. You get a caress of the arm, and he asks if you want to lean back against him, which you do. It feels safe to slump against his huge form: you look into the vast mirrors of the studio and see how your tied-up whiteness is almost swallowed by his muscles and dark shirt.
You feel helpless, and that, in turn, breeds surrender. The minute you finally relax in his arms, he raises his hand and brushes your cheek gently, very gently.
āOh Meine... I am so sorry.ā
It seems like it was a pure accident, and you had already forgotten youād forbidden him from touching your face. You kind of like it that he felt compelled to do so anywayā¦
āItās okay,ā you murmur in his lap, but he wonāt forgive himself for making such a mistake, and you find yourself slowly being untied while you are just about to get comfortable in his lap.
Heās very courteous and kind with his aftercare, slowly lowers you to the ground while holding you close. You breathe on the floor for a moment while he sits behind you, palm resting on your hip while you both unwind.
Heās a little surprised to hear you want to come again, and you tell him it truly was ok that he touched your face, and it only felt good and nicely improvised at the moment, and that if anything, it made you feel safe. You suggest he go further next time because this feels a little too tame for you, and he raises an eyebrow at you.
āIf that is your wish,ā he only says, and you wonder if heās fooled by the white dress or if thereās some other reason why he thinks you canāt handle it.
And you never thought a thing like this could become an addiction.
Each time, he takes you both a little bit further, just like you wished; each time, you wear something soft and angelic and watch him slowly lose his mind.
You develop a language of your own, through sighs, shivers and touch, using the mirror through which you glance a look at each other, and he gets bolder every time. The only place he is not allowed to touch is your genitals: everything else is for him and the rope to caress. You surrender into his hands with such vigour that he starts to look at you like heās the helpless one here: like he feels sorry for what heās doing to you, that heās hurt to see such an innocent bird being tortured like this.
āHow do you feelā¦?ā He inquires with that heavy accent that makes you want to throw yourself completely at his mercy.
āGood,ā you always answer like itās not only a matter of time before you do.
During the first times he only makes pretty harnesses and goteās with you, inspects you like the cutest prisoner heās ever had, brushes his fingers down your breasts until your nipples perk up. Walks around you when youāre bound, relishing how pretty and tame you look when you canāt move, arms behind your back and neck bowed with surrender.
Youāre submissive, as you should, but he always kneels behind you and holds you close when he canāt take it anymore... It feels like heās the one pushing his limits here with you.
Thatās why you trust him completely, and tears finally begin to flow when he whispers those things in your ear for the first time.
That youāre such a sweet little thingā¦
Such a beautiful, lovely little thing.
Look how perfect you are. Lookā¦ Like a sweet little bird inside its cage. His little bird, his little dove... Heāll help you out, donāt worry. He would never, ever hurt a sweet thing like you. No, heāll set you freeā¦
Like this, do you like this? Does this feel good to you?
And then he unties you while youāre quivering and weeping in his lap, from love and contentment and sorrow and surrender and god knows what else.
He always lays you on the floor with such gentleness, and keeps close until youāve come down from your release, the high that comes only from being tied and held by him. Strokes you gently or simply keeps his hand on your thigh, helping both of you ground back to reality.
But you never come down because youāre so, so fuckedā¦
Dates with other men feel lukewarm, dull and crude after you met Kƶnig. Heās everything youāve ever wanted in a man. To your sorrow, youāre not even dating himā¦ He only ties you every now and then. And when you cry, youāre not sure if itās because youāre finally getting some stress relief, or because heās so close and yet so far awayā¦ Youāve never even had sex with him, and still, it feels like sex every time he ties you.
He stopped taking your money after the third time, saying he gets at least as much as you do out of these sessions. You werenāt sure where to look when he said that.
He always makes you look like youāre the prettiest little creature he has ever caught. He looks at you with the intensity of a warlord or a demon, someone who must honour you by making you look even sweeter with these ropes. Render you even more helplessā¦
You have established long ago that itās a good sign that you cry during these sessions, and that he may always continue if you donāt tell him otherwise. So he only sighs with you. Strokes you. Holds you, keeps you as close as he can while you weep, looking like a fallen angel in his wide, warm lap. And the things he says only make you weep more.
As time goes by, he starts to tell you that he has never seen anything as beautiful as you. He starts to pant hot air on your neck while he holds you, and the eyes are not staring at you through the mirror anymore: heās looking straight at you. He drinks in every pulse on your neck, every quiver of a lip. Every tear that slides down your face as he gets hard against your back.
You cannot help but sigh when noticing his erection. To your embarrassment, what was meant as a sigh comes out as a dirty little moan.
And thatās when he finally snaps, his will breaks, he closes the final breath of air and kisses your neck.
You can do nothing to answer the heated kiss, you can only remain in the cute little package he tied you in as he moans more confessions on your skin. How you look so vulnerable with him, so helpless he fears that he canāt take itā¦ How youāre an angel to him and nothing less. How he would love to lick you if you only let himā¦ Please donāt take this the wrong way, he justā
āYes,ā you hear yourself whisper with joy. āYes, yes, yes, pleaseāā
āPerhapsā¦ Perhaps next time,ā he breathes on your skin, sounding like heās about to cry too. Says you're not in the condition to make such decisions right now. Kisses you so fondly, like youāre the only reason for his happiness.
You would slap him if you could, then kiss him back, claw his clothes with your angel hands and then tell him to fuck you with his mouth or elseā¦
But thatās not the etiquette.
So you have to just whimper in agreement, and let him sigh a strangled moan all over you from how adorable you are. Like a dream to him, truly.
You hug each other in the hallway after the session, not willing to let go of each other before you absolutely have to. You already cuddled on the floor for almost 20 minutes before you said you should go...
And you never dare to ask if he ties other women before or after you. If he whispers the same things to them. If he makes them cry from love.
Ties or not, you go to him: forever and always, you go to him.
Next time, you tell him heās free to touch you everywhere he wants.
He doesnāt look happy: he only looks at you like heās about to take you to slaughter, the most apologetic executioner youāve ever seen. And youāre obviously the loveliest prisoner he's ever seen, the cutest little criminal he has to take to the gallows.
He caresses your face before he starts to tie you: heās never done that. Itās your first suspension, too, perhaps to drive those silly thoughts and permissions out of you. But you stay strong. Only whimper when he sits while you hang there in the air, ropes digging into your skin. He pulls you up with ease and holds you there with the help of one hand only.
When you whimper again, he finally tilts his head in mercy. How easy it is for you to get that grace, just a few pathetic squeals will make this demon bendā¦ He ties the rope to a hook, and comes to you, your gentle torturer of almost 7 feet.
A hand cups your face, caresses your thigh hugged by ropes. His lips find yours as youāre finally here in his presence without tears ā perhaps you've cried your fill during these weeks, safe in his embrace.
The kiss is soft but hungry, full of tender longing, and you curse that you have no way to touch him. Only he can touch you. It feels wrong right now, wrong and painful, far more than the ropes eating you away.
āLet me down,ā you whisper in his mouth.
Soft and pleased, he withdraws, but then your heart starts to rebel. Did you just ask him to let you down, as in, disappoint you? To tell you how many women he has managed to turn into a weak, begging mess? Teary-eyed and in love, so helplessly in love...
He smiles sadly when he lowers you on the floor and unties the knots. Kisses every part of your body the rope has touched, soft little pecks driving away the strain and the pain until youāre a purring saint on the mat, writhing for him, spreading your thighs under your angel dress, wishing he would kiss the place that hurts the most.
And kiss you he does: softly, gently, while pulling your panties down and away. They end up somewhere on the pile of ropes, and the kisses he plants on the place between your legs are far less discreet.
He eats you out with little control when with the ropes, he was always determined and tactful and slow. You feel like youāre being devoured, both revered and consumed as he closes his whole mouth on you and starts to lick.
You donāt hold back anymore as your cries and moans fill the room. But youāre not alone in your greed, it seems, because heās just as mouthy as you. When your fingers find his hair, he grunts, and you have no courage to do anything else but caress him shyly.
Who knows if thereās anything left of you were you to touch him with equal hungerā¦
You come undone for him on the mat while your legs are hiked up on his shoulders, the mighty form of him barely fitting there between your thighs. You thought you couldn't cry anymore, but you reckon that was only wishful thinking because now, you cry from joy. Itās so intimate, his mouth on you while there are tears streaming down your face. You feel heās lapping at your soul, spurred on by the sounds of your weeping, the connection between you two as fragile as a candle flame and as strong as a roaring bonfire of May.
When he emerges from under your dress, he does so with a smile and a wink, so playful youāve never seen him quite in such a state. The session ends in a hug and a cuddle, as always, but this time youāre touchy in his embrace. He doesn't only hold you: you cling to him like a rescued animal he just saved.
āPlease never let me go,ā you beg, hands tugging at his shirt.
āNever,ā he vows and only holds you tighter.
He doesnāt tell you itās against the rules to touch him, or anything else you mightāve feared. He only seems to relax too as you clutch and paw him. You find yourself kissing his neck, licking his fingers, one by one while he watches you with stout adoration. You make it clear just what exactly you would do to him downstairs too, while you slowly suck his digits, one by one, look up at him with your seraph stare.
You know itās not you whoās in control, but itās still fun to see him collapse a little when he sees that his girl worships him too. The concern on his face turns into pure love, an affection so deep it would buckle your knees if you were standing on your own two feet. Luckily, he catches you even here on the mat, his fallen angel so sweet.
Hurried kisses and loving hugs make you both a puddle on the floor, and he never stops loving you, planting kisses on your cheeks and forehead while your hands steal their way under his shirt. He has broken into a sweat, panting and hard, like he has been in every session as of late. You wonder if he only disguised all that want before.
And you ask him, without looking up, if he ties others like this.
He lifts your face to his, holds your stare, and says he has never, ever tied another like this. He hasnāt tied anyone else at all since he met youā¦
How could he, when you came here looking like the angel he always prayed for?
for your consideration, dearest syl: hybrid Flemish giant rabbit!KƶnigĀ šš
flemish giant rabbit hybrid! Kƶnig x fem, coyote hybrid! reader
content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. hybrids: Kƶnig is (mostly) human! he just has bunny ears and a cute lil tail & the same goes for reader!, kind of dark- mentions of what is essentially cannibalism, violence, scent & breeding kink, dubious consent to everything. please heed the warnings!
hello lil wisp! sorry!! this veered off a bit from what i usually write. there is still some fluff and sweetness here if you squint real hardā¦
Winter is setting in.
You could feel it on your bare skin, the chill that sweeps past the trees like breath from a ghoulās rotting throat: something dead and wretched, so cold it steals your breath and halts the blood in your veins. If you werenāt careful, staying ahead of yourself and the rest of the things lurking in the woods, that ivory death would creep up, grab you by the neck and drown you out in the snow.
With the season comes the need to feed. You donāt have the luxury of hibernation settled into the primitive roots of your brain. While everyone else tucks themselves into dens carved out from mountains or beneath the earth, settled in with the roots of vast trees, youāre still left in smothering snow, heavy as the weight of the hunger.
You were born for this, the hunt: to feel your fingernails dig into the fallen leaves and forest debris, curl in carving your name into the earth, bite and rip and tear. āLittle coyote,ā the birds would call, seated up on tree limbs so, so far above that the sunlight would burn your eyes if you dare to look at them, ālet us watch.ā
You always put on the show, always stage the fight with grace. A lost, blubbering sheep one day; the wool āround her ears dried your throat, her mournful bleating only died down when your teeth found her throat. The canopy above echoed your pride, they were always grateful to have something to scavenge later, whether it be finger or eye or ear; your hunger wasnāt the only that raged out here in the forest.
This winter would have to be your last alone. You could feel the way a life of roaming without pack or anything to settle with had eaten away at not just your body, but that little illusion of a soul somewhere tucked a long way down inside of you.
It would be a simple one, tooā drag some creature to your den to keep your flesh warmed and your stomach full, survive this loathsome season and flourish with the spring. When the leaves returned and the lakes thawed, you could settle into some foreign pack. Flash your neck, hide your teeth and hope they wouldnāt rip you apart as you have so many others.
You think to yourself that a deer would do, some meek little doe that would bat her eyelashes and plead that you only wait the winter out with her, curling against you to keep you warm as you keep her safe until finallyā¦
You didnāt like to think about it too much.
As much as the chase and the thrill had a hold on you, thinking about the loss of life, the ghosts that cling to your shoulders and wail, waiting for your turn to join them was far different. You couldnāt fight your nature, but you knew well enough you could never entirely swallow down the guilt that came with it, either.
There was a pain in your legs as you walked, exhaustion that would go unsatisfied until your plan had been laid out proper. It begins to feel dismal when you realize you have not seen another creature in miles, no prints, either. The only thing that brings you any companionship are the first flakes of snow, sifting down from far above, the great bone white and gray of an falsified sea.
You crouch and wait, curling your arms around your midsection as you shiver. Time passes, but you canāt be certain of just how muchā¦ mere seconds, maybe hours. The sky gives nothing away.
Now, thereās a rabbit.
You catch the scent of it on the breeze, musky and floral. Poor thing has probably only basked beneath evergreens, lived in sprawling gardens its entire life, kissed the sun and held flaking petals in its hands. So very unlike you who only knows the shade, the blood, and the hunt.
Your charge is determined, the soles of your feet torn and bloodied from angry thorns springing up from the crushed leaves on the cold soil; teeth bared as you hurtle through the brush of dying plant life. Its so close, so terribly close you can already feel the way your teeth will rend its flesh, feel saliva pooling up on the back of your tongue.
Reaching the forestās edge you spotā¦ him.
The rabbit is huge, stood in the midst of the deadened field with his back turned to you. The tall, decaying grass just barely brushes against the backs of his knees, low hanging fog veiling his face. If not for the puffy, fawn-colored tail situated just past the expanse of the pale, toned back, you would have assumed you were faced with some sort of bear.
This is not your usual prey.
No matter the sharpness of your claws or the ferocity of your bite, you know well enough that someone like this could never be brought down by yourself alone. Itās too risky, even as your belly aches and you itch to be back in the warmth of your den, surrounded by the pelts of the four-legged imitations and the fire roaring in its pitā¦
Rabbits were simple, at least. You press your face against them and cuddle, whisper sweet things in their ears and they melt, begging to be swallowed whole without any idea that youāve only ever meant it literally.
You approach him with cautious, gentle steps, allowing your body language to remain open and friendly as you present him with the view of you bare, claws turned inward into your own palms and teeth hidden away by soft, warm lips. Your ears lie back to rest against your head, tail tucked between your thighs: all a display of utter submission, and a trickery that has worked time and time again.
āItās getting cold..,ā you murmur, voice low and as pitiful as it can get. āWill you keep me warm?ā
Your rabbit cocks his head at you, one flopped ear lifting in curiosity. And he doesnāt move, doesnāt startleā¦ The poor, stupid thing remains in place as his stare drinks you in, almost adoringly as you pad right up to him. Thereās no hope of your faces being level, you merely use that to your advantage, putting on a cute pout and placing your palms flat against his bare chest.
āJa,ā he murmurs, gently coaxing your chin up to look him properly in the eye. Cute prey was easy, but neverā¦ never in your life had you found your prey to be handsome. Even with those silly ears bouncing with each cloudy puff of breath he takes, his face is still something of a myth. The old humans would have made statues in his honor from his build alone, but that face would have given him the look of a warrior of mythā brutish, yet charming with the wide grin he gives you when you meet the sea holly color of his irises. āCome here.ā
He lifts you into his arms with ease and your shivering immediately ceases, heās warm like the summer sun.
āIāll take care of you,ā he whispers into one of your triangular ears, causing it to involuntarily flick from the rush of his breath and press tighter to your skull.
Your intent was to take him to your own den, but as he begins to move it winds up being the opposite; there are mountains, an ice covered stream all laid out before you as he huffs more sweet words in a foreign tongue against your temple. It takes some time to understand that what you had intended to do and what he intends are entirely different. The mouth of a vast cave comes into view right as he dips his head, huffs several breaths against you, panting like a dog.
Youāre only dropped when he kneels down to enter the denā his, ripe with the scent of sweat and musk and something floral. The rabbit has supplies stowed away for the winter, an array of preserved food, ample pelts likely stolen away from some other poor creature. He has weapons scattered about, stolen away from what remained of the old humans and their buildings, some sharper and more deadly than even the claws that crest the peeks of your hands. Your heart only plummetsā¦ youāre not in the presence of some stupid bunny, but a behemoth.
You begin your protests in a hiss, only to have your lips met with dried fruit, something sweet and red laid out on your tongue that tastes of sugar. He pulls you up and over his lap as he fits you both into the bed of animal skins and feeds you by gently guiding the food to your lips. The only think still spitting and crackling is a fire pit at the center as you allow yourself to somewhat settle.
The rabbit man only hums his contentment against your throat as your back presses to the expanse of chest behind you, and his hands trail away from your mouth, down further until theyāre spreading your legs for him. Your pulse races as your eyes map the daggers across the floor down to the fur heās seated you with him upon.
Thereās only a hiss of breath that leaves your lips when his already leaking cock does press against the heat of your core. You donāt fuck preyā that would only spoil it, and you suppose that you are satisfied in knowing that he has no intention of harming you, only filling you with his seed, perhaps even his kitsā¦
As his tip snags at your entrance, he purrs finding you already wet, bared open for him with his hand still steadying your thigh.
āCoyotes mate for life, hm?,ā he rasps against the back of your neck, his own thigh trembling with the sheer excitement of the prospect of breeding you, tethering you to him for not only the rest of this winter.
You can hardly bite back the moan as he pushes through your folds again, nudging your bud as he spreads your arousal over the girth of him.
āAnswer,ā he commands in a sharp whisper, using his free hand to guide your chin up again. And you do, only in a weak nod.
