#Konig

[quarterlifekitty]

How do you think it'd go if you asked the men to drink pineapple juice bc their nut tastes like battery acid due to those MREs, energy drinks and not enough water in their diet 👀🤭

Gaz- I think he already drinks pineapple juice fairly regularly because it’s my personal niche head canon that a Patch of Blue is one of his favorite movies and he likes thinking of Selena enjoying her pineapple juice. So he’s all good.

Soap is throwing back smoothies like no one’s business if it means you’ll suck him off more. Like you’re gonna have to talk him down because I amount of sugar going into him… isn’t good.

Ghost is fine with cumming on your face if you don’t wanna swallow, birdie. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a pearl necklace.

Price will try it, mostly because he wants to see if it can actually make a meaningful difference. It’ll be like your own little science experiment.

König’s dick has led him places he wouldn’t go with a gun. He will do this for you.

Nik will do it on the condition that you do it too— he wants to see if it’s possible for you to get any sweeter than you already are.

[konigsbitch]

Konig comes home feeling tired and lays on top of reader but actually fucks her

konigs heavy body rests on top of yours, his warm breath caressing the crook of your neck. you run your hand through his hair, going south and resting on his shoulder, softly stroking the muscles

you think he is tired again and comes to lay down so you could put him to sleep but your theory is quickly proved false when his large hand tugs your shorts down, followed by your underwear

"konig?" you ask, trying to push him off you so you could see better what he is doing. instead, he keeps you down, whispering sweet nothings in your ear

"shh liebling [darling], let me. i need this and you'll let me, okay?" he asks you, even though hes already unbuckling his belt, "i need it, and you're here to give it to me, ja?"

you nod slowly as you settle back down, feeling his large, calloused hands grip your thighs and spread them wider. he enters you in one thrust and lays back down on you, slowly moving

[machveil]

me after gnawing on König

[gremlinmodetweeker]

The taller you are the farther you fall.

König learns this the hard way.

[machveil]

thinking about how König is too big for his tiny apartment bathroom

König who has to awkwardly duck his head in the shower to rinse his hair, or he has to cup his hands to get water and pour it over his hair. he dislikes both options. sometimes he washes his hair in his kitchen sink if he doesn’t want to put up with the shower head dilemma. he uses 2-in-1 so he doesn’t have to continuously duck his head under the water. he also uses dry shampoo if he really isn’t feeling it

König who actually liked taking baths when he was a kid, but now he’s too big and muscly to fit in a tub. if there aren’t people around, or it’s a private one, König does enjoy a good sit in a hot tub. they’re usually bigger than his apartments little shower/tub combo, let’s him stretch his legs out a little more comfortably. it’s a rare occasion he actually gets to sit in one though, he’s not one to usually leave the house when he’s actually at home. he doesn’t vacation often, hot tubs are a treat for him

König who legitimately feels like a giant when he’s in his bathroom, why is that stupid room so small?

[latenightdaydreams]

Christmas Party w/ König

MDNI🔞

Master List✍🏽

>cw:fem/afab, drinking, p in v, public-ish sex

🎅

.

.

.

König loses a bet with Horangi and comes into work dressed as Santa Claus during the small Christmas party being held in the common room. While everyone is sitting around and eating food while chatting, a heavy silence falls upon the room when König’s heavy footsteps disrupt the festivities. 

In the doorway he stands with a scowl hidden beneath his cheap Santa beard. It’s the most anyone has seen of his face before, the only reason everyone knows it’s König is because of his massive size. The silence is disrupted by Horangi’s loud cackles; one arm wrapped around his abdomen as he points with his other hand. 

“You look so fucking stupid!” Horangi nearly falls off of his chair. 

König says nothing just walking in with a velvety sack over his shoulder. He walks up to Horangi and simply pushes his head to the side in anger. “Shut up.” He hisses. 

You sit there giggling softly. König notices, blushing softly. He clears his throat trying to push down the butterflies he always gets when he’s near you. Walking past you, he sits on an empty chair and leans back. 

