#könig x female reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Text

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it.

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits.

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong.

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch.

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius.

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight.

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud.

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child.

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader.

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air.

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you.

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream.

And he turns.

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from.

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart.

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him.

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast.

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual.

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . .

You are brought to his tent, screaming.

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock.

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood.

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot.

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should.

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle.

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately.

It’s just that none of them were portents of war.

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless.

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you.

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp.��Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself.

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself.

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?”

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up.

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know.

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen.

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good…

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig #könig cod #konig x reader #könig smut #könig fluff #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig x female reader

3K notes · View notes

rileysluvr · 1 year ago

Text

literally just könig jacking off to you and being delusional idk

He’s tossing and turning in bed, and he can’t seem to get comfortable no matter what he does. He had ditched his shirt after around an hour of staring up at the dark ceiling and feeling like his chest was going to cave in, but the sensation still wouldn’t leave him even after. Like it’s clinging on to every square inch of his body and eating away at him, similar to his tight shirt before being removed, though refusing to dissipate after the multiple attempts in distracting himself.

He’s burning up, and he feels it most beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. He stretches his back and shoulders against his mattress, but it gives him no relief. And he needs that relief, so desperately, he thinks he may just die if he goes another minute longer in this state. The twitching in his muscles with the compulsion that plagues them are far stronger than his mind. He huffs a final exasperation, mutters some broken and degrading swears in German, and ultimately, he gives in.

He swipes his unusually cold palm over his face before dragging it down his chest, trailing across his abdomen and following the wake of soft hair that disappears beneath the peaking waistband of his boxers. His fingertips stretch the band as they dip beneath it, and his breathing is becoming heavier yet weaker, more shaky-like, as they creep closer to where he needs attention the most.

He’s teasing himself, involuntarily and painfully. Perhaps this is his last attempt to allow himself a second thought, think twice before he commits such a dirty act on military grounds. But his mind is far too fuzzy to pay attention, it’s just been so long.

His hand finds his cock, exhaling a shaky breath at the forbidden contact, this is his last chance to turn back. His boxers are growing to be too tight around him, and this time he won’t be able to just put up with it until his thoughts dissipate. He needs release, and soon. It won’t be much, it’s only once, and then he can finally sleep, he convinces himself.

He pulls his boxers down his pelvis, leaving them just below where his hard cock is now free. He wraps his fist around his base, fingers enveloping each vein that bulges with desperation. He groans ever so softly, jaw slacked and eyes closed as goosebumps coat his chest and arms. It’s mere seconds before his mind is plummeting into uncontrollable thoughts and damned-worthy desires.

It’s your hand, he’s already imagining. It’s your smaller fingers around his cock, not enough to compensate for his size but still a hundred-times better than any fist could work. He knows you’d make it work. You’re clever like that, far more than he is.

It’s your thighs straddling his as your arm moves up and down at an excruciating pace. He needs your weight on him so fucking bad, preferably on his shoulders and face as he’d hold you down on his mouth. Fuck, he needs to taste you so bad.

It’s your voice that would talk him through it, command him on what to do until he’s broken down to the young, naive, want-to-be soldier he once was. He’ll do anything you say. He’ll walk through Hell and back if you tell him to. Hand on his heart, honest to whatever god may be out there. Smack him around.

Anything you say.

And it’s him who would satisfy your every want with unending diligence to thank you. Just fucking use him, already.

He couldn’t shake the thought, no matter how hard he tried.

No matter how dirty he felt imagining his coworker in such a position, rather than a woman of what he thinks his type should be, or even an actress from a porn magazine. No matter how unlikely it was that he’d have a chance with you, it’s downright embarrassing. And no matter how heavy that guilt sat in his gut, his fist only squeezes tighter with his strokes, retaining that languid speed that has him gritting his teeth.

You flood his mind and you don’t even know the magnitude of it because you’re just a girl living your, perhaps slightly unconventional, life in the military, and he’s the coworker that people only look twice at to check if, yes, he really is that tall.

Flashes of your face, and that pretty body of yours in the most innocent of outfits, refuse to quit their tormenting of his mind, and here he was, fucking his fist to them at night like a desperate dog. He wants to see how your skin would contrast his pale and heavily scarred exterior, and how you would surely take him from his comfort zone and make him a better man.

He swipes his thumb over the head of his cock with a broken whine, collecting his pre and spreading it down his shaft as far as it goes; fuck, he’s so sensitive, and he just needs more. He can hear your voice in the back of his mind, conceptualizing what you would say as you guide him past his threshold. You’d be so sweet on him, just as you always are on the rare occasion you’re put in a position together where talking seemed the best option for pastime. You really are just perfectly perfect all around, he thinks, and he wants you to know it, so bad.

You’re too good for him, you’re too striking. Truthfully, while the thought of you taking care of him in his most vulnerable state has him thirsting like a dog and bucking his hips up into nothing but a mangled hand and cold air, he knows that’s not him. No, he needs to be of service, one way or another.

He knows he’d be on his knees in front of you, on the ground you walk on, looking up at you with big eyes as he’d place kisses all up and down your bare thighs, careful not to ruin your clothes. He’d worship every part of your body until all you knew was utter admiration, though he doubts you’ve ever gone a day without being honored for your being.

How could any man not leap at the opportunity to praise your every step in life, especially if you’ve taken him to bed?

He actually whines out into the empty space of his quarters, face all beet red and eyes bleary from surprising himself with such an act. Self-deprecating whispers linger in the back of his mind and will remain for when he’s later clearheaded, but for now, the only thing he can think to do is continue fisting his sensitive cock to the notion of being with you.

He’d let you mold him to whatever you wanted, he’d beg you to ride his face and get yourself off with his assistance. He wants to get drunk on your pussy, he knows he would. He knows you’d taste better than anything he has ever had, and he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop himself once he starts unless you say something. Punish him, even, for not doing it right or knowing both of your limits because he’s just such a hungry, greedy whore who only wants more, more, and more.

Should you ever let him into your life, he’d be better off quitting his job and dedicating his future to just making you feel so good and so loved, and so, so proud of him. He wants to hear you call him a good boy, maybe even a loyal slut. Etch it into his skull so he could never forget, as if that’d ever be possible.

He’d fuck you in any position you’d like, and he means any.

Lay on your back, legs spread and just begging for him to bury his face in your cunt, and he’ll listen like the good boy he is until you’re beyond satisfied. Stretch it out to hours if you please; the man has stamina that would put any gold-medalist to shame, and never once in his life, has he been a quitter.

“i’m good, i promise i am… i’ll be a good boy for you, please.”

Pin him to the mattress and ride him until he can’t think or speak, use him to reach your own high while taking him for all that he has because that’s all he’s there for, is to make you feel good. The strictest soldier would turn to putty under your hold.

“das ist—…s’too much, ich flehe dich—ngh—! bitte, bitte—”

Pull him into an abandoned building and make him fuck you on the cold, hard floor despite being at work, on the job. He would jeopardize even the highest value of intel for a piece of you.

“i’ll do anything, i swear… i’ll be quiet, i-i’ll let you use me… jus’ wanna make you feel good. it’ll make me feel good, too.”

Either way, he’s going to end up on his knees once again and, if you allowed, watch his pearly cum drip from your puffy cunt before taking two of his fingers and pushing it back in, words and babbles of endless praise slipping from his lips as he imagines the idea of starting his own little family with you.

His abdomen feels tighter just thinking of it, you, and his hand with a lethargic pace around his cock. His breathing is jagged, ruthlessly so, and it picks up when his fist does as well. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, dying whimpers spilling from his lips. Your name, as well, and he’s blushing more violently then ever. You’ve got a spell on him; he’s all yours, if you want.

Christ, what would you say to him right now? Scold him, berate him. Even slap him for jerking off to the mental image of you without your permission, and edge him until he cries like an abandoned baby. Call him pathetic and promise him he’ll never, ever have a chance because he is such a coward, and all.

Oh, but you’re just so sweet on him. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard you swear, let alone insult someone. You go to such great lengths to lighten the mood, make people feel so safe and welcome around you. And your fucking laugh, Christ, your giggles are always music to his ears. Anything that isn’t praise would sound far too foreign in your voice for him to compute. With those soft, plump lips at his ear, cooing him through his high he’s gonna reach so early, so fucking soon— fuck, he's…

He’s gonna—

A soft knocking on his door causes his hand to stop and eyes to shoot open, lightly gasping for air as he was pulled just seconds away from his orgasm. He’s frozen, dead in his tracks, and he waits for it to happen again to make sure he wasn’t just hearing things. The one time, he succumbs to his perverse hankerings.

