#König x Reader

[amaranthinespirit]

Hi u hope it's not too weird but I love your writing and I wanted to ask if you'd be down to write könig who got a but chubby under the readers cooking?

könig getting softer after retirement

he's been retired for a few months now, taking the time to laze around the house and spend more time with his pretty missus, except he's noticed one thing.

back when he was in the military, he was fit, in shape with sharp muscles and defined abs that you loved to run your tongue down. he had worked hard for years, reflected greatly in his physique, with beefy arms, brute chest and thick thighs. his skin also littered with scars that you kissed every night.

now he was home with you. after years of deployments, he decided he wanted to settle back with you for the rest of his life. he had gotten lazy after retirement, spending more days on the couch watching a telegram program with you on his arm, or fucking you stupid on every surface of the house—the only real exercise he's gotten in months. while he is a man of discipline and routine, he just wants to make up for the lost time he spent away from you.

so his physique might've slipped away from him, but you can't blame him! he has a cute wife that spends countless time in the kitchen—definitely not due to the fact he's got you bent over the countertop. your food is heavenly, and it doesn't help the man eats enough for an entire army. sometimes you'd excuse yourself from the table, pushing the plate in his direction with the excuse, "i'm full," but once he found out you were lying about that, he made you cum more than you could count on both hands.

but if only all the fucking could help with the weight he's gained.

he's gotten softer.

his abs now have a smooth layer of fat over them, the skin stretched with marks, and you can see his soft gut through his mouth-wateringly tight shirts.

His thick arms only got beefier, a thing you loved because you could now sink your teeth into the plushy flesh—he doesn't know why you like it, he just goes along with it because it makes you happy.

and his thighs. his. thighs. they got impossibly bigger, you could mistake them for tree trunks, decorated with more stretch marks that you adored and kissed every time you got on your knees for him.

he sees how much you like his softer figure, muscles still strong under the extra layers of fat, and it's definitely not like his staminas been affected in anyway.

so he'll continue devouring your food like his stomach is a bottomless pit, and make sure his wife is stuffed full too—in more ways than one. he'll rub a large, calloused hand over your food baby. his grin devilous as he coos.

"now how about I put a real baby in there, hm?"

[machveil]

your friends thinking your boyfriend, König, is actually your pet. you haven’t introduced him to them yet, just offhand comments about, “Oh— it’s getting a little late, I should go home. König probably misses me.”, or, “Oh, König would love this! [pet bowl for his cat]”. they hear you talk about how you have to be back home early, “He gets stressed out if I’m gone too long.”. maybe he’s a big dog breed? a poor thing with separation anxiety. “König fell asleep on my lap last night and I couldn’t get up for, like, two hours.”, your friends nodding along, they know the rules - you don’t get up if your pet falls asleep on you. “He got into my snacks last night. I couldn’t really be mad, his eyes got all wet and sad.”, awe, your pet has killer puppy dog eyes. with a little training your pet shouldn’t get into your food

color them shocked when they ask to see a photo and it’s a behemoth of a man, “Isn’t he cute? We’re going on a walk later.”

[oaksgrove]

Just the Two of Us

pairing: Husband!König x Reader

synopsis: Some nights are made for quiet intimacy—the soft glow of candlelight, the distant crackle of an old record, and the warmth of two souls moving in perfect harmony. König has never been a man of grand gestures, but in the safety of your embrace, with your body swaying against his, he doesn't need words to tell you what you already know.

warnings: König being a giant but ridiculously gentle husband, A hint of spice but mostly warmth and devotion

word count: 947

The house was steeped in silence—not the kind that was empty or lonely, but one that thrummed with warmth, with something deep and unspoken filling the space between heartbeats.

It was late. The kind of hour where the world felt distant, where time stretched and softened, where nothing existed beyond these walls. The gentle crackle of a record player spun through the dimly lit room, the melody low and slow, wrapping around you both like a whispered secret.

And then—his hands.

Large, calloused, warm.

One resting firm at your waist, fingers curling just slightly, the other cradling yours with infinite care, reverence in every touch. As if you were something fragile. Something precious. König's presence surrounded you, his touch grounding yet electrifying, a contradiction wrapped in devotion.

"Dance with me, liebling," he murmured, lips barely grazing your temple, his voice a deep, velvety hush against your skin.

He pulled you into the slow sway of the music, guiding you with effortless ease. Your body moved in sync with his, drawn into the rhythm, into the heat of him. There was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet intimacy of being close, of feeling the steady thrum of his heart against your own.

His voice rumbled low in his chest, the vibrations sinking into your skin. "Do you remember our first dance?"

A soft smile played at your lips, eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself melt into him. "How could I forget?"

It was your wedding day. You could still see it—the way his hands had trembled when he first held you, his massive frame taut with nerves, his desperate attempt to move with grace despite the overwhelming emotions pressing against his ribs. The way his breath had shuddered against your cheek, the sheer weight of his love filling the space between you.

And the way he had looked at you.

Like you were the only thing in the world.

Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

His grip tightened at your waist, pulling you closer—so close you could feel every inch of him, every ripple of tension beneath his skin.

"I was so nervous," he admitted, chuckling softly, his breath warm against your ear. "I thought I might step on your feet."

You laughed, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "You did."

König groaned, pressing his forehead against yours, lips hovering just above yours. "I did not."

"You absolutely did, love." You teased, dragging your fingers along the nape of his neck, feeling the slight shiver that rippled through him at your touch.

His chest rumbled with a quiet huff, but then—that rare, boyish grin tugged at his lips, the one that made your heart stutter and your stomach flip.

"You still married me," he murmured, voice softer now, thick with something reverent.

Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath the thin material of his shirt.

"I’d marry you a thousand times over."

His breath hitched, his grip tightening just slightly—just enough to make you feel the restraint in his movements, the way he held back the sheer need pressing beneath his skin.

His hands roamed lower, pressing against the curve of your hips as he guided you into a slow, deliberate sway. Every movement was intentional. His touch was firmer now, possessive, his body pressing just a little closer. The music swelled around you, but you barely heard it—not over the way your pulse pounded in your ears, not over the way he was looking at you now.

Like he wanted to devour you.

His voice dipped, thick and rough. "I was terrified that day." His lips ghosted over your cheek, his nose brushing against your temple. "I wanted everything to be perfect for you."

Your fingers threaded through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and he inhaled sharply, a sound that sent heat curling deep in your stomach.

"It was perfect," you whispered. "Because it was you."

König let out a breath, ragged, unsteady. Then his hands were sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his body was dizzying, the scent of him—warm spice, musk, something purely him—sinking into your skin.

The song played on, wrapping around you both, slow and steady.

König dipped his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then just beneath your ear. Each one softer than the last, each one sending shivers cascading down your spine.

"Liebling," he rasped, his voice frayed with something thick, something desperate.

You smiled, tilting your head so your lips barely ghosted over his jaw, teasing, taunting, promising.

"What is it, my love?"

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening for just a second—just long enough for you to feel the full force of his restraint, the hunger curling beneath his skin. His hands traced the length of your back, slow and deliberate, mapping every dip and curve like he was memorizing you all over again.

His mouth found your shoulder once more, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your skin, teeth grazing lightly, just enough to make you gasp.

"I love you," he breathed, the words almost reverent, almost pleading.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your skin, low and deep.

"Show me."

His breath shuddered.

And then—his lips.

Soft. Slow. Impossibly deep.

His kiss stole the air from your lungs, left you weightless in his arms, the world fading away until there was nothing left but the heat of him, the taste of him, the way he consumed you with every brush of his lips, every sigh, every touch.

Only him.

Only this.

Only love.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes

[quarterlifekitty]

One thing that makes me go feral is when in the middle of fucking, one person gets overstimulated and tries to crawl and squirm away from the overstimulation, and the other person drags them back by the hips like "Where do you think you're going?" 😩 which of the guys do you think is most likely to do this?

(Can you tell I'm ovulating... 🫣)

ALL

cw: daddy kink adjacent stuff for Nik, as per usual. Just a hint of aggression, and marking dubcon just in case

Gaz is literally so sweet about it. Like you’re a little kitten about to walk off the edge of a table and he’s just redirecting you. “No, no, love— this way,” he coos as he puts his hand beneath your hips to cup you and pull you back.

Soap is about to lose his mind, it’s so hot to him— “Ah’m just givin’ it tae ye so good, huh, bonnie? Cannae take it anymore? Too bad,” he tuts, his fingers sunken into your soft flesh as he pins your kicking legs and tugs hard.

Ghost reacts with some real aggression. He’s not mad at you— he’s mad at the idea. The concept of you being separated from him. He’s bruising and yanking your body, manhandling you under his weight. “Don’t fuckin’ run from me, birdie— don’ wanna know what’ll happen if’m pulled outta this cunt—“

Price can’t help but smile. Such a sensitive little thing. “If you’re already in this state— doesn’t bode well for the rest of your night, darl’— cause I ain’t near finished with you.” He’s prepared to wait upon you like you’re his ailing, bedridden queen suffering from the consumption tomorrow, cause you’ll have about as much energy left when he’s done.

König is holding you too tight to let you even begin to squirm away— he can just feel the tense and strain of your muscles against his hands. It makes him kiss you as deep as he can manage— he just thinks it’s so cute, like you’re a little moth with wings beating against his cupped palms.

Nikolai laughs. He laughs at you. You’re just so silly— thinking papochka will show you mercy. He’s not a merciful man, malýshka. He’d best remind you of that— not that you’ll ever really learn. He wouldn’t want you to, really. He likes playing this little game with you. It’s like ballroom dancing to him— very romantic and sweet.

[caoimhewrites]

Vacation

I was just on vacation and it got me thinking about how TF 141 + König act on vacation with you so here's some headcanons

CW: None WC: 669

Ghost isn't really the kind of guy to go on vacation. He's a "stay at home and relax" man, enjoying the short amount of time he gets at home with you. "I'm always off on deployment, I don't understand why I would use my time at home to just ship myself off somewhere else," he always says. You're in disbelief when you finally manage to convince him to actually travel anywhere farther than the couch with you. He won't complain though, he'll feel too guilty if he does. So, he begrudgingly putters through the airport with you. Amusement parks are a big no for him. Too many people, long lines, overpriced food? Yeah he'll pass. But, if you take him somewhere quiet and peaceful, he'll love it. If he can sit around reading his books or window shopping in a small rural town, he'll be on top of the world.

König HATES planes. Being 6'10 makes the small spaces difficult. So, expect to be on a train or something much less cramped to get to your destination. He loves to hike and he's very intense about sunscreen use. Expect for him to be making sure you reapply it every two hours and no swimming until it's fully soaked in. Loves going to remote places with a small bed and breakfast. He'll be up early as usual, activities planned out in extreme detail. He has a detailed itinerary of every day. The breakfast is always set at exactly the same time, and he already has a map of the trails you’ll explore that day, marking spots along with estimated times of arrival. He likes to make the hikes an all day activity so he packs plenty of snacks for when you're out so you don't get hungry.

Price is an airport dad. He will make sure you're there several hours early. By the time you get to the check-in counter, he’s already double-checked your boarding passes, your IDs, and even your luggage tags, just in case. You’ve barely made it past security, and he’s already on the phone with the airline, double-confirming the gate and asking the attendant how early they’ll start boarding. He’s acting like he’s planning a military operation. He's basically power walking through the airport to your gate. While you’re busy teasing him, he’s already five steps ahead, securing the perfect spot to sit near the gate, ensuring you’re in an area that’s both close enough to the restrooms and far enough from the crowds. You can’t even get to your seat before he’s asking if you’ve got your passport, your phone, your charger, your headphones, he even offers you a neck pillow.

Gaz is really into the local scene. He spends weeks prior to your trip researching non-tourist spots that locals love. He says he wants an "authentic travel experience." He doesn't really go for the thrill seeking activities, he's much more of a city explorer. He's really into a chill vacation where he can just spend time with you exploring a new place. He's so organized that the whole trip goes smoothly. He has all the documents like passports, plane tickets, ID"s on hand at all times. Takes pictures of EVERYTHING. He loves to make them "artsy". Once you get home he's getting the pictures printed and putting them in a special photo album.

Soap is over the moon when it comes to vacation. He loves a good trip. He's down to go anywhere and do pretty much anything. If you want to go to a fancy resort and just sit by the pool he's more than happy, but if you want to go on a wilderness retreat he's all for it. Loves an amusement park. Even if it's crowded and the lines are long he's still having a great time. He would love trying all the different foods that are in the park. Much like Price, he is an airport dad all the way. He's the most prepared person in that airport (besides Price).

