#könig pov

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

'Fit for a King' - WIP - “If you have had me on my back, we can also be on a first name basis” (König POV)

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König is talking to Ridgeback that he doesn’t want fem!sergeant Müller on the next – her first – mission with KorTac, Ridgeback is not having it, so he makes König talk to Müller about it, cue social anxiety meets superiority complex that comes with being this tall and buff, Müller puts him in his place and… what can I say? He’s turned on by that. And it gets them to talk with each other (finally). (2k words)

CW: NSFW, imagining explicit scenes, pervy!König

a/n: I'm still writing scenes whenever I think about them, so there still will be chronological skips and context missing in between, but I'll update the Masterlist in the order that they happen in (also gonna add some general info about the characters to the masterlist soon). This is a scene in his POV as I wanted to give the whole story a dual POV thing in general, I hope you like it! (two chapters are still in the pipeline for today or tomorrow, from Müller's POV again) ((also still working on a way to incorporate the german translations better))

“If you have had me on my back, we can also be on a first name basis”

(NSFW)

“I don’t want her on the mission.”

“She’s going. End of discussion.”

“Fine. But I’ll have to see if she can stand her ground first.”

“Meaning that you’ll actually talk to her?”

Ridgeback can’t see the scowl under my hood.

“Yeah.” What I mean is ‘fuck, no’.

He grins at me.

Ridgeback calls after her in the training room. “Müller, a second of your time?” – “Yes, sir.”, she says stepping away from the weights she was working with. “The Colonel is unsure about your… skills on the battlefield and I was wondering if you could maybe demonstrate something to change his mind.”, he explains. She pulls up her eyebrow and gives me the sideeye. “Didn’t he read my transcript?”, she asks. I don’t say anything, but Ridgeback looks at me, waiting for me to explain myself. I clear my throat. “Uh yeah, I read it, it’s just uh-“ She looks up at me and the words don’t come out my mouth. I feel the heat in my cheeks. “What if like a big guy comes up to you and like… attacks you?” Wow, so eloquent. “You know that I’m a sniper, right? Most of the time I’m not gonna be around any ‘big guys’ except for present company.” God damn it, why did I ever start this topic up? She’s going to make me put my shoe into my mouth or however that saying goes. “Uh yeah, correct, I’m just saying, what IF.” She looks at me like I might be a bit crazy. Maybe I am. She confuses the shit out of me.

Then she shrugs her shoulders. “Okay.” and struts over to the mattresses for combat training and martial arts. I follow her, waiting what she’ll do. “You also read that I’m trained in field combat and Krav Maga?”, she asks again. I totally did not. I laugh it off, not sure if I should take her seriously. She gets in position looking up at me in all her 5’8’’ cuteness. “You ready, big guy?”, she asks me, tauntingly. I cross my arms and shrug. Before I can register her moving, she has gripped me, one hand fisting the fabric of my shirt and the other one latching onto my wrist. Just a moment later I’m in the air.

She flips me. She tosses me over her own back with enough force to move a little Volkswagen. And she actually goddamn flips me. As my body gets slammed into the mattress, my back colliding with the floor, I can feel arousal lick up my spine, making me hard in an instant. “Ah, scheiße1.”, I mutter under my breath. All I want to do is pull her with me – or better even – her trying to hold me down as she gets on top of me. Scenarios flood my brain, smutty and perverted. How she would tie me down, strip me, tease me. Take her seat on my face, make me eat her out. I groan. I would feel her heat on my face, lap at her wetness, take everything she would give me. She would stroke me, edge me with her soft hands and nimble fingers while pressing her pussy into me, maybe she would even try to fit my length into her mouth. She would grind on my lips and tongue, she would let me give her the pleasure she seeks until she comes on my face and I drink up her arousal, her wetness staining my hood.

The imagination alone makes me leak at the tip. Ahja, du kleiner Perversling2. I scold myself in my brain. Has it really been that long since I had a woman? Like, biblically. I guess it has.

She stands over me, setting a foot on my chest, her boot digging into my pecs. “So, can I join you, Colonel?” I’m kind of glad that she didn’t call me by my name just now because I fear that I would have come a bit in my pants. At least a little bit. I raise my hands defensively: “Fine, fine, Müller.” I clear my throat. “You can handle yourself, as you demonstrated just now.” She laughs and the soft and sweet sound taunts me. “I can even handle more than just myself.”, she adds confidently and steps away from me, holding her hand out to help me up.

I resist the urge to pull her down and jump up on my feet again. Now I’m towering over her, a whole foot taller. Oh, to have her run from me as I chase after her, would be so sweet. Hör auf3, the voice in my head fights against the pervy thoughts. Something about her taps into something primal inside me.

Ridgeback’s short clap gets my attention. I almost forgot that he’s still here. “Well, I think this got resolved. See you tomorrow then.” Müller waves goodbye, and I lift my hand too, not able to tear my gaze away from her. She looks back at me and I wish I could’ve just talked normally to her instead of behaving like an ass. I sigh inwardly.

Killing people, turning them to pulp, is easier for me than talking to them. Really talking, not just barking orders. And she makes me feel like for the first time in forever that I wish it was the other way around.

"Would you spot me, Colonel?", she asks me then. I sigh, in- and outwardly this time. "Please, just... call me König.", I tell her. "People who had me on my back already can refer to me on a name basis.", I joke feeling the heat in my cheeks flare up again as I see the confusion on her face. Get a hold of yourself, Mensch4. "Also, I made myself look like a complete ass in front of you, you deserve to let the title slide.", I say further, not stuttering as much as before, and she nods slightly. "So, is that a yes or a no on the spotting, König?", she asks plainly. I swallow down how it makes me feel hearing her say my name in that cute accent of hers and return her nod.

She goes over to the weight rack and starts to fit plates onto a barbell. I help her by lifting the barbell from the ground to give her easier access. She’s satisfied with 50 kilos on each side and then goes to lift it up the squatting rack. Oh, she’s going to do squats. With 120 kilos. I’m so double fucked.

“You ready?” I nod and stand behind her holding out my arms. I’m a head taller than her, so I can look at myself in the mirror in front of us as she is not obstructing my view. My eyes are on her again though. She has wide black training pants on, but her hips don’t leave much to the imagination. Her torso is clad in a compression shirt, with a sports bra underneath. Everything is covered up, tightly packed to not be hindering while working out. Yet in my mind it looks like the sexiest thing anybody could ever wear. And that is before she starts to squat right in front of me. I curse under my breath and push away the pervy thoughts. Just be normal for once. She doesn’t need you lusting over her right now, after you just insulted her like that.