A few seconds go by before he hears the knocking once more, this time sure it was for him. He swiftly sits up and then stands, shoving his cock in his boxers and pulling his pants back up. He leans down to grab his shirt, pulling it over his big head, introducing a new type of discomfort from before due to the cold sweat he broke coating his chest. He’s reaching for his helmet when there’s a voice coming from the other side of the door, and the hardened soldier nearly jumps in surprise.

“König?”

Oh, fuck. His entire body tenses up at the wake of your voice. Outside his room, right now, when he was just fucking his fist to the image of you. He couldn’t begin to describe or label what he’s feeling, but it’s something along the lines of utter shame and mortification. He mutters a quick and defeated curse under his breath, aggression only aimed at himself.

You’re speaking up again before he even has time to think, granted his mind was spinning and he was making no move to answer you. He’s frozen, stuck in space. Time seemed to race by him without warning, and he hated it.

“Are you awake?”

Your voice is gentle, as always, and so quiet in order to not wake anyone else in the corridor. He’s surprised he could understand you so well, then again, he’d recognize your voice from a klick away.

Could you hear him from outside his door? He wouldn’t ever be able to recover. His hard cock twitches in his pants at the thought of being caught in the act of jerking off to you, and he shakes his head, fighting back the groan boiling in his chest at the simple, yet so fucking intricate, idea of it. He’s a mess.

He decides against the hood, which would most likely prove a mistake as he could literally feel the heat exuding from his face. He knows his hair is a sore sight and his clothes are wrinkled beyond repair. You’ve ruined him, and you don’t even know it.

He swallows thickly as he trudges over to the door, attempting to clear his throat and stabilize his breathing, and his hot palm lands on the screaming door handle.

#cod mw2 #könig #könig x reader #könig x fem reader #könig x female reader #könig smut #könig mw2 #könig cod

4K notes · View notes

konigsblog · 8 months ago

Note

So you think konig is more into heavier set women or is he more into skinny women

(Reader's body type is described as plus-size in one drabble and petite in the other.)

König doesn't have a specific body type at all. He doesn't care. He can appreciate both body types and worship the feet beneath them, admire and love on them.

With a heavier woman (especially one with curves) he can't keep his hands off of you, especially your stomach and thighs. He can feel the curve of your soft rear against his hard bulge, the way you press up against him in bed while spooning. He can't focus on anything but the weight against his bulge, causing his cock to harden and twitch, stiffening at the thoughts rushing through his perverted mind.

During sex with a heavier woman, his large and calloused hands will wander. He'll go from cupping your face and cooing at you, to spreading his hands over your stomach while pounding into you. He'll breathe in the scent of your flowery perfume and the smell of your arousal from between your thighs. With a woman who has larger thighs, he won't be able to control his urges to thigh fuck you, or if you have larger breasts, he won't be able to stop himself from cumming all over them during a blowjob. He loves to show off his ownership by cumming all over you, occasionally pulling out to spread his load over your stomach.

With a skinnier woman, König fantasies about fucking you in strange positions. He wants to put you into a position where it shows him your entire body and allows him to guide you through it, like during cowgirl. König thrives off of the sight of you rocking your hips back and forth, bouncing on his weeping dick. With a woman who has smaller breasts, he'll tug and toy with your nipples. He enjoys inflicting pain onto your small nipples, groping them while biting your hardened nubs with his teeth while sucking them.

He likes to fling you around the place, to easily undress you and push you against the wall, or to flip you around onto your stomach between rounds where you're forced to accept every inch until your tight cunt is soaking and you're babbling and mewling. With a skinnier woman, he'll admire the visibility of his hard, thick cock through your stomach and the bulge it creates. Your size difference always gets him worked up, until he's a pussy drunk asshole who can't stop cumming all over himself, his fingers deep in your cunt while jerking off lazily.

#könig x female reader #könig x petite reader #könig x plus size reader #konig x reader #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #könig #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig x you #cod konig #konig #konig call of duty #cod x reader smut #cod x reader #size difference #orla speaks #cod

691 notes · View notes

l0v3tast3 · 2 years ago

Note

Konig with a reader who has a hard time fingering herself :( either her position isn't good, she's always too tight or she's nervous, or a combo of all (obvi she's virgin too). So Konig helps her out. If you could include some age gap and praise kink too <3

this is such a good request anon the daddy issues. they are absolutely issuing rn but it's good for the writing lmao thank u for the request !!! <3

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, f!reader, virgin!reader, no penetrative s3x, age gap (r is 20's, könig is mid-40's), fluff, softdom!könig, praise kink, size kink, size difference, abuse of pet names, dirty talk,

✎ word count: 1.8k words (not proofread)

✎ translations: "hase" = bunny , "mein kleiner hase" = my little bunny "mein schatz" = my darling/sweetheart "mein herz" = my heart , "liebling" = darling

masterlist | requests are open!

✧ ˖ ° könig, who is usually pretty good at hiding his emotions when need be, has a look of pure shock when you meekly ask your request of him. you're instantly apologizing when you dare a look up at him, trying to back away from his hold where he has you on his lap. you'd been making out (könig felt like he was transported back to a much better version of high school) slow and passionate; he was more than willing to be patient for as long as you wanted. just holding your little body against him, having you in his lap, seeing your face light up whenever he comes into your view is more than enough.

✧ ˖ ° as you lightly squirm he collects you back against him, yelling at himself internally while he tries to rectify your panic. "hase, come here, of course i will help you," he whispers. könig runs his hands over your back, rubbing your sides and up to your shoulders and neck, coming to a stop to cup your face. "of course i will. mein schatz, i would do anything to make you feel good. such a good girl, asking me so nicely for help." you stop moving finally, looking up at him as if you were surprised he actually agreed. as if you were surprised that he actually wants to do this (like he hadn't wanted to do this and so much more ever since he first saw you).

✧ ˖ ° he picks you up and you yelp, distracted by your surprise of seeing what everything looks like from your boyfriend's height. soon enough he's placing you down on his bed, sitting behind you and helping you to lean your back against his chest and between his legs. könig can feel how nervous you are. it's why he calls you his little bunny, because you're so skittish at the slightest touch, so reactive to anything he does or even says, and he adores it.

✧ ˖ ° so he takes it slow. he prefers it that way, being able to take the time to remind himself not to overwhelm you too much and mapping every inch of new skin you let him feel. könig bends down to kiss you again while he runs his hands as softly as he knows how to down your arms and over your stomach and sides, slowly pushing up the hem of your shirt.

✧ ˖ ° "mein kleiner hase," he separates from your lips but doesn't go far, trailing down your cheek and jaw to your neck. "you always look so sweet here in my arms, so precious. you'll let me help you, won't you, liebling?" könig whispers, his hands slowly undoing the buttons and zipper of your jeans. he can feel your nervousness, the grip on his forearms tightening bit by bit the closer he got to your core, so he waits to help you take off your pants until you nod and mumble out a little "please, könig," in an adorably meek voice.

✧ ˖ ° he rubs his huge hands over your thighs and hips and stomach telling you that you need to ease into it, go slow and build the anticipation. you're already on the verge of panting, your breath catching whenever his fingertips graze underneath the edges of the cute underwear you wore just for him. again könig asks if he can take them off, and when you squeak out an "mhm" he presses a kiss to your cheek and more to your shoulder while he leans over to drag your underwear down your legs.

✧ ˖ ° könig already has the sensitive parts of most of your body memorized; where you're ticklish, where you don't want him to touch, and where he gets the cutest reactions out of you from. so he utilizes this (very valuable) information to help you relax. he can feel how tense your back is, how your little hands try to wrap around his forearms. he can see you fighting not to clamp your thighs shut altogether. and of course he doesn't want to overwhelm you, so he'll stay away from where your legs meet while he swallows the spit he wants to cover your cunt with. your shirt is edged up and your bra is carefully undone, any newly uncovered skin traced over with his calloused hands.

✧ ˖ ° it's not long before he has you melting against him, breath coming quick and thighs creeping open centimeter by centimeter. as he murmurs praises of how sweet and pretty you are for him, his fingers creep nearer to the tops of your thighs and further down. könig is certain that you're already soaked. he knows he can go on and start doing what you asked of him- but the way your body responds to him, the gasps he has to strain to hear, it's too much not to savor.

