#König x you

[luxcuriousao3]

Not me imagining the porniest scenario where you're stuck in an elevator alone with König and oh no you've only given birth a couple weeks ago and you're producing sooooo much milk it leaks through your nursing bra, how embarrassing. And oh no your breasts are so swollen and tender and aching, if only you had your baby with you or your breast pump, but no luck. Guess you just have to suffer.

Meanwhile König can't take his eyes off the wet patches on your shirt, and is hard as steel, trying not to cream his pants and/or offer to help you out, please Mama, please?

[captain-silkmaster]

The Morning After

The room was dim, lit by soft golden rays from the sun peeking through the sheer curtains. You stirred, shifting slightly beneath the sheets. Your limbs tangled with König’s, your back pressed to his chest. Your bodies, still bare from the night before. You smiled when you felt the weight of his arm tighten around you. You noticed the subtle shift in his breathing, the press of his hand against the curve of your hip.

He was already awake.

You adjusted your head to look up at him. He was already gazing at you, lids heavy with sleep or desire. It was hard to tell.

“Guten Morgen…” König said, his voice low and rough.

His voice was thick with something darker. Something akin to wanting, deep and unfiltered. Your skin prickled under the sound of it. You bit your bottom lip and hummed softly as you stretched, deliberately arching just enough for your hips to press back into him. You felt him react instantly. The velvety soft skin of his hard cock rubbed between the cleft of your backside.

He didn’t wait for you to fully respond. He rolled you onto your stomach with practiced ease, large hands spreading across your lower back, pinning you there like he needed to feel the weight of you under him again. His mouth trailed down your spine and over your shoulders, a mixture of kisses and low groans, before he pulled your hips up and back.

You sighed happily as you moved up with his grip.

You braced herself on your forearms, your breath catching as König aligned the head of his cock at your weeping pussy. The first thrust was slow and deep, but there was nothing gentle about the grip of his hands on your waist. He set a pace that was intense. Each motion was rough, deliberate, and demanding. 

Igniting a fervent symphony of moans and sighs.

You cried out, not from pain but from the sheer overwhelming sensation. Your fingers dug into the sheets. König leaned over you, his mouth hot against your ear, whispering praises in broken German and sloppy English.

Then, he came to a lazy stop, pulling out of you so slowly that it made you whine. Protesting the emptiness he left behind. 

He chuckled deeply, “So needy…”

Then, he shifted you again, turning you to face him and lifted you up so you were straddling his lap. Now, his back pressed firmly against the headboard. Your knees on either side of his hips as he notched himself again to your soaking wet cunt.

You had a lovely view of his expression as he watched his cock pushing into you. His teeth biting his bottom lip as he groaned. His eyes, still heavy. You were no better. Your breath, leaving you in shuddered gasps as you seated yourself fully onto his hips.

His hands roamed over your body, palms rough against your thighs as they traced up your stomach and your back. His mouth found one of your breasts. His teeth kissing and nipping at the sensitive underside, then working up to your nipple. 

You arched into his mouth. Nails scraping his scalp and grabbing his hair, pushing him further into your chest. Rocking your hips in a tantalizing slow way. Your clit throbbing as you dragged against him in long, languid strokes.

König groaned out, “Scheiße”

His forehead settled in the valley of your breasts as his hands went to the meat of your hips. Grabbing at them hard enough to hurt. You clenched around him involuntarily. Then, there was nothing slow about his movements. It was messy. Intense. Unapologetic.

One of your hands grabbed the headboard and the other made a feeble grasp at his shoulders as his hips slammed into yours. He continued his relentless barrage on your cunt. His pace never faulted. Soon enough, your legs shook with your release as your mouth opened wide on a soundless gasp.

With his face still buried in your chest, he stilled. His hands, still forcing your hips down. Keeping you in place as he spilled himself into you with a long, breathy groan.

You couldn’t help but go limp in his arms. Head lolling back as you failed to keep a solid grip on his sweaty shoulders. His hands slid up your back and he adjusted his legs to keep you upright. 