Most people in the room go back to their small conversations, but you, with the courage of heavily spiked eggnog, stand from your seat and make your way over to König. He looks up at you with a surprised look on his face. Before he can say anything to you, you sit on his lap and place an arm around his shoulder. 

“Hey there, Santa.”

“Hallo…” König’s voice cracks as he looks into your glimmering eyes. 

Horangi looks at you sitting on his lap with astonishment. 

“Am I on the naughty or nice list this year?” You ask giggling. 

That giggle. 

“You…” his eyes unintentionally drop to the curve of your breasts, “are on the nice list.” 

“Am I?” You reach out and tug on his beard, lightly letting it snap back against his face. 

“Ja…”

König can feel his cock beginning to grow erect as you wiggle on his lap slightly. The side of your leg rubbing against the crotch of his red Santa pants. His heart thumps in his chest as he tries his best to act unaffected by your presence. 

“That’s a shame. I wanted to be on the naughty list.”

“Why would you want that?” He asks, chuckling slightly. 

You giggle at the sound of his nervous chuckle. The light in the room makes his pale blue eyes shimmer in yours. His cock twitches slightly, bumping your leg and causing your attention to drift downwards. 

“Maybe I wanted Santa to punish me.”

“Punish you?”

“Punish me.” You lean closer to him as you speak, the smell of the alcohol on your lips wafts to his nose. 

König stands, grasping the plump flesh on your ass and hips, fingers digging in, as his hips ram into yours at a quick pace. His red pants dropped and resting around his ankles. Your loud drunken moans fill the room as your breasts bounce free from your blouse.

“Naughty girl.” König growls as his wide palm comes down to spank your ass, leaving a red mark in its wake. 

“Fuck yes! Punish me with your fat cock!” You cry out as you feel the stinging burn from the slap. 

“Perfect fucking ass…” Is all you’re able to understand before König begins to speak in German. Telling you how long he’s been wanting to feel you wrapped around his cock, see you underneath him. 

A smile crosses your face as your body feels as if it’s floating on a cloud of pure ecstasy. You can feel yourself drop down the side of your leg each time his cock pulls out before pulling a pathetic moan from you once he buries himself back inside of you. Your head turns to look at him, the Santa beard barely even in his face, exposing his scarred handsome face. His eyes meet yours and he simply smirks before grasping a handful of your hair and forcing your face down. 

Outside the door Horangi and a few other soldiers stand with jaws dropped and looks of shock on their faces. The sound of the creaking desk, flesh on flesh, and orgasmic pleasure pour out into the hallway where they stand.

[machveil]

König should do this to me

mutuals please do this to me

[lilcawdy]

König who early in his career on a mission finds a cargo container full of Russian girls in a human trafficking ring. You were the only one who spoke German so you had to translate and keep the girls calm since they had to keep you all in the container until it was clear.

König who you wrote to months later to thank him and sent him a red wooden bead bracelet. He wears it everywhere and it reminds him of the good he does even if he couldn’t be a sniper like he dreamed of.

König who showed up to your boot camp graduation and while excited you were inspired to join, he’s terrified of something happening to you and just wants to keep you safe.

König who eventually gets you on his team and while maintaining professionalism, you two become best friends and are inseparable making it impossible for either of you to keep a relationship with anyone.

König who when a body was brought in with a crushed in face was in denial that it could be you since he had memorized every freckle and scar on your body even though you two weren’t together or intimate (…yet)

König who found out it was a setup and pulled a force together to get you back and find the traitor and when he found you in a room with two dead guards at your feet, dropped to his knees and waited for you to approach. And when you did he held you with his head against your heart and kept you upright vowing to never let anyone take you ever again

[s0ti3]

“I’ll try and get it as close to the model as possible!” *I said with joy before succumb to hours of torture*

[quarterlifekitty]

Can we please have more könig with a clingy gf? 🙏specially if she's kinda socially anxious as well, but a little less than him (like, enough for her to be the one who initiate most things)

You guys are sooooo bad for each other.