✧ ˖ ° your hips start bucking up nearly on their own and you mewl out another "please- könig, need your help". as soon as you tilt your head back to look up at him with glazed, pleading eyes, he's lifting your thighs over his own and locking them apart with his legs. before you can look away his hand is gently holding your chin to keep eye contact, his other hand getting closer achingly slowly to where you want him. "you are so beautiful, mein schatz," he breathes, his thumb rubbing soothingly over your cheek. "how did i get so lucky to be able to call you mine, hmm?"

✧ ˖ ° with hungry, lidded eyes könig watches how your back arches just as his middle finger brushes over your clit. your eyes grow wider as his finger dips lower to feel just how wet you are, his chest rising and falling heavier now. "it doesn't feel good when you do this yourself?" the question nearly goes unanswered when he rubs slow circles into the tiny bundle of nerves, your breath stuttering in your chest. you manage to shake your head a little bit, still being held by him. "so sensitive, just for me then. scheiße, what am i going to do with you, hase? how could i handle such a sweet little girl?"

✧ ˖ ° you whine when he stops paying attention to your clit, but it's cut off when he's bringing up his hand and pushing his middle and index finger past your swollen lips. könig can feel how his cock throbs in his pants as you coat them with your spit, a trail linking from your mouth once he pulls his hand away and goes back down; the image of you on your knees for him is so much more vivid now.

✧ ˖ ° könig makes damn sure he memorizes every movement of every muscle, every noise and expression you make as he pushes his middle finger into your impossibly tight pussy. he nearly moans with you as he sinks it in further. the first thought that comes to mind is that he has no idea how he's going to fit his dick inside of you without hurting you, but his second thought is that he's determined to figure it out. you, on the other hand, can already feel a fog settling over your brain, your thoughts focusing on the new feeling of pleasure and trying your best to keep eye contact with him still. it's just so hard when you can feel your face burning, see his dark eyes taking in everything you give him, but his feather-light grip on your jaw doesn't budge.

✧ ˖ ° of course he'll talk you through it all, pressing kisses across your face and shoulders every so often. "you are doing so well for me, mein herz, so gorgeous like this. does it feel good, liebling? you already look so messy and i've hardly done anything to you- ha, i wish i could keep you like this, such a pretty girl." könig can feel how much you tighten up even more around his digit with every praise and he watches you try to grind down to get him deeper as he pumps it in and out. "you want more, hm? do you think you can handle another finger? your pussy is so tiny, it's a wonder even one can fit," he murmurs, turning your head and leaning down to graze his lips against yours.

✧ ˖ ° when you manage another nod of your head könig meets his lips with yours, swallowing your pitched moan as he adds another finger to stretch you further. your gentle giant was right: you're a mess already. nails digging into his defined arms and leaving puffy red lines, body squirming as an unfamiliar, overbearing heat builds in your stomach. it spreads to your thighs and up into your chest, your arms and your head, becoming so hot that it's nearly overwhelming. you separate from his lips with a gasp, one dainty hand coming up to desperately grab at the hair on the back of his neck. könig takes in the dew drops pricking at your waterline, how your back arches and you grab at him for some kind of purchase.

✧ ˖ ° the hand still under your jaw rubs your cheek reassuringly before it's snaking down to join the other and he starts pressing kisses into your neck again, whispering more sweet words in your ear. "you take my fingers so prettily, mein kleiner hase, are you going to cum? it's okay, i'll take care of you. cum for me mein schatz."

✧ ˖ ° könig's free hand runs down your soft stomach until his fingertips reach your clit, once again rubbing in circles while he curls the two digits dragging in and out of you. it only takes a moment for your wail to turn into sharp gasps, your trembling body going taught as all the tension he'd built inside you snapped, pleasure you've never felt before flooding through your body. könig watches you shake in his hold; he's sure it's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen, the best thing he's ever felt. he feels blessed to be able to make you cum like this. the pre-cum gradually leaving a stain on his pants isn't even on his mind while he works you through your orgasm.

✧ ˖ ° he'll stop once your hips start twitching and little whines escape under heavy breath, ghosting his hands over your body to slowly bring your thighs back over his legs and massage out any soreness in the muscles. "you did so wonderful, mein herz, what a good girl i have," he'll murmur between sweet kisses. "i am so proud of you for asking for my help, you'll always ask for my help from now on, won't you, hase?"

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #konig #konig x reader #konig x female reader #konig x you #könig #könig x reader #könig x female reader #reader insert #call of duty smut #cod smut #konig smut #könig smut #— lilly writes! ♡#— ask!

3K notes · View notes

vampdes · 2 years ago

Text

( cw. quick drabble, makeout sesh. könig & reader. grinding / dry humping. + google translate german used. )

“mmh! schatz, wai—”, könig and you had a mission no less than four hours from now. both of you knew that, if the two of you were caught by price, again, only god knows how he’d reprimand the two of you this time. [t. sweetheart.]

but könig’s lips were so distracting. they were full, his upper lip being a soft pink and his lower lip being rose pink, with a scar on the left side. if he didn’t want makeout sessions all the time, why would he put on a show just for you?

“jus’—fuck, hands on my hips, babe.” you said between kisses, placing his gloved hands on your hips before going back to gripping his hair and grinding against his cargo pants.

“too—engel, engel–gott, ich werde— zu viel!” he cried, squeezing his legs shut after you had pulled his swollen lips away from yours. [t. angel, angel–god, i’m gonna—too much!]

you grinned, wiping away the stray tears from his tear-stained cheeks, “we have . . a little longer, yeah?”.

“liebe, trainin’—hah, ah!”. you pressed your hand against his mouth, you motioned for him to be quiet as you unbuckled his belt. könig bit his lower lip, nodding slightly as he watched you place his belt on top of the duffel bag. “we—training, though, the mi–oh, god–the mission!” you situated yourself on top of his lap before tilting your head. [t. love.]

“we have time. three hours and some minutes, [we] won’t be late like last time, swear.” you mumbled, pressing kisses against his jaw whilst slowly grinding against the crotch of his black briefs. könig nodded slowly, his mind becoming clouded by his urges, “we—yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, agreeing, his hands going underneath your shirt and situating on your waist.

you pressed soft kisses against his adam’s apple to which he tipped his head back with a soft groan. “yes—we definitely . . hah, we definitely have more time.” könig whispered, licking his lips before smiling and gently pressing his lips against yours.

2K notes · View notes

victoria-grimesss · 1 year ago

Text

tear you apart - part III

Part one: here Part two: here

masterlist

-> Pairing: König x fem!reader

-> Words: 4.1k

-> Warning: MDNI!, the mask stays ON, unprotected sex, semi-rough sex, König is a giver and a worshiper, some jealousy, mushy feelings, fluff, things are getting cute!!

-> A/N: thank you 100 followers yippee!! masterlist is in the works, let me know if you like the direction this is going and I'm open for any storyline suggestions :)

You were standing in the courtyard, skipping breakfast today since you just weren’t feeling it.

The ice on the ground had recently been salted so you didn’t slip this time around. The mountain-scape to the north of the base was picturesque and you enjoyed coming out to this area for seclusion and clean air.

You slipped on a thick black scarf today to conceal the evidence of last night and to help with the fact the heating unit in your dorm section went out overnight so you made sure to bundle up extra. It would have been easier to warm up if König was in bed with you but alas he wasn't.

It was the morning after your rendezvous with König and to say you were sore was an understatement. The marks he left were scorched on your skin. It pained you to drag yourself to the shower after that night, washing away the smell of him on you. You examined yourself afterward and he was not delicate with his placement. Dark purple marks dotted your jawline and down your neck. Teeth marks are evident too. Purple painted your hips in the same shape of his fingers and if you concentrated hard enough you could still feel his grasp on you. You thought deeply of that night as you took in a deep breath of cold air, butterflies danced in your stomach and the embers of that night flickered within you.

“Hey Y/N!! Funny seeing you here!” Bennet, one of the new recruits you befriended recently, was walking toward you while warming his hands. He was alright looking, he would be handsome if your brain wasn't already preoccupied replaying the unholy things König had done to you the previous night and thinking of the other things he could do to you.

