Konig who made you into a housewife
You weren't always like this were you? He recalls fondly.
F. Reader
You weren't like this before him. His soft, compliant, sweet maus, with your hair pinned up how you knew he adored it, all smiles and soft touches after a long day of work.
Your family had been concerned. After so long of you being their uptight, perfectionist girl it was almost jarring; the change. When you stopped muttering to yourself whilst doing chores and started humming.
When your rants about work, stresses, and your distaste for all the calamities of the world turned to warm sentiments, comforting and lightness, they were sure something was wrong. It was a surprise to no one when you brought a boyfriend to Thanksgiving dinner months later.
Sometimes he wonders when he changed you- was it before he bed you? Spread you tenderly and took you as a man should- perhaps it was the submission to a man like Konig which turned your glares and sarcastic snarls into batting and sighing.
Perhaps it was when he chose you- when you stopped having to fight- fight for a better job- for stability- for commitment; when he told you to marry him and let you stay at his home and build a life with him.
Maybe that is when your edges softened- he wonders if he’s sorry for it; for softening such a jagged little stein into a pearl.
nsfw, afab reader x König, google translate german, painful sex, established relationship
When he returned to base, he was still off his adrenaline high. His body practically twitching in anticipation and need, his hands opening and closing as he stepped into your quarters to see you. Immediately he was surrounded by you, such a refreshing sensation in stark contrast to the testosterone filled, angry, bloodthirsty men he mostly worked with. Your room was sparsely but pleasantly decorated. It smelled like you and it was almost overwhelming. He searched the room for you, grunting in annoyance as he couldn’t find you. He collected himself, beginning to remove his boots and gear as he had came directly to your room from the plane. ‘Where are you?’ he sits on your unmade bed impatiently.
“König?” Your voice carried from your bathroom door in a way that made the man on your bed spin to look at you. He takes in your appearance greedily, your hair thrown in two damp braids over your shoulders, a thin, white towel clinging to your body, the glisten of moisturizer created a soft sheen over your skin. He reached out to you and as always, you melt into his arms immediately, his broad chest as familiar as your own name. Guilt flickers through his conscious, that he was dirtying you with the grime of his work but the smell of your soft, honey-kissed skin silenced his reservation.
“Engel...” he breathes deeply.
“I missed you” you say softly, slipping your hands beneath his dirty baklava, slipping his hood off with it, it was always a treat to see his face, though he immediately buried it in the nape of your neck. His lips and 5 o'clock shadow were ticklish against your sensitive skin.
“Missed you too liebling” he says, his voice hoarse, his hands pulling you into his lap. You feel his need, his lips leave gasps over your neck as you cling to him. His panting turns into him brushing his lips there, his teeth grazing the skin.“You smell so good,” he says, his voice hoarse He does too it would be odd to say so, but his masculine, heady scent was incredibly pleasant to you. He dragged you closer to the apex of his legs, and you stifled a chuckle as your bare thigh met an unmistakable stiffness as it rubbed the zippered crotch of his work pants. You knew what he wanted and knew he wasn’t, under normal circumstances willing to ask for it. Despite his confidence and competency giving orders and making decisions on the field, it didn’t translate necessarily to more intimate settings. Whether it was pride from a successful mission, adrenaline, or repressed need, his usual inhibitions seemed to be stripped.
“So good for me…" . His eyes, now in the light have a certain frantic glimmer, his pupils dilated and moving quickly over you, clean and soft, so soft for him. He wished he had the restraint to worship the sight as it so deserved but all the pieces, the time away, his state, and the fact you greeted him so immodestly made him oh so greedy. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, before they curve into a smile, a crooked, slow smile where a glint of canine is exposed, you press your lips to his and he pulls you in, its sloppy, rushed, and the small sounds you make spur his hands to explore your body, tugging the towel free, and his hands immediately begins groping at exposed flesh, his calloused palms a dissonance against your fresh skin. He was rough, his grip eager, he was never aware of his strength so when he stood, you clung to him as to not fall while his hands gripped your thighs with a bruising grip. He quickly flipped you from his thighs and onto your back, kneeing the bed on either side of you, digging his knees under yours to prop your hips up at an angle, his body hunched-over to meet your lips shortly before pulling away. “I need you now, Schatz.” his brows pinch together as he works on undoing his belt, you see his hands shaking so you stop him; taking a hand in yours softly, looking up at him.