He stuffs you full then, leaves you a panting heap as he repositions you onto your knees and covers you in himself. The furs smell of him, not the animals theyāve come from. Just the scent of lonely nights and a bitter, masculine stench that you whine and whimper into; all while he grunts his approval and praises about your tightness, your warmth, how you look somehow prettier now, capsized in his bed. Even has the audacity to whisper how long heās watched you dart through the forest and waited for you to come to him as you sink your claws into hay and fur to steady yourself from the punishing pace he sets.
He only seems more fervent and adoring when he brings you to a rapturous bliss, keening whines and and tight praises pulled free from your throat as your cunt drools around him.
āYou want kits?,ā he purrs behind you, around you, everywhere as his voice lowers to an almost growl with each word spoken. In your trembling state, addled by sheer bliss as his cock soars into you to grind against your deepest places, youāve barely the mind to refuse him anything. You merely mumble into the fur, something akin to a yes that has him grasping at your hips as though youāre his last tether to life itself.
When heās finished, your stomach full of fruit and cunt full of him, he whispers into your ear about how the old humans believed in fate. His hands trail over your back, your waist, every curve only to rise and cup your cheek. His ears raise when he kisses you then, tender, as if trying to push his faith that you belong here right past your teeth.
Pygmalion!Kƶnig and Galatea!Readerā¦ā¦ā¦. š What do you think?
content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, light angst. self harm, implied animal death (not done by Kƶnig or reader), fluff, Kƶnig is horrible and by that i mean yesā he fucks the statue, outercourse, unprotected piv, implied mutual loss of virginity.
notes: lovely Salome did something similar to this already! š however. yes. i am thinking about it and wellā¦. take this out of my hands.
Kƶnig has never had anything that could properly be called his own.
He walks the city entirely alone, no wife at his side to paw at his chest and bless him with adoring glances. His only steadfast companions are the grit slipping into his sandals as he walks, head held high even as the shadow of a boy begging on his knees for any semblance of love eternally tethers itself to him.
A glance lingering too long at the appeal of a soft face, the brush of his calloused fingertips against a pornaiās bare stomach before deciding that no, he didnāt want something so simple.
He merely slips a few apologetic drachma into her waiting palm and sets her free of him.
A warm body would never be enough, it was the heart that he starved for. To bed some poor creature that would never properly love him would be worse than the greatest of tortures in his mind.
It wasnāt a simple affair to find a lady to marry, either. Foreign soldier that he was, he had no right to some politicianās pretty daughter, court her properly and sweep her away to a bed thatās only ever been a harbor for lonely, twisted bitterness and blood.
Most turned away the moment he passed by: frightened glances that rightfully accused him of immense violence, shushed whispers of ābarbarianā passed from soft lips before the sand beneath their fretful feet shifted and their shapes had disappeared from view entirely.
The ceaseless loneliness carves a burning ache somewhere within the expanse of his chest, something he knew he would never truly be free of, not until it rotted itās way out of him in full.
It only seemed to quiet in moments he shed blood for this foreign country; burying his sword in some poor manās gut was the closest he could get to sheathing a part of himself inside another, to touching a heart, seeing lips part in a gasp as their world becomes entirely consumed by him.
Just as the many days prior to this one, he grips the hilt of his blade, letting the metal dig into his palm, his knuckles bone white, as he makes his way back to the empty shack deemed a home.
Streets quiet and crowds disperse with each of his silent footfallsā not one of these smaller men or fearful women dares to look him in the eye. The only thing that does, the only eyes that ever lock to his, are those peering out from the harbor.
The figurehead guarding her expertly crafted ship has always called to him.
Her beauty was remarkable, from the curl of her hair to the patient look in her eyes. Her hands clasped before her breasts in silent prayer as she looms over the darkened depths of the sea beyond the soil, calling him to board, to venture away from this place that his left him in such an acute state of misery.
He swears he hears it then, a mere whisper on the wind, urging him in featherlight comfort to lie down his sword and take up the chisel and hammer.
Itās only when he pauses to look the gentle face of the figurehead over once more that he finds himself resolute in what he must do.
ā ā ā
When he took to crafting her it was born of this desperation; hazy moonbeams cutting through the shade of his shack for hours before he would reluctantly pull away from a beautifully carved hand or the soft but stiff curve of a neck to retire to the straw-stuffed mattress at the corner of the room.
She was beautiful, a representation of all of the sweet, effeminate softness he would marvel at from afar. The swell of plush breasts, curved hips and silken thighs, eternally parted by her stance, the sweet face that could make any man feel entirely weakā¦
His hands tremble when they rest upon her form, unsure of just how such splendor could have come from his own coarse palms.
Weeks of scarce sleep only seemed to further his devoted madness. Though the warring dulled the ache and sated his blade, the longing seemed to only grow far more prevalent.
He yearned when they were apart, dreamt of coming home to her less lifeless and only demure smiles and hurried kisses the moment he would return to her. He would always come back.
Upon her completion, he took to courting her proper. Though she could not in any way reciprocate or reject his advances, he believed wholeheartedly that the cushiony love that had blossomed within his aching, neglected heart must be mutual.
Gifts were strewn at her cold feet, some gilded and shimmery, some soft with an abundance of colorful petals: offerings for a silent goddess that kept a part of his soul hidden away deep inside the pristine marble that she was carved from.
When he wraps her neck in a necklace with a sparkling beryl amulet attached, his hand does drift to the swell of her breast beneath the woolen chiton.
Itās hard and cold, but his groping becomes as incessant as the kisses he presses to her jaw, to her cold lips, tongue leaving a warm path down to her neck before he finds himself committed to having her.
Heās careful when he disrobes her, slowly revealing the mounds and curves and softness of her imitation of human flesh.
Dropping to his knees, his tongue laps at the ivory depiction of smooth lower lips, spearing between each silken ridge until he imagines her eyes squeezing shut as she cries out for him, rolling her perfectly sculpted hips to coat his tongue in waves of vulgar honey.
He moans into her cunt, drools and sucks at the mimicry for as long as it takes to find her thighs drenched in his saliva and his cock aching horribly between his thighs.
He rises to slot himself between her legs, pushing forward with a keening whine that dissipates into a relieved gasp. The feel of her pressed against him; the smooth ridges of her makeshift flesh running over his stiff, leaking cock is akin to finding divinity.
His hands rove over her breasts, thumbs pressed against her eternally pebbled nipples as he kisses her, each sloppy and filled with years of need.
It is pure bliss, almost as though he is burying himself to his hilt inside of her pulsing cunt.
He would fuck her better than any manā not a single other could match the strength of his affections nor his hapless willingness to please.
If he could have carved a proper hole between her legs, not a drop of his seed would be wasted on thin sheets or spilled into his palm, she would be filled, womb brimming until some loving god or goddess blessed her with child.
His pace quickens to the point of frantic, feverish hands drifting to her hips as he mouths at her breasts instead, hissing out praises for how good she feels against him, how his heart bleeds to feel her nearer.
There is so much heat between her thighs now he could swear it burns like the cold mist of the Underworld itself; the fuzzy heat pools from his navel and further as his muscles begin to tense and leave his thoughts a haze and his lips parted in a silent, worshipping cry.
Itās only when he envisions her tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, back arching as she drags her nails over his shoulders and whines through her own damnation that his cock throbs in repetition as his eyes roll back. His heavy sack arrives at her mound as his seed spills from him, cascading down to paint the thighs of his silent lover, smeared pearly and glistening over her labia as he rubs his cockhead against her with an agonized groan.
His forehead finds her shoulder, warm breath replacing the coldness of her skin as he wraps his arms around her perpetually beckoning form, lovingly trailing kisses from her clavicle to her ear where he whispers a breathless, āI love you.ā
Itās only after heās finished wiping away the evidence of depravity from her that he feels the first wave of shame, sharp and feathering from his chest that leaves his jaw set and throat tight.
What lowly man envies the warmth others experience with far less gratitude? Kƶnig has never seen himself as pathetic, no matter how commonly heās been sent off and kicked like a stray.
Sheās the only thing thatās brought him any sort solace in a world thatās left him starved, but also a cruel mirror casting a reflection of his own nature.
Pulling the thin blanket from his mattress, the statue is soon swallowed up in her entirety, all guilt and pity-drawing attestation neatly hidden away behind rippling sable fabric; her form silent and waiting as it would remain eternally.
None of this is enough.
āāā
Kƶnig has never found himself fond of prayer, never felt the need to partake in the festivals and ceremonies. His luck in battle was only a mere measure of skill, of a body so brutal and immense that most trembled before him, not born of any benevolent gift. There was no need to kneel, to bestow offerings upon the altars. If the people turned away from him, then surely any god or goddess would be even more inclined to do so.
Onlyā¦ his mindless wandering has led him here, to Aphroditeās altar whilst the festival of Aphrodisia plays on everywhere around him. The people invoke and dance, abundant offerings brought forth as the scent of timber burning and bold floral incense floods his senses. Blood and flowers already riddle the stone, a stark vibrancy of color that lures him closer, commands him to kneel.
He doesnāt have a thing to offer to the goddess, not so much as a petal, but if the pull were not just the first signs of a withering mindā¦
The glimpse of hope heās offered is not taken for granted.
Thick fingers curl over his sharpened blade, dragging his palm against the steel until it stings almost sweetly. If she could accept the blood of a goat then surely, his could be no more polluted. Beads of crimson revel and dance along his forearm before dropping down onto the stone.
And he does pray.
It is not a vulnerable prayer, one that bares him in full, but only a wishā a longing for warmth, to have her share his breath, to admonish his shame and live free with the one thing that has never given him anything but safe harbor.
He unveils her when he returns, knowing that this is the closest he will ever come to love.
āIām sorry,ā he breathes against her cheek, leaves a kiss there before dragging himself away to disrobe and pull himself back into bed.
When the weariness takes him, his sleep in dreamless and calm. If any blessing were bestowed upon him at all, the surely that would have been more than enough. A night without turning, without visions of a darkened grave devoid of anything to haunt him.
He only begins to stir when the mattress dips at his side, a soft palm pressed to his chest, stroking along the loose curls of auburn there.
āKƶnig..,ā a voice calls out, more gentle than any heās ever heard.
He wakes to find her, leaning over him with the sweetest glimmer in her eyes, wide and fascinated. Her touches only trail further up to his face as he tries to silence the rapid beating of his heart, the stinging born of adoration in his own pale blue eyes.
āI missed you,ā she whispers, moving to curl at his side, her hands cradling either side of his jaw.
Kƶnig is utterly stifled and so terribly smitten, the most he can manage is a quiet huff of breath as he rolls onto his side to take this sweet, unreal woman into his arms. Dreaming or waking, it mattered not, if he were given only the night or a lifetime with this beautiful little creature itās still more than he has ever had.
His head dips to press a chaste kiss to her soft lips, only finding a warmth there that had never been the many times he had kissed her prior. His palm runs along her side, feeling ever perfect dip and curve, all heated and so very alive.
She only falls apart beneath his touch, already quivering and softly gasping even from such a gentle kiss. The thought that this little dove has been longing for him just as much makes his heart bleed. He whispers his apologies against her temple, for his frustrations, for his doubt in their love, for all of the temptations and hatred that plagued his mind before she came to be.
She only answers with eager touches, grasping at him as she murmurs her own perceived shortcomings. If only she knew that she could never do wrong, that she was whatās saved him and that nothing could shatter that.
When her tongue slips past his lips and his breath grows heavy, thereās little else he can concentrate on than the throbbing pillar between his legs, the scent of her around him, under him when he guides her onto her back.
Thanking the goddess could wait, heās far too focused on the one thatās willingly climbed into his bed.
One hand splays at her side forcing him upright as the other trails over her breasts, a satisfied groan leaves him as he feels her softness, fighting back to urge to squeeze and pinch until she cries in pleasure, howling out like those at the altar he had encountered only earlier.
A nipple is snared between his thumb and index, twisted gently beneath each pad, her back archesā¦The wetness of the dew slicked flower between her legs brushes against him and he whines like a starved dog finally presented with the aroma of a meal.
His hand falls from her breast to her hip, encouraging her to buck the source of her own need against himā take anything she needed. If she were to pull a blade and carve a hole in his own chest he would only let her, the taste of this heated bliss and the look that she gives him, enchanted and curious, is more than he has ever deserved.
Only does he pause when he parts her thighs, and her stare becomes more curious, searching him for any reason as to why he would even stop.
āWe have done this before. Are you afraid now?ā
No, he wants to tell her, that before was not the full extent of it. Instead he only laughs, peeling away just enough to fit his head between her legs, mouth only a small measure from her weeping cunt.
āI want to taste you.ā
With a whispered plea from her lips, he raises her hips, mouthing and suckling at her until she shivers and sings against the cushions. He groans against her when she does come, her hips stuttering in his grasp as she drives further against him.
He hisses in his mother tongue when he pushes the backs of her thighs up, grinds his leaking tip against her until he swears he really will fall into madness if he doesnāt fuck into her immediately.
The ache in his chest that his been so prevalent for so long is finally smothered out the very moment she tugs him down by his shoulders and pulls him into a frenzied kiss. She encourages him in each lapse, murmurs how long that sheās waited, how starved sheās been for him while hidden away.
He nearly sobs when his tip snags against her entrance, so divinely wet, pulsing and begging just as he is. When he penetrates her, the breath is punched from his lungs, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of her within reach as she wraps around his shaft as though her cunt was made for him.
His little dove only covers him in kisses in turn as he mumbles obscenities into her flesh, revelling in her tightness, in the way her body fits so perfectly against his, mutually carved by the gods to fulfill one another. His professions of love come in abundance as she fits her legs over his narrow hips, crying out from his sudden depth as his cock jumps against a spot that leaves her writhing.
Though itās almost painful to keep himself restrained, he tries his best not to rut into her like a mindless animal, even when he feels her constrict around him as another orgasm leaves her cunt drooling and pulsing. He doesnāt give her time to recover, howeverā¦ forced to lie in wait for so long, itās nearly taken out on her as he spears into her as she moans and babbles her praises against his chest.
Heās lost to the empyrean as his muscles finally pull taut, crying as he buries his head into her shoulder and pumps his come into her, shaking as he wraps her up in his arms and clutches her close as he melts against her.
Spent and sated, Kƶnig holds her tightly against him as they pant and share sweet words, secrets and giggles from her that make every moment of dolor before this night seem insignificant.
She slots her fingers between his own, compliments his damaged face and the worships his body with brushes of her lips and tongue just as he does her. He does not leave her empty, warms her heart with words heās kept trapped in his throat for months, guides her gently as she perches over him to descend back onto his cock, his thumb stroking her stomach as he tells her over and again just how much he loves her, compared his feelings to that of Orpheus, how he would suffer anything all for her.
A pleading āStayā is uttered as she falls limp against him, stroking along her back as they come down for the second time that night.
The last thing that leaves her lips before sleep takes her is the most saccharine sheās said that night, a simple, āI love you.ā
Itās the only thing that heās ever truly longed for.
āāā
They marry after the voyage back to his homeland, his head clouded during the entire trip of seeing her swell with his child in time, a home built with her in mind for the two of them, of lying flowers at her feet just as he had before.
His blade lies neglected in the little glade they had chosen, taking up only a hammer and his own hands as he works tirelessly to provide for his wife, the dove that looks at him as though he were not a dog but a king.
When their home is built after many weeks of tedious work during day and bedding her beneath the stars each night, Kƶnig only then thinks to pray his thanks to the foreign goddess who gifted his salvation to him with little more than a scrape from his palm. All the while his true goddess leans over him to tickle his cheek with flowers he had plucked for her only moments prior, covering him in a fragrance so sweet it only seemed befitting of herself.
She giggles and sighs when he pulls her down into the grass to roll over her, blanket her in kisses and gentle bites to her throat.
The beryl amulet around her neck catches the glimmer of the sun above as she sifts her fingers through his hair and tells him that the gods already knew he was grateful, that his worship of her was already telling enough.
lol i saw a tiktok about this and it is so right (sfw btw!)
been seeing a lot of whipped!kƶnig for his darling little love, who is so enamored with you, would do anything for you so much at a tiny request. and that is so true but let me raise you āļøš
a goofy kƶnig who lets his walls down with you, who loves making you laugh and having fun with you. he gets to heal a little bit of his inner child with you and the way you can match his energy and encourage his little shenanigans fills his heart with so much love
at the end of the day, he's such a boy. spent all that time merely observing his peers have that kind of fun and thought it was amusing himself, but not having the crowd to build that up. he has so much of his own quips and humor but nobody to really share it with. but with you? sometimes you're not sure if you're dating a super buff and hardened military soldier who could break you with his fingers if he so much as tried... or if you're dating this rambunctious little boy with middle school humor
thinks it's funny to unveil a lizard he got outside while you're in the kitchen, cooking one of his favorite meals. he throws it on you and watches as you flail and scream because WHAT IS CRAWLING ON YOU. he laughs so joyously that you can't really bring yourself to be that mad at him. especially when he takes a soft, tender moment to grab it so gently and fix your hair that got mussed up from your thrashing. he holds you still so he can grab it from your shoulder and the look he gives you lets you know that he's always going to be your big, dependable protector... from lizards
and also in top of that, sometimes you're cuddling and all of a sudden he'll yelp and thrash around himself saying that there was the largest spider he's ever seen crawling on him. and that makes you panic as well as you're standing on the bed or couch and looking around for whatever it is on the ground while he's trying to hold back a smile and pretend like he's in a panic looking for it too. and when you're slapping him with a pillow as you yell at him to find it, he doubles down with laughter. whenever he laughs, he always brings you in close and hugs you to him. you're not sure if it's because he's apologizing to you, laughing makes him lose his guard so he holds you close so you don't retaliate or he can better protect you, or just feeling a surge of affection and happiness while he laughs and the only feeling he really knows that is with you. he tries to make up for it by tickling you since you're already in his hold and blowing raspberries on your stomach
or finally, if for some reason you've pissed him off or recently got out of an argument and he's feeling super petty... he eats a bunch of garlic-y foods and won't tell you at all. so, when you come by looking for kisses then you'll be absolutely repulsed and swat him away while covering your nose while he chuckles evilly. EVEN BETTER is when he's wearing his headcovering and lets you come in super close so you can peek under his hood and maybe sneak a look at his handsome face and maybe even a kiss. but before you can go "what's under here?" he lets out the most foul smelling burp in your face and locks up his whole body so he's not shaking with laughter as you immediately drop the cloth and just walk away
so,,,, yeah. kƶnig is a huge softie for you and would probably take out entire planets for you, but i like when he can be goofy with you too <3
content/warnings: reader wears dresses, Kƶnig is soft and lonely, pining, comfort & fluff.
notes: @deltrese put the thought of Kƶnig inheriting a little dollhouse from his grandmother in my head whilst i was watching Arrietty andā¦ yknow. likely not anyones cup of tea but the idea was too cute to not write out eheh. not proofread, apologies! wc: 8.5k.
