Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the span of a warbling breath, it happened. In the same moment you stole a lungful of air in through the moth bitten wool of your fathers coat, you remembered, and you knew it was over. Even through the crumbling fabric, you could taste his spiking scent, filling with anger and arousal.

You had forgotten the orange peel on the floor.

_

The 1st was, decidedly, the most tedious and wasteful day of each month of his life. Konig and his men pushed into the crumbling buildings the pathetic little villagers called homes one by one, scenting the air with routine disinterest and consistently bad tempers. As was always the case, they found nothing but the stench of piss and shit and fear, and occasionally would escort the increasingly rare newly presented Omegas back to the keep, where they would eventually be prepared for the most "eligible" Alpha, used as coveted little bargaining chips in political schemes. 

Nose wrinkling at the faint, pungent scent of death in the air, Konig slowly ran his finger over the arm of a chair, disrupting the thin layer of dust covering the meager remaining belongings in the shitty little hovel he was currently in. Too small and dilapidated for more than one to enter at a time, he moved through the house like a looming unwelcome visitor in the quiet, vacant house, Horangi and the others waiting for him outside.

Breathing deeply, he reasoned that body snatchers must've gotten to the former occupant before he and his men did, the old mans scent faded and slowly receding from the little shack. Floor creaking beneath him in protest, he ducked into the last room of the house, scanning the kitchen quickly with open disdain at the pungent fragrance of rot lifting from a forgotten bowl of food congealing on the dilapidated table. Teeming with flies and coating the roof of his mouth with its stench, he inhaled reluctantly, calling out to his waiting envoy.

"All clea-", he froze, zeroing on the sweet, tangy scent of citrus lurking beneath the smell of the old man and rot. Eyes following its path down, down, down, his focus narrowed to pinpricks as he saw the bright little piece of rind forgotten on the floor. And there, almost ephemeral underneath the orange, was the scent of a girl. Irritation rising, he dropped down to a crouch, lifting the peel up and under his hood and dropping it into his mouth, biting down with a decisive crunch, and- oh, there she is. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, Konig groaned as the scent of an unclaimed Omegas frightened pheromones cloyed in his throat, blood going straight to his cock, chest rumbling with anticipation and indignation. With the taste of her filling his mouth now, he could smell traces of the little rat all over the dilapidated shithole.

He was running out of patience. Spitting the rind onto the floor, he spoke.

"I am going to give you to the count of 30 to come out on your own before I get you myself, little one."

Body thrumming with need, muscles taught with anger, he stalked across the kitchen towards the growing scent of her fear and counted aloud.

"..24, 23, 22, 21."

Stopping next to the peeling wall farthest from the hall, Konig bit back an appreciative moan, his own lust climbing as he grew closer to the little stowaway hiding in the wall, previously veiled under the aggravating scent of her old man. 

"14, 13, 12, 11... You try my patience, little one!" He snarled, ignoring the call of his men outside as they inquired over the commotion, world narrowing to the effervescent girl who sat, defying him. 

"6, 5, 4, 3.." He trailed off, taking the final stride that separated him from the panel concealing her, cocked fist sinking through the flimsy wood with ease in a burst of white hot anger, right as his little rat finally conceded, little barefeet pushing away the door of her alcove with a shriek. 

"Too late, baby." He called out to her in mock apology, drunk off osmanthus and honeysuckle, nerves flayed open and raw at the sight of her wide eyes, fat tears rolling down soft cheeks as she started to shake in earnest. Looming over her like a bird of prey, he pulled his hand from the shattered wall and curled it around a little ankle, fingers wrapping around her limb so severely that he failed to notice Horangi stumbling into the kitchen behind him, head filling with white noise and the sound of her hummingbird heartbeat, world reduced to the wild eyed little girl in front of him. 

Growling as he pulled her free, her hands scrambled for purchase, pitifully trying to hold herself in her hiding place. She came to life then, legs flying as she lashed out, kicking him in the chest like a little banshee before his other hand found purchase on her waist, pulling her flush to his body like a rag doll, paying no heed to her frantic squirming. 

"No! Put me down!" She cried, balled up little fists swinging and hitting wherever she could, unaware that her squirming was only causing his dick to swell more, her flailing body flush against him now as he held her in his arms, one hand spanning her entire back from shoulder to hip and the other one wrapping around the back of a kicking thigh. 

Groaning, he pushed up his mask in a frenzy, leaning in to lap at the tears falling across her face, burying his face in the junction of her neck and breathing in deeply- too deeply. "Fuck, sweetheart." Teeth roaming the expanse of her neck, he was jerked back into reality when she gave a sharp, petulant tug at his hood. Fabric riding up and threatening to peel away altogether, he let out a bellowing growl as he snatched her hand away, shaking her to regain her attention. "Enough!" He bit out, watching as she went rigid, the slack in his hands. 

Little pleas were starting to bubble up from the exhausted little thing when Horangi interjected, hand firmly over his own mouth, voice muffled as he spoke out, "Sir, we should go... men are starting to gather outside, the boys are running damage control." 

Konig snarled at the mention of other Alphas waiting outside. Breathing deeply to remind himself that the honeysuckle girl was here, in his possession, he took a moment to compose himself. He needed to get her out of this fucking shithole, and away from the dozens of lonely Alpha villagers that would be too stupid and pussy drunk to mind their own business. More importantly, he needed to report to Price immediately; there hadn't been an unrecorded Omega in years, let alone one who had somehow gone unnoticed this far into her presentation. And that was the other thing- despite her appearing to be over the initial presentation age, where girls are kept in a safehouse where they are made to have their first heats before being mated, this girl smelt... new. Somehow, she had not had a heat yet, and it was proving to be the downfall of Konig's willpower. The thought of anyone else touching her would be his undoing- he was going to have to claim this girl, for better or worse. 

Wrapping a hand into her matted hair, he cocked her head back and made to look her in the eye. "Look at me, baby. It's over. The more you fight me, the more it's going to hurt later. Do you understand me?" 

Anger and fear capitulated out of her, mixing together with a murky undercurrent of her yearning as she nodded; Konig wondered how long the poor, feral little thing had been on her own, part of her already relaxing into his touch. 

After years of working together, his men were all finely attuned to each other, so it was no surprise when Horangi began to shout in alarm as Konig's scent spiked, covetous, seconds before he lifted his hood, leaned forward, and bit. 

Chapter Text

You had been so careful, for so long. 

When Mother had died and your father had devolved, you listened. The rules were simple:

Stay inside, always.

Speak to no one, ever. 

Be invisible.

At first, when you were younger and desperate to escape the grief of losing her, it was almost a welcome distraction. Routines changed and new habits were formed, until slowly, you disappeared, turning you into nothing more than a spirit that haunted the walls of the house. When the men would come knocking, you were nowhere to be found, wrapped tightly in blankets or your fathers clothes, ear pressed to the thin wall of the alcove that separated you from being  real.  You were forbidden from straying too close to the windows, and the one time father caught you wandering too close to the grimy pane was the last time that the window was uncovered. 

At first, it was a game- no matter how many times Father pleaded with you to understand that it was  not  a game, and that if they found you, they would take you. He never told you where you would go. 

Eventually, you grew to need new clothes, and it was then that your father reluctantly solicited the help of The Woman. Father said it was too dangerous for you to know her name or meet her, but you could smell the faint traces of her rosy scent on the clothes that she smuggled into the house, hand-me-downs from the children she had. How strange, you thought, that there were other children somewhere out there, with clothes and a mother and a name that more than one person knew. 

When you had your 11th birthday, and then your 12th and 13th, with nothing but an orange to commemorate the day despite years of begging for  something  new- anything to change the sludgey deluge of days that you swam in and out of, you started to sneak out of the cubby in the kitchen wall. Creeping quietly so as not to wake your warden, you would sit and press your ear to the front door, hungry to hear even the slightest of murmurs of conversation from Outside. You would sit for hours, until the sting of your eyes and the sagging of your shoulders forced you to retire to your hiding place for fear of falling asleep against the door. Inside, you would stare at the one picture you had of Mother, strung up against the wall in your little nest of Fathers clothes. A handful of drawings decorated the narrow walls, the only evidence at all in the whole wide world that you were even there. They were hardly any good- paper and pencil were too much of a rarity, too great of an expense for you to be able to afford to practice, but they were  yours.  Curling up to sleep, and sleep some more until a knock on the wall from Father called you to eat, you would drift off thinking of the murmurs from out there, making up stories of the people whos faces you could  almost  picture.

When you turned 17, Father got sick. It started with a cough that never really went away, lungs making a watery sound upon each exhale. He started to slow, body moving across the kitchen unsteadily to bring you meals. You insisted he take yours- there was never enough, but he surely needed the extra more than you did. It didn't help, and as the season changed, you realized with sudden clarity that nothing was going to take it away. Your father was dying just like Mother had. 

When he came home on the eve of your 18th birthday with an orange in hand, your delight over the little flower he surprised you with was tamped out immediately by the unsteady sway of his body. Father had always said you were exceedingly small, but in that moment, you thought he looked frailer and smaller than you ever had. When he crawled into bed that night, you knew he would not ever get back up. He insisted that he would rise to break fast with you the next morning, telling you to get back into your nook for the night. You did so reluctantly, not wanting to cause him anguish or alarm with defiance. When you snuck out later that night, you placed a hand on his forehead with a heavy heart and wept silently as you watched the fever spread through his body, wet cough still rattling his body even as he slumbered. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, distant alarm bells rang, reminding you that without this man, you would not  eat , but the chiming was drowned out by your grief. The one person in the world who cared for you was dying, and all you could do was watch. 

A week later, when you rose from his bedside bleary eyed, you saw his empty gaze staring at the ceiling, eyes opened for the first time in a week, and the last time altogether as death crept into his lifeless body. 

You covered his body with a blanket, distantly aware of little sobs wracking your body as you vacillated in and out of shock. It would be a few days later before the curt knocking on the door would startle you out of your misery. Terror spread through your body with gumption, icy tendrils of dread wrapping around your heart and squeezing, organ thudding uselessly against your heaving ribs. 

You waited with baited, shallow breaths, until the murmur of a woman's voice carried through the thin door. "Sir? Are you in, Sir?"

Recognition dawned on you before suspicion and wariness accompanied it; The Woman was here to see your father. You stood, stock still, instincts warring as you fought the tidal wave of adrenaline urging you to bolt for your alcove- but the stench of your fathers bloated, decaying body spurred you into action first. Left foot, right foot, left again, all the way to the door. The knock sounded again, this time a little bit more urgently- and you lifted your hand to the door with trembling fingers. First the latch, and then, you turned the knob slowly, wide, red eyes peering through the gap in awe and panic as you took in the face of another human for the first time in  years.  

"Oh my god- what are you thinking girl?!" She hissed, stupefied as she pushed passed your stunned form and slipped in through the ajar door, closing it tightly behind her. Latching it hastily, The Woman spun to you with a rippling movement not unlike how you imagined the panthers and tigers your dad had told you about would move. 

"Where is your father, girl?" The Woman's voice was soft and shrill, coils of gray hair spilling out from the style it was bound back into- so much more intricate than the three strand plait your long hair had been in for as long as you could remember. Her eyes were a soft brown you, you noted belatedly, completely unresponsive to her manic questioning, heartbeat thundering as your eyes traced her face. Ruddy cheeks, thin lips, frowning at you, you realized dazedly.

Her eyes darted around the room then, eventually landing on the covered mass in the far corner, resting atop fathers bedroll.

"My god, is your father dead, child?" 
You nodded to her then, putrid scent registering once more. "Very well then. I will do what I can and remove the body, but no more. You understand what will happen to you now, right girl? That they will take you?" 

You nodded again, unsure what you were really agreeing to, a thousand unanswered questions swimming in your head and coagulating together in your mind until your head felt heavy and gummy and dumb. 

"Good luck to you, girl. Get back in the wall until the body is gone and the house is quiet again." Her voice was stern and heady with frustration, and you scurried back into your nest as you had been bid. You slid the wall closed behind you, and waited with your ear pressed to the partition.

You listened as the woman took a deep breath and then exited the house, and a short time later the door opened again, voices carrying in to the hovel. 

"He's over there, dear. In the corner. I covered the body, couldn't hardly stand to look at 'im any longer." The Woman's voice carried through the air thinly, followed by shuffling footsteps and the grumbling murmur of a man. "Did you report him dead yet to the guards, Annie?" 

"No.. I hate 'em poking around here. Reckon they'll figure out soon enough when they make their reaping rounds."

The man only grunted in response before supplying, "Grab his feet then. Can't think of much worse than staying in this house another damn minute. I'll take the body to burn."

And all of the sudden, you were alone, the door shutting behind them with a quiet 'click'. 

Time passed strange after that. There was never much for extra food in the house, and you had long since ran out. The Woman- Annie, you thought belatedly, was not coming back. The men your father always feared would come for you, and you would probably die too, you realized distantly. Did it really matter then, if they came for you or not? The orange sat on the table, growing softer and softer as the ripening scent toed the line of souring. Your stomach growled angrily, but the pain hardly registered underneath your growing apathy and hopelessness. A last meal then, you reasoned with yourself. You would enjoy the delicious fruit and the last gift from the one who loved you,  knew you , and then you would crawl into the wall and finally let yourself die. 

You broke apart the sanguine peel tepidly, body slow with exhaustion and resignation. When you lifted the first bite to your lips and bit in to the citrusy flesh, a riotous, mutinous little thought spread through your head like a disease. 

What if you just went outside? Wouldn't there be food, and other people like Annie? Surely, it cannot be all bad. 

You continued to eat away at the fruit until only the hollow, curling peel remained, standing stock still in the little house you had spent your whole life waiting to die in, stomach aching and urging you to just go outside- it can't be so bad, there are other people out there, just like you, and surely they would have  food.

Your eyes swung to the threshold of the kitchen, body turning and feet readying to carry you out there. You just needed to find something to eat- you wouldn't be any trouble at all. Maybe you could find the rosy scent of Annie and-

A knock sounded on the door, angry, insistent. You turned towards it in a daze, body moving like a spectral being as your thoughts coalesced into a low thrum urging you towards food, towards  help. 

You took one step before a voice boomed out, startling you out of your reverie like ice water had been poured on you. 