You go out on like 6 real dates a year. Every so often one of you will ask “do you want to go somewhere tonight” and the other one will say “… no, to be honest” and the asker will say “thank god.”

He’s completely willing to spend every night with you tucked into his lap or leaning on his side.

When you do go out, it’s somewhere that won’t be crowded and won’t be loud. An aquarium on a weekday morning, maybe. Where you can go at your own pace. You can hold hands all the time while not being in anyone’s way.

I think that eventually when you’re far enough into the relationship, he’s more comfortable and casual about initiating more. But in those earlier days, when you’ve only just become intimate, he definitely worries that prompting you for sex will ruin things. That you’ll think that’s all he wants you for, that he can’t control himself, that there’s pressure— the thought of it makes him spiral a bit. So you’ll have to bring it up.

And every time you do, it makes him a little crazier about you. Every affirmation that you might just want him as much as he wants you is near euphoric for him. He’s a man that wants and yearns too much, too easily, and too strongly, in his own opinion. He feels like a slave to his appetites, and it sometimes makes him feel a bit disgusted with himself.

And he knows you’re not exactly a social butterfly yourself. So when you cling to his bicep and grind your clothed pussy against his thigh, looking up at him with your flush, pleading face? He could just about faint with how happy it makes him.

[machveil]

I love him (applies to both)

the best dad ever

[milkywayhou]

I miss them so much

it's just a bunch of random art I made a few months ago

[msriri030]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Depressed! Reader

cw: suicidal thought

You stared out your bedroom window, your gaze following a house sparrow as it flitted across the blue sky. Its wings cut through the crisp morning air with ease, yet all you felt was an aching emptiness. A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you peeled yourself away from the cocoon of your bed, the warmth fading the moment your feet met the cold, unyielding floor.

“Maybe a shower will help,” you murmured to no one in particular.

The bathroom felt smaller than usual, the walls closing in as your depression gnawed at the edges of your protective shell. The air seemed heavier, thick like water pooling in your lungs. You turned the shower knob, listening to the rhythmic patter of water as you stripped off your pajamas, waiting for the steam to creep up the glass and warm the room.

When you stepped under the stream, the water kissed your cold skin with a burn that was almost too sharp but just gentle enough to be bearable. The heat wrapped around you, a temporary refuge from the storm raging inside.

You hoped—desperately—that the water would wash it all away. The weight, the melancholy, the intrusive whispers that never seemed to quiet. Even as your mind raced, you tried to anchor yourself. You repeated softly, almost like a mantra, “It’s okay. I… I love myself.”

The words felt hollow.

Or maybe they were a lie.

But it was a beautiful lie, and maybe that was enough. Maybe believing it, even for a moment, was worth it.

You scrubbed at your skin as if trying to care for yourself in the way you knew you deserved, but the tears betrayed you, slipping silently down your cheeks. They blended seamlessly with the water streaming over your face, hidden but not unnoticed by you. You paused, letting out a shaky breath as you leaned against the shower wall, eyes closed.

When you finally turned off the water, the bathroom was heavy with steam, the air damp against your skin. As you reached for a towel, your gaze landed on the neatly folded clothes on the counter—clothes you hadn’t left there.

Your breath hitched, a flicker of warmth breaking through the fog.

Your husband.

He’d left them for you, anticipating the small comforts you might need. As you picked them up, you noticed they were warm, the heat still lingering as if he’d just taken them out of the dryer. A soft smile tugged at your lips despite the tightness in your chest.

He always noticed, didn’t he? You could never truly hide your feelings from him.

You held the clothes to your face, inhaling their warmth and faint scent. The gesture felt almost instinctive, a small attempt to ground yourself. But the tenderness of his act overwhelmed you, and tears welled up again, threatening to spill over.