She survives on drops of honey, dew trickling from the asters springing up along the brick skirt wrapped around the lower level of the house, sips of canned soup and crumbs of bread when he forgets to clean up after a dinner prepared far too late into the night. Heās far from a messy man; he keeps his house in lovely shape, but heās weary, more tired than any of the mice undergoing torpor sheās crossed paths with in the attic.
In her own way, sheās grown fond of this giant. Not fond enough to reveal herself in full, but sheās polite enough to sweep his crumbs from the table after heās gone to bed, spend a day patching up an old shirt of his with a tiny thorn and scraps of thread if she notes a tear in the fabric of some ugly, dark thing he wears. Sheās always amazed when he notices her busywork, too. The way he will hold the shirt in front of his face with a boyish grin after taking notice of how skillfully itās been repaired, the way he calls out, āDanke freunden!ā in that soft tone of voice that reminds her of a breeze passing through a windchime.
She knows that he doesnāt truly think that anyone else is here at all; thatās just how humans wereā silly things. Something strange happens and theyāll try any way that they can to rationalize it or personify whatever may have caused it. Kƶnig looked the part of a rational man, but her heart seems to swell when he gives away just how superstitious he truly is.
Heās ritualistic in some ways; covers his mouth when he yawns as though fearing that the Devil himself will come scurrying out of his windpipe, the wind chimes he has hanging up on his front porch, even knocking on the wood of the dining room table as he passes through lost in thought about something. She might be, too, because she always whispers her wishes of hood favor to him when she knows heās heading off on some grand adventure in the world outside.
She likes that she can make sure he feels less alone.
The man never has any visitors, and more often than not, heās away. She likes to imagine he visits beautiful places, climbs mountains she will never in her lifetime see the peaks of, runs his calloused hands over the sharp edges of leaves and plucks dandelions puffed with seeds to blow wishes into. She pictures him having sweet, doting friends, all smiles when heās around. Though, she is almost certain that the reality is nothing of the sort.
Sheās seen him come home with fresh wounds, blood seeping through gauze haphazardly wrapped around his side. Sheās seen the look in his eye when he stares blankly at the lifeless wall for what feels like hours, breathing out long sighs as his fingers curl and loosen in repetition at his sides. Regrettably, sheās fretted over the sight of tears welling in his eyes to the extent that sheās almost dared to come out of hiding, to console him just a little.
Heās hurting.
Sheās alone too, here. There are others like her, of course. Groups of them cluster in lived-in homes chattering all throughout the night, getting into any mischief their tiny hands can fall upon to prepare. Often times, when a little sprite such as herself chooses a place, the others come flocking, tooā making merry, stealing from their humans in ways hardly worthy of a second glance and starting colonies in the rafters, far out of sight.
But no one else will touch this place.
The house is a beautiful thing, meant for a family. There were so many rooms that she had yet to even explore herself. Not a pet in sight to chase after her and swallow her whole. The floors are soft carpet she often beds down in on nights she can feel he wonāt be returning, plush and soft and so unused to human traffic. She loves it here, even if her kind do not. She might even understand why, too. Itās so melancholic, haunted by this miserable giant with heavy footfalls and tears perpetually unshed, held back by the grace of quivering hands in a body with too many scars.
Sheās tried to count them before, once, whilst he was changing in his room. She wasnāt trying to steal a glimpse of his body, no, she only wanted to see what stories he was hiding, written on flesh. Perched on a bookshelf, she watched the giant as he pulled his shirt over his head, some tight, black cloth that didnāt look cozy at all. He had a cut running from his navel to his chest, a few penny sized keloids along his ribcage. The giantās body was pale, as though he had never at all caught the eye of the sun, the only thing making him look still-alive and healthy were the layers of muscle across the chest, bunching down to his abdomen.
A pretty sight, undoubtedly for women similar in stature to him, but to her she sees only his fluttering pulse in the vein along his neck, the shaking of hands too large, and those horribly sad eyes that shatter her heart with only a glimpse.
She had nearly been caught then, with her palm splayed out over her chest in open awe and sympathy for this poor, cursed beast. His gaze had snapped over to the appeal of small movement on the shelf only to find nothing at all; she had tucked herself behind a copy of a Ungeduld des Herzens.
That was two months ago.
He had left the following morning, a black duffel bag thrown over his shoulder as he meticulously walked through the home shutting off lights and closing doors. Exceptā¦ he left two lights on this time; the kitchen and his bedroom were cast in a white glow. She thought, assuredly that the artificial suns in their glass casings will burn out by the time that he returns. She also realized how strange it is that he would do such a thing at all. The man was prone to his habits, and it welled her up with dread to think that perhaps the book hadnāt entirely concealed her shape, that he had seen her peeking out between old pages covered in thin layers of dust.
She occupied her time scrounging around for anything that may have suggested his cerulean eyes had fallen upon her, When a human catches sight, itās best to leave as though a house sprite had never been there at all; she certainly didnāt care for uprooting from this cozy, quiet life in the presence of a man that she harbored a fluttering, sympathetic heart for.
To her relief, she found nothing of note.
ā ā ā
It was rare for him to be gone this long. Sheās lost track of the days after a quaint seventy-three. A decent meal is harder to come by when he isnāt accidentally feeding her; the cabinets and pantry are shut, and thereās absolutely no hope of her small hands prying open the big portal leading to a perpetual winter that humans referred to as a refrigerator. Dew drops, wild strawberries and blackberries get tiresome after a while, and sneaking outside is dangerous, anyway. The birds donāt think her anything more than a bug, something simple to descend upon and scoop into a hungry beak.
She gathers up a thin piece of thread and, after tossing it into the air an innumerable amount of times only to have it land in a heap at her feet, she finally manages to hook it onto one of the knobs of a cabinet where she knows he keeps brightly colored packages of store bought cookies.
Those were for rougher days, always in date because god knows the man probably had never had a day that wasnāt somewhat harrowing. Sheās seen him drink jĆ„ger and munch cookies while watching the television late into the night more times than she can count.
She pulls the thread tight and takes steps backwards to fling the cabinet door wide open. It takes a lot of effort from her small size, but she prides herself on managing even without a cluster of other sprites to help her along. Her stomach rumbles when the package comes into view and she readily climbs into the cabinet, up a few cans and boxes to reach the second shelf.
The package is opened with careful precision. Sheās diligent at emulating the rips and tears sheās seen on similar ones to make it look like an accident occurred on some storage room shelf. Her heart swells in utter delight as the sweet smell of sugar and cinnamon wafts up her nostrils, her mouth watering by the time she pulls one of the baked goods free from its confinement as she seats herself on the thin wooden board of the shelf with the treat in her lap.
Itās when her lips part and she lowers her head to take a bite that her ears prick to the sound of the front door opening. She missed the sounds of the turning lock, likely whilst fussing with the plastic and nowā¦ now itās simply too late for her to haul off her spoils, shimmy down back to the linoleum floor, manage to unthread her makeshift cabinet-door-opener and shut it, leave it as though it had never been touched.
Sheās never made a grave error like this. There have been close calls, certainly, but never one that set her off with the alarm of certainty that she would be discovered.
The lock clicks back into place, and thereās the sound of heavy boots being dropped to the floor before soft footfalls could be heard against the plush carpet.
ā¦ Headed straight in her direction.
Donāt come in the kitchen. Do not come in in the kitchen!
She finds herself in a tossup between petrified by her own fear and utterly entranced by the idea of being caught. Finally, after years of watching her giant from shadows and covered perches. The idea that he might crush her like a bug or capture her to marvel at like a pet crosses her mind, certainly, but a part of her wants to believe that her fondness for him wouldnāt be entirely unreciprocated.
From her perch, she can see the dark camos, the looming shadow as he trudges into the room only to stop, immediately, when he notices the little door flung wide open. Heās wearing that hood he wears often when he returns, a scrap of bleached fabric with eye holes torn out. Sheās taken to stitching it more times than she can count, breathing in the scent of sweat, of strange lingering smoke as she works to fix the threading along the eyeholes. Itās difficult to make out his expression like this, but his blue eyes dart from the open cupboard to the rest of the room before landing back there.
He grunts out a noise of confusion, and she can almost hear his thoughts. He wouldnāt have left it open. The lights had been intentionally left on. That was a sign she had foolishly overlooked.
He takes careful steps toward her, so close now that only the fabric of his tight-fitting trousers filled her view. To her horror, her amazement, his knees bend and he kneels down slowly. This wasnāt the way that things should have went, she should have been more cautious. The hood comes into view all too quickly. Blue eyes widen as they land on her with that big cookie still in her lap.
āHallo, little one.ā
Ohgodohgodohgod.
Heās speaking directly to her. He sees her. Heās not afraid, yet her heart is burning with the icy touch of pure dread.
She clutcheds the pastry tight to her chest, lips pressed into a thin line as she takes a tentative step back into the shadow of the cupboard. So tense, so uncertain. She didnāt want to leave, silently willing him to close his eyes, turn away, forget about the tiny thing he happened upon stealing his food.
Instead, he stares down at her as though he had just found a will to keep living, a reason to stick around despite his bloodied wardrobe and the ever-present loneliness.
āKleine engelā¦ you are safe, please donāt look at me like thatā¦ā
Heās so much kinder than she had ever anticipated, his heart laid bare between the red rings of flesh lining his eyes. Her giant is nothing but gentle, cooing at her in such a quiet voice as though she were a wounded baby bird. Those eyes were filled to the brim with such wonder and hope that she couldnāt turn away now even if he was some rotten carnivorous animal.
āPlease donāt look at me.ā
The words fall from her lips despite her defenses lowering, shoulders relaxing and her eyes filling with that same look of hope he held.
Itās strange, how someone so massive doesnāt seem to send her scurrying for the hills. Heās huge, but that tenderness in his eyes that makes her feel comforted, reminds her of the gentle lull of streams and the sky filled with puffy clouds like castles in mid-morning.
āAchā¦ But you are soā¦ā
Tiny, strange, a myriad of words hanging on his tongue, and she feels every one of them with each flutter of her pulse.
āā¦ so pretty. Kleine puppe.ā
She drops the cookie at that and it falls to the floor of the shelf with a soft thud that makes her jump in place.
The other sprites have their stories. Itās nice to sit and listen from the comfort of a canopy of grass when another passes through. They speak of the humans that theyāve encountered just as they speak of beasts, keen-eyed cats with sharp claws bared ready to feast upon those like herself. Dangerous things not meant to be associated with. Not one of them has ever mentioned encountering one that looks at them likeā¦ this, as though they were something breathtaking, something to be protected.
He huffs out a laugh at her shocked expression, his fingers drumming upon his knees as he watches her.
āI am not a āpuppeā.ā
āA fairy, then?ā
She sighs, heavy and exasperated as she sorts out her dress and bends down to retrieve her meal. A pretty thing she had sewn herself from a vintage napkin, blue blossoms and thin lace.
āAre you goingā¦ to tell anyone?ā
Her giant shakes his head with a laugh, and of course he doesā who would he tell?
āI will keep you a secret, puppe.ā
āGood, or Iāll curse you!ā She warns, trying to puff her chest to seem bigger, more intimidating. Sheās too cute to seem anything more than a frightened bunny, and his eyes are swimming in mirth at the sight of her. Heās like a giant child, finding out the fairytales in his books were true all along, onlyā¦ not the ones about boiling folks like him down to bones to teach a lesson, just the ones where true love and sweet princesses existed.
He asks her a million things in rapid succession thenā where she came from, how long sheās been here, what sheās doing, why she never came out before, how she can even exist. They make her head swim and she doesnāt answer a single one. He makes no move to touch her, doesnāt move any more than his nervous fingers and his beautiful eyes. They crease at the outer corners with each wide smile he undoubtedly has beneath that hood and her heart stutters each time like the flapping of little bird wings desperately seeking safe wind to coast in a storm.
She decides that she likes him as she brings herself to sit on the edge of the shelf, nibbling at her cookie whilst he tells her his name, that he works as a soldierā a colonel, sounding prideful despite the fact she has no clue just what that entails. He speaks to her in an energetic whisper, drops his shoulders and lowers himself further as though trying to appear her size, despite the vast disparity between their statures.
āDo you have a place to sleep?ā Kƶnig asks her suddenly, glancing over his shoulder as he looks out towards the den with a pinched brow. It was almost as though he expected a castle fit for her to appear from thin air, white gates and a shimmer of fairy dust surrounding it all.
āThe floor is softā¦ sometimes between the sofa cushions, too. Youāve nearly sat on me before.ā
āNein. That will not do.ā
He stands to his feet before she can protest and leaves the room. A part of her still teeters on the edge of running off, escaping before they became too familiar, and yet a more impulsive part wills her to wait as she hears the creak of floorboards beneath his feet whilst his footfalls ascend up into the attic.
She pictures the mice scurrying away in fright, just as she should, while she kicks her feet and waits patiently. The taste of cinnamon and sugar remains on her tongue as she places the remnants of the cookie aside and licks her fingers clean of sweet dust.
Kƶnig returns a few moments later, a large box cradled in his arms.
āClose your eyes, puppe.ā
It doesnāt make sense for her to leave herself vulnerable so soon after their impromptu meeting, and she doesnāt want to, but she does as he asks anyhow with a soft smile on her tiny face. Feels her chest pool with a mixture of excitement and fear as she hears him shuffling about the kitchen, the thump of something heavy being placed on the counter encourages her to flinch. She can hear small objects being set down carefully, the water running from the tap for a moment before the sound of something soft meeting wood fills her ears. It all quiets after a moment and she feels a gentle nudge at her side.
Her eyelids flutter open to see Kƶnigās finger gently pressed against her waist, his blue eyes beneath the dark hood fill her vision entirely. Heās so close, too close. As if sensing her apprehension, he raises his head back to look down at her instead.
āIt is alright. I have a gift for you.ā
Kƶnig nudges her once more before she realizes that heās inviting her to climb onto his massive hand. Her breath catches as she glances from the calloused flesh to his eyes and back.
Her kin would scold her severely if they were here, tell her sheās gone too far that thereās no way she will ever come back from this if she accepts. She stinks of human already. Thatās how she justifies the way she climbs into his palm with her hands folded into the lap of her dress. His other hand curves around her, not touching, but hovering closely enough to keep her in place as he slowly rises to his full height and carries her over to the counter where he immediately allows her to clamber off before dropping his hands to his sides again.
The sight sheās met with dissolves any lingering fear she had harbored against him.
On the counter sits a wooden dollhouse, painted a lovely shade of blue, the roof a quiet shade of gray. Itās a stately thing, speaking of yesteryearās Victorian styled homes with its vaulted roof, even a small turret beside the upstairs balcony. Expertly crafted and far too beautiful, perhaps even prettier than Kƶnigās empty home. Her eyes are welling with tears as she slowly ascends the three sturdy steps to the front door.
āYou like?ā
She canāt bring herself to respond immediately. Sheās too caught up in this, opening the door with a gentle pull as she wanders into the house. Itās furnished in a hurry, some of the furniture misplaced, butā¦ everything is here, as it would be in a normal, human home. A couch that seemed almost tailored for her size sits beside a little rattan shelf, a small table before it, a little hearth, a full kitchen and upstairs she finds a bedroom complete with a canopy bed. The curtains hanging off of it are blue like the outside, like the floral wallpaper adorning the dollhouse. She tests the bed with a gentle hand, marveling at how soft it was, how the sheets bunch beneath her palm.
Then, she approaches the window in admiration of all of the small details, little etchings of plant life carefully scrawled along the wood. The lock even clicks open as she pushes the little sheet of plastic framed by white to rise.
āItās perfect,ā she chirps out to her giant. āItās so beautifulā¦ā
āOma gave it to me when I was a boy.ā Kƶnigās reply sounds bittersweet, but his eyes are shimmering, as though the fact he had made this small woman so happy had been the height of his year, perhaps even an entire decade of his life. Sheās seen him quietly weep to himself long into the night, only a breadth away from him as she tucks herself further into couch. Heās seemed gentle, less of a titan and more battered then, but heās never seemed this sweet. āAnd now I am giving it to you.ā
ā ā ā
Sleeping in a bed is different. Itās quiet and soft with no worries of getting crushed by a heavy boot or threats of having a presence too large finding out about her existence. Those things do absolutely nothing to lull her to comfort as a dull the throbbing in her chest blossoms and continues all throughout the night ceaselessly. She tucks the blanket a little tighter around herself as she tosses and turns on the small mattress.
Mornings are different now, too. When Kƶnig wakes, he taps at her front door to pull her from her restless dreaming. He has a ritual, expecting her to come out in one of the dresses from the dollhouseās wardrobe rather than her scrapped clothing with a small mug and a plate in hand. He gives her a drop or two of coffee and food from whatever breakfast heās pieced together. Sometimes itās a cookie from the cabinet. She feels like a contented housepet these days as he leans over the counter to speak to her.
Itās painful how attentive Kƶnig is. His eyes donāt leave her when she speaks and he consistently asks her if she needs anything, if there is anything that he could do to make her feel more comfortable as if he hasnāt already provided her with refuge and companionship, things she hadnāt even realized she had been longing for. As if he hasnāt already made her feel things for a human that no sprite should! Really, the way he loiters about with the stupid grin plastered across his face while she stumbles out of her abode to greet him does nothing to make the flutter in her chest feel warranted. Itās there no matter how much she turns her head away from him and barks out her warnings of curses and other mischief; gnaws at her every time she hears his laugh or he tells her yet another stupid story of things she knows nothing of.