I follow her movements hovering my arms beside her, ready to take off the weight if it’s necessary. But she’s squatting the weight no problem. After a few reps she sets the barbell down on the rack again. “Okay, I think, we can add some more plates.”, she says already hefting another 20 up. “Goddamn, you’re squatting more than half the team here.”, I remark. “Really? I’m a bit rusty to be honest.” Rusty? Heilige Scheiße5. She continues: “I wanted to build up strength again because I’m gonna be more actually in the field, but I don’t wanna squat this kind of weight without somebody to spot me.” I nod behind her and she gets ready for the next set. There she is, squatting my body weight like it’s nothing. It’s so fucking attractive to me, I can’t help it.

“Wouldn’t some of the others help you? Spot you?”, I ask as we set down the weight again. My hands stay on the barbell for a moment longer until she meets my eyes in the mirror. “I mean, I talked to Aksel and Nikto a bit, you know, Scandinavians unite, but eh- I didn’t wanna bother them. I think this is the longest interaction I had with anybody in the base. They’re not really talking.”, she explains with a shrug. I hold back a groan. This might be at least partly my fault because of the way I treated her the first few days. “So, I didn’t really have the guts to ask somebody to help me.” She shrugs again, but I see a hint of sadness and apprehension behind them. “But with what you pulled today, I didn’t have those reservations.” She grins at me a little bit.

“I’m sorry.”, I say then, the words sticking to my tongue, not slipping out my mouth easily. It’s not like I don’t feel sorry, I really do. I’m just not one to apologise easily. “Don’t worry about it.”, she tells me. “You’re not the first superior to doubt my abilities.” I feel a pang in my chest. Yeah, yeah, I can be a bit of an asshole, but it’s just setting in now how the whole situation must make her feel. And I want to take it all back. “Yeah, I… I know how it must look like right now from your point. I’m sorry really. I was an asshole about my doubts and I went about it in the most jerk way.” She turns around, her hands on her waist as she looks up at me like ‘Are we really still talking about this?’. The sass.

“It’s okay, Col- König. I accept your apology.”, she reiterates. She must see the doubt in my eyes because she says, with emphasis: “Really.” – “Okay. Schwamm drüber6.”, I say and extend my hand. She takes it and shakes it. Even through the thin fabric of my gloves I can feel the warmth of her palm and it makes me wish I wasn’t wearing any to feel her skin on mine.

“I’d head to dinner now. You wanna join me?”, she asks. “I get it if you can’t, you know, rank and all.” I scoff. “Nobody is asking for our ranks when we’re knee-deep in mud next week, so forget all about that.” She grins at my answer and jogs to the hallway. I follow her with big strides. “I don’t even know why they made me Colonel.”, I tell her as we walk down to the mess hall. She giggles and the sound makes me feel all floaty. And I kick myself again – in my mind – for not just talking to her. Or maybe just ask her to train with me. Instead of making it seem like I’m out to get her. “Maybe your reputation? And of course, the unique set of skills.”, she suggests. “I have a reputation?”, I’m surprised. “Yeah, kinda.” We enter the mess hall and get in line for a plate of beef stew. “Like what?”, I want to know as I stand just a foot behind her. “I’d rather not say.”, she evades. “Also, I don’t think that that’s who you are.”

“What do you think I am then?”, I ask her as we sit down. Other people are already here and I see a few surprised faces, including Horangi’s. “Really really big.” She laughs and I chuckle with her. “That’s just because you’re so small.”, I counter. “Psh. It’s not about the size.” I can see a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes as she says that. Was that innuendo? “It’s not?”, I tease her. She leans forward and whispers like we’re sharing a secret: “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so cocky about it. Even a mouse can fell a tree, if she only knows how to.” I laugh at her remark. “Touché.” – "Maybe that could be my callsign: Mouse.", she jokes. "I like that.", I say fully grinning behind my mask.

scheiße: shit

ahja, du kleiner Perversling: uh-huh, you little pervert

hör auf: stop it

mensch: literally 'human being', in this context more of an exesperated 'dude!'

heilige scheiße: holy shit

Schwamm drüber: literally 'sponge over it', meaning let's forget about it

[gauloiseblue]

You always joked about how you'd find out what's beneath his mask someday. Literally and figuratively.

He'd scoff at your attempts, or suggestions to lift up his sniper mask. Some of them caught him off guard, to the point he almost did it if not for his logical mind. But some of them were downright ridiculous, that he couldn't help but snort.

Maybe you already accepted it from the start, that he would never give in, but it had become a harmless jest at this point, so you might as well keep it going.

Until he gives you permission.

The thing is, it doesn't make you happy—it scares you to death instead. He once bit off someone's finger when they poked it in the place they shouldn't have touched. So what's behind the mask couldn't be worth the pain.

At first, you thought of it as a warning. Yet he wasn't showing any signs of threat. He even pulled you closer, so you'd get a better view of him.

His mask stays on, but he lets you touch his face. Your hands hover an inch away from his veiled visage, before you test the water with a touch.

He doesn't flinch away, or charge at you like a venomous snake. He stays still, letting your hands cup his cheeks.

"Didn't you say you wanna feel my face?" He said as he brought you closer, causing a shiver down on your spine.

"I did," Your lips trembled slightly, "I'm doing it."

"You're not doing it right." He tugged your paralyzed hands onto his chest.

You're confused when he firmly grips both of your hands, before slowly sliding them under the hem of his hood.

"Inside, maus." He commanded you, "Tell me what you feel."

And so, you complied.

You reach into his mask, and touch his neck tentatively. For a brief moment, his muscles tense under your fingertips, before they come down relaxed.

"Oh." You murmured as you pressed your palm onto his nape, "You can certainly survive a fighter jet ride."

He doesn't give you any response, so you take it as a cue to continue.

Your hands creep up higher, until your fingers reach the soft bones of his ears. They seem small in your grasp, smaller than they should, for a man of his height. A quiet smile spreads in your lips, as you imagine the tiny shells that frame both sides of his face.

"I'm surprised you have clear skin." You commented when you caressed his cheek, feeling the texture of his skin, "I thought you'd have a problem with it since you always wore a mask."

"Not always." He replied, nudging you to roam further, "I took it off whenever I'm alone."

"Did you take care of it?"

"No."

"How unfair." You chuckled, "I want to have your skin."

He keeps his eyes on you, and you feel the need to clear your throat, before you trace the lines on his face.

"You have a big nose." You mused as you ran your finger down from the bridge of his nose, "It's crooked."

He hums, while his eyes follow your uncertain gaze.

"Why you stopped?" He called you out, and you jumped upon hearing them, "There's one place you haven't touched."

You bit your lips, trembling, as you lowered your hand, until you felt the soft lumps on your fingertips.

They form a thin line, before they split open, inviting your finger inside. Your breathing becomes labored, as he takes a hold on your hand, guiding your thumb into his mouth.

He doesn't break eye contact the whole time, and you're too paralyzed to look away. You feel the sharpness of his teeth as his lips are closing around your digit. You have anticipated the guillotine falling on the head of your thumb, yet what comes after is a soft brush of his tongue.