You sniffed, swallowing hard to push them back. You didn’t want to cry. Not now.

You scolded yourself silently. I shouldn’t cry. There’s no reason to cry. I need to suck it up. The words echoed from years of conditioning, the lessons drilled into you by your parents. But the tears didn’t care. They hovered there, a testament to the feelings you tried so hard to suppress.

Taking a deep, centering breath, you blinked them away, the threat of breaking down receding slightly. Once you felt steady, you dressed slowly, letting the warmth of the clothes wrap around you like an embrace.

Once you were dressed, you shuffled your way to the kitchen, the faint smell of breakfast guiding you. There it was, laid out neatly on the counter—a plate of fluffy pancakes, golden eggs, and homemade hash browns. The meal was carefully wrapped in plastic, a thoughtful touch to keep the food fresh and free from any pests.

You approached it slowly, almost hesitant. You weren’t hungry, not really, but you knew better than to skip a meal. It wasn’t about hunger—it was about taking care of yourself, even if you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

Sliding into the chair, you unwrapped the plate and began eating in quiet bites. The food was good, warm and comforting in a way you didn’t quite expect. Still, the act of eating felt mechanical, your movements slow and deliberate.

The familiar lump in your throat threatened to rise again, and you sniffed, willing yourself not to break down. You closed your eyes for a moment, grounding yourself. One step at a time, you thought, echoing the mantra that had carried you this far.

When you opened your eyes again, you noticed the small card tucked to the side of the plate. It hadn’t been there before—or maybe you’d been too caught up in your thoughts to notice. Picking it up, you read the simple, scrawled phrase:

You got this, Doll!

A soft smile tugged at your lips, fragile but genuine. Simon. Even when he wasn’t there, he had a way of finding the cracks in your armor and mending them, piece by piece.

You sighed, setting the card aside and finishing your meal. Once you were done, you stood and set about tidying up the house. It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress. Small victories against the weight pressing down on you.

You turned on some music, letting the sound fill the spaces in your mind that the dark thoughts so often claimed. The steady rhythm of the songs became a lifeline as you moved from room to room.

By the time you started washing the dishes, your chest felt a little lighter. But then, without warning, that heaviness crept back in. Like a sudden wave, the weight in your chest pushed down, stealing the air from your lungs. Your breaths grew shallow, rapid, the world closing in around you.

Not now. Please, not now.

You gripped the edge of the sink, trying to steady yourself, but the panic clawed at your mind, refusing to relent. The thoughts came flooding in—your failures, the unresolved problems that loomed over you, the insecurities that whispered lies in your ears.

You tried to focus on the running water, the feel of it splashing over your hands, anything to anchor yourself. But it wasn’t working. The pressure was too much, and the voices in your head grew louder, urging you to succumb.

And then your eyes landed on the knife you were washing.

It was so simple, so easy, the voices whispered. It could all stop. The pressure, the pain, the endless fight—it could all fade away.

Your hand trembled as you held the blade. Tears blurred your vision as you fought against the pull of those dark thoughts. The voices were deafening, the weight suffocating.

“Doll?”

The voice cut through the noise like a beacon, grounding you. Your head snapped toward the doorway, where Simon stood. His broad frame filled the space, his face shadowed with concern.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice calm but firm, his sharp eyes taking in the scene—the trembling in your hands, the knife clattering as you dropped it into the sink, and the way you stumbled back like you needed to put distance between yourself and the thoughts that had almost consumed you.

You couldn’t find the words to answer him, your throat constricted with the weight of everything. Tears threatened to spill.

Simon didn’t press you. He crossed the kitchen in a few long strides, his movements deliberate but gentle. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t demand explanations. Instead, he reached out, his warm hands steadying you as he guided you to sit at the kitchen table.

“Breathe, Doll,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he crouched beside you. “You’re safe. Just breathe.”

You nodded shakily, focusing on his voice, his presence. Slowly, the storm inside began to settle, the waves receding enough for you to catch your breath.

