#;; the veiled giant ;; (könig)

[h-a-unted]

[ msg > 👑 ] this is my meal

[ msg > 👑 ] i call this girl dinner

He swears his phone is not loading... and he is embarrassed to even admit it. He attempts to fix it by himself for almost an hour and then...

[ msg > 🌸 ] I'm sorry [ msg > 🌸 ] I'm not the best with technology [ msg > 🌸 ] the pic is not loading, I only see a black void. [ msg > 🌸 ] It's so dark I can see myself and it's making me anxious [ msg > 🌸 ] What are you having? what's a girl dinner?

[comfortless]

syl im begging on my hands and knees pls pls pls expand on that idea of könig being a warrior rumored to eat womens hearts its like giving scheherazade and i NEED IT

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. vague time period/setting. fem(afab) reader. light descriptions of violence and gore, talk of cannibalism, non-con groping & cuddling, forced marriage.

There are endless tasks to be done and everything beneath a vast blue sky to explore, forgoing those things, the men about your village often prefer to gather for a duel. There are no rules for their game, only that you bring a weapon and thrust it toward the opponent in such a way that it brings you glory, pride, some scabbing mend to a crooked scar.

Except not you, never you. They wouldn’t so much as allow for the women to watch unless sparring for the hand of a weeping bride happened to be the gleaming prize waiting at the end of the night.

Your eyes had witnessed such before, a girl with hair the color of autumn straw that rolled down to the end of her back, whisked away by some man from the sea after he dug his blade into an old farmer’s belly. Her father. A sad thing, but you imagined her life must be much better now. Instead of tending to a mule or pricking her fingers on needles for sewing, she’s off collecting sea shells and has the ocean’s breeze eternally perfumed in her hair. Maybe she cradles a baby on her hip now, plump and cooing happily whilst they watch the waves roll and glitter beneath the sun.

A better life for only the cost of a swift death. It was something that you had always envisioned wanting for yourself, away from this village that reeks of blood, the very place where your options were limited to shoveling after the horses or to die a lonely hag.

That was until the behemoth began to show his face. Not quite his face at all, actually. It changed things for you. Instead of a longing for one of these strong men to carry you off into the night, there sat a creeping terror each and every time he crossed the threshold into the village.

He was rumored to be many things: an executioner from a foreign land, either a lost and wicked saint or a demon made flesh, and worst of them all… a cannibal from out in the untamed downs that crest the mountainside.

The women of the village were frightened by him, by the bulk and height that suggested he was not a man at all, but something far more terrifying beneath that black veil. They hid away when he first arrived, claiming he carried an organ in his hands, chewing away at a still-beating heart with blood running down his fingers. The men remained rigid, but their hands shook when they took up their weapons against him.

And there was no way of knowing then that this man was to be yours.

Time and time again, the giant would win, request a warm meal and a bed for the evening, and would be gone away come morning. He wouldn’t return for months, and the gossip would continue to fester until his return. Then, only then, would lips be pursed in silence and another fool would rush to death in an attempt to win some measure of pride. His opponent would be buried in the very field they would fight in, his bones serving for another layer upon the earthen stage once the worms and rats had picked him clean, and the giant would be back. He was always back.

The town is hushed to silence when his horse is led through the well-worn street. There are lingering observers: the broad stable hand that would not even dare to raise a whip or a dagger to this behemoth, the women of the brothel even shy away from him, and the children who whisper their rumors behind open palms.

He does not stop for any of them, only carries forward with that dark cloth concealing his head.

You peek out from your window, nursing tea with honey to calm the chill drifting through the air, feathering over your skin. It’s bitter on your tongue, even with the sweet coursing through it. Bitter, when his blue eyes flick in your direction and you feel every inch of your skin begin to prickle and tense.

He’s worse up close like this. The man doesn’t conceal his torso, never seemed to find a need to— no one ever gets close enough to wound him. Not any more, at least, judging by the pasty scars that mar his chest with the biggest being a healed, pinkish blemish that stretches from below his ribs down to a narrow hip. You find the most unsettling part about him is not those marks of violence, but the fact that you can not read his face.

Time slows to a halt as he just stares, takes you in with your cup of tea and the old dress stolen away from your mother’s own wardrobe. And you return it, warily looking him over from his veiled head down to the toes of his boots. After regarding you in the very same way a bored cat would observe an unaware, little bird, he moves along his path with a quiet huff of breath as his face is turned away from you.

There’s a heavy axe strapped to his back that you only notice then. Something new and shiny, glistening in the rays of golden sunlight above. Sharp and wicked, too cruel a weapon to be used in a bout for dinner and a lumpy mattress stuffed with decaying straw.

You could only hope he brought a cloth to clean it once this ordeal was over. Perhaps he truly does use his veil to do so, gets drunk on the scent of blood and gore clinging to it and pleasures himself to the violence as they claim. The macabre tales of this giant only go darker than that. But the tales he lives up to most of all are the ones about his skill in killing.

When night begins to scrape across the sky in dark, drab purple, fate comes crawling throughout the town as though it is nothing more than a famished ghoul.

Your mother storms toward you where you’re sat, preparing for bed. Her face is a mask of pure anguish when she pulls you into a tight embrace. She bawls into your hair, digs her nails into your back as though she would sooner die than let you go.

The men of the town follow behind her, wrenching her arms away from you and pulling you up by the front of your gown. The thin linen tears with the force of rough hands, rips a thick line down your chest that almost leaves you bared to them. Though the hands are eager, the eyes of these men do not shine with hunger, only with fear.

The shouts and cries from your lips are lost to them, to even your mother who wails in defeat someplace behind you.

“You’re plenty old enough to be a bride,” says one of the men, voice like a coiled snake spitting venom. It doesn’t take one of the well-educated people of the capital here to explain just what is to happen to you now.

The giant, the cannibal, saw something that he liked, and decided that you would be his prize. When you’re led to the field, kicking and flailing against the strong arms that hold you tightly in their grip, the sight is enough to tell you just how much that he enjoyed your silent, curious staring only hours before.

He stands upright, silent and daunting above a body that’s been split by the axe still held in one strong hand. The color of crimson cakes his knuckles, crests over his arm and the expanse of his chest, all from the headless corpse lying disposed at his feet.

The scene is what you expected, you’ve heard the words of your people about this beast of a man’s propensity for violence, but no amount of mental preparation could have truly readied you for seeing so much blood. The blood of a man you knew to be good and true, a hard-working blacksmith from the foothills. What a tragic way to go out: fighting for a pouch of coin when this horrible giant must have clearly lost his mind to rut and rage.

No hand comes to cover your mouth when you shriek, and the tight grips guiding you forward only loosen when your man or murderer stalks forward to take his prize. Through your tears, you still manage to make out the lines beneath his eyes, how they fold upward, and there’s no doubt that he’s smiling beneath that mask. A big, ugly grin at the thought of prying open your ribs and helping himself to a maiden’s heart.

He lifts it over his head in a swift motion, and drops it over your own instead, opposite to the hastily cut eye holes to block out all of the hazy, pale light of the moon and flickering yellow-red torches surrounding. Amidst the panic threatening to send your heart fleeing from your chest, the cold trickle of dread that finds itself curling in your belly, you feel two arms hoist you up and settle you over the back of his wretched steed.

“Gehen wir.”

Then, the darkness turns abyssal.

You only pray your body has truly died of fright when you first wake. There’s no darkness, no scent of blood when your eyelids pry apart to flutter. Water laps over your bare thighs, cold enough to force a shiver up from your feet to the blades of your shoulders. But behind you sits fire, a warmth so comforting you would think you’re rested against a stone bathed in summer sun, if not for the softness.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, rationalize just what’s happening, until a hand clutching a scrap of cloth maneuvers up from your thigh to your tummy, lathers you in a soap that smells only of pine. It halts, cinches around your waist when you begin to tense, when he knows you’re truly awake. A pond to your front and a man of horror at your back.

There’s sunlight streaming down from above, painting the clouds in gold. There are birds happily singing from the surrounding trees, and other, unseen animals scurrying through fallen leaves. Serene, pretty, and almost comforting when the wind turns course and brings with it the scent of late-ripening fruit. If the reality of your situation were not so dire, perhaps you would have enjoyed it, being here with a man who killed instead of presented your family with a dowry or offered you some pleasant wedding to dine and drink your fill of berry wine at.

“Let me go.” Your voice is a feigned warning, the mocking growl of a mere pup. You imagine he must keep his weapons close, only offering himself the courtesy of cleaning you so your meat doesn’t taste of dirt or lavender oil when he sinks his teeth into it.

“Süss frau,” he mumbles behind you, presses his head into your hair and inhales deeply as your body only grows further rigid. There’s a pause, before he corrects himself. “Meine süss frau.”

It would help if you knew what he was saying, calm your nerves some, maybe, but each word spoken only sounds guttural and instills further fear. You twist in his grip, hissing small curses that would have left your mother in a rage, but he only laughs at your squirming. Then, he tightens his grip as the cloth is dropped into the pond’s glassy water.

“Take me back home,” you continue to urge, placing a trembling hand over the limb pressing your body further back against him. “Please.”

Your small attempt at pleading is met only with his head dropping to the nape of your neck, a kiss pressed against the flesh there. It warms for him, sends a heat spiking up to your cheeks in spite of the way you still suspect he wishes only to rip your throat open with teeth more akin to a devil’s fangs.

You turn your head, intent on spitting right in this monster’s face, but find only a man looking back at you.

There’s a shimmer in his eyes that almost seems playful, a grin so prevalent there it must cause the corners of his mouth to ache. No blood in his teeth, and though the silvery-blue of his eyes seems distant, they are not cold. The goliath who stole you away stinking of blood and innards isn’t present now, and that seems even less of a comfort. He’s even handsome in the strangest way, certainly not the look of nobility, but none of his features are cruel. There’s a boyish charm to him, perhaps he would have the look of a charismatic farmhand or an apprentice of sorts if not for the scarring.

“Won’t hurt you… too pretty,” he assures, burying his face against the side of your neck. But the bastard does, digs his teeth right in and suckles at your skin when you claw at his arm in surprise. It’s not enough to draw drops of blood, but it accentuates the point that he seems to see you as something of his, a possession of sorts.

There’s a messy patch of drool over bruising skin when he pulls away to laugh at the wounded expression upon your face. He apologizes in a huff of breath as he guides you up to stand at his side. His hands linger too long for comfort when they rest along your waist. Your sullen glare only seems to further endear him. Too much, judging by the way the pillar between his legs bounces thick and hard and proud, throbs when you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze and angrily hiss to him about how a man should treat his wife. Cannibal or not, the beast needed to learn some manners.

Fear still edges its way up your spine, but it diminishes more and more as the seconds pass.

He’s no gentleman when he splashes away the remnants of soap from your body, hands grazing over every inch of your bare skin he sees available to touch. Your breast first, weighed up in his palm with the nipple pinched between his index and middle. Emboldened by your hushed protests, he dares to slip his other between your legs, and only then do you force his hands away.

He certainly bears no resemblance to a proper husband when he hoists you over one shoulder to carry you further into the woods and into his shack, either.