It was rough, and drenched with his saliva, that it formed a string at the time your thumb left his mouth.

"König—" You gasped when he dragged his lips down to your palm, before stopping on your wrist. Pressing his tongue on your pulse point, where the skin barrier is so thin, that it feels as if he's tasting your flesh.

"Scared, maus?" He muttered, his teeth scraped against your skin, "Are you scared of me?"

You stare at him, as your instinct screams at you to nod. But you shake your head, despite the tremble in your hands.

"Then you'll do as I say." He wraps his arm around your waist, leaving no room for you to run, "Take off my mask."

Your eyes widened, not believing what you just heard from his mouth. Alas, his glare is enough to confirm the truth.

He guides your hands to his mask, pushing it up in a manner that's close to unveiling a white cover. And once the mask is lifted, you have no time to admire him as he slams his lips against yours.

Your cry of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, as he pushes his tongue between your lips. You can't do anything but cling to him, as he presses your body down with his, until your back is flush against the cushion.

When you open your eyes, what greets you is a pair of eclipses. Gone was the cruel Colonel, as he's replaced by a voracious brute.

The moment he opens his mouth, you know you'll be devoured by him.

[giotanner]

Lt. Simon Ghost Riley finds himself having to barter a trade with KorTac, the private military company in which Konig serves. The two are professionals; that doesn't mean there aren't disagreements (honestly, I think Konig's attitude-at least from his lines-really bothers Ghost. Ghost has a British hilarity, that dry humor that is not expansive, and he is quite stoic). Ghost is counting the days that will bring him back to Task Force 141!

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[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring. 

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness. 

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation. 

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard. 

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this. 

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing. 

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road. 

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment. 

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands. 

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him. 

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers. 

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill. 

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head. 

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear. 

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left. 

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening. 

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough. 

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud. 

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him. 

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose. 

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods. 

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted. 

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke. 

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism. 

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can. 

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon. 

[pixeechix21]

Helping out after a long day

König x reader one shot v.short, jus an idea

tw: not proof read

Okay, hear me out. We all secretly know that König is a pleasure dom or just a good little boy who wants to please you. So imagine this

You’ve been needy all day and slowly losing your mind as he’s out at work and you’re alone in his massive soft metallica shirt that smells just like him. You’ve called him and nagged him to come home, on the other side of the phone he’s equally as needy, the way your voice sounds and how insistent you are makes him want to hold you close and do whatever you want to him. He told you he’d be home soon, but once it got dark and cold you’d had enough. You give in to the need. 

He comes home quietly entering the living room to see in the dimmed light you, moaning his name lightly, eyes closed as you try to imagine him there. He grows hard instantly at the sight of you, in his shirt that goes down to your knees. He keeps his eyes set on you, his small chuckle, makes you open your eyes. Head resting on the armrest of the couch, you look up at him upside down as you finger fuck yourself more as you finish. “Hello, Schazt, looking beautiful as ever,” he greets coming over to the couch. You can see his bulge through his pants, and he wants nothing more than to fuck you for his own needs but he sees how bad he was to leave you alone unsatisfied. He sits down on the sofa leaning into the lush pillows, readjusting his tight pants, then takes you by your waist and sets you on his lap. You kiss him instantly, happy that he’s back, “don’t let me stop you my sweet,” he says against your lips as he helps move your hips. Again as if the first time wasn’t enough you go on to chase your high. On his lap, while he’s fully clothed. The friction wasn't enough you want more. Grinding your hips to the motion of the song playing in the background. He’s trying so hard not to strip you of your clothes and take you, groaning deeply into your ear. You place both hands on his shoulders and rub against him tilting and grinding, back n forth. “Use me, Schatz,” he says huskily devouring up the sight of how your tits look under his shirt, your nipples pricking out begging for attention. As you cum on his pants he takes the lead and to fuck you from below adding extra pressure to your already sore clit. You let out a moan, as he breathes out short exhales. He’s been thinking of you all day, and almost called in sick just to get to you quicker. Now he’s had enough waiting, he whimpers, “fuck-” “I’ve been waiting all day König-” “Me too, schisse. Mein Gott-” You feel his cock jerk beneath you as he starts to cum. He tries to stop himself from making a mess the way you respond to his touch, makes him come harder. He holds you in close as he finishes off. Finally, once you both settle down you ask, “How was your day?” 

“Much better now,” he says sweetly pecking your lips.

[imsilay]

i think this would happen with König LMAO

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[ghoulystay]

Interrogation gone wrong.

König and Y/N story.

Short story.

Mature themes.

18 and over.

Female reader.

"I didn't do anything!"

The whole team. Everyone was led to believe that you were the traitor. You were being tortured brutally. Unfortunately, there had been suspicions that someone was a spy for the enemy. The only hint that was given away was that the "mole" was a woman. There were a few women within TF141, you being one of them. One thing for sure, though, it wasn't you, but all the men were on edge.

Unfortunately, luck was not on your side one day. Apparently, another female from the team was telling everyone that she suspected you. She never liked you, since the beginning she hated you only because König wanted you and she wanted König but he turned her down. His eyes were always on you, and he was madly in love with you. She hated that. She hated the fact that König rejected her. She was known to get around, but König saw through her bullshit.

"Y/N, come with us." Captain Price ordered. You were led to a building on base that you knew too well. It was a place where hostages and bad guys were taken to get answers. "Answers, meaning getting the shit beat out of you.

Once in the room. You were ordered to sit on the only chair that sat in the middle of the room. Captain Price, Ghost, Soap, and König were all there. You feel yourself breaking inside once you see him standing there looking at you. You can see it in his eyes. He's hurt. He wants to save you. But he can't.

Price begins with questions. You deny everything. Ghost was the one ordered to torture you. Soap and König watching in disbelief. Your screams echo throughout the room, but you never broke.

"Come on y/n! Tell us who you work for, and it'll all be over!" Price continued to rant on. And your answers were always the same. "I'm..not..a..fucking spy.."

König couldn't stand watching you like this. He's about to break. He's already seeing red. Soap noticed König getting angry. "I'm sorry, mate. It has to be done." Soap tells König. That only pist König off more. He turns to face Soap. "Fuck you, MacTavish."

You were bloody and exhausted. You had taken some heavy beatings. It had been 3 hours at this point. Price and Ghost are already frustrated. Soap, making sure König doesn't do anything stupid. Everyone's feelings are all over the place.

Suddenly, Keegan barges in through the door. "Sir, it's not y/n. It's (girls' name)." Not to your surprise that it was the hating slut who hates you for being with König. Everyone looks surprised. "She's in the room down the hall, sir." Ghost and Soap follow Keegan out. Price and König stay back, König immediately breaks you free from the cuffs on your wrists. He helps you stand and holds you. "I'm sorry about all this y/n." Price says. He leaves you and König as he makes his way to the room where the other woman is for the next interrogation.