König whispered, “So sehe ich Dich gerne." While kissing a trail up to your collarbone. His mouth opened wide to softly bite into your neck.

As you started to come back to reality, you heard him say, “Time for round two, mein liebling.”

[amaranthinespirit]

loser!könig with a high sex drive

can't convince me this man doesn't have an insanely high libido, especially after you took his virginity. this man is always craving sex, whether it be morning, before noon, noon, afternoon, evening, or night, this man is desperate to be between your legs.

he'll plead with you, aching for you to give him just another taste of how sweet you are, broad chest flush against your back as he grinds his hips against your plush rear.

his ears tipped red and flushed, mind going dumb at the slightest touch you'll give him, but it's not enough, mauschen. you're just too sweet, and too giving.

if you reject the poor man, he'll whine and sulk, but ultimately respect your wishes because he was grateful you stuck around after you had first split yourself open on his throbbing, hung cock. most women would've ran away, or gotten too mad at his persistence.

you can't be too mad at him, he doesn't talk with many women, not properly anyways. it's a miracle he even managed to bag you, you sweet thing.

you're so nice when he humps his massive cock against your folds, aching and oozing with precum as he lubes himself with your slick. drool leaking from his lips already onto your shoulder, his paws groping your breasts and his mind already hazy before he even slips his cock into your sweet warmth.

when he does, he cums so hard again, whining against your skin as he hopelessly ruts into your plush rear. he mumbles incoherently about how good you are to him, pleading with you to never leave as he once again shoves his cock deep into your spongy walls, most likely bruising your cervix as he reaches a second orgasm in a matter of thirty seconds. face flushed and sweat dampening his skin as he clings to you, pressing wet, open kisses to your neck. he listens to your sweet mewls as he keeps going, despite the sensitivity, because you deserve to cum for being so patient, schatz, such a sweet girl to such a brutish loser like himself.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Loud and Clear, Always Yours

Pairing: König x Dispatcher!Wife!Reader

Warnings: soft spicy König, strong language, heavy affection/praise, sensual touching, implied intimacy, fluff and domestic König, reader works as an emergency dispatcher, suggestive themes, pet names (Mäuschen, Liebling), König worships the ground you walk on

Author's Note: Happy National Telecommunicator Week! I wanted to write something for my fellow dispatchers! Hope you enjoy!

Summary: König's wife is a dispatcher, and during Telecommunicator Week, he makes sure she knows exactly how treasured she is—for an entire seven days of full-blown affection, pampering, and sensual adoration.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Monday

The scent of espresso teased your senses before you were even fully awake.

You shuffled out of bed, bleary-eyed, and blinked at the kitchen scene that awaited you. A full breakfast spread was arranged on the table—fluffy scrambled eggs, perfectly crisp bacon, golden waffles, fresh strawberries, and a steaming latte in your favorite “Dispatch Queen” mug.

A single pink rose stood proudly in a vase next to a small card.

“To my calm in the chaos. My favorite voice. My beautiful wife.

Happy Dispatcher Week, Mäuschen.”

Warm arms circled around your waist from behind. König’s nose nuzzled your neck, voice rough from sleep.

“You deserve more than a week,” he murmured. “You keep people alive with only your voice. Including me.”

You turned in his arms, looking up at his sleepy eyes and messy hair tucked under his hood.

“König… this is too much.”

He kissed your forehead. “This is just Monday.”

—

Tuesday

You found your clothes laid out. Lunch packed. Favorite tea in a travel mug, topped with a note:

Dispatch Queen reporting for duty. Handle with care. I love you — K.

Even your car was cleaned—vacuumed, washed, and detailed. Another note sat waiting on the dashboard:

Drive safe. Eyes on the road. No texting. (I will know.)

At work, you didn’t expect the flower delivery.

“Girl, that man is in love,” your coworker said, gaping at the bright peonies and eucalyptus bouquet.

Inside was a note:

You’re the voice in the storm. The steady in panic. My light.

Every second you sit at that desk, lives change.

And you’ll always be the one who changed mine. — K

—

Wednesday

König had flour on his hoodie and chocolate on his cheek. The kitchen looked like a dessert bomb had gone off.