Taglist: @little-mini-me-world

[dmitriene]

reader enjoying könig's perverted tendencies and just overall degeneracy. encouraging it even 😞😞 sighs

cw: established freak relationship, jerking on underwear, watching on cameras, exhibitionism, spitting and overall gross things.

könig makes it all so maddeningly easy, to succumb to the way he views and acts in the framework of your relationship, all this casual filth, emotional pressure, an act of a petulant, needy child that goes all angry and teary eyed when he won't get what he wants, and it'll be you, because he needs you, every single second of his breathing, and you never told him no, because you can't, because his behavior makes something in your tummy churn, tight and searing hot.

a man of many, twisted desires, and how he cannot grow crazier, swallow down greedy gulps of drool that fills his mouth up to the brim, when you welcome his behavior, encourage this marrow rotting degeneracy of his, let him jerk off to the pair of your panties which he stole out of your closet without a shame to his face or eyes, the first time you invited him to your apartment, if you've already kissed, why can't he coat the thing you wear closest to your pussy with the mark of his utter devotion to you?

sometimes he does something completely strange, disgusting, like returning from a long time away deployed, with a bag full of boxed cameras which he later hangs in the corners of the apartment, this is your place, your sanctuary, and yet, könig tears in your personal space with a doggish grin and his blown baby blue eyes full of depraved, unhealthy possession, rasping that he wants to be able to see you even while away, and how can you say no to him, when he just misses you, needs a clear image of you whenever he wants, something to cum to.

you let könig do anything his rotten brain would come up with, submitting to every whim, like spit globs of saliva over your wide stretched cunt, tender lips and folds fluttering, dancing around the fat tip of his engorged cock, spread with a rough sting at the way he bottoms in almost forcefully, all rough, ramming his bruisingly strong hips forward, skin slapping on skin to burn into your body, fluids mixing in a gross, tacky mess, over your spasming cunt, your bouncing breasts, your parted mouth, clogged with precome soiled, calloused fingers.

grope you in any public place, while onlookers look on in disgust or judgement, but his curving, lapping tongue is already down your throat, licking over each crevice of your gums and teeth, stealing your breath, biting into the tender flesh of your swelling lips, swallowing your muted moans, choking, wet keens, until he could force his tense thigh between your own, quivering one's, rub up against your mound, watching how your body goes pliant, drawing out a pleased rumble from deep within his chest.

könig's fixation on you verges on obsession, but it's feels flattering, the way he whines and paws at you whenever you're running a little behind schedule at coming back home, gushes about how much he adores your looks and sweet, willing nature, while already nuzzling in between your spreading legs, calls you all sorts of german endearments, silly, sometimes too childlike nicknames, but as long as he's happy, you are too, and he's always are, as long as he can fuck your pussy or shove you down his eager, rugged face.

perhaps you would have been better off if you had just ran away from him the moment you laid eyes on him, not started dating, not allowed him to kiss you, because a guy behaving like a badly behaved dog isn't exactly the ideal partner, but nevertheless, there is something about him that you find appealing, not only his enormous cock and massive frame.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[cas-backwards-tie]

⟡ call of duty masterlist ⟡

specgru

taskforce 141

captain john price

simon 'ghost' riley

john 'soap' mactavish

kyle 'gaz' garrick

kortac

könig

konni

vladimir makarov

[candy-ing]

he can feel your stares. he's been in the military his whole life, ofc he's hyperaware of his surroundings. but he also knows why his lovely wife is gulping everytime his biceps flex, he tracks your cycle because ofc he does, how else will he know how to take care of you and your physical and emotional needs otherwise. knows you're ovulating and decides to be a lil shit about it. not his fault darling, he's just helping you around the house, it's just too hot for him to wear a shirt darling, (he loves the way you're so obsessed with his body). for someone who has been insecure of his scars his whole life your eyes and attention make him love them too.

and when you finally have enough of his teasing, he's matching your fervor. letting you take whatever you need, he, your husband, aims to please darling.

[simonriley09]

König x pregnant!reader

When you got pregnant with König's baby you didn't think the bump would get super big..

You were wrong.

ITS HUGE. Like you're carrying a truck or something! König didn't mind though, he was happy you were carrying his son/daughter.

When your feet ached he'd massage them for hours, putting pillows behind your back.

When you have cravings? He's getting them for you quickly.

When it's too hot to cuddle? He's in just boxers now. Cuddle time.

König caught you waddling to the bathroom one day and smiled, you looked like a little penguin.

When your water broke he immediately rushes you to the hospital and is by your side for hours, listening to your cries of discomfort and the baby shifting inside your tummy.

When your son/daughter was born he definitely ugly cried.

Happily ever after. ❤️

[Reblog if you want!]

[holnnetd]

König and his past

I've done too much research...

He's still a handsome young man, but now he holds a rifle and skiis.

WARNING: just some canon mentions of violence, I don't think it's bad, nothing else, yeah I'm being tame

"Ich will ein Jagdkommandos werden." This boy, now a young man, 21, four years of service behind him, never stopped to scare the living hell out of you.

"I'm sorry, you want to become a Jagdkommandos? Young man, you're aware you're 21?" You ask him, turning your head around to look at him.

Still same after all these years, worrying and fussing over him. He smiles, scratching his cheek as he leans against the kitchen counter, eyes follow you as you wash the dishes.

"Mhm." He muses, arms crossed over his chest.

As much as you haven't changed much, he did. Physically, mostly. The boy that was about half a head taller then you, towers over most furniture in your house. The upper cabinet you never organise because it's a little too far up? He can easily reach and grab the muffin tray you thought you once lost.

Mentally? Did he change? Sure. He became confident. That's about it. The anxiety is sometimes still palpable, mostly when he doesn't take his meds, which he clearly doesn't.

"I mean, I became a Gebirgsjäger pretty quick. Two years in the Alps is soothing my nerves, sure, but I want something more." He adds, now placing both his hand on the counter behind him, tapping his finger repeatedly on the wood.

"You can't keep still." You conclude, reminding him that this was the exact reason why he couldn't become a sniper. Because he couldn't keep still.

"It's not the same."

"Sure."

"Liebes, I can qualify. And if not, I can reapply again. And if they don't accept me I will just stay in the freezing cold, skiing all day." That's far from what he does everyday, but he'd rather tell you that's the main activity.

He couldn't imagine how you'd react if he told you he climbs 15-20 km every day, carrying around 30 if not 40 kg of equipment, shooting birds when he's bored—Sure, shooting birds in your free time is not up to the code, but he's still salty about not being accepted as a sniper. If he can shoot a bird from half a km away, in the freezing temperature, he should be allowed to shoot people—, and drinking tea from melted snow.

"You don't skii around all day in summer."

"I climb."

Sigh.

"Why Jagdkommandos? I'm already terrified you won't come back home, and I'll only get an ice cube of a man at my door."

"You were terrified I'd die in bootcamp."

"You could have!"

"The computer isn't doing you any good, just reading about how soldiers die in the most tragic ways isn't healthy. It's giving you anxiety. You think any phone call will be to notify you that I'm dead in a ditch."

Guilty as charged. In some down time you do scroll through the web, reading all about military and how many die, or the stories of dead soldiers being shared by devastated family members. Whenever he's back you fuss over how many soldiers across the world die, only for him to tell you that he didn't.

"But what if you will be dead in a ditch?"

"Then my ghost will come back and haunt you." He laughs, walking up behind you and placing his head on yours, glancing down at the dishes.

It's a comfortable moment, a soft beat of silence and some bodily warmth.

"What do the Jadgkommandos do?"

A smile perks up at the edge of his lip, and he wraps his arms around your waist. Of course you give in.

"Kill."

Your brow furrows and you lightly elbow him to his side, drawing out a hearty chuckle from him.

"What? They do." Another jab.

"Fine, fine. Other then rigorous training? They are like the elite of elites. Badass. But I can't tell you a lot. I'd have to kill you if I did."

It's not uncommon for him to talk boldly, never keeping his tongue to himself around you.

Sometimes even literally.

From time to time he'd come up to you, wrap his awfully huge arms around you, and then just lick your cheek before walking off, no words said at all. And you sit with a confused expression on what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

"How long are you staying?" You finally ask him, and he hums in thought. "Week. Then I'm going back to the mountains."

You nod lightly.

...

Something is off.

"What? You want me to leave early?" He asks, a light smile tugging at his lips.

"No- no. That's not it. It's just—" and that smile of his drops. "—I'll have a guy over. I don't want him to get the wrong idea."

"A guy?" The questions comes out slowly, his brows furrowing, as if he wanted you to repeat yourself. "Wrong idea?" Surely he misheard.

"Is something broken? I can repair it." He quickly chimes in, figuring "a guy" is just someone that wants to help a lady in distress.

"No.. no. Nothing is broken."

"Then why is a guy coming over? And why would I need to leave?"

There's no reason to. No, no.

"I... wanted to spend time with a friend. He works at the butcher, and—"

"You want to have Konrad over?" Well if that's not a damn betrayal, he doesn't know what is.

"...How do you know him?" You ask softly, placing the dishes away before taking off the gloves and looking up at him. His arms let go of your waist, and you think you can finally have some space, but he just grabs your ribcage and turns you to face him.

"Warum zur verfickter Scheiße willst du Konrad hier haben? In this house."

"I—"

"You know that he had his dick in half the women in the whole city? Him? That fucking guy?"

Your words stay stuck in your throat, not uttering a word. Not because of what he said, but because of his disapproving gaze, the deep eyes boring into your own. The shimmer dimming.

His hands hold tightly onto your ribcage, and you know he could break in a rib if he pressed a little harder.

Maybe something more then just his appearance changed.

"No." He shakes his head, letting go of you.

"Absolutely not," he repeats, turning on the balls of his feet to lean against the counter.

"Mh-hm." He shakes his head.

His foot taps, and he walks out of the kitchen, putting on his boots and grabbing a jacket before leaving without another word.

"█████! Wait!" You call out to him, quickly biting your tongue at the use of his name.

He came back in the evening. Footsteps heavy. He took of his boots, placed them neatly next to yours and walked to the bathroom, washing his hands.

You tip toe down the stairs to peek around the corner. "Kleiner..." That Nickname never changed over the years.

"Are... are you fine? Is he fine?" You question, walking into the bathroom to glance over his side.

He gruffs out a noise, before drying up his hands on the white towel, turning to glance at you.

"Alles ist okay." He then adds, ushering you out of the bathroom with a hand on your lower back.

Away from the bloodied sink and stained towel.

"It's late." He adds, ushering you to your bedroom, before lightly pushing you into bed.

Or well, what he perceived as lightly.

His trousers and shirt were both quickly discarded and he climbed into your bed with you, hands gripping onto your waist, only to pull the shirt up a little and wrap his arms around your bare skin, not saying a singular word more.

"Can you stop pulling my shirt up?" You just question, looking down at how his hands are perusing to tug to get it off fully. Seems like a little skin of your waist wasn't enough.

"I need to feel your skin." He murmurs, trying to tug it off. "Mama let me do it whenever I felt down."

You're not his mother.

"Fine."

"Hm...," he smiled and buried his face in the bare skin of your chest, pajama top discarded on the ground.

Exactly one whole person asked me to write part three, and I can't ever deny my precious content consumers a little food. @demothers-empty-blog yes I did it for you 😘

[annegamesandyarns]

Unexpected Hobbies

König is known to be fearsome, labelled as a human battering ram by his colleagues. Hostages wouldn't even go near him. Whether it's due to his size or the disfiguring scars that he carried, if they saw them at all due to the mask he wore, it was hard to say because no one would specify. But König seems to brush it off every time he's sent in to extract hostages. Just as he seems to be indifferent to the fact the other operatives in KorTac didn't invite him to hang out during off time. To everyone, for all they knew, König's idea of downtime was 'interrogating' prisoners.

I was new at KorTac, not as a mercenary...excuse me...'private security personnel'...pfft, just a fancy name in my opinion. But as a front desk receptionist. With my recent move four months ago, I didn't know very many people. So, I listened to office gossip to get a feel for my coworkers, and quickly noticed a pattern. Almost everyone were friends with each other to some extent, with a few outliers. Though, the one that stood out the most was the one everyone called König.

For the others that preferred to keep to themselves, it made sense. It was just a job to them and nothing more. They clock in, do their work, and clock out without socializing too much with others, and were relatively friendly. But no one interacted with König, unless they absolutely had to.

"Oh, honey. You are barking up the wrong tree. No matter how enticing it might be to climb." Liza chuckled next to me as she sat down. It was early in the morning, and she was bright-eyed and bushy tailed. She caught me staring at him, and not for the first time, either.

I gave her a wry look. "It's not like that," I yawned before taking a drink of my coffee. I glanced at König again before getting back to work.

"Oh? Then tell me, what is it like, hm?" She teased. "You're telling me you don't imagine if...other...things are proportionate to his size? Or what he might be like with all his attention on you?"

I sputtered and choked on my coffee at how suggestive she was being. "Clearly, you do all of that and then some." I gave Liza an incredulous look. I knew she said what was on her mind, but clearly she needed to get new filters with a mind like that. "No, I don't wonder...any of that." I cleaned up the mess with napkins I pulled from my drawer, and threw the coffee soaked tissue at her as she laughed. "Just feels like I know him from somewhere, is all. I'd feel pretty stupid if I went up to him and mistook him for someone else."

"Ok, but how many people do you know that are that tall? Hm?" She asked before answering the phone.

I rolled my eyes. I could see her point. But I only told her that to get her off my back. If you wanted rumors started, you take them to Liza, and it will spread like wildfire. I didn't need any rumors starting here about me. And I certainly didn't want anyone thinking I was starting any.

The rest of the morning had been uneventful, and I took an early lunch. I was standing in line at a restaurant to pick up my order when some masked men came in with guns drawn. "Everyone, get down on the ground! Now! Do as we say, and no one gets hurt!" One of them shouted as they pointed their weapons at the customers.

My eyes went wide as my heart began to race. I ducked behind the counter, pulling out my cellphone when a sound had me freezing mid-text. "All cellphones, jewelry and any other valuables will be given to this," a voice called out and paused for a dramatic effect, as if they had to think about their next words. "Lovely volunteer. Starting with yours."

I fumbled with the bag as I put my phone in it, my hands were shaking from nerves and didn't want to cooperate. My stomach twisted with fear. *Just do as they say, you can throw up later.* I repeated this like a mantra. I focused on keeping my breathing even, and getting through this. Pushing out all other sounds, I did as ordered when they dragged me around. "Sir, get down on the ground, don't make us repeat ourselves!" One of the masked robbers shouted. I looked at who they were yelling at. I stumbled over my feet and immediately started to laugh. It wasn't expected, and I certainly didn't mean to. I quickly tried to stifle my laughter when I felt the barrel get shoved into my ribs. But I was relieved to see König sitting there eating his lunch, unbothered by what was going on. His mask was partially over his nose, revealing some of the scar tissue on his face.