It’s barren and ugly, an unsightly wooden structure decorated only with a thin mattress, a table too small, and blades of many forms. The axe sits proudly below the window, astonishingly cleaned of the gore from the night prior. The veil rests above it on the sill, damp from a cleaning that never should have been. You stare at his belongings for a time when you’re placed on your feet, silently judging the array in search of anything to justify the gossip, only to come up short of anything.

He doesn’t even touch you past the bathing in the pond. You’re dressed in a tunic that fits like a dress upon your form: far too big, long and dull to be anything you would normally be seen in. But there are no tailors this far out in the wilderness, though there’s an apologetic promise whispered to you once he sees you in his clothes. He’ll buy you a new dress upon your first visit to town as his wife, several if it pleases you.

The man leaves for a spell, brings you rabbit to clean and prepare, then busies himself stoking up a fire for cooking. His speech is a little broken when he tells you of how long he’s waited to have someone like you here with him, how he never suspected a woman so pretty would be his wife. And you don’t eat when the meat is fully cooked and placed in front of you both. You insist that you only wish to return back home, to hug your mother and tell her that you’re still alive.

That, he takes insult to.

His brow is pinched when he forces you to sit in his lap. He brings the meat to your lips and presses into your cheeks with his free hand to force your mouth open. There’s nothing romantic or cute about it, about him, but you do glumly settle in his hold when the realization does dawn on you that, though his strength is extraordinary, he is only a man and the only harm coming to you would be between your legs.

You’re drug over to the mattress after dinner by a tight hold over your wrist. The fight hasn’t left you, not by a smidge, even when the loose tunic is lifted over your head with shouts of your displeasure and you’re pressed onto your back with the giant watching you curiously from above.

He pins you there, but doesn’t force his hands down to your sex again. He only sighs when he rests his weight next to you and curls in to lie his head over your breasts.

You’re body remains stiff and rigid as a bowstring. His nearness only sends that same swell of heat back from the pond, brings with it the scent of fire smoke and sweat emanating from him. His hair is long and soft, soft as the kisses he places on the plushness of your tit, long as the drag of a callused palm from your hip up to cup the other.

He offers you no warning when his teeth circle over your nipple, holds fast to you when your back arches and your fingers weave into his hair to jerk him away. The worst part about him seemed to be having a penchant for leaving a mark, and the smug grin that crosses his face when he meets the fury in your eyes with the lust-drunk look in his own.

“Was? You don’t like?,” he grumbles, tracing over the marks of his teeth with his thumb, pressing against and smearing his saliva until you feel your back begin to arch and your breathing grow heavy.

“It hurts.”

He stares at you in amazement for a moment, whether surprised you haven’t made an attempt to flee or startled by the lack of a strike to his jaw after such a thing, it mattered not. Your terrible, ignorant “husband” only seems satisfied with your response. He draws back to sit on his knees before you, sliding his hands along each curve and dip of your body until they rest at your ankles.

“Ja… hurts. I will make it better, meine süße.”

He’s no less brazen when he makes a dive toward your womanhood, lips parted in preparation to breathe you in. Or… taste you in full, whichever option was suited for men who were more beasts than men at all. Maybe that was his only feat of cannibalism: licking at women until they were wet and pliant for him to take entirely. You pry him away with a gasp and a quick shift onto your side, demanding that he not touch you any further.

Again, he laughs, curls behind you and shifts his hips to slot the girth of his cock between your thighs, buries his face into your neck once again. You can feel the grin that stretches over his lips against your skin. When the dark envelopes you both, the quiet crackle of the fire in its pit still showing signs of life, he seems content to just cuddle you close.

Exhaustion creeps its way through your limbs, steals the fight from your voice and leaves your eyelids heavy. You consider waiting it out, listening to his breathing deepen and slow to creep away, but his grip is firm around your middle, so strangely comforting that you do allow yourself to relax. Running could wait until the morning sun rose.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

König shaving the readers 🐱 while making eye contact....

👄 *bites bottom lip*

I go feral for your writing my dear ❤️‍🔥

"Stop squirming."

Your legs are slightly shaking from the wide spread they are forced into to accomodate a giant between them. The said giant places a large, warm palm on your inner thigh to punctuate his command – and open you up even more.

"Please be careful," you plead as if this wasn't your idea in the first place: to have König shave your pussy with one of his knives.

You were sure he would say no because it's dangerous, but it turns out your shy request was too delicious to refuse. Other men would've probably looked at you like you're a freak and told you to shave it yourself, but König merely tilted his head and told you he would need more than one knife to do it: a big one for larger areas and a few smaller blades to finish.

"Who do you think I am?" He grunts, slightly insulted. You know he's a master when it comes to knives, you would trust this man with your life, but now that he's there, wielding a blade so close to your delicate folds, you're not so sure... What if something slips?

But König is extremely careful, and extremely gentle. This man handles his duties with obsessive dedication, so why would this be any different? And besides, you're not work, you're the love of his life.

He has fallen into some sort of a flow state with what must be two of his favorite things: a sharp, deadly blade and a soft, inviting pussy. You can do nothing but bite your lip as he shaves you with a razor-sharp focus. The knife doesn't hurt you at all: actually, it feels like he's caressing your skin with a feather.

Every once in a while he gives you a glance, probably to see how you're doing. Being on display like this for him is more than enough to make your heart flutter, but it's those dark, heated looks that make you wet.

"There... Endlich fertig." He eventually rises from between your legs and leans back to examine his work with silent approval in his stare. Then he gets a warm, wet towel to wipe you clean, and admires you once more, like your freshly shaved pussy is a work of art.

His work of art.

"Pretty," he concludes, then looks at you with another trademark flash that usually precedes a good wrecking. You squirm again, merely from that horny, promising stare fixed on you from beneath the darkness of his mask. Even your thighs start to drift closed; it's simply a reaction to him being so obsessed with you. You don't even know whether it's born from the instinct to hide your vulnerable parts from a predator or because you know it will drive him crazy when you play a little hard to get.

"Keep them open," he orders, his voice dropping a note or two. You obey immediately; you wouldn't even dream of rejecting him. You only look at him with wide, love-filled eyes as he starts to lift the mask.

You should've known he wants a taste after looking at your throbbing, wet cunt – the one he just called pretty – from up close for solid 15 minutes. You can play hard to get as much as you want, but your pussy always gives you away. It's almost dripping by now, and answers him with another wink as the familiar pair of cruel lips and a brutally scarred jawline are revealed from behind the rising veil of darkness.

And god... He's smiling.

"Have to get my reward, eh?"

[last-starry-sky]

kinktober day 26 - wet dream

könig x f!military!reader pt. 1 (pt. 2 HERE)

[MDNI - NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS: 1.4k, power imbalance: König is reader's Colonel but nothing implicitly happens, ymmv, unwanted/forced shared sleeping situation, fingering, biting, and dryhumping in a dream.]

tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!): @slut-lmao, @mishaglass

It couldn’t get any worse than this. Being stuck out on some sort of bullshit wilderness/survival drill for a whole week was bad enough, but the fact that you happened to draw the short stick and were paired up with your Colonel of all people, really really really made you feel like you had been cursed. 

You managed to spy a look his way while you were packing up while your troop prepared to hike out. The man was massive: tall and muscular. It made you hope he wouldn’t expect you to carry as much as he did. Considering you would be each other’s only company for the whole week, it wasn’t his physique that concerned you the most. 

“Ready?” he asked, all six plus feet of his bulky, veiled form suddenly looming over you.

“Yeah!” you squeaked, standing up from your crouch, fumbling as you tried to thread your arm through the straps. 

He just stood there while you floundered, face going hot under his emotionless gaze. When you were done, he nodded his helmeted head to the side, indicating that you should follow him down the dirt and gravel trail that would lead you up the mountain and to your campsite. 

“You have the map, yes?” he asked once you fell in stride with him. 

“Yes sir,” you said pulling the only slightly crumpled, folded paper map out of your back pocket.

“Good,” he replied, fingers tapping along the straps of his pack. “You’ll be in charge of that.” He looked down at you as you unfolded the map. You could feel his blue eyes burning holes in the side of your face as you walked along him. “You lead. I’ll follow, for once,” he said, a crack of insane laughter rippling out from behind his mask as he bumped his gloved fist lightly against your shoulder.

You responded with a shaky laugh of your own. “Ha ha. Yes, Colonel. Great idea.”

Oh, this week was going to be absolute hell. 

You did fairly well leading the two of you along the loosely defined “trail” drawn on the map. You also did better at scaling the mountain than your Colonel, his height and bulk working against him as the ground became increasingly vertical and the underbrush crowded in. It was nearing nightfall by the time you arrived at your predetermined site. 

“Stay here,” König told you, swinging his backpack off into the dry dirt beside you. “I’ll collect some wood, get a fire started.” 

You nodded absently at him, busy hunting through your pack for your lantern so that you would be able to see while setting up the tent. As he trampled away into the treeline your brain caught on that word. Tent. Tent singular.

Lord in heaven, you prayed on your knees, tightly rolled tent in your hands, if you exist, please please please don’t make me share a tiny tent with that giant, insane man for-

König dumped an armful of branches next to your lantern. He squatted down, silently setting about the task of breaking them one by one over his knee into manageable pieces for the fire. It was your turn to stare at him, ogling his strength as you sat on your boots.

“You . . . ah, do you . . .” you rambled while watching his hands. He stopped mid-snap, head turning to you. A shiver ran down your spine at his black, eyeless stare. “Did you bring a tent too?” you squeaked. 

Your heart sank when he looked away, shaking his head. He broke the branch three more times - crack crack crack - sound ringing around the small clearing.

“Better to be close together,” he said dusting off his hands, standing up, and gathering the pieces of wood together in a pile. “Warmth. Danger,” he said striking a match, the small, warm light dwarfed by his large hands as he cupped it next to the tinder pile. 

You shuffled uncomfortably in your sleeping bag. Sure, your body was exhausted, joints and muscles tired from the long day, but you worse mentally. Every time you heard a noise outside, or the man pressed next to you shuffle, you lay awake for minutes, not knowing what to expect. You would close your eyes, tell yourself it was nothing, and then-

“Need to sleep,” he said behind you, making you shake suddenly awake with fear. “Long day tomorrow.” 

You nodded, flopping onto your side. Maybe if you couldn’t feel him staring at you, your exhaustion could pull you under. You shivered, curling down into the flannel lining so that it covered your icy nose. That’s when you heard König unzip his pack. There was a tense moment of silence before he reached over and unzipped yours as well. 

You looked back at him over your shoulder, trembling more from cold than fear. He was halfway through zipping your sleeping bag to his when he looked up, catching your eye. It felt so weird to see him like this: dressed down in just his base layer, no veil, messy hair and scarred face left open for you to see. It made you wonder how many people had ever seen him like this. 

“Share some of my warmth with you, if you don’t mind,” he said pulling the zipper together, trapping you inside with him. He laid down on his back, scrubbing his hands over his eyes before continuing. “Plenty to give.”

You lay back down, not even bothering to give a response as his body heat slowly crawled over to fill your side of the shared sleeping bag. You curled up, wrapping your arms around your chest for some sort of comfort, and finally, miraculously, fell asleep.