“Open up! It’s inspection time.”

The men were here, and they were outside the door calling for your father- a man who could not answer.  

You bolted back into the alcove with a start, shaking hands sliding the door into place behind you. When Father was alive, this part of the routine had been tense, and short lived. The knock would sound, father already ensuring you were locked up tight with his freshly worn clothes swaddling you before he would make for the door. You would hear his steps retreat from the kitchen, and press your ear to the wall to make out the faint sounds of The Men inquiring with your father at the front door, and then it was over. Now, you descended into nightmare.  

“Alright then, we’re coming in!” The voice called out, sounding more irate now, and then the sound of the front door crumbling followed. 

Time moved slowly, every breath you took making you feel fainter and fainter, until you heard his steps descending, louder and heavier than any that had ever been in the house before. The wooden boards creaked and heaved, until you were certain the visitor was right outside your hiding place. And then, for the first time in your life, something strange happened. Cutting through the vestiges of Fathers scent, the scent of home, was something new. Your eyes widened in alarm and wonder as the scent of things you couldn’t name curled around you, seeping in through the seams of the wall panel.

And in the span of a warbling breath, it happened. In the same moment you stole a lungful of air in through the moth bitten wool of your fathers coat, you remembered, and you knew it was over. Even through the crumbling fabric, you could taste his spiking scent, filling with anger and arousal.

You had forgotten the orange peel on the floor.

In the end, your fathers last gift to you was only a scrap of evidence that you were here. You heard him start to speak, and then all hell broke loose.

Chapter Text

Seconds after his teeth sunk in to the pliant flesh of the girls neck, her little body went slack in his arms. Poor thing must've fallen unconscious, her racing heartbeat starting to slow as Konig watched a thin trail of blood fall down her neck, realizing distantly that he had overdone his marking. Pulling her towards him, he licked up the coppery trail almost absent minded. Horangi shuffled awkwardly behind him, uncertain how to proceed after the impulsive display. Konig spoke first, righting his hood before the man could start with any tentative chastisements. 

"She reeks, and she is going to die soon if she doesn't get something to eat. Continue making your rounds with the others, I am going to take her back to Price."

His answering, "Understood, sir," hung in the air for a brief moment of hesitation before the other man must've decided better of it and his steps retreated, shaking the walls of the little house as he went. What a terrible place to live, he mused. 

Turning to take his leave, Konig paused for a moment and sat the girl down on the table, arm looped around her back to keep her upright as he worked the musty coat off of her with disgust. As more and more of her frail form was revealed to him, anger over her visibly famished body spread through his veins like an antidote to his roiling arousal. How could this girl have gone on so long like this? A perfectly good little mate, left here to die. He had heard of deranged, undesignated parents endeavoring to hide their children when they feared what they did not understand, their ignorance making them try to spirit their kids away, afraid they might present as an Omega- but he had never encountered a case that had clearly gone on for so long. He took in the lack of her scent in the rest of the house, mostly concentrated in the cramped little nest she had made in the wall. The velvety floral scent was tainted with her fear and pain, mixing together with the rot of the house and making a putrid concoction. There would be time to question her on her circumstances later; for now, his first order of business was reporting to Price his little discovery, and getting her bathed and fed. His patience was running thin, desire coiling low in the pit of his stomach as he called upon gossamer strands of restraint. 

Stripped down to her nearly threadbare clothes, he dropped the coat to the floor and made to take her away without so much as a backward glance. He had had enough of the little shithole for the rest of his life, and she wouldn't be needing any of her sparse belongings anymore. 

His lungs expanded in a rush the second he ducked under the sagging door frame, greedily sucking in fresh air as his strides carried him back to base. He could hear the sounds of his envoy continuing their rounds throughout the village, no doubt gossiping about the little incident as they went through their otherwise monotonous day. Several heads turned towards him as he went, alarm and curiosity on most faces, arousal and interest on others. He bared his teeth at the handful of men that were stupid enough to let their gaze linger for too long, committing their faces to memory and promising himself to handle their disrespect later. His hands tightened on the little rat instinctively, fingers flexing as he willed them to relax. She would suffer enough bruises at his hands, in due time. 

When the barracks came into view, Konig's senses heightened further at the deluge of competing scents, familiar to him but no less irritating. By the time his hand was descending on the door to Price's office, his aggravation was peaking. Two short knocks later and he was summoned inside, adjusting his girl in his arms as he pushed the door open and then shut behind him. Price sat at his desk, curiosity open and awash across his stern features, visibly bemused. 

"What do you have there, Konig?" He asked curtly, leaning back in his chair as he ceased the paperwork he had been engrossed in. His men were known for ... occasionally lacking restraint when it came to whores, but were otherwise very aware of the control that Price expected them to exhibit, which was precisely why he could not fathom what Konig was doing with a young Omega girl in his arms, let alone one that was freshly claimed. It was their job to bring them to the Crown's education centers unharmed, unmarred, and absolutely unclaimed; who the girls went to was absolutely not up to them. Price could feel a tension headache blooming behind his eyes as he thought of the bureaucratic shit storm he was going to have to sweep under the rug to get the hire-ups to turn a blind eye to his colonels little... impulsivity. Still though, the honeyed scent emanating from the little body in his arms was enough to pique even Prices interest, blue eyes rapt on the way Konig's fingers curled around her. He needed a fucking cigarette. 

"Found her in an uninhabited house, sir. No guardian to speak of, no mate either. She was obviously in hiding."

Price let out a hum of acknowledgment, going along with the little game of pretending that any of that information mattered. 

"Right then. What are you going to do with her, Konig?" Price leveled his gaze at him then, wincing as he watched the covetous entitlement shine in his eyes. The poor bird was truly unfortunate in her fate. 

"I intend to keep her as my mate, sir. Been meaning to settle down for a while now." An outright lie, followed by, "Get some food in her, nix the disobedience, and I think she'll make a fine wife."

Sighing and shaking his head, Price said a little prayer for the girl and decided that he had heard enough. "Dismissed. And Konig? Try and take it easy on her. She looks young." 

"Of course, sir." He responded, mirth seeping into his voice as he carried her out of the room. 

Poor thing, Price mused. Oh well, it couldn't be helped. The door clicked behind them resolutely, and Price turned back to his paperwork.

By the time Konig had reached his room, he had decided that his first order of business was bathing the pretty little urchin, skin prickling with aggravation as the lingering scent of her father wafted off of her. Prices open appraisal hadn't helped calm his nerves either- Konig had no intention of sharing her with the others. They would have to find their own.

He had settled her still sleeping body on his bed and moved into the bathroom, warming up the shower when he heard her start to stir. He stood in the doorway, watching as she slowly came to, eyes blinking open blearily. She made to sit up and take in her surroundings, the pathetic motion halting with a jolt as understanding and panic took over. Her wide, scared eyes locked with his, world narrowing to the slip of a girl on his bed. His chest rumbled with appreciation as her heartbeat started to spike again, scooting back on the mattress like a spooked colt. "Where am I?!" She bit out in a rush, eyes darting to and from until they settled on the front door with a palpable weight. 
"I would not try that if I were you, honey." No sooner had he gotten the words out, and the girl was scrambling to the exit with a singular focus. Her naivety washed over him in waves, the scent of her fear and confusion mixing with his own, instincts screaming at him to chase. The second her fingers touched the knob, he had flattened her out against the door, knee going between her legs and hand pressing her face to the door by the back of her neck. "Now what did I just tell you, hm?" He murmured to her, hood brushing against the shell of her ear as he stooped down around her, coiled around her like a viper waiting to strike. 

The swiftness of his movement must have startled the tears of out her, big watery eyes crying openly now as he cooed at her, mocking her fright as he shushed her. "Please, please let me go home. I won't be any trouble, I will stay out of the way! I don't want The Men to take me, I am supposed to be in my home!" She argued with an ignorant ferocity that truly startled him, her conviction and lack of understanding registering sourly. He grabbed her chin then, fingers pressing into her flesh as he turned her wobbly face to his, speaking lowly to her. "Listen to me, pretty girl. I don't know what you think is happening right now, but whatever your life was before, it's over. Your parents are dead, and you are mine now, for me to do with as I please. You are never going home, baby." At his last admission, she started to weep in earnest, shaking her head wildly until he tightened his grip with enough force to bruise. Sighing, Konig picked her up, ignoring her frantic protests as he carried her to the shower. He kicked the door closed behind him and attempted to set her swinging feet down to the floor, stoney in the face of her useless struggling. Realizing that the little rat was not going to stand up for him, he sat her down on the counter with a tired sigh before her started to pull her soiled clothing off of her. She let out a shriek then, before her little hand flew out and landed a blow on his covered face with a resolute smack. It didn't hurt him- the sensation barely registered underneath his shock and anger. No, the pain was not the point. "That's enough!" He bellowed at her, growling at the squirming brat in his arms, growing sick of their little game. One hand coiled it's way around her matted braid, jerking her head back quickly as his other hand wrapped around her slender throat. He looked into her wide eyes, lips curling as he applied slow pressure to her neck until she started to gasp and looked like she might just be ready to listen. "If you do not stop fighting me this second, I am going to bend you over my knee and paint your ass red until you cannot sit for weeks. Do you understand me?!" He asked her, whole body flinching as he gave her a little shake. She whimpered, resignation coming off of her in waves as she went slack on the countertop. His blood was pumping, cock straining against the confines of his pants angrily as he resumed stripping her. Deciding to show her a small mercy, he reached up and pulled his hood off, realizing that it was probably scaring her even more. She stole a surreptitious glance at him then, and he preened openly at the sight of her compliance, tattered clothing falling away to reveal her smooth, quivering skin. Her pretty little nipples hardened, body reacting to his ministrations despite her fear, and he groaned as he stooped to take one into his mouth eagerly. She stiffened, letting out a startled shriek once more, hands rising to push his head away instinctively before the low growl he emitted registered and her hands tensed in his hair uselessly. Laving over the bud thoroughly, he savored the feeling of her little hands tightening and then going lax in his hair, over and over as she fought with herself and the desire he could taste starting low in her belly. 

Pulling away from her ruefully, his hand found the waistband of her pants, pulling them down and away in one impatient motion. She hiccuped as she cried, lower lip warbling as his eyes dilated at the sight of her, breathing in the waves of her devilwood scent. Still though, traces of her fathers stench remained, and he lifted her up and off the counter, pushing her towards the shower with a little shove. She looked at it unsurely, her fear spiking as it dawned on him that his doll had probably never seen a shower. He huffed out a laugh at her terror, giving her a little shove and reassuring her calmly, "Go on, it's safe." Though she had no real reason to believe him, she complied, stepping into the hot water with a jolt before she flattened herself to the wall farthest from him. He tugged off his shirt then, dropping the garment to the floor and lips curling in wry amusement as her eyes squeezed shut and the blush that had settled high on her cheeks deepened and washed down her chest. His hands fell to his pants, working his belt open with a relieved hiss as he stepped out of the pants leisurely, mind calming as his ward cowered in front of him, safe in his home and with no more offensive clothing hiding her from him. 

Despite her tightly closed eyes, she still jolted when she heard him step into the shower, exhaling hotly as he relaxed into the water and lifted his hands to her little body. His dick twitched as she jolted, visibly trying to shrink away from him despite having no where to go. Sighing, he tugged her towards him, fingers wrapping around her bicep as he held her upright as she slipped. Pulling her flush against him and relishing in the feeling of her soft stomach sliding against his cock, he tapped his fingers along her cheek to get her attention back on him. Her eyes fluttered open, looking anywhere but at him until he spoke. 

"Do you understand how being mated works, little one?" He murmured to her curiously, breath rushing out of him as she slowly shook her head, 'No'. Jesus fucking christ, he was going to devour this girl. Turning her around abruptly, he focused his ministrations on getting her clean and in his bed as quickly as possible. He would take her in the shower another time. 

Fingers finding the end of her braid, he tugged the cord from her hair and started to rake his fingers through the tangles, letting the strands fall into the water, easing the locks apart from each other as he undid the plait. Despite his reputation for being a brute, Konig knew the value of taking good care of his things. Her shoulders started to droop as she leaned into his touch, obviously starving for affection and naive to his intentions. He wondered, not for the first time, how miserable her life had really been up until then. She could have had a normal life, had friends and lovers and memories, but her insipid parents had ruined all of that for her. More for him, he mused hungrily. 

Ignoring his weeping erection, he worked her hair into a lather, realizing that he would have to get some oil for her hair later. Rinsing her hair, he moved on to work the soap over her body, growling as she stiffened. She wilted again, hanging her head resolutely as he resumed his task, hands grabbing and testing her flesh as he went. So little, soft and slippery. Her voice broke through his declining thoughts, lilting and small. "What is your name?" She asked him shyly, eyes downcast as he turned her back to face him and wash her front. He dropped to a crouch in front of her, still taller than her as he sat back on his haunches. His hands guided the water down her body, touch greedy as he worked to rid her of the soap remnants while he spoke. "Call me Konig, little one." 

"Your accent is strange," she said quietly, before she seemed to think better of asking him anymore questions, supplying him with her name instead. He hummed in acknowledgment, finishing up rinsing her and leaning forward to press open mouthed, hungry kisses across her abdomen. Finally, he could only smell the honey-sweet scent of her, mixing with his soap and satiating the possessive urges roiling through him. She let loose a little whimper then, calling his attention upwards as he unfurled, resting on his knees and slotting his mouth over hers. She let out a startled gasp, fear and confusion spiking again as he forced his tongue into her mouth, coiling inside the cavity to savor as much of her taste as he could. His lips moved against hers unhurriedly, hand wrapping around the back of her head when she tried to pull away from him. When he was finally done exploring her mouth, he pulled his lips from hers, trail of saliva falling away as he rose to his full height to turn the water off. Sensing the change in the air, her eyes darted from his face to his cock, before landing on the door. He shook his head at her, hushing her as she started to ask him what he was going to do with her. He grabbed his towel, passing it over his thrumming body and drying off his short hair roughly before he draped the towel over her little shoulders, barking out a laugh at the way the fabric engulfed her. He dried her off quickly and efficiently, squeezing the water out of her hair and pushing her out of the shower once more. She stumbled, unsure and flighty as he opened the bathroom door and pushed her towards the bed. He watched as she unconsciously rounded towards the door, calling her name out in warning until she froze. Her hands made to wrap around herself then, either in some pathetic attempt at modesty, or to stave off the chill that was starting to wrack through her. 