She listens, anyway, utterly mesmerized when he speaks of rescuing hostages or tearing through men like a rampaging bull. He explains to her what guns are, shows her and lets her run her tiny hands over polished metal. She should think him violent and obscene, but the way he looks at her as though sheās all he has stifles any judgements before they can leave her lips.
It quickly froths to a point that she realizes sheās come down with a terrible crush. She worries for him after hearing his tales each time he steps foot out of the house on another deployment, rushes from whichever corner sheās occupied with hurried little steps to greet him. She lets him carry her around on his shoulder sometimes, even leans over his arm when itās stationed on the counter just to feel him near.
She knows better, which is why she finds herself skittering through tall grass to seek another of her kind. Hoping for a reminder that sheās making too many mistakes. The trip is a short walk for a human, but takes her from morning to sunset to reach her destination, a narrow alder tree full of knotholes with sprigs of dandelion surrounding it.
āYou what?!ā Bellis exclaims, the very second sheās managed to spill her story and slump against a ruggedly crafted table within the trunk of the tree. Bellisā voice was like the chirping of little nightingales, and she looks cute when sheās surprisedā the other spriteās brown eyes twinkle in such a way that it makes her think of stars falling into pools of honey.
āYesā¦ we spoke,ā she huffs, curling her arms around her waist, her face feeling hot and her eyes dreamy. Bellis knows the look well enough, the other sprite has it every time she locks eyes with her wife, another sprite far too pretty. Itās affection, one that she graciously spares her friend from commenting on.
āItās alright, you knowā¦ just be safe.ā
āOf courseā¦ā
She anticipated some long-winded lecture of dangers, to be beaten by words targeting her own selfish wants.
Instead, Bellis only offers comfort and the hope that her feelings are not a lost cause.
āYou arenāt the only one who has ended up falling for their human, you know?ā
āI thought we were supposed to avoid them, not dream of them.ā
Bellis giggles and drapes an arm over her shoulder as she prattles on about sprites and glamours that could make them bigger. She tells her of a couple only a weeks travels away, a male sprite and a human woman, how he feasts upon wild berries and golden herbs under each new moon to keep himself human-sized day and night for the woman that he loves. Bellis reminds her that the other sprites frown upon it out of fear for their own safety, but she also reminds her that sheās damned to live a life far longer than the object of her affection, anyhow, and that if he already knows of her existence then whatās the harm in it?
Those words fill her with fantasies about a happy life, where she can hold her giant properly in an embrace, rather than wrapping her arms around his thumb to satiate the burning affection running rampant through her.
They also damn her to heartbreak when Kƶnig returns.
He comes home after two short weeks this time, rather than months and she rushes to greet him as always. Kƶnig bends down on a knee, scoops her up in his palm and brings her over to the sofa where he sets her on the opposite end from where he sits.
āHow was your trip?ā She asks him sweetly as she plops down onto the pillowy cushion below, fidgeting with the hem of her dress in excitement. She knows what she knows now, and she truly could not wait to tell him, to give life to the newfound feelings in her chest. She wonders what Kƶnig would say; would he take her on dates? Would he dance across the room with her as sheās seen sprites in the throes of courtship do before? Would he kiss her? The thought makes her feel warm again.
Kƶnig, on the other hand seems perfectly composed and lost in thought. His hands are fidgeting, but this time, not with themselves. Heās holding a device she doesnāt recognize, tapping at the little screen with the same look in his eyes that she reserves solely for him.
āIt was fine.ā He mumbles, and for the first time he doesnāt elaborate. She looks forward to his stories. Time away from him is difficult now. It passes slowly without their morning chatter, without his stories, without the films she watches with him late into the night. Heās taught her to use the remote, sure, but itās not the same without him towering at her side.
āWhat is that?ā
āA phone.ā
She listens intently when he explains what this strange object is, even shows her the bright screen and lets her tap her hand against it a few times as she looks at the shifting colors with wide eyes.
āI visited a friend while you were away.ā
He rests his phone in his lap and looks down at her then, his interest piqued.
āThere are more like you?ā
āYes, lots.ā She giggles. She tells him of Bellis who lives in the alder with her wife, of how her dark hair curls and her voice sounds like the chirping of birds. Kƶnig pays rapt attention as she speaks, belays his curiosity of the prospect of there being many more like his little housemate with a tilt of his head.
āI made a friend while I was away.ā He gestures toward his phone with a smirk. āPretty, like you, but bigger.ā
Kƶnig explains to her what a ādating appā is with a look of pure glee on his face. Sheās never seen him so happy, not even when he first met her. Itās not a concept she can wrap her head around, her kind just happen upon one another, sing and dance and feast together until love blooms between them. Thereās no need for little, lighted rectangles when it came to courtship.
āSheās coming to visit soon.ā He pauses as his phone lights up again, his eyes scanning over the message on screen as a grin spreads over his thin lips. āI will have to hide you.ā
Her face scrunches in disdain at that as she rises to her feet to pad a bit closer to the hill of his thigh, spread over into the next seat. She places her palms against the rough fabric of his pants, looking up at him with an expression of sheer bewilderment.
āBut I donāt wanna hide anymore ā we are friends.ā
The manās smile falters a bit then, as he nods his head in agreement.
āJaā¦ but she will be more.ā
āWhatās that mean?ā
āI am taking her on a date.ā
Kƶnig seems so happy, and yet she feels as if sheās being bitten by a viper. All of that talk with Bellis was for naught, because the human man thatās won her heart by telling her of his creature comforts, of war and sharing his meals with her has left her to have his heart stolen away by another.
Despite the way it hurts, she doesnāt find herself upset with him. He isnāt like her, and heās been alone for far too long. She reminds herself that Kƶnig deserves to be happy, especially after all that heās done for her.
She only lets herself cry when he brings her back to the dollhouse and she sinks into the sheets of her bed.
The following morning comes and she wakes feeling refreshed before Kƶnig even begins his tapping. She bathes in the little plastic tub filled with lukewarm water Kƶnig had graciously fetched for her the night before from the faucet, clothes herself in one of the many doll dresses found in the little wooden wardrobe of her home. Dainty florals like the wallpaper in the little wooden house, only this time pink rather than blue.
When Kƶnig taps at her door, sheās already prepared with her tiny mug and plate in hand, a smile on her face.
āGuten morgen, puppe.ā He greets her with a lazy grin as he opens his palm to take her dainty kitchenware. His yawn is cute when he turns away to begin filling the liner of the well with coffee grounds. She follows after him across the countertop with hurried steps to match his vast strides.
As he prepares their breakfast, they speak endlessly of dreams, sweet syrupy things. He tells her he dreams of flowers sometimes, like the ones on her dress, and she tells him she dreams of exploring the world outside with him.
āI will carry you to the top of a mountain one day, little one.ā Kƶnig says sweetly as they both sip at their coffee. He doesnāt prepare it black as often anymore, often adding sugar and milk simply because he knows that she likes it better that way.
She tells him she doesnāt need to see the tops of mountains, because she already gets a perfect view when he carries her.
ā ā ā
āIāll be back later.ā
Kƶnig is dressed strangely, she notes as she watches him from the arm of the couch. Heās dressed casually, more so than she had ever seen him, which is a large statement considering the man normally roamed around his abode in nothing more than a pair of black sweatpants. Tonight, however, heās chosen a black t-shirt with some text scrawled across it that she canāt quite read and tough denim. Itās an odd sight when sheās grown so accustomed to the bare flesh of his scarred torso and gaudy military camos unsuited for cozy, indoor wear.
The giant crouches to lace up his boots with one hand while the other holds his phone. Thereās that smile on his face again, but she easily takes notice of the way his hand shakes with it in his grip. Heās nervous, but never so with her.
Itās strange that heās more comfortable with a little creature in his home than he is with his own kind.
āOhā¦ your date,ā she murmurs, standing up to her full height, despite how small it may be.
āJa, my date.ā
āCan we watch another movie when you get back?ā
Kƶnig nods his head as he approaches the couch, slipping his phone back into his pocket before gently stroking the top of her head as though she were just a small kitten.
She doesnāt like the fact that he doesnāt see her as anything more than a cute pet any longer. Sprites didnāt keep track of their ages as humans do, celebrating the day they were born into the world with silly parties and gifts, but she would hazard to guess sheās at least a century older, maybe more. This wasnāt her first home, only, in the last she had watched that family wither away to an endless rest.
Kƶnig was different; she wanted him to stay, thrive, live forever here with her. A selfish, silly wish.
When she leans into his touch, she thinks of the couple Bellis spoke ofā a sprite and a human woman. It could be the same for she and Kƶnig, if only he saw her for what she truly was, what she was capable of being.
āJa, little one. As many as you like.ā
She watches as the door closes behind him with her heart in her throat.
Kƶnig does not keep her waiting long. If she had to hazard any sort of guess, she would assume that the moon hanging in the sky had barely moved by the time he returns. She hadnāt even left the couch, lying on her back staring up at the ceiling when the front door is flung open.
If it were possible for him to somehow look more pitiable, he does in that moment as he kicks off his boots and rests his phone and keys on the table by the door. She knows without a word exchanged that she should not ask him whatās happened. The broad shoulders were slumped, his face somehow paler. In that moment, her giant seemed even smaller than her.
She sits up and presses the buttons on the remote with her entire hand as Kƶnig had shown her how to do, loading up some Austrian film he had told her was his favorite when he was just a boy. He offers her a lazy smile as he carefully places himself a respectful distance away and leans back into the couch. The movie plays while she occasionally speaks up to ask him what certain words mean, and he patiently teaches her, seeming thankful for the distraction she eagerly provides.
She doesnāt wake in her small house, in her tiny bed, this time, instead pressed against his thigh with his hand draped over her in the worldās heaviest blanket. When she raises her head up to look at him, peacefully resting with his head tilted against the back of the couch, jaw slack and dark lashes fluttering she makes a firm decision.
The golden herbs and berries Bellis had mentioned were on the far side of the forest. A long, dangerous trek, especially for someone who didnāt know the way. Rousing a mouse to treat as a steed could work, but the urgency caused her to fret. She wanted to meet his gaze and not fear stumbling back with each exhale of his breath, to be strong and capable enough to make her giant somehow feel as safe as he made her feel. There was no time to befriend a mouse and train it proper, not if she intended to do this before the new moon came and went.
She slips from beneath Kƶnigās limp palm, off of the sofa and out the small gap in the window to set off.
ā ā ā
The early morning is alive with the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves and calls of strange animals a distance away when she makes it outdoors. She shields herself beneath a broad fallen leaf, hunkering down to soil any time anything soars or wanders too close for her liking. Morning dew chills her to her bones, and she has herself convinced that after all of this she will most certainly craft herself a coat, perhaps one made out of a sleeve from one of Kƶnigās old shirts. He would allow it, sheās certain. The thought of him even wasting a day away to help her fills her up with another warmth to carry on.
Her little dress is filthy before she even makes it out of the yard.
Tall grass quickly morphs into a forested trail, the trees so vast and tall, filled with the chattering and singing of others. She waves to some of them, turns her nose up at a few that beckon her to join their little communes hidden beneath layers of tree bark and moss. She spots a red fox chasing after another in the midst of play, they chitter and whine as they topple over one another before bounding off into the brush.
When the sun completes a lazy crawl high up into the sky, itās rays of warmth beaming down on to the back of the leaf, warming her fingers as they curl over it to keep it in place, she knows she should stop and rest. Tucked away in the shade of a small mulberry bush, she shoos away a vibrantly colored caterpillar before cleaning off one of the berries with a handkerchief she finds in the pocket of her dress. A small lunch that simply leaves her wishing for Kƶnigās breakfasts instead, always warm and filled with moments of soft laughter.
She wonders what heās spending his time doing now, almost feeling a pang of guilt for leaving him after what had assuredly been a terrible outing with a woman he had admired. Did he miss her? Was he thinking of her, too? Searching through his bookshelf and beneath his couch in an effort to find her? She hoped so.
Her journey ends when night finally comes about. The moon above is a mere sliver, but itās enough to frame the clusters of goldenrod in a soft, white glow amidst a sea of inky darkness. She cheers in utter delight when she realizes sheās made it, that despite no map or guides her senses were keen enough to carry her on the right path. She carefully gathers a few clippings, dropping them into a neat pile before seeking out the strange berries Bellis had told her about. Her thoughts are flooded by the idea of how she and Kƶnig will dance, how she will tell him in a voice as loud as his own that sheās fallen head over heels for him and that perhaps, he can even teach her to use one of his many weapons before they clamber onto the couch snug and warm to talk throughout a film.
Those thoughts keep her warm when she beds down in a nest of wild grasses.
The next night fills her with excitement. The sky is darker with the new moon hanging up above, only pinpricks of starlight break through the dark. She pictured herself human sized as she performs her little ritual, feasting on berries and swaying with a sprig of goldenrod in a little dance before she bites down into it to. There are other sprites here, doing the same. Some get bigger to move or for silly things such as being able to shop in human markets or taste meat for the first time. They sing and giggle just as she does, and she sees the face flush with love of the one she knew Bellis had spoken of. It lasts the entire night, and sheās far too excited to sleep or stay out when all is done.
She doesnāt know when sheāll change shape, not having thought to even ask, but the sight of the other sprites had solidified her belief that it would come to pass.
The way back feels far shorter than the way forward. She finds herself back in the yard just as the sky settles into mottled purples and orange and puffy white clouds. The smile on her face makes her cheeks hurt, and her chest and legs ache from exertion, but she treks on until she meets the brick foundation of the house. With and arm raised and a foot dig into the firm clay, she begins to climb up towards the window still left slightly ajar.
Only, she feels a warmth at her side that tosses her back into the grass steps away. It pulls her breath from her lungs and it takes a moment for her to force herself back up into a crouch and her vision to cease its swimming. Sheās always found cats to be cute from a distance away, all soft fur and pleasant sounds. The one before her, however seems menacing, its claws are bared and its pupils blown as his mouth hangs open to scent. The orange of its fur is like fire, the yellow of irises like the sun itself.
This thing was going to kill her, she knew it before she even caught sight of the way claws had slashed through the side of her dirty dress leaving shallow gashes in her flesh.
The cat rears back, shifting on its haunches in preparation to pounce as she wails out Kƶnigās name in a near-silent prayer that he would come rescue her from this adorable little murderer.
The cat is caught in arms the size of trees mid-leap. It yowls for a moment before a hand gently begins to stroke the fiery fur behind its ears. Her giant coos to the little beast, and the vibration of a soft purr could be heard as she dusts herself off and stands.
āAre you alright, little one?ā
His voice is sweet as he carefully sets the cat back into the grass and scoops her up instead. She looks pitifulā dirty, injured and panting as though sheās just escaped Hell itself. Kƶnigās expression grows horribly concerned before she can even catch her breath enough to respond.
āIām okay,ā she mumbles as she rests her weary head on the palm that feels more like rough stone than living flesh. āI was only gone for two nights, did you have to get a pet?ā
Kƶnig laughs at that, shaking his head as he takes her back inside the house with metered steps.
āNein, I did not. Heās the neighborās.ā
He shuts the door behind him, taking care to ensure the scruffy feline didnāt sneak inside.
āLetās clean you up, hm?ā
The man offers her a human bandage for the scrape along her waist before she wanders into the dollhouse to bathe, dress the wound and change into something less dirty.
After everything, she finds herself utterly exhausted. She tells Kƶnig good night wishes, but her giant is hellbent on keeping her in his sight. After a close call like that, she doesnāt protest when he tells her they should sleep on the couch again instead. Itās safer, and after two days apart thereās little more that she wants than to be close to him, tucked under his palm eternally safe. Kƶnig only gets through the start of a story before sheās fallen asleep curled against the side of his thigh. It doesnāt take long for the giant to follow suit, either. His soft snoring is present in her dreaming, a gentle sound accompanying the breeze of wind through a field of lavender where they sit hand-in-hand.
ā ā ā
Kƶnig does not wake her with gentle tapping the next morning. Instead, itās a bark of surprise that jolts her from her sleeping. Her vision is blurry when her eyelids flutter. She can make out the view of the coffee table, the television beyond it, and somehow it feels wrong. She was accustomed to straining her neck to look up at things, yet seeing them now she doesnāt need to at all. In fact, it feels stranger when she notes her head is no longer resting on the cushion of the couch below, but on a broad shoulder layered in muscle instead.
Kƶnig is staring at her as though heās just encountered a ghoul. In fact, heās trembling too. His reaction is enough to prompt her to shrink back, away from him and retreat to the arm of the couch. Only, she canāt fit the entirety of herself there as easily as she had many times before. Her legs are much too long, and making her ascent only brings her hands into view. She holds one to her face and marvels at it before her gaze trails down, down and she notices sheās nude. The little dress she had been wearing was no more than a tattered and torn mess on the couch beside Kƶnig, whoās still gawking at her.
He turns his head away rigidly after a moment while she sits bewildered by her change in shape. The man returns after a beat with a large t-shirt and a pair of his boxers in hand, thrusting them towards her graciously as he keeps his face turned away. She can make out the red tint on his cheeks, the way his lips part only to slam shut when words fail him and she laughs full and giddy as she slips his clothing on and stands up to twirl about the room.
āIt worked!ā
Her voice sounds strange even to her own ears now. Shouting from her regular stature still resulted in a mere whisper, yet thisā¦ along with seeing all she can hear all. Just as he does, she sounds of rustling wind chimes.
She reaches for his hand to pull him along in her rhythmless swaying, and he obliges with a sigh and a shake of his head. Kƶnigās grinning, though. Even more so than when he wasted his time tapping away at the phone screen. He looks happier than sheās ever seen him as he clumsily shuffles with her.