Warm hands stroking down your arms. 

Breath caressing your cheeks as kisses pressed across your face, temple, mouth. 

The solid mass of a leg pressing up against your core, rocking you as the hard, trapped cock sawed against your ass. 

You moaned into the night, breath pouring out like steam. 

Kisses peppered down your jaw to your neck, where a sudden bite made you bow away from your attacker.

There was a dark chuckle muffled against your skin before an assault of nipping kisses came mercilessly, one after another along with your whining moans.

“So good, maus,” a husky voice murmured against your slick neck, “So good to me,”

Strong fingers pressed against your pussy, hot arousal leaking through the thin fabric.

You shuddered, squirming and moaning, as the fingers worked clumsily around your clit.

The hips behind you came to a sudden stop, erection nestled in the fat of your ass as a deep groan rang in your ear.

“More . . . more,” you plead, hips urging the still hand to touch you again.

A growl, then the hand was pulling you tight against the solid mass behind you.

An accidental tweak of your clit had you spiraling, unwinding, crying hot tears down your chilled cheeks.

You swore you heard a voice as a hand pet over your head, soothing you to sleep.

“Ja, there you are. Sleep, sleep sweet maus.”

When you next opened your eyes, the morning sun was blazing through the open flap of the tent. Coffee was brewing over the renewed fire, and König was shaving facing away from you. You quickly pulled on your boots and jacket, trying to get up and over to the fire as fast as you could despite the slick pooled in your underwear and wobbling legs.

König looked over at you as you crashed out of the tent. You swayed unintentionally from side to side as you walked, his eyes narrowed in on you for a second, thinking, before turning back to his shaving. 

“Sleep well?” he asked, waiting for you to pour yourself a cup of the mud he had prepared. 

“Yeah,” you croaked, practically choking on the godawful brew. 

“Good,” he said rolling up his shaving kit and dumping his wash water. “Rolled around a lot. Made a lot of noise, thought you were talking in your sleep,” he said nonchalantly, clearing his throat before standing. 

You froze with the cup in your hand, eyes wide, an endless pit of guilt opening in your stomach. Oh god, you thought, last night . . . were you . . . did you- 

“Almost had to wake you up, but you stopped. Anyway, when’s breakfast?” he asked, stretching his arms over his head, exposing his hairy lower belly as his shirt rode up. You looked away as your cheeks burned. 

Perhaps this week wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[nrdmssgs]

How your first kisses with Price, Nikolai, König would feel

Masterlist Part 1 (Gaz, Soap, Ghost) Part 3 (Nikto, Gromsko)

Captain John Price

Long awaited by both him and you. Usually, out of the two of you, John is the one who always remains reasonable and calm. But this evening with you in his arms, nestled on his cozy sofa, feels like heaven. You slowly turn the pages of the book the two of you are reading.

"John, did you finish reading the page?"

No answer.

"John?"

Again no answer. Because he hasn’t looked at the book for a long time - he looks at you: at your eyelashes, trembling with every blink, at your delicate skin, at your lips.

Usually, he is the voice of reason. But it was so natural to pull you closer and cover your lips with his. It felt so right to finally share, what has been boiling deep inside him, going deeper with every next motion. His hand rests on your neck, thumb brushing softly your jawline.

John is careful, slow and loving. He restrains his hunger so to not scare you away. But when your first kiss comes to an end - he proceeds to kiss the corner of your smile, then your cheek, then the cheekbone - he leaves a trail of kiss all the way to your ear.

"Been waiting for this so long." His voice is low, but powerful, like a distant forest fire.

Nikolai

You can almost taste his smug grin. Nikolai is consumed by this very special moment you two are sharing, but he just can't help but smirk at the fact, that after all those games, you two have been playing, after all the dancing around, you are finally his.

Tilting his head back and holding you steady on his lap, Nik is making you lean closer and letting you have a taste of him. He'll give you time to get used to it. Eventually you'll understand, you can never have enough of his lips.

He will start carefully, not giving away too many personal preferences. And this is not about him being shy - Nikolai just wants to make it all about you. His love wants him to be soft and sensual? His touches will be tender, long enough to let you feel, how warm his breath is, but not too intruding. Or maybe you were craving him for so long, you are barely holding back? He will (very gladly) leave you breathless, savoring your kisses and demanding more every time, your lips part.

König

He so used to protect you, to take care and responsibility for you, that the first thought, that appears in his mind, when you pull him down to your eye level and kiss him, is to not hurt you.

There is no greater joy for him than feeling you in his arms. He smiles, holding the veil, exposing his lips, but does not dare to immediately start kissing you.

Your lips are fire on his skin. He tastes you with the tiniest sips. Part of him is afraid that you will change your mind. Another part is unable to resist when he feels your pulse in the touch of your tongue against his lips.

And just like that, the unbreakable giant surrenders to your mercy.

"Schatz..."

A husky whisper before he uses his free hand to pull you closer. He won't let you go until your head is spinning, until your knees are shaking, until he feels your moan reverberating against his lips.

[diejager]

could i pretty pls request angel koenig or angel simon kidnapping a reader and forcing them to do some unholy acts with them to repent reader's sins??? pretty pls 🙏🙏🙏

@justadeadreaper this is the moment I was waiting for, to borrow you concept!!!

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, angel sex, rough sex, kidnapping, “cleansing one’s sin”, size kink, overstimulation, size kink, tell me if I missed any.

He told you it was his duty. He told you he was doing you a favour. He told you he was cleansing you of your sins, washing away the stains of your mind, body and soul with his every act. He called himself König, a King —the King; it called for you subservience and understanding that his decisions were made to benefit you. He was your benefactor and you - the human he picked up from a rundown apartment that stank of piss and human musk. The one he stole in a crude sweep near midnight, a turbulent Thursday that showed no promise despite it being a holy hour, the time where you should’ve been praying for him - his little pet that needed holy teachings.

“Herzblatt, ” he rasps over you, peering down at your weaker figure through the holes of his veil, his blue, crystalline eyes squinted in sheer pleasure and amusement, “This is for your good.”

This is for your good, he said, words repeated like a broken record that made no sense to you. What good was it to spirit you away from your home to an illustrious castle of white pillars and cold floors, to swap comfort for illusion, and to swap familiar love for possessive affection. It was infectious to your throbbing heart, his duty of cleansing you doing more harm than good, to wash away the sins that clung to your skin like leeches with harsh thrusts, his wide hips snapping against the swollen skin of your ass and thighs from his overwhelming use of strength. 

You watched his wings - the many pairs that stood out for it’s various shades of grey and ivory in a place as pristine as his home - flutter over him through blurry eyes, tears clinging to your lashes and rolling down cheeks. They expanded and covered you, a feathery cage that hid you from prying eyes and kept you from moving; not that you could, his pedipalps, shorter than his other pair but equally as strong, held your hips in a bruising grip, painting your skin black and blue. The tapered tip of his cock, a bulbous head that thinned at the tip but swelled at the base, thick and veiny to fit a creature of his proportions. A giant in every sense and you felt it, splitting you in half as he ploughed you, his heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass. 

“Hob ka Ongst,” he whispered unhurriedly, unworried and uncaring, a deep growl rumbling his chest. [Don’t be afraid.]

He folded you in half, your plush thighs slung over his forearms while he mumbled promises, telling you how he saved you from absolution and how his load would wash you of your sins, every drop meant a blessing. His tone was condescending, a low cadence that would have sounded terrifying if he wasn’t balls deep inside of you, degrading you with every orgasm he wrenched out of you, narrowed eyes admiring your little mewls and kicking legs when you came, toes curling and muscle flexing.

“Moch da kane Gedanken, i werd mi ab jetzt um di kümma, Herzblatt.” [Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you from now on.]

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[rileysluvr]

i need to take care of this giant guy so bad he is my everything (he doesn’t even exist) um anyways. könig nsfw!!

“Just relax, baby,” you purr, applying just the slightest amount of pressure to his chest. His legs give in despite his mind being as fuzzy as TV static, body drained of any fight it could possibly have left, and he sits on the end of the bed, looking up at you with tired eyes. “Let me take care of you, yeah? Can I make you feel good?” you ask. “I think you deserve it.”

He nods weakly, and you take a step closer between his legs, your hands coming up to knead at his slumped shoulders. Your fingers slip under the ends of his veil just a bit, “Can I take this off?”

He’s already shuddering under your touch; your skin hasn’t even made contact yet, besides your gentle hand taking his cold, large one and leading him to the bed prior to having him like this, the moment he arrived off the plane. He had already taken off his vest and armor, in a hurry to alleviate some tension from his overworked body, but his muscles were still stiff in a way no release of tactical gear could solve.

He needs you to help him. Fix, him.

He nods once more, and you give him a sweet smile. Your hands meet the rim of his helmet and you pull it up, worn fabric coming with it, your actions so tender and serene he thinks he may just fall to pieces right before you. He wonders if he was just imagining your smile becoming brighter once his face was fully uncovered—he, of course, wasn’t—and he closes his eyes, the warm air around him feeling as cold as an icebox as it makes contact with his hot head. Having gone multiple days straight wearing it, he rolls his neck, thankful to finally be free from the extra few pounds of weight.

You lean down to place the helmet on the floor next to your feet, out of his sight, and mind, like he would ever want to take his eyes off of you in the first place. Rising to standing up straight, still barely taller than his mountainous stature, you bring your hands back up to his neck, needing to feel him with you, and have him feel secure. You pull him into a soft kiss, and his lips are cold and shaky against yours. You hadn’t felt him like this for a while, and you missed it, missed him, dearly. A hand falls to tug at his shirt, rubbing the fabric between the tips of your fingers, and you’re leaning more into his space. “This, too?” you mutter into his mouth.

“Yes, please,” he manages to breathe, and your belly ignites with butterflies, regardless of how lucid his response was.

Your fingers maneuver to the bottom hem of his t-shirt and he lifts his arms; he knows he must look like a tall child right now, but he’s simply too exhausted to pay mind to it. You lift the soft material from his body, pale and seemingly flexing with the wave of coolness that hits his skin, apparent by the goosebumps that wash over his muscular form. The shirt joins his helmet on the floor and you allow your hands to scale his body, working up his forearms and then his biceps and chest before landing on his face. Your thumbs smooth over the apples of his cheeks as the rest of your palms encase his heavy head by the jaw and above. He’s still sat hunched over, though it’s hard to appear smaller when your shoulders are twice the size of the average man’s and built of nothing but pure strength.

“You’re beautiful, König,” you remind him, and he damn-near whines at the words alone. You pull away for only a second to take off your shirt, and his drunken eyes are transfixed on your body, and the way your breasts sit so prettily in your bra. He could never get used to any part of you, each time he sees and hears you feeling like a first again. “Every part of you, and I’ll never let you forget it.” You undo your pants and allow them to gently slide down your legs, revealing your panties that match your bra in lacing, and inch by inch of your skin until you’re fully available to his starved eyes. You step out of the fabric, closer to him, between his knees. “Go ahead and lay on your back for me, baby.”