"Get on the bed, liebling." He called out to her, body tense and daring her to defy him. Much to his satisfaction and slight disappointment, she did no such thing, acquiescing silently and scurrying over to his bed. She looked so small next to his things. She turned to look at him then, shaking and wide eyed, scent spiking and looking so god damn fuckable Konig thought he might have died and somehow clawed his way into heaven. He stood there for a moment, basking in his luck, before he strode towards her and picked her up underneath the arms, setting her down on the mattress and following her body up the bed. His hand found her shoulder, pushing her flat onto her back as he crawled up over her, arms landing to cage her in on either side of her head as he finally pressed his hips down into her with a hiss. Ecstasy bloomed under his skin, restraint and patience disappearing as he ground his body against hers. He threw his head back with a groan, kicking her legs farther apart to properly settle himself between her legs, the scent of her pussy unencumbered now and filling his head until his mind was nothing but static. 

His poor little rat did not necessarily agree, crying again and digging her grave deeper as she started to try and squirm away from him anxiously. Each drag of her hips against his only made him more desperate, leaning down to bite and lick up the column of her throat before finding the mark on the junction of her neck as he drove his hips down into hers more forcefully. She let out the sweetest, saddest little cries he had ever heard, each sound going straight to his cock as he worked himself into a barely contained frenzy. Only when his hand wrapped nearly around entire middle, did his movements stall, brain helpfully reminding him that he was going to have to take his time working open her little cunt if there was any hope of her taking his cock. Pushing himself up from her body, his entitled imploring fingers trailed down her squirmy body, long digits finding their mark as he groaned. Despite the confusion and fright, the little dolls body was just as worked up as his was, finger sliding through her wetness and pressing into her tight heat with a strained grunt. Two little hands wrapped around his wrist, desperately trying to push his hand away as she fought the intrusion into her pussy. 

"Please, don't!" She called up to him, bambi-eyed and crying with renewed intensity as his finger pressed deeper, reveling in the way she clenched around him before he pushed another digit inside. He shushed her then, admonishing her swelling panic as he started to pump his fingers into her tight heat. "It hurts!" She said again, pleas falling on deaf ears as he worked her open on his hand. "You sweet, stupid girl, it is only going to hurt so much more. I am not even fucking you yet, baby!" He bit out at her, fingers pushing in before pulling back out, over and over as she quivered and thrashed. He let his little liebling fight, watching as she started to tire herself out with all of the wasted protest. Despite her efforts, her sweet little cunt was dripping down his palm, body starting to spasm and shudder as she inched closer and closer to her peak. Balefully, he realized this was possibly her first orgasm, her scent finally starting to expand and bloom, unfurling from the soft milky fragrance he had first gleaned from her and transforming into a much more potent, fervent scent. His other hand moved to press tight circles against her clit as he coaxed her through her pleasure, teeth grinding together as he spoke, "That's it sweetheart, cum for me so I can fuck you proper, honey." He curled his long fingers inside her, surging down to press his lips to hers again, swallowing her pretty little cries as she crashed over the edge, cunt gushing around him as he wrung the orgasm from her quivering body. Pulling back to let her take in staccato breaths, he pressed a third finger against her entrance, sinking into her tight heat with a growl as she shook her head tiredly, "No!". Her protests poured out of her while her pussy milked his digits greedily, brain and body fighting each other. 

Konig retrieved his sticky fingers from her slowly, savoring the drag of her fluttering walls and watching as his hand poured out of her, fingers smearing her wetness against her swollen cunt as he went. "I am going to fuck you now, liebling. I really recommend you relax, doll. This is going to hurt." He hummed out his chastisement as she instead resumed trying to scramble away from him, her futile movements only feeding his desire to break her in more and more. He let out a sigh, one hand gripping his length as the either pressed into her stomach, pinning her to the bed. "Have it your way then," he mused, notching the head of his cock against her cunt and giving his hips a roll. "Fuck!" He ground out, body straining as he fed more of himself into her tight, wet little pussy, inch by fucking inch. She cried all the while, shaking her head frantically as she begged him to stop, fanning the flames of his desire with each press of her little hands against his chest. Her cunt was a god damned vice around him, and he told her so, obscenities falling from his lips deliriously as he started to fuck into her. He tried to take his time with her, to let her adjust- he really did, but each wiggle of her hips, each pleading little no spurred him on, desperate to seat himself fully inside her weeping cunt. When he finally bottomed out inside her, his head fell to her breast in ecstasy, his hips shuddering flush against hers as she wailed. Praises fell from his lips like ichor, tongue laving over her pretty little tits as he started to fuck her. 

"Fuck, such a good girl!" He bit out her name, pushing himself up to look down at her stupid, fucked out little face as his drove himself into her over and over. Her eyes glazed over, petulant little protests turning into reluctant little keening moans, body sliding up the bed with each plunge of his cock. "There she is," he murmured, "There's my dumb little girl," hand sliding up to wrap around the back of her head, cradling her and carding through her damp hair as he pushed them both closer and closer, drunk on the feel of her and the sound of her squelching pussy. "You're mine now, liebling. Do you understand me?" He spoke down at her, reveling in the sight of her cock-drunk face, watching as she babbled out her agreement, leaning in to press his biting lips to hers, eating up each little concession with swelling pride. Pulling his hand from her hair, he reached down to thread his fingers through her little ones, tugging her hand until it rested against her stomach. He pressed down, watching her face crumble all over again at the feel of his dick pressing against her little tummy. "Do you feel that baby? Feel me all the way in your stomach?" Her eyes screwed shut as he goaded her, making him fill with irritation once more. Konig drove his hips down with a punishing thrust, unthreading his fingers from hers so he could pinch her face, giving her head a little shake. "Look at me!" He ground his hips down hard enough to bruise, relishing in the tears that fell from her pretty, sad eyes and hissing out his assent as she gazed up at him. "You are going to look at me while I cum inside you," he demanded, hips speeding up then and hand falling away from her face to focus on wringing her mutinous pleasure from her once more. He was immediately rewarded by her cunt growing impossibly tighter around him still, her little body drawing tighter and tighter as he fucked into her, spurred forward by the spreading feeling of his own orgasm overtaking him. She came undone with a wail, pussy gripping him hungrily as he fucked her through it, shifting back to sit on his knees as his hands moved to wrap around her hips, pulling her back onto his cock like his very own dumb little doll, pleasure overtaking him with a snarl as he buried himself to the fucking hilt in her warmth. "My god," he bit out, voice low and rough as he filled her. Her sniffling registered then, little body breathing hard as she stared up at him from red rimmed, glossy eyes, pliant and obedient as he slowly pulled himself out of her with a hiss. He watched as his spend dripped out of her with rapt attention, pride blossoming in his chest as he pressed his seed back into her swollen little cunt. "H-hurts," she cried out softly, eyes beseeching his for absent mercy. He hushed her, clucking his tongue as he pushed himself up and away from her with a groan. His neck cracked deliciously as he rolled it, basking in the post coitus haze and breathing the scent of their sex in deeply. "C'mon then, let's get you cleaned up. Back into the shower for you, and then you need to eat," he told her, tugging her up and off the bed and into his sweaty arms, bone deep satisfaction overtaking him. He didn't miss the way she seemed to visibly brighten at the mention of food, shy eyes finding his. This little arrangement would suit him just fine.

Chapter Text

You were boneless, too spent to keep yourself from nestling into his arms as he carried you back into the strange water room. Your head felt like it was full of cotton, body throbbing lightly when he rested you on your feet in the same alcove he had before. Konig reached out, twisting the knob that let the water out. The water that burst out was frigid, dousing you in an icy chill as gooseflesh spread over your kickstarted body. Shrieking, you made to bolt out of the awful washing stall when corded, warm arms wrapped around your waist tightly, lifting you off of your feet and pressing a rumbling laugh into the crown of your head. “You have to wait for the water to warm, little one.” He admonished you gently, and there was a teasing lilt to his voice that made you grumble. Tensing, he walked you both back under the water while you tried to shrink back into him, desperate to stay out of the icy downpour. Hot water washed over you instead, and you whimpered as he set you back down onto your feet, warmth pulling the chill from your flesh and melting away the last reserves of your energy. Slumping, you stood under the water and waited for him to start passing soap over your sticky flesh. 

“What is this called?” You ask him suddenly, equal parts comforted and on edge as his massive hands kneaded and cleansed your skin. His touch pauses for a moment, his fingers resuming making idle circles on your hips when he speaks. “It’s a shower,” he explains softly, urging you to turn around with firm pressure on your side before his hands curl into your bruises and lift you up, guiding you back and pressing you into the wall of the shower, he called it , knee coming up to nudge your legs apart. “W-wait,” whimpering and curling your fingers into his shoulders, you keened lowly when you felt the blunt head of his cock press against your sore entrance again, pushing inside without preamble. Konig’s face fell down to yours, lips swallowing your feeble protests as he pressed his tongue into your yielding mouth in tandem with his cock splitting you open. He sighed contentedly, rocking into you with satisfaction so palpable you could feel it radiating off of him. Mixing with the soap swirling down the drain, you breathed in the blooming scent of cloves, whimpering at the intrusion. Kissing was strange , not at all like you had pictured it based on the couple of storybooks your father had read to you growing up. His tongue was hot and wet and searching, pressing deeply into your slack mouth. Occasional scrapes of his teeth against your bottom lip sent shivers wracking down your spine despite the warmth of the water, opening your lips wider and wider, begrudgingly relishing in the pleased groans falling from his. He pulled back slowly, grinding his hips into yours deeply once more, pumping into your pussy a couple of times before pulling out of you with a slick sound that filled you with embarrassment. His hands lowered you down onto the floor once more, rinsing your hair out and untangling the locks with surprising gentleness. The water was turned off, and you were wrapped up inside a fresh, fluffy towel. Konig carried you out of the shower, and if you had any more energy left you would have reminded him that you could walk on your own. You said nothing, and he set you down gently on the countertop while he switched to drying himself off lazily. Burrowing into the towel, you watched him surreptitiously through your eyelashes. Steam hung in the air, a thin film coating the mirrors and preventing you from peering at yourself in the reflection. You were starting to nod off, slumping into yourself as you watched his lethal body ripple while he passed the towel over his damp skin. Diluted soap was still detectable, but in the heady washroom you were coaxed closer and closer to sleep as you pulled in breaths of his clove and cinnamon scent. 

You couldn’t help the fat, resigned tears that fell from your eyes when the large man rounded on you, brushing the towel off of your shoulders and pressing himself into your tender flesh again , pain and pleasure blossoming low in your belly as you both watched his impossibly large cock bully its way back into your smaller body. He was insatiable, but there was a slowness and tenderness in his ministrations that belied softness you didn't expect from him. Shushing noises fell from his lips as he wrapped one hand around your slender throat while his other fingers sought out an anchor on your hip. Keeping you perched on the edge of the counter there, Konig rutted into you reverently. “We have so much lost time to make up for, liebling.” He appeared to be muttering the words more to himself than to you, and shortly thereafter he was sliding you off of the counter, arm slipping under your backside and cradling you to his chest while he kept his cock seated inside you. You were starting to forget what it felt like to be empty of him. 

Padding to the bed, he settled you both on the edge and slipped himself out of you, shooting you a sharp glance to ensure you knew he wanted you to stay in his bed. Unbeknownst to him, you had absolutely no intention of leaving the softness and warmth of the bedding below you, nestling into the used up linens that still smelt like both of you. Too much had happened in such a short span of time, and all you wanted was to drift off. The adrenaline that had been pumping through your body had abandoned you, leaving you with nothing but the side effects. Your stomach cramped painfully, eyes slipping shut as you took shallow, unsteady breaths. There is a knock on the door, but it doesn’t register in the echoey chamber of your emptying head.

Konig moves to the door, opening it calmly. If you had enough presence of mind to watch him, you would have flushed with secondhand embarrassment at the large man accepting the platter from the outstretched hands with no regard for his nudity. Distantly, you hear the door shut again, and you barely rouse when the bed dips heavily below you. Your quiet captor situates himself in the bed beside you, cries falling from your swollen lips when you feel his hands encircling you again. “ Pleeease ,” you mumble nonsensically, wanting to be left alone to sleep forever. He just clucks his tongue at you, pulling you upright and positioning your slumping body in his lap languidly. Bristling with worn out agitation, you keep your eyes shut tightly and try to ignore the motions of your bully. Calloused fingertips press into your lips while Konig jostles you, and the way that you move to nip and bite at his digits is involuntary. Contended and jovial, Konig just chuckles at your aggravation, ignoring your silly defiance. 

“Open, little one. You need to eat,” he informs her plainly, unbidden warmth blooming in his chest as you start to rouse at the mention of food. Your heavy eyes part, scent of food finally registering as you stir in his lap, hand darting out to grab something from the platter mindlessly. You cry out in frustration and sadness when his large palm smacks into your reaching hand. “Why?!” You pout up at him, tears pooling in your eyes as your antagonist keeps you from eating the delicious smelling food sitting right beside you. Your stomach rumbles loudly, shoulders slumping while you draw in a big breath to voice your anger- Warm eyes stare down at you mirthfully while he presses something cold and fruity to your lips, mouth opening automatically to let him push the food into your waiting mouth. “Eat, liebling.” He speaks softly, watching as you start to wolf down the grape. Not realizing what he wants from you, your hand darts back to the tray again, reaching for something you have never seen before greedily. Konig swats your hand away again, and you bristle, letting out a little ‘ hey!’ at him, confused as to why he would tease you like this, you’re so hungry you’re going to die if you don’t eat something right now- he presses something soft and juicy into your mouth, ignoring your anger and resting his thumb against your lower lip while you moan and chew the sweet, syrupy fruit. 

Her scent spikes, and he strokes her damp hair possessively while he watches her disposition brighten. 