When the man threw König's food to the ground, König stood up slowly and towered over everyone. "You have thirty seconds to let my associate go, and leave." His German accent sounded terrifying with his soft, raspy voice. He slowly tilted his head to either side, and I could hear his vertebrae in his neck and upper back pop and realign as he rolled his shoulders at the same time. This was why people avoided him at work. The man was a walking nightmare. I was glad he was on my side.

I barely remember much of anything, it happened so fast. One minute, I am a potential hostage, and the next König is handing me my phone back. "Th-Thank you..." I felt oddly calm, despite my slight stutter. Maybe I was in shock.

"Go back to work, Kleiner Häse. I will take care of this here. Don't forget to stop by the medic when you get there. I will be checking in to see if you did. It's not a request." I almost thought he was talking to someone else. I nodded as Horangi joined me. With what just happened, I didn't even see that he was there, too.

Horangi drove me back to the KorTac building, and guided me to the floor where the medics worked. Once they made sure I wasn't in shock, I went back to work at the front desk. I barely recall getting through the rest of my workday. Liza tried to talk to me, ask me questions, anything to find out what happened. But I wasn't going to tell her. I didn't need her teasing, or her jokes. I didn't need her running off and making a mountain out of nothing.

Over the next few days, I was nervous and a bit jumpy. Never have I ever been in a situation like that. It didn't help that everyone at work noticed. Something falls, I jump. A loud noise is made, I'm looking to see what it is immediately. To those that knew, I clearly wasn't coping well with the incident at the restaurant.

Friday rolled around, and Liza had been giving my pitying looks all day. I guess she found out what happened. Because, for the first time, she was a bit hesitant before asking me, "Uh... me and some of the others are going out for a drink... do you want to go with us?" Her smile was reluctant to follow her words.

I shook my head. "No, thank you. I'd rather not." My own smile was apologetic. But I had no interest in a pity invite. It only made me angry, but she didn't deserve me lashing out at her for trying to be nice. When she left, I could tell she was grateful that I turned her down. Apparently, it hadn't been her idea to invite me.

As I gathered my things and clocked out, I heard König's unmistakable voice, "Come with me." It wasn't a question, or a suggestion, it was closer to a command. I looked at him like I forgot what a thought or a brain cell was for a moment.

"Do I-"

"Nein. You have your things. Good, let's go." He steered me towards his car out in the parking lot, and opened the passenger door. I gave him a baffled look, but got in and buckled up. Even though, this felt akin to a kidnapping.

I was quiet at first as he got behind the wheel and drove off. "I feel like I should be alarmed right now, no offense intended. Where are we going?" I asked after he pulled onto the highway, my question was met with silence. I glanced over at him after a few minutes and I realized, he's uncomfortable. Studying him for a bit, I could see his discomfort grow in the way his hands tensed on the steering wheel. *Oh, my gods... he's shy... he's shy and out of his comfort zone...* the thought hit me like I just drove a sports car at full speed into a brick wall.

I looked back at the road as he drove. I absorbed this information and contemplated what to say next. Or if I should say anything at all. Before I could say anything, though, he pulled up in front of a brick building in the downtown area. The sign on the window said "Coffee and Colors" with a coffee mug of rainbow colors in it next to the fancy painted lettering. I followed his lead and got out of the car, I silently followed him inside once he grabbed a pack out of his trunk.

My jaw dropped. "You take a watercolor class?" I asked him incredulously. We were in the back of an art supply store. I never would have guessed this giant would do something so...perceived as feminine. But that must be why no one knew about this. "I'm sorry...that was rude of me. I didn't know this place existed." I quickly added when I looked up at him as we took our seats.

"It's not quite a class...more of a group of artists who hang out in the quiet." König said thoughtfully. "Sometimes all we do is focus on art, other times it's like a regular coffee house. Speaking of," he quickly stood up and grabbed a couple of coffees for us before pulling out two sets of everything out of his pack. This was the most relaxed I had ever seen him, despite his nervous fidgeting. "I saw you've been struggling since the attempted robbery...." His voice trailed off as he shrugged at his attempt to explain. "Do you know how to do this? I could show you how, if you like." He sounded almost nervous.

"Thank you, I appreciate this. Much better than a pity bar or club invite." I spoke with an encouraging smile. "Honestly, I prefer quiet activities like this." I watched as he set everything up for us, in an attempt to keep busy. "I don't, but I would like to learn." I could see the relief in his posture, even if he thought he could hide it. I took a drink of my coffee as he showed me what he knew of water colors.

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

PORN DIRECTOR KÖNIG

nsfw. 40s könig. come eating. pussy slapping. voyeurism. manhandling. degradation. squirting. sex work.

you never planned on doing porn.

you don't think anyone does, really. you had a whole different life mapped out— degree, stable job, retirement.

but college was bleeding you dry. bills stacked faster than you could pay them, textbooks cost more than your monthly groceries, and your financial aid office had the efficiency of a broken vending machine. part-time jobs barely kept the lights on. dinner was whatever was cheap and lasted the longest.

you worked, studied, scraped by, but it felt more like drowning in slow motion.

camming started as an experiment. a shot in the dark born from desperation.

you bought a cheap ring light from amazon, found a secondhand webcam on facebook marketplace, and set up your little filming space in the corner of your apartment. it was nothing fancy. the lighting was bad, the camera wasn’t great, and instead of a tripod you had a stack of books.

but it worked.

you slipped into the only matching lingerie set you owned— soft pink lace, delicate ribbons, tiny bows stitched in all the right places. sheer enough to tease, but still leaving just enough to the imagination. the bra straps slipped down your shoulders as you posed in front of the mirror, lips parted, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

picking the best ones, you captioned them with something playful then posted them to onlyfans, shut your laptop, and forgot about it. you weren’t expecting much. maybe a few subscribers, a little extra cash, nothing major.

then, your account blew up.

someone with a bit of reach had apparently found your photos and posted them to a a ddlg subreddit, and suddenly you were everywhere.

at first, you didn’t notice. but when you woke up to hundreds of new notifications, dms, and tips flooding in overnight, you started digging.

that’s when you saw it. a post on reddit. thousands of upvotes. hundreds of comments dissecting your photos in excruciating detail.

[r/ddlg] found this new onlyfans girl and i'm losing my mind. she’s so soft. look at her. look at her.

🔺14.3k upvotes 💬 793 comment

u/daddysfavorite456: this is the most perfect little babygirl i’ve ever seen wtf

🔺6.2k

u/sirspanksalot: the way she’s tugging her panties down just a little… i need a moment

🔺4.9k

u/subsugarplum: her little pout in the third pic is actually ruining my life

🔺3.3k

u/softdom_daddy: how do we make sure she never pays for anything again in her life?

🔺7.1k

your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled. every detail of your photos was being analyzed. obsessed over.

the way you tilted your head just slightly, eyes wide and doe-like. the way your fingers curled in the hem of your panties, like you were hesitating. like you needed permission. the little pout in the last photo, lower lip caught between your teeth, the faintest furrow in your brows.

suddenly, your subscriber count was doubling by the hour.

new subscribers flooded in overnight. your follower count jumped by thousands. dms piled up, requests, tips, compliments, outright begging.

"you're perfect. please let me take care of you." ($20 tip)

"you’re the softest little thing i’ve ever seen." ($50 tip)

"tell me you do custom videos. i’ll pay whatever." ($100 tip)

the sudden influx of attention was overwhelming. you barely had time to process it before people were demanding more.

demand skyrocketed. they were practically clawing at your metaphorical door, begging for more content, more variety— more, more, more.

for now, solo work was fine. it was safe. comfortable. easy to control. but you knew it wouldn’t be enough forever. you saw it in the comments, in the messages, in the ever-growing list of requests. they wanted more than just you and a camera. they wanted another presence. another body in the frame.

you debated your options. a studio would be the safest bet. you had the budget now— painstakingly built, every small tip, every renewal adding up until you finally had enough that you didn't need to comprise comfort.

but finding the right studio was another thing entirely.

you didn’t want the overproduced, garish lights and cheap theatrics of mainstream porn. you wanted subtlety. intimacy. something with taste. good lighting, soft edits, angles that captured the feeling rather than just the act.

something that matched the persona you had so carefully built.

you thought about it for weeks before finally bringing it up to valeria, a girl you often had collabs with.

she tilted her head when you mentioned it. "professional production..? you know there are a lot of seedy guys out there."

you nodded, worrying your lip between your teeth. you’d done enough research to know that most so-called "professional" setups were just glorified scams, with sleazy directors who treated performers like props.

valeria watched you for a second, then clicked her tongue. "but, if you ever actually follow through, i know a guy. a lot of the girls have worked with him before. big name in the business. respects his actors. good guy." she pulled out her phone. "i’ll send you his portfolio. put in a good word."

you meet könig a few weeks later, after countless back-and-forth emails, late-night calls hammering out details, discussions about setups, plot points, pricing. every conversation had been strictly professional so far and you appreciated the distinct lack of attempts to try and get in your pants.

you don’t expect to spot him the moment you step into the airbnb you rented for the shoot, but there he is, standing head and shoulders above the rest of the crew. and the first thing that strikes you isn’t his height (though jesus, he’s massive). it’s how out of place he looks.

he doesn’t carry himself like someone in the industry. doesn’t exude that easy sleaze, that over-familiar smirk you’ve come to expect from men in this business. no tight black tee straining over biceps, no carefully curated air of supremacy with just a hint of nicotine.

instead, he looks like someone’s dad who got lost on his way to a hardware store and somehow ended up in the adult industry instead.

his glasses are perched high on the bridge of his nose, pushed up with the absentminded shove of a knuckle. his sweater— soft, thick, comfortable— hangs loose on his frame, sleeves pushed up to reveal thick forearms dusted with silver hair. he’s dressed like he should be standing at a backyard grill, not directing an erotic film.

he’s older than you expected. forty, according to his portfolio, and he wears it well. silver threading through black, crow’s feet at the corners of sharp, washed-out blue eyes. his nose is crooked— like it had been broken once and never quite set right— makes his face look lived-in, a little rough around the edges. his stubble is light, a soft dusting of salt and pepper.

he looks warm.

he’s talking to someone. one of the crew, maybe, head dipped slightly, listening intently. but even hunched, even relaxed, his sheer size makes him loom.

and then the door clicks shut behind you, and he hears it. könig's head lifts, pale blue eyes settling on you in an instant.

he excuses himself with a quiet murmur. hands tucked into the front pocket of his pants, broad shoulders rolling slightly like he’s trying to make himself smaller, less imposing.

it doesn’t work.

“good to finally meet you,” he says, accent curling soft in his words.

oh, you think. you hadn’t expected that, either.

his voice is deep, just shy of being harsh. it's a far cry from the sharp tone you’d imagined after hearing him speak over the phone. there’s something smoother about it in person, a warmth undercutting the rough edges.

you shift the tray of coffee in your hands, balancing it carefully before setting it down on the small folding table near the entrance.

“brought coffee for everyone,” you say, wringing your hands because you refuse to brush them off on your dress.

he glances down at the cups, and for a second you think you see something soften in his expression.

“thoughtful,” he murmurs, and though his face remains unreadable, you can hear the approval in his voice.

you exhale, trying to shake off the nervous energy thrumming in your chest, and clear your throat. “figured caffeine would help. don’t wanna be the reason your crew collapses mid-shoot.”

könig huffs something close to a chuckle, tipping his head toward the set-up behind him. “they’ve worked under worse conditions.”

you’re not sure what that means, but before you can ask, he gestures for you to follow him further into the space.

the next few minutes are easy. professional. you go over the shot list, the angles he’s planning, how he likes to work— efficient and minimal retakes unless absolutely necessary. he asks about your preferences, what you don’t want, what you do.

it’s…comfortable. smoother than you expected. he’s patient, but direct. no wasted words, no unnecessary small talk, just the work. you like that.

and then your phone rings.

you pull it from your pocket without thinking, glancing at the name on the screen. simon riley. your co-star. you press accept, bringing the phone to your ear.

“hey, you on your way?” you ask, already stepping away from könig, mind half on the conversation you’d just been having.

but simon doesn’t answer right away. there’s a beat of silence. “can’t make it.”

your stomach drops. you stop short, pulse spiking. “what?”

“somethin’ came up. won’t be able to get there.”

you glance at könig, breath stalling in your throat. this cannot be happening.

“simon, i can’t reschedule,” you hiss, stepping further away, out of earshot. “i already paid for the location, the crew’s already here-”

“nothin’ i can do, sweetheart,” he interrupts, not unkind. “’m sorry.”

but sorry doesn’t fix this. sorry doesn’t change the fact that if you don’t shoot today, you’re out thousands. your grip tightens around your phone. “simon, please-”

the line clicks.

he’s gone.

panic creeps up your spine, cold sweat starting to form on your palms. you can’t not shoot today. you can’t afford it. the budget’s already stretched thin, and a reschedule isn’t just inconvenient— it’s impossible.

you drag a hand to wipe the sweat on your forehead.

könig’s eyes are on you and you can feel the heat of his gaze. when you turn, he asks, “problem?”

you open your mouth, hesitate. because what the fuck are you supposed to say? every option you can think of results in you losing a few hundred dollars at the minimum.

you figure the truth is the best option you've got. “simon's out.”

könig watches as your fingers tighten around your phone, knuckles turning white. you press your lips together, trembling just slightly before biting down.

he tilts his head, slow. "know anyone that can sub in?"

you shake your head immediately, too fast, too frantic. a sharp inhale makes your shoulders rise, lashes fluttering against the unshed tears that suddenly gloss your eyes.

fuck.

you’re going to cry.

könig shouldn’t be looking this closely.

shouldn’t be cataloging every shift of your body. shouldn’t be tracking how your throat works as you swallow, how the delicate line of your jaw tenses under pressure.

it’s detail that shouldn’t register. detail that has no purpose. no place. no right to send his thoughts careening somewhere they have no business going.

but there they go anyway.

because he's been watching you.

not in a way that's creepy— könig tells himself that, over and over. he was just a professional doing his research, getting a feel for his clients. it’s good business practice, staying informed, making sure he knows who he’s working with, what they bring to the table.

and if that research led him to your socials, to hours of footage in soft, honeyed lighting, to endless clips of you sprawled out on pristine white sheets as you mewled into the camera— well. that was just part of the job, wasn’t it?

nothing personal. certainly nothing unprofessional.

but the truth, the thing he never says out loud, not even to himself is that he’s spent far too many nights with his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, watching you through the screen.

watching you in those tiny lingerie sets. pink and white lace, frilly little bows, the kind of girlish softness that makes his teeth ache.

könig's watched every fucking video. every stream. every post. hours spent with his laptop open, pants shoved down around his hips, hand working his cock as you bat your lashes and moan so sweetly it makes his head spin.