He reluctantly follows your kind order, fearing he may succumb to his drowsiness the second his head hits the mattress, but he doesn’t, and instead feels a bit more conscious than before, the uncomfortable straining in his pants spreading far past ignorable. Needy, he’s becoming, fighting the urge to buck his hips forward into nothing, chasing some, any sort of friction, and losing poorly.

You want to make him feel better. That’s all you want to do.

He moves further up the bed until his legs are fully on the bed, and you simultaneously climb up onto his lap, and then his waist, leaning down to seize his lips in a sweet kiss. You pepper his face in kisses, across his cheekbone and down behind his ear, teasing him, knowing how ticklish he is in that particular spot, and you giggle against his skin as he jumps slightly beneath you. Down his neck and across his shoulder, your soft kisses don’t end. Your lips creep further down his sculpted chest and he tenses up when you graze over his hard nipple; bless him, he’s so sensitive to your touch, releasing a muffled moan at the contact. You trail down his body, and he can’t even think, or process how badly he needs you. You’re eventually between his thighs, lips dragging down the line of dark hair that disappears beneath his jeans. He’s losing more of himself by the second, gut feeling like it’ll burst any moment now with the amount of butterflies swarming around in it. Like his chest is going to cave in with the weight of love you give him, and he can't handle it.

You actually kiss the ever growing bulge in his pants, smiling up at him, and his brain short-circuits. Your palms massage at his thighs, mouth already salivating as you barely graze past the area that needs the most attention. Another buck of his hips, a particularly whiny hum from his throat, and your fingers are at his zipper, taking your time in undoing the confinement. You tap his thigh twice and he uses his last bit of strength to lift himself a bit, and you manage to pull his jeans and boxers off from under him.

He’s leaning back on his elbows to watch you take his hard cock in your hand, outright awing at the size you could never seem to familiarize yourself with, and you begin moving your hand up and down his length. His body jolts when you swipe your thumb over his swollen tip and lazily smear his pre as far as it will go, an unconcealed groan from the back of his throat shattering the air around you. He fails to keep his body at bay as he chases more friction, and you coax him to relax through countless shushes and coos of praise, which ultimately only make it all the harder for him to last. Slowly, almost excruciatingly, you’re moving. His breathing picks up, still shaky and shallow and showing heavily in his chest. You look up at him with big eyes.

He knows your next move when you adjust to better have your face at his crotch, arms resting on each of his big thighs, and you lick your lips, smiling when you notice his parted ones. How utterly fucked-out he looks, having done nothing, yet. You open your mouth and take the head of his cock between your wetted lips, encapsulating it in your hot mouth as it takes up all the space you could offer. He lays back with a desperate, almost animalistic groan shamelessly pouring from his lips. Your tongue tortures him, in the best way possible, as you suck on the tip of his cock like a lollipop that’s far too big for your mouth, your hand continuing to pay heed to what you couldn’t with your tongue. You know he’s getting close with the way his groaning turned to pathetic whimpers in the matter of seconds, his back arching slightly off the bed in an attempt to keep himself from bucking his hips too hard into you, head turning to the side and back as his eyes can’t decide on staying open or not.

He can’t form words, only deprived hums and whines. He can only grip onto the bedsheets under him, and he can only let you do what you want because you’re the only one who can make him feel this way. The only one who can pull these sorts of noises from him, take control of him so easily. Only, ever, you.

You watch his abs flex and back arch, the sweetest of whimpers spilling from his throat and refusing to die out as your tongue pushes him over the edge. Sucking the head of his cock so beautifully, and he can’t even watch, eyes screwed shut and occasionally hiding one half of his face in the sheets he laid on. Your tongue presses up against the slit of his cock and he bucks his hips up once again in response, entirely out of his control. A moan from deep in your throat coats his cock and the entire length of his spine, and his breathing borderlines heaving.

He spills his cum in your mouth with a suffocated moan, strings of whispers of unintelligible German and swears, and you hum with him, hand continuing to stroke him through his high. You smile widely at the hot, tangy liquid that soaks your gums, and you pull away, watching the string of saliva that connects your bottom lip to his cock break. You swallow his thick cum, and he’s now leaning up a bit to see you, your eyes looking up at his own that can’t seem to pull away from the dribble of cum that’s slipped from your lip and trickles down your chin.

He groans—pathetic to him but music to your ears—when you crawl back up to straddle his waist. He’s still hard, painfully, and you know why. His head falls back against the mattress, utterly dazed and heavy, and your hands are back trailing his body. They find purchase cupping his cheeks and chiseled jaw. “How was that, honey? You feelin alright?”

He nods almost frantically. “M-more,” he chokes through his panting.

A smile creeps its way onto your lips and you conceal it the best you can. You lean down and turn your head to better understand him. “What was that, baby?”

“I need more, please,” he whines, fully given up on keeping his composure. “I need to be inside you, please, meine Liebe…i-it’s been so long, and I miss you. So much,” he breathes, weary and unadulterated.

You’re dumbfounded by his words, tickling every nerve in your body just as his heavy palms do, running up your bare thighs and squeezing slightly, as much as his tired body will allow. You lean forward and capture his lips with yours once again. Your body heat partially relieves him from the shivers that fight to reach every inch of his naked body. Sweet and salty, remnants of his cum that still coats your mouth fighting with the lip gloss that stains your lips.

He’s more dominant, hungrier than before, as he searches for more of you in your mouth. His kisses falter to the corner of your mouth, wet and sloppy and a reflection of his exhaustion, how hard he worked to be with you. A hand moves to the back of your neck to keep you still and stable with how much he was pressing his face against yours, and he reaches your cheek. You bury your head in his shoulder due to the stimulation he brings unto you; merely his lips inching closer to your most sensitive area. He turns his head a bit to whisper in your ear–entirely unraveled and desperate–a straightforward, single line of begging, “…Please fuck me.”

It’s your final undoing. You sigh a shaky breath before returning a dumbified and delicate, “I can fuck you.”

He finally relaxes with a faint smile and you sit up, his hand falling to your hip. You refuse to make him wait any longer, laying under you so sweetly, asking for it so nicely. He closes his eyes as you scoot back on his lap and take his cock in your hand, watching as his jaw clenches with a groan. You move your palm and fingers up and down his cock as you lift your hips, slide your panties to the side and move over him. You moan unabashedly when you shove the head of his cock in your soaked pussy, inadvertently teasing the both of you with how you strive to get used to his size again. His whimpers are already drowning out your own, becoming more impatient and needy as you slowly sink down onto him.

He’s instantly drunk when he bottoms out inside you, if he wasn’t enough from when he first finished in your mouth, and he can barely make a noise with how tight you are around him. He’s fighting not to cum so early, and you’re not helping with the way you’re squeezing around him. He’s seeing stars, and you haven’t even started moving yet.

The stretch of his cock stings so pleasantly, and you sit there for a moment, in the moment, with him. No discomfort; only bliss. He’s just so pretty, lying under you. Toned chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he takes, muscles flexing in his neck and shoulders and arms and all. A body that reminds you of ceramic brought to life, dating back to ancient times you were somehow lucky enough to come into possession of. His cheeks are pink and his hair is disheveled, and he’s unable to keep still for the life of him; just how you like him to be.

He swallows thickly, and without the bounce of his Adam’s apple there to remind you of his state you would have forgotten how badly he needs his release. Wholly entranced in his being.

You raise your hips about half way off his cock, and slide back down again with a whine of your own. His whimpers are stronger, and you know he’s going to cum soon with how he’s twitching inside you. How he’s failing to keep his body on the bed, attempting to move his hips up into you just as he was earlier when you took him in your mouth, and you do nothing to stop him.

You want him to cum, so badly. You want to take him for all that he has, make him feel as good as possible before you even think about yourself. You need this, just as much as he does. He always came fast, but when you learned he could do it again and again for you? That’s when you truly had him wrapped around your little finger.

A snicker leaves your curled lips as you do it all again, watching him squirm under you. He wants to hold out for you, please you first. But he knows he won’t be able to, despite his struggles of tensing muscles and series of exasperated pleas and choked ngh’s and mph’s. He knows you don’t want him to hold himself back, either, and the idea soothes his guilt just a bit.

Again, your pussy squeezes around his cock as you lift your hips from his lap, and you sit back down. It’s just too much, and he spills his hot cum deep in your pussy with a strained, loud groan, as his back arches off the mattress beneath him. You hum happily as you feel him fill you to the brim, a great smile on your lips. You’re not going to stop.

“That’s my good boy, Köni.”

He mumbles incoherently at your words, feeling as if his mind would fully crumble at any moment. You begin riding his still-hard cock and he groans, having not enough time to recover from his orgasm. His cum in you makes the act all the more pleasurable, partially conciliating the ache of the stretch that his big cock brings you. You set a slow pace, agonizingly, as he catches his breath.

He’s putty under your grasp. He can’t think or speak, and you revel at the sight of his pleasure, wanting it engraved in your mind for the rest of time. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each drop of your hips, and he could just about die right this instant.

His hands reach for and knead at your hips, trailing up the sides of your waist as you continue to rock back and forth on his cock. They find your chest and he cups your breasts in his palms, massaging at the flesh through your lace bra; Christ, his hands are huge, and you feel so safe whenever he has them on you, anywhere. Strong, sculpted and veiny, just like the rest of him, earned through the hard work of which he credited each success to the simple existence of yourself. He’d be lost without you, taking care of him, and he’d be deserted without the motivation to make it back to you so he can return the favor in full.

The muscles of your thighs burn greatly as they straddle the sides of his waist, and you couldn’t care less. Your orgasm is building, just as his third one is, and you’re desperate to chase them both. His pelvis works against your clit with every grind of your hips, and you gasp when he suddenly raises his hips for a quick moment, turning into an unconcealed moan straight from your throat as he goes on to babble under you. Your leisurely pace remains intact despite your overwhelming need for more friction.

“Come on, honey, just a little bit more,” you coo, sweet and breathy. “Doin so good for me, you know that?”

He eagerly nods his head against the mattress as the side of his face is pressed against the sheets, the stimulation from both your body and your sweet voice being too much for him to handle. His stomach feels tight, just as yours does, and he can feel himself spiraling into yet another high. He’s moaning with every breath he takes, absolutely unraveling beneath you.

“I’m gonna, mph, scheiße…I’m gonna-,” he pants, fully lost from himself. “...Schätzchen, please, I-I can’t-”

“Shh, baby,” you attempt to calm him, barely able to hold it together yourself as your belly tenses and your thighs stiffen a bit. “Just cum one more time for me, yeah? That’s all I need from you.”

He’s nodding his head again, and straining his neck to do it, for you. He’s breathing fast and shallow, and with just a few more sways of your hips, he’s cumming in your pussy for the second time with a tired groan, more powerful than either of the previous two. His noises spur you on, fast thankyouthankyou’s straight from his heart as you ride him through his high. The coil in your belly finally snaps, and you finish on his cock with a dauntless moan. Your thighs are shaking when you finally come to a stop, hands finding his to squeeze tightly. You’re fighting not to lean forward and just collapse onto him, even though you know he loves you as his personal weighted blanket.