Perhaps the third time's the charm, because when she is done wolfing it down, she stares up at him beseechingly instead of reaching for the food on her own. He lets out a low, satisfied grumble at her developing subservience, grabbing another piece from the platter and pressing it into her mouth. Her lips are open and waiting now, and his cock is still aching and hard for the slip of a girl in his arms, covered in his scent but still filling his room with the soft, honeyed scent of her own. She moans unbiddenly as he continues, slumping deeper and deeper against his chest as he takes his time feeding her every piece. Konig notices how her scent brightens the most when he feeds her one thing in particular, and he almost smiles when she indeed asks him around a mouthful of fruit, “what is this called?” 

“They are peaches, little one.” he murmurs to her, filing the information away for later. “Peaches,” she tries the foreign word slowly. He leans, reaching for the decanter on the bedside table and pouring her a glass of water when she is about halfway done with her food. He holds it up to her lips, watching her eyes grow heavier and heavier as her hunger starts to abate. She takes a small sip before pulling away, and he tightens a hand in her hair to straighten her head back to the rim of the glass. “More,” he tells her, and she wrinkles her nose but complies, drinking more deeply. Once she has emptied most of the glass, he lifts it away from her, finishing it off before setting it back down. He feeds her a bit more, answering her each time she asks what she is eating, ‘cheese, doll. Grapes. Cherries.’ enjoying her curiosity and sweet tooth. When he is certain that he has fed her enough to keep her safe for now, he adjusts her in his lap before pressing himself inside her cunt once more. She wriggles and grumbles in aggravation, but he just presses another peach to her pouting lips chidingly, knowing she won’t fight him too much while he feeds her. 

Head falling back with a groan, Konig fucks into her pliant body slowly, in no rush to chase his release, more concerned with basking in the warmth and wetness of her walls wrapping around his cock. His fingers follow the fruit into her mouth, leaving his thumb inside the cavity and pressing down onto her slippery tongue. He fucks her slowly, rythmic thrusts unhurried as she switches to sucking on his finger mindlessly. He can feel her nodding off before startling awake once more, barely keeping herself awake while he works himself in and out of her tight, slippery channel. “Sleep, sweetheart. You can rest now.” He tells her, pleased with the feeling of her limp body on the precipice of slumber. She starts to protest weakly, but he grinds his hips up a little firmer, tip of his cock pressing warningly against her cervix, and she finally just slumps back against him, gone. Her head lulls back against his shoulder, mouth slack, and he curls his fingers into her hips while he resumes bucking into her. 

You wake up alone, warm and sleepy, sated and full for the first time in your life. Your stomach is full, your body relaxed in the lavishly comfortable bed despite the thrumming ache and bruises peppering your body. You sit up reluctantly, remis to leave the warmth of your nest but needing to relieve yourself. You glance around the room, confirming that you are indeed on your own, before sliding your naked body out of the blankets and starting towards the washroom. You take your time, using the facilities and stepping up to wash your hands, trying to familiarize yourself with the strange faucet. Successfully turning the water on and rinsing your hands before shutting the valve back off, your eyes caught on your reflection in the mirror suspended above the sink basin. You stare at yourself in wonder, having only ever seen glimpses of your face in the couple of murky shiny surfaces in your home. You see pieces of your mom and dad in your features, take in the tangle of your hair and the purple mottled marks on your throat, accompanied by the red, raised bite mark on the junction of your neck. Your fingers lift to trail over it, stupefied. 

The door clicks open before you hear it press shut, and you perk up at the spicy scent of Konig returning to his chambers. You pad out into the main room slowly, energy and sense restored enough that you move cautiously. Fragmented memories of the night before flit in the back of your mind, and your cheeks ignite in a flush as you try to overcome the shame of standing naked in front of him. Your arms wrap around your body in a facsimile of protection from his sharp gaze, and you shift nervously on your feet as you wait for the man across from you to speak.  His hood is back on, and he says nothing, instead reaching into his dresser and grabbing a shirt, moving towards you. “Arms up,” he tells you, and you begrudgingly do as he says, averting your eyes. He towers over you, slipping the shirt over your elevated arms, tugging it over your head smoothly, and dropping the long fabric to let it pool down your body. The shirt falls below your knees, covering you more like a dress would. The fabric is clean, but you can still detect the residual scent of him burrowed into the fibers of the cloth. 

“We are going to go into town today,” he said by way of answer. “You may get provisions for our home here.” 

Our home, he said. Was this your home now? Shifting uncomfortably, you nodded slowly, unsure what to say. Despite your hesitation, there was a bubble of curiosity inside you, terror and eagerness mixing together at the thought of going outside. Konig crouches down in front of you, dropping down to be more eye level with you before he speaks next. “There are two rules, love. You will not leave my side. If you do, I cannot protect you, and your life is forfeit. You will not speak to anyone aside from me unless I give you permission. Do you understand me little one?”

Fear overtakes your curiosity as reality sets in; you are stuck somewhere away from your home, held captive by the man in front of you. The very reason that your body is aching and bruised, the reason your neck is scarred and throbbing. He crouches down in front of you like an apex predator, and you have so many questions , but it is hard for you to sift through the panic coursing through you, white noise and static humming in your brain. Your instincts are screaming at you to run, to sprint for the door and out into- you don’t know where, but it has to be better than this, right? Except, your treacherous mind barters with you, you are fed and warm. The bed here is soft- and it isn’t like there is anything left for you in your old home…

You nod robotically, movement coming out in a hurried jolt as you make your decision. He stands to his full height, body uncoiling to loom above you as he turns to exit the room. He opens the door and stares at you expectantly until you realize what it is he is waiting for, scooting out the door nervously while he turns and locks it behind you. He starts down the hallway at a leisurely pace, which has you nearly jogging to keep up with his long strides. You are wide eyed- head on a swivel as your gaze swept back in forth, brain trying desperately to catalog all of the things you were seeing ( and smelling, you noted distantly) as you traversed. People, mostly men, milled about the busy building, many of them conversing with each other as they went. Several pairs of eyes lifted to take you in, the majority of which you did not notice. The few moments of eye contact you incidentally made with the strangers around you were short lived, too distracted to notice the way that Konig’s scent was sharpening, spiced scent rounding out into a grainy, whiskied fragrance. The people around you did notice it however, each of them averting their curious gazes accordingly. You continue to scurry along behind him before the two of you round a corner, opening up into some sort of common room that has a large, ominous looking door. Handfuls of people are milling in and out, and each time it opens your heart beats faster at the glimpses of outside . Foreboding ripples through you, and you can’t help the way your hand darts out to grab at Konig’s hip, fingers curling around his belt loop in a cheap attempt to ground yourself before you exit, frozen on the spot. “Cooperate with me love, and I will get you more peaches.” He promises mirthfully, and you perk up at the mention of the sweet fruit, feet traling along behind him once more.

Unbeknownst to you, Konig softens, reminded again of your sickeningly sheltered upbringing. It won’t do any good to coddle you, but he makes a point to slow his steps for your smaller stride. 

You hold on for dear life, blood pumping through your body in a white hot thrum as you push through the doors, olfactory senses immediately overwhelmed with the scents that awash you. Your free hand shoots up to cover your eyes, squinting uncomfortably while the noon sun beams down on the crowded town. Everything is so bright , and loud! You stumble, trying to right yourself as he pulls you along, indifferent to your overload. A million pieces of conversation lilt around you as more people than you could ever imagine mill about. Konig stays the course, guiding you to an unknown destination while you try to reconcile that this is the very same world that was always outside your door.

Your neck is craned to the side, looking at what appears to be some sort of food shop with rapt attention when Konig comes to a sharp stop, movement halting abruptly. Stumbling into him, you press your hands against his side to try and right yourself while you look up at him curiously, mouth parting to ask him why- 

“Whatcha got there, Colonel?” The voice that interrupts your would be question is slimy , and your hair stands on end as you turn to look at the man standing in front of Konig. He is talking to Konig, but his eyes stare directly into yours, blue eyes shuddering and shimmering with something that made you want to shrink behind your captor. “She is none of your concern, Graves.” Konig’s voice is a low rumble, and his scent is darkening again, souring further and reminding you more and more of the liquor your father used to drink. You think you can make out the other man’s smell as well, and your nose wrinkles at the putrid scent of rotting oranges wafting off of him. Konig tenses, Graves dropping onto his haunches sharply, coming down to a crouch in front of you. Unlike Konig who doesn't budge at the movement, you flinch back involuntarily, trying to create distance between you and the newcomer. “He’s no fun, is he sugar? What’s your name love?” He asks you softly, eyes roving over your face keenly. You almost open your mouth to reply out of habit, before you press your lips together firmly, remembering Konig’s words. ‘ You will not speak to anyone aside from me unless I give you permission.’

You stare, refusing to break either of the rules, weary of averting your gaze. Somehow, you got the feeling that looking away from him would only spur him on. Konig must have been satisfied with your silence, because he spoke clearly then. “Do not address my ward, Graves.” A roiling growl starts to build low in his chest, tension crackling around you as you unconsciously start to press yourself behind Konig. Just as fast as he had lowered himself into your space, Graves is standing back up and clucking his tongue, choosing not to respond to Konig, instead calling after you with a “see you next time, pretty,” tossing a wink at you before sauntering away, whistling a jovial tune. 

You only relax when Konig does, resuming his steps down the street. Your brain is booting back up, heartbeat thundering in your chest as you breathe deeply once you are far away from the scent of rancid fruit. By the time you reach your first destination, you are calming back down, breath evening out. Konig reaches out and opens the door to a small shop on a quiet stretch of the street, holding it ajar while you pass underneath his outstretched limb. The two of you enter the shop, and your eyes widen when you realize it is a tailors boutique. Clothing fills the space abundantly, every surface covered in bright fabrics. A young man comes up to greet you both, asking Konig softly what he could help with. “She will need enough clothing made for a full wardrobe, and ideally some pieces to bring home today.” He answers, making his way over to a chaise and settling deeply into it while the clerk nods and begins gathering pieces for you. He guides you into a fitting room before turning to show Konig the fabric samples. He nods his approval and refuses the swatches that are not to his liking with a dismissive flick of his fingers until the tailor has enough information to bring you pieces to try on. You start with a couple of simple skirt designs, excitement fluttering in your chest at the quality and softness of the fabric. Konig signs off on each style, and you try on a pair of svelte trousers next. You open the curtain to step out again, and he bristles before shaking his head no, informing the tailor, “no trousers.” 

The other man nodded and they switched over to a couple of different blouses before running through a handful of dresses, each one a different weight and style for various seasons of the year and occasions. Was he planning on getting all of this?   

The last item on the agenda is trying to find you a few pieces to take home with you, and the tailor finishes taking your measurements for your order, using them to select the best ready-made garments. “I don’t have much that will fit her- her stature is smaller than average, truth be told. But I did find this, and I will rush your order, sir.” He extends his hand, letting Konig view the dress before passing it into your hands. At his nod, you take it into the fitting room and pull the curtain closed behind you. You slip into the garment carefully, beaming as you see the pretty, pale yellow drape over you. It was a simple day dress, with thick comfortable straps and little white flowers smattered across it. The bodice is snug against your body, yolk wrapping around your waist comfortably, skirt falling down to your shins in soft waves. You reach back to try and tighten it around you, but puff out a sigh when you realize you aren’t going to be able to lace it closed on your own. 

You reach for the curtain slowly, shyly peaking out to see about getting some help. The tailor is nowhere to be seen, but Konig notices you immediately, quirking his eyebrow as you hide yourself behind the drape. “Can… can you help me with the laces, please?” You ask him hesitantly, relaxing slightly when he only nods calmly, seemingly unbothered by your request. However, he does not stand to help you, remaining seated and waiting for you to come to him instead. Hands clutching the bodice to your torso tightly, you skitter over to him and turn, standing between his legs with your back to him. When you feel his hand reach up to drag your hair off of your shoulders, you are helpless to stop the shiver that wracks through you at his warm touch. His calloused fingers are surprisingly deft, lacing the dress up with relative ease. You relax further under his repetitive ministrations, comforted by his touch against your better judgment. His warmth is seeping through the fabric of the dress, and between the slide of his digits against your back, the sight of his long legs caging you in while you stand between them, and the heady, cloying scent of cloves and whiskey wafting off of him, you start to feel like you are burning up. Flushing, you shift on your feet to try and distract yourself before you feel him draw the laces tight with a firm tug, wrapping the remaining length into a tight bow. His hands come to rest on your hips resolutely, and you feel him rise slightly behind you, breath fanning over the back of your neck. He hums appreciatively, fingers curling more firmly into your hips, pulling you back into his torso until you are flush with him. Sitting down on the low sofa behind you, you almost match him in height, giving him perfect access to the tender flesh of your neck. Pushing up his mask just enough to expose his mouth, Konig’s lips roam over your skin hotly, tongue darting out to pass over the scar he left the day before. You shudder, eyes growing heavy, head swimming in a way you don’t fully understand. Your lower belly is tightening strangely, butterflies erupting in your tummy under his fingers. 

“Show me,” he murmurs, pushing you away from him softly. You’re warm all over, feeling like you are in a trance as your head swims. You step farther away from him, giving yourself enough room to twirl softly, smiling and flushed at the dress swishing around your legs. “Mm,” he mutters lowly, mask already back in place as he leans back while his sharp eyes track your every movement. “We’ll take it, and she will wear it out.” He calls out sharply to the clerk who comes around the corner at Konig’s voice, the other man nodding and replying that he is ready for them at the counter with some other items. There is a large assortment of hosiery, hats, shoes, and -much to her mortification- undergarments spread across the surface for his review, but Konig just flicks his hand in ascent and proceeds to pay for it all. Your heart races, bewildered at his actions. Despite your feverish daze, he is nonplussed as he grabs the handful of bags the shopkeep passes him, thanking him for his business before they turn to leave. You feel like you can’t breathe normally, warm and starting to itch all over as you step outside. 

You try to subtly take in large breaths of the fresh air once you are free of the shop, but it doesn’t make much of a difference for your spinning head. Regardless, you follow behind him quietly as Konig begins leading you back to his home, relaxed enough to let your clammy hands rest against your new dress. 

You hadn’t noticed it before, but as you neared your destination you spotted a small looking brick store, vines wrapping around its facade wildly, large windows giving you a glimpse at the stacks of books inside. Your face lights up, unable to keep your stride from turning towards the building. You take a couple of steps towards it without realizing you are trailing away from him, stopping abruptly to turn back and ask him if you could even just look. You squeak in surprise when the large man is directly behind you, hand coming down to rest on your shoulder and turn you back around. His foot gives yours a little nudge playfully, expressing his permission wordlessly as he pushes you along. You bound into the store eagerly at that, feeling safer and happier than you could remember ever being. A bell tinkles lightly as the door swings up, and you turn in a circle, marveling at the stacks of what had to be every book ever made stretching from floor to ceiling.