König decided to carry you out. He didn't want you to walk. "I got you, my Schatz."

[alchexmy]

we love insane König here.

tw | obsession | stalker tendencies

The Beginning.

It surprised him. The lengths he would go to, to feel close to you, the way he would degrade himself to quench his desires.

It really surprised him.

Wired eyes with pinprick pupils staring into the harsh blue light of his computer screen in the office, looking through your file, figuring as much of you out as possible without even having to be near you. Not that he didn't want to be near you. Oh, he very much did. But he had no real reason to be, you were just the intelligence officer, a quiet girl, absorbed in paperwork, rubbing your temples when you worked too late. And you always worked late.

That's when it had started.

All it took was one night, him planted at his desk, you at yours. Everyone else had finished up hours prior. His gaze had been enamoured by your every movement. Captivated. You didn't even notice him staring, eyes narrowing, assessing you. For some reason that lack of attention really irked him, it got right under his skin.

Then you had looked up.

"Colonel, can I ask you something?"

Yes.

He had rolled himself back in his chair, wheels bumping on the uneven carpet, silently gesturing his acceptance of your question with hands open.

That slender figure of yours had rose from its stationary position, fingers selective over the sheets they picked up, neck flexing to stretch out the long hours of arduous work. It took seven strides for you to be right beside him, the scent of your skin filling his nostrils, the undone top button of your shirt just loose enough to provide the most fleeting distraction for his mind.

You had been speaking to him with a determined, stressed tone, arms brushing. He had listened to your every word, but he had also been admiring your details. The way your nails were in perfect manicured condition, yet the skin around them bitten and picked until they were red raw. The slightly oval shape of the mole which decorated the back of your hand as it flexed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, index finger pointing out that highlighted section and this highlighted section, there is a connection here right? Your handwriting in deep black ink small, neat, cursive even, at times. It made sense, it suited you.

The conversation was brief, hands tapping the sheets on his desk to straighten them into a bundle. Do you mind? You reached over him to borrow his stapler, binding them irreversibly, putting them back on your desk. The ladder in your tights as you walked away, what had you ripped that sheer black nylon on? 

When the door swung closed 43 minutes later, he raised that stapler to his mouth, breathing in the trace of you left behind. It's not like it even smelt of anything, he could barely understand the compulsion to do it.

And so the obsession had begun.

Your mug, swiped from the side of the sink one day.

That had been him.

The kettle boiling as eyes scrutinised where your lips had been, those faint marks from your lipgloss. His only desire to emulate you, copy your actions, pouring the water in, steeping the tea and drinking from exactly where you had.

But the simple thrill died off quickly, so he had to ramp it up, needing his fix. The more he fed it the more it grew like a malignance, uncontrolled, invading every single second of his thoughts. Thus, the more he needed you, his drug.

It surprised him, how a man of such stature could creep so unnoticed through the corridors at night. It actually took him a couple of tries to get the courage to follow through, his heart pounding, a sensation so intoxicating. The third night, his fist enveloped the door handle, carefully pressing down until it clicked and he could swing it open with ease. And there you lay. His heart hammering so loud he could actually hear it echoing gently within those four walls, your four walls.

In the end, you only noticed what he had done because all of your underwear was matching, the easiest way to pack for work. And suddenly, there was an odd number.

He found new excuses to be near you, to talk to you, to smell you, to watch you. Even if you didn't see him. The middle of the night, first just standing against the door, watching you from afar as you slept, your chest slowly rising and falling. Then he would sit on the floor, his face inches from yours, the exhilarating rush making him electric. You never stirred.

Everything was mesmerising, the way you sat, the way you chewed the inside of your cheek when concentrating, the tone of your voice, the flush of your cheeks, the way you walked, the way you ate. It consumed him. He needed you. But he would never touch you, not yet. The thought of requite was tempting, yet would kill off the private intense pleasure he got from knowing you didn't know.

It didn't take long for him to figure your whole routine out. Every night around 8 you would retire from the office and head to the shower block, you would take 20 minutes to wash the day off and then leave. And you always left your caddy of stuff there until the following morning.

So he would wait 10 minutes after you finished before going to the block and lathering his body in the same cubicle with your scent.

But you see, he needed his fix.

8.30 turned into 8.29, and he used your shampoo to wash his hair.

8.29 turned into 8.25 and he scrubbed his teeth clean with your toothbrush, still damp, faintly tasting of mint as he ran it over his enamel.

But he needed his fix.

So at 8.21 he went in, practically walking into you as you left, your small body colliding into his mass. It had shocked you. Sorry, Colonel.

You had simply no idea.

No idea as headed straight into the same cubicle as always, this time, fully clothed.

No idea as he knelt down, leaning his chest forwards, his nose millimetres from the acrylic base.

No idea as he stuck his tongue out and licked where your feet had been, lapping up a little of that stagnant water infused with you.

Now it was his turn to stay late in the office, turning all the lights out, basking in the darkness.

He leaned back taking in that f—king scent which lingered all over his skin, legs spread, staring at your file in the darkness. Large hands ran through his hair as he shifted forwards, clicking on your profile photo.

He could feel the twitching, begging for release, begging for the stroke of his palm to alleviate the tension. A single digit outlining your jaw on the screen. God he wanted to finally touch you, finally have you.

The door opened, that silhouette unmistakable, making his throbbing c-ck scream.

"Colonel, I need to ask you something."

[cr1msonsta1ns]

Can you imagine falling into another universe with your phone still connected to your original Universe, so you can still research and show those not-so fictional characters what people write about them in your universe?

POV- COD- KÖNIG:

You: I know this is going to sound crazy, but where I come from, your a popular video game character.

König: Okay, first of all, your insane. Second of all, proof?

You: I mean, the game isn't on my phone... but if you promise not to tell me what you seen, I'll show you the Tumblr art and fanfiction about you.

König: What?

You: *Pulls out Tumblr, looks up his name, and hands him your phone.*

König: *Scrolls and reads and looks at fanart with jaw dropped before silently turning off the phone and handing it back.*

You: ...

König: ...I stand corrected.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Fit for a King - WIP - "You are tiny"

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König fanfiction scenes and chapters that do not yet have a coherent plot

planned content/TW: rivals to lovers, König x fem!character (not too descriptive to make it accessible for more readers), social anxiety killing machine König, badass friendly FMC, dual POV, secret relationship, switch energy, NSFW, adult themes, strong language, violence (more details are still unclear, gonna update as I go), authentic austrian german

a/n: well, my brain isn't letting go of this newest obsession of mine, so I will appease it and write some scenes/chapters that come to mind. i have written more original work and less fanfictions and our boy (and KorTac) is hard to research, but I'll try my best to stay some-what cannon to the lore. it'll also probably get darker down the road.

if your character doesn't have a tragic backstory, why not give him one?