His spent cock and cum still stuffed in your pussy, you feel so full you could almost be sick; an ailment you wouldn’t mind being stuck with. Some of his seed escapes from your cunt, seeping onto his pelvis, and you shiver when the warm liquid grazes your clit. You lean down to kiss him once more. Lovingly, and passionately, easing back from sex and into comfort. You’re tired, and you can’t begin to imagine how exhausted he must be. You pull away with a hum, satisfied with your work and admiring his fucked-out features.

You start to turn to slide off his lap so you can find something to clean him up with, when his heavy palms land on your legs to keep you on top of him. You halt your movements instantly, and give him a curious look. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“Nothing is the matter,” he chuckles, only making you more confused. He reaches for your hands that are at his abdominals and he holds them in his bigger ones, bringing them to his face. He places kisses to each of your knuckles, gentle and warm, and you smile wildly at the gesture. “Can I ask you for one more thing, meine Liebe?”

“Of course, baby,” you say, even though you have no clue what more this man could need other than sleep. You squeeze his hands, “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer you, and instead drops your hands to wrap his own behind your knees. He pulls you forward and onto his stomach, humming when the significantly cooler air around you first makes contact with his used cock, and you as well when you’re struck with the absence of his size. You furrow your brows. “Köni, what are you doing?” you laugh, puzzled and almost nervous.

“I need to return the favor, don’t I?” he quips, sleepiness still apparent in his voice but partially masked with cockiness. He maneuvers his arms under your thighs and pulls you up to sit on his chest, and while you attempt to keep your weight off of him, he simply won’t allow it.

“What you need…is to rest,” you argue, though your actions entirely contradict what you claim. You allow him to adjust your body to his liking, as if you’re weightless and perfectly malleable.

“I cannot care about that when you’re here.” Despite your playful protests, his big arms wrapped around your thighs keep you secured to his chest. “Need to taste you,” he nearly whines, “Will you let me, Schatz?”

You’re reluctant, and your cheeks flare up. You really think he should rest, and you feel guilty for wanting more. But Goddamnit, he’s just so enticing when he begs.

“…Baby.”

“Please?”

Fuck. How could you say no to him?

You hold his eyes prisoner in your gaze for a few seconds, “thinking” before you nod dumbly, and he smiles. He turns his head to plaster lazy kisses all up the inside of your thigh, and then the other, and you’re already struggling to keep still. His soft lips that stay hidden for the majority of his life, on your body, dangerously close to where you needed them, him, the most. He knows he’s teasing you, and he’ll continue to act oblivious to it as long as he can get away with it.

You take his face in your hands, swiping over his eyebrow with your thumb, admiring his beauty and being. Just for existing, being as good as he is all around, and his every feature that came along to work so wonderfully together. How you managed to find each other, a miracle, and you’d never wish a single detail about it to be different, ever.

He soon has you hovering above his mouth, pulling your soaked panties to the side with two fingers and bringing you down with his other hand. His drowsy eyes stay on yours when he sticks his tongue out, hot and rough, and wastes no time in leaving a dragged out stripe along your cunt that had you moaning weakly and shakily. You jolt to try to escape the sudden stimulation, intrusion in your most reactive bits, and his heavy arms around your legs are quick to pull you back down, full weight and all. His eyes are sweet, purely innocent, like he’s not about to ravage you until you’re a shaking mess above him.

He needs this so bad, more than anyone will ever understand. He groans unashamedly as he tastes you for the first time in too long, savoring the flavor of your slick mixed with his cum that spreads so graciously across his palate. He sets a rhythm, pitifully hungry yet still tranquil as can be as he takes his time working through you. Hums and whines spilling from high in his throat, same as you as you watch from above.

His hand finds yours and your fingers interlock to rest on your thigh. He hits a particularly sensitive spot, neglected with his absence, and you squeeze his hand, head thrown backwards to look up at the ceiling. You’re squeezing his hand harder by the second, and it tells him everything he needs to know, how close you’re getting and what you need more and less of. He’s willing to go to any lengths to get you to cum in his mouth, use him to get off, God, please just do it, please.

Your mind is mush and you can’t think to do anything but let him have you, take care of you despite him being the one who should be taken care of because he just deserves it so much.

You’re soon cumming on his tongue as he holds you down onto him so lovingly, having you ride his face through your high. You’re so stimulated as all the breath from your lungs is ripped from your chest, core flexing and the muscles in your thighs hotter than the sloppy, open-mouth kisses he smothered your clit with. Your shoulders are slumped and then straight, and slumped again, and your eyes refuse to stay open with how heavy your head feels.

He moans as more of his cum is eased from your cunt with your own orgasm, licking it up clean like it’s his duty to do so. You taste of all things heaven, and he missed it so fucking bad while he was away, as did you. He’s drunk, and he can’t hold himself back from more and more consumption.

You try to pull away, you really do, but he’s far stronger and manages to keep you stuck to him. The change of pressure when you’re brought back down from when you somehow inch away is intense, sending a shock through your body that tells you, you must stay, no matter how hard it is. The overwhelming sensitivity quickly turns to your source of even more pleasure as his hot tongue works at your pussy, and you already feel the coil in your lower belly stretching to an unimaginable length and tension inside you once more.

He can’t stop. You just taste too good, and he’s full-on whimpering beneath you because helping you get you off is just as good as when you had his cock in your mouth, if not better. He wants to serve you until he drops, though he can’t help but feel like he’s only serving himself with the way he unconditionally wrecks and devours every bit of you with his lips and tongue and getting this much pleasure from it. He wants to die between your legs, and die a happy man he would.

Your grasp on his hand tightens as your third and final orgasm of the night strikes you without much warning, moans broken and muscles aching. You fight to hold yourself up even as you’re fully sat on his face, with his own arms to hold you still. Your legs are trembling around his head and shoulders, and he knows he did you justice, the idea enough to make his skull cave in on itself. Your mind is fully foggy as he guides you down to a calmer state, hands soothing over your thighs and calves.

You want nothing more than to curl up to his side and mess with his hair until you fall asleep, leave the mess for the next day you’ll be spending all with him, not a single other soul. You’re quick to move to sit back on his chest and you’re lucky he gives in, otherwise he’d have you like that above him for another hour. Your breathing is finally beginning to revert back to a somewhat normal rate, and you look down at him with a smile. His eyes are heavily-lidded and deep, and he’s got a great grin on his lips that is surrounded and garnished with the residual slick of yours and his ecstasy.

“God, I love you so much,” you pour out, and tears would be prickling at the corners of your eyes if you weren’t still so starstricken from sex.

He crumbles under your gaze and words, and he would blush if his cheeks weren’t already painted a bright pinkish shade. “I love you.”

You scoot down his body so that you’re laying on him, your head resting on his chest just underneath his chin. He wraps his big arms around your smaller body and embraces you in a hug, majorly one-sided as he squeezes you so unintentionally tight you can barely get your arms to his sides. You giggle against his chest, burying your face into the very man who’s pulling this reaction from you with his inadvertent tickling and teasing.

“You’re everything to me,” he says. He kisses the top of your head, and you finally manage to get your arms around him the best you can. “I don’t know what I would be without you, and I hope to never find out.”

He knows he’s going to wake up insanely sore with a stiff neck, but it’s all going to be alright because he’s finally with you.

[ghosts-bandwagon]

Yay request are open!!! How do we feel about a one shot where König constantly refers to the reader with German pert names without telling them what they mean? After a while they start to think König is making fun of them in German because whenever they confront him he gets all flustered. Maybe a fluffy ending where König confesses his feelings after the reader confronts him and asks what she did to make him make fun of her!

Ahhh this is so cute!! I love it!!! (tagging @konig-is-bbygrl bc könig is in fact bbygirl)

You were acting as a liaison between the 141 and KorTac in an attempt to get the two teams to cooperate on the field in the future. They chose you because you had good interpersonal skills, you followed orders well, and you met and exceeded expectations. That and you pulled the short straw. It was either that or send Ghost and that would’ve made matters worse, you love him but it’s the one department he lacks tact.

You were a little nervous, sure, but the team was pretty welcoming. Particularly the veiled giant, who you learned was König, he stuttered a bit at times and maybe spoke too fast when he got a little nervous or enthusiastic but you thought it was cute.

And then you’d get sent out together, and for a while you felt like you worked well together, communicated clearly and efficiently, and you were able to complete your missions with little to no incident. You’d fire off a joke or two over comms, exchange stories while waiting for evac in a safe house, you had a good thing going. But the more you got sent out together, the stranger his compliments became;

“Good shot, liebling.”

You laughed hesitantly at the compliment, it was a compliment, right?

“Keep your head low, schatz.”

You thanked him but the word turned over on your head over and over, was that an insult? It was at this moment you regretted taking French in college instead of German, you have yet to even see a French word in a context not involving food. When you met up at the RV point, the question has been sitting on your tongue for a while now, tainting the peaceful symbiosis you’ve created with König. You were in the safe house waiting for your next orders, he was sharpening his knives and you stood by the window. It was now or never.

“Hey, what do those words mean?” Your question cut the silence,

“Hm? Sorry?” He looked up at you from his seat at the table,

“It’s just, whenever you’ve told me something, you end the sentence with a word in German.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you watched his eyes widen for a split second before he quickly looked back down at the knife in his hands,

“Oh! Ah, well that, um, don’t worry about it, süße.” You’ve heard him stutter and occasionally trip on his words, but he was still direct with you. This was different, and it put a bad taste in your mouth. To add insult to injury, he’d used another word in German. He’s not… making fun of you, is he? It made your chest ache painfully, you suddenly felt like a fool for thinking you were actually getting along.

“Oh, ok, I guess.” You mumbled, turning your attention back to the window. The tension was palpable, you felt like you were drowning. You shook your head, focus, dumbass. This isn’t the time for that. It wasn’t too long after that, thank god, you got your orders and went to your posts. It all kept running in loop, all your interactions, all your jokes, all the laughs, all the quiet moments together, was he just being nice? Is he getting fed up with you but he doesn’t know how to tell you and he’s just casually adding insults to every sentence?? No, come on, that’s ridiculous.

“I’ve marked two soldiers on your path, maus.”

Did he just fucking call me a mouse?

Petty bastard. You clenched your jaw, the dread settling in your gut had quickly turned into anger. As soon as you were finished here, you’d pack your bags and head back to your boys, but not without giving the giant asshole a piece of your mind (and Price but that’s beside the point). The thing is though, you couldn’t wait until you were back at base. As soon as the chaos had died down and you met back up at the safe house, you let him have it,

“Good work out there, liebling.” König praised as you walked into the safe house, that was the final straw. You threw your gear on the table and leveled him with a glare, heart racing, adrenaline pumping through your system,

“Ya know, you’ve got some nerve, König.”

Not good.

“This entire time, I thought we were getting along really well and I don’t know what happened or what I did… I mean, fuck for a moment I…” the words died in your mouth, too scared to breathe life into them because then this confrontation would hurt all the more. You took a deep breath to calm your nerves,

“If I did something wrong, I’d rather you tell me instead of insulting me in a language you know I don’t understand.”

Oh fuck.

“Insult you? Schatz, never, I- they’re not insults, I would never.” His heart was pounding in his ears, hands becoming sweaty, his veil suddenly too warm,

“Then what are you saying, König? What do the words mean?”