Looking at him for confirmation and watching his answering nod, you trail through the store in a trance, fingers trailing over the spines and pages as you mulled over the sheer volume of texts. You looked up shyly, glancing around subtly to see if Konig was watching you still. It seemed like he had remained near the shop entrance, and you could hear low conversation in the air as he spoke with the clerk. You slunk over to a section of books that had brighter colors and thinner spines, spotting the colorful illustrated covers with relief. You thumbed through a couple of the titles, choosing all of the ones with the prettiest pictures before wandering to a different section of the store. You found some art supplies nearer to wear Konig was standing patiently, beseeching gaze continually darting to his face to search for signs of impatience or anger. Each time you found none, so you added some sheets of paper and a little round of paints to your stack, selecting a couple of brushes and some ink, too. When you glance back at him to tell him you are finished, there is something dark glinting in his eyes. He isn’t angry you don’t think- no, he looks hungry. You shift nervously, confused by the change. Did you do something wrong? 

“Did I… choose too much?” You ask him nervously, confusion broadening when he responds darkly. “Get whatever you would like, liebling.” He says it like it is a challenge, not an offer, and your spine goes ramrod straight as you start to put the pieces together. It isn’t that he is lying to you- no, he means it when he says that you can have whatever you want- but the glimmer in his eyes and tightness of his voice tells you that his generosity will come at a price. The oblivious shop keeper stands behind the partition dully, tidying up his workspace while the two of you stare each other down. You waver, breaths coming out in short, choppy puffs as you vacillate between shrinking under his ravenous gaze, and setting your spoils on the counter, sealing your fate. You clutch the items to your chest tighter, reasoning with yourself that no matter what you do, this man is going to devour you again. Your stomach tightens again, the butterflies that appeared there in the dress shop never leaving you. 

You swallow thickly, walking up to the counter before you can change your mind, setting your selections down on the counter with trembling, clammy hands. He is on you in an instant, big warm body pressing you into the counter shamelessly while the clerk averts his gaze. You can feel his hardness grinding into your back, Konig’s neck angled down to cage you in further. 

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” He asks you softly, and the inferno scorching through your body intensifies when you see the movements of the rushing clerk falter. The other man continues to try and wrap your items silently, eyes downcast as the larger man seems to take up all of the space and oxygen in the entire shop. “Answer me, maus.” His voice is sharper now, threat hanging in the air audibly at her lack of reply. “Y-yes,” you stutter out hurriedly, voice sounding high pitched and foreign to your own ears. Konig pauses for a moment, and you wilt when you realize that he is reviewing your selections intently. He holds up a hand silently, and the other man practically jumps out of his skin in his haste to freeze as instructed. You watch as Konig’s long fingers reach out to flick open the pages of one of your books, skimming through them thoroughly before repeating the action on another title. You squeeze your eyes shut in mortification, realizing that you’ve been found out miserably. “Add a few of your best selling novels,” he bids softly, hand falling away from the stack and coming to rest on your head instead. His blunt fingernails rake over your scalp, shivers lighting up your skin as embarrassment eats you alive. The shopkeeper only hesitates for a moment before he does as instructed, adding a handful of books to their pile and finishing bagging them robotically. A short conversation passes between the two men as Konig pays, but your ears are ringing so loudly that you don’t hear a word they say. 

The bags are passed to Konig who slips his free hand down to your waist covetously, guiding your wobbly form back outside. You are in a daze as he leads you back to his home, sights and scents barely registering as you capitulate into a thrumming panic. You are ashamed, your stomach still feels hot and tight and strange, and you are terrified of what the man walking you along is going to do with you once you are back in his chambers. Overstimulation capitulates through you, taking over like a parasite. Everything has a price, and Konig hadn’t deceived you; he had made his intentions as clear as day when you chose to let him buy you the treats. You are outside his door too soon, world narrowing to his fingers placing the key into the lock. Feeling like a cornered animal, you watch him turn the key, other hand still full of the bags lining up his arms, and you realize that for the first time since he found you in your nest, he seems distracted. 

You bolt. 

Chapter Text

It takes less than a minute for you to realize the severity of the mistake you have made, but it doesn’t matter. Your bare feet are slapping against the floor below you as you dart past the bodies occupying the hallway, stumbling into them as you frantically scramble for the exit. Your feet sting, unused to the harsh treatment, and you are unbridled wild instinct incarnated as you try to find your way to the exit. You have no idea where you will go when you leave, but there has to be somewhere you can hide. You will leave for the woods if you have to. The density of the crowd increases, hope blossoming in your chest that you are drawing closer to the entrance when you crash to a halt, dazed and so disoriented you think you might be sick. Unyielding arms wrap around your waist, inadvertently lifting you off your feet as you kick and thrash to be let go. 

“Hey, easy kid. Hey- Easy!” His voice shifts from cold and placating to liquid anger in a second, and your instincts shift into a different gear without your consent, body freezing in his arms at the threat in his voice. “Jesus love, what the fuck has you so worked up…” He trails off slowly, hesitantly setting you back down on your feet so he can get a better look at you. His hands never leave your abdomen, fingers still sunk into your flesh in silent warning. You look up at the man then, chills shuddering through you when your eyes fall onto the patterned mask concealing his face. His eyes are flinty and cold, the skeletal mask disconcertingly suited to him while he assesses you. Your chest is heaving, breaths falling out of you in short staccato breaths. He is deathly still before you, and your eyes are watering before you can pacify yourself- whimpering at the fear mixing with- with something else you don’t understand, something hot and heavy in your belly that had been wearing you down all day. You fruitlessly test his grip, weakly trying to pull away from him, but you know it’s over. Taking a deep breath to try and compose yourself, you are overwhelmed with the scent of rain, of petrichor and something else you can’t put your finger on. Your body feels heavy and strange, like you are made of ichor and syrup instead of bone and flesh, and your lips part, eyes unconsciously dilating up at him. He smells good , and you melt further into his hands as your brain shuts down. 

The familiar scent of spices and liquor hits you like a strike of lightning, electric shock shuddering through you like someone hit factory reset. Your terror crests through you anew, but you are too hot and stupefied to react. You can tell he has come up behind you by the way that your current keeper lifts his eyes above your head, letting out a low sound of understanding as he puts the pieces together. 

“Simon,” he says the man's name calmly, but there is a lethal edge to his voice when Konig speaks. Somehow, your body flushes even hotter at the sound. 

“Konig,” he replies flatly, cocking his head so slightly it’s almost imperceptible. Despite the electric tension coursing around you, you can only manage to stare up at Simon’s eyes with hooded, heavy lids. You float there and wait for your fate to unfold when you are spun around so swiftly your head lolls back, eyes squeezing shut as you try not to retch. You are pulled back into the body of the man who still holds onto you tightly, whining at how hot you feel. You just want to take off your dress- you want to take a cold bath, want someone to press into the ache low in your belly and make it better. You don’t see the way that Konig lurches forward, barely managing to stop himself when he sees Simon's hand shoot up to wrap around your throat in warning. You squirm at the rough treatment, only stilling when the grip gets even tighter, bruises surely blooming underneath his touch. 

“Simon,” he begins again, a growl roiling through his chest at the other man helping himself to your flesh. “Give her to me, now.” His rage is palpable, scent souring and growing more and more bitter as Simon takes a step back, walking you backwards with him. Konig snarls at the motion, starting towards them again before Simon speaks, “Any closer and I will snap her fucking neck.” He sounds so calm when he says it that you have no doubt he means it, pulse skyrocketing even more underneath his deadly grip. Your new antagonist takes two more steps backwards, putting just enough distance between you and Konig that he steals a moment to drop his head down towards you neck, murmuring softly to you, “You smell so fucking good underneath the scent of that filthy fucking dog love.” His words are honeyed and placating, and you can’t help the way you melt into his touch. You preen underneath his compliment, unsure why you are so satisfied at the thought of pleasing him. He seems to be spurred on by the way you go slack in his hands, walking you back more hurriedly as Konig tracks forward in sync, matching his stride so as not to get too close or increase the distance between the two of you. “Doing so good for me love,” he says coaxingly, and something in Konig fucking snaps when he sees the way you writhe at the sound. He surges forward sharply, and you cry out when fingers dig into you hair, tugging your head to the side briskly while the weight of another settles on your neck, starting to twist your body out of alignment. 

“Stop, please!” You finally have the presence of mind to say something as pain shoots through your neck. 

Both of the men halt their movements, and you start to cry in earnest when you realize that this is it, you’re going to die here, he is going to break your fucking neck and-

“BOYS!” The voice that cuts through the charged atmosphere is booming with authority, both Simon and Konig tensing at the new presence. 

“What the fuck are you two thinking?!” The man shouts at both of them, unphased by the murderous energy rolling off of the two goliath men in waves. 

“He is trying to take my mate ,” Konig says, teeth grinding together so hard that the last word sounds like it was barely able to pass through his lips. 

Simon scoffs, “She is not your fucking mate. You barely even smell like her. She hasn’t bit you yet, has she?” Simon poses the question like an insidious threat, like he already knows the answer but you don’t.

Konig freezes, visibly straightening at the other man's words.

“Ah, she hasn’t then,” Simon sounds so smug, validated enough to take another step back and Konig roars , bellowing at the defiance. 

“For fucks sake, both of you, that’s enough! You are both acting like teenage boys right now, don’t make me fucking demote you both,” the third man spits the words like venom, just out of her line of sight. Konig and Simon flinch, weighing out their next actions carefully. 

Price grumbles in disbelief, walking between the two of them to look at the girl causing all of this fucking trouble. Her pretty osmanthus scent was burnt, sticking to the roof of his mouth as he looked at her flushed, tear streaked face. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, breaths stretching against the bodice of the pretty yellow dress she wore as she neared a panic attack. Surprisingly, the smell of her arousal was also heavily present in the air, and Price steeled himself against it, focusing instead on the way that the two miscreants reeked. “I will not allow this kind of ruckus, girl. Do you understand me?” He asked her, rolling his eyes at the way Ghosts fingers pressed into her flesh when she tried to nod. “For fucks sake Simon, that’s enough. ” There was no room for argument in his command, and Simon reluctantly released the hand in her hair, letting the one that had been coiled around her neck fall to her waist instead, petulantly. 

“Konig, I thought I made it clear that the girl was going to be your responsibility.” He turned to address the taller man, narrowing his blue eyes as he waited for an explanation. 

“You did, sir. It will not happen again. Simon just needs to release her, and I will take her from here and discipline her accordingly.”

Rolling his eyes, Price turned his head to look at Simon tiredly. “Finders keepers lad. Let her go.” Simons fingers tightened in your flesh for a long moment, before releasing you altogether. He stayed rooted behind you, hands twitching to make contact with you again when he speaks curtly, “If you do not mate her properly, I will bite her myself and keep her. If she does not bite you, I will not fucking hesitate next time.” 

The words hang in the air thickly, and Konig bites out sharply, menacingly, “The next time you see my wife, she is going to be bred and round- and if you ever touch her again, I will kill you my fucking self.” 

Price is staring at you expectantly, and through your haze and disorientation you barely register his raised eyebrows. You push off of the stormy man behind you, stumbling weakly past Price and into the waiting arms of Konig, slumping into his too tight embrace and inhaling his clove scent deeply. “Can I… still have some peaches?” You ask him, delirious and slurring your words. Your world pitches on its axis again, sluggish brain not realizing you have been lifted into long, strong arms and you are being carried back to your room briskly. The door slams shut, and you distantly realize you are being tossed onto a bed, little hands reaching up to tug at the neckline of your dress, desperate to cool down. 

“You stupid, ungrateful little rat! ” He bellows, and it dawns on you that you have never heard him truly yell at you, not really. The sound of it is so loud that you burst into tears. “Is that what you wanted?! Hm?!” He spits down at you, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you angrily as you try to curl away from him. “Did you want someone else to fuck you? To knock you up? Was I not good enough for you?” His words are biting, dripping with so much condescension that guilt unfurls in your gut, slimy and cold and awful . 

“No! I am sorry, I am so sorry!” You wail defeatedly, burning up and drowning in regret. 

“Look at me, little one. Now ,” he tacks on, body engulfing you on the bed, grip digging into your jaw and angling your warbling face to his. You lock eyes, but the fact that his hood is off doesn’t register until the electric tension between the two of you snaps when his teeth sink back into the throbbing scar on your neck. You writhe underneath him, pain barely surfacing underneath the pleasure and heat engulfing you as he applies more pressure to his mark. He only pulls back enough to nip his next words into your skin, bites peppering your throat in between each word. “You are mine , do you hear me you stupid fucking girl? ” 

Apologies fall from your lips breathlessly, distracted by the sensation of his hips pressing down into yours incessantly. Konig is grumbling about you smelling ‘like him’, pressing angry, open mouthed kisses all along your chest and neck, laving his tongue along your flesh greedily. Your pupils are blown so wide he can barely see the color of your irises, and his breath leaves him in sharp gasps when he realizes just how far gone you are. 

He rights himself hastily, pulling you up along with him crassly before positioning your trembling limbs how he wants them, holding you between his hands like you are made of doll parts before he pushes you down, pressing your chest flat into the mattress while he hikes your hips up higher over his lap. He rucks the skirt of your dress up until it pools around your back, and he groans at the sight of your exposed flesh, still not wearing any undergarments. Your thighs are slick and sticky, arousal coating them in a thin film, and the ‘ fuck!’ that falls from his lips is guttural, unbridled lust coursing through him as he kneads the flesh of your ass. He is still furious , but his world narrows down to the apex of your thighs. You try to lift yourself up once, only for his large palm to flatten across your entire back, pushing you back down into the bed in one swift motion. He growls in warning, free hand reaching down to slip his fingers through the wetness of your cunt, shudder wracking through him at the sensation. “I have been too lenient with you, little one,” he murmurs down at you, and you break under the admonishment in his voice and the sight of all of the things he had bought for you scattered across the floor. “I am going to make sure you learn your lesson, and then I am going to fuck that tight little pussy until you are screaming , until you are fucking unconscious , and I am going to fill you so fucking full of my cum that you will be dripping with it for days,” he is hissing, spitting down at you while his fingers burrow into your cunt and start pumping relentlessly, “and I am going to keep your ruined little body in this bed until I know I have fucked a child into you, so everyone can see what a good little whore you are for me!” Your climax shatters you, arching so deeply that your back strains under the movement, seeking the press of his fingers inside of you while you gush all over his hand, screaming your release into the sheets before you sob, legs tremoring and shaking as you come down. You are soft and pliant under his hands, too fucked out to register what he is saying when he murmurs down at you, “30. Count them all, baby. If you miss one, I start over.” 