‘am i a good girl?’ you breathe into the mic, like you’re talking right to him. like you know.

and god, does he know you.

he’s studied you. learned you. mapped out every twitch, every tell, every fleeting flicker of pleasure that crosses your pretty face. the way your brows pinch together when you’re getting desperate. the way your lips part right before you come, glossy and swollen, tongue darting out to wet them like you want something in your mouth, like you’re inviting someone to grab you by the jaw and fuck your throat until you can’t think.

he’s seen how your thighs start to tremble when you edge yourself too long. how your back arches off the sheets when you finally let go, hips rolling into your own hand, breath catching in your throat as you fall apart in a mess of shuddery gasps.

könig has jerked off to all of it.

not just once. not just twice.

so many times he’s lost count.

sometimes slow, drawing it out to hear that little whimper you make at the end— the one that sounds like you’ve been fucked dumb.

sometimes rough. desperate. chasing his own release with one hand fisted in the sheets and the other pumping his cock.

it drives him fucking crazy.

it’s worse up close. worse when you shift on your feet, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, trying to hold yourself together.

stop.

he clenches his fists. drags in a breath through his nose. he is not some fucking rookie. not some kid who can’t keep his head straight.

but then you make a sound that crawls under his skin and sinks deep. and suddenly his thoughts are careening somewhere they shouldn’t go—

places where that breathy little sound is choked out against his palm. where those fingers twisting at your sleeves are scrabbling at his belt instead, pulling, fumbling, desperate.

his cock twitches.

jesus christ.

it’s perverse. it’s wrong. twenty years between you. he shouldn't even be thinking about you like this. but then he thinks about how small your hands would look trying to wrap around his cock. how easily he could press you up against the nearest wall, let you feel how bad he wants you, let you know exactly what you do to him—

and yeah.

he’s fucked.

his grip tightens on the coffee cup, knuckles white, cardboard crumpling in his palm.

"we can reschedule." it’s the logical thing to say. the right thing.

but you stiffen immediately, shaking your head almost violently, like the mere suggestion hurts.

"i can’t." your voice wobbles. "i don’t have the budget for it. the airbnb, the crew- if we don’t shoot today, it’s done. i lose it."

he can hear the distraught in your voice, the panic creeping in, rising in your throat. and könig— könig has never been good at ignoring that kind of thing.

his jaw tightens. his fingers flex. his pulse pounds in his ears. and before he can think better of it—

"i can do it."

your head jerks up, eyes locking onto his. wide. startled.

"what?"

könig lifts a broad shoulder, deceptively casual, ignoring how his pulse is hammering in his throat. acting as if he didn’t just offer himself up like it was nothing.

"i can do it," he repeats. "you need a scene partner."

he pauses, just long enough to make sure you’re really listening before he adds, pointed: "i’ve done worse for less."

it’s true too. könig had started shooting for money, not for passion, not for art. there were years where he took any job that paid, no matter how grimy, no matter how degrading. no dignity in it, no careful framing, no thoughtful direction. just harsh lighting, rough hands, the sound of too many bodies shifting in too little space.

it’s not like that anymore.

now, he works for himself. he makes art, in his own way. he only takes projects that meet his standards, only shoots what he knows will look good.

and this, you, would look incredible.

"are you-" you swallow hard, throat working, voice tight. "you’re serious?"

könig lets out a short, amused breath, tilting his head. "wouldn’t offer if i wasn’t."

your gaze flickers down to his mouth, just for a second, before snapping back up.

he notices. of course he fucking notices.

you hesitate, worrying your lip between your teeth, and he wants— god, he wants.

he lifts his coffee, takes a slow sip. watches you.

"think it through," he says, letting the accent curl around the words. "do you trust me?"

you stare at him, breath coming in short, uneven pulls. your fingers tighten around your phone.

and then, even though you probably shouldn't, you nod.

this is insane, is all you can think as your hands smooth down the dress, fingertips catching on the fabric’s delicate weave. it sways when you move, hem teasing the tops of your thighs.

the crew picked it because it feels normal, something someone’s wife might wear on a lazy sunday, waiting for her husband to walk through the door. not lingerie, not tight or short or scandalous. innocent.

somehow, that makes it worse.

the set sprawls before you, carefully crafted to mimic home. the couch sits comfortably worn— or at least looks like it, upholstery creased just enough to suggest years of use. a blanket lies draped over the back, fringes brushed out to seem effortless.

the coffee table holds small artifacts of a life: a half-empty mug with a faint lipstick stain, a book splayed open, pages curled, a pair of keys glinting under the warm overhead glow. off to the side, a framed photo perches, two strangers caught in mid-laugh, frozen happiness you’re supposed to claim as yours.

the lighting bathes it all in amber. soft, forgiving. like sunset spilling through a window that doesn’t exist. everything is designed to feel. to pull the viewer into a scene that isn’t real but wants to be. warmth. comfort. longing.

your pulse trips. nerves coil tight under your. stepping out, you inhale–

and there he is.

könig stands beside the couch, posture loose, almost as if he’s holding himself back from something. the uniform strains against him, fabric pulled taut across broad shoulders and the solid line of his chest. it’s glaringly obvious that it wasn’t tailored for a man like him— you doubt anything ever is— but he wears it like it belongs to him anyway. the belt grips a tapered waist, dog tags resting cold against his sternum. they glint when he shifts, catching the warmth of the lights.

he’s big. that part you knew. everyone knows. but there’s something about seeing him like this, the bulk of him filling the space, boots planted, arms crossed, sleeves clinging to thick forearms, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

he looks like he could hold the world in his hands. break it if he wanted.

then he lifts his head. and his gaze finds you.

it hits like a physical weight, gravity pulling you closer.

his eyes track the line of your body. starting from your face, drifting down, and back up again. for a moment you assume he’s taking inventory, cataloguing details you didn’t know you were offering.

your skin prickles under the attention. heat pooling low, spreading outwards.

könig’s jaw shifts. a muscle ticks. his fingers flex where they rest against his bicep, knuckles pale for half a second before he eases them loose.

you swallow. "do i look okay?"

silence stretches. then: "you look perfect."

his voice sounds like it's been scraped raw from something you can’t name. and you know you shouldn’t take his words to heart. shouldn’t make something out of nothing. he was just being polite—

but god, he doesn’t stop looking.

you breathe out. "are we ready?"

that seems to snap him out. könig exhales, nostrils flaring. “yeah," he says, looking away.. "we’re ready."

you nod and he turns, clapping his hands together.

"quiet on set!" his voice cuts through the chatter. "lights- ready? camera?"

a muffled ‘rolling!’ comes from behind the equipment.

he glances back, stepping into place. "sound?"

"speed!"

he nods, shoulders shifting under the snug uniform. "all right. action on me. three... two..."

his gaze flickers forward, locks onto you. his hand lifts, a silent ‘ready?’

you nod.

"action!"

the front door creaks open.

you see him first— broad shoulders filling the doorway, boots heavy against the worn rug you picked out last fall. his bag drops with a dull thump, keys jangling, and for a beat, you just stand there, watching.

it doesn't feel real. something out of a dream. your husband looks older somehow. tired. lines carved a little deeper around his eyes, hair at his temples brushed with more gray than before.

it's longer now too, the ends curling where sweat and travel have left it mussed.

then his gaze lifts, blue catching yours. and that’s all it takes.

you move.

your feet carry you faster than you realize, dress fluttering against your legs as you throw yourself into him.

könig catches you with a small grunt, part effort, part relief, hardly moving from his spot. strong arms close around you as he lifts you off the floor with an ease that's almost unfair.

his hand finds the back of your thigh, fingers splayed wide. "easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice rough from disuse, deepened by exhaustion and age. there’s an edge to it, earned from years of barking orders and nicotine abuse. "still getting old, you know."

you huff a breath that’s almost a laugh. "you’re not that old."

"hm." könig presses his face into your hair. "tell that to my back."

your chest tightens. god, you missed him. missed the way he smells— soap, leather, that faint trace of cologne you’d tucked into his bag months ago, almost worn off, but still miraculously there. you press your nose to his neck, breathing him in, and whisper, "missed you."

"missed you more." when he pulls back, his gaze traces every line of your face, eyes crinkling at the corners. "lemme take a good look at you, baby."

heat blooms in your cheeks, but you let him. there’s something reverent about his gaze when you meet his eyes.

then, he kisses you.

and fuck.

it’s messy. warm. his mouth is rough against yours, stubble scraping your skin, tasting like coffee burned down to the dregs.

"god," you breathe, voice catching on a gasp. "i love you."

könig chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours. "love you too," he murmurs, using that voice he saves for early mornings when you’re tucked against him, trading lazy kisses and whispered secrets.

his hands slide down to your hips, pulling you close. the world tilts, narrows, until there’s nothing but him. his body, his breath, the scratch of his stubble when he tilts his head, brushing his nose against yours.

then his fingers slip under your dress. his breath hitches the moment he finds you bare, his touch grazing soft folds, sticky and warm with slick.

"no panties?" his voice dips somewhere between a laugh and a growl.

heat blooms in your stomach. you bite your lip, shrugging. "figured you'd appreciate it."

his gaze darkens, blue eclipsed by black. "oh, do i."

könig’s fingers slide between your folds, dragging through the slick mess you’ve already made. you flinch at the contact, hips twitching toward him before you can catch yourself.

he pushes it in, slow. the stretch punches a gasp out of you, walls fluttering around the intrusion. he pauses, ignores your whine, brows drawing together, finger knuckle-deep. "did you get tighter?"

his voice is soft, almost like he’s talking more to himself than you, words slipping out under his breath.

his finger curls, pressing snug against your walls, testing just how much resistance it meets.

you whimper, thighs twitching, nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. "m-maybe if you fucked me more, i wouldn’t be."

the words tumble out before you can think to stop them. your pulse skips as you process what you just said. heat floods your face.

könig’s head tilts. his eyes flick up, narrowing, — not angry, not exactly— but his stare steals the breath from your lungs all the same. your lips part, trying to fumble out an apology stuck at the back of your throat when—

slap.

he pulls his finger free and smacks your pussy.

you squeak, body jerking as the sting blooms quick and hot between your legs, warmth spreading through your skin, rushing up your spine. you’re caught between shock and the low, simmering heat that pools in your belly.

"careful," könig warns although his tone is deceptively light. his fingers tap against your clit in soft, featherlight pulses of teasing pressure that makes your thighs jump. "keep that attitude and i’ll slap this pretty little thing five times. make you count every single one. s’that what you want?"

your cunt clenches, slick dribbling down to coat his knuckles. he feels it, of course he does. feels how your body betrays you, responding before your mind can catch up.

chest heaving, you shake your head, breath shivering out of you. "no-"

"no?" he echoes a soft mockery, fingers dragging through the mess between your thighs, spreading it just to hear the wet sound it makes echo in the space between you. "then behave, sweetheart. don’t make me teach you."

your heart pounds, breath coming in little gasps as you offer him a jerky nod. könig only watches with lazy half-lidded eyes.

"now," he murmurs, finger filling you again. "gonna ask one more time. have you gotten tighter..." his thumb brushes your clit, just enough to make you twitch, "...or have i just left you empty for too long?"

heat surges through you. your hands clutch at his jacket, grounding yourself in the weight of him. your face burns.

"you were gone for so long," you whisper, voice small, shame curling in your stomach.

he sighs. something in his gaze softens, guilt threading through his voice. "i know, baby." his forehead presses against yours. “missed you too."

you sniffle, nuzzling into his shoulder. "y-you can’t go away that long again..." the words tremble, cracking at the edges.

he kisses your temple, breath warm against your skin. "i won’t," he lies, gentle. "let me stretch you out, yeah?"

könig guides you further into your home, coaxing you down on the couch. könig kneels between your legs, broad hands spreading you open and drinking in the sight of you laid out before him.

"look at you," he murmurs, thumb dragging through your folds, gathering your slick up to rub slow circles against your clit. "so wet for me already. miss having me inside, huh?"

your fingers clutch at the cushions as he begins to fill you, head tipping back. "yes-"

"you gotta watch, pretty," könig interrupts, fingers tilting your chin back down.

your gaze drops, breath catching when you see it— his thick fingers buried deep inside you, slick dribbling down his knuckles. the gold band around his finger shines beneath the mess you’ve made, drenched, the sight obscene and somehow more intimate than you’re prepared for. your walls flutter around him, clenching down like your body’s desperate to keep him there.