“It’s quite cold out here, you actually like it?” He has that picturesque crest bright white smile and he's clean shaven, his eyes stay locked on your lips for a bit too long and you shuffle your feet bringing the scarf up to your mouth to breath heat into it.

“I don’t mind it, it's refreshing out here. Easy to relax, gets a bit much inside sometimes.”

He laughs, it’s light and he's everything opposite of konig. He's soft where König is hard, and light where he is deep.

“Not used to such close quarters? It’s not all that bad right? Pretty girls like you make it much easier.”

Oh.

He's flirting.

You assumed he wasn't out here for friendly conversation after all, I guess he didn't hear word of the noises coming from the colonel's office the other night and that someone had seen you exit.

“Look Bennet-”

“Enjoying the weather?” His voice booms as the door slams open, his shoulders are back and his head held high. You’ve become conditioned into becoming tense with anticipation just at the sound of his voice.

He walks over, you wonder how long he was watching before he busted out of the door, did he see Bennet flash his hollywood smile at you like a bird flashes his feather during courting season? He seems wound up, tense and his eyes are dark.

Bennet straightens his back, greeting his superior, not knowing of the connection the two of you have. Your eyes bounce between the two.

“Colonel sir, I was just speaking to my friend Y/N-”

“Were you now? I could swear you had-” he moves his arm, his sleeve slipping from his watch and he brings the watch to his face. “-Bathroom and laundry duty at about this hour, soldier? Or am I mistaken?” König stands at his full height, towering over Bennet and bringing both arms to cross his chest.

“No, sir you’re not I was just-”

“You will do your job and do as you're told, you'd be best to stick to it yea?” He’s mean and gritty but you like it. He asserts his authority without forgiveness and you assume that's why he has the rank and position he does. His gaze never leaves Bennet, the other man shrinking under his spotlight.

“Yes, of course sir.” Bennet shuffles off, your gaze is on the door he left in and the courtyard is silent. There's a long pause and it feels like time has frozen.

You hear König take a deep inhale and slowly release the exhale.

Then he turns his body so it faces you completely.

He’s equipped himself with all his gear today and he looks massive as usual.

“Mein süßes Mädchen you look lovely today.”

“König, that was quite crass how you treated Bennet, he's a friend of mine.”

His eyes visibly roll,

“I know you come out here to clear your heads and for that you need solitude my love.”

“Well you’re out here so I can't clear my head now can I?”

“I thought my company would be enriching for your experience.” His eyes crinkle and you meet them, admiring how the black paint around his eyes makes his blue eyes brighter.

“Your company is always very enriching.” You mean this in more than one way of course. If the others at base knew that you talked so casually with the colonel they would be shocked, yes he can be intimidating when needed but sometimes he is sweet.

“You certainly seemed to enjoy your visit to my office, I hope the grand tour met your standards.”

“They most definitely did, and then some.” You blush, bringing the scarf to your mouth again to warm yourself.

He tilts his head at your action.

“You hide the marks I gave to you?”

“Well, I’m not sure you wanted the others to know that we’re ya know… sleeping together.”

He scoffs,

“I would love everyone to see them, it is a visible mark of my admiration to you, my loyalty to you. If others have problems with it they can take it up with me yea?”

His hand makes its way to your cheek and he cups it in his palm, your eyes close and admire the way you can easily sink into his touch so easily.

He moves his hand from your cheek to the scarf, unraveling it and he takes a deep breath when he reveals the many marks he scattered on you. The scarf stays in his grasp and he takes your chin in his grasp with his forefinger and thumb turning your heads up to him. His eyes are dark again as he looks upon you.

“You are beautiful, I will only be upset for a moment when these marks vanish because it gives me a reason to scatter you with even more next time.”

His romantic words never fail to erupt butterflies within you and you are still astonished at how he can be such different men, a violent soldier, a soft romantic, and a starved lover.

He clears his throat, hands moving from your chin to your shoulder and down your arm until he gathers your hand in his. He moves your hand under his mask and kisses your fingers gently, his eyes never leaving yours and you get a feel for his lips on your skin and you shiver but not from the cold this time.

“It pains me to leave you Schatz but I will see you later, don't go messing around with other boys alright? They’re no good for you.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” You smile and part ways, this day could not go any slower.

—

Never had you had a hard time concentrating before, you’re a trained soldier and damn good at your job, you’ve taken out squads of men with no alarm raised or suspicion drawn but the only thing on your mind as you’re in the gym is König. König, König, König. He’s like a parasite, digging and infesting in your brain, ruining all other men and options for you. It's only him now.

You try to avoid the stares in the gym, the workout top you wear hides very little of the bruises and lingering teeth marks and you just try to tune out the side eyes and lingering looks.

As your workout ends you make your way to the locker-room and Bennet once again invades your vision.

“Hey Y/N- oh shit, someone really did a number on you! Didn't know a girl like you was into all that.” He winks and his eyes are only on the marks not looking you in the eyes.

“Oh these, yea well ya know how it is, girls got needs.” You give a halfhearted laugh just wanting to shower.

“Oh I know very well, if you ever need help with those needs I can definitely help you with those.” He's smirking and you grow sour at these unwanted words, about to tell him off when a hand slams onto his shoulder.

“I appreciate your concern, but her needs are well taken care of in my hands, right Schatz.” He always comes to you right when you need him and his eyes are so dark and his grip on Bennet’s shoulder is so tight the clothes are heavily wrinkled under his hand. Bennet’s eyes are wide as they race from you to König.

“I-um I didn't know you were with him.”

“It’s an honest mistake, she’s a very pretty girl and a wonderful lover. I am extremely lucky to have her. But I’ll let you know if you ever speak to her in this manner again I won't hesitate to crush you alright?”

Bennet's face has gone pale and he scurries off once König releases him, holding his shoulder as he leaves.

“König.”

“Come with me.”

He gives no room for argument. He grabs your hands and whisks you away out of the gym. You have to walk at double speed to keep up with his pace.

“König, I need to shower.” You try to protest but he keeps walking.

“I will have you as you are, you think a little sweat will deter me?” His voice is deep and you know seeing another man pester you twice in the same day has sparked some kind of primal urge within him. You have no complaints either way.

“Where are we going?” The twists and turns of the base make you dizzy and he moves with such speed you've gone into a trace following him blindly just watching the way he knows this place like the back of his hand.

“Quiet, you'll know soon enough.”

People sure have a staring problem around here because they stare you down as he leads you down the halls.

You finally reach the door and he opens it and ushers you in quickly closing it and slamming you against the door.

Your heart is racing again as it does when he's around and his hands can't seem to be still upon you; they trace the lengths of your hips to your waist, bringing you closer to him each time.

“Meine Taube forgive me but I must have you, you understand right? All of them stare, they wish to be in my position but I know none of them could touch you as I do, feel you as I do.”

You stare through your lashes up at him and he discards his helmet leaving his mask and the rest of his gear on.

“I would never have anyone as how I have you, how I let you have me.”

He groans, leaning over you and his head rests on your shoulder before he lifts his mask just above the peak of his nose, exposing his jaw and lips to you. You’re left silenced and before you can think to utter a sound his lips crash to yours and he consumes your moans and whines as if he's starved.

His hands become crazed and he holds your hips and lifts you so you wrap your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck.

He groans as he grinds his hips into yours, your back pressed against the door and your hand wanders under his mask from behind and you grip his hair tugging it forcefully. He pulls back from your lips at that moment and you get a good look at his lips. They're parted and kiss swollen, he's panting and the stubble on his jawline sends another wave of heat downwards.

He smirks and you can see the sharpness of his canine teeth, you can practically feel them already.

“See something you like?” You meet his eyes and your face darkens.

“I see a lot of things I like.”

His mouth crashes back onto yours and he continues his assault until he locks his lips onto your neck once again biting, licking, and sucking with no abandonment. You throw your head back, hitting the door but you feel no pain or really anything besides him and the heat radiating from between your legs.

“Lets get the prinzessin somewhere more comfortable yea?” He carries you the distance to his bed and in the short walk you see he has a much bigger bed than provided to the rest of the troops, makes sense, you doubt he can even fit into the regular sized ones. His bedding looks comfortable, the bed made neatly and everything in his room is neat and pristine. Up to code.

He lays you down onto the bed and you sink into it, you nearly moan at how comfortable it is.

“Not fair you get such a comfortable mattress and I’m subjected to a damn near plywood board.”

He laughs in between kisses as he unbuttons your shirt.