Simon stayed by your side, his hand never leaving yours, as though anchoring you to reality. His thumb traced small circles against your skin, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t alone in this fight.

Finally, when your breathing evened out, he tilted his head to meet your gaze. His eyes were soft, filled with a quiet understanding that made fresh tears spring to your eyes. But this time, they weren’t tears of despair.

“I’m here,” he said simply, his voice a promise.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the tears began to fall again. “I tried to hold it together, but I couldn’t. I feel… angry, and hurt. And I don’t even know why.”

The words tumbled out between sobs, raw and unfiltered, like a dam breaking under the weight of everything you’d tried so hard to suppress. You wiped at your face with trembling hands, trying to stem the flow of tears, but it was futile.

Simon sighed softly, his expression unreadable for a moment before he leaned in, wrapping his strong arms around you. His embrace was warm and steady, grounding you as you crumbled in his hold.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Let it out, Doll. You don’t have to hold it all in.”

His words were a balm, allowing you to fully release the emotions that had been suffocating you. You buried your face against his chest, your sobs muffled by the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, he held you tighter, one hand gently running up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head.

Simon didn’t rush you, didn’t say anything more. He just listened, his steady presence a reminder that you weren’t alone in this, even if it felt like it.

You cried until there was nothing left, the tension in your body slowly melting away as the storm inside you quieted. Your breaths were uneven, but the tightness in your chest had eased.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice hoarse as you pulled back slightly, though Simon’s arms stayed firmly around you.

He shook his head, his thumb brushing away a tear that lingered on your cheek. “Stop that,” he said gently. “You don’t need to apologize for feeling. It’s not weakness to let it out.”

“But I—”

“No ‘buts,’” he interrupted, his tone firm but kind. “You’ve been trying to carry too much on your own. You don’t have to do that anymore. You’ve got me, Doll.”

His words struck something deep within you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe them.

“Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into his chest again.

Simon rested his chin atop your head, his arms still holding you securely. “Always.”

And in that moment, as his steady heartbeat thrummed beneath your ear, you felt a fragile sense of peace beginning to take root—a small but vital reminder that you didn’t have to face this alone.

Simon guided you to the couch, his hand resting gently on your back as he steered you. When he sat down, he pulled you onto his chest, his arms wrapping around you like a fortress. You protested at first, mumbling something about being fine, but he wasn’t having it.

“Lay down, Doll,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You sniffled, giving him a pout that you knew usually worked in your favor, but not this time. His lips twitched into a rare smile, and a soft chuckle rumbled through his chest.

“It’s not funny,” you grumbled, crossing your arms in mock defiance.

“Sure thing, Doll,” he teased, clearly unfazed by your attempt to sound serious.

Before you could fire back, Simon grabbed the remote and put on your comfort show—the one he always claimed was "mind-numbing" and “rotten for your brain.”

Your eyes widened, and you looked up at him, surprised. “You’re really putting this on?”

He shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You like it. That’s all that matters.”

Warmth spread through your chest at his unexpected gesture. He wasn’t the kind of man who did things halfway—if it made you feel better, he’d endure just about anything, even a show he despised.

Before you could thank him, Simon laid down with you, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. It was unhurried yet intense, a silent promise wrapped in affection. When he finally pulled back, your cheeks were burning, and you quickly buried your face in his shirt to hide the blush.

His arms tightened around you, his hand coming up to gently stroke your hair. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he murmured, the teasing lilt in his voice making you nuzzle into him further.

For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt the weight on your chest ease. As the show played in the background and Simon’s steady breathing mixed with the sound of his heartbeat, you found yourself slowly relaxing.

“Thank you,” you whispered softly against his chest.

He pressed another kiss to the top of your head. “Anything for you, Doll.”

And as his warmth surrounded you, you realized that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay—because with Simon by your side, you knew you wouldn’t have to face your struggles alone.