A not so meetcute

(CW: some mature language)

I strut along the hallway, I'm already late to report for duty and turn the corner abruptly. I collide with somebody else at full walking force and almost get pushed to the floor, if the big figure blocking the light shining from above wouldn't have caught me. "Ouch.", I yelp, more surprised than hurt, even though I feel like ran over by a truck.

I steady myself to look at the "truck". I look up and I keep looking up and up. At first there's just this chest, a huge chest, in a simple compression shirt, but oh boy. The weapon holster is what I see next, sitting snug at the side of his torso. Shoulders, big broad shoulders, and normally you would expect to have a head sitting on top of them and a face looking back at you. I guess, he has one as well, even though I don't see one bit of it. I strain my neck to finally meet his eyes.

But all I see is the dark black of a… sniperhood? A T-shirt? I mean, it looks like a t-shirt, that somebody cut holes in to fashion themselves a kind of mask. The front is stained with bleach, two streaks coming down from the eyeholes... My eyes widen as it sinks in who this is. König. KorTac operator, field combatant and one of my superiors. Shit. I've heard some rumors about him. And it seems like at least some of them ring true.

"You are tiny.", he states matter-of-factly, his Austrian accents shining through the uttered words. It's the first thing he says to me. "And you are... not.", I retort. I can't make out his expression as it so obviously is hidden by his mask. He nods, turns around and heads down the hallway where he came from. I shake my head. What the hell was that?

I stretch myself, feeling the impact of the collision already. My god, that was like being hit by a battering ram. I heard that his specialty is breaking down doors with brute force. I thought this to be ridiculous, but now as I watch the gigantic muscled man strut down the hallway, quickly disappearing, I do believe it. 6'10" killing machine. Ridiculous.

I shake my head again and make my way to the meeting room. Ridgeback is already waiting for me.

______________________________________________________________

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Verdammt. Ah, des hast du ganz super g'macht.* I tell myself sarcastically in my head as I basically run down the hallway. She must be one of the new hires. Must be. And you almost turned her to mush. Mus. Brei. Human remains splattered against the wall. I curse myself again. I didn't even apologize. "You are tiny." No shit, Sherlock, everybody is tiny compared to you. I continue to mock myself. Fuck, Shit, Fuck.

"Ridge, since when do we hire children?", I ask him as soon as I enter the room. He doesn't even look up. "We don't." He keeps reading. "Then why did I just almost run over a recruit that didn't even reach my waist?" – “Because compared to you, everybody seems tiny.” He sighs and looks up at me. “None of our personnel are under 6’, not even the women.”

“Even the new recruits?”, I ask him again. He furrows his brow. “What did you do, König?”, he wants to now. “I may or may not have almost trampled one of them.”, I say, kleinlaut***. He sighs again. “I think that was Müller, she’s actually on her way here.”, Ridgeback says. “Müller? Is she german?”, I ask in surprise. I didn’t hear such an accent on her, but to be fair, she only said like three words… and I wasn’t really paying attention to her words anyway.

On cue, the door opens and I fall silent. “Permission to enter, Sir?”, she says with a clear voice. Not at all seeming like I almost turned her into pulp. I take two steps back to stand in the back, trying to blend into the wall behind me – which I already know from experience is not going to work. “Come in.”, Ridge says. “Müller, right?” She nods and approaches. My focus is fully on her, all the small bits I noticed about her before are still there. She’s not wearing a mask because it’s not necessary off mission. You know, like you normally would. She has laugh lines. Around her eyes and mouth. Fucking laugh lines. She doesn’t look like she belongs here.

The two of them are talking, but I catch every single time when her gaze lands on me, even if it’s just from the corner of her eyes. I fight against the urge to turn away every time she looks at me, when I hear Ridgeback drop the old s-word. Sniper.

My ears perk up and I finally pay attention to what they’re saying again. “Your track record is almost immaculate, Müller. You’re gonna be an asset to the team on the next missions.”, he says to her. I can see that she tries to hold back a proud expression or smile on her face, but she doesn't really succeed at that. God damn it, a sniper. I groan and make my way to the door which doesn’t go unnoticed. “König.”, Ridgeback pipes up. “You wanna show Müller the way to the dorms?” as I already have my hand on the doorknob.

I still for just a moment and the roaring sensation of anxiety seeps at my feet and crawls up my body until it’s nested at the back of my head. I can’t talk to her. Not after embarrassing myself before. “Nein.”, is all I say before I’m out the door.

*God damnit. You did a really bang up job. ** two different words for pulp/mash *** meekly (word for word: 'smallloud')

[jaytheirishwolfboy]

Hallo! It has been quite a while since I’ve been on here and posted something, but I have come back bearing gifts!

I have been quite the busy bee working on playlists on Spotify, and I have decided to share a few with you all! Right now I’m only going to show you all the playlists I’ve made for Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, but if you all like this enough, I will most likely do a part two to this, showing more of my playlists that I’ve been working on.

⚠️Quick warning before you get to the playlists! Some playlists may have disturbing themes, while others may have kind of sad themes. Especially with the recent release of Modern Warfare three, there may be a few sad playlists mixed in.⚠️

I just felt like I should warn you all about that.

Anyways, enough of my blabbering onto the playlists!

(Important Note: I had to redo the playlist I made for Simon as me being the dumb-dumb I am, fucked it up greatly. So if ya had the old version saved, yer going to have to save the new version of it now…. I’m sorry ;~;)

[goodday-goodmorn]

Todays work is of @ghouljams Cowboy141 au! Featuring the nasty boy himself- König! Told from the lovely perspective of Murphys (an OC of Ghouls for those who don’t know) granddaughter!! Go check out Ghoul they have some amazing COD stuff over there (the demon darling AU is one of my fav’s but they’re known for their fae and cowboy stuff!- odd niches i know-)

You had been thinking about this day for months now. Today would finally be the day you earned your honorary, ‘I sold cookies to Birdie’ badge.

And of course, all good plans begin with a pack of markers, paper, and a whiteboard that you borrowed from the back of your pappy's shop. (He wouldn't miss it, besides if he got grumpy you would just pull out the puppy dog eyes until he relented.)

Using some magnets you pin various torn out notebook papers to the whiteboard. It isn't quite like the movies where they use push pins and red sting but well- that would be inconvenient for your purposes anyway.

Face furrowed in deep concentration you stare at the board as if doing so for long enough would solve all your problems.

“Are you still planning?” A familiar voice rings out beside you, your fellow girl scout and current best friend, Alexis. She sits on a beanbag, sipping on soda as she stares at your mess of plans. You frown, clearly she wouldnt understand the intricacies of how important this was. After all, she already had her Birbe badge.