“I tried,” he said sheepishly, gesturing to two slightly burned lava cakes. “It’s harder than it looks.”

“They smell amazing,” you teased.

“They taste like charcoal.”

You still moaned dramatically over every bite just to make him proud. Later, he dried your hair after a hot shower, massaging your shoulders as you melted under his touch.

“I know people don’t see you,” he whispered. “But I do. Always.”

—

Thursday

More flowers. More teasing coworkers. This time: daisies and tulips.

König loves his girl louder than any emergency tone.

You came home to candlelight, soft music, and takeout beautifully plated like it was five-star cuisine.

After dinner, König tugged you into his lap, burying his face into your neck.

“Do you know how hard it is to stay calm when I hear panic in your voice?” he whispered. “I want to protect everyone when you sound scared.”

You held his cheek gently. “You already protect me just by loving me.”

—

Friday

König waited outside your work like something out of a movie—hoodie pulled tight, sunglasses on, leaning against the car with a protectiveness that made your coworkers peek through the window.

“You trying to get me in trouble at work?” you muttered, smiling into his chest.

“I want them to know you’re mine,” he growled softly.

Back home, he unveiled a handmade wooden plaque:

My favorite voice. My lifeline. My forever.

“It’s crooked,” he muttered. “I didn’t measure right.”

“It’s perfect.”

That night, his hands were slow, reverent. His kisses deep. He took his time, lips brushing every inch of skin.

“Every inch of you deserves to be cherished,” he whispered between touches.

And he did—until your voice broke softly in the dark, calling his name again and again.

—

Saturday

You woke tangled in his limbs, back pressed to his chest.

“You’re not getting up,” he mumbled. “Today is for you.”

He fed you bits of pastry, massaged your feet, even painted your toes because you joked they were ugly.

“I want to be good to you. You deserve softness too.”

Later, he sat beside the bath he drew for you, fingers brushing your arm while you vented about your week. He listened, really listened, nodding gently.

When you laid across his lap that evening, his fingers under your shirt, he traced soft patterns over your hips and whispered:

“I could stay like this forever. But if you want more…”

You silenced him with a kiss—and then another.

—

Sunday

There were no deliveries. No extravagance.

Just König in boxers and a t-shirt, bringing you breakfast in bed and feeding you bites between kisses.

He whispered praise against your skin. Kissed your stomach. Worshipped you again and again—softer this time, slower, as if trying to memorize the shape of your breath.

“You’re everything to me, Liebling,” he murmured. “Your voice calms me more than any silence ever could.”

You kissed his shoulder, barely above a whisper.

“I love you.”

“I love you louder than any siren. Clearer than any call,” he said. “And I’ll keep showing you—Dispatcher Week and every week after.”

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[tacticalprincess]

bouncing on nerd!könig’s cock while he gushes about how pretty you are, his rambling dipping in and out of german because your pussy has fried his brain so much he’s practically incoherent. glasses all foggy, not knowing which part of you to hold onto because he’s so overwhelmed so he ends up groping every bit of skin he can reach, inexperienced hands mapping out all the dips and curves of your body with rough squeezes. he doesn’t let go of you even after he cums, unintentionally overstimulating himself because you just feel so good wrapped around him, he doesn’t want it to end :( he even starts sloppily meeting your thrusts, trying to get his dick deeper than your cunt has room for, too pussydrunk to worry about breaking you.

you decide to put him out of his misery by giving his mouth something to do that isn’t make a fool out of himself, shoving his face into your chest. it only makes his moans and whimpers louder as he sucks your sensitive nipples so hard you almost start to think he’s expecting milk :(

[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 😘

[machveil]

okay wait, because I was immediately struck with more Boyfriend!König after posting this

Boyfriend!König who comes home from a deployment - he reeks, he’s sore, everything aches and he feels like death. but, as soon as the door clicks shut behind him his eyebrows furrow. somethings cooking and it smells familiar. he’s kicking his boots off at the door and shrugging his coat off as he walks towards the kitchen. and there you are, standing next to the stove with a spoon held up to your lips, listening to music and unaware of his presence