“Are you alright?” you ask, biting your lip, wanting to be caring but also to wanting him to split you open. He grunts in approval.
“Never better shatz” he says, rubbing his hands on his thighs, tense. You undo his belt and he watches, kissing you gratefully. He stands up for a moment, yanking off the strangling work pants, kicking them off, discarding them along with his shirt. You smile up at him.
“You're so perfect leibling- so good for me, I wish I could take my time-“ he works his boxers down his hips and resumes his position between your knees, his heavy member bobbing impatiently. He slips one hand pressed between your bodies as you kiss; his hand vaguely circling the bundle of nerves at your core, a pitiful attempt at warming you up.
“König- I can’t you know I can’t… it's been-“
“Shhh- you can-for me- you can handle it, I’ll be gentle” he assures, reaching between you, guiding himself slowly, he shudders as he feels the welcoming warmth of you between your lips.
“verdammit- you’ll take me just fine” he rubs his thick head over your slick, down and up to your clit, tapping against it, sending a jolt of pleasure through you, always so ready for him when he wanted you.
“Ah” he catches on your entrance and you can feel the stretch already.
“Relax-trust me- trust me lieb” his voice is gruff and his grip makes your hip ache distantly. But the feeling of his intrusion makes your l head spin. You grip his arm tightly.
"Sorry, Im sorry- you’re so small gott, so tight for me, so warm,” he moves further and you squeeze your eyes closed “look at me-“ he demands softly, his accent thick, his hand grabs your jaw, the touch gentle but sure. You obey and open your eyes “Does it hurt” he asks, inching in with renewed caution.
“little bit” it’s a half- truth, it feels like you’re being stretched and its painful but pleasant to please him.
“Fuck-sorry” he buries his head in your neck as he makes one final movement to bottom out, tears sting your eyes and your nails dig into his back, you let out a groan through your teeth you work of relaxing around him
“Ah- can feel you squeezin’ me so hard” he gasps above you, huge and desperate, so desperate. “relax schatz, before I- oh gott” he chokes, pushing further in, his pelvis grinding against yours as he’s buried in you, he doesn’t move but makes these animalistic sounds, his eyes closed and face in your neck.
“Honey” you rake your fingers over his scalp and he groans, hips twitching, you give a tug and he bites your neck gently. “look at me” he obeys, hands digging into either side of the bed unsteadily as he pushes up enough to look at your face.
“So pretty leibling” he says hoarsely. “I’m so sorry, forgive me” He apologizes as his hands run over your body reverently, his hips grinding forwards every few moments, eliciting gasps from you. He kisses you languidly, now that hes balls deep he seems to be less frantic, like your body was the soothing aloe to his burning skin, it was surreal to see him above you, muscles covered by a sheen of sweat, his body like a greek god but bigger, so deliciously big, stretching you and filling you to the brim. It feels like heaven but you were grounded by the dull ache of him filling you up. “Dream of this for so long leibling, your little body, missed you so much, I wish I could be better for you, I’ll be better” he promises.
cw: reader is a ghost, simon is a messed man, really strange making out.
simon ghost riley knows there's something living in those damned walls of his apartment, something haunted, barely able to catch in his rough grasp, you, who mess with his already fucked up head so cruelly, giggle with giddy sounds reverberating around the place, in his ears, driving him mad, stealing his things, sometimes hiding, sometimes as if taking them with yourself, giving back only after a couple of days, if not weeks.
he's not the one to believe in ghost's, not while it's simon's second name, but you aren't a human, he hears you, knows you're all around his place, never leaving, so he's forced to accept this reality, where you float at the night in the dark corners of his bedroom, humming, cooing a melody he can't understand, but it's cloaks him to sleep everytime he's back from a long deployment.
simon notices that you ain't leaving even when he dissappears for month, but you settle quietly for a time when you notice that he's snappy, always alerted, sleeping with a knife under his pillow, so you don't mess with him, even though he can't do anything to you, somehow, it's unpleasant to see him so broken, that's why you let him rest, sitting in the walls and corners, just waiting.