"look at that.” he grind. "look at your cute little cunny... makin’ a mess all over me."

your cheeks burn. you squirm, trying to close your thighs, but his other hand tightens on your hip, keeping you spread. "no hiding," he says. "told you to watch."

so you do.

you watch the slow drag of his fingers pulling out, coated in slick that strings between you. your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing, and you let out a soft, desperate whimper. könig hums, pleased, pressing back in. "look how well you take me," he says, dragging against that spot inside that makes your vision blur.

you whimper, head spinning, hips grinding down onto his hand. "feels so good-"

"yeah?" he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "gonna let me in now, sweetheart? let me fill you up nice and slow?"

you nod, frantic, words lost to the heat coiling low in your stomach. könig smiles, pulling his fingers free. you whine at the loss.

"shh," he soothes, wiping his slick-covered fingers against the head of his cock, spreading you over himself. "gonna take care of you. just lay back and be good for me, yeah?"

his hands grip your thighs, pressing them up toward your chest, folding you beneath him. your skin burns under the pressure, nerves sparking with every shift of his weight. the blunt head of his cock nudges against your entrance. he’s patient, achingly so— dragging it along your folds, gathering your slick, smearing it along his length until you’re soaked enough that he doesn’t have to rip you open.

könig’s gaze drops to where you’re spread open for him. "ready?"

you nod, breath catching in your throat, but it’s barely a sound, barely a thought when he starts to press in. he breaches you, the thick crown of his cock pushing past your entrance. your cunt clenches on instinct, trying to force him out, but könig presses on.

every inch feels like fire licking up your spine, burning through every nerve until you’re nothing but sensation.

"gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” his voice is a low rumble that vibrates through your bones. "stretch you out every day i’m home-" he drives forward another inch, making your back arch, "-’til this pretty cunt just opens up for me."

you can’t speak. can’t think. everything narrows down to the drag of him inside you, veins and ridges catching on the soft walls of your cunt. your mind spins, vision blurring as your hips jerk, instinctively trying to escape the overwhelming fullness. his fingers bite into your thighs, holding you in place.

"uh-uh," he murmurs, dark amusement curling at the edges of his words. "don’t run, baby. you wanted this."

he braces himself, broad shoulders tense above you as he tries to sink deeper. but even with how wet you are, how pliant you’ve gone beneath him, your body refuses to give. his hips stutter, pushing, pushing— yet still, there’s that impossible last inches he can’t force past.

“p-please- need it, need you-” the words spill out as he pauses, pulling back an inch.

"i know, baby, i know," he pants, forehead pressing to yours, sweat slick between you, before rolling his hips back in, trying his damn best to bottom out, but your cunt clenches stubbornly. frustration twists across his face, the sight of you writhing beneath him, cunt stretched wide and still too tight to take him fully— it drives him insane.

"gonna have to fix that," he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.

you nod, dazed, tears slipping down your temples as you sob out a choked, "yes- yes, please-"

"shh," könig soothes, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. "you’re doin’ so good, baby. takin’ me so well. just need to open you up a little more, yeah?"

könig adjusts his grip, hands sliding beneath your knees, lifting you with ease. before you can even register the shift, he’s pulling you up against his chest, arms hooking beneath your legs, locking you back in a full nelson.

your breath stutters, eyes going wide as your body is left entirely at his mercy, weightless in his grip, spread open around him.

könig’s lips graze your ear. "gonna let gravity help us, yeah? lil bit of science. let’s see if this pretty little cunt can take all of me now."

your toes curl, breath hitching as he angles his hips, smearing your slick between you.

then he lets gravity do most of the work.

your breath leaves you in a shattered moan as your body sinks down, forced open as he drops you down on his cock. your walls flutter, clenching around him, stretched impossibly wide, struggling to take him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you squirm away.

"that’s it," könig groans, arms flexing as he holds you still, keeps you spread. "so fuckin’ good for me, baby. lettin’ me stretch you open- gonna make you take it all."

you whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your lips, eyes rolling back as the last stubborn inch finally, finally sinks in, his cock seated fully inside you for the first time.

"fuck," könig grits out. "that’s my girl. knew you could take it, baby. knew you just needed a little help."

könig doesn’t give you much of a chance to adjust. the moment he thinks you're ready, his arms tighten, muscles flexing as he hauls you up before slamming you back down.

you jolt, cunt forced to stretch and squeeze around him with every thrust. his strength controls everything— the pace, the depth, the way you bounce like a ragdoll, helpless to slow him down. he’s slamming himself inside, spearing you open over and over, forcing you to stretch wider than you ever have.

you can’t keep up. your limbs go slack, muscles useless, brain short-circuiting. your vision blurs, eyes rolling back, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your mouth falls open in a silent scream.

könig chuckles, pleased, watching the way you’ve gone completely limp in his arms. "gonna stretch you out like this every single day. keep you full, fuck you dumb, make sure this little cunt remembers who it belongs to."

your body convulses, wracked with sensation too intense to hold in. könig keeps moving, fucking you onto his cock like he’s trying to break you in, to shape your cunt to his cock.

"n-no-" your voice barely comes out. a sob caught in your throat as your fingers claw weakly at his forearms. your legs shake, eyes welling up, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. "g-gonna pee," you whimper, body locking up.

"no, baby." he drags you down harder, grinding the thick head of his cock against that perfect spot inside you. "you’re gonna cum. gonna make a mess all over me, aren't you?"

your sob turns into a choked wail as you gush, squirting hard, the release almost violent, soaking könig's thighs, dripping down to form a puddle on the floor beneath you.

könig watches you fall apart with hooded eyes, holding you up as your body jerks and trembles in his arms. "good girl," he praises, sounding utterly enthralled by the mess you’ve made. "fuckin’ knew you’d soak me- knew you were just a little messy thing."

you slump against him, muscles useless. the aftershocks have you so dazed that you barely register the shift before you’re being turned, pressed down against the floor, cheek squished against the slick puddle you just made.

"könig-" you whimper, trying to lift yourself, but his broad hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, keeping you open.

he ignores you, fingers digging into your hips, adjusting your position, spreading you wider. he lines himself up and pushes in, stuffing you to the brim in one deep thrust. your fingers claw at the wet floor beneath you, the slick sound of him sinking into you obscene in the quiet.

"good fuckin’ girl," he drags his cock out before slamming back in, his thighs slapping against your ass. "just let me use you, yeah? just take it like my perfect little cumdump."

you sob into the mess beneath you. könig presses your face harder against it, his broad palm splayed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned.

"lick it up," he orders, tone smooth, assured, the kind of voice that expects obedience.

your whole body burns, but the heat between your legs is hotter. könig feels the way you clench around him at the command, the way your body betrays you before your lips can even form a protest.

"kö-”

“don’t make me say it twice, sweetheart," he warns, hips pulling back, dragging his cock out until only the tip stretches you open.

"what’s the matter?" he mocks. "you were so eager to make this mess- now you’re going shy?"

your breath shudders out in a small whimper before you obey, lowering your head, tongue flicking out, just barely grazing the puddle beneath you.

könig clicks his tongue. "that’s not licking, that’s teasing."

his hips snap forward, knocking you further into the mess, forcing your mouth against it. your lips part with a gasp, and könig watches, eyes dark and hungry, as you taste yourself properly for the first time.

"there we go," he hums, smug satisfaction. "now clean up every drop."

your cheeks burn as you press your tongue flat to the floor, licking a slow, tentative stripe through the mess. the taste floods your mouth and your stomach twists— but the weight of könig’s cock inside you, the way he keeps you full and stretched and pinned beneath him, sends another rush of slick dripping down your thighs.

he notices. of course he notices.

"oh, sweetheart," he breathes. "you like this, don’t you?"

your body betrays you again, a little shiver running down your spine, your cunt fluttering around him.

"mm, you do." he chuckles, dragging his fingers through your hair, tightening his grip. "filthy little thing. you’re gettin’ off on this."

you squeeze your eyes shut, shame crawling up your throat.

"könig-"

"uh-uh," he interrupts, grip tightening, making you whimper. "keep licking, schatz. don’t stop ‘til it’s gone."

your tongue flicks out again, lapping up another mouthful, swallowing it down even as heat prickles behind your eyes.

könig groans at the sight, his free hand stroking down your spine, over the curve of your ass. "that’s it, baby," he breathes. "such a good little slut for me."

you whimper, thighs squeezing together, hips rocking subtly against him, desperate for friction, for anything.

he notices that, too. "oh, you poor thing," he coos, all false sympathy, fingers stroking your cheek where it’s damp with tears. "s’this gettin’ you all worked up?"

könig pulls back just a little, dragging his length through your overstretched walls. "you gonna come just from this?" he asks, rolling his hips. your body tenses, toes curling. "from licking your mess off the floor like a good little bitch?"

your face burns, whole body trembling. too full, too overwhelmed, too much— and yet, you nod, a choked little sob escaping your lips.

his pace stutters, burying himself to the hilt with a ragged groan, holding you still as he spills inside, his cock twitching, pumping thick ropes of cum into your swollen cunt. "fuck," he pants, chest heaving, his weight bearing down on you. "so good, baby. took me so fuckin’ well."

his cum is hot inside you, sticky, leaking, seeping out around his cock as he slowly pulls back, watching his spend start to slip from your overstretched hole. könig hums, almost thoughtful. he presses a broad palm against your pussy, scooping it up, pushing it back in with two thick fingers, shoving his spend as deep as it’ll go. "keep it in,” he says almost absentmindedly. he lifts his hand after a moment, tilting his head as he examines the way it drips from his fingers.

his free hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up. your lips part before he even has to tell you. "clean it up," he slides his ring finger past your lips.

your lashes flutter, heat prickling up your spine as you close your lips around him, sucking gently, swirling your tongue over the ridges of his finger, tasting yourself, tasting him.

könig groans, thumb stroking over your cheek, watching your lips stretch around the digit, tongue flicking against the band wrapped around his finger.

"good girl," he breathes, eyes hooded, cock twitching against your slick folds, already stirring again, already wanting more.

he presses his finger deeper, until it nudges against the back of your throat, until your breath stutters and your eyes go hazy, wet.

"so pretty like this.” his other hand slips between your legs again, rubbing slow circles over your swollen clit. "gonna keep you like this forever, wife. nice and full."

he pulls his finger from your mouth with a soft pop, watching the way your tongue flicks out after it, lips wet, eyes dazed. "gonna make you a mommy.” he grins. “fill you up every night until it takes.”

“-and cut!”

[quarterlifekitty]

Cw: cum eating lol

Goddess!Reader as a forgotten deity— a small temple hidden in a cave, completely overgrown with vines and moss. The marble of the flooring is cracked and split with the dripping water and the roots of the overgrowth. There is a statue of you— life sized, not grand or impressive. The skylight of the cave bathes it in sun and moonlight as the days go by.

Warrior!König who finds your little shrine and is enchanted. He has always felt like an outsider— that he has never belonged, and never looked at with familiarity. Maybe it’s his loneliness getting to him, but he feels warmth in the gaze of the statue. You’re a beautiful figure. Despite the state of the place, he feels at home. He doesn’t have much— but he clears some vines and dust off of the offering altar and leaves a fig and a handful of oats.

In his next battle, he finds some uncanny things happening around him. He’ll be dueling an enemy, when a stray beam of light will move in just the right way to blind him for a moment, allowing König to land the killing blow. He’s about to be struck from behind with his assailant’s sword catches in the scabbard for just a moment— long enough for König to turn and fend him off. Could this be his offering at work?

He comes back. This time with an orange, and a gold piece. He gives himself a few moments to admire your form— your breasts perfect, your smile gentle and content. He uses his sword to clear a bit more debris— enough to leave you more clearly visible.

He continues to excel. Not through any supernatural strength, but due to these small strokes of luck finding him at the perfect moment. His sword striking at just the right angle to land in the chip of his enemy’s weapon, cracking it in the fault and rendering it useless. One of his arrows manages to pierce through one target and into another.

He becomes your single worshipper— and the most devoted. He brings fruits, coin, fresh cloth, milk…. And his visits become longer. He lets his hands linger when he touches the cool marble of your statue. He’s taken in a moment of weakness— infatuated with the one figure that seems to care for him— and he touches himself to your image, spilling his seed across your altar— against the red grapes he’d brought for you.

König falls asleep looking at your form. There is no plaque nor writing in your temple— he doesn’t even know your name. When he wakes, the pedestal holding your statue is empty, but he feels a warmth curled into his side, looking down to see you finishing the last of a stem of grapes.

[whocaresabouttactical]

Others can't understand the connection

Drew this long time ago, trying to depict the subtle atmosphere between you and Konig

happy qixi festival

Music

TEMPOREX - Around You

[stargirlstabber]

imagine könig, the big man he is, slamming his massive dick in and out of you, not caring if it 'doesn't fit'. he will make it fit. he will. he'll manhandle you into various positions, the ones he wants to fuck you in that moment. you'll probably start crying by the time he chases his second release or when he decides to fill both of your tight holes and pushes a dildo or a plug into you. or maybe a vibrator. it really depends on his mood and how good you've been for him. squirming away won't help if he's balls deep into your sloppy cunt, the grip his massive hands have on you holds you like you're a doll to him. which you are.

[rowarn]

EXPERIENCE (m.)

könig x inexperienced!reader

tags: age gap, acquaintances to lovers, afab!reader but gn

cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, fingering, hand riding (hear me out), pussyjob, talking u thru it, praise, pet names (liebling, little one), size kink/difference, handjob, reassurance/encouragement kink, wet&messy, konig is uncut hehe, squirting

note: konig is in his 40s and reader is in their 20s!

;in which you live in the same building as a really hot, older, military man

9.5k

When you met König, you never expected the harmless interactions to ever evolve into anything substantial. He lived somewhere in the same apartment building as you did, though you didn’t know where exactly. Most times, you would find him in the elevator or cross paths with him in the lobby. 