“Liebling you will never see your bed again, I must implore you spend your nights in mine.”

He sucks and kisses down your chest reaching behind you and undoing your bra clasp with one hand and throwing it far across the room.

“I-I would have a much better time sleeping here. I wouldn't mind that.”

“We wouldn't do much sleeping.”

Oh. So bold.

You throw your head back as he cups one breast and latches his mouth to the other.

“I’m sorry my love, I didn't get to indulge you in this last time.” He kisses again. “But I swear no where will be left untouched on you, I’ll have to be killed to be parted from you.”

You hands grasp anywhere they can as he continues his ministrations and you grasp his shirt.

“Take this off, now.”

He leans back on his knees and stares down at you, eyes heavy with lust.

“Your wish is my command.” He strips himself of the chest gear and shirt in record time and his chest is heaving as he leans atop of you again. His dog tags dangling over you, catching the spare light in the room. His mouth kisses down your stomach, the cool metal of the tags freezing after his searing lips, and unbuttons your pants sliding the zipper down with his teeth. You feel his hot breath on the front of your panties and the sight of him is ponographic.

“Oh god König I’m going to fucking explode if you dont hurry it the fuck up.” You groan and twist your hips to get him to do something, anything.

“Schatz you are too hasty, you are like artwork. I need to admire you as you are and appreciate what lies before me. Be patient and you will be heavily rewarded.” He strips your pants off maintaining eye contact the whole time and kisses from the band of your panties all the way back to your lips and he kisses sweetly this time touching the now exposed thighs and places his whole hand on your heat cupping it in his hand and he groans once more.

“You make my self control crumble you know that?” He traces his fingers up and down your core sliding your panties to the side to continue the motion.

“I cannot help myself when I’m around you, you could say the most awful things to me and I would still kiss the ground you walk on.”

“I would never say anything mean to you König, never.” He kisses your lips and you bite his lower lip as he leans back.

“I know you wouldn't, that's why I keep you all to myself.”

He slips a finger in and you clench around him, growing hotter and panting heavier. You move a hand down his broad expansive chest, scars littering it as proof of the man he is, of the hard work he's done. You cup him as well, stroke him over his pants and he sucks in a breath his movements of his fingers stutter.

“Liebling, Scheiße”

You look at him innocently as you unbutton and unzip his pants, releasing him from his boxers and taking him in your hand.

“What? I’m not doing anything.” You smile and stroke him lightly, his hips thrust into your hand and his eyes lock onto yours like you're treading thin ice.

Your thumb circles the tip collecting the leak that sprouts from him and he shudders again.

His fingers work on you faster and your hand gets uncoordinated on him and your vision starts to go hazy.

He hums, clearly pleased with his work on you.

“What wrong soldier, having trouble concentrating?” He laughs and you don't hear him anymore as you reach your peak, your hand that's not gripping him carving nail marks into his shoulder.

He draws two more orgasms from you with his fingers alone, you can imagine his fingers are pruned now with how soaked he's managed to make you. Your mind has been melted, remolded and melted again. You had let go of your grasp on him to hold tightly to his shoulder but he didn't seem to care, his mind was only on preparing you for the main event. His tip was leaking and had made a sizable puddle on your midsection.

“You think you’re ready for me now mein liebling?” He holds himself in his hand tracing the tip across your core and you scoot yourself closer to him trying to inch him in, he holds you hip in place.

“You heard me? You ready my dear?”

“Yes König, just get on with it, I can't wait any longer.”

“Of course my love.” He leans down to capture your lips and at the same time your tongues meet he enters you and it's the most lovely feeling you've ever felt. A tear slips down your cheek and if the sun exploded right now you would have no care in the world.

He sinks fully and brushes hair from your face, kissing your cheek and moves his hips out then back in to start a good rhythm. You both groan at the initial feeling and your hands move under his mask that has now dropped back down over his face to cup his jawline. He moves his head in your hand and kisses your palm, his eyes heavy on you, eyelids droopy and pupils dilated so wide his eye color would be perceived as black and not their original blue color.

You moan softly and the hand that was braced holding himself has moved to your hip and you look between the two of you and observe the way you connect. You can feel the coil in your stomach start to tighten up once again. König is insatiable, he dives into your heat with no sign of stopping, each breath whine and moan that escapes your lips only adds to his stamina and pleasure. He starts to speed his thrusts and the metal bars of the bed start a rhythmic banging against the wall, if you weren't so drunk off of him right now you would feel back for the neighbor but you don't care right now and can only think of König as he fills your vision. The new marks on your body sting and the way he grips your hip has you dripping on him and you can hear the evidence and you know he can too.

“You are a goddess incarnate, you know that. Like a siren I am drawn back to you each time I leave you. You pull me back into you so deliciously I cannot ever leave, I could spend all eternity inside you and never grow bored.”

His words tighten the coil within you even more and you throw your head back, drawing more and more like into his back and he growls.

“Yes Liebling, use me to express your pleasure, take it out on me and I shall give it back to you a thousand times. I can feel you getting closer, do not hold back on me.”

He's harsh now with his movements and he's getting closer too, he's moved your legs to his shoulder and he's delved even deeper into you and you nearly, no you do scream his name, and it's loud.

“König, I'm close, don't stop.” He continues his abuse and his thrusts grow unrhythmic. He bends over you, your head is thrashing side to side as you near your limit and he holds your head steady in his large grip making you look straight at him. His dog tags sway in front of your vision like a metronome keeping you in this trance-like state of euphoria.

“Look at me. Good girl, go ahead and make a mess.” He fucks you through your orgasm and he follows right behind you, thrusting deep and you both are locked in a gaze.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you take a deep breath in and let it out, deflating under his gaze and your brain feels mushy.

König shifts, “My love, darling.”

He snaps his fingers in front of your face. His eyes crinkled again and if his eyes could be heart shaped they definitely would be right about now.

“There she is.” He places your legs back on the bed and removes himself carefully kissing you hard on the lips and again on the cheek before he gets up and once again cleans you up, he's topless but in the heat of the moment he never did take off his boots or pants.

“Thank you.” You say, your voice horse as he's cleaning you up and providing you with clean panties and one of his shirts to wear.

“You don't need to thank me darling, I enjoy taking care of you. You truly deserve it.”

You get up and change into his shirt, it pools on you but it smells of him.

“Beautiful, you should wear my clothes more often.” He watches you like a hawk as you stumble to the bathroom, legs feeling like jelly.

“If shirts 5x my size were part of the military dress code I would take your words into consideration.”

You hear him laugh as you close the bathroom door and relieve yourself, looking in the mirror you look utterly destroyed, you smooth over your hair and splash your face with water, taking the time to brush your teeth as well.

His bathroom is pristine and smells like citrus, another green flag, he knows how to keep clean.

“I used your toothbrush if that’s alright.” You stop in your tracks, he's striped down to only his boxers and mask. He’s built like a greek god but he’s got some thickness along with his muscle you assume at his age he's just grown more sturdy.

“You’re going to catch flies if you keep your mouth open like that, lay with me. Relax.” He’s laid back on a pillow, only the light of his bedside lamp illuminates the room and he's made a small nest of pillows on your side.

You nestle yourself in the crook of his arm and he wraps his arm around you kissing the top of your head and humming softly a song you don't know.

“Did you mean those things you said, it wasn't just your brain turned to sex mode right?” You beat yourself a bit for plaguing him with the job of reassuring you of his feelings but you want to know his feelings are true.

His hold on you gets a bit tighter.

“I have never felt more sure about something in my life, you have come into my life so suddenly and I will move mountains to keep you in it. I told you I will worship the ground you walk on so let me show you.” He kisses your face in multiple places and all your worries melt away with his touch.

His words glaze over your brain like honey and butterflies erupt from it in droves, you have never even seen this man's full face yet you are so sure you would devote yourself fully to him as he says he will do for you. You fall asleep to the sound of him humming and have never felt more at peace.