A perk she got of being the one to make the things, meant that the first year they were implemented, she got to sell to Birdie with no competition.

(You remember standing on the sidelines and watching her turn and hand Birde a box of peanut butter patties with a smug look on her face. It had been painful to have to stand there with your fellow troop members.)

The rewards were worth the sacrifice however, because now there's more at stake than the bragging rights of selling to everyone's favorite teacher. Now, you get an unofficial badge for it, made every year by the crafty hands of Alexis.

This year’s is sitting just over there on the coffee table, nearly finished. All it's missing is the border around the bird in the center, mostly because Alexis ran out of the thread she needed and has yet to ask her grandmother for more.

You sigh, grumbling out something as you continue to stare at the board.

She shakes her head and goes back to playing Minecraft on her older cousin's well loved Xbox. Trying not to die by the hands of a spider, she says, “Look- if you’re so serious about it why not just find a way through Goose?” You frown more, shaking your head. As much as you do get along well with your pappy’s favorite customer…

“Nope, not possible. Birdie’s friends are banned ever since Moon started complain’ bout it… Plus after Jordans stunt last year of getting in the good graces of Birdie’s momma- we aren't allowed to do stuff like that.” You explain, using a marker to scribble out more ideas and add to your current map of where Birdie might be when you all get access to the cookies.

She tends to be out during it, likely to make it harder for people to earn their badge by camping out on her front porch.

How she knew when you all got the first cookie shipments, you weren't sure. Probaby Moon. Yeah- definitely Moon.

“Besides,” you continue, switching your marker to a purple color, “Even if I did- that wouldn't be me selling to Birdie- it would be me selling to Goose. So it don’t count.”

She hums, “Tough luck.” You sigh dejectedly, nodding. She finally kills the spider and then turns to you, from the depths of her very filled pockets she fishes out a lollipop. She offers it to you like she's offering you a hit after a stressful day at your 9 to 5.

Gratefully, you take it, green apple, nice.

“Well, I wish ya the best of luck. If you fail, offers open to go selling with me later.” You nod, waving her off, “Mhm… i reckon ill get it this year though.”

She shrugs, pointing to the nearly finished badge which sits a few feet away. “Well, if you do, then that badge is as good as yours.”

You stare at it longingly, vowing to yourself that this year you would finally-

———————————————

“You didn't do it did you?”

You frown, a sour look on your face as you try and fix your now messed up braids. Alexis sits beside you, the two of you back in her grandmother's basement. She's got a bag of frozen peas against your jaw, trying to prevent the bruise you know is coming. You say nothing, instead just sitting there with a pout, normally you wouldn't be this upset but…

“So who did manage it this year?” She asks, leaving you to hold the peas while she goes to grab the first aid kit under the coffee table.

“Susie May.”

Alexis bumps her head on the table as she pops up, looking surprised. “Again?” She sounds as incredulous as you are upset.

“Yeah!” You cry angrily, throwing your free hand up.

She whistles, walking over to you and tending to your scraped up knees. It's something that happens so often you don't really feel it, but both you and Alexis know that if your parents, or her grandma, sees you all banged up and bruised, they won't be happy. “How’d she manage that?” She inquires, cleaning your scrapes and pulling out bandages.

“Playing fuckin’ dirty thats how.” You parents would also not be very happy with your use of swears but it's just Alexis and you right now. Plus you are rather pissed off at the manner in which Susie happened to win the race this year.

“Yeah I can see that…” Alexis mumbles, taking in your dusty clothes, frazzled hair, and scraped up knees. You decide to make it worse by opening your mouth and showing how your tooth is now loose and barely hanging on by a thread. It's a baby tooth, luckily, but still.

Alexis blinks, “How in the hell-?”

“She pulled on my braids just as I was about to get there. I tried to not fall but sending all my weight forward meant when she let go-”

“-You fell flat on your face?”

You nod, grumbling under your breath. The reason you're so upset is because well- Susie May already has her badge. And she was also the one to sell cookies to Birdie last year. Which means this is her third time selling.

The general polite thing to do after getting your badge is to either A) back out of the race to sell entirely, or B) if you’re gonna participate, give it a year or two after you earned your badge, then continue with much less vigor.

Alexis seems rather irritated herself, grumbling about how she's not gonna make a badge for someone who already has one.

There wouldn't be a point, plus it's such a waste of her time and supplies. And because Birdie only buys a box from the first girl scout to reach her- that means no one gets a badge this year.

Safe to say the troop is not gonna be happy about this. Not one bit. And you are eagerly awaiting the next time you all meet up and Alexis gets to break to everyone that the reason no one gets a badge this year is thanks to Susie.

After Alexis has finished patching you up, you huff, resting your chin in your hands as you drop the pea bag.

“Well- that was a bust.” Alexis says with a sympathetic shrug, flashing the Birdie badge, “Guess you’ll get it next year.”

You groan, flopping over to lay on the beanbag. She in turn, grabs her own girl scout sash and uniform, “Well since you failed-” You glare at the reminder to which she puts her hands up in surrender- “Since you…didn't get it. You wanna go with me to try and outsell her?”

You think it over but it really isn’t a hard decision, “Alright. But we’re stoping at pappy’s place, i need to fix my braids.”

“Cant you just do it yourself?”

“Yeah but he can do it with ribbons and considering Susie's got the Cherry with her, we’re gonna need some extra charm.”

Alexis pulls a face, “Since when does Cherry hang out with Susie May of all people?”

You shrug, waiting for your friend to finish getting ready. “Dunno. Though, I'm kinda hoping Cherry finds out what happened and punches her.” Out of your little trio of friends, Cherry could hit the hardest. She was smaller and shorter than both you and Alexis, and looked like a little angel, (hence why you and Alexis used her to make a bunch of sells), but you both knew she was a proper troublemaker.

Course- none of the adults did, which made things very useful for both her, you, and Alexis whenever you three decided to get into trouble.

Alexis grumbles, a bit upset by the news, understandable, she didn't have many friends other than you and Cherry so she probably wasn't taking the news that Cherry was hanging out with someone else very well. You decided to make it your mission to cheer both yourself and her up.

“It's alright, I reckon we can handle it without her.”

———————————————

“You sure we’ll even find anyone out here?” Alexis asks, skeptical. Fair,

considering the two of you have been riding your bikes for a while now.

You nod, reaffirming for what feels like the hundredth time, “Mhm! Look I'm telling ya- I saw some newcomers at Pappys shop a few days ago! And they certainly ain't in town, which means they gotta be out here somewhere.”

She frowns, “This doesn't feel worth it though.”

You shrug, “Well we already got everyone in town that we could for now, and they aren't gonna want any more cookies till at least a week so…”

She makes a face, knowing you’re right. “Fineeee. But once we find a house and sell we’re leaving. If we don't then we might not be back before dark.”