Boyfriend!König who coughs, not wanting to startle you with his sudden presence. it’s worth it though, seeing you look over at him, eyes lighting up as you practically tackle him for a hug. it’s a sweet, short moment, but König’s eyeing the stovetop. when you let go you excitedly tell him you’re making dinner, something special since he’s been gone for a couple weeks. “You can’t look! It’ll ruin the surprise— uh, actually, maybe take a shower. I’ll call you when it’s done, okay?”, he chuckled at your rushed words, moved towards your bathroom when you gave him a gentle shove

hair wet and dressed in some ratty sweatpants, Boyfriend!König comes back to the kitchen while toweling off his hair. the scent from the kitchen is stronger than when he came in, but it’s nothing compared to what’s on the counter. he freezes, a little wobbly when he puts his foot down and looks at the food. tafelspitz. and suddenly that familiar smell registers in his head, his mama’s cooking. you had called her regularly while he was deployed, spent every other day learning how to cook some of König’s childhood favorites

Boyfriend!König whose eyes get watery when he starts eating because, oh, it tastes exactly how his mama makes it. he hasn’t been back home in a year and a half - purely from bad timing and deployments - and he’s missed his mama’s food so much. König who gets up from the table, walks over to you while chewing and hugs you, not giving you the chance to stand up or properly hug him back. as soon as he swallows he’s babbling ‘thanks you’s and kissing the crown of your head, murmuring how ‘you didn’t have to’. he’s got you in a death squeeze, eyes closed as he presses his nose to your hair, “Ich liebe dich— you’re too good to me, Liebling.”

[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!”

[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.

[girl-lostconnection]

The thoughts consume me again but König who meets you as a teenager, before army, before becoming mercenary.

We know that he was badly bullied from canon but what if he had himself a little friend who had to leave him not out of their own volition but because something happened (parents moving or smth else).

And he, who experiences care and warmth for the first time is devoid of it again, something in him cracking further. Making him recoil back inside of himself.

Because Simon may have been an angry teenager but König would be a quiet one. The child that flies low under the radar, trying to stay out of trouble as much as possible.

Always in the back of the pictures and the back of the class and in the back of people’s minds. He’s a good kid, he’s diligent and he tries hard, he’s just very unfortunate.

Never lucky enough to find proper friends, never approachable enough for other people to befriend him — too tall and “weird”, due to lack of proper socialisation.

And then you appear and you are warm and kind and fiercely protective of him. Your German is shite because you just arrived to Austria but you try hard.

And König latches onto you with a desperation of someone who was alone for so long they’d take anything they are given. No matter what it is.

You walk to school with him, share lunches with him, you choose him to pair up for projects and games. You are an actual friend, one that inserts themselves between his bullies and him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s the tallest person in school and it looks funny to people. He could be the tallest person in the world for all you care.

He is your friend first and foremost.

König is in awe. König has teenage innocent crush on you because you are strong and you are smart and you are kind. And you do your best to protect him, German awkward and all but still stubbornly saying to him that he deserves better.

He is good. You like him. He is a friend. You will protect him.

But then you are gone. Ripped away from him without as much as any time for him to process it properly — he can still feel your hands around him when your parents’ car pulls away.

His T-shirt is still wet from your tears.

The pain comes later — blinding and consuming, wreaking his mind, shattering him over and over.

Bullying gets worse and he gets worse.

Before innocent crush starts twisting into obsession because when no one was safe and no one was warm — you were.

Maybe you got taken away because he was too weak? Maybe you got taken away to show him that he doesn’t deserve you if he can’t keep you?

He’ll get stronger then. He’ll get bigger.

He will get his little friend back. And no one will ever rip you away from him again.

Over his dead fucking body, Schatz. You just wait.