1K notes · View notes

lovelyghst · 10 months ago

Text

könig always takes his time prepping his girl to take him. he spends the better part of an hour on his stomach or knees, licking and lapping at your pretty pussy ‘til you cum on his tongue, many times. just to crawl back up so he can sweet-talk you into a couple more orgasms, delving his fingers into your dripping seam for the same, long amount of time. only after, will he finally fuck you with his cock.

at least when he’s living at home, anyways.

but when he’s been gone for upwards of a month or few, just now seeing you for the first time since his departure? christ, he’s utterly desperate. ripping your panties down your thighs so quickly you hear a tearing noise in the fabric, barely making it to your knees before he’s rushing to have his big head beneath your sundress. wasting no time in devouring you limp and swollen, cramming his fingers in without warning to make you cry out in surprise, pumping them in and out feverishly as he sucks on and tongues at your little clit.

it’s a bit painful at first, that’s a given, but you quickly become relaxed and dulcet by the time he’s coaxing out a second load, the first one already fucked deep inside you and coating his cock in a creamy sheen. you’re lucky he finishes quick after such a dry spell.

he feels bad afterwards, and he always tries to make it up to you as best he can; from the moment he pulls out before lowering himself to watch his pearly cum drip from your precious pussy, leaning in and eating it out of you, to the many days that follow. like, major princess treatment. nonstop kisses and praises; he’s at your beck and call. it’s all absolutely, without a doubt, crucial to his and your routine. <3

#he’s so big i wanna chew on him #cod mw #könig cod #könig x reader #könig x female reader #könig smut #cod smut

2K notes · View notes

tacticalprincess · 9 months ago

Note

NAHH bc subby könig is so brain rot material like, instead of reader being free use for him, it is HE that is free use for READER. like yes whine and whimper all you want big subby man, I’m in control now. you do as I want and maybe I’ll let you use your hands.

(I started typing more but cut myself off) 💀

cw afab!f!reader, sub!könig

something about a seven foot giant and seasoned mercenary turning absolutely pathetic and desperate when it comes to you and your cunt. completely at your beck and call, willing to do whatever you ask.

riding könig to the point of overstimulation until he’s producing nothing but whines and pained, guttural pleads. for what? he doesn’t even know, too pussy-drunk and overwhelmed to think straight, brain fuzzy at the tight, wet feeling engulfing his dick. tears pool in his eyes as he watches your hips gyrate incessantly on his lap, the feeling of being fully seethed inside of you too much for him, while you ride his sensitive, large cock like he’s nothing more than one of your plastic toys. you have no regard for his feelings as you chase your own pleasure, puffy clit rubbing against his solid stomach, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body while his thick dick penetrates your spongy g-spot.

he’s transfixed and nearly drooling, eyes honed in on your breasts bouncing, head thrown back while you use him to get off. his greedy hands itch to feel your soft body, but all of his attempts get them smacked out of the way instantly, along with threats to tie them down — or even, god forbid, stopping altogether, leaving him achingly hard with no release. you’re so small in comparison, it would be so easy for him to take control of the situation, reverse the roles and fuck you on his cock like every instinct in his body is urging him to, but he doesn’t. he wants to be good for you, make you feel good. the dichotomy only adds to his frustration until he’s all flushed red and sweaty, begging to feel your cunt cream all over him, for you to prove that he is your good boy.

#bella writes⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#konig cod #konig x reader #konig call of duty #konig x you #könig x reader #konig x y/n #konig smut #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig smut #könig x you #könig mw2 #könig x female reader #sub!konig

1K notes · View notes

latenightdaydreams · 4 months ago

Note

hi! i love your work so much! can i request konig with a small, pear shaped girlfriend and their first time together and he finds out she’s a really wet girl? like she creams and squirts? sorry, if that was a bit much! thank you for your work! <33333

💞thank you!! absolutely!

König x PearShaped!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

>cw:fem/afab, oral, fingering, p in v, squirting

1.5k word count

💦

The first time König saw you he had to do a double take. You walked past him, hips swaying as you were out with your friends. He’s usually never one to approach women, but he couldn’t just let you walk by. It’s now been four months and the two of you have grown attached at the hip.

Dressed in a light pink babydoll nighty, you open your apartment door to greet König. He stands there with a bouquet of red roses in his hands as his jaw drops, eyes trailing up and down your body. The sheer fabric clings to the irresistible shape of your body. With his free hand he reaches out and rests on your hip as he walks you back into the apartment, his eyes looking all around to make sure that no one can see you before closing the door behind him.

“Mein Gott, Liebling. You’re going to give an old man like me a heart attack.” His voice is low and sultry as he speaks to you, his hand caressing your warm body thought the fabric of your nightgown.

“These are beautiful!” You smile brightly as you grab the roses and smell them.

“You’re beautiful.” König’s other hand went to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You gaze up into his eyes and smile as he holds you. He is still mesmerized by how you look; this is the first time he’s seen your body in such little clothing and he can’t wait to see it in less. A small giggle leaves you as he continues to walk you back further into the apartment before lifting you up in his arms.

“Here I was trying to surprise you, but you’ve out done me.” König walks to your bedroom at the end of the long hallway, gently placing you down on your bed.

König takes the bouquet from your hands and places the flowers on the bed beside you as he kneels in front of you on the bed. His hands rest on your thick thighs, squeezing them lightly as his eyes roam over every inch of you. He lets a puff of air out as his eyes finally meet yours again.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think? Schatz, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” His hands move further up your thigh, enjoying the feeling of how soft your skin is.

“Kö,” You giggle softly.

“I mean it.” He leans towards you and kisses your lefts gently. His lips travel from your lips, down your jawline to your neck. You tilt your head to the side to allow him more room to kiss you. “Ich will dich so sehr.”

König lets his hands trail up your body to cup your breasts, his thumbs flicking back and forth over your erect nipples. A trail of open mouth wet kisses continues down to your cleavage. The only thing on his mind is exploring your body, tasting every single inch of you. After months of waiting, he’s going to take his time savoring this moment with you.

“Come here.” He pulls back and lifts you up again, placing you in the center of the bed. His body looms over yours before meeting your eyes. “I love you, Schatz.”

“I love you too.” You say back with a giggle.

König kneels between your legs, running his hands up and down your thighs as his eyes fall on the thin fabric of your thong. A wet patch is already forming, causing König to smirk. He lets one hand slip down your thigh completely, brushing against the wet fabric. His eyes watch you closely, waiting to see your reaction. When he sees you biting your bottom lip and looking with anticipation, he pushes further.

One finger hooks the fabric, pulling it to the side to expose your freshly shaved pussy to him. He’s barely touched you, yet you’re already glistening for him. Your sweet scent of arousal hits his nostrils; you’re absolutely intoxicating. “Perfekt.” He whispers as his thumb reaches out and glides up and down your folds, pulling away to suck your juices off of it.

His hands move up to pull your thong off completely, casually tossing it off the bed onto the floor. He slides his hands on the outside of your thighs as he lowers his head, kissing gently on your inner right thigh. A small airy moan leaves you only making him crave more of those beautiful sounds.

Your body tenses the closer his lips get to your pussy. The feeling of his warm hand on yours grounds you slightly as you both interlock fingers. You look down at him as his pale eyes gaze back up at you. With the gentle flick of his tongue, he causes you to completely melt.

König holds your hands, letting you squeeze his as he drives his tongue over every single inch of your glorious folds. He gazes up at you watching your eyebrows pinch together as you try to contain the intense pleasure that you’re feeling. You taste better than he could have imagined, his eyes slowly close as his head rests on your thigh, his lips wrap around your clit and sucks lightly causing your legs to twitch.

“König…” Your voice trembles as you speak. “It’s too much.”

“Mm-m.” He shakes his head lightly, not ready to stop. As he sucks your clit his tongue flicks over the round little bud. Your moans only grow louder as you squeeze his hands tighter. Your thick thighs begin to close around his head, back arching.

“König!” You cry out as your full body trembles. “Oh fuck!”

König shakes his head back and forth slightly before pulling away, letting your clit slip from his lips with a soft pop. He gazes down to see thick white globs of arousal covering you, dripping down your lips. Out of all the women he’s been with, he’s never seen such a creamy little cunt. His cock is aching to go in raw and feel you're wrapped around him.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He looks up at you while you rest, breathing heavily.

His hands go to the hem of his shirt, discarding it quickly. As he fumbles with his pants his eyes travel over every inch of your body before landing back on your face. He gives you as soft smile with his glossy lips.

Your eyes linger on his hands as he pulls his hands down. The sight of his cock springing free with a string of precum connecting to his boxers nearly making you drool. You sit up, sticking out your tongue, licking the tip of his cock to taste his bitter precum. He watches with amazement as you wrap your beautiful lips around the head of his cock, sucking while you gaze up at him.

“Oh- mein Gott, Liebling.” König whimpers before dropping his head back.