you only take matters into your own hands when simon hasn't been out of bed for a week, except to warm up a quick meal and wash his face, despite that even such a short routine is difficult to him, so you've planned to comfort him, to encourage him to do something, getting out late at night and floating gently to his bed, where he sleeps, sprawled on his back, not even flinching when you settle on top, straddling.
trailing your fingers over the curve of his cheekbones, turning dark at where stubble had outgrown just like his hair, inkept, because he couldn't make himself look in the mirror more than a couple minutes to shave, as your touch descended lower, his lips open slightly, some old, raised scar hiding there along his skin, pale with age, and then you touched again and again, studying his features, both rugged and delicate, before stopping at the waistband of his pajama pants.
you can't take them off, not in your haunted state, but you can play with simon, your touches feeling like a blow of a cold wind, insistent, piercing, making him flinch, thick eyebrows knitting over his eyes, eyelashes quivering, awakening with each glide of you, as you rolled your hips, seated right over his crotch, his eyes finally breaking open, adjusting not to the pitch darkness of the room, but the glow of you in front of his lidded, hazy gaze.
exposed in your strange existence, to the point where he can count your every bone through the transparent shell of your ghostly body, your ribs, hips that straddle around his own, nothing between your legs, except unfamiliar, burning warmth, the curve of your breasts, a little smile playing at your lips, sharp, teasing, it's not nice, and either ain't bad, but what's matters the most is that he can feel you.
simon's hand cupping the round curve of your hip, tugging, feeling both the sharpness of your bone and a coldness of the shell, barrier that holds it all in, and you gasp, eyes wide open, shocked, glancing over at where you can feel the heaviness of his touch, rough and calloused, making your spine shiver, your hips squirming, body pressing down on him, and he groans.
your existence is something he can't quite comprehend, but you're warm, been patient with him, and nuzzled needily at him while he slept, so perhaps, he should give you what you wanted, a chance for a little game, his hand holding you down roughly, pinning against his crotch, cock swelling warm and throbbing beneath you, eliciting a hushed, echoing keen from your mouth, as he cups a tentative palm where your pussy should be, digging, and you react instantly.
arching with curling toes, swell of your ass perched out, squishy when his fingers trail over there, sinking in, making you slump forward over his sinewy chest, curling your clawing fingers in his shirt, and you know that simon is not just a man, but someone that can touch the death, his fingers sinking somewhere deeper into you, so easily, without resistance, making your body tremble as if alive, and there's more for you to know about him, after.
Religious themes, age gap, arranged marriage/order bride. I don't know about historical accuracy but it's definitely not modern, nsfw, unfinished work
The familiar hiss of breeze through endless acres of grass and foliage is of comfort to you now, it reminds you of the home you have left behind and fills the silence that weighs. The breathless quiet only thickens between you and the man who precedes as you make your way along the makeshift path. Your once pink flats, now grayish and threadbare, are damp with the remnants of the evening rain that cling to the grass. They offer no warmth or protection from the loose stoned pathway and the straps of your luggage dig into your shoulders, making you feel as pitiful as ever.
You wonder if he could even be called a man. He carries himself with the charisma of a cursed woodland creature, with a gait silent yet lumbering, and his hulking body curved in on itself slightly. A childish conscience suggests that upon your isolation this human facade would give way to a more terrifying creature; something with yellowed, glowing eyes and a snarl with too many teeth, jagged and crowding his maw.
Perhaps that’s what awaited you behind his awful potato sack of a mask; maybe it would be a fate you would prefer to consummation and such, or a life with a husband unkind. The thought made you reach for your neck, fingers clasping around the metal warmed by your breast, a thin gold necklace with a flat charm, the once ornate detail of Mother Mary is faded from the touch of generations of women in your family, surely many anxious brides ran their thumb over the ridges of the necklace just as you did now. The thought is a comfort to you.
The house is ahead of you now, and he offers you a glance, his eyes are as glaring as when you first met, and you feel your gut drop unpleasantly. His home is sizeable, with a billowing chimney, it's a comforting promise to your aching legs and cold feet, and it's appearance is welcoming despite your company.
"Give me your things."
Is the first word he utters to you directly. His voice breaks- sounding on edge as he avoids your gaze. You obey, handing him the bags with great effort. He opens the door, letting you enter and remove your damp shoes. The man disappears with your bags and you want to protest, your very last in the way of possessions may as well be his.