You knew he was in the military, most of the people living in the building were. It was close to the nearby base and had rent for a damn good price. The way he carried himself, back straight and body seemingly always at attention gave him away. 

He was massive, standing much taller above you with broad shoulders and thick thighs. A lot of the time he was wearing a hood over his face, mostly when he was coming or going from work – which was seemingly all the time. 

On the few occasions that you caught him without the hood, you could tell it was him solely by his build. There was no one else in the building who looked anything like that. 

He was handsome, in a rugged, tired kind of way. He was a lot older than you were expecting him to be – probably in his early to mid forties, you guessed. He had salt and pepper hair, fine lines etched onto his face, and stern eyes from (no doubt) many years in the military. 

You had never properly spoken to him before. Hell, you didn’t even know his name. You greeted him when you saw him and smiled in passing when you made eye contact. Occasionally, he would respond in an accented voice that you longed to ask about. 

The event that changed everything was a fun little night out you had with your friends. You had maybe had a bit too much to drink before finally conceding at your friends’ behest to call yourself an Uber. 

By the time you reach your apartment building, you’re still very buzzed and starting to feel a little nauseous. You stumble to the elevator and impatiently slam your thumb on the button over and over again, losing count as you do. 

“It’s not going to come any faster,” an accented voice drones next to you, nearly making you jump out of your skin. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” you wheeze, hand over your racing heart.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings then,” he says, “Especially when you are intoxicated.”

You huff through your nose, growing annoyed at the prospect of being lectured. The elevator grants mercy and dings before slowly opening. There's a rowdy group of men inside who quickly walk out of the elevator, seedy eyes immediately finding their way to you, scanning your body up and down as they pass by. 

You feel that nauseous pit in your stomach twist as you finally step onto the elevator. Nothing to ruin your jovial mood from a nice evening more than a group of leering men. Living in an apartment building filled with soldiers, it wasn’t unusual to have them stare at you – didn’t mean you liked it. 

You cross your arms over your chest as König steps on, the elevator creaking and groaning under his immense weight. 

“What floor?” he asks softly, glancing at you over his shoulder as he stands in front of the button panel.

“3,” you mumble, leaning against the back wall. You watch him punch in the 3 but not anything else, making you raise a brow, “You live on 3 too?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say another word. You narrow your eyes at his back, if he feels you looking, he doesn’t give it away. The elevator is plunged into silence aside from the quiet sound of the shaft moving up and up until it dings and the doors slide open. 

He steps out first, standing in the threshold to keep the door from closing as you push yourself off the wall. Your head swims for a second and you stumble past him, keenly aware of his eyes on you. 

You wander down the hallway, glancing over your shoulder to see him slowly stalking behind you. His arms hand limply by his sides, his fists clenched into fists but he remains a respectable distance. 

“Why are you following me?” you ask, unable to hide the nervousness in your tone, “You said you don’t live on this floor.”

“Young recruits are tools,” he supplies simply, “I am making sure you make it to your door without any problems.”

That causes you to hum and for a little flutter in your stomach to manifest. You brush it off and pause at your door, pulling your keys out so unlock it. You push it open and step in, letting it hit your back to keep it from closing as you turn to look at your companion.

“Thank you…um…” you clear your throat and look at him expectantly. 

“König,” he supplies simply, arms tucked behind his back, making him look even wider. 

“König…” you repeat, feeling the words on your tongue, “Interesting name. Where are you from?”

“Austria,” he replies almost mechanically, “I will be going now.”

You don’t get to say another word before he’s stalking away and down the hallway, heavy footfalls practically rumbling the ground beneath him. You slowly close your door and lean against it, hand placed over your racing heart – when did that start up? 

You blame it on your inexperience when it comes to men. You’d had a couple boyfriends, pretty standard for someone in their 20s. Your problem was none of them were ever good enough. The over-zealous types who wanted their dicks sucked as gratitude for paying for dinner. Then would turn around and either give you the most lackluster head of your life, barely any foreplay before trying to shove his dick into an unprepared hole. 

You had never given them the chance, once they showed they were only interested in their own pleasure and would more than likely not even think about touching your clit or angling for your g-spot, you stopped them and kicked them out. More often than not, you woke up to a break-up text because of course you did. 

So that was how you were still a virgin and more or less, at this point, given up on dating. You’d been single now for the better part of 6 months and had no intentions of giving any men your own age a shot at it. 

But…you hadn’t considered an older man. Like König. 

At that thought, you pushed yourself off the door and kicked your shoes off, intent on taking a shower to hopefully wash these drunken thoughts out of your head. So he’d been nice and walked you to your door, no questions asked, so what? Didn’t make him any different from men your age. 

As you made it to the bathroom, you felt your stomach finally churn for the final time and found your head buried in the toilet. You cursed yourself for not listening to your friends, who apparently knew your own limits better than you did. 

The next time you see König is just a few days later. You walk into the apartment’s gym on the ground floor, and there he is – sitting lifting weights. You pause when you see him, feeling that traitorous flutter in your chest you were sure you puked out that night you had learned his name. 

You watch the way his biceps flex, bulging so large you’re sure not even two of your hands could wrap around the girth of it. There were some scars littering his skin, most of them white and raised from age but a few that still had that new tissue pink color. You also noticed some fading tattoos encircling his forearms. Fuck, he was hot. 

You hung your head and scampered over to the treadmill, intent on getting your cardio up. 

As you run, you notice a group waltz in, laughing and shoving each other. You glance over at them, rolling your eyes when some of them make eye contact and nudge their buddies. They lean in close and whisper to each other with shit eating grins on their faces and you find frustration building up so you try to ignore them. 

“Quiet,” you hear an accented voice snap, full of authority, “You are disturbing everyone.”

The rowdy young men quiet down immediately and clear their throats, “S-Sorry, Colonel,” one of them utters.

‘Colonel? Is that high ranking?’ you find yourself wondering, making a mental note to look that up later. 

Either way, König manages to make the gym peaceful once again and you finish your workout with no other hitches. 

You grab your towel and dab at the sweat on your face and neck as you swiftly make your way out of the gym, completely unaware of the shadow following closely behind. 

You slow to a stop at the elevator, punching the button to call it as you sip on your water bottle, mindlessly going over what else you need to do with your day. The shadow behind you remains stagnant, still and silent as it lurks behind your unsuspecting form as the elevator opens and you step on. 

He follows, hefty weight causing the elevator to groan as usual. That gets your attention and you jump, placing a delicate hand over your racing heart just like you had before, eyes wide in shock at his appearance.

“You’re doing it on purpose now!” you whine at him and he has to fight back a smile at it. 

“I told you that you needed to pay more attention to your surroundings,” he replies smoothly, pressing the 3 button for you before pressing 5 for himself. 

“How is a guy as big as you able to be so quiet?” you ask softly, making note of the floor he lives on. 

“Years of training,” he gives a quick response that you hum at. There is a beat of silence before he finds himself speaking again, “You never gave me your name.”

He sees the way you look at him in surprise and he almost wishes he could rip the words from the air as soon as he says them. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea that he actually wants to get to know you. 

But you smile softly and give him your name with a kind nod of your head before the elevator grants him mercy and dings at the arrival on your floor.

“See you around, König,” you say as you step off. 

He doesn’t respond. 

Once back in the safety of your apartment, you find yourself going through the entire interaction in your head over and over again. Your heart races as you think back on him. 

It's as you’re making dinner for yourself that you finally have the coherent thought of revelation that you may have a crush on König. 

The revelation is almost enough to have you groaning out of frustration into the quiet sanctity of your apartment but you manage to refrain. But you can’t deny you don’t quite know what to do about it now. You had sworn off of men but…that was men your own age. König was…older than you, surely at least 15 years your senior, possibly more. You figure it couldn’t hurt to ask him out for some coffee one of these days. 

Except, the next time you see König is almost 2 weeks later. You don’t see hide nor hair of him at all. It definitely puts a damper on your confidence and you almost think your crush was just a fleeting little thing and for that you’re grateful for. 

Until the elevator opens one day and there he is. He’s wearing his hood but his eyes look even more exhausted than usual – beyond the general tiredness that comes with age. You carefully step on, joining him in the downward descent to the lobby. It’s just the two of you and feel that fluttering in your chest start up again and your hands begin to sweat. You scour your brain for something to say — anything to start up a conversation after so long of not seeing him.

“Haven’t seen you around,” you mutter softly. He hums softly in acknowledgement but doesn’t supply much of a response beyond that, “Where have you been?” you try again.

“Deployed,” he finally responds after several seconds of silence. 

You can’t find any way to respond or keep the conversation going but it’s sure that he has no intentions of doing so anyway. Still, it surprised you that he had been deployed, you hadn’t considered that. It made sense now that you thought about it. 

The elevator opened and you both stepped out. He walked much faster than you, beelining out of the apartment and you briefly considered letting him go but another part of you wanted to stop him and ask him out. 

You cursed to yourself and jogged forward, calling his name. He stopped in his tracks at the sound of you calling for him. He looks down at you over his nose, a burning gaze that makes your nervousness spike. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good time after all. 

“What?” he snaps, clearly impatient.

“Oh um…” you clear your throat and slow to a stop, “N-Nevermind…”

He huffs through his nose and resumes storming out of the apartment. You find yourself sighing deeply, following his lead. When you get outside, he’s nowhere to be seen and you once again find yourself wondering how a man of his size is so good at not being seen. 

A few nights later, the weekend rolls around and you find yourself standing in that damned elevator with him once again. He’s maskless and it gives you pause before stepping on. 

It’s silent for a few seconds before he says, “I am sorry for the other day.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, “Um…what do you mean?”

“I was not polite towards you,” he answers, casting a soft gaze towards you that makes your heart flutter, “I took my bad mood out on you and I should not have. So…I am sorry.”

“Oh…” you clear your throat and give him a smile, “it’s alright, König. I shouldn’t have bothered you with something silly.”

He frowns at you, “Something silly?”

“It’s nothing,” you assure him, smiling kindly at him. 

He wants to ask you what you mean but the elevator door opens and you step out, making him realize that you reached your floor. You wave your goodbye to him as the doors close and he lets his head fall back with a sigh once he’s alone.

Yet another bad day weighed heavily on his shoulders when you came waltzing into the elevator, bright eyed and happy. His fists were clenched behind his back and he did his best to avoid looking at you, hoping you would take the hint and not speak to him like you usually did. It hadn’t been but a day since he had apologized to you for making an ass of himself in the lobby and he didn’t want to do the same thing so soon after. 

But then you say something that sends it all crumbling down.

“Hey…” you start, fidgeting your fingers in front of you, “Would you like to get coffee sometime? Maybe lunch?”

You ask it so sweetly and softly. For some reason, that grates on his nerves even more than anything.

“What?” he snaps, cold and sharp in a way that makes you visibly freeze. 

You look up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, “Um…w-well, I just…it’s…I would like to…”

Your nervous babbling only serves to piss him off even more as his glare narrows down on you, making you shrink in on yourself where you stand. Suddenly, the elevator feels much smaller than it had ever before – even with him filling most of the space as usual. 

“You want to go out with me?” he spits, his accent growing stronger with every venomous word that he can’t seem to stop from spilling from his lips, “I am twice your age, what the hell makes you think I would want to date you?”

You swallow thickly around the lump forming in your throat and bite back the tears that threaten to form. He hears you sniffle and promptly snaps his head to look at you. Under the ugly, yellow light of the elevator he can see the tears trickling down your cheeks and he suddenly wants to slap himself into the next decade. 

He wants to open his mouth so badly and apologize for being so cruel to you. He knows he could have told you no in a much softer way rather than making your feelings seem like something revolting or stupid. But the elevator doors open and you’re slipping out before he even has a chance. He decides not to chase after you. 

It’s for the best, he assures himself. 

It only takes a few days before he’s vehemently regretting not stopping you then and there. 

It happens on a Friday night, the elevators are closing just as a hand jumps between them, sending them opening again. You step on, giggling in a way that tells him you’re just a little inebriated. You freeze when you see him standing there, maskless and cold gaze as he watches you tug a young man into the elevator behind you – clearly a little drunk himself. 

You pointedly stand in front of König, keeping your back to him to show that you’re not even willing to look at him. König feels his heart clench painfully in his chest before it’s replaced by a wash of anger as he watches the young man paw at you. He slips his hand down your back to grope at your ass, making you giggle breathlessly before you’re batting his hands away with a little bat of your lashes. 

König wishes he had an excuse to step off the elevator at the same time as you – anything to prolong his time with you. He’s never felt the desire to cockblock someone more in his whole entire life. 

But he doesn’t move. He just watches you step off without a single glance in his direction before you’re vanishing around the corner and the elevator doors close silently, leaving König alone with his thoughts. 

You couldn’t believe you brought this guy to your apartment. You especially couldn’t believe you were letting him strip you of your clothes and paw at your body like some kind of mindless dog. You had sworn to yourself that you were not going to fall into this trap again – a 20-something year old guy buying you a drink, complimenting you a little, teasing and groping you in the club until you caved and brought him home. It wasn’t your first go around – and it always ended the same way.

But you were drunk and you needed to get your mind off that stupid, giant Austrian military man that lived in your building. And wouldn’t you know it, he was on the elevator as soon as you got in. It was almost enough to sober you up, your wounded pride and feelings still so prevalent even after a few days of nursing the hurt. 

You could only hope that this would relieve you of your hurt feelings. 

Unfortunately, you quickly realized that this was a mistake. 

As soon as he started groping you, spreading your legs and trying to stuff his cock inside you without so much as a single finger of prep – you knew this wasn’t going to happen.

You tried to lead him, thinking maybe he was a little too tipsy to actually think about it.

“How about a little prep, hm?” you ask softly.