She glances up at the sky and you scoff, “You’re such a worry wart. We’ll be fineeee.”

She raises her eyebrow, “That's what you said last time and we ended up having to race home.”

You pull your lips into a thin line, and before she can say anything else, you see a ranch in view. “Oh look! A place let's go-!” You say quickly, racing ahead and leaving her to quickly pedal after you.

You stop on the road and hop off your bike, tugging your basket of girl scout cookies off the backseat. Alexis does the same, unclipping her helmet and letting it hang on her bike handle. “Huh, those horses are big as hell.” She comments, making you turn your head to see the draft horses.

You are overtaken with the urge to ride one of them, if only to be able to see how high up you would be.

Alexis cuts you off before you can even consider, “Don't even think about it. Your momma would be pissed if you tried.”

You huff, of course you weren't gonna try. That would just be a plain stupid idea, you have no idea what temperament those horses have. Still would be cool if you could though. “Whatever, let's go!” You run off towards the house, leaving your friend to scramble after you.

In the process you accidentally trip over something, but as per usual you simply get up and keep going. When Alexis does finally catch up to you, shes huffing and holding up something small and light in her free hand. The other is gripping onto her cookie basket. She calls your name and then suddenly stops, looking past you at…

Huh. That guy’s nearly as big as his horses. Once more you are overcome with a similar urge to ride on his shoulders. He kinda looks familiar actually…

Alexis comes up to your side, fussing over you and you quickly realize why. There's blood in your mouth, and that's when you realize the thing she's holding just so happens to be one of your front two teeth.

The big man seems even more concerned by the sight of blood, he slings the shotgun he was holding over his back and awkwardly bends down to you speaking in what you assume is german. “Geht es dir gut, Kleiner?” He talks weirdly soft for such a big fella.

At the absolute blank look you give him he blinks, and then translates, “Are you alright?”

“Oh uhhhhh” You ponder the question, are you? Yeah, mostly anyway. You can't feel any pain, but the taste of blood isn't exactly something you enjoy and its quickly overtaking your mouth. You spit to the side, smile, then give him a thumbs up with your free hand. However, when you’re missing a tooth and your teeth are stained with blood- it doesn't serve to reassure him.

Alexis takes hold of your shoulders and pries your mouth open, (in the process temporarily setting down her cookies), looking at the gap in your teeth intently to make sure you’re alright.

She frowns and turns to the big fellow- (who oddly enough seems more nervous of her than she is of him, he stiffens) -with a scowl. She isn't meaning too, you know, she just happens to have a resting bitch face, but the man doesn't know that. “Can we borrow your sink?”

The man seems to clearly have questions, namely why the hell you’re here, until he notices your sashes. “Pfadfinderinnen...?” He mumbles to himself, then upon being blankly stared at by the unwavering gaze of Alexis he nods, guiding the two of you to the house.

Not by leading you there, but rather by standing behind you and ushering the two of you forward like you were little mice. Mice that bite apparently, because despite ushering you forward he keeps a wide berth, as if scared to get too close and frighten you.

(Which you thought was strange considering out of you and Alexis, he was the more nervous one.)

Normally you wouldn't care too much about your missing tooth. Cause well- now you could get some extra pocket money from the tooth fairy! But right now, you do wanna go inside and rinse out your mouth. As much as you could suck up the taste of your own blood- you would rather not pedal all the way home with it. Also you wanna get a good look at where your tooth is missing. Plus maybe you could pull sympathy points and get this guy to buy a bunch a’ cookies, considering you tripped on his property, It was worth a shot.

He seems so weirdly familiar, that you can't help but stare. Oddly enough, this only makes him even more awkward. Does he recognize you? Once the three of you are inside, before Alexis can shove you off to the bathroom mirror and sink, you bluntly say, “Do I know you? You’re weirdly familiar…”

You frown, trying to figure out where you've seen him before. He stiffens but before he can respond, Alexis is pulling you into his restroom. Predictably, the counters are built for him and therefore tall as fuck, so she has to help you climb up there so you can comfortably rinse your mouth out without struggle. Now sitting on the countertop, blood washed down the drain, you inspect your mouth.

“Hahah! Alexis look- look-!” You say excitedly, pointing to the gap to which she just sighs. You turn on her, leaning forward excitedly, “Wait-! Wait wait wait- did you get my tooth?”

She looks at you blankly, saying your name.

“...Yeah?”

“Of course I picked up the tooth, why wouldn't i?” She fishes it out of her pocket, accidentally pulling out various random strings and threads it was tangled in. In the process, pulling out a few pebbles and other assorted nicknacks. They clatter to the ground but she pays them no mind.

You hold both your hands out for her to place the tooth in your open palms. It's covered in blood, dirt, and pocket lint.

“Its beautiful.” You say with a large grin to which she nods seriously, “How much you think I'll get for it???” There's excitement in your tone.

She ponders for a moment, “Well- for my first one I got 15 dollars. My first front one was worth a pretty penny too… I heard that Maxie got 20 for his first tooth.” She shrugs, you both grin, matching smiles that say, ‘Oh we are so going to the candy shop later.’

You hop off the counter and then the two of you are speaking to each other in hushed but excited tones, leaning into each other and swinging your baskets. When you walk back into the living room, you find the man awkwardly standing there. It's then you nudge Alexis.

(Mostly because she doesn't get to make sales often, she never was very good at talking to people. Some could say her personality was an acquired taste, she was blunt and awkward, however, luckily for her, the man in front of you both seemed even more awkward.)

(Typically cherry made all the sales, and if not her, than you. So- you wanted to give Alexis a chance to shine.)

“Oh yeah.” She blinks and then turns to the man.

“Uh- Hey mister.” She looks him directly in his eyes, he seems uncomfortable at the direct attention. “You want cookies?”

He blinks.

She blinks.

“...Cookies?”

“Yup.”

…The man is silent after that. So is Alexis. They both just stare at each other awkwardly. Well, you were proud of her for trying and that's all that mattered-! “Sure.” Wait what? That worked?

Alexis blinks, seemingly just as surprised as you. She shuffles with her cookie basket, “Okay.” She says, and then more silence ensues. You nudge her gently and she kickstarts again, “Uh- what flavor do you want?”

“What is good?” He inquires, tilting his head slightly to which Alexis looks at you at the same time you look at her. The two of you share a glance with meaning behind it. And then you’re pulling out boxes and doing what you did best: talking.

With your sales pitch, combined with the genuine occasional comments of Alexis, you end up talking for a whole 20 minutes. By the time you are finished, the man now has an armful of different cookie boxes. Everytime he would so much as make any sort of positive comment, or hum or “I see…” Alexis would silently bring him that flavor and hold it up to him. Too awkward to refuse, he simply took each box.

“Uh- kleines Mädchen- you gave me two of this one…” He says almost timidly at Alexis while you ramble about Trefoils. She stares up at him, unblinking.