Oh fuck.

“I-I can’t say…” His eyes were darting everywhere but yours,

“Either you tell me right now, or this is the last time I’ll ever work with you.”

Fuck.

“It’s- they’re not- scheiße- they’re not insults, liebling, they’re-” he sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, “terms of endearment.” He said the last part so quietly, you almost didn’t hear him.

“Oh… well, that’s different. Why didn’t you say so when I asked the first time?” You walked to him, approaching him slowly, your tone significantly more gentle. His eyes flicked to yours for a split second before darting away again, and then it hit you. “Oh. I… think I understand now.”

But because König was so focused on looking away from you, he didn’t see the grin that split your face, or the blush that dusted your cheeks, or the beautiful sparkle in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, lieb- sergeant, it’s incredibly out of line and horrifically inappropriate, please try to put it out of your mind. I don’t know what I was thinking, I was so rude-”

“König, hey, please stop for just a second.” He didn’t realize you were right in front of him and almost died of the fright, lest his humiliation take him first. You stood up on the tips of your toes and held the sides of his face, angling him to look at you, giving him no room for escape,

“What if I don’t what to put it out of my mind?”

“Schatz, what are you saying?” His voice was trembling ever so slightly, his large hands coming up to encompass yours,

“I’m saying, maybe you can keep calling me terms of endearment because maybe I’d like to do the same for you.”

“Are you sure?” He was breathless, his heart was a booming thunderstorm in his chest as his hands so delicately took yours held them. His thumbs stroking over the knuckles, already committing every scar and every bump to memory. He leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, lightheaded and dizzy in the most beautiful way possible.

“Never been more sure in my life.” Your smile was as blinding as the sun, and he’d never been more sure that everything in his life lead up to this exact moment. It didn’t matter that you were with the 141 and that eventually you had to go back, it didn’t matter that you were out in the field hunkered down in a safe house, nothing else mattered but you.

[writing-ca-ira]

SLIGHTLY AWKWARD

König x Reader

Just a little piece about a socially inept König meeting an equally socially inept soldier for the first time. I kinda wanna turn this into a small series, where it’s König and socially awkward reader against the world. If you like this, please give code name suggestions for the reader.

The reader is gender neutral.

Contains: soldier reader, socially awkward reader, a dreadful phone call (introverts beware), König is my poor little meow meow and no disgruntled fuck can take that away from me, don’t know how KorTac works, RIP.

… But, god… why did he have to make the call?

Everyone knows König’s not the most social guy out there. Sure, he can hiss out the most brutal one-liner while mercilessly slitting someone’s throat, but you can’t exactly do that in a normal conversation (that’s usually frowned upon). He’s the type to speak only when spoken to, take orders with a “yes, sir,” and get the job done. To actively seek out someone for a conversation — even if it’s purely for professional means — just isn’t König’s speed.

He should’ve kept walking when he heard a commotion in the common room. Why did he decide to stop at the doorway and peak in, where a couple of KorTac men were futzing around with the printer? Of course one of them was inevitably going to notice his looming presence; but in his defense, how the hell was he supposed to know that they were gonna rope him into helping? “Hey, big guy! You’re one of our contractors, right? How familiar are you with the higher-ups?”

Even after responding with, “uh, not really,” they didn’t seem to care at all; “ah, that’s no problem. All you gotta do it call the office. Tell ‘em this printer’s fucked again. You can manage that, right big guy?” And before he could even think of a way to say no, they all gave him a wicked grin. “Great! Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

And that’s how he ended up staring at the wall-mounted phone in the hallway. Weil ich einfach nicht nein sagen konnte, he bitterly thought to himself.

He shouldn’t of felt as apprehensive as he was. As he kept telling himself over and over again, it was just a phone call. Nothing too serious. But then the thought of the other end asking a question that König would have no way of answering (since he wasn’t the one that broke the stupid printer) entered his mind, and of course that would mean he would have to ask the guys in the common room, and then he would have to relay whatever information they gave him across the line… and there was always the threat of a follow-up question after that…

… Okay, he was stalling.

After a hefty sigh rolled off his lips, he engulfed the phone with his giant hand. The cord was taught as he pulled the speaker part up to his ear — he soon realized he had to bend his knees the slightest bit, since the cord was too short for his massive height — and he started to punch in the number for the office (though there were a few mess-ups that prompted him to whisper a sharp “scheiße” under his breath as he was forced to start over. Why did they have to make the number buttons so small…). After hitting the dial button, he was forced to endure the low beeping noise while the phone rang once… then twice… then a third time…

Clu-click.

… Silence.

Confusion filtered itself into König’s brain. Someone had finally picked up the phone on the other end — he heard it as plain as day — but there was no greeting that followed. And, as König understood it, that’s usually how common phone-etiquette works (not that he’s suddenly the conversational expert or anything). He waited a couple more seconds before realizing he would have to take initiative.

Willst du mich veräppeln…

Despite the anxiety that swirled in his stomach, he weakly cleared his throat. “Uh… hello?”

There was a beat of silence, and found himself critiquing his own voice. Was it too gravelly? Too unenthusiastic? Maybe his accent was too thick? What if they couldn’t hear him because of his sniper veil? Did he sound muffled?

A voice on the other line snapped him out of his thoughts. “Hello.”

Hello. Nothing else. Just hello. König held back the urge to chortle at how dry the response was. Did he even call the right number?

“Um…” he mentally cursed at the slight inflection in his voice. “Is this the office?”

A beat of silence. “I… guess?”

König found himself to be at a loss for words. What did they mean..? The question seemed straightforward; it was either the office or not. There wasn’t really a “who’s to say” option… right?

Nevertheless, he awkwardly coughed into his fist, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Well… the printer’s broken.”

“… Alright,” was all the person on the other line offered him. He mentally dreaded the thought of him having to say something dumb to end the call, but then he could hear the person distantly say, “uh, sir,” and he realized that the person must’ve been talking to someone else. There was a feint, incomprehensible noise — it sounded kind of like a bark — and the person spoke up again. “The printer’s broken.”

More incomprehensible barks. Except they sounded much more aggressive than before. König concluded that it was another person talking in the background, and by the sounds of it, they weren’t happy (he could’ve sworn he heard “fuck” being thrown around a couple times). Finally, the unintelligible ranting ended, and the person hesitantly spoke up again, this time into the phone. “Uh… why is it broken? The printer, I mean.”

They must’ve made some annotations to whatever speech was delivered on their end, because the question was short and sweet. König scratched the back of his neck and answered honestly; “I don’t know.” He had half the mind to elaborate, but before he could, he could hear the other person say, “he said he doesn’t know.”

Even more incomprehensible barks. König felt a bit of sympathy to whoever was playing messenger in the office for a very moody higher-up. When it was quiet once again, the person let out a coughing noise. “Why, uh, don’t you know?”

“… I wasn��t the one who broke it,” was König’s response. He tried to choose his words carefully, slightly hoping it wouldn’t cause the person anymore trouble on their end, but alas; the information was passed on, and the incomprehensible barks happened once more. Luckily for them, it was shorter than the last couple of times, and the person spoke. “Uh… see you soon.”

Click.

The line went dead. König was quick to put the phone back on its mount before briskly walking away. Whatever pissed-off higher up was making their way to that floor, he wasn’t sticking around. No way in hell he was gonna be lumped in with some dummkopf office men he didn’t even know the names of.

However, as soon as rounded the next corner, he was met with the sight of a pissed off man — wearing a full khaki suit and sunglasses — trucking towards him, and not too far behind him was a fully-suited up soldier (probably a contractor, much like König himself). The khaki man planted himself in front of König and craned his neck upwards.

“You,” he snappily began, his finger pointing accusingly at the giant. “Were you the one who made the call?”

Ah. This must’ve been the source of the barking from the office.

Now, König could’ve answered with a “yes” in that moment, but from what he could hear from the phone call, this man wasn’t in the best of spirits. So, instead of dealing with whatever headache was to come, all he did was wave in the general direction of the common room. Though it didn’t answer the question, it still managed to get the khaki man off his ass. König was immediately brushed aside by the man as he disappeared around the corner. The soldier — who König assumed was the one that answered the call — seemed to debate on following suit, taking a few hesitant steps forward, before angry yells echoed down the hall;

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU MORONS DOING?! HOW DO YOU KEEP BREAKING THIS FUCKING PRINTER, HUH?!”

Needless to say, the soldier figured it was a better call to just hang back.

The yelling continued for what felt like hours. Some crashing noises could be heard to accompany it, and while König’s never heard a whole ass printer being thrown against the wall, he would assume it would sound something like that. It was like witnessing a train wreck, except only being able to hear it.

He was about to turn around and leave (he was no longer needed and didn’t feel like being roped into anything else), when he heard the soldier next to him heave a sad sigh. “I just wanted to know if I was getting paid this week,” they mumbled.

Usually, König would pretend he didn’t hear anything and continue on his way. It sounded like they were talking to themself, after all, and weren’t exactly looking for his input. But there was a small part of him that felt bad for this happening, even if it wasn’t necessarily his fault.

So instead, he decided to offer you a word of advice; “not worth the trouble. You should probably just go.”

“… Yeah, I guess you’re right.” The soldier then turned to face him, eyes scanning up and down his body. “Haven’t seen you before. Who are you?”

A sigh almost fell from his lips. Were they seriously looking for a conversation with him? That was the last thing he wanted, especially after that damn phone call (his social meter was on cooldown). Even so, however, he still found himself answering; “König.”

The soldier hummed. They turned to face the hallway again, probably listening to the sounds of all hell breaking loose around the corner. Then they said something. One word. Except König didn’t catch it. His head snapped towards him as he quirked a brow, though he knew they couldn’t see it underneath his sniper mask.

Luckily for him, he didn’t have to say the question on his mind for them to understand. They found themself turning towards him once more. “That’s what they call me here,” they elaborated, then repeating their nickname to him. König hummed in comprehension as they began to walk down the hall. He watched them take several steps before they stopped, looked over the shoulder, and awkwardly stammered out, “uh… see ya.”

Despite the fact that they didn’t wait for a reply, König found himself muttering, “yeah. See ya.”

It was strange to him. Their words were clunky, clumsy, and just straight up awkward, yet he found himself intrigued by their demeanor. Perhaps they, too, were a simply KorTac contractor who got roped into a social scenario (they didn’t seem too skilled in the conversation department, after all). Someone who was skilled in battle, yet completely helpless in dialogue…

König could relate to that.

[blukrown]

Forever Enduring - Konig x Ghost [NSFW]

König is a dangerous man in general but is unrelenting when it relates to Ghost being hurt. No one but him can do that.

Or Read on AO3

Konig always sees Ghost off before he goes on a mission. Hoping to wish him well and have one final talk with him. Especially as this would be a solo mission, with only Ghost going in, with a pilot and medic on standby for evac.

Konig had pulled Ghost aside just before leaving. The lieutenant was fully dressed for combat, the tactical gear making his already large, muscular frame all the more pronounced. Konig hoped it would be enough to protect him.

He had him close, looking down into those calm, warm brown eyes. 