āLittle oneā¦ what did you do?ā
Heās still a fair bit bigger than her, but she stands the height she feels as though she should. Her giant is still a giant no matter what silly magic she uses, but itās fine, because heās not looking at her as a tiny doll anymore, but in utter amazement instead. The way his pulse races and his pale cheeks burn crimson isnāt lost on her.
She explains to him just what the other sprite told her, tells him about the one she saw so in love with a human woman he did the same each month to keep himself more her size too. Kƶnig halts her movement as he tugs her against him and pulls her into an embrace, the very thing sheās yearned for since the afternoon they began to speak. She knows heās confused and entirely confused, but he bends to rest his chin on the crown of her head and squeezes her so tightly that she knows heās grateful for this small miracle too.
She helps Kƶnig prepare breakfast this time. Having watched him ready his coffee pot dozens of times by now, she knows how to operate the small, black machine. She prepared the toast too, with a gratuitous sweep of jam over each slice of the warm bread. Kƶnig is still overly gentle with her, keeping his distance and not resting his hands on her unless itās required or she prompts it. She does, often intertwine her fingers with his even as they eat, which earns her a shy smile and a gentle squeeze each time. Her giant isnāt nervous with her, their conversations are the same. He tells her that sheās pretty as often as before, cups a steady hand on her shoulder when she reaches out to embrace him after their meal.
She thinks ahead and leads Kƶnig into the forest to gather a plethora of golden herb and berries to stuff into the winter box for the next time she will need to perform her little ritual, and he swears to her that he will stay up the entire night to watch over her then. The walk is so much shorter from her height now, but she doesnāt forget to tap at Bellisā alder and flash the sprite a little smile and a wave when Kƶnig has his back turned on the way back.
He still has his work, and she waits at home for him like a doting housewife. Only now, he returns with gifts. His closet is no longer dark green and blackā there are patches of soft colors and whites between, floral fabric and lace, dainty things that seem comical amidst the tactical articles and denims she knows heās scrubbed blood off of a few too many times.
They donāt share a bed, but they still cuddle against one another on the couch. Hand-in-hand as sheās always dreamt of. In fact, most nights itās his bed that she sleeps in while he rests elsewhere, and he doesnāt mind it at all. He even tucks her in and presses a kiss to her cheek that makes her so giddy that she canāt find sleep until a half-hour afterwards before he flicks off the lamp and leaves her to her dreaming.
ā ā ā
Sheās better at keeping track of time after adjusting to a more domesticated life. Kƶnigās been out for fifty-four days, but she doesnāt have to miss him so much. Heās gifted her a phone, sends her letters with his stories scrawled out in black ink. The calls are frequent, and she finds she loves them most of all. Theyāre at odd hours often, and he always breathes out an apology for having woken her that pulls a giggle from her, because they both know she wouldnāt have preferred to wake any other way than from the sound of his voice.
āI miss you.ā
He sounds tired when he says it, and she imagines that he is. Those weary looks from before they had ever even spoken werenāt unwarranted and she knows well enough now. His tales of his heroics were not all spoken to simply boast.
āI miss you too, Kƶnig.ā
He huffs out a laugh into the phone, and she imagines his smile reaching the bright eyes that she loves, twinkling in mirth.
āI should let you sleep.ā
āNo, itās fine.ā She pauses to chew on her lip, heart sailing up into her throat. āWill you be coming home soon?ā
He grunts out his confirmation. āTomorrow.ā
āI wish to take you on a date thenā a picnic, maybe. I can bake a cake.ā
Kƶnig falls silent for a moment, and her breathing halts entirely as she slumps back against the bedā his bedā feeling as though she were still just as small as before. Surelyā¦ she could not have misread all of those little looks, the warmth and his fluttering pulse she felt as she rested her head on his arm so many times before. She parts her lips to recant her statement, but thereās no need. The contented sigh she hears in response is all of an answer that she needs.
would you ever be interested in writing a more masc reader? i kind of got it by know you write fem!reader exclusively, so i've been wondering if you'd write something along the lines a manly gal.
like the type that sees kƶnig do his pushups, she must also immediately try to catch up to him? she sits manspread and wears manly clothes and makes everything a raunchy sex joke and has no shame and is kind of a muscle mommy and a total gremlin? something like that? and it disarms kƶnig completely cuz he's used to damsels in distress, but this one can do everything herself but somehow wants him?? like an equal partner?
also can u pls tell each of your kƶnigs i love them with all i have? pls? š„ŗ they're like my reason for living this past year i wanna give them a big sweet kiss and pet them
š¤² here, have an offering as gratitude. ignore the arms lol
Maaaan your offering šššš
And yes I have a habit of writing Kƶnig with helpless maidens and sassy fairies donāt I š
Soā¦ Kƶnig with masc!readerā¦. (Lol this turned out very rivals to lovers but I hope you enjoy!)
Kƶnig can be a little off-putting. One would think that a man of his size wouldnāt get so threatened by a girl with some muscles on her... But you catch him mansplaining guns to you more than once, showing off his new rifle and then snapping his mouth shut when you fire a round of 5 bullseyes with a calm, stable breath and perfect posture.
āItās nice,ā you give it back to him, ābut Iāve seen better.ā
Knowing that you just threw his own words back at him ā heās always boasting on the field ā Kƶnig just blinks and grabs his rifle from you.
ā...Where?ā
āIn my safe,ā you shrug, trying to keep a neutral face.
And youāve seen him during sparring, knowing already that he likes to one-up everyone. Kƶnig is skilled and fierce, but heās also competitive to the point of petty, which is why youāre amused when he suddenly turns gentle, even hesitant when paired with you.
At some point, it starts to get on your nerves though. Itās slightly insulting, even sexist, that heās trying to treat you like a gentleman when youāre supposed to hit each other. So, you snap a good right hook through his guard and watch the man see some stars. Hoping that it would fix that attitude, you do it again, and again until he stops giving you the princess treatment.
But even after that, you see heās holding back. The more you try to get him to attack properly, the more pissed off he gets, refusing to strike you even when you bring him down ā a man twice your size ā and gloat over him. His eyes are flaming because he just lost for the sake of some weird āI donāt hit womenā policy, and it shouldnāt bother you. The manās an asshole, what are you to do?
Still, itās giving you a headache. Did you win the match only because he allowed it? You almost smack him in the head again. You already dealt with these kinds of idiots at the training program, and now you have to take shit from pros too? While youāre the pro? Jesus.
Determined to give him hell for the rest of the week, you make a lousy joke about the size of his gun when you go on a mission. Itās a bit unhanded, because this lame ass fool actually gets bothered by your quip, and you mentally beat yourself up for messing with your partnerās head before an important hostage rescue.
He barges through the door like a bull, and you purse your lips under your balaclava ā on the other hand, is it even your fault if he gets killed because of some stupid Freudian joke?
This guy is simply too much funā¦
So what happens is that you canāt keep your mouth shut. Itās horrid, what comes out of your lips when heās trying to save lives. Things such as:
āDo you have your gun in hand?ā
āIāll keep an eye on your six while you take the womenā
āDid you see their faces when Kƶnig rammed himself in?ā
The innuendos are obvious and rampant and so bad that Kƶnig is surely blushing under that hood before you even board the plane. On top of everything, he rubs the barrel of his gun up and down in the plane because heās so nervous. He does it absent-mindedly; the poor guy probably doesnāt understand the outrageous amount of Freudian jokes that could be cracked about thatā¦
You try to pull yourself together after that because otherwise, people would start to suspect youāre having a crush on him. Army humour is army humour but youāre taking this shit a bit too farā¦ Your jokes have never been this bad before, they certainly never induced such crazy behaviour from a guy.
...Because it turns out that youāve awoken a demon.
At the gym, you see Kƶnig watching you do pull ups ā youāre the only girl there, yes, but you donāt wear some sculpting, seamless gym pants and a suggestive sports bra. You only have your old sweats and a tank top on, but the man's looking at you like heās dreaming of either killing or fucking you. He's smashing the plates around like they've just personally insulted him, and glares at your way again, then lifts more than youāve ever seen anyone lift before. He never talks to you: just stops and stares when youāre doing a set, then does his own, then glares.
You donāt know if itās some kind of an awkward challenge or if heās trying to flirt with you ā menacingly ā but youāre a mess after that gym session.
Next time during training, Kƶnig personally offers to spar with you: he even pushes away the guy that had been assigned as your pair. And this time, he doesnāt hold back. Heās serious, and rough, and fucking frightening.
āThatās it, big boy,ā youāre panting before half a minute has passed, āYou finally found your groove?ā
āNo talking during sparring,ā he grunts, and almost manages to land a blow ā almost, because it ends with him on the floor. The takedown is something even KorTacās best would be proud of, but he doesnāt allow you to gloat this time. Oh no: he rolls through it: actually, he rolls so that he lands on top of you, then smashes his whole weight on your chest to keep you down.
āRight where I want you,ā he says, so brunt and brief that youāre not sure if you just imagined it.
āIs...that...so?ā
You try to fight him in vain: he only presses you further into the mat and forces even your face to the side with his own.
āI thought you liked girls,ā he pants into your ear, so low that the others canāt hear.
āThatās funny,ā you whisper through clenched teeth, fingers curled around his shirt. āI thought you liked girls.ā
You hear him draw air right beside your ear, and then ā itās unmistakable, the throbbing pulse against your thigh.
Heās getting hard.
The fucking moron is getting hard during a sparring session with youā
āThereās no need to crush your partner,ā the trainer instructs, to everybody grinding on the mat in general, perhaps, but you have a feeling heās directing the words Kƶnig whoās currently choking you with his entire body.
āIs this what you want?ā
He lets you breathe, only enough so you can turn and have another staring competition with him, this time with his mouth only a hairās breadth away. Those eyes are hard as steel and as beautiful as snow, and that stare still wants to either fuck or murder youā¦
āHm? You want to get crushed?ā
ā...Why do you think I joined the army?ā You laugh breathlessly, eyes glimmering from mirth. Heās such a sight when heās angry and confused.
Your cheeky answer only makes him more perplexed. Poor man ā itās so easy to tease him that you almost feel like a bully.
āThat's right... Take your time getting up, thereās no need to rush,ā you breathe, and watch the snow melt into a bewildered cerulean sea.
It sets sooner than you thought, his lids dropping as he settles to watch your lips, the heavy pulse on your neck.
no what the fuck because this is exactly what i needed- š„°š
like imagine this:
she's simply flexing in the mirror (or any reflection she may come across omfg) and he's just looming in the background with a raging boner and she gives him the chad/sigma face (like in an ironic way) and blows him a raunchy, extremely vulgar kiss. kƶnig.exe stops working, man's flabberghasted. idk how but i think he manages to get even harder a lil
i think she may also mockingly call him 'babygirl' because i think it's very funny (and smacks his ass if he makes the mistake of bending over and she'll only shrug and say 'sorry, i just had to tap that') like the contrast of calling a 208 cm grown fucking creepy man a 'babygirl' is astonishing.
also get this, what if she's the one that tries to woo him? like in a very autistic way too, like 'uhh hey, i heard you like the world wars...?' and then proceeds to infodump about the whole D-day and normandy landings, or maybe the assasinate of sarajevo or anything nerdish like dinosaurs whime manspreading on the whole couch (and like slides a nonchalant arm over his shoulder)
date idea: visiting ww2 memorials or going hunting
and like, when they get together i totally think she'll throw her worn sweaty panties after a workout straight at his face and say 'eat, boy' <33
Well, I did it again, gang. I wrote another story based on a painting. This one is by UroÅ” PrediÄ in 1919, and was posted to Tumblr here (thanks to arcana-imperii for posting!)
I don't know anything about Kosovo, so the reader here isn't explicitly Serbian ;; please forgive me. Also, apologies for possibly inaccurate ambiguously late-1800s setting, medical information or German. Please enjoy!
2.2k words
There are soldiers in the field.
You heard the sounds of battle early in the dawn, the piercing explosions of gunfire and cannons ringing out as the sun rose. You werenāt concerned at first: it was far enough away that you felt safe enough to carry on as usual. But the gunfire drew closer and closer, and by noon you could hear the shouting and the battle cries, driving you trembling into your attic with terror. Mercifully, the fighting peters out as the sun sinks lower in the sky, but when you finally work up the nerve to peek out of your window, you find to your horror that the grassy field adjacent to your humble little home is littered with the bodies of dead and dying men.
Without a single further thought to your own safety, you grab a lantern and a pitcher of water and rush into the night.
Itās awful. Most of the men left behind are already cold, some whose eyes you have to shut yourself. The ones who were able to be saved were likely evacuated by their comrades, so the only ones left to face the cruel nighttime are the ones who wonāt see the morning after. A few are still conscious when you find them, but you have little more to offer them than a gentle touch and one last drink of water. Their eyes are what will haunt you most after today: slick with tears as grown men weep, all semblance of courage and proud masculinity stripped from them as they face down their imminent demise. Itās terrible, heart-wrenching, but you canāt bring yourself to stop. Youāre the only living thing left that can offer them comfort in their last moments.
The jug of water dangles from your hand as you trudge through the field, looking for anyone at all that you can provide help to. Youāve long abandoned any hope of finding someone you can save when you come across him: the giant in the grass.
Itās well and truly nighttime at that point, your lamp the only source of light upon what seems like a sea of human misery. The light hits his face, and you gasp. Your first thought is of how huge he is, at least 200 centimeters if he were standing. Your second thought is of how handsome he isā¦
You jolt to attention as he shifts and groans. Heās alive! Shaking some sense into yourself, you donāt hesitate to rush to his side. Your hands roam across his body, assessing the severity of his injuries. To your surprise, he doesnāt seem to be mortally injured. Theyāre severe, to be sureāhe wonāt be able-bodied for weeks. But heās far from at deathās door, only confused and dazedā¦had his comrades only left him due to his sheer size?
Using your hand to support the back of his head and neck, you tip some water into his mouth in an attempt to revive him. The man cracks an eye open, regarding you with feverish wonder.
āEin Engelā¦ā he murmurs. Youāre too elated that heās alive, so you donāt actually properly hear what he said. With light, deft fingers, you tear strips of his tattered shirt and use the cloth to wrap up a scrape on his arm and stem the flow of a very nasty-looking wound up along the broad plane of his torso. To your alarm, however, the man seems to slump, his head laying back as if heās about to lose consciousness.
āNo, no,ā you cry in panic, shaking him without heed of his injuries. āSir, you cannot sleep here, I am unable to carry youā¦you will die out here!ā
He mumbles something inaudible, and you breathe a sigh of relief. He hasnāt passed out on you yet, but you have to act quickly to properly care for his wounds. You shift your body so you can maneuver his uninjured arm onto your shoulders. Luckily, he seems to comprehend what youāre trying to do, and manages to stumble to his feet while leaning his weight on you.
Itās an awkward, fumbling dance, considering your earlier assessment of his height was correctāheās a huge man, and his torso alone nearly dwarfs your entire figure. But with a good measure of patience, you manage to get him moving towards your house. Itās high time you returned home, as well: your stomach roils as you remember what happens to corpses left outside for scavengers to find.
The two of you stumble through the doorway of your home, you murmuring soft affirmations and encouragement to the man. He makes no indication that he understands what youāre saying, but heās nodding along, responding to your gentle tone. You guide him to lay on your bed, his body visibly relaxing as he sinks into the mattress.
You bustle around, lighting candles, stoking your fireplace, and rummaging around for medical supplies. You return to him with a basin of warm water, a cloth, and some bandagesābefore stopping dead in your tracks.
In the low lamplight out in the field, you hadnāt noticed the color of the manās uniform, much too preoccupied with his signs of life. But now the truth is laid bare in front of you as you take in his attire, eyes traveling over his broad bodyā
Youāve just taken in an enemy soldier.
The man has seemingly fallen asleep, likely exhausted by the battle and the effort it took to get into your home. That does nothing to assuage your fear, though: what are you going to do if he passes away right in your bed? Even worse, what are you going to do if he wakes? Will he be hostile? Will he attempt to take you as a hostage to secure safe passage out of his enemyās territory?
It's clear to you, though, that if you donāt help this man, he will die. His wounds could easily turn septic, and then heās a goner. You steel yourself and approach him, kneeling at his bedside.
You work slowly and carefully to reveal his injuries, wincing when theyāre completely exposed. Heās no longer bleeding profusely, but he will absolutely need stitches. For now, you settle for cleaning them with a damp cloth, trying to keep infection at bay.
He must be well and truly knocked out, because he doesnāt even stir as you wrap his arm securely with clean bandages. Youāre much more hesitant to deal with his chest wound: if he wakes and struggles, he could make it much worse. But his unconscious state affords you the best opportunity to stitch him upā¦
You furrow your brow and go to find a needle.
Youāre awoken by a gentle touch on the shoulder.
You stir from your sleep, wondering what your mother could possibly want at such an early hour. At least she put the fire onāyou can hear the crackling. But why is your bed so hard? Did you fall asleep on the floor? Actually, now that you think about it, you do recall dozing off on your sheepskin rug last night, becauseā
Your eyes shoot open to see a huge, hulking figure standing over you.
The soldier startles when you scream, scrambling to move away from him. He cuts an intimidating figure in the early morning light: he towers over you in a state of undress, the bandages you put on him last night splotched with rusty dried blood. But you calm down as you realize he means you no harm, his hands outstretched in front of him as a show of peace: no weapons.
āWo bin ich?ā he asks. You squint at him. That sounds like German, but you canāt speak a word of it.
āI donāt speak German,ā you try. He tilts his head, looking as puzzled as you feel right now.
āNever mind all of that,ā you say, shaking your head and pushing yourself to your feet. āYou shouldnāt be out of bed!ā The soldier watches with amusement as you press your hands against him, careful to avoid touching his chest where you know his wound lies, in an attempt to get him back into bed. He allows you to do so, lying back down like an obedient dog.
āMuste pissen,ā he murmurs as you fuss over him. You shoot him another confused look as you check the stitches you put in his chest wound. All seems well, you note with relief.
āWhat?ā
He huffs a sigh. He gestures towards the door, and then then to hisā¦oh.