[dmitriene]

cw: könig is a weirdo and reader match him.

könig likes pretty things, young and vulnerable dolls that bat their eyelashes prettily at him, wrapping their dainty hands around his thick bicep, trailing beside him despite his perverse touch, letting him lure them to his messed bed in some dark apartment, fuck their brain silly.

it's always a one time thing, könig ain't good for a long term relationship because of the bitter need to posses that been festering in him from the start, they just use each other, he has a lovely built body that makes girls salivate, and he packs a cock that is too thick you able to feel the ache even the next morning while trying to escape his apartment.

it's not the same with you, könig notices it by the way you cling to him while he punches his fat cock in your tight pussy, shallow thrusts of his wide hips making his thick cockhead pummel into your spongy spot, your hands clinging against his broad shoulders, walls tightening with rapid pulsing.

you ask him for kisses, enveloping his rough mug with your delicate palms and letting his tongue make out sloppily with your mouth, whining broken groans as he presses a wide palm to your tummy, feeling the bulge beneath where his girthy cock pistons in you, making your pussy squelch with each wet glide, as you coat his length in oozing slick.

you even let könig cum in you, flooding you full of creamy cum that drips out your pulsing hole, making a mess from the sheets and your trembling thighs, not uttering for once that now everything is tacky, instead, you curl against him like affectionate kitten and try to nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck and wrap your cramping legs around his waist.

könig doesn't even knows what to think, you don't try to escape his bed immediately, instead pressing your naked body against his beefy one, letting his twitching cock stay buried inside of you, cockwarmed by your snug walls, as you let his burly hands envelope your frame and rock you to sleep like a baby.

and when you wake up early in the morning with pleasurable ache in your body and pussy throbbing, welcomed by the sight of breakfast in bed and könig clinging to you like a pup, smothering your neck in sloppy kisses and slurringly calling you his girlfriend, you don't run away.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[amaranthinespirit]

könig is determined to breed you (p!link)

his pace isn't nice, its straight mean as he pounds his thick, meaty cock into your drooling warmth, desperate to put a baby in your womb. he's not gentle about it either, mind racing and going dumb at the thought, hastily working to make it happen.

your tummy bulges with the way he sheathes his entire bulbous cock in your tight hole, spongy walls constricting around him, feeling every ridge and vein as you hug him tight. his angry, red tip punches against your cervix, ready to spurt his thick load into your sweet cunt.

he knows you'll let him, you'll let him do whatever he wants as he fucks you stupid, jackhammering deeper and deeper with relentless pace. the backs of your thighs reddening and your plush rear bouncing against his hips. his full balls slap against your clit, making you cry out into the bedding, saliva leaking from your lips.

above you, he moans incessantly, pussy-drunk and whipped as he mindlessly humps you, large, rough hands grabbing at your hips, so tight it might bruise.

he mumbles words you can't quite hear, feeling drooling saliva drip from his lips down onto your bare shoulder, running down your back. his jaw is slack, head tilted back and pupils blown.

it doesn't take long for him to fill you full of his seeds, spurting thick ropes of his white, creamy cum to fill your sweet pussy, coating your walls and leaving you full and satisfied. he pulls out to watch it drip out of you, calloused hands pulling your cheeks apart as he watches your slit leak with his release and drip onto the bed. he takes two thick fingers, smearing it across your folds before fucking it back inside you, hoping it takes.

[mooonjin]

w: sugar daddy könig

könig enjoys having sex with his sugar baby, but one particular night where he fucks you on top of a bed of his hard earned money… was the best night of his life. he challenged you to collect as much money as you could while he railed you.

“watching you spend my money turns me on, makes me want to force you to spend it so i can fuck you every night, my maus” he mumbles, thrusting into you with fervour as the money underneath the two of you crunches and crumpled from every movement.

you can feel the girth of his cock stretching you and the inked 100 dollar bills sticking to your sweaty skin but none collected in your hand, “you’re just a little slut who’ll do anything for a taste of this wealth.”

he rammed his big, rich cock into you harder and harder, enjoying the sight of watching you try and hold the money in your hands while he fucked you.