[thoughts-nshit]

Lone Bunny

Summary: Reader bumps into a man on the street, he was a stranger to her, but she was not a stranger to him.

TW: Stalker!Konig, Oblivious!Reader, eventual smut, murder of a character, NSFW!!, MDNI, Very slowburn, reader is seen as chubby and a virgin, manipulation, loneliness,

Notes: 730 words, i am a first time writer so this could be shit, if this is recieved well ill work on making a prologue or stuff like that, lots of love xxxxx

Prologue

Part One: Scoped

Alone.

That’s all you were. All that you convinced yourself you were. It didn’t help that whenever you brought up your loneliness to family or friends, the response was always ‘Well you need to learn to love yourself until you can love someone else’. How infuriating, how could you love yourself unless someone set an example and showed you how?

You were so touch-starved that the thought of anyone touching you, showing affection, or pleasuring you made you sick to your stomach. You were repulsed by touch, and you'd shy away from a hug, a handshake, or a platonic cheek kiss. You would do anything to get out of situations like that, like an animal gnawing its leg out of a trap.

That’s why you were in the middle of uni, not in a house share, but a single flat, with barely any friends, and repulsed by the thought of touch, ‘just too complicated to love’ you told yourself as you hurried out your flat to your lecture, another failed human interaction with a tinder date, you wore comfy clothes, it wasn’t like anyone was going to look at you. Why would they?

You sipped your coffee as you darted in between the crowds of people, how you hated city life. The noise, the towering buildings, the rudeness, the publicity. All of it was too much for your soft little head. Until your soft little head collided with a very hard chest.

“Pass auf, wo du hin gehst, Hase,”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, my head is just in the clouds…with class and all.” You rambled for about a minute trying to apologise but you kept running down a rabbit hole. Until he grabbed your shoulder gently. Now this man was massive, his hand was as big as your head, and he towered way over you, and for being 5ft9 that happened on a rare occasion. You blushed a bit at the contact, not receding.

“It doesn’t matter Hase, just watch where you're going, don’t want you getting trampled.” This deep voice behind a hood chuckles a bit as he soothes you before taking his hand off your shoulder and walking off, gone as quickly as he arrived.

You were flustered, your cheeks burning up, but you lied and told yourself it was the cold. It was odd you didn’t flinch when he touched you. You should I mean this was a 6ft10 man who felt like pure muscle when your head collided with his chest. No one had ever made you this flustered, especially not a man you just met, heat pooled between your legs. Surely you weren’t that needy that the first time a stranger gently touched your shoulder, you were soaked, I mean you didn’t even get a glimpse of his face, so you blamed it on your subtle voice kink.

You hurried to your lecture but couldn’t focus once you sat, your hand between your thighs, thick thighs squished together, trying to get any friction without being too obvious, you mentally scolded yourself. Sure, you masturbated, but never really finished, finding it too overstimulating to finish yourself off, your mind scrambling too much for you to continue circling your nub.

After what felt like torture the lecture finished, you managed to push the stranger to the back of your mind. But you were still very wet. You went home for lunch, and all social interaction, or lack of it, drained you, you collapsed on the couch as soon as you got home.

Awoken by your cat licking your hand for food, you got up and fed it until you went down to the lobby to collect post, you walked down the stairs and fumbled with your keys to find the one that opened your post-box, you stopped in your tracks when you saw a single lavender flower sticking out.

Your favourite flower, maybe it was a coincidence, you were subscribed to a lot of grandmaish magazines for hobbies, maybe it was like a gift, but you didn’t want to risk anything, you saw traffickers did stuff like this. You grabbed it with your sleeve and put it in a nearby bin before cautiously opening your postbox, shutting it, and rushing upstairs, locking your door behind you, hoping you were out of view, safe, but little bunny, you were right insight of a scope.

[reblog-spam-assassin]

My lil meow meow

meow ^^

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Y'all ever thought about how Frankenstein could've been a Pygmalion story? Ever? I do. I think about it a lot.

König could be our masterpiece.