“That ones my favorite.” She says simply, as if that explains everything. Konig can't find himself to protest against her absolute deadpan as she settles the box of Adventurfuls in his arms with the rest.

At some point he sat down in his armchair, making it much easier for Alexis to slowly yet surely add to the growing pile of cookies he holds.

“-It's a classic, these are based off of the original girl scout cookie recipe! You just gotta try em Mister- i mean the texture is just to die for-” You let Alexis take the Trefoils from your hands and replace it with a box of thin mints. She slowly and calmly goes to add the Trefoils to the pile.

“Oh! Now this one- lemme tell ya Mister- this is like the girl scout cookie, everyone loves a good thin mint!”

You don't even have to say more about that one before Alexis takes it and puts in his arms, patting the top of the box gently. Then she walks back over to you and holds her basket in both her hands, silent. She's pulling out a sheet of paper from her basket, and a pencil from her pocket, scribbling away as you finish your spiel.

“-And that concludes all the flavors!” He blinks, looking relieved to finally be free, alas you continue, “-Lets see for all that, that’a be…”

You turn towards Alexis who was calculating on her paper and cuts in with a casual, “372 dollars and 46 cents.”

To your delight, he simply shuffles, careful not to let any of the boxes fall as he dejectedly gets his wallet. He pulls out four 100 dollar bills and softly tells you to keep the change, you and Alexis’s eyes are wide as you stare at the money now in your hands. The two of you share a glance and then with your sweetest (now gap toothed) smile, you thank him.

Then with hardly any more words you and Alexis book it out of there, waving goodbye and leaving him stunned. Alexis is just staring at the money with wide, amazed eyes and you are excitedly chatting her ear off.

“Look at that! I can't believe you managed to get such a good sale- oh my god Cherry is gonna flip! You probably got us halfway to our quota already-!”

“I… I did that?” She says in slight amazement, technically you both did, but you'll let your friend have the win on this one.

“Yeah!”

“Yeah…” She says, a small smile growing on her face as you playfully shove her.

“See- i told you this would be worth it.”

She blinks and then looks very concerned all of a sudden. She says your name with a growing horror. You tilt your head, urging her to continue. She gestures to the sun which is starting to fade. Shit. And then the two of you end up frantically pedaling back to town, panickedly laughing all the way. It isn't until you are home and in bed that you remember why the large fellow was so familiar.

He's the guy you threatened to ban from your Pappy's shop a month ago!

[liibility]

my inspo is dying ans its so hard for me to write helppp 😝 anyways more vampire könig

here‘s könig‘s pov

—

The glaring fluorescent lights illuminated his eyes, piercing through you and pinning you in place. Feet rooted to the floor, you couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away from him; instead, you looked back as hard as you could. In them you only found a deep, yawning void. Thin rings of dull grey-blue stared back at you, not a speck of light escaping his pupils. A black hole, indiscriminately swallowing up anything that got too close. Don‘t get too close.

You couldn‘t recall him ever looking so desperate, so… utterly starved.

A shiver traveled along the back of your neck and up into your scalp, pricking each individual strand of hair before dissipating into the air. You knew he posed no threat; you knew this. Even so, something was tugging at you, telling you to run. Run far away, far until he couldn‘t reach you and then some. He was dangerous.

König averted his eyes to the side first, breaking the trance you‘d been in. Your head finally broke the surface of the deep, dark water you‘d been drowning in, and your chest felt tight. Suddenly the room was far too small and his presence far too stifling.

The sound of the door closing echoed in the empty hallway.

[skiplo-wave]

You play COD 🥺?

No 😔 I saw big hunk of beef with bed sheet over his head with miltary gear on and I just

Like König is big tiddy and looks extremely breedable

[neophasiya]

König x fem reader

Pairing: König x y/n

Warnings: Smut, handcuffs, denied

orgasm, degrading,

praising, dom x sub,

slight BDSM.

Word count: ~600

I have to say that it has been a while since I last wrote smut so I'm a little rusty. Anyways hope you enjoy :)

    The best feeling after a long day is having an even longer shower. Especially when you take one with your husband König. You felt his calloused hands roaming your body as the hot water poured all over you. You pressed your ass against him to feel his hard cock already twitching for you. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his hand trailing lower and lower while the other squeezed your breast. Right as his hand reached your core he pinched your nipple and placed a kiss on your neck.  

    You felt his fingers glide inside of you once at a time. He slowly moved his fingers in and out of you. He twisted you so you were facing him and kissed you passionately while curling his fingers inside of you, making you moan his name into your kiss. Königs thumb rubbed your clit while his fingers explored every inch your pussy. You could barely contain your desperate pleas and moans to come as he stopped right as you were about to cum.

    He edged you again and again and again. And some more until you were a hot shivering mess in his hands and he finally let you cum. But you wanted revenge. You slipped out of the shower and seductively signed him to follow you. You closed the door and ran to your closet to look for handcuffs and hid them behind your back. Right as your husband came out of the shower you stuck yourself on him and led him on the bed. You tried to open the cuffs as quietly as possible.

    So after catching your husband by surprise and cuffing him to the headboard you decided to take revenge  and be in control and tease him like you wanted.You grinded on him with your pink folds on his dick making wet and hot sounds. You swirled your hips on him driving him crazy and making him tug on his handcuffs. As you grinded on him you heard his orders and pleas to release him in between his raspy and desperate moans.

"Please y/n. Please release me. Please please please."    

    He squirmed under you .

"Let me free. I need you. I need to touch you. I need to be inside of you. I need to make you scream. Please."

    You ignored him with a smirk and rubbed against him even harder. Right as you were about to reach your high, you heard a loud metallic CLANK and turned your head just in time to see the candcuffs break. König spun you over and began pounding into you from the behind. You tore your surprised eyes away from him and turned your head to bite the pillow as he reached places inside of you that you have never even dared to dream of. The pillow barely muffeling your slutty screams and moans.

     As you were again about come, he stopped and pulled himself out of you. You were about to turn your head at him with a questioning look but before you could, he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him. His lustful icy eyes bore into you as he grabbed the pillow with his other hand and threw it away.

"I want to hear every little sound out of you. I want to make the neighbors complain. I want the whole city to hear those slutty sound that I hear from you right now."

    He groaned in your ear as he rubbed and teased your clit. "Be a good little slut for me, hm?"

    You let out a breathy moan as an answer and earned a breathy "Good girl." whispered in your ear and his dick buried deep inside of you.

    König made you scream and moan as he promised he would. His hands made you move on his dick, using you as his toy, using you only for his satisfaction. Having no regard for you. But he still made you come. He didn't say a word as he pounded you from the behind. Your room was filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin and your pathetic little moans.

[k0rnfl4ke]

Pov: he just figured out what Snapple facts were; now he can’t stop telling you his favorite facts