When his hand comes down onto your ass, the sound you make is barely human. Aching, fiery pain mixes with your delirious arousal as you cry, and his next words are colder than the water you stepped under that morning.

“Count them all, baby. Last reminder.” 

His hand comes down again.

Chapter Text

König knows that he is not a good man. In fact, he would go so far as to say that he knows he is a bad man. As a countermeasure to his own deficiencies, he has often tried to make a point to be a man that almost always keeps his word. Whether he was making a promise to his mother or an oath to a comrade, he wanted the things that he said to carry the weight of truth and finality- unless, of course, it didn't serve him. As such, it is with no small amount of alarm that he realizes he is on the precipice of breaking his own rule when he looks down at the crying, wrecked body of the girl in his lap. She had barely managed to make it to the count of eight before her words became unintelligible, little cry's bubbling out of soft lips that he wanted to bite, nearly inaudible with the way her face was pressed into his mattress. Her thighs were slick with her own arousal, and the sweet scent of her had blossomed into such a thick citrusy cloy that he was salivating with need and hunger. Pitiful, he thought to himself as he watched her writhe- and he knew that even he could not be so deplorable as to truly break his little stowaway- there was no point if there was nothing left for him to play with. Silently reducing his promised punishment, he buried the faint ebb of what he thought must be guilt under a layer of brick and mortar in his icy heart, and instead let his fingers sink into the soft flesh of her ass, kneading. The girl groans, head turning slowly to try and speak to him, and he is hollowed out when he hears her quiet, hiccuping, "I'm sorry." 

"You're sorry, baby?" König cannot help but taunt her, dangle his forgiveness in her face, using the prospect of absolution as a means to lure her further into his trap. "Speak up, if you are going to apologize to me." He tells her lowly, fingers tracing the soft flesh that borders her sopping cunt while she tries to wiggle herself closer to his seeking touch.

"I am!," her words are choppy but clearer now, resolute in her determination to please him. "Please," she says beseechingly, and König hums to himself, knowing that he has her right where he wants her.

"Please? Please what, liebling? Please don't take all of your things back to the store? Please don't take you back to your hovel? Don't stop feeding you? Hm?" He urges her, fingers trembling with the amount of strain he is exerting to keep himself from touching her where he wants to the most. 

She is still crying, big glittering tears falling from her red eyes as she tries again to cant her hips back, too focused on the prospect of release to parse through his words. "Pleeease, make the ache go away." 

"Tell me where it hurts," he offers her, cock growing impossibly harder with the way she moans and supplies, "Everywhere, my belly, my head, a-and it's so hot in here." 

König just clucks his tongue at her, letting his hand come down onto her backside without any bite, just the chastising weight of his hand as a reminder before he asks her, "Do you know what a heat is, liebling?" She shakes her head ruefully, still determined to angle her hips better with his circling fingers, blissfully unaware of her own state of mind. More pieces of his anger at her impulsive little display earlier abate, a deep rooted possessiveness and satisfaction filling the void at the notion that he will truly be there for her first everything. "Your body is seeking out a mate," he explains slowly. If she has more questions later, he will humor her when she has enough presence of mind to understand the things he is telling her. "You know you have me, if you choose."

He dangles the idea of relief just in front of her, plants the seed of belonging deep inside her addled brain so that it may take root the same way her scent did under his skin. The knowledge that she had nearly escaped him is still stinging his eyes, still ringing in his ears like white noise, and there is a panicked ticking to his heartbeat at the dawning acceptance that he has resigned himself to this naive, foolish girl but she has not yet chosen him. He is shaking slightly, a tremor shivering through him with more urgency than when he has had a gun pressed to his head as he stares down the possibility of her rejection, and he knows that he will burn the world down before he lets that happen. She will choose him- she must, because despite everything, König would swear under oath that he had no choice. "Do you want me to help you?"

"Please, I am so, so sorry-" she is trailing off into incoherency as he shifts her in his lap, looping his arm underneath her to pull her upright, turning her until her legs straddle his and her little hands brace themselves against his chest. She is burning up, eyes unseeing and glassy, staccato breaths leaving her in short bursts as she squirms, shifting uncomfortably against the hardness beneath her. His fingers sink into her hips to the point of bruising, control and focus pulled wire taught as his world narrows to the throbbing bruise on her neck, free hand reaching forward to tip her chin up and supply, "Bite me." 

The words leave his mouth with reverence, with urgency and haste and the echo of the last nail being sunk into a coffin, and the two of them dangle there on the edge for a moment while she starts to nod up at him. He nods back at her, digits falling down to her neck to stroke at the lone mark there, and every ligament and tissue in her body goes rigid with animal understanding. 

The cord snaps.

She sinks forward, little hands pulling him down so that the flesh of his neck might meet her opening jaw, and then her teeth latch on and bite. His hands are buried in the back of her hair, holding and pressing and sinking against her skull as he groans, so deep in his throat that he is almost whining, the two of them sewing themselves together like a patchwork quilt until there is no beginning or end to their edges. The girl is quivering against him, his skin still pressed between her parted lips and the 'Fuck' that falls from his lips as he realizes she is sucking on his bruised, open flesh is reverent. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he reluctantly pulls her mouth away from him despite her keening protests, reaching down to undo his belt. In that moment, he is 15 again, green and clumsy and nervous as his hands fumble with the fastening of his pants, and the affection he feels for the girl in his arms blindsides him so fiercely he is almost sick with vertigo, hips stuttering to try and shimmy out of his clothes so that he can finally just be inside her. They are panting, lungs expanding and contracting solely on the air shared between the two of them, and when he finally presses his aching flesh against hers, she is so slick that he has to hold her hips still to notch himself at her center. He will never be sure which sounds came from who, only that he thinks perhaps they both died, resuscitated by the feeling of his weeping, throbbing cock finally seating itself inside her cunt until her hips sat flush against his, no space to separate them remaining.

König is not a good man- but he will take care of this girl, covet her and foster her inside his malformed heart if it means he can keep taking from her. She is too boneless now to comply or to protest, and so he just holds her up and over him while his hips drive into her yielding body over and over. He stoops down, pulling her head back just so that he can lave his tongue over his mark on her neck, sucking and biting and nipping as he mindlessly fucks them both closer to the edge, a man consumed. She is all he sees, all he can smell or taste or feel as she cries and comes apart alongside him, body burning up as she begs for things she does not understand, boneless and blissed out as she is used. "You are mine," he tells her, pressing the words into her flesh, "You are mine and you always will be." He fucks the words into her, mouth and cock and fingers all consuming in time like a well oiled machine manufactured for her ruin.

He watches her rapturously as she nears the end, her climax quickly about to boil over with the way her sweet, sopping pussy tightens impossibly more around him, broken, breathless cries falling from her lips as she flutters around his cock. "Perfect, perfect girl," he tells her, and it is true. There could never be anyone more made for him, anyone better suited to take his length or warm his bed.

"Perfect fucking cunt," his hips stutter, rhythm faltering as her peak begins to consume them both and launch him headfirst into an orgasm that is so intense he is almost cold as the euphoria slithers up his spine, fingers bruising and pulling, growls tumbling from his open, panting mouth as he pulls her down onto him while she falls apart, tears streaming down her face over blushed cheeks as her eyes roll into the back of her head and she cums, body shrieking and back arching like an alley cat as she gushes around him and he is fucking gone. Animal sounds and unintelligible curses erupt from him as he presses his cock so far inside her he knows it is hurting her, grip tightening around her throat like a shackle as the base of his cock swells, filling her with his spend as they are locked together. A handful of breathless, shaking moments go by before König realizes that she is unconscious, limp body stretched over his still throbbing cock and knot as her heartbeat starts to decrease and regulate. 

He leans back, letting the back of his head hit the headboard with a blissed out sigh as he pulls the sweaty, sleeping girl against his body and allows his eyes to close for a moment. If this really is her first heat, and at this age, she is going to need him to be as rested as possible to see them both through this. The flush is still ever present over her soft skin, but her pallor is a little more normal as her body gives her a brief respite. 

Awareness dawns on you slowly, waking from sleep in stages as your senses reboot. The soft sounds of rustling sheets, the smell of something sweet, heat against your back. You shift slightly, rousing, and still when a hand splays across your abdomen, gentle shushing coming from the man behind you. Your cheeks light aflame when you realize to your mortification that he is still inside you, hot and warm and positively too big for your sore and aching body. Your head is pounding, and every piece of flesh on you is peppered in deep bruises that throb in time with your rising heartbeat. König's hand that is not pressing into your abdomen is holding a book, long fingers making easy work of balancing the text open. It doesn’t look like anything you could try and interpret- too small words crammed together on the page endlessly, and your eyes wander around the room as you try and piece together your memories. Too tired to protest, too exhausted to be terribly fearful, you sag back into König, begrudgingly acknowledging that his warmth is a balm to your aching body. Distantly, you remember the delirium and panic that overtook you when you returned back to his quarters, and play over how that panic had led you on an escape plan that was doomed from the start. Your backside chooses that moment to start stinging bitingly, chiding you for forgetting that afterwards König had doled out a punishment you didn’t think you would survive- evidently you did- and then… “Are you awake now little one?” 
The combination of his roughened voice and the recollection of the way you had… bit him make you squirm, thighs unconsciously attempting to press together with the aftershocks of that heady, feverish feeling that had consumed you. “I’m awake,” you supply quietly, surprised by the hoarse quality of your own voice. 

“Good. It's time to eat.”

Your stomach growls, corroborating, and you can't stifle your abashed squeak when he shifts to set his book down, hard length dragging inside you with every move he makes. Without thinking, you risk a glance down at your conjoined bodies. Your legs are astride his hips, splayed open so that your view of his cock pressing into your swollen, sticky entrance is unobstructed. The sight is so obscene that you squeeze your eyes shut, leaning forward to slip away from him so you can eat as he had suggested. Any remnants of your dignity long since gone, you whine petulantly when he keeps you firmly pressed into his lap, shallowly thrusting into you once to make sure you understand the point he is making, and your shoulders droop in defeat when he reaches for food (the sweet scent that roused you earlier) to bring up to your bitten, broken lips. He feeds you lazily, intermittently fucking into you while you make your way through the food until only a few scraps remain. The peaches are still your favorite, and that familiar guilt over your defiance earlier washes over you once more. 

The room around you looks like a war-zone; boxes from your trip into town are still strewn across the floor, along with piles of soiled bedding, and the entire room is stuffy. No matter how comforting you find the way König smells, you can't help but wrinkle your nose at the musty scent surrounding you both. Bits and pieces of remembrance trickle in until you are vaguely aware of the events of the last few days. It had all past in a frenzied blur after you bit him (why had you bitten him, anyways?), faint traces of your begging and arousal and desperate need only overtaken by the covetous, dark way the man behind you had possessed and filled you, mind body and spirit. 

He hands you a glass of water to wash away the fruity remnants of your meal, setting it down on the bedside table before reaching for his discarded book once more. "Would you like to learn to read, liebling?"

Your head swivels to face him so quickly your neck smarts with pain, but it does not register against the stupefied, eager joy you feel. "R-really?" You ask by way of answer, unable to quell your swelling hopes despite your better judgement. Anxiety sets in like a harsh cold front, and you backpedal quickly. "No.. that's okay- I am not smart enough to learn, I will only anger you."

"Nonsense. Are you questioning my abilities to teach you?" 

"N-no!" You bite out, horrified, "No that isn't it at all! Only that I don't even fully know the alphabet, and I don't want you to waste your time on me like that..." His reply is a wordless one, shifting you in his lap- and his still hard length inside you in tandem, positioning the two of you so that your eyes can comfortably rest along the pages of text in his hands. Hope and disbelief stew in your gut, eyes tracking the lines of script that you have always imagined understanding, had always begged your father to teach you. 

König reads to you slowly, and your mind traces the sound of each word lovingly. He winds his way through the book all the while pausing to instruct you, 'this is the letter, E It is a vowel, too,', and you are too fixated to notice the tears falling down your cheeks until his thumb reaches up to wipe them away. He shushes you softly, a rumbling sound moving up his chest and pressing into your back as he closes the book absently. A choked gasp falls from your parted lips when he lifts you up and away from his body, the slick, sticky slide of his cock withdrawing from your center audibly. You are blindsided by how fiercely you miss it, how badly you want his heat to warm you from the inside out. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then you can put away your things."

Put away your things... how strange. 

Chapter Text

"... two weeks. You'll leave tomorrow. Brief the others."

"Yes, sir." He says succinctly, face placid despite the words tasting like ash. Two weeks gone. Two weeks away. Two weeks of her being alone. Fuck.

It wasn't like he wasn't expecting this. He knew his job superseded his baser desires. They were mated now, the fact that she was his, unquestionable. Regardless, the thought of leaving her here for a single day- let alone fourteen- had his blood running colder than having a gun pressed against his temple. As perceptive as ever, Price seemed to sense König's hesitation, but he was having none of it. The older mans eyes narrowed.

"You're dismissed, soldier." 

König nods once, jaw clenching as he exits the office. 

Something had shifted after her heat. König would not describe himself as nicer per se, and his little one was still too malleable for her own good- but it was harder than usual to ignore the way she softened him. The girl was a lot of things- naive, uneducated, fragile, but not stupid. She had proven to be a quick study, determination and intelligence spurring her along as she slowly learned to read. She was starting to fill out, too, the hollow shadows between her ribs slowly receding, soft flesh replacing the depressions with each bite of food he pressed against her lips. She had taken to bickering with him more than he had anticipated, her little face scrunching up at him in annoyance when she found him particularly disagreeable. But, the little dormouse was also developing a habit of burrowing deeper into his chest when she woke each morning, of lifting pieces of her food to his lips, insistent that she share with him. 