āI see,ā you say, cheeks feeling hot. You canāt bear to look at his face, but when you do, you find heās watching you with amusement.
You tap his chest with a finger, then mime a sewing motion. āDonāt get up on your own from now on, you could tear your stitches,ā you tell him, pointing to the door and then to patting your own chest. āIāll help you.ā
He snorts, but nods. You start to unfurl the bandages on his arm, heart twinging with sympathy as he grits his teeth in pain. You bite your lip in chagrin as the wound is revealed. It was much less severe than the one on his chest, but itās doing much worse: pus and fluids are leaking everywhere, and to your horror, you think some parts of the torn flesh might actually be turning green.
āEs sieht schlecht aus?ā he asks, concerned. You put on a smile you hope is comforting and rise from his bedside to go downstairs and rummage through your cupboards.
You return to him holding a bottle of liquor, the strongest you could find. He seems to realize what you intend to do, and shifts slightly to allow you better access to his arm.
āIām sorry,ā you whisper to him. āThis is going to hurt.ā Without further warning, you dump a good amount of alcohol on his wound.
āSCHEIįŗE!ā The bellow of pain that rips out of his throat seems to shake the very foundations of your home. You wince as he hollers and lays back heavy against your poor little bed, forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. That canāt have been pleasantā¦
āDas tat schlimmer weh, als die verdammte Wunde Ć¼berhaupt zu bekommen,ā he grits. You give him a sympathetic little pat before withdrawing to get the bandages.
Heās calmed down by the time you return to him. He watches you curiously as you wrap him up nice and snug, then turn your attentions to his chest wound. The stitches are still in placeāit seems he was careful when he relieved himselfābut you still need to clean and dress the wound. He lets out a sigh of relief when you opt for a clean cloth to dab away the dried blood instead of the liquor bottle.
You work quickly and efficiently, worried about him catching a cold with his chest out like this. You also canāt deny that the whole situation is starting to make you a bit shyāa foreign man, and an attractive one at that, is in your bed, shirtless, and youāre all but sprawled out on top of him to get up close to his injury. By the time youāre done, youāre fully blushing at the closeness of the contact between the two of you.
āYou should be alright, itās a good sign that you lasted through the night and havenāt developed a fever yet,ā you tell him as you gather up the soiled bandages to be washed. āYouāll need to stay in bed so I can keep an eye on youāā
Youāre drawn up short when you look up to see his face. Far from the angry scowl he wore when you disinfected his wound, his expression now is almostā¦admiring? You shift slightly, caught off guard by the adoration in this strangerās stare, and your arm brushes against something solid and warm.
You stand up as if burned, turning to see what you just touched. To your chagrin, you find that the soldier isā¦well, heās hard.
You whirl around to fix him with an outraged look, but he only laughs at you with obvious delight. What a pervert! Youāre so flustered you donāt know what to do or where to look, but youāre stopped by the sensation of him reaching up and pressing a hand to your face.
You stare at him, wide-eyed, as he strokes your cheek with a sort of reverence that stops you in your tracks. āMein Retterā¦ā he murmurs. āEntschuldigung. Ich konnte nicht anders.ā
You huff, recognizing that heās trying to apologize. āYou donāt act like an injured man at all,ā you complain. A spark of mirth comes into his eye at your pouting tone as he just chuckles at you. You turn to walk away, yelping when you feel his hand brush against your bottom. You shoot him with a deadly look as he laughs again.
You scurry away, feeling awkward and hot all over. You had been so concerned last night about whether you should stay in the same house as the potentially dangerous soldier, pacing the floor and biting your nails as you pondered whether you should give him up to the local authorities. In hindsight, youāre glad you didnātāthey would surely have locked him in a cold cell with nobody to look after that festering gash on his shoulder, to say nothing of his chest wound. It was worth it to risk waking up to a man angry and spitting hatred at you, if you could save his life.
But now youāre realizing that you hadnāt considered the opposite possibility: that the soldier might like you a little too much.
ein Engel = an angel
Wo bin ich? = Where am I?
Muste pissen = had to piss
Es sieht schlecht aus? = Is it bad?
ScheiĆe = shit
Das tat schlimmer weh, als die verdammte Wunde Ć¼berhaupt zu bekommen = That hurt worse than getting the damn wound in the first place
Mein Retter = my savior
Entschuldigung. Ich konnte nicht anders = I'm sorry. I couldn't help it
Once more, I wrote this in a frenzy akin to being possessed, so it's a little short. But there will definitely be more! Thank you for reading <3
2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, afab reader, romance, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, kind of age gap because Kƶnig has been king for a good chunk of time but it's not really much of a factor, fantasy/medieval setting
7.7k words
tw: explicit smut, animal death, mentions of child death, violence, mild body horror, ableist language (use of the word "cripple")
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"I'm not going to sleep with you." -quote from woman who is about to sleep with him
Thereās a portrait of a woman in your room.
Of course, Kƶnig offered to have it removed or replaced, but youāve procrastinated the decision because you never thought you would be here long enough for it to matter. Yet here you are, staring up at this lovely young woman on the wall.
You tilt your head, studying her. Her expression is neutral, almost pensive, but the artist captured a playful sparkle in her eyes, as if sheās keeping some sweet secret.
Itās the first queen, of course. Kƶnigās first wife. The one who died many years ago. Itās strange that after so long, he hasnāt gotten rid of the portrait.
What happened to you? you wonder. If someone had asked what you thought when you first arrived here, you would have said, without hesitation, that Kƶnig had her killed. All your life, you had been taught that he and his father were evil, unfeeling tyrants. Now, this conviction has wavered.
You keep trying to tell yourself that itās ridiculous, to be thinking better of his character. You only ever wanted to know him better to kill him. But the more you understand about what makes him tick, the less you think that he would do such a thing. Perhaps itās true, then, that she died in childbirth.
Your eyes travel all over the portrait, poring over every detail of her features. Did you know him? Did you understand him? Did you love him?
Did he love you?
What did that feel like?
āGood. You havenāt left yet.ā Calliope comes into the room, bustling with energy even before the sun comes up. You donāt know how she does it.
āWeāre about to.ā
āThatās why Iām here.ā You notice sheās wearing gloves, but more importantly, sheās holding a necklace: a silvery chain with a small, intricate pendant. Vine-shaped pieces of metal hold a white, almost clear jewel in place, its various facets reflecting the candlelight in vivid colors.
āJewelry? Iām going to be living in the woods for the next few weeks,ā you tease as she lowers the necklace over your head. It does look quite durable, but youāre not exactly dressing for a costume ball here.
āConsider it a reminder that I await your safe return,ā Calliope responds, securing the necklace behind your neck. āLook at it and remember me. Youāre not to do anything reckless out there, am I understood?ā
āUnderstood.ā You give her a soft smile as she arranges the necklace on your collarbones. Youāre grateful for the gift: though she canāt come with you, a small piece of her will always remain with you.
āGood. And donāt let that handsome husband of yours distract you and get yourself killed.ā
āCalliope! What happened to āsomethingās not right with himā?ā
āThat doesnāt mean he isnāt handsome!ā
You snort and roll your eyes, but thereās a smile on your face.
You used to think that living in Kƶnigās home already exposed you to an exhausting amount of the man. As it turns out, going on a journey with him is even worse.
Thereās nobody else to talk to, nowhere to run or put distance between you two when he frustrates you. Itās not so bad for the first few days: the towns surrounding the capital are still populated enough to provide some respite from him. But once the two of you have made your way outside the bounds of civilization, it doesnāt take long for things to become stilted and awkward.
āYouāve been awfully quiet since we left the last town.ā
āI donāt feel talkative.ā
āReally? Iām out of my mind with boredom right now. Come, youāre not in the mood to get to know each other a little?ā
You give him a look. āWhat else is there to know? Iāve lived with you for several months.ā
āBut we donāt talk.ā Kƶnig nudges his horse to walk closer to yours. Kƶnig is such a large man, his horse is massive too: comically so, next to your normal one. You let out a sigh.
āThereās nothing to know about me.ā
āI doubt that. All I know about you is youāre a princess trained to be an assassin. āYour whole lifeā, according to yourself,ā he says with a touch of mocking.
You purse your lips, determined not to let him get under your skin. āThereās nothing else to know.ā
āTruly? Nothing about what you like?ā
āWhat do you mean?ā
āLikeā¦your favorite food. Or hobby.ā
āHobby? ā¦I suppose I spend a lot of time at target practice.ā
āThatās not a hobby.ā
āItās relaxing to hone my skills.ā
He gives you an amused look. āYou remind me of myself as a young man.ā
Something about that irks you. āWeāre nothing alike.ā
āI used to have the same mindset as you, at least. I held one objective in my mind and didnāt seek purpose outside of it.ā
āIā¦ā
As much as you loathe to admit it, heās right. You have been focused on one objective your whole life. If you probe deeper, you canāt remember having any friends outside of Calliope, nor any interests outside of the curriculum your father set for you. āIt wasnāt as bleak as you seem to think it was.ā
āOh?ā
āItās not like I never had fun. I had my own way of finding it.ā
āSuch as?ā
āWell, when my training progress stalled, Iād be sent to bed without dinner. Naturally. I eventually learned how to climb out of my window at night and go foraging in the woods for something to eat.ā A smile curls your lips as you reminisce. āEventually I even worked my way up to huntingālittle things, like squirrels. I spent many a cozy little evening cooking for myself over a fire.ā
You turn to find an abject look of horror on Kƶnig face. āWhat? Whatās wrong? Is there danger?ā You turn around to scan your surroundings, but nothing immediately jumps out at you.
āNo. No danger. I justā¦he sent you to bed with an empty stomach so many times you learned how to crawl out of your room and hunt squirrels to eat?ā
You blink at him. āYouāve never had squirrel before?ā
He looks scandalized. āOf course I have! That is not the issue with what you just said.ā
You shrug. āIt was important discipline. Besides, it gave me hunting experience at a young age. Squirrels are hard to skin, but I could do it in twelve seconds flat if you gave me one now.ā
Kƶnig looks like he wants to say more, but instead he looks up at the sky. āWe should make camp soon.ā
āIs it that time already?ā
āIt needs to be set up before it gets dark. We should also start hunting while itās light outānot all of us can catch things in the dark, squirrel-girl.ā
āHey!ā
Later, youāre both chewing on a rabbit when he speaks.
āYou know, when you said you wanted to travel with me, I was quite concerned.ā
āYes, I know. You didnāt think I was capable of handling myself.ā
āNot just that. I was worried you would beā¦unaccustomed to living rough.ā
āYou thought I would be a spoiled princess.ā
āI wouldnāt have put it that way, but yes.ā
You snort. āWell, now you know. I can handle myself in the outdoors.ā You toss the rabbit bones youāve just picked clean into a small hole dug into the dirt. When you leave, youāll cover it with dirt to prevent predators from smelling the remains and following you on your journey.
āYou want the other leg?ā you ask. Kƶnig seems startled, for some reason.
āYou caught this one.ā
āYes, but youāre bigger than me. You need the food.ā You reach up to pluck a leaf from a nearby tree and wipe your hands. Rabbits sure are greasyā¦
Thereās a strange look in Kƶnigās eye as he regards you. You raise an eyebrow at him in response. āWhat?ā
āā¦nothing.ā He reaches for the rabbit while you shrug and walk off to find some water. The back of your neck prickles as you go, as if his stare is physically touching you.
You canāt stand to be near him nowadays, and you donāt know why.
Of course, you have no choice but to. Thereās a tension that feels weighty, forbidden. You know he can tell, because heās been more cautious around you, giving you as much space as he can afford to. Somehow, that irritates you even more.
Tonight, the two of you are camping in a dense, thick part of the forest not far from a road. Itās quiet, secluded: even the usual soundscape of ambient animal noises is silent.
The fire crackles and pops as you stare into the flames, as if youāll find any answers in it. Instead, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as Kƶnig returns from washing himself in a nearby stream, approaching you from behind.
āThis wonāt work if youāre constantly upset with me for some unknown reason.ā
You donāt turn to look at him, though some invisible force compels you. āWhy? Because it makes you uncomfortable?ā
āIām worried about your comfort too, you know. If you just told me what Iāve done wrong, then we can resolve it before it breeds resentment.ā
āIām just stressed.ā Everything he does or says seems to irritate you nowadays, but you know in your heart of hearts that itās not his fault. Itās your own problemāyou assume camping outdoors for so long has taken its toll on your psyche.
He frowns at you, but doesnāt pry any further. You canāt help but watch as he walks around to the other side of the fire, drying his hair with his shirt. God, he is a work of art: all chiseled muscles and glowing skin. Your eyes travel down his torso, drawn by the line of his abs, down to the happy trail leading to the slightly askew waist of his trousers.
āYouāre drooling, princess.ā
Your eyes snap back up to his face. His eyes are dancing with mirth as he realizes heās just caught you ogling him. You make a face at him, but it only makes him laugh. āWas not.ā
āIncorrect answer. You should have attempted to strike at my ego. Now I know you were looking.ā
āI think Iām just being driven mad by spending so much time alone with you in the woods.ā
āI know several ways to drive you mad, sweetling.ā
You slouch against a tree, your face hotāand not from the fire. In a blink, heās standing before you, with a gleeful expression on his face like heās just discovered a cure for dropsy.
āI know whatās making you sour as vinegar. You need to be fucked.ā
You bury your face in your hands, unable to look at him. āI thought we had moved past this,ā you groan, trying to ignore your rapidly quickening heartbeat.
āWhat, your ever-growing carnal lust for me?ā
āYou being a pervert.ā
āIāve never made a secret of it. You, howeverā¦ā You suck in a startled breath as he leans down, trapping you against the tree just like he had the day you sparred with him. āYouāve been denying yourself.ā
Your breath is ragged as he looks you in the eye, the tension between the two of you as taut as a bowstring. A familiar sense of panic rises in you, the same way you feel every time heās close to you like this. Before, you thought it was because it felt dangerous to be so close to your enemy. Now, youāre second-guessing yourself.
āSo what if I have?ā you mumble.
āThereās an easy way to fix that.ā
āā¦The last time you had me in this position, you were threatening me.ā
He tilts his head slightly, a wicked gleam in his eye. āYou donāt feel threatened now?ā
You donāt respond immediately, and heavens forbid, he takes it as hesitancy, his demeanor instantly transforming. āOne word. One word, and we will never speak of this again. But if you tell me you want this, I will fuck you senseless.ā
āYes,ā you whisper, and his lips on are on yours.
Itās a strange sensation, considering half of your mouth is pressed against the cold, smooth surface of his mask. You donāt even ask him about removing itāitās become a part of him in your mind. And maybe part of you even finds the mystery of it alluring.
You all but melt into the kiss, against him. Itās different, everything is different than that first awkward kiss from when you were younger. It makes you ache, makes you long for him in a way youāve never wanted someone before.
You have to separate to breathe, but your reluctance to break apart from him is clear by the way you chase his face with yours. He laughs at you, but itās not condescending at all. It settles in your chest, warm like honey.
āI donāt know what Iām doing,ā you murmur.
āLuckily for you, youāre in good hands.ā Itās the cockiness in his voice that does you in, what makes you let go and give yourself over to him.
You feel flustered, awkward, and like the least desirable creature on earth, but he looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like thereās nothing else he wants more than to have you right now.
āYou can trust me,ā he says softly. You try to respond, but suddenly find youāve gone mute. All you can manage is a small nod.
To your surprise, he lowers his mouth to your neck. You gasp, a full-body shiver running through you as he kisses you there, sucking and nipping at you as he goes. āW-wait, Iāmāā
āSensitive? I can tell.ā You squeak as he continues to lavish you with attention, his fingers trailing down the front of your torso to undo your pants. His movements are deliberate but slow, giving you plenty of opportunity to stop him. But of course, you donāt.
You let out a quick little breath as he finds his way to your pussy, his deep chuckle reverberating against your throat. āYouāre so wetā¦did I do that to you, liebling?ā
Youāre about to respond, but instead let out a sharp gasp as he dips a finger into your pussy. āHow are you ever going to take me into this tight little hole of yoursā¦ā he taunts.
Oh, God, you hadnāt even thought about that. Your mind flashes back to your wedding night, and the first time you tried to kill him. You had mostly been shocked by his audacity, but only now do you recall how big he had felt between your thighs.
Heās gentle with you at first, patiently stretching you open as you whine and beg in his arms. You just about sob when he finally pays your clit attention, circling it with his thumb, and in what seems like no time at all, youāre cumming, hard.
āThat didnāt take long at all,ā he says with that awful smirk of his.
āTh-thatās not fair,ā you stammer. āYou knowā¦ā
āIām only teasing you.ā He presses a quick kiss to your forehead as you come down, shivering with pleasure.
He makes you cum twice with just his hand. Your legs are trembling by the time the two of you properly get undressed. Youāre soft and pliable, helpless putty in his hands as he lines the tip of his cock at your entrance.
āReady, liebe?ā he asks.
āThat is not going to fit,ā you say, eyes wide and fearful. Thereās absolutely no way, you think, staring down the absurdly thick and long monster between his legs.
āTrust me, remember? Weāll take it slow,ā he reassures you. You bite your lip and nod, giving him the go-ahead to sink into you.
Instantly, you realize that no matter how well Kƶnig could have prepared you, there was no chance that it would have been enough to ready you for the stretch of him. You feel like you can hardly breathe as he splits you in half with his cock, your mouth dropping open in a wordless cry.
āFuck, you are tight,ā he groans, but he keeps his promise to go slow, feeding himself inch by inch inside you until heās sitting snug up against your cervix.
The two of you stay there, suspended in a moment in time, connected to each other in the most intimate way two people can be. It makes your head spin, makes you dizzy with the sensation of his body pressed against yours.
You nod, and he starts to move.
If you had thought before that his fingers felt good inside you, then his cock is something else. The delicious stretch of him is almost electrifying, and you wonder how you went all your life without it.