“You better come back alive,” Konig said, voice calm, not a single inflection of his usual anxiety. 

“And what if I don’t?” Ghost asked casually.

Not even flinching when Konig’s large hand cupped the side of his neck and forced him to lift his head to look solely on his veiled face.

Konig’s eyes were a chilling blue-white, pupils dilated as he spoke under his mask. “You won’t. Or I’ll hunt them down and make them pay.” His tone was deadly, dripping with violence. “You promised, only get to kill you.” 

Konig felt Ghost’s Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and his shoulders rise in heavy breaths through the slight squeeze at his neck.

“Ghost!” A voice called over from his shoulder. Captain Price was waiting by the chopper. “Time to roll out!”

Konig let Ghost go then, watching mournfully as he went to climb up. Feeling a twinge of satisfaction as he notice Ghost look back to him as he flew off.

. . .

Konig dropped whatever he was doing immediately when he heard about Ghost’s imminent return. Taking quick, giant steps to the helipad to welcome his lieutenant’s arrival. The other soldiers on the tarmac watched but did not approach, knowing full well why he was there.

Konig breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Ghost stepping out of the chopper looking unharmed and walking fine. But as he got closer, however, Konig noticed the blood.

A small stain of red on his outer, upper left arm. And Konig felt fury burn in his gut and Ghost could see it. The medic was about to approach him but the lieutenant waved them off with a hand before approaching Konig. Not seeming at all afraid at the look of anger in the Austrian’s eyes.

“What happened?” Konig asked, voice strained from holding back rage.

“Just a bullet graze, enemy snuck around and surprised me. He had rubbish aim though.” 

Konig felt his jaw clench as he lifted a hand to the wound. He could see the white gauze beneath the ripped cloth, it appeared to merely be a flesh wound and would easily heal to barely a mark. And yet, Konig’s temper did not cool.

Konig grabbed him by the arm and was forcefully dragging Ghost away. Leading him off until he found a vacant briefing room nearby and went in. Letting go of Ghost’s arm to close and lock the door before rounding on him.

“Are you going to tell me what this temper tantrum is about?” Ghost asked gruffly, leaning against one of the tables and crossing his arms. Knowing full well what this was about.

“I told you not to hurt yourself.” Konig hissed, stepping right up into Ghost’s space.

The lieutenant still showed no intimidation from the man towering over him. In fact, he let out a huff, “You’re an idiot if you think I would get out of there unscathed.”

Konig’s anger was tempering but only by a notch. Reaching out, he took a grip on Ghost’s hurt arm. Squeezing at the gauze and the wound protected below.

Konig did not stop even when Ghost hissed, but the superior did not pull away.

“You’re mine. All mine. Only mine.” Konig whispered harshly, pressing hard enough to reopen the wound slightly and allow droplets of blood to soil the gauze. “Only I should be allowed to leave a mark on you.”

Ghost, eyes scrunched slightly from the pain, letting out a huff. “Well, now you’re just being unrealistic.” He was calm apart from a twinge of pain, looking into those eyes unflinchingly. “Go on then. Mark me. Give me a scar I wouldn’t mind seeing.”

“Fine.” Konig only said.

His large hands were quick to remove Ghost’s protective vest and pull his clothes up to reveal his heavily scarred chest. A plethora of burn marks, bullet holes and knife slashes. A mural of all of Ghost’s pain, all on display for only Konig to see.

Konig's hands were shaky at first but soon steadied, touching up Ghost’s chest. He could feel the man breathing, how his breaths became hitched as his hands roamed higher.

He then stepped closer to Ghost, one knee dispensing between Ghost’s and feeling a wriggling of pleasure to already feel a stiffness in his pants. Ghost was almost lying on the table now, with Konig’s gigantic back protecting his naked chest from any prying eyes.

Konig did not even bother to lift the black veil up as he found a spot where the right peck met his shoulder, leaning over and biting into the skin through the bottom of the mask. Face still hidden but his visible eyes closing.

Teeth did not yet pierce the skin, still cautious. Konig let his lips then enclose the same spot and suck, aggravating the skin until he knew it would be a blue-purple welt on his flesh by morning. His tongue then poked out and lapped at it, soothingly. Savouring the taste of dried, salty sweat.

Ghost started moving his hips, grinding down on Konig’s knee between his legs. His breath audible even through the skull mask. Konig could feel the shape becoming more distinct with each thrust.

Konig took to making another mark, at the nape of Ghost’s neck. Colouring the skin with his mouth, teeth and tongue. Konig could not help but kiss and gnaw at the mark, irritating the flesh all the more.

His lieutenant let out a faint whimper, breath hitching at the sensation. His gyrations now becoming more fevered, pretty much humping Konig’s knee at this point.

“I thought . . . Hah- you were going to mark me,” Ghost grumbled, voice breathless. “Those won’t even last a week.” Konig then felt the hand push his head down, “Go on then, take a bite.”

Konig faltered only for a moment, giving Ghost a second to change his mind. But he didn’t, his breaths still harsh in Konig’s ear and his hips still grinding, seeking whatever friction he could find.

He took to the soft plush skin of his peck, a few centimetres up from a perked nipple that Konig knew to have a taste of next. As if in warning he lapped at the skin, anticipation stealing Ghost’s breath before Konig opened his mouth and bit.

Teeth pressed through flesh until he tasted iron on his tongue, droplets warming the inside of his mouth. Konig let out a soft moan at the bliss of it, only being drowned out by Ghost’s. 

Konig had a feeling Ghost was inching closer to his end, wanting nothing more than to see Ghost cum. So taken by Konig’s teeth indents being left in his flesh forever more.

Pulling away the open bite marks in his flesh still wept crimson. Konig not helping but leaning down to lap at them with his tongue. Relishing the mixture of sweat and blood like the finest concoction. 

The lieutenant’s hips were stuttering, faltering. The hand on Konig’s head squeezed and tugged at the fabric at the back of his head. His breath hitched harsher and harsher until, for just a moment, they stopped. And with a great gasp of air Ghost finished right then and there. Cumming into his pants atop a table with only Konig’s eyes to see.

Konig gave Ghost time to settle before sitting up, a pooling sense of satisfaction seeing the darkened fabric of the crotch of Ghost's pants - not to mention Konig's own.

Afterwards, with Ghost’s wounds - both old and fresh - were bandaged and covered. Ghost could not help but admit, “Maybe I should get hurt more often.”

[yansoftie-archive]

König/Siren!Reader

König who has the misfortune (or the opposite) to cross paths with siren reader. it only takes a second for him to fall deep into the lull of your song if he hadn't glanced a sight at you before. his giant body throwing itself into the cold and murky water, feet shuffling through the sand with ease. the seaweed entangles him into your home, little fish scurrying away. he's the biggest prey you've ever caught and you're not going to waste any part of him. the veil is a strange sight, but truthfully, the eyes are all you need to see. he's fallen for your trap like the rest of them.

but, for a change, he doesn't want to take from you like all the other scum did. he wants to serve. begging in a high-pitched rasp with utter desperation. head bowing to you like a dog for a treat. gods, tears are welling up in his eyes. while you couldn't understand any human language, the signs of desire are always clear to you. this felt different. something you weren't ready for.

large, scarred hands lift from the water and reach for you. blunt nails gently scrape at your naked stomach, hovering over your mesmerizing scales, a silent question. even in their entranced state, most folk wouldn't dare be so bold. yet this is one of the best parts of being your kind. you might as well be a god in the eyes of man, doesn't matter if you spend your day shredding carcasses with teeth and nails. you could sit pretty on your rock in a lake full of blood and guts, it doesn't matter.

your tail flicks closer to him. you can hear the man gasp at the signal. he's shamelessly greedy, fingers exploring the grooves of your sleek scales, fingertips forming light cuts from the pure sharpness of them. he runs his palm over your frayed fins as if its the most delicate thing in the world. the entirety of your tail is incredibly durably, but it's fine if they don't know. the shrieking horn of a ship wails in the distance. a team, rescue possibly, looking for him immediately. somehow, the attention of the man before you remains undeterred. he looks up at you with an adoration stronger than all else you've seen before. maybe you could just... keep him? ah, no.

you'll let him go for now. you're sure he'll come back.

[h-a-unted]

Characters tags (ignore these)

[comfortless]

SYL remember the Ren fair blippet you posted of Konig and his dear??

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRTyaTXk/

This totally gave me flashbacks to it!! he probably completely forgets he's a human from the modern world when he puts his costume on and drags his partner into the festival, he just wants to be a knight in ye olden days with his love

oh my god Jane that is so cute ;;!!! heart is melting… we all deserve a dance with renfaire König…

The difference between König in and out of uniform is barely there, he’s still the same, albeit a bit more focused on the field; the difference between König in and out of costume though…?

It’s as if the single sip of ale he had at the beginning of the faire already had him drunk.

You had meticulously tightened each strap of his armor, cloaked him in the chainmail veil he wore just so, and spent more time than you would have liked preparing him rather than yourself.

He wanted to seat you in his lap whilst he polished the blunt sword, running his gloved fingers over the tip and making a quip about how he should sharpen it whilst your laces remained untied and your makeup was barely in place.

All of that preparation seemed for naught because König becomes someone else the moment you arrive.

He’s obnoxiously cocksure and giddy.

It’s as if some long forgotten knight has him possessed with the way he taunts the smaller men practicing the blade or throwing axes at shoddily painted targets. He has to beat them at every turn, making an entire spectacle of himself with a wild grin affixed upon his face.

There are rules to this: you try to remind him to be gentle, he doesn’t actually have to kill anyone here. Your warnings are met with feverish kisses and too handsy touches along your waist, up further until you detach from him with a laugh. Really, your soldier has become little more than an excitable hound.

You watch from the wooden fence as he readies for a joust. How they managed to find a horse that could seat him properly is beyond you, and from the looks upon their faces the men tending the stables are just as surprised.

The lance König wields looks almost puny in his large hand, and his opponent is more than a little shaken once presented with this giant on horseback. The other man ushers his horse to veer to the right once the joust begins, bypassing König entirely all to dramatically forfeit.

The men locked in duels are no better; no one wants this titan tackling them into the dust with a blade in hand. Everyone had already seen how König managed to bring a man to tears. It’s not much of a surprise that he’s proud of that. Look at how strong he is, princess! Aren’t you honored to have a man like that at your side?

Half of the budget he’s set for the faire is spent on food and ale. He wants you to try everything, hand feed him with a cute pout and that same annoyed yet adoring glare you’ve been shooting him all day. König had no qualms keeping you in his lap during the lavish feast, either. He strokes at your waist where the corset he helped you to fasten has been giving your side some grief after all this walking, plays with your hair until he reaches the nape of your neck and pulls you in to taste sugar on your tongue.

Maybe it’s a bit humiliating to play the role of this rowdy king’s beloved concubine, but it’s difficult not to feel contented when he’s so happy and free.

Not once does work come up.

The only weapons he toys with here are all for pretend. You know him well enough to detect when his team or a particularly gory mission are in mind, and with that rabid grin ever-present on his face it’s difficult to tell the difference, but… his eyes are more vibrant here. There is no tension in his shoulders when you pet him for missing a target with an arrow. The man who hates crowds seems to have been tucked away entirely, replaced by this König that eagerly initiates a duel and debates the time period certain weaponry was in use with a merchant.