[tacticalprincess]

cw somno, dubcon

insatiable little bunny girlfriend x könig… he’s grown used to waking up to pretty, pleading eyes, plump lips pressed to his boxers as you nuzzle against his large morning wood, cute supple ass wagging in the air, eager to be filled. but this… this is new. a much more desperate measure taken by his horny bunny. taking advantage of his deadweight, log-like state, you’ve managed to free his stiff cock from his underwear without so much as an unconscious grumble of objection. you must’ve took that as your green light to swing one leg over the vast expanse of him, thighs burning from the stretch as you trap his cock between the festering heat between them. soiling his lap with a mixture of sweet honeyed slick and the pearly precum oozing from his sensitive cockhead each time it bumps against your puffy little clit.

surprisingly, it’s not the stimulation from your pulsing pussy that wakes him up. it’s the tiny mewls and sniffles you make, all cock-dumb and lost in your pleasure. könig’s always known you to be a loud one in bed, hyper-sensitive everywhere but especially when you’re feeling good and being touched. your shaky, delicate hands clasped around his broad shoulders as you do what you do best, hop hop hopping on his cock. you’re so desperate to be bred, he can feel it, can smell it emitting around you, eyes squeezed shut and humping him so fast and hard it has to hurt a bit. he’s not surprised that when your eyes open to see him watching you, you squeak out in frustration — “need your cock. please help, könig.”

shh, he knows. he can’t blame you, you’re biologically hardwired with the ever present need to be bred, so stuffed full with come and cock that it’s overflowing and you can’t speak or think. but you’ve gotten too greedy, spoiled rotten from the sweet spot he has for you. he oughta teach you some discipline.

once he so mercifully impales you onto his thick dick, he puts his arms behind his head, watches you through heavy hooded eyes. “well, better keep bouncing, then, bunny. if you want my cum, work for it.”

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (Car sex)

Car sex isn’t something for König, or at least that’s what he thought before he met you. He’s huge, those long legs doesn’t even fit into the driving seat without bumping his knees, and he always has to be extra careful when shifting his body, so he won’t hit his head on the roof. Squeezing into his car is already a hard task for him, let alone trying to fuck someone within it.

You changed his mind, though. Always wearing those short skirts that barely cover your pretty ass, with a thong—or even without any underwear if you feel extra naughty that day— sparing you both from the trouble to take off your clothes in the cramped vehicle.

Just like tonight, your white skirt rides up to your hips, the exquisite pink thong he bought for you nudged aside as you sit on his lap,

“Scheiß, keep going, Süße, just like that, keep bouncing on my cock…” König’s panting heavily as he encouraging you to continue. He has lowered the seat, letting it lean back so he can give you more space to do your work. He loves the view, looking up at you fucking yourself on his fat dick, tits bouncing with every movements while you slam your ass down, taking his cock so well, and from this angle, he’s able to see how your perfect cunt wrapped around him, juices coating his cock, covering its every inches and veins as the fat tip of his emerges and disappears into it repeatedly.

“Want to come, baby, can’t last long.” Bracing yourself with both hands on his chest, you look down to meet his deep blue eyes, picking up the pace after he gets too excited from seeing the desires in your glossy eyes and rock his hips upwards into you briefly. You can’t help the moans and whimpers slipping out of your lips, not when his cock rutting into you and the veins glide against the g spots and all during its way.

“Come for me, liebe, come for me…” His hands now rest on your hips, pinning you on his cock when you nod and scream out his name in pleasure, and coaxing his own orgasm out with your warm cunt clenching down in release.

“Let’s go home?” You lift your head up from his chest and suggest, while you still pout without you even noticing when he pulls out, already missing how well it stretched you just minutes ago although he just ended up with a load inside you.

“Ja, let’s go home.” He tugs at your thong, staining with obvious white cum standing out from the pink fabric, let it cover up that swollen clit and puffy lips again and give it a pat.

A huff of laughter escaping his throat when König sets you back on the passenger seat, he can tell you’re still needy from the little pout of your plump lips. Don’t worry, Engel, he still got the whole night for you, and as an appreciation for your hard work, he’ll bend you over all your favorite places in home, fuck you nicely with his monstrous cock till you squirt and drenching him in your juices.

[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.”