He pauses what he’s doing and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, “Oh…you’re one of those…”

He says it in disgust and you feel yourself bristle in annoyance, “One of what?”

“You want me to eat you out, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “That shit’s gross, c’mon just let me stick it in, already.” It was that moment that you felt any minute desire you had to have sex evaporate. 

You don’t even bother walking the guy out, leaving him to limp to the elevator in shame with a hard cock and blue balls.

It takes you a few days to find it in yourself to crawl out of your apartment. The only reason you actually do leave is because you’re in need of food – your little supply of ramen has depleted and you have to bite the bullet. 

After your little shopping trip at the nearby convenience store, you find yourself waiting for the elevator when a dark shadow looms over you. You feel a pit of dread in your stomach as you smell the musky, sweet scent of his cologne. But you don’t dare acknowledge his presence. 

He doesn’t give you long to ignore him, however, before he’s talking to you.

“How was your little date?” he asks, voice dripping in a tone of condescension that immediately puts you on edge. 

“What’s it to you?” you hiss, still not daring to look at him. 

He scoffs, “You went and found yourself a little toy to play with awfully fast. Seems your interest in me wore off quickly, no?”

That gets you to finally turn around, meeting his cold, indifferent gaze with your hot, teary one. You miss the look of surprise that flashes over his face.

“What is your problem?” you snap, “You rejected me, what the hell do you care what I do? And for your information, the date was shit. He was shit, like I should have expected any difference. God, I really am a fucking idiot,” you find yourself rambling, a lamenting spiel that you can’t seem to stop no matter how badly you want to, “Just like every prick before him, he was selfish and revolting. I thought I could finally get fucking laid and just call it a day but no, my stupid standards are too high and I find myself asking out the hot older guy in my building only for him to find me revolting!”

By the time you’re done ranting, the doors open and you storm out of the elevator, angrily gripping your bag of groceries. König is frozen where he stands, watching you leave as the doors slowly close – almost begging him to put his hand between them and stop them so he can chase after you. 

But he doesn’t.

It’s creeping up on midnight when there’s a knock on your apartment door. You’re curled up on the couch, watching some random show that you weren’t really invested in but couldn’t be bothered to change. 

The knock makes you jump, startled, but get up nonetheless. A quick peek in the peephole tells you exactly who it is before you even open it. 

You briefly consider not opening it period but find yourself opening it before you actually settle on a decision. 

König stands in front of you, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand, looking comically small. The sight is almost enough to get you to crack a smile. Almost.

But the residual hurt from the last few interactions you’ve had with him is enough to keep you stoic. You raise a brow and you practically see his confidence falter. A pang of guilt goes through you at the sight and you step aside, waving him in with a quiet huff. 

He closes the door behind him softly, kicking his boots off as he watches you wander into the living room. You take a seat on your couch, covering yourself with your throw blanket once again as you watch him wander in, gazing around at your decor before finally settling on you. 

“Um…” He clears his throat nervously and places the flowers on your coffee table, “I think that we should talk…”

“Should we?” you quip back.

He sighs, broad shoulders heaving with the movement before he takes a seat beside you, taking up a hefty amount of space on your small couch. 

“I want to apologize,” he says softly, folding his hands in his lap, “When you asked me out…I-I should not have spoken to you like that.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “If that’s all this is about, König, then you can go. I-I don’t really want to hear a half-assed apology about the way you rejected me. You’re not interested, let’s just move on from it. I’ll get over it.”

He shakes his head quickly and curses under his breath, a word you don’t understand – German, your brain supplies, helpfully.

“You are wrong,” he says, “I do not want you to get over it because I am interested.”

The gets you to perk up, eyes wide, “What do you mean? You said you–”

“I know what I said,” he mutters, “I am…twice your age…”

“So you mentioned before…” you reply.

“I do not think…you should be with someone old like me,” he continues softly, “You should be with someone your own age. That is what I thought. It is not that I don’t find you attractive; I think you’re sweet and lovely. But it's just…our age difference…”

“König,” you stop him from continuing, “I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“I understand that but…” he trails off, casting a sideways glance across the room, away from you.

“I’ve tried dating men my own age, König,” you say, “It always ends the same – I send them home blue balled.”

He huffs out a laugh through his nose and finally sets his gaze back on you, “Why do you do that?”

“I don’t plan to…” you begin, running your hand along the soft fabric of your blanket, “it’s just that...I bring them home and then we start getting into it and it fucking sucks!”

“Sucks..?” The question is soft and drawn out. 

“He wants to fuck my throat and won’t even give me his fingers before trying to stick his dick in,” you spit, angrily glaring at the tv as you remember all your shit encounters, “I’ve never even let one of them go all the way.”

“You’re a virgin…?” he asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “I guess. I mean I’ve had shitty oral and stuff but…”

“I see…” he trails off, shifting in his seat, hands still folded in his lap, “Well, I would like to take you out for a date after all.”

You find a smile spreading across your face faster than you can stop it. You jump to your knees and throw your arms around his shoulders with a squeal of happiness, “Really? You mean it?”

He laughs breathlessly, a husky little sound that makes your heart race, “Does this weekend work for you?”

You eagerly nod your head and lean in. You catch the way his eyes widen briefly before your lips meet. You think he’s going to pull away from you but instead he cups the back of your head and deepens the kiss. 

You feel a shiver go through you at the feeling of his big, strong hand holding you there in the kiss. You couldn’t keep yourself from getting wet even if you wanted to. 

With your hands pressed against his firm chest, you toss one leg over his lap and find yourself seated on top of him. He breaks the kiss at that, hands migrating to your waist where he mindlessly strokes his thumb over the skin exposed by the way your shirt rode up.

You lean down and kiss him again and he groans against your mouth. You grind down against him in response to the throb that makes your pussy clench around nothing. You whimper into the kiss when he suddenly stops your movements with a firm grip. 

“We shouldn’t, liebling,” he whispers softly.

“Why not?” you whine, settling in his lips. You briefly realize that you can feel something hard beneath you and that makes you start dripping in your panties, “Don’t you want to?”

“I-I do…” he assures, “I just…want to properly court you…”

He couldn’t get any sweeter if he tried. Still, you quip back with a teasing little smile, “Wow, you are a lot older than me, huh?”

You feel giddy when the sweet look in his eyes melts away into something darker. One hand clasps the back of your head before he pulls you in for a much rougher kiss. You keen as you feel the way he exudes experience – the kiss like nothing you have ever experienced before. 

The way he moves his lips and slips his tongue into your mouth to taste your mouth, it’s not gross or too much the way it sometimes is with men who don’t know what they’re doing.you find yourself moaning into the kiss before you even realize it. 

He pulls away at that, a heady look in his pretty, blue eyes. You find yourself briefly lamenting the loss of his mouth but that thought disappears quickly when he moves to begin peppering kisses along the length of your neck, making sure to nip at your jaw and kiss your shoulder. 

He tugs the hem of your t-shirt down just a bit so he can have access to your collar bones, nipping and kissing there as well. Your head falls back as you surrender yourself to him completely. 

“Oh,” he coos softly, lips brushing against your ear, “You are just so sweet for me, aren’t you, little one?”

You practically whimper at his words as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips barely grazing your skin. You squirm in his lap as his touch tickles you on his way up to your breasts, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his roughened palms. 

You sigh into the quiet room, arching your back to press deeper into his hands. His thumbs graze over your nipples and you moan. 

Sure, you’ve had guys grope your tits before but it had never felt like this. The mindless squishing and squeezing was replaced with soft cupping and gentle brushes over your nipples until they hardened followed by pinches and flicks that left you absolutely dripping in your panties.

He takes mercy on you quickly, one hand sliding down your body to slide under your sweatpants and beneath your panties. Your hands grip his shoulders, blunt nails biting into them when one broad finger slides down, the sticky noise of your folds separating enough to send heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers in a tone so soft you almost think it wasn’t meant for you, but then he tacks on, “Do you hear it?” 

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, embarrassment flooding through you at the sticky, clicking noises that come along with his prodding, “N-Never been this wet before, König…”

That causes him to pause, blue eyes gazing at you through his eyelashes, “Is that so..?” You desperately nod your head, slowly beginning to rock your hips against his hand, but he doesn’t move again and you whine, “Has anyone ever made you cum on their fingers?”

“J-Just me,” you answer breathlessly without a second thought. 

He hums thoughtfully and after a second, he begins moving his hand again. This time he introduces more fingers, spreading your folds apart with his index and ring so he can pet your hardened clit with his middle. The feeling makes tremors run through your body and he huffs a laugh, “I guess I will show you what it feels like then, yeah?”

He doesn’t give you a moment to think let alone answer before his middle finger is sliding into you. The one digit alone is enough to stretch you, given how massive he is in whole. He crooks his finger forward and a moan rips from your chest when he hits that gooey little spot inside you. 

“A-Another, please, König!” you beg shamelessly.

“Shh,” he hushes, shaking his head, “Let me work you open on this and then you can have more.”

You practically wail in despair, letting your forehead drop forward onto his shoulder. You suddenly wish you had rid yourself of your clothes so you could see the way his hand worked against you. All you could see now was the faint movement under your pants but the mental image of that thick finger inside you, slick with your juices was enough to have you clenching desperately around him. 

After a moment, he adds a second finger and you feel like you’re in heaven. The stretch is phenomenal and his palm bumps against your clit every time he sinks them into the last knuckle. 

However, before he can set a rhythm to really start getting you off, he stops. You angrily lean back and glare at him – the sight has his lips quirking up.

“Ride my fingers,” he orders you, leaving no room for arguing.

You can tell he’s not going to give you anything unless you take it for yourself so you sit up higher on your knees so you can have the clearance to move. Your hands remain on his shoulders, clinging to him for stability as you clumsily begin to rock your hips. The only time you’ve ever done these movements is when you tried humping your pillow once after seeing it in some porn. It didn’t really do much for you so you never tried again. 

König can tell your movements are clumsy and it makes his cock throb against his thigh. He helps you along, crooking his fingers just right to grind the tips against that sweet little spot inside you. It makes you moan beautifully and he files the noise away. 

His other hand comes up to grip your hip, steadying you as you continue to hump his fingers. You’re growing more and more frustrated as you quickly realize that you’re not able to make it feel as good as he had earlier. The tearful little gaze you give him has him breaking, using the hand on your hip guiding you into more seamless movements. 

“Like this, liebling,” he directs softly, “Grind down like that, mhm, give that little clit some love, yeah?”

You become increasingly breathless as you work yourself higher and higher under his expert guidance. He can feel your juices dripping down his wrist, the snug hold around his fingers growing even tighter with every little rut of your hips. 

“You’re so precious,” he coos, feeling the way you clench up at the sound of his voice. Your body is so honest, telling him what you like without you having to say anything, “You’re going to cum, I can feel it. Be good and give it to me, yeah?”

You surge forward and desperately kiss him, one hand reaching down and gripping his wrist. It takes only a few more, desperate thrusts of your hips for you to topple over that edge. Your body trembles on his lap and you cry out in pleasure. 

He moans alongside you, watching with rapt attention as you cum all over his fingers just like he told you to.

You slump against him as you come down and he pulls his hands out of your pants. He presses a kiss against your temple in silent praise, hands rubbing your back to soothe you through the aftershocks that run through your body.

You lean back and meet his gaze, an opportunity he takes to slip his cum-soaked fingers into his mouth. At that, you surge forward and kiss him, running your hands down his body to pull at the button of his jeans. He grunts into your mouth, brows furrowing at the release of pressure when you tug the zipper down.

You’re absolutely speechless when you finally pull his cock free. He watches in poorly concealed pride as you gawk at the length in your hand. You give him a slow and tedious tug, watching the foreskin roll over his head, forcing a bead of precum from the tip. 

“You’re so…big,” you whisper breathlessly.

“I know,” he grunts, unable to hide the ebbs of pleasure you give him as you play with his cock.

“Cocky,” you tease softly, continuing with your soft touches. 

“N-Not cocky,” he whispers, licking his suddenly dry hips, “Just aware of my size.”

You drop your eyes back down to his cock, hot and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don't even touch each other when wrapped around him. Precum drips from the tip, leaking down the side to meet your palm and aid in the movements. 

He leans his head back against the couch, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows. It wasn’t often that he got to indulge in someone else’s hand. Your palm was so soft, much softer than his own, and delicate in your inexperience. 

He reaches down with one his hands, wrapping around yours to make you squeeze tighter, “Just like that, little one, that’s how I like it.”

You could have drooled as he said it. His hand dwarfed yours and the sight made you clench around nothing, more slick leaking into your already ruined panties. 

“Let me see you, liebling,” he whispers breathlessly, fingers hooking on the hem of your top.

You release his cock to lift your arms, letting him tug the fabric over your head. His hands are on your tits immediately, mouthing at your nipples without wasting a second.

“So pretty,” he coos with his mouth full, rolling his tongue over your nipple before nipping the bud with his lips.

He switches to the other one, wrapping his mouth around it, sucking sharply before pulling back, taking your nipple with him before releasing it with a pop. You watch with lidded eyes as he drools all over your tits. His cock flexes and twitches against your thigh as he plays with your tits.

Suddenly, with a firm grip on your waist, your whole world flips and you find yourself on your back on the couch with König on top of you. You lick your lips at the sight of his big, broad form hovering above you, caging you in as he leans down to kiss you again.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth, threading your fingers through his short, messy hair, using the grip to pin him against you. He lets you kiss him to your heart's content, only pulling back when you need air – a string of spit connecting your lips that breaks when he leans back between your thighs. 

His fingers took into the band of your pants, tugging them down, taking your panties with them until you’re completely bared before him. He’s still completely clothed aside from his cock that rests against his abdomen, occasionally twitching as his eyes rake over your nude body.