He compares you to a fairy or a nymph when you lead him into the open field to dance, blades of grass so high you feel them tickle beneath your gown. His movement isn’t clumsy, though it’s near feverish as he tugs you close to sway, releases you to circle you like a starved wolf just to grasp at any part of your being within reach again.

He hasn’t a clue how to dance, but your hand remains joined with his the entire time, giving him just as much praise as he gives to you. Handsome when he mutters onward about your beauty, strong when he compares you to nimble forest creatures, lovely when he grasps at your hip to loom over you and press lengthy kisses against your exposed shoulder.

The dancing doesn’t end when others disperse either, when night takes the sky, when owls call, and the strumming of a lute plays on in the distance accompanied by shouts and laughter. There are still other events, someplace across the field… just ones the pair of you would not be in attendance for.

Away from envious eyes or drunken bards, König pulls you down to the grass to crowd over you, leaving a series of kisses from face to cleavage. He laughs against your breasts when you comment on how much fun he’s having. Your gown is lifted to fold carelessly above your hips; he mutters into your ear about showing you just how much before his face is pushed between your thighs.

He apologizes against your sex for dragging you out here, for embarrassing you by making that little knight cry, for being so uninhibited and himself that you force yourself to pull away from the sloppy licks altogether.

Your hands find his jaw and you cup his face as you tell him with sheer delight painted within your expression just how much you love seeing him like this. The little knight and all of the other people here are long forgotten in your mind at least, because all that matters is that crooked grin he flashes before helping himself to the millionth pleasure he’s had that day.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

observation: women DID win medals at the ancient olympics… by OWNING the horses that won the medals. sugar mommy reader/jockey konig when ;)

Omggg imagine a widowed, virtuous, kind-hearted domina who owns horses and a giant slave from the North… (Roman AU just because!)

König is her favorite jockey, a real apple of the eye. Everytime he wins a competition she wishes to see him personally, just to plant the coins in his palm herself. He always steals a peek of her ankle, barely covered by the white veil, weighs her hips and breasts with his stare. But far more than the dark triangle under her opaque white dress, he seems to be interested in her eyes.

Audacious, even from a slave, but she forgives him since he comes from the barbaric North. What do they know of manners there?

She knows very well that the brief touches she gives him are about to make him crazy. She knows König would do anything for his mistress’s favor and praise, anything to please his domina. Anything for a silent, appreciative once over, let alone a warm, approving smile.

Servants and slaves give each other knowing looks everytime he’s summoned before her. Mistress is being too generous with this man, anyone can see the bulge under his clothes... He gets better food than any of those who work for her, and touching him like that will only make him dream of spending a night in the mistress’s bed. Even the very thought is vulgar.

She only sees a devoted servant and a talented horseman, someone who rarely ruins the mood by talking and always returns her kindness by bowing his head and looking pleased. Other slaves snicker and gossip, but this one only does what he’s told, brings her house victories and glory. And she doubts he would ever cross an unspoken boundary, shy as he is.

The money she gives him doesn’t seem enough of a payment for his services anymore, even if she pays him better than the servants. She likes to see him well fed and satisfied, but König never takes the slave girls she reluctantly tries to offer him. It’s a custom she has to abide by, but secretly, she’s pleased he doesn’t seem to be interested in any of her girls. Thinking about giving him the horse instead because these two seem to share a bond, she notices she would do anything to please this strange, silent man.

But when she tells König she has a gift for him, something special this time, something he has probably wished for for a long time, he falls to one knee and bows his head before she can even tell him what the gift is is. Asks with that rough, unused voice:

“Do I get to fuck you now, mistress?”

[ravensofcedar]

It’s been forever since I’ve done a WIP Wednesday. How about a little tease from the next chapter of ‘Through the Thorns’? I sat down and wrote 3.5k words in one sitting, that’s how much of a chokehold this fic has on me already. The next chapter will be with Leshy König and Soap, because that giant still occupies too much of my brain. As usual, this is a rough draft, and will most likely change by the time I get the full chapter out.

----

The Leshy didn’t move, acting like if he stayed still enough, the human would lose interest and walk away. Upon his head was a massive elk skull, draped with bunches of fresh Spanish moss that created a veil over his face, brushing down over his impressive, muscled chest. Through a tangle of long, auburn hair that draped well past his shoulders, a set of huge, branching antlers cast imposing shadows over his broad shoulders and the water below. Some of his hair was caught up in the points, along with an intricate work of art woven through the dark, bony protrusions. Bits of bone, rock and branches dangled in beautiful arcs, held together by braided sinew. 

John slowly stood up, and tried to hold his hands up to show he was no harm, but the Leshy charged the second he moved.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Johnny shouted and stumbled back. He waved his hands in front of his body and had to turn to run or else get snagged by the spread of antlers coming straight for him.

“I’m a friend! A friend! Johnny!” Pure desperation. He had to try.

The dripping behemoth stopped in its tracks and straightened up in shock. Stood directly in front of Johnny, the deity towered nearly fifty centimeters above him. All long limbed, muscle, bone and the beginning traces of wood covering his lower limbs. The rustic leather kilt about its waist sat low, not high enough to hide the trail of dark rust on his lower abdomen.

Johnny took a few trembling steps back and reached into the inside of his shirt. 

The Leshy rumbled and took a step back, his muscles coiled and ready to snap at the first sign of aggression.

“It’s okay, big guy… I’m not goin’ to hurt ya.” 

He pulled the necklace from his collar and presented it to the Leshy. 

Drawing in a sharp breath, the massive creature knelt down and took the necklace, holding it so delicately in his hands. He fell to his knees in front of Johnny and removed his mask, those same, large eyes Johnny had seen so long ago blinking in shock. No longer a little boy, but a stunningly handsome man beneath the headdress.

“Johnny…” he breathed, still remembering his name after all those years… Over two decades and he never forgot him. 

“Heh, yeah… You’ve uh, grown quite a bit. Think I got left behind.” He raised his hand over his head to try to mime out what he was saying.

König chuckled and nodded, understanding what he was getting at. He placed the necklace over Johnny’s head and lingered close to him. He smelled of the earth, moss and leaf litter, of the sediment that gathered under the pebbles of the cold, mountain streams. Of something that had become home for Johnny.

“I was looking for you, König.” 

At the sound of his name, König perked up and smiled. 

“Yeah, I remember your name too, König.” 

“Johnny...”

[st-el-la-luna]

Price runs the general store and has taken over as the town's unofficial mayor. He checks in on everyone, makes sure everything runs smoothly. He's always coming up with ideas to improve the town. Graves has used his money from the Shadow Company to invest in a chain of big box stores, one of which just made shop in town. Price is livid. Graves is smarmy.

Graves keeps and trains hunting dogs, as well as horses. Never seen without a cowbot hat on his head or a piece of grass 'twixt his lips. He doesn't need to work, he's made more than enough money to live comfortably, and while he isn't the Commander of the Shadows anymore he is still the CEO. But he's got people to do the work for him, he's retired. He's got nothing to do but work on his tan and finally settle down like his mama always wished he would.

Soap works on the ranch and sells animals and animal care products. He's often got a dog and a lamb at his heels. It's not uncommon to see him walking around with a chicken stood on one of his shoulders and a swine under one of his arms.

Ghost also lives on the ranch, works there too, as a butcher, often out in the back shed, bloody apron around his waist, gloves forsaken. He's good with the knife, scarily so. Like it's second nature for him to sever flesh from bone and bleed things dry. He offers up the best cuts to you silently, simply stuffing the paper wrapped parcel in your hands before stalking away.

Gaz fishes, he fishes a lot. He finds it calming. Though he's not too fond of the smell. He sells his catches to Price at a reduced cost. Price insists paying him in full. Gaz denies, but Price always manages to sneak him extra cash without Gaz noticing. He likes to take you out on the lake in his boat, especially at night, pointing out constellations as you wait for a bite on either of your lines. He doesn't tell you that he didn't bait them. You don't tell him that you know.

Alejandro hunts and forages, selling what he finds in Price's store. He and Rudy live in a cabin by the woods. He enjoys the solitude, the peace of nature. Oftentimes he can be found asleep in the feilds, hat tipped over his eyes as he rests his head on a pillow of moss. Always carries something to snack on in his pockets. Likes to gift you things from his excursions. Once, he brought you a wall mount of a deer he'd killed, chest puffing out like a proud cat when he sees that you put one up on your wall. The others immediately start bringing you similar hunting trophies. You don't question why.

Rudy teaches the children of the town, both in English and Spanish, doing his best to cover all subjects. He can often be seen taking them out on day trips because he wants them to be well rounded, shaped by unique and diverse experiences, and for them to have opportunities in their lives despite being from such a small town. (The kids in question? Price's from a failed marriage, the Laswells' three youngsters, and one of Soap's nephews).

König runs the smithy, hands and arms scarred from years of metal work. He keeps the protective veil on most of the time, unable to meet your gaze, always trying to appear smaller even though he is a giant of a man, the peen hammers he works with looking like toys in his hands, the anvil low enough on him that he has to bend awkwardly, always complaining to Horangi about back pain.

Speaking of Horangi, he works at the library. He always greets you with a wide smile, offering up book suggestions, thanking you with a grin for each and every artifact you bring in. The rewards he offers in exchange becoming more and more... Intimate the better you get to know him. He and König often eat their lunches together, sometimes outside, should the weather permit.

Keegan works the carpentry shop, cutting down the trees himself and preparing them. He builds furniture, does flooring, and offers house upgrades. He likes to keep his hands busy. Any hesitation on your part is quickly forgotten when he tells you he built his place himself. He's always got a tool belt on, hanging low on his hip as he chews on a nail, mallet dangling from the loop on his pants.

Alex and Farah run the saloon. Alex mans the bar with a bright smile, friendly attitude and well trained hands, making cocktails of all types off the top of his head. He may be good at bartending, often tossing bottles and glasses to entertain, he is not to be trusted in the kitchen, less you want your food to be bland and flavourless. No, the cooking is Farah's job, one she enjoys. It reminds her of simpler times, before her father's death, before everything went south with Hadir... Plus, she likes to see the looks on people's faces when they eat her food. She likes the way that a good meal can bring people together.

Nikolai runs the adventures guild, by the mines. Sells weapons, some of which are... Questionably pre-owned. But you know better than to ask questions. Besides, not only has he taught you to use a number of weapons you never could before, but he's gone down into the mines and saved your ass numerous times now, never once asking anything in return.

Laswell and her wife run the small medical center. They can't perform surgery or anything but Kate's wife is a doctor and well, Laswell has dealt with injuries before so she's not the worst person to have working reception. They make it work.

IDEA

You've just inherited land from your grandfather's estranged brother. Your great-uncle was a military man, high ranking and well decorated. You don't know why he bothered owning a farm, especially not in such a quaint, little town.

Turns out, the town has a very high retired military population, and some active soldiers too. All of them having known and respected your great uncle to some degree.

All of them incredibly hot. And single. And interested in you.

Essentially: Stardew Valley, but with Cod characters.