Her devilwood scent lingered in their quarters, on his skin and clothes and hair. More blankets appeared on his bed because he knew she got cold in the mornings when he left. After a particularly heated argument about how he would not get her anymore peaches until she ate something more substantial, their frustrated, frenetic coupling had her leaving angry red bite marks on his neck while he fucked into her. He had wrenched her head back with a furious pull of her hair, only to grit his teeth in aggravation when he realized he liked the idea of her marks on him. He had fucked her a little harder for that, daring her to say something about the way his cock throbbed in time with her kittenish bites. 

When he opens the door, he freezes. A frown tugs at his lips, and König brusquely shuts the door behind him. "What do you think you're doing, sweetheart?" The endearment is a warning, a knock off facsimile that says, tread lightly. If she could, he thinks she would probably hiss at him, but instead she wrinkles her nose, shoulders hiking up as she stares him down from across the room. "You bought them for me! They're mine!" If she wasn't such a slip of a thing, he might've been taken aback by the fierceness of her declaration- but as it was, it was hard to take any of it seriously with the way she sat, perched on his counter, surrounded by empty chocolate wrappers. She had become a bit of a fiend for sweets (not that he could blame her, what with the miserable, pitiful way she had been living) but this behavior was new for her. 

König hums, tugging his mask off and unlacing his boots by the door languidly, holding her gaze. He watches it falter at the realization that she, in fact, has been caught red handed, and he has no intentions of letting this misstep go uncorrected. "Is that so, little one? Because I seem to recall paying for them. I also recollect telling you that they were a treat, that I would give you as I see fit." In no hurry, his boots get set on the mat with a soft 'thump', mask forgotten on the floor, before he rises back to his full height and starts towards her. Unsurprisingly, that gets her to stir, and König watches her bright, watery eyes flit back and forth for a second before she tries to slip off the counter and bolt. Too little too late, his hands circle around her waist at the same moment, suspending her there as she squeals and kicks her feet in protest. "Let me go!" 

"So you're a little thief then, is that it? Hm? After everything I've done for you?" His voice is quiet, the baritone steady and unperturbed by her petulant behavior.

"I-It's not stealing, because they're mine!" His riotous charge insists, still flailing about fruitlessly. His fingers dig into the yielding flesh of her little waist to steady her, and his cock twitches eagerly in his pants at the feeling, at the sight of her dangling between his hands like a doll. He clicks his tongue chidingly. 

"I've been too lenient with you, liebling. That is my fault, not yours. Regardless, you stole- no, do not argue with me." She stills, her protests quieting at the sudden severity creeping into his tone, falling limp in his grasp as her lower lip wobbles, eyes swirling with fear and adorable frustration. 

"No more treats for the next two weeks. I am leaving on a mission, and you obviously behave like a greedy glutton when you are unsupervised." She starts to open her mouth to argue, rosebud lips parting, but she quiets again as he sets her back on the counter, a little whimper leaving her as he shoves her legs apart and crowds into her space, his fingers reaching for his belt. 

"Have I spoiled you too much baby?" König makes no attempt to conceal the condescension in his voice, instead letting it drip like venom, his heart rate rising in anticipation as she wilts before him. Her resistance and defiance melt off of her like oil slick, only to be replaced with the delicious obedience he craves. Her mouth opens and closes several times, and he smirks wryly at her inability to decide whether or not to agree of argue further, before she settles on a pouty, sulking, "I'm sorry..." 

His length slipping free from the confines of his pants, König reaches his hands up to cup her face, digits intertwining behind her head like a cradle as his thumbs brush up and down her cheeks. Her skin is so soft beneath his calloused touch, and a shiver runs up his spine at the juxtaposition as he presses forward, hips flush against hers as he grinds against her lazily. "You should be." His words are direct and cold, and they both know he means them, both know that he is relishing in her error- in the opportunity to hold it against her. Tears have pooled in her waterline, and they break loose slowly, falling down her flushed cheeks like the ticking of a metronome. Their eyes remain locked as he pulls his hands away from his sweet, stupid girls face, fingers finding the hem of her dress and pushing it up her akimbo legs that struggle to open wide enough for his hips. König pulls her panties to the side haphazardly, finding her slick despite herself, and notches himself at her core. He has no intentions of making this good for her- quite the opposite actually, and with that in mind he thrusts into her harshly. König tsk's at her derisively as her cunt struggles to accommodate him, enjoying the way her flush deepens and spreads down her chest, little whiny moans sounding from her as he sets a brisk and firm rhythm. "Is this what you needed, my pretty, dumb girl?" The pump of his hips is relentless and punishing, length pressing in a little too deep with each thrust, wanting her to bruise. One hand grips her hip, idly stroking circles against her flesh as König reaches his other arm up to spread her tears across her cheeks, thumb finding her mouth and pressing against her lips. When she takes a moment too long, his hips drive against her a bit harder, thumb pressing down warningly until she opens up for him compliantly. "There she is, my good girl. It's not your fault, is it? You're just a stupid girl who needs me to remind you how to behave- aren't you, liebling?" He punctuates the question with a particularly harsh stroke, reveling in the way she cries out, her hands finding his shoulders and digging in uselessly. 

"I'm sorry!" Her apology is so much more earnest when she is spread out around him like this, body stretched too far for her own good, and König groans in satisfaction, fucking her faster, making sure to shift the angle of his hips just so when he notices her start to enjoy herself a little too much. "No, baby- thieves don't get to feel good- sit still." He can feel his release building at the base of his spine, the world reduced to her, but he grits his teeth and wards it off, focused on her crumbling visage. "Does it hurt?" He asks her, nearly snarling and driving his hips into her harder still, balancing on the precipice of dangerous as he starts to lose his control. "Is this what you wanted? Did you want me to catch you?" The question is rhetorical and pointless what with the way she is babbling nonsensically, her hands cycling through clinging to him and pushing him away desperately, coherency long gone. 
König is drowning, sinking into the undertow as his blood thrums in his ears with the swiftness of a flash flood, lips crashing against her parted, sugared ones as his tongue presses into her mouth relentlessly, drool and saliva coating her chin as she cries into the echo chamber of his open maw. His fingers are shaking when they find her hips, pulling her up and against him in a desperate frenzy, cursing when she wraps her little legs around his waist. He stoops to lave at his mark on her fragile neck, scraping his teeth against it and groaning loud enough to make her flinch in his grasp. “What do you fucking say?” He’s hissing, practically snapping at her jugular like a rabid dog as his orgasm begins to overtakes him, his hips erratically driving up into her sopping cunt. In the end, it’s her feverish, broken voice that sends him careening over the edge. “I’m sorry!” 

Stars alight behind his eyes as he bites down on the brand at the juncture of her neck, emptying himself into her warmth as blood floods his mouth. Giving, taking. The groan that rips from his own throat is guttural, violent, and hardly insulated by her weeping flesh in his mouth. König’s hips stutter with aftershocks, as the air slams back into his chest, pulling in desperate, heaving breaths against her throat as he pumps his softening length inside her, basking in her hiccuping cries, in the bone deep satisfaction unfurling inside of him. 

When he lifts himself away from her neck to readjust them both, she sniffles before hiding her face in his chest resolutely. He stiffens, irritated by how quickly disobedience is returning to her- but, he supposes he can allow her foolish shyness on the eve before he leaves. König sighs, one arm looped under her ass to keep her against him, unwilling to leave the warmth of her core as he carries her to the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up before dinner. Your face is covered in chocolate.” She only whines in response, pressing her face  further into his sweaty skin. He holds her like that for a quiet moment, letting the water warm as his free hand comes up to hold the back of her head, the gesture more tender than he is willing to admit. 

“I am leaving in the morning, Liebling. You will behave when I am here, and you will behave when I am gone. Do you understand me?” The vitriol is drained from him, but his voice is still level and absolute as he waits for her answering reply. 

She nods before seeming to sense the insufficiency of her response, saying, “I really am sorry. I’ll be good. Please don’t take all the treats away while you’re gone- I promise I’ll make them last.” 

The word ‘okay’ tries to bubble from his mouth like spring water, but he staunches and smothers it quickly, a strange grunt of acknowledgement replacing it. “Don’t pick up a habit of lying now, too, little one.” He murmurs the words against her perfect, tangled hair, his eyes distant as he stares at the sterile white tile wall across the room. She shakes her head softly, ‘no’, and he takes a deep breath before he brings them both into the shower, telling her once more, “Just behave. Even when I am gone, I will know.”  It’s only a partial truth- unfortunately, he would only know so much- but she is unquestioning as she reassures him again, sniffling when his fingers start to work shampoo into the knotted strands. 

When you wake the next morning, your fingers press at the bruises peppering your hips idly, sleepy eyes not registering the box of chocolates on the counter for a long time. 

Chapter Text

It took three days before Simon realized König’s little pet was unsupervised, and it took eight days for that to somehow become his problem.

Before he had left base, Simon had begrudgingly noticed the small, flushed bite mark near the base of the big bastard's neck, and the way her scent, just shy of citrusy, mixed with the putrid aroma of what reminded him of rubbing alcohol that clung to König. She had bit him back. 

A right shame.

But, whether he liked it or not, the bird was taken, König’s for keeps- and while he was many terrible things, Simon wasn't the type to slip in like a thief in the night and play with something that wasn't his, so the pretty little thing was filed into the back of his mind, only surfacing when he walked past the nondescript door König kept her locked tight behind at night on his way to bed, and her scent hung in the air gossamer and phantom-like. 

Head swimming more than he cared to admit after a few too many ales practically poured down his throat by Johnny- he had to stop being so lenient with him- Simon slowed his gait to avoid stumbling as he walked back to his quarters. They had gone out under the guise of dinner off base, the promise of shitty tavern food and easy women luring a handful of the squadron to the hole in the wall. Dinner was forgotten all too quickly, and Gaz had slipped off quickly with a lush little thing making eyes at him before Johnny and the others had followed the swishing skirts of a couple more broads, the lot of them all smelling pungently of heady perfume oils meant to mimic Omega pheromones. MacTavish had tried to pull him along with them, his accent thicker than usual as he slurred. "C'mo' Ghost ye grumpy ol' bastar'!" But no amount of booze could change his distaste, and he had brushed the stalky man off tersely, grunting out a stilted reply before he started to make his way back to the barracks. 

It wasn't nearly as late as he had thought it would be- sun still hanging low and amber in the sky, people still milling about town as he neared the base. The hallways were still quietly active, people milling to and from the mess hall and commissary when he made it inside. It shouldn't have mattered that the door to König’s quarters was ajar, a lanky new recruit- Monahan, if he remembered correctly- standing in it with a tray of food from the mess hall. Simon's kohl rimmed eyes narrowed, assessing the scene with dangerous interest as the drinks swirled through his bloodstream, threads of that haunting scent coalescing together and pooling in the gathering saliva in his mouth.

"Mm... I heard you were a pretty little piece, but I didn't expect you to be quite so.. tempting." Simon watched as her little hands reached out, silently waiting for the tray of food to be passed to her, only for the rookie to lift it up higher, pointedly holding it well out of her reach. "Aw, are you hungry sweetheart?" She might've murmured out a response, but it was inaudible to him under the pulsing thrum of his elevating heart-rate as he watched Monahan take a deliberate step forward. "It ain't right, letting that brute keep you locked up in here, all for himself. Are you lonely, doll?" Another step forward. "Let me keep you company tonight, baby."

Mind your own fucking business, Riley. 

But her scent spiked, souring like rotten fruit as the soldier slipped inside her room, and Simon would just have to blame the fact that his boot was in the door, stopping it from closing before his mind could catch up on the booze. "Is a little pussy worth dying for, soldier?" His eyes were flinty, voice ashen and gravelly as he took in the fresh faced cadet. "Because- he will kill you, boy." Simon pushed fully into the room, glowering down at the young man before him, willing himself not to look at her as he focused his sluicing thoughts on the task at hand. "If you want to keep your cock, I suggest you stop thinking with it. Get the fuck out, boy. Now." Simon reached out for the tray, her dinner still precariously balanced on it as he pulled it out of now trembling hands, Monahan stammering out a response. "U-Understood Lieutenant Riley. Apologies, Sir." Tail tucked, he left without a word, and in the newfound quiet, Simon found his eyes pulled to her like the center of gravity radiated from where her little toes stood curling into the rug beneath her. 

Barefoot. A long, white dress, covered in eyelet, thin straps looping over her shoulders as she stared up at him, wide eyed. Flushed. A perfect little picture. Her honeyed aroma ripened, and much to his delight and dread, her keeper had been gone long enough that he could hardly smell the other man on her. "Stop looking at me like that, love." His words were low, fervent and urgent, and then tears were pooling in her infuriatingly beguiling eyes. He stiffened. Fucking Johnny, always getting him fucking drunk. "Stop it kid- no, don't do that!" Simon's voice rose in tandem with his frustration at the quickly spiraling situation, and he cursed when the elevated volume only achieved encouraging those tears to fall down her cheeks. "Fucking hell." 

Left was turning to right as the door latched shut behind him, the tray getting set down on the standard issue table through gritted teeth so that he could leave before he lost his damn mind, and then her voice rang out like a bell behind him. "Thank you for making him leave." She was sniffling a little, and years and years of hardened instincts and honed intuition had him tensing in preparation and warning before little arms encircled his waist, and he felt her head rest against his back softly. Christ. She smelt too fucking good, felt too fucking good, and his buzz and the lust he felt were close to swallowing them both whole. He took a deep breath- a mistake mostly, because the fresh air he sought was nowhere to be found, and he kept his eyes locked on her scattered belongings throughout the otherwise barren space. Little shoes, books, paints, chocolate wrappers and stray clothes littered the floor in a litany of chaos, starkly contrasting the sparse quarters of he and every other soldier inhabiting the god forsaken base. His gaze fell onto a wayward pair of panties, and Simon choked on a pained groan as the blood formerly pulsing in his head rushed straight to his thickening cock. "Get off o' me, love." He growled out, the words strained and approaching hostile. "Get the fuck away from me before I bend you over the god damn table." He felt her stiffen and pull away, the fragrant osmanthsus sticking to the roof of his mouth making his head spin more than the cheap booze was.