König’s cock is so fat that your jaw quickly begins to hurt, your lips going slightly numb; yet you can’t help but to try and swallow as much of him as you can. Slowly, he begins to thrust forward into your mouth. He is unable to stop himself from being greedy and wanting to fuck your tight little throat. His hands go to the sides of your head as he picks up his pace. You gag loudly as he holds you down, almost every inch of him in your mouth before he pulls back.

He gently pushes you back on the bed, picking up one of your legs and resting it on his shoulder as he looks down at your sloppy pussy. Just feeling your folds against the sensitive tip of his cock is enough to make him shiver. His eyes can’t look away as he watches his girthy shaft part your lips, stretching your tiny pussy. Your velvety walls cling to him, welcoming him in with a heavenly warmth.

“Y/n…” König moans, his hips slams into you with slow hard thrust. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Please fuck me harder.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” It’s taking everything in him to not just ruin you, but he knows he’s big and you need to adjust.

“I said harder.” A bossy side of you he’s never seen shows through, and he likes it.

“Yes baby, anything for you.”

König drops your leg, grabbing you behind both knees, and pulling your legs back. His eyes lock with yours as he pulls his hips back, bucking into you and shoving all of himself inside of you. You can’t even maintain eye contact as your eyes flutter back, your mouth hangs open while your body get slammed mercilessly into the plush mattress.

“I’m- I’m so close.” You cry out.

“Good girl. Cum for me.” His eyes follow your hand as you reach down to rub your clit.

It’s almost hypnotic watching your beautiful dainty fingers play with your pretty pink pussy. You can feel a heavy pressure begin to build up. The head of his cock repeatedly passes over your g-spot, pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm.

“König.” His name leaves your lips in a pathetic broken mewl.

The pressure builds to a point where you can’t take it. König’s eyes open wide as a heavy stream leaves you, splashing against his abdomen causing him to let out a soft growl. In a swift motion he withdraws himself from you and lays on his stomach, licking every drop from your legs and lips.

A cocky grin crosses his lips as he realizes he just made you squirt, now he wants more. Two of his fingers slip inside of you, curling to focus on your g-spot again. His muscles flex as he pumps in and out of you, his tongue flicking over your clit making you squirm.

“König! König please!”

“I want you to squirt all over my face.” He growls. “Meine perfekte kleine Hure.”

483 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Text

Christian Woman

König x Nun!Reader

Word count: 12.5 k Tags/warnings: 18+ pure FLUFF & SMUT & COMFORT

First time/loss of virginity, implied consent, teasing, corruption kink, fingering, cunnilingus, thighing/intercrural sex, protected p in v. Silly, sweet, kind of innocent, kind of naughty. Romance, forbidden love trope, love as a religion, happy ending.

Part 3/3

Everytime König enters your life, you start to lie.

You lie about where you’re going and where you’ve been, you lie about who you see and what you do. People think you’ve helped some foreign man to hospital, that you were away last night to make sure he got safely into treatment. You told them he was some poor fellow who got stabbed and robbed on the street and that you called the ambulance from his phone and that the police needed to see you today for further questioning.

You lie and lie and lie, and then slip out to see König, who’s hopefully alive and still in the same place you left him last night.

When you enter the old, half-demolished building now serving as a B&B, the same old man from last night looks up with wary eyes. He immediately relaxes back to reading his paper when he sees you’re only the harmless, grey nun from last night.

You sneak upstairs without exchanging a word with him and go straight to König’s door. Giving it a quick knock and uttering, “It’s me,” you half expect to get shot through the wooden entrance. But there only comes a happy “Come in” from behind the door, and you notice König hasn’t even locked the damn thing. Is he expecting you, or is he simply that confident with his gunslinger skills?

Turns out he’s probably both, because you freeze right there on the doorstep when you step in.

He’s wearing nothing but boxers this time, and your eyes fly straight back to his eyes after being glued to the prominent package between his legs for far too long. And good God, the man’s got some muscles on those legs...

“Hallo, Kätzchen,” he greets, giving you an obnoxiously flirty smile upon noticing how flustered you look.

“You… You shouldn’t be up yet,” you quickly turn to close the door.

“I have to use the bathroom, no?”

He looks at you from across the room, so innocent and sweet and, at the same time, so mischievous that you don’t know what to do or where to look. He’s gotten rid of the hood, but there are traces of black paint around his eyes, it still clings to his brows, making him look like someone who just came home from a carnival. You want to go to him and wipe it away and tell him that he missed a spot and that he’s clumsier than you thought, but you can’t... You can only fall deeper into your awkward shyness as he raises his brows.

He turns what appears to be the shreds of his old shirt in his hands, then dumps it into the bin, suddenly a little nervous too. There are moments when you have suspected that König might suffer from social anxiety or shyness around people, but he covers it very well. Around you, the man seems to be at ease, flirts and jokes with you often and is very straightforward with his intentions.

You wonder if he likes you so much simply because you are unattainable.

Maybe you represent some girl next door to him, perhaps you remind him of his first love. Perhaps you happen to be something so sweet, innocent, and unreachable that he feels strong and safe in your company. Perhaps holding hands and trading a few passionate kisses feels safer than going after a real relationship… Perhaps this Will they, won’t they situation is enough excitement for him, too.

Or perhaps König has been so wounded by women that he prefers to be around a frigid – or at least very virginal – nun rather than face the dangers of approaching a real, attainable woman.

But flaunting himself like this in front of you is yet another clear sign that he, at the very least, loves to tease you to death. He looks like he’s in far better condition than yesterday, and starts to peel off the bandage like it’s just a scratch he suffered.

“Let me help you with that,” you rush to him, silently relieved when he lets you clean the wound and change the bandage. He even lays himself down to be treated by you and smiles with his signature grin as you fuss around him.

“Not a word,” you risk a glance his way while gently cleaning the wound.

“Not a word,” he promises with a cheeky smile, and gets another erection.

It’s even worse when he’s wearing nothing but his underwear... You can see the bulge stretching the fabric, forming a tight, thick curve right next to you as you try to focus on your task.

“Perhaps you should put some clothes on,” you offer while trying to concentrate on examining the skin for any signs of irritation.

“Eh. They’re dirty.”

“I can go and ask if they have a laundry room here,” you propose. “I could wash them for you. Do you need a new shirt?”

Ugh, what a stupid question...

“Why not,” he shrugs. “If the view is unpleasant...”

“Behave yourself now,” you say with a soft smile. “XL…?”

“At least.”

He must be getting better if he’s behaving like this... The man’s insufferable enough when he’s uninjured, but now that he’s getting pampered, he’s somehow even worse. You bite your lip as he dares to moan on the bed, too. You’ve brought him food last night, and he’s being treated carefully and touched softly, he’s getting his clothes washed for him, he’s got his own personal nun worrying about him 24/7. Of course he’s moaning.

And you’re in danger because you just love to pamper him. It feels more meaningful to treat his wounds and run on errands than do the eternal dishes at the convent. You feel like you’re saving a life here... Like someone actually needs you, depends on you. You feel so wanted, and König seems to fully agree with you.

“I could live the rest of my life like this,” he purrs on the bed as you gently put a fresh bandage in place.

“I have no doubt about that.”

“Are you really going to get me a new shirt…?” He asks with bright puppy eyes – the faked innocence is so blatant you want to throw a pillow over that face.

“If you give me some money to buy one, then yes.”

“You can have as much as you want. Buy yourself something nice while you’re at it, hmm? As a reward.”

“I don’t do this for the sake of rewards.”

“I know... But you could buy yourself anything you want. A new dress, new jeans, lingerie… Give me a little fashion show when you get back?”

König knows you’re probably the last woman on earth who’s interested in shopping sprees, let alone new jeans or sexy lingerie. Your only summer dress resides at your parent’s house as a relic from the past, a token from your life before sisterhood. But that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t want to see his face when you do a little twirl before his bed, wearing nothing but a laced bra and some matching strings…

“Give you a fashion show?” you laugh. “When did thanking me turn into you profiting from it?”

“I’m just saying... If you need new underwear, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

You snort and shake your head slowly. “You’re far too cheeky when you’re injured. I truly hope you get better soon.”

“I don’t,” he crosses his arms behind his head, looking perfectly pleased with himself while lying there in nothing but his underwear. “And neither do you.”

“Excuse me? Of course I do…!”