All you can do is let him take controlāyou donāt have the presence mind to do anything but hold onto him, gasping and moaning. Heās all around you, above you, inside you, and it feels like nothing else in the world matters, or that there is a world other than Kƶnig, Kƶnig, Kƶnig.
Your third orgasm surprises you, waves of pleasure flowing through you as you cry out, your pussy sucking him in as if it wants him to stay inside forever. Thatās what seemingly pushes him over the edge too, a string of expletives bursting from him as he floods you with his cum.
Youāre limp and weak, all but purring as he shifts to lay next to you and pulls you into his chest.
āYou are sweet when underneath me like this,ā he purrs.
You swat him in the chest, but it must feel no heavier than being hit by a branch, because he just laughs.
āThereās no reason to be shy now. Iāve seen everything at this point.ā You pout at himāsomething that only seems to bring him delight, because he pulls you in for a kiss.
āThis isnāt how I wanted to take you the first time,ā he says, a hint of shame in his tone.
Your heart twinges with affection. This isnāt how you imagined your first time, either, but the idea of him wanting you so badly he thought about it beforehand, fantasized about it evenā¦āIāve slept in trees before, this is nothing,ā you reassure him.
He shoots you a concerned look. āYou continue to share alarming events from your childhood.ā
You sleep together that night, curled up against him with your legs tangled with his. He falls asleep first, the slight rumble of his chest as he sleeps against your cheek. You lay awake a little while longer, watching him, breathing him in. Now, you have no choice but to be confronted with the truth that youāve been refusing to acknowledge this whole time.
You donāt hate him anymore. You donāt even dislike him now. And you certainly donāt want to kill him.
On one hand, things are easier. Crossing the line feels more like having torn down a wall, with no more need for pretense. On the other, Kƶnig is somehow even more insufferable than before. Or perhaps insatiable is a better word for it. You go from having daily sexual tension with him to daily sex, period.
Itās like the floodgates have opened. Heās always loved to tease you, but it gets a hundred times worse now that he knows just how to make your cheeks feel warm.
āI was thinkingā¦ā he muses one night as you cuddle by the fire. āYou may have to start riding on my horse.ā
āDonāt I already do that?ā you ask, sleepily playing with his hair.
He snorts. āYour susceptibility to my corrupting influence is truly something to marvel at.ā
āYouāve been enacting psychological warfare on me for months.ā
āAnyhow, as I was saying.ā
āYour horse is quite large, but I donāt think it could handle me astride it as well.ā
āWell. Certainly something else thatās large could handle thatā¦ā
You sigh. āGet to the point.ā
āItās becoming quite distracting, watching you moving up and down with the horseās stride.ā
āI cannot believe you. Innuendos twice in a row?ā
āThis is a legitimate grievance!ā
āRiding on your horse would not fix the problem. Unless you plan for me to sit behind you in the saddle, which I refuse to do.ā
āYouāre no fun.ā
You lean forward to kiss the corner of his mouth instead of responding.
Your newfoundā¦activity, however pleasingly distracting, canāt eclipse what comes next.
The mood is somber as you arrive in the village: itās a quiet, sleepy place, just a scattering of simple houses dotting rolling hills and one singular street lined with buildings in the center of it all.
In sharp contrast to his playful, almost jubilant mood on the road with you, Kƶnig instantly snaps into his authoritative persona. It especially suits him when he puts on the hood: it makes him seem that much more intimidating and threatening. Almost inhuman.
The first order of business is to hold counsel with what passes for the leader in this tiny village: a local merchant patriarch. Heās a sturdy man in his older years, face lined with both wrinkles and scars. He must have been quite the warrior when he was young: you can tell by the way he carries himself.
He gives both of you the lay of the land, and itās a grim predicament indeed. Herding the livestock is a job most often given to the children, as itās a relatively safe job with less skill required than the tasks the adults take care of. Thatās changed, of course, with the arrival of the beast a few weeks ago. He confirms the most gruesome details that have been brought before Kƶnig by previous messengers, and it turns your stomach just to imagine it. Those poor childrenā¦
The two of you set off early the next morning, with directions from an experienced hunter who had been keeping track of the beast and reporting its movements. At first, it feels normal: just another walk in the woods with Kƶnig. The solemn silence between the two of you serves as a stark reminder that this isnāt like normalāfollowed promptly by increasing signs of a presence in the woods. Snapped branches, giant pawprints, and worse, streaks of blood.
Then you break though into a clearing, and your blood runs cold.
The beast before you could only be described as a wolf for lack of a better descriptor. Itās monstrously large, being Kƶnigās height and half again, with all of its proportions just slightly wrong: its legs scrawny and just slightly too long for its body, the snout lean and far too sharp to fit the rest of its head. Dried old blood crusted into the fur of its muzzle and chest belies the savagery of the creature, even streaking onto the fur along its neck. And the most obvious tell-tale sign of an unnatural creature is that fur: a dark, rusty blue that shifts with impossible pinpricks of light, like the night sky is ensnared in this feral animalās coat.
You heard its growl before you saw it. But now when it lays eyes on you and Kƶnig, it opens its snout andā¦speaks.
āWhat do we have here?ā The voice comes out as a broken, reedy croak, as if stretching vocal cords that havenāt been used in a long time.
Something about it raises your hackles, like your bodyās responding to an ancient, ingrained fear. Fae.
āDonāt listen to anything it says.ā Kƶnigās voice is suddenly soft, dangerous. āNone of it is trustworthy.ā Slowly, deliberately, his hand moves to his back and draws his sword.
āAh, the boy king,ā hisses the beast. āYou simply couldnāt help yourself, could you?ā
āYouāre eating my subjects,ā Kƶnig responds. Your eyes flit to where his hand tightens its grip on his sword. āThis is not personal.ā
āBut it always is, is it not?ā The beast and Kƶnig circle each other, like two combatants in an arena. āYou are as ever driven by your past mistakes.ā
āKƶnig, what is it talking about?ā You feel like youāre witnessing a conversation you shouldnāt be, but you feel helpless to do anything about it. If you tried to make a move towards the beast now, it would have its jaws snapped around you in an instant.
āItās lying, liebling. Itās what they do. Itās trying to throw you for a loop so it can catch you off guard.ā
āLiebling now, is it?ā The beast lets out an awful, barking laugh. āMy, the two of you have come far. But not far enough, it seems.ā
Kƶnig gives you a quick, sidelong glance, then tilts his head back towards the beast. The message is clear. We need to distract it. Iāll keep it talking.
āFrom her response, it seems youāve been keeping secrets from your lovely little bride.ā The beast shakes itself, its fur puffing up to look larger and more intimidating.
āThereās nothing to keep. None of that is important.ā
āI would beg to differ. And if your liebling knew what it was, she would disagree as well.ā
āYou know nothing about us,ā Kƶnig growls. Yes, youāre in a life-or-death situation right now, but the viciousness in his tone sends an excited shiver up your spine. Youāre opposite Kƶnig now, almost completely hidden behind the beastās monstrous form.
āYou know nothing about each other!ā Before either of you can react, the beast whips around. Its glowing-white eyes are fixed on you. āNot that it matters any longer.ā
You barely have time to scream before the beast is upon you.
āNo!ā Kƶnigās voice rings in your ears. You can feel the creatureās hot breath, its vile drool spilling onto your clothes, its teeth closing around your neckā
Time slows to a crawl, the events unfolding one after the other in sequence. The first thing youāre aware of is the beastās roar of pain, booming deafeningly all around you. Iām inside its mouth, you think numbly. The second thing you notice is your necklace: itās glowing red, as if the metal has become molten hot. But you donāt feel any burning sensation, just a faint tingle.
The third thing you see is Kƶnig shoving himself between the two halves of the beastās snout, physically holding it open with his body.
Itās truly an impressive sight, like watching Atlas hold up the sky. For a brief moment, all you can do is stare up at him in awe.
āWhat are you doing?! Get out!ā he yells, and you snap back to your senses.
You roll aside out of the beastās range, scrambling to get back on your feet. Kƶnig dodges out of the way just as the jaws snap shut.
āIs that..?ā the thing wheezes. You rush to help Kƶnig up as it glares balefully at you. Its beady eyes focus on the pendant around your neck, narrowing in disgust.
āCalliope,ā it spits. āI should have known. This bears marks of your meddling all over.ā
Your blood runs cold. āWhat did you just say?ā What does your lady in waiting have to do with this?
āYouāā The beast doesnāt get a chance to finish its sentence, because Kƶnig takes advantage of its consternation to stick his sword into its neck. The creature bellows in pain and lunges at Kƶnig, who barely manages to dodge the strike but loses his grip on his sword in the process. The monstrous animal whips around and around, attempting to grab hold of the sword with its teeth.
āStrike, now!ā Kƶnig calls before promptly getting clocked in the head with the pommel of his own sword as the beast thrashes and screams.
You donāt hesitate to spring into action, unsheathing a wicked-sharp blade as long as your forearm and sprinting towards the creature. Kƶnigās left you a perfect opening: as long as the beast is trying to get ahold of the sword, its chest is wide open for attack.
You donāt waste the opportunity. With the running start, you leap forward, sinking the blade into the wolfās chest, right where its heart lies. The long, keening wail that the beast lets out is confirmation that your blade has struck true.
You have to throw yourself into a roll to get out of the way before the massive body crashes down on top of you. It lies on the ground, its heaving breaths growing shallower by the moment, its wounds staining the ground with a faintly shimmering golden ichor. So the fae do have golden blood, just like the old legends said, you think, watching the macabre scene with stunned terror.
āBrought low by two fae-touched mortals with barely a fightā¦ā the beast huffs. It sounds weary and resigned to its fate, strange for a creature that had seemed so deadly and menacing just moments before. āFate is cruel.ā
āFae-touchedā¦what do you mean?ā you ask, eyes widening. āWait! What do you mean by that?!ā
The beast doesnāt respond, its chest now hardly moving with its breaths. Itās not long for the world, now.
Behind the hulking, dying animal, you spot Kƶnig staggering into a standing position. āKƶnig!ā You gather yourself and rush towards him.
Heās visibly unstable on his feet, swaying slightly and looking dazed. The sword must have hit him hard, because his hood has been partially torn away. Despite everything, though, you canāt see any visible blood or injuries from this angle. Until he turns.
A bloodcurdling scream tears its way out of your throat. Kƶnig cringes slightly at the sound, but you canāt help yourself. The sight is terrifying.
The skin above one half of his mouth is simply gone. He has no lip, not even any flesh up to his nose. His upper teeth and gums on one half of his mouth are just exposed, giving him a grim, unnatural appearance. He looks like Death itself, resembling the skeletal depictions in the manuscripts.
You should be afraidāscratch that, you are afraid. But you realize quickly your fear is not of him, but for him.
āDid it do this to you?!ā you say, panicking. You dash forward and grab ahold of his face, turning it so you can examine the injury more closely. The act seems to startle Kƶnig, who simply looks down at you in confusion.
āWhat are we going to do? Thereās no way this village has a healer who could dress this woundā¦ā you fret. An injury on this level is almost certainly a death sentence if he doesnāt receive adequate attention immediately, and he certainly wonāt last the night if youāre forced to travel by horseback againā
āSchatziā¦ā Kƶnig grabs your hands with his and removes them from his face. āIām fine.ā
You stare at him in shock for a moment. āYouāhow canāyouāā
He heaves a heavy sigh, as if a massive burden has been placed on his shoulders. āIām alright. The wound isā¦not new.ā
āHow can it not be new.ā
Kƶnig screws his eyes shut for a moment as if trying to gather his composure. āItās been this way since I was young. Look,ā he says, touching the area with a finger. āThereās no blood.ā
On closer inspection, you realize heās right: not only is there no blood, but the skin around his mouth and nose appear to be completely healed. And not even as if it were a true wound: thereās no scarring, no uneven flesh. The skin and muscle are simplyā¦missing.
āWhatā¦howā¦ā Youāre at a total loss for words. Since he was young? What happened? How had he survived such an injury as a child? You have a million questions, but you find yourself unable to ask any of them.
You watch him, stunned, as he walks past you towards the beastās body. It lays completely still now, all semblance of life having fled from the corpse. With one hand on the grip and one foot braced against the beastās body, he wrenches his sword free, then bends to pull your knife out.
āI know you must have questions,ā he says, wiping the blood off of both weapons onto the wolfās fur with a grimace, ābut I canāt answer them here. Please, if I promise to explain, will youā¦will you wait until weāve left the village?ā He turns to look at you beseechingly.
āIā¦ā Now that the adrenaline and initial panic is beginning to fade, your whole body feels heavy and exhausted. You donāt have the energy to be angry, or afraid, or demand an explanation now. You have no choice but to agree, nodding quietly. Kƶnig seems relieved at your calm response.
āSo thatās why you always wear a mask or a hood,ā you say numbly as you watch him take the ruined hood off, shaking his head to get the hair out of his face. He gives you a sad, regretful look.
āI didnāt mean for you to find out this way.ā
āDid you mean for me to find out at all?ā
āI never meant for anyone to find out.ā
The villagers throw a celebration. A modest one, to be sure, but the relief on the peoplesā faces is enough of a reward for you. You can tell Kƶnig is glad to see it as wellāthough every time you look at his face, hidden once more behind his mask, you feel a twinge in your heart as you remember what lies underneath it.
You canāt find it in yourself to enjoy the celebrations, even as excited children and grateful parents swarm you to give their thanks. You give them all a smile and a kind word, but thatās all you can manage. Dread and curiosity mix to form a terrible feeling in your gut.
The days between your defeat of the beast and your departure go by in a blur. Youāre grateful for the rest, but you canāt stop thinking, worrying, about Kƶnigās condition. You manage to stop being petrified that heās going to drop dead of infection at any moment, but you canāt look at him anymore without thinking about it. About the secret that heās kept from you, from everyone whoās ever met him. You canāt even wrap your mind around what it all means. You have no point of reference for what could have happened to your husbandās face.
Husband. What a strange thing, to be wed to someone whose full face you had only seen a few days ago, months into your marriage. You havenāt thought of him like that at all. Heās always been Kƶnig: the king, the enemy, the annoyance. And your lover, you suppose. For the first time, you start to wonder exactly what kind of man youāve bound yourself to.
Because itās exceedingly clear to you now. You canāt kill this man. Not just because you donāt want to anymore, but because he might be unkillable.
The village hasnāt yet vanished in the distance behind the two of you when you speak. āWhat the hell?ā
Kƶnigās eyes slide to you, then back to the road ahead. āLanguage.ā
You sputter in indignation. āLangāthatās not what I want to hear!ā
āForgive me. I couldnāt resist.ā
āKƶnig, this is serious! You promised an explanation.ā
āI know what I promised,ā he says, a slight edge creeping into his voice.
āWell?ā
Kƶnig takes as deep breath. Inhale, exhale.
Then he begins.
āWell. What do we have here? Youāre awfully young for this, little prince.ā
Heās fourteen. Heās about to make a decision that will shape the rest of his life.
He had done as the croneās old tome instructed. Bone from an animal slain in its youth. Flowers bloomed under the cover of pitch black night. A blade whet on the summonerās own flesh. Heās knelt under the light of the full moon, round and blindingly white.
The ethereal creature standing before him is easily twice his height, with an unearthly glow to their skin and hair and a smile that could almost be mistaken for kind and benevolent on their unnaturally beautiful face.
Heās done it. Heās summoned a fae.
With no small amount of difficulty, he rises to his feet, leaning heavily on the cane that helps him walk. The fae lets out a noise of amusement as they watch the young boy struggle.
āUsually, mortals donāt gamble away their lives until theyāre older, and greed begins to dictate their actions.ā
He glares at the fae but doesnāt respond.
āCome, now. Do not look at me so. Give me your name, little prince.ā
āā¦you may call me Kƶnig.ā
The faeās expression sharpens, ever so slightly. āClever boy. āKƶnigāā¦donāt you think youāre getting a bit ahead of yourself?ā
āI want to make a deal.ā
The fae sighs. āStraight to the point, I see. Well, I canāt fault your efficiency. Or is it desperation?ā They smirk at him, their eyes taking the rest of him in. He knows he must make for a pathetic sight: a cripple with a harelip, spine curled and legs thin and spindly.
He doesnāt care. This is the last day he will ever be this pathetic.
āLet me guess. You wish to no longer be a cripple.ā
āI want to be able bodied. I want to be strong enough to defeat my enemies. I want to be rid of my harelip.ā Clear, concise language. Heās spoken these words to himself in the mirror countless times.
āYouāve certainly done your research. Then you know what price I will ask for such things.ā
He swallows nervously. āYes.ā
āVery well then. Let us begin.ā
It starts in his toes, the strange sensation that flows up through him that he will know all his days. He can feel the strength rushing into his limbs, feel his spine straightening, withered muscles coming to life.
Then comes the pain.
Itās white-hot torment, as if his body has become a living coal. He falls to the ground again, screaming and writhing as his bones crack and realign themselves. Somewhere, in the distance, he can hear the faeās cruel laughter as they watch him suffer. For a brief moment, some primal, animal part of his brain thinks heās going to die.
āFret not, boy king. You wonāt perishāI wonāt let you until you give me what youāve promised me,ā the fae says, as if they can hear his thoughts.
Heās not sure how long he lays there on the ground, body wracked with agony. It feels like hours pass before he regains use of his limbs. But the pain does eventually fade away, leaving him dazed but still alive. Slowly, he manages to stand up again.
He stares at himself in wonder, legs and arms stretching. For the first time ever, heās able to stand tall and straight on his own, his cane discarded to the side. And he feels strong. At last, he doesnāt feel weak for once.
āThere. That wasnāt so bad, was it?ā The faeās face has changed: they still look the same, but thereās a beastly, ugly quality to their lovely features that chills him to the bone.
His hands fly instantly to his face. The harelip is still there, he notes with displeasure.
āYou forgot something,ā he says, frowning in his lopsided way.
āOh, I didnāt.ā Before Kƶnig can react, the faeās eyes hollow and grow dark, becoming two pools of endless void. Their teeth sharpen, their face grows gaunt.