"I-I'm sorry sir- I just-" With a frustrated snarl, Simon whirled on her before he could think better of it, hindbrain driving him forward as his calloused hand wrapped around her fragile throat. She was still fucking crying, her breathing growing more and more shallow as he loomed over her. "Are you stupid, girl? Is that it?" He walked her backwards, his grip on her neck keeping her upright as he pressed her against the wall. "Traipsing through the hallways, opening your door for any fucking soldier that knocks- putting your fucking hands on me?"

He shook her a little, distantly realizing he had lifted her feet off the ground- you're hurting her, Riley- and pressed his thigh between her legs instinctively, her weight settling on it instead of straining against his roughened palm. "You don't fuckin' get it do you?" Another shake. "Did König not tell you, kid?" His own breath was coming out in sharp pants, breath boozy as it washed over her flushed face. "We will eat you alive, girl. The world is not kind to girls like you- do you understand me?" He saw her wince, and Simon gentled his grip as he regarded her, that god awfully tempting lower lip wobbling, bambi-eyed as she looked up at him. "You have no fuckin' clue how badly I want to sink inside your tight little cunt- how tempting you smell." His forehead fell forward to rest against hers as he wrestled with his instincts, trying to focus on the residual scent of König that lingered in the air- tried to remind himself that she wasn't his. In the end though, it was the stifled, shuttering little whimpers falling from her lips that broke through the red shroud that had clouded his mind. She was still fucking crying. "Fuckin' hell..."

With a low, strained groan, Simon shifted, his free hand falling to her waist to adjust her in his grip, pulling her up into his arms as he spoke. "Quit carryin' on love..." Whether due to malformed instincts or the reasonable fear of falling from his grasp, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, limbs lashing them together as she buried her face into his neck, before she took a deep breath- he thought for sure she would calm down, that this frenetic air between them would dissipate- but then she was crying in earnest, babbling into the junction of his neck where his shirt collar and hood overlapped. "I hate him but I don't like it here without him-" a shuddering inhale- "And I want to go home but I don't even really have a home!" A sob, wracking through her with a ferocity that startled him and dulled his buzz even more- "And you scare me but you smell like my dad and- a-and-!" 

Jesus. "Enough, love. That's enough." His voice was a coaxing murmur, the closest thing he could get to comforting as he ignored his throbbing erection in favor of diffusing the bomb of a girl in his arms. "You need to get down and eat. He will be home in a few days." Simon ferried them to the table, kicking a chair out and depositing the trembling girl onto it gently but unceremoniously. Simon looked at her then- really looked at her- her red rimmed eyes, the tear tracks down her blotchy cheeks- and he exhaled sharply, a dull headache starting to throb repetitiously in his agitated head. "Monahan won't be botherin' you again." None of them will. 

He didn't pause or look back when he left, the door closing behind him as he resumed the trek back to his own quarters that never should've been interrupted, the bottle of bourbon stashed in his cabinets like a sirens call as he walked. 

Chapter Text

F o u rt e en

That’s how many days it had been since König had left. You frowned down at the wobbly but readable handwriting on the pad of paper in front of you, your tangled hair falling around your face with the motion as you leaned. He would be home today. 

All around you, your quarters were in apparent disarray. Chocolate wrappers littered the floors, your dirty clothes sat in a haphazard pile by the bedroom door. Drawings and papers with crossed out words, clumsy writing practice sheets covered the table, and you were too scared of any more men trying to touch you to figure out what to do with the trays your meals arrived on, so there was a stack of precisely 41 of them- you had been practicing counting in multiples you had been so bored- on the kitchen counter. Once dinner appeared, there would be 42. 

After Mr. Riley had arrived and- scolded you? You weren’t really sure-, your meals were placed outside your door, two rapping knocks the only indicator, and no matter how fast you were, how quiet or sneaky, by the time you opened the door there was never anyone on the other side. The singularity and silence was quickly making you feel a touch mad; despite the abundant amount of extra room compared to the nook you had previously been cooped up in, something about the taste of freedom and entertainment you had been provided with had your mind overactive. Your dad would have chastised you for being spoiled. 

With a resigned huff, you flopped down onto your back, staring up at the ceiling and watching the strange contraption that was turning ‘round and ‘round above you. The light it cast over the room was bright white and strange, and you made a mental note to ask your keeper how the sun was capture inside. Maybe he would read you a book about it. At the thought, a flush descended over your cheeks as you absentmindedly gnashed at your lower lip, recollections of sitting in his lap, his strange voice rumbling through you as your eyes followed along with his finger as it roved across the page. 

You thought about kissing him. 

You quite liked kissing him if you were being honest with yourself, and your bitten fingers lifted to trace the faintly ridged mark on the junction of your neck as you pictured him. You bit your lip a little too sharply, the sting snapping you out of your reverie. Sitting up with reluctance, you wondered how long it would be before dinner arrived. 

I wonder if he brought me any presents…. 

Shaking your head, you grumbled a little at yourself in the quiet of the room. He had stolen you from your home- from your father- except, well… he hadn’t really done the latter, had he? Your stomach clenched involuntarily as phantom hunger pangs washed over you, remembering the feeling of exhaustion so complete and pervasive that you weren’t sure you could’ve lifted the spoon had someone placed your last meal in front of you. He had taken you from your home… but given you a warmer one, and he had also fed you. Bought you clothes that were pretty and fit. Begrudgingly, you acknowledged the fact that he was also teaching you to read. That he smelt so, so very good. That you didn’t have to be around any of the horrible smelling men you had walked past with him in the strange compound… 

That he makes us feel good….

Pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes, you tried to quell the strangely persistent heat and ache that had been building in your lower belly for several days now. A part of you was growing increasingly concerned that you might be sick, head aching intermittently, flushing and restless at night when you laid down to sleep, and the past two days, you awoke with a scratchy sore throat. Did they have medicine here? There were so many luxuries that you certainly hoped they had some sort of ether or cure for whatever ailed you. 

No longer feeling well enough to wait by the door for the dinner knock to try and capture a modicum of conversation or interaction, you stood from the ground slowly, a bout of dizziness overcoming you. Wincing, you ambled to the miniature bed- no, the couch, he had said- and nestled down into it, all but slithering into the downy surface as you pulled all of the blankets you had stripped from the big bed over the top of you. A contented sigh falling from your lips as you burrowed, you willed yourself to let the boredom and glimmer of sickness lull you to sleep. 

Distantly, the back eddy of your consciousness registers the soft sound of the door, and the veil of sleep starts to lift at the prospect of a plate of food on the other side. It doesn’t occur to you at first that the sound is atypical- instead of the usual knocking, there is a caress of metal and the sliding of a lock, and then the door is latching once more. A heavy ‘thud’ erases the last of your lingering slumber, and you sit up, a startled noise leaving you as you turn to face the source of the noise with sleep glazed eyes. A large, dirty bag sits on the floor next to the boots of the interloper- except, as your gaze clears so that you may take him in more properly, you realize that he is home. 

Eyes widening in bewilderment and relief at the monotony being disrupted, you blink up at him from your proverbial cocoon. It doesn’t dawn on you that your headache is gone, alongside the prior dryness of your throat, and before your brain has a chance to catch up with your body, you stumble off the couch and start towards him. With his boots still on, your face hardly clears the height of his hips, but it’s the farthest thing from your mind as you tangle yourself around him in what can only be described as an eager embrace. “You’re home!”

You have so many questions, so many things you would like to talk about and ask and share, but not another word gets out before his hands, filthy and covetous and owning, are eclipsing your waist and pulling you up to him until his face is pressing to the column of your throat with a low moan. He takes a breath so deep that your body moves in tandem with his inhalation. When your legs wrap around his waist as best as they can, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt, one of his hands travels down to your hip before settling under the curve of your ass. His other hand quickly works the soiled fabric of his hood up enough to unleash his mouth on you, and then his lips are searching and sucking, teeth grazing and sinking into your flesh. 

There are words spilling from his frenzied lips that you don’t understand, the strange lilt of his voice amplified with each syllable laved into your skin. “Ich hab den Verstand verloren… Du machst mich kaputt, mein Liebling…” Even if you tried, you couldn’t parse out their meaning, heart thundering in your chest, breaths leaving you in sharp pants as you went slack in his hands. “K-König….” His name is spoken softly, your voice full of yearning that feels foreign as it occupies the dissipating space between you two. His touch turned harsher, growing more frantic as he carried you to the bed, and though you tightened your hold on him in nervous anticipation of being dropped onto the surface, he didn’t let you down, instead sinking onto the surface while keeping your body held against his mass. 

You both stilled for a brief moment that felt like a lifetime, your lust blown eyes staring up into his own, the sclera bloodshot, kohl smudged and eerie as they zeroed in on you from behind the narrow openings of his hood. When he spoke, his voice was thick, a hint of warning creeping in. “Hast du dich danebenbenommen, während ich nicht da war, hm?” You bit your lip, confused as the atmosphere shifted, and stiffened when he clucked his tongue at you. With a sigh, he shifted his weight, his hips straddling yours, knees on either side of your torso as he sat up and tugged his hood of, the motion jerky as he revealed his tired visage, a fresh looking wound adorning the older silvery ones along his jaw. “I can smell Riley on you, little one. But it’s faint… not in your mouth… not on your mark.” A shiver ran up your spine as a bloodied hand came up to caress your face, reverent and gentle. Terrifying. He tilted his head down at you, cocking it like a bird of prey as it considered its next meal. “Did he fuck you, baby?”

You shook your head, frantic. “N-no! T-there was another man, he-he brought me my food, and he was trying to- to-“ you flushed, face screwing up in pathetic embarrassment as you tried to get the words out. “He tried to c-come inside, and then Mr. Riley told him to leave!” Your pupils were dilated in a manic combination of terror and arousal, and you missed the way he frowned when you call the other man Mr. Riley.

“It was my fault- I gave him a hug to thank him, a-and then he yelled at me and he left!” Part of you wanted to give him a word for word play by play of the event, but your survival instincts had you speaking fast and fluttering. You’re about to open your mouth to try and reassure him, but he just laughs at you, the chuckle catching you so off guard that the words dry up in your throat. “I know you didn’t fuck him. I just wanted you to say it, pet.” His fingers, still resting on your face, slide to hook into your mouth, the acrid taste of them making your tongue curl away instinctively as the digit curls, tugging at the flesh of your cheek. He slips them out of your mouth, giving your cheek a condescending pat before he reaches down and rucks the skirt of your dress up around your waist without further ado. His belt is undone with a similar vicious efficiency, and König pulls his leaking cock free. 

You hardly have a chance to take a breath before his fingers have tugged your panties to the side, the head of his length pressing down against you and slowly sinking in to your slick and swollen flesh. König let out a choked curse above you, your toes curling as your body yielded to the intrusion instinctively. “Scheiße..!” When his hips pressed flush against yours a moment later, the leather of his belt and the rough canvas of his pants biting into your soft skin, your eyes screwed shut, a whimper leaving you as you tried and failed to adjust to the stretch of him. “Should’ve taken you with me….” His words are dark and low, emanating from deep in his chest as he slowly withdraws from your core. There is something exhilarating about the way he takes his time with you- something more terrifying than his usual punishing pace, your body kept just on the edge of total awareness as the ridges of his too big cock slip in and out of you with an intentionality, a familiarity, that has your hands leaving the bed and reaching to touch him.

“Should’ve kept you in my cot at night- tucked you safe somewhere so I could have my fill of this little cunt when I needed you,” He snarls a little, a tremor running up his arms as he forces himself to enact restraint. “Would’ve let everyone watch- fucked you in front of them, let them all watch as I bred this little cunt,” the filth of his words coaxed a keening sound out of you, warbling as your hands tightened in the fabric of his shirt. He pulled out, pressing back in slow and cruel, the head of his cock finding a place so deep inside you that tears pooled in your eyes as you struggled to breathe. “That would be best, hmm? You’re too messy to be a good little house pet-,” another thrust. Another embarrassing squelch wrung from your slick flesh. “Left my house a fucking mess, didn’t you baby?” The next snap of his hips, a little harsher. “Messy, dumb little girl, only good for taking my fucking cock,” his slow and barely restrained urgency begins to dissolve right in front of your eyes, his own words dying off, replaced by a snarl as his teeth clenched.

You cried out, the strange ache that had been building in your belly for days throbbing and sharpening as you neared the apex of your pleasure, overwhelmed with misplaced affection as he fucked into you with increasing abandon. “Braves verdammtes Mädchen!” You felt the damn break open, crying out as the heat licking up your spine ignited. “D-daddy- I- ah!” Your eyes fell closed and rolled back in tandem with his stuttering thrusts. “Fuck,” he bit the word out above you before his hands gripped at your waist and twisted your bodies together, flipping you on your axis as he settled your quaking form on top of his body in what you don’t realize was an effort to keep himself from crushing you beneath him, his own ecstasy swallowing him up. The two of you are caught in the undertow of pleasure, your release wracking through you as he fucks you through it, his own climax hot on its heels. “Fuck yes baby, cum on my cock while I breed this little pussy,” The words are hissed and heady, and none of it registers or matters as you cry and spasm, the clutch of your cunt tightening around his length as he spills himself inside you with a roar. 

You’re long gone, floating somewhere else, skin slick with sweat as uncharacteristically gentle kisses are pressed to the crown of your head. More of those strange, foreign words are murmured into your knotted hair as you slowly come back into your body. You could feel the aftershocks moving through him— small tremors of tension not quite released by his climax, not fully soothed by your closeness. When he spoke again, the words reaching you through a sticky layer of ichor and exhaustion, his voice was hoarse. “You shouldn’t make me miss you.”

The words sounded scraped out of him, jagged and sharp, as if the admission hurt more than the wound on his jaw. His hand slid up your stomach slowly, settling possessively over your belly as his head fall back against the mattress, still stripped of pillows and blankets.

A moment passed. Two. You felt him shift beneath you, his seed and length slipping inside your swollen flesh. “You are going to have to learn to clean up after yourself, Liebling.”
His hand found your hair, combing through the tangled strands fruitlessly. “But I am filthy, too. Let’s bathe before we address your mess.”