"Sit" He says upon his return, you waste no time taking up the only chair in his living room, a large leather armchair, visibly worn and settled to fit his body, it's close enough to the fire to soak up the warmth, and it gives you something to stare at asides from your new husband. "You will have tea and then I will have a look at you," He says in his usual rasp, hooking the kettle over the fire.
'Look at you' is a phrase that strikes fear, it makes you want to shrink into this chair and disappear at the thought of him peering, his angry gaze fixed on you in your prettiest dress. But you don't, you simply lift and drop your chin in a nod.
"I've been told you cook" You nod once, looking up at him. "Good. mien frau should cook and clean. I am not... a mean man. But I will not treat you as a child. Understand?" Again, you nod.
"You will call me Konig, and you will not fear me." He says, his voice tense. "You do not fear me, do you?" He asks, staring down at you.
You shake your head 'no', a lie.
"Good." He huffs, tugging off that mask that had shadowed his nose and mouth ever since you'd first seen him at your parent's farm, he had come to give your uncle goats and money, at the time you had wondered and not dared to ask why, it seems they had been a sort of payment for you. The thought makes the warmth of the fire feel almost suffocating.
He runs a hand over his face and to your relief, he is not a monster. Quite the opposite, his face is dirty; ash-smudged, and weathered but he is not grotesque in the least. He is older than you thought, perhaps younger than your uncle, but it is hard to tell because he has a full head of hair, unlike most of the older men of your kin. He is far from handsome in the way you would appreciate before, but faced with the fact that he is now your husband you are pleased that he is not unsightly nor wear the marks of an ever older age.
"You cannot speak. Your father should have told me you were mute. Always was a swine" He huffs, squatting down to prod at the fire.
"Fredrick is my uncle" You object strongly, shrinking as you immediately notice your volume, your voice cutting through the crackling of the hearth.
He chuckles gruffly. "Very well." He says slowly, his voice nearly a coo.
"Fredrick is my uncle." You repeat, quieter. "My father would never sell me off"
"Is that so?" He asks, gaze hardening again. "Your uncle does not love you. You cost me three goats and their feed." He says, coldly. "What a sorry fool." He says, taking off the tea, and pouring it into a large tin mug for you.
You're not sure if he refers to you or your uncle but there's no time to deliberate as he holds out the mug to you expectantly.
Warmth blooms in your chest as you sip down the fragrant tea. Konig watches you silently in that way of his. When you finish you can hardly have time to set down the cup before his arms are on your shoulders, pulling you up and planting you before him.
"I have waited long enough frau, it is time to look at you." He growls, giving your shoulders a squeeze "You may take off your dresses."
"M-my dresses?" You say, panic filling your chest at this demand.
"Yes. That is what I said."
You hesitate, swallowing thickly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
"Why do you tremble? I am only asking to see you. If I were going to bed we wouldn't be in the living room, would we?" He prompts gruffly, searching your face. "I gave you tea." He says, almost gently.
He takes a deep breath through his nose as you tremble there.
"Fine, if you wish to keep your silly dresses on, I will have to touch you."
"S-silly?" You say, twisting up the hem of your dress.
"It makes you look like a girl. Those bows." He says, tugging on one. "You are not a girl, you're mien frau now, aren't you? Be a good one and sit still."
His hands are rough, the pads of his fingers calloused and abrasive against your skin as they trail up your arms. His hands cascade over your body almost methodically, as if he takes no pleasure in your appearance. All too quickly his palms press into your breasts, you let out a short gasp as he dares to palpate your chest, his large hands squeezing just hard enough to make you twist in discomfort. He lets out a soft grunt of approval, his hands slipping down to your hips and belly which he palpates as well, his broad hands gentler, pausing and touching any freckle scar or birthmark as he takes you in. You swallow thickly, staring at his focused expression as he acquaints himself with your flesh.
"You'll do fine, woman, though you are too small. You cannot be this small with my children when you have them. When it's time" He mutters, mostly to himself.
"I will wait till you no longer tremble like a calf, mäuschen. Till you are ready." He says, letting you go finally.
König wants to lie side by side and stare you in the eyes. He read somewhere that having moments of eye contact strengthens the emotional bond between a couple.