āRemember what you owe, boy king,ā they remind him. āOn the day and the hour your first child is born, I will come to collect.ā
He doesnāt even have time to scream before the fae reaches forward with black talons and tears off his mouth.
Youāre rendered speechless by his story. Where do you even start?
Your first thoughts are of the way he described himself as a child. Kƶnig, weak and crippled? Kƶnig? You look at him now, eighteen hands high astride his horse, the picture of raw strength and dominance. You canāt imagine it at all.
Your second thought isā āYou made a deal with the fae? Do you know how foolish that is? Fae never give you what you want, and the cost is always far too high!ā
āDonāt lecture me,ā he says tightly. āI know what I was getting myself into. I had no other choice.ā
āWhat do you mean, no other choice? You were the kingās sonāyou are the king! You could have had servants carry you everywhere if need be!ā
āYou donāt understand what it was like,ā Kƶnig snarls, turning to you with fire in his eyes. āNobody would have accepted a cripple as their king. My life would constantly have been in danger, having to rely upon others. Unable to even defend myself if an assassin set upon me in my bed.ā Heās getting angrier, more worked up as he goes.
āI told you that I was once poisoned as a child with nightshade berries. Did you wonder why there was such a plant in my motherās garden? Why the royal heir was unsupervised for so long in the first place?ā Kƶnigās expression is twisted, his voice turned bitter with betrayal. āIt was a plot against me by some of my fatherās advisors. They conspired with my nursemaid to make it seem like an accidentā¦they expected me to die.ā
āIā¦Iām sorry, Kƶnig. I didnāt think.ā
He glances at you and takes a moment to collect himself before speaking. āI was lucky. My father sent for the best healers he could find. My mother cried at my bedside for weeks.ā His brow furrows. āMy lot in life could have been worse: my parents loved me, at the very least. But it made me hate myself even moreāthat I was such a profound disappointment.
āMy mother had a difficult birth. Some whispered that it was penance for what my father did: that the spirits of those slain during his campaigns had cursed my motherās womb. She never was able to conceive againā¦so all their hopes rested upon my shoulders. My crippled, useless shoulders.ā
The venom in his voice when he talks about himself makes your heart ache with sympathy. You move your horse closer to his and put a hand on his arm, squeezing him in what you hope is a comforting manner. His expression softens as he looks down at you.
āIt would have been easy for you to kill me if I were still like that, liebe.ā You feel your face grow warm again at the term of endearment.
āIt makes sense, your strength being fae-givenā¦Calliope said there was something not right about you.ā
āCalliope is a perceptive woman.ā
You study his face, eyes regarding his mask in a new light. āIt really doesnāt look so bad. I only reacted that way because I thought you were injured.ā
He shrugs. āNever was that good-looking anyway.ā
You make a face. āAre you suggesting I sleep with ugly men?ā
āYouāve only slept with me.ā
āIām trying to compliment you.ā
āYou think Iām handsome?ā
āWhen youāre not annoying me.ā
He huffs out a laugh. āWell, now you know.ā
You study him. He seems relieved to have finally gotten this off his shoulders. āDo you regret it?ā
He gets a faraway look in his eyes. āā¦No.ā
The villageās leader had advised an alternate path back home: it might take you a day or two longer, but it was less remote and lined with other villages. You arrive at the first inn just as the sun is about to duck beneath the horizon, the sky streaked with orange.
Itās a serene part of the wood, and the inn is quite quaint as well. Whoever runs it has done well for themselves, you think absentmindedly as you and Kƶnig dismount and prepare to unload.
A side door swings open, and a quite frankly huge man walks out, facing away from the two of you. Your sense of scale is attuned to Kƶnig now, so heās of course not the biggest man youāve ever seen, but heās broad-shouldered and thick with muscle. You canāt see his face from this angle, but you can just about spot his blond hairā
āShit. Shit.ā Kƶnig instantly spins around so his horse is between him and the man whoās just walked out of the building. You squint. Is heā¦hiding?
āWhatās going on? Should I be worried?ā
āNo. Yes. Maybe.ā Is he cringing? āDo you think itās too late to set up camp?ā
āSet up camp? When thereās a perfectly good inn right there?ā
āYes!ā
āWhat has gotten into you? That man is quite big, but heās not that scāā
āIām not scared of him, I just recognize him. And I donāt particularly feel like seeing him.ā
Youāre agog at the scene before you. āYouāre the king.ā
āEven kings have their hangups, alright?ā
āI am not sleeping in the woods.ā
āAs your husband and supreme ruler, I demand it.ā
āCome now. I know youāre tired of fucking me outside.ā
That gives him serious pause, which almost makes you giggle. Ridiculous man. You could probably lead him onto an executionerās block if you held him by the cock.
āPlease,ā you beg, stepping forward to hold his hand and giving him the biggest, most wide eyes you can muster. āIām not ready to go back to sleeping on the ground yet.ā
His face scrunches up in a hopelessly endearing, almost childlike way. āFine. But you have to go in and talk to the innkeep. Iām going to stay out here.ā
āI donāt know what all the fuss is, but fine. You big baby.ā You hand him your horseās reins and make your way to the front door of the inn.
Youāve barely pushed the door very far at all before you hear a friendly voice from inside. āWelcome, traveler! Come on in.ā
āItās wonderful to make yourāā You stop in the doorway, frozen with shock.
āItās wonderful to make your acquaintance, your highness.ā A pair of familiar sparkling eyes look back at you. āAnd you can tell his majesty that he can come inside, Iāve already seen him.ā
Kƶnigās first wife stands before you, watching your reaction with clear amusement.
Forgive me for that smut. It's been years since I've written anything nsfw, and I wrote this at like. 5AM after a very long day because when I'm not exhausted, writing smut becomes impossible. It's quite the pickle.
Well...I did say that part 3 was going to be a doozy! I'm looking forward to all the reactions...š¤
Comments and feedback are of course always appreciated <3
"Liebling?" Kƶnig mumbles sleepily, bleary eyes trying their hardest to blink away the bits of sleep that cling to his gaze. His hand extends, palm lying flat against your side of the bed.
It wasn't ice cold, but it wasn't as warm as he would have liked it to be. You'd been up for a while, but not long enough for your presence to have faded from the bedsheets.
With a yawn, Kƶnig swings himself out of bed, his feet just barely grazing the floor when a softened call of his name catches his attention.
You're standing in the doorframe, a smile etched onto your face and a softened glint in your eyes. You walk to your side of the bed, place down the cup of water that you had woken up for, and open your arms to Kƶnig.
He wastes no time crawling into your embrace, head laying against your chest as his arms wrap oh-so-gently around your mid-section, careful not to hurt you.
"Sorry honey, I didn't mean to wake you," you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair and smiling as he all but purrs at the feeling. His gaze flickers up to you, sleepily blinking in a way that reminds you of a cat showing their love.
"S'okay," he mumbles sleepily, his one spoken word nearly broken as he bites back a yawn. You smile down at him, leaning down to kiss his forehead. He sinks further into you, relaxing against you like a weighted blanket.
You continue scratching lightly at his scalp, fingernails just barely grazing the skin in the way you knew relaxed him most. His breathing deepens, his body completely relaxed against your own.
"G'night Kƶ," you whisper affectionately, kissing his forehead one final time before squeezing at him, allowing yourself to surrender back to the soft hands of sleep.
now i can't help but imagine engel running away from kƶnig but being so used to this kind of thing that she just kind of... squeals? screams? like she's so giddy she just sounds like a red panda screaming lol
and then laughs when he finds her somewhere under a table or behind a door or... right behind him! he's like ">:O!!!"
and he's probably so horny and desperate but she can't stop laughing from excitement and asks him to do it once again (convinces him by saying she'll be naked this time lmao)
Yes you get it!!
It gets super goofy when she starts to enjoy it and flat out waits for Kƶnig to chase her. Perhaps pinches his butt or wiggles her eyebrows at him or sticks her tongue out to tease him and make him run after her. Sometimes tests Kƶnig by simply appearing naked in front of him and saying "You want some of this?~~", then jumps back when he tries to snatch or snare or grope her.
You can call it mating behavior or courtship display or foreplay or whatever but it drives Kƶnig crazy that she's so into it too. Man goes absolutely nuts when he gets to chase a giggling, squealing woman around the house!
It's disgusting and childish in the Colonel's opinion, but Colonel Kƶnig isn't there to scold them when they play, is he? Young recruit can do whatever he likes, and that includes running after a screaming, laughing, excited female who's probably wet by the time he catches her and starts to devour her neck.
It's always the best part when she squirms in his embrace and tells him to "Stop!" because "it tickles! " Her giggles turn into moans, so he doesn't even bother to carry her to the bed; he'll just have her here on the table... Or why not on the floor, on the Colonel's expensive, handknotted Persian rug? >:) He's reportedly a 'filthy dog' so why not act like one then?
i love your writings so much! i need you to write about kƶnig with maid!reader like i need air and water. kƶnig who needs someone to take care of his house while heās gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. heās so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, heās never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her bossās infatuation until sheās not, heās so awkward around her she thinks he just doesnāt wanna be disturbed, but she doesnāt know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he canāt help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((
Banner picture credit: @661ave
possession
noun
the state of having, owning, or controlling something.
Word count: 7 k
Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!Kƶnig masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint.Ā
A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anonā¦ This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you havenāt read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)
Heās good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.
And he keeps his house neat and clean: thatās not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life ā love life included because there is none.Ā
He always ensured heās not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.
He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesnāt hate house choresā¦ but he doesnāt like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. Itās big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesnāt have any.Ā
Family, or friends, that is.
When he hears that his co-worker ā the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids ā hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesnāt have a chaos in his home, but heās got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, itās only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?
Itās just that he didnāt expect housemaids to be thisā¦ cute.Ā
There are quite a few applications, and heās a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need?Ā
Another thing he didnāt expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. Itās the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. Itās clearly for his delight because itās not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir.Ā
She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a womanās touch, no one has ever baked anything hereā¦
And he certainly doesnāt expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.
She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how sheās had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven.Ā
He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, itās not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. Heās barely even home, so itās good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?
He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, heās thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago.Ā
It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a womenās conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. Thereās a pair of womenās underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs heād have to fold himself this time because sheās in a hurry to catch her bus.Ā
Heās far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldnāt care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy.Ā
When he finds out sheās busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that sheās sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so thereās no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when heās away.Ā
It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. Heās never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now heās pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home.Ā
Even if sheās not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she mightāve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard.Ā
Itās nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.
His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.
Itās unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be trueā¦ But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube.Ā
Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.
He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if sheās noisy in bed ā is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her?Ā
And god, how he would fuck herā¦Ā
Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaftā¦
He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob.Ā
He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps sheād give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.
"Scheisseā"
He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.Ā Ā
She's just his maid, a hired employee. Sheās just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.
He's just a colonel at a notorious private military companyā¦ He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.
ā¦
She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.
She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of.Ā
Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.
Is this what a home should look likeā¦? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things?Ā
But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.
He gets it before her next visit ā meaning, her next shift ā and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope ā hell, a full surge of it ā and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men donāt fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.
With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all.Ā
There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.
What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?
He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.
He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job.Ā
The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.
Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.
So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up.Ā
She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for himā¦
She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.
"I got you something... Merry Christmas."
"Awā¦ You shouldn't haveā¦"
She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.
"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."Ā
He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.
He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like heās trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he canāt quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb.Ā
Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good forā¦Ā
"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically.Ā
Ach soā¦ Sheās ashamed for not getting him a present.Ā
Well, shit. Fuck.
"Don't worry about it."
"No, I meanā¦ I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."
"Thatās nice to hear."Ā
"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."
He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.
"You already got me Christmas decorations."
"Yeah, butā¦ You paid for them."
"Aber... You baked for me. No one's everā"
He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.
"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways.Ā
"I truly did."
She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between themā¦ it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.
"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. Sheās still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying.Ā
"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."
She gives her last smile to him; itās sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.
"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.
"Yes?"
"Iā¦ Ah, glĆ¼ckliches neues Jahr."
"...What does that mean?"Ā
"It means 'Happy New Year'."
"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughtyā¦"
Shit.
Shit.
Shitā¦
"Ich mƶchte deine Muschi lecken."
She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that heās not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.
"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.
"Something naughty."
Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too.Ā
"Reallyā¦?"
"Yes."
"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."
Playful, naughty, dirty.Ā
She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.
Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening?Ā
"I want to lick your pussy."
There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.
"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"
"Ja."
It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldnāt be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.
Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress.Ā
With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.
When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. Sheās either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then sheās concerned about getting licked and fucked sore.Ā It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.
"Go ahead then," she whispers.
He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.
She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devilā¦ If she knew, she would be out the door by now.
It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips.Ā
Mein.
Mein.
Meinā¦
He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so thatās what heās going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. Thereās only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.
Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - heās not an expert, but he knows she wonāt find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole countryā¦ Perhaps the entire world.
And she's not a screamer, sheās a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.
He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin.Ā
"Just like thatā¦ Just like thatā¦ Don't stopā¦"
He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries.Ā
To help her out ā because he's a generous, generous man ā he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.
"Oh god ohgod oh fuckā!"
She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like sheās his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams.Ā
The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin.Ā
Women need a lot of stimulation; thatās what he has learned. Itās a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesnāt want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined.Ā
Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.
And he's only about to fuck herā¦
"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.
"Ohāoh godā¦"
Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds.Ā
"Waitā"
"I will fuck you now."
"Sirā¦ Please, could we use a condom? Pleaseā¦"
She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for.Ā
"Hm. I don't have any."
"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a yearās worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child...Ā
But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her.Ā Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.
Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...?Ā
How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?
She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft.Ā
"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended toā¦ Good, long, deep and hard.
She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this isā¦ Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go.Ā
"It'sā¦ okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's justā¦ If you're clean?"
"I am."
He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.
And heās clean; he keeps everythingā¦in ordnung.
He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.
"Ah jaā¦ Das ist schƶnā¦ Sehr schƶn."
Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuckā¦ He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove.Ā
"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"
It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.
"Okā¦"Ā
"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"
"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so goodā¦"
The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like thatā¦? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.
"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.
"Oāohā¦?"
"Jaā¦ It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."
"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Pleaseā¦"
If this is a dream, itās the best dream heās ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness.Ā
"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."
He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock.Ā But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that heās truly inside the sweetest pussy heās ever had.Ā
He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely.Ā
"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"
"Yesā¦ Oh fuck, I'mā¦"
Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he canāt get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.
He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this wonāt be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog.Ā
"Oh das ist sehr schƶn, das ist gutā¦ Ach fĆ¼rāscheisseā"
He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck.Ā
She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morningā¦ But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.
"Okā¦ Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"
She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out ā now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.
"Will you stay? For the nightā¦?"
His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content.Ā
"Iā¦ I'd really like to butā¦ I can't. I have a party to attend.ā
She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while heās plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity.Ā
She just needed a fuckā¦ She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuckā¦ She's even worse than him.
āI'm sorry..."
"It's ok," he hears himself say. Sheās too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.
For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.
He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything cleanā¦
She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. Itās held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.
She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.
He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.
It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it poursā¦ He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.
The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women.Ā
When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.
"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."
Thereās a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. Itās a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm.Ā She's perfect, just perfect.
And has she walked all the way back hereā¦? Thereās no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.
"Youāre afraid to fall in loveā¦?"
She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thingā¦
"Liebling... Me too."
"Really?ā she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. āYou seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."
"Oh I fear a lot of things."
"Like what?"
"Likeā¦ flying, for example."
"But you fly all the time?"
"Exactly."
She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say sheād never sleep with a freak like himā¦
"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."
She wonāt come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldnāt get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.
If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one.Ā
"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then weāll tuck you in. That sound gut?"
"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sirā¦"
"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."
She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in.Ā
He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldnāt feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.
What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs.Ā
This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like itās already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. Heās been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps thatās why she doesnāt run away from him.Ā
"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.
"...What?"Ā
He barely hears what sheās saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because heās there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if heās crouching next to the tub in reality.
"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.
"What do you mean.ā
She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.
"You'reā¦ Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."
He tries to remember how to breathe, but sheās not done yet.
"I'm sorry butā¦ No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."
Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.
So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please herā¦ Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latterā¦
And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy.Ā
But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a jokeā¦
"Youāre literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"
"I'm notā¦ right in the head, I guess."
"Well, neither am I."
He canāt look at her. Not when sheās open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.
"No one is."
"No. Wirklich, Iām a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to yourā¦" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes.Ā
"I know," she smiles. "I don't mindā¦ Actually I think that's hot."
"Lieblingā¦"
"I think Iāve had enough now. Can we go to bedā¦?"
"Of course."
She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets.Ā
He doesnāt need to fuck her, not right now. Itās enough that sheās here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his.Ā
Not another lonely Christmas for him ever againā¦
And she latches herself onto him like heās the saviour sheās been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesnāt know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but heās not kind. Heās not considerate, and heās not perfect. Heās her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise.Ā
Heās single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.
But he knows sheāll stay. Heāll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.
"Are you still afraid?"
He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. Sheās unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness.Ā
"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."
how would Kƶnig feel about being called more effeminate petnames like pretty, lovely, cute, etc ?
Kƶnig.exe stops working.
He just doesn't know what to do with himself ā isn't he usually the one to call you these? He gets so confused, but the funniest part is that the teeny tiny sub side of him falls at your feet like a slave or a dog.
Pretty makes him actually blush, lovely makes his breath get caught in his throat and he has to stop whatever he is doing to come and hug you. Cute makes him half hard no matter where you are. Then he says: "You're cute" with a low, hushed voice he usually reserves for the bedroom.
Kƶnig gets red very easily (one of the reasons why he wears the hood at work), he also starts to fidget if he's unsure if you're teasing him or giving him a compliment. He also draws you closer or reaches for your hand over the table, most likely has to try and cover a swelling erection. You can tease him a lot with all of these, especially if you're in a public place! So please make sure the poor man is seated before you call him cute ā¤ļø