“Tell me, liebling,” he says, strong hands running up the length of your thighs, “Has anyone ever eaten you out?”

You clumsily nod your head.

“Was it good?” he asks, biting back a smile when you shake your head.

“Guys always think it’s gross or something…” you whisper softly.

He hums softly, “That is because you’ve been messing with stupid little boys.”

“You gonna eat me out, König?” you ask him, biting your lip in a poorly concealed excited grin.

“Would you like me to?” as he asks, he slowly spreads your legs open. The position causes your folds to spread apart, opening you up for his greedy eyes.

You feel your breathing speed up as he kisses down your body, starting with your lips and ending right above your clit. You feel the little bud twitch in anticipation as he tongues the skin above it, giving you a sneak peek on what is so close to it. 

“Tell me,” he says.

You whine, “Y-Yes, I want you to eat me out, König!”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t bother teasing you anymore. He meets your gaze and moves his tongue lower finally, sliding the flat of the muscle of your clit. You gasp and toss your head back into the cushions, eyes rolling back as he noisily slurps at your cunt. 

“O-Oh god!” you wail, hiccuping out noises of pleasure that you can’t seem to quiet.

König is in heaven. It’s not every day that he gets the opportunity to eat such a pretty, inexperienced little cunt. Your reactions to everything are so strong and loud. Your pussy is loud too, squelching in the room, making an intoxicating melody with your moans. He moans against you, swallowing down everything your messy little pussy drools out for him.

“Th-That feels so good, König!” you sob, kicking your feet mindlessly against his back as he captures your clit in his mouth, suckling at the bud, “You’re so good, so good, oh god!”

Never in a million years did you think being eaten out could feel this good. The mindlessly, halfhearted licks and kisses you had received in the past did nothing to prepare you for what it felt like to really have a man’s tongue on you. 

He pulls away suddenly, giving you a moment to actually breathe, “You taste so sweet, liebling.”

“König…” you whimper, looking up at him with lidded eyes, “Please, please don’t stop.”

You tug at his hair and attempt to pull his mouth back down on your pussy. You don’t care how pathetic and desperate it is, he has given you a taste of pleasure you’d never experienced before.

He has the audacity to laugh at you, brushing your hands away so he can sit up straight again. He scoots closer and you realize then that he is not planning to continue and it practically draws a sob out of you. 

“We can focus on that another time, liebling,” he promises, making you clench around nothing, more slick dribbling out for him to see, “You are so messy, you know that? Never had someone make such a mess all over me before. You must really enjoy being eaten out, huh?”

You feel your face burn hot with shame at his words, shyly hiding your face away. He smiles softly at that, “Nothing to be ashamed of, liebling…I love it, I do.”

“Really?” you quiver out the question and he nods his head.

“Yes, little one,” he coos, “I’m glad that I can make it feel good for you.”

You practically feel hearts in your eyes as he says that. You don’t think you’ve ever had a man tell you that he actually cared and enjoyed your pleasure. That was the final nail in the coffin for you – you really should have been going after older men all this time.

He disrupts your thoughts by suddenly stripping his shirt off. Your mouth goes completely dry at the sight of his bared skin – firm muscle, hair speckled all over his torso, and numerous scars from untold stories of his time in the military. You take note of the faded tattoos that become visible on his pecs and biceps; you’d always noticed the tattoos on his arms but you’d never really been given the opportunity to look. 

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper.

He pauses while ridding himself of his jeans and smiles, “Thank you, little one.”

When he’s completely bare to you, you slowly rake your eyes down the entirety of his newly exposed body. His cock hangs heavy under its own weight, glimmering at the tip with his precum. You’d never been with a guy who was uncut but the sight made you drool. 

“Now, liebling,” he says suddenly, getting your attention. He scoots closer, spreading your legs as wide as he can before laying the hefty weight of his cock against your cunt. It’s hot and throbbing and your entire body trembles at the sight, “You have to understand something.”

“What..?” you ask, breathless and unable to look away from his cock. 

“I am not like those little boys you were running around with,” he explains, hips slowly beginning to rut against you, length parting your folds and rubbing over your clit, drawing a sweet little moan from you, “I don’t stick my cock in a tight little cunt and blow my load, do you know what I’m saying?”

You shake your head, too lost in the sight and feeling of him practically fucking the outside of your pussy. He doesn’t stop the mind-numbing rolls of his hips, letting you get lost in the feeling of him stroking over your clit, saturating him in your cum. 

“That means,” he sighs, reaching up to grip your throat, forcing you to look at him as he leaned over your body, sandwiching his cock between the two of you, “I don’t cum easily, liebling. I am a grown man, I will fuck you until you cannot cum anymore. Are you prepared for that?”

The fact this man was so confident in his abilities in bed has you clenching around nothing again. You were sure the guys you almost slept with would never have been able to have the pure confidence that came from König. He knew what he was doing – he knew how to make you cum and he was going to use that experience well. You knew his age played a factor in how long it would take him to cum and you couldn’t wait to experience it.

“I want it so bad, König,” you beg softly, “Please?”

“Very good,” he praised, “You’re so good for me.”

He finally gripped the base of his cock and you watched excitedly as he pressed the tip against your entrance. You reached down and wrapped your arms around your knees, pulling them back for him so he could comfortably begin pressing into you.

The stretch is beyond anything you’d ever felt before. You knew his cock was big but watching the bulbous tip press against you and slowly spread you wide open was something else entirely. It burned in a way that had you wincing, furrowed brows making your face pinch up, making König pause. 

“It’s okay, little one,” he whispers, bringing a big thumb up to roll over your hard little clit, “Just relax for me, don’t clench up or it will hurt more.”

“I-It’s so big, König!” you wail helplessly, tearily staring up at him as he methodically works you open on his cock.

“I know,” he assures, still stroking your clit with the pad of his thumb, “But you can take it.”

You tearfully nod your head and do your best to relax your body, letting yourself sink into the couch. 

“Good, liebling, very good,” he coos, “Just let me in, nice and slow. Doesn’t it feel nice? The little burn of being stretched open but the pleasure of having this pretty little clit played with? Just lay back and enjoy it, little one.”

He’s right, of course. The burn aches, yes, but the pain and pleasure mixes the more he rubs your clit. You clench around him, an involuntary reaction that causes the head of his cock to finally pop in. Your eyes widen as you watch your cunt swallow it and with a perfectly timed tap against your clit, your back arches and you’re cumming.

“O-Oh König!” you squeal, eyes rolling back into your head as you cum around the head of his cock and nothing else.

“Oh, that’s good,” he grins, “That’s perfect, little one.”

As you come down with a tremble in your thighs, you finally fix your gaze on him once again.His eyes are lidded and pupils are blown so wide you can’t even tell they’re blue anymore. 

“That looked like a good one,” he comments almost flippantly before he rolls his hips forward, “Now you’re nice and ready for me.”

You choke on a gasp as he rolls his hips forward, fitting half of his cock inside your still spasming cunt. Your cum coats him in a slick sheen that aides in allowing him to pull back and slide back in, settling on fucking you on half his cock.

Your mouth falls open and you watch as a thick, milky ring forms around that fat middle part of his shaft, “M-More, König! Please!”

He knows you want all of him, want to know what it’s like to feel all of him stuffed deep inside you. But he knows you’re not quite ready for that yet, fucked out of your head from the intense orgasm he had just given you with ease.

“Not yet, liebling,” he coos, keeping his pace slow and steady, “Let’s work you open a little bit more, yeah?”

“No,” you whine, “Please, I want it all, König.”

“Aww, I know you do, little one,” he pants, already feeling dizzy from spearing you on his cock, “But I know what’s good for you, just listen to me and be good, okay?”

“Okay…” you pitifully whimper, sinking back into the couch. 

You abandon your hold on your legs, letting them rest around his hips limply now. He continues moving like that, inching deeper and deeper into you with every thrust. Your cunt makes embarrassingly loud squishing noises the move he works his hips against you. 

Before you know it, you’re watching with wide eyes and an open mouth as his pelvis presses against yours. Your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl in pure pleasure as you finally experience the entirety of everything König has to offer. 

You’re speared wide open and the head knocks against your cervix painfully but the little bit of pain only makes the pleasure that much sweeter. 

“There we go, little one,” he coos sweetly, “I’m so proud of you, took all of my cock so well.”

He’s so big that he presses against every sweet little spot inside you without even trying. But, oh, his experience is crystal clear in the way he moves. He may be naturally gifted with a nice, fat cock but he knew how to use it.

Seamless, rhythmic thrusts had your brain going fuzzy before you even knew what was happening. You wouldn’t have been able to be quiet even if you wanted to. You knew you would be absolutely horrified to face your neighbors later because it would be impossible for them to not know you got fucked real good. 

Suddenly, König leaned over you, resting one forearm above your head to hold his weight off of you. The position caused his pelvis against your clit every time he sunk balls deep. Sticky strings of your cum stuck to his skin but he didn’t seem to even notice how wet you were.

But, oh, he did. He was absolutely obsessed with the way you creamed and gushed around him. A nice, pliant little pussy that was more than eager to swallow every inch of his cock.

The change in position had you grappling onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you wailed into his shoulder. Every mind-numbing snap of his hips hit that gooey, tender spot inside you that had your entire body twitching from the pleasurable stimulation. Your nails bit into his back and he briefly thought about the prospect of his recruits seeing them. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” he whispered in your ear, pressing a sweet kiss underneath your ear.

You nod your head, “Y-Yes! You’re gonna make me c-cum again, König!”

He chuckles under his breath, “I know I am, little one. I’m going to make you squirt.”

“C-Can’t,” you heave, twitchy legs kicking against his back.

“Yes, you can,” he assures, leaning away to sit up once again, “I can make you squirt, trust me.”

The whine you emit pitches into a squeal when he presses his palm against your lower stomach. You reached down in a panic to grab his wrist, not used to the strange feeling of him pressing down while he fucks you. 

“W-Wait!” you wail.

“Wait for what?” he asks, but doesn’t slow even a bit in his movements.

“F-Feels weird!” you gasp, hiccuping as you squeeze his wrist. 

“I know,” he grunts, brows furrowing at the feeling of you clenching around him, “It’s supposed to. Just lay back and let it happen, liebling. I’ve got you.”

Your whole body trembles and your jaw drops as you meet his gaze, a look of wonder crossing your face as you feel an orgasm like you’ve never felt before crash over your body. It’s long, drawn out and almost painful from how good it feels. You squeeze tight around him, your clit twitching and pulsing, completely untouched as he makes you squirt. It splashes against his abdomen and drips down his thighs. 

“There we go,” he laughs, a sound that sends a flush of embarrassment to your face, “See? I told you you could do it.”

“König…” you slur, feeling as if you’ve been fucked completely braindead.

It finally dawned on you that you would never, ever be fucked by anyone as good as König has fucked you. The first cock you’ve ever been stuffed full of and he made you squirt with terrifying ease. You were completely ruined, no dick would ever be able to compare to his. 

He sees the way your gaze turns completely enamored, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars. He grins, sharp canines poking out as he leans down again, kissing your temple.

“What is it, baby?” he coos, “Dick so good it’s got you in love?”

You keen at the pure condescension that drips from his voice. But he’s not wrong, you can practically feel the hearts in your eyes as you gaze up at him.

You have no idea how long you’ve been pinned beneath him, speared open on his cock while he fucks you absolutely stupid. You notice the change in him quite suddenly. His deep, concentrated thrust changed into something less calculated, messy almost. He loses his rhythm and falters in his pace.

“I’m going to cum, liebling,” he grunts, tone pitchy and gruff, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside!” you immediately cry, not missing a beat. He sees your eyes light up at the prospect of being filled up completely by his cum. You’re so sure it’s going to be a lot, you want to feel it drip out of you as a reminder that he had claimed you.

“Is it safe?” he huffs, but you can feel his cock twitch inside you at the idea of cumming inside you.

You desperately nod your head and he allows himself to fall over that edge. He teeters on his knees before collapsing with his hands on either side of your head. He no longer tries to thrust, settling for desperate, deep grinds that stirs his cock within your walls. Your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling, another orgasm washing over you before you even realize you’re that close.

“Oh, fuck,” König gasps, voice breaking as your orgasm sends him over the edge.

You’re panting and whimpering, trembling as you feel the heat of his load filling you up. His cock twitches with every spurt of cum. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in a long time, his balls throbbing with every pump of cum his cock spits out. 

It oozes from around the tight seal you have around him, dripping onto the couch. He’s trembling by the time the intense orgasm comes to an end. He opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them, to see you sleepily staring up at him with a dazed smile on your lips.

“Mein Gott…” he huffs out, lowering his body to press his lips against yours sweetly, “That was incredible, liebling.”

You beam under his praise and wrap your arms around his neck, “It was, wasn’t it?”

He chuckles and strokes his thumb against your cheek, “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you agree.

The care he gives you afterwards is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. He wipes your body down gently, careful not to rub your skin too hard. He stands with you in the shower, towering over you as he lathers your exhausted body with soap. 

“Can we do that again sometime?” You ask softly when he crawls into bed beside you – which you were shocked about, but didn’t complain.

He raises a brow and chuckles, “Yes, liebling. But not right now, I could not go another round so soon.”

You giggle and snuggle into his broad chest, practically preening when he wraps you up snug against him. You sigh softly and speak up again, “Can we…still go on that date..?”

He’s quiet for a moment before you feel a kiss on the top of your head, “Of course, liebling. I would love to.”

You smile to yourself and close your eyes, content to fall asleep wrapped up in his arms. The last thing you feel before you succumb to sleep is another soft kiss against your head. You realize, sleepily, that you’ve never felt more cared for by a man in your life.

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