...It's just that he wants to be naked when you do it. He calls this 'You & Me time", doesn't even blink as he cradles you in his arms, somehow snuggles his cock inside of you too.
Full, wrinkled balls press flush against your skin as you swallow uncomfortably, his eyes now boring deeper into yours. His dick gives the occasional throb against your walls, and if you try to wriggle out of his grasp or change position, he grunts, very displeased.
And when you come home, you're gonna watch her sleeping
Hold her close and stroke her face
In the morning, you're gonna stare at her
And wonder why you feel the way you do, now
But she will hold you, and reach out to touch you
And never ever hurt your heart
- Bôa
Simon was as silent as snowfall as he entered his apartment, he could tell you were there without necessarily seeing proof of your presence. He can feel it, smell it, even if it's not acknowledged that he can. His feeling is confirmed as he finds the familiar outline of your figure in his bed. Simon hated it- he should hate it. He hated people in his space and yet he doesn't feel anger, why doesn't he feel anger? He drops his things on the bedside and you don't stir, not a hair. He hated obliviousness; pitied helplessness, but he doesn't hate this either.
He eases himself onto the bed, unlacing his boots with jerky, mechanical tugs, placing them neatly at the foot of the bed before stripping down; now you choose to wake and stare at his bulk as he undresses. Simon hates when people stare, and yet the weight of your eyes on him isn't suffocating or scrutinizing. You look at him like a woman would the stars; with reverence and adoration that he had not earned. Simon did hate that.
"Hi," you say groggily,
"Sorry I'm 'ome late, doll. Didn't see yer' message." He says, turning to discard his clothes. "Makin' good use of that key, huh?" His voice is mocking, but his expression kind as he climbs in next to you.
"Yeah, sorry.... I had the worst day." You mumble, inching closer to him. He scooped a thick arm around your waist, dragging you over the sheets into his side firmly.
"Don't you apologise, woman. Gave it to ya' for a reason dinnae?" Simon couldn't hate you, for some reason beyond him. He took your face into his rough hand, one arm wrapped around your shoulder, resting on your chest, inching between your top as his palm found your heartbeat, the subtle sensation was a visceral comfort that eased his own body. He saw the exhaustion etched into your features yet you strained your neck for a kiss, for which he indulged.
"You're mine aren't ya?" his voice was warm with a fondness he reserved for the dim dark moments he shared with you. You were asleep moments ago, and you would return to sleep in minutes, perhaps his affection would be hazy and you could accredit this to your dreams so when you woke you would know not to expect it.
"Yeah, yours." You say softly, voice slurred by sleep and the pressure on your cheeks as he stroked your face with a gentle thumb, memorising the curve of your nose, the bow of your lips, the smoothness of your cheeks.
"Pretty thing you are," he appreciates absently, thumb resting on your bottom lip. "Come round' any time ya' like... I can't promise you I'll be in a mood to entertain ya though." He admits.
"Yeah?" you murmur softly, blinking up at him slowly.
"Ya don't ever mind do ya? Quite an easy girl, you." his head dips, pressing his lips to your temple. "Don't change a thing, ya' ere?" He murmurs against the skin there, staring off in thought.
"Love you" You murmur, drifting off back to sleep, none the wiser to the storm in his mind.
thinking about older bf!simon that can’t get it up.
seriously.
friday night at the end of a long week, curled under his arm- not an inch of your mouth that his tongue hasn’t covered.
the palm of your hand has been working him over his trousers for what feels like the better part of an hour.
no dice.
“m’sorry, sweet’art”
simon looks spent, absolutely knackered.
“s’all good, we don’t have to”
he groans, utter frustration written all over his face as he picks you up to plonk you down in his lap.
“but i want to”
he wants to, he wants it more than he wants breath in his fucking lungs. his body just can’t hack it.
ultimate betrayal.
burying your face where his neck meets his shoulder, your hand slips between the two of you. gently stroking his soft cock in your hand, you feel the tension start to leave him.
“can still play with it a little, f’you want?”
the sound of your voice, the heat of your hand- simon’s hips jolt when you pull back his foreskin to rub over the head.
his breath stutters as his chest deflates, arm wrapping around your waist so he could slip his fingers between your thighs.