“No, I don’t think so. You like to take care of people, I can see it. You’d make a good field medic.”

“I doubt that.”

“You remain calm under pressure,” he says. “And you take good care of me.”

“That’s only because you were silly enough to get shot.”

“...And I would do it again if it leads to this,” he grins.

“Cheeky,” you shake your head reprimandingly. “Far too cheeky.”

“You are an angel,” he says gently. “And I mean that.”

You rise to put the trash in the bin, then look back at him. “No, I’m not. I’m just some woman you bumped into in the street.”

“That’s exactly what an angel would say.”

You sigh: it’s useless with König, hopeless, like trying to wrestle with God. No matter what you say or do, he always turns it against you in the sweetest possible way. It’s like he's stripping away pieces of your armour – you fear nothing will be left before this visit is done.

“Did you eat any of the food I brought you…? You need to eat something, and drink a lot of water–” You take a look at the side table, noticing he has already eaten everything you got him last night. “Gosh. You must be getting better if you have an appetite like this...”

König only laughs on the bed. “I’m sorry, Kätzchen, but that was just a snack.”

You brought him three sandwiches, at least a dozen apples and a bag of walnuts, but they’re all gone. Of course a soldier of his size eats like a horse, and he needs all the food he can get, having gone through the wringer last night.

“I’d kill for a Schnitzel and a tall beer,” he sighs dreamily on the bed, no doubt knowing you well enough to tell that you’ll get him anything he wants if he only plays this wounded soldier role right.

You begin to doubt if his injuries were ever that serious. It just looked bad last night because he was so tired, and there was blood everywhere... With a bleak blink, you realize most of the blood you cleaned off of him last night probably wasn’t his own.

He’s in a cheery mood now, looking at you hopefully from the bed, arms crossed behind him, legs out long, wearing nothing but those stupid black boxers and that goshdarned, sweet smile.

“Do you think you could get me one of those big Schnitzels somewhere…? You know, the really big ones.”

“Maybe,” you cross your arms over your chest, and furrow your brow when he visibly perks up on the bed a little. “I said maybe. We’ll see. And you’ll get water instead of beer.”

“Shame.”

“You don’t need alcohol right now. Plus I can’t just go and buy beer looking like this.”

He smiles. The man’s all smiles today… Probably because of all the blood loss. Or maybe because you’re the girl next door who’s going to bring him his favourite food.

“Of course not,” he says, with hazy love in his eyes. “I am already forever in your debt, Kätzchen.”

…

It’s not a sin to take a nap together.

That’s what you tell yourself as you curl next to König after you bring him his Schnitzel, shirt, and a few bottles of sparkling water.

“There’s plenty of room for both. Come on, I won’t bite,” he shifts on the bed and extends his hand to invite you in.

You lay yourself down next to him and tell yourself it’s just to please a recovering man. There’s nothing sexual about it, so why not?

Still, your body is singing by the time he takes your hand in his own, wrapping both your arms around your middle like you’re an established couple about to get some sleep together.

Raindrops are slowly tapping on the window, and you tell yourself you’re just resting your eyes a bit as your lids drift closed. König is already snoring behind you, with another erection pressed against your back. You’re not intimidated by it: it only feels natural to cuddle him like this. The rain turns into a languid rap, and you know you won’t be leaving this building in a while. With the contentment of a cat who’s finally warm and safe, you fall into a deep sleep.

You stir after an hour or two, waking up to such a pleasant, safe feeling you don’t quite remember when you’ve ever felt this good. König has buried his face in your neck, somewhere in the folds of your coif, probably in an attempt to reach some skin. He pulls you closer when you try to shift, rumbling contently behind you.

“Sleep well…?”

“Mm...”

The moment is so lazy and cosy you don’t want to get up. A large, warm hand flexes against your stomach as König buries his face deeper under the veil. He reaches the skin of your neck and inhales deeply, making all the tiny hairs across your body shoot up.

You let him kiss you there, and he does it with reverence, like he’s kissing a holy idol. It’s chaste enough but makes you go taut in his hold – in fact, you have to use all your willpower not to moan out loud.

“I think I need to go now,” you whisper, doing absolutely nothing to act on that threat.

“Mm–hm,” he agrees while keeping your body hugged tight against him.

“König… Really, I need to get back...”

“Ja... Ok,” he mutters, hand traveling up the thick black cotton of your habit. It meets your breast and cups it without shame. You feel the hot, hard length twitching against your back, making leaving this bed less and less tantalizing.

You whine when he starts to fully paw your breast, thrusting his hips up and against your butt. The kiss turns into a love bite right after as he starts to use teeth on your neck – your back arches on instinct, a broken sigh slipping through your lips. He can't be serious... A hickey-covered neck is the last souvenir you want to bring back from this nap.

“You said you wouldn’t bite,” you whimper, but he just laughs softly. The sound is thick and breathless, cinders and smoke so close to your ear that you’re shamefully wet even without his other… advances.

The afternoon is mellow, it has stopped raining, but you wish you could stay on this spun sugar bed with him forever. You know what you want already; in your heart, you’ve made a giant decision, but the overwhelming realisation is too much to bear.

And so you rip yourself away from his arms and flee once again. He’s the devil himself, smiling on the bed with another proud erection tenting his pants. Rushing back to the convent, adjusting your veil as you go, your mind is plagued with the image of König reaching a hand down those boxers and enjoying a long, drowsy masturbation session while you have to hurry home for Mass.

Christ…

It only took 24 hours to make you melt in his arms like snow.

And the “naps” become a habit as you haul him food or clothes, new from the store or clean and warm from the drier. You bring him a fresh pair of boxers, too, since he only had the clothes on his back when he was shot. He’s ever so grateful for his saving angel, who he gets to cuddle “as a reward”. You don’t quite know if it's a reward for you or him.

Sometimes, he’s cleaning his gun or doing wall pushups when you arrive, indicating that he’s still recovering but getting better every day – and more restless by the minute. At some point, you’re not even napping anymore; you only lay down with him to snuggle and make out, feeling like a shy teen when you only let him touch you over your clothes. His hands explore you literally everywhere except between your legs because that’s when you gently guide his eager paws away.

You wonder if this is what drugs feel like to some people. You’re fully in the present moment, swimming in a soft bliss, calm and whole and sweet and good. Everything in the world is just as it should be.

“If you ever come to Austria, I will take you to the mountains,” König mumbles nonsense into your hair, freed one day from the confines of your veil and coif. It’s a surrender in every meaning of the word – your clothes are the last literal protection you have against his attempts to worship you.

“Perhaps we’ll stay there... Forget all this,” he chatters lazily, clearly in the same sweet bubble as you. “Ja, that sounds good… I’ll keep you there until you come to your senses.”

“That sounds like a kidnapping scenario,” you comment with a soft smile on your lips.

“Ah. My plan is ruined.”

You crane your head to look at him. “No... Not ruined.”

“No?”

“Just exposed.”

You figure it was only a matter of time before this snuggle turned into another make out session. This time, the shared kiss is purposeful, full of presence and slow need. The anxiety is gone, the rights and wrongs of this world tucked somewhere far away.

“We need to stop doing this,” you whisper into his mouth, brain turning into mush from the way he holds you so gently.

“Why…? It feels nice…”

You can’t argue with that, and when his hands start to travel, you do nothing to stop them.

He slides a palm down your curves, pulls you closer by the waist, cups your butt when you don’t seem to protest. Usually, this sort of behaviour has been a little too much, you have treated it as a bridge that shouldn’t be crossed. Now, you let his hand travel down your thigh, you allow him to grab a handful of your skirt and slowly, slowly drag it up.

When you still don’t protest, his unhurried kiss turns into a delighted, hungry one.

He finds nothing but skin underneath your dress, and starts to explore your thigh with a trembling hand. He's warm and big, both gentle and calloused, and you can’t help but think how obscene you must look with your black robes dragged up like that, a man’s hand desperately searching for the treasure between your legs while your mouths devour each other in a slow, sloppy kiss.

His fingers slide up, up, up until they meet the fabric of your panties, then come to a halt right above the mound of your sex. In both horror and thrill, you find your thighs parting, inviting him in, heart racing in your chest as König finds your underwear not only wet but soaked through.

That’s when he groans – into your mouth, hot breaths hitting your face as he examines you through the panties like it’s business as usual that you’re so wet. You’re both ashamed and exhilarated – you haven’t even shaved. And he’s about to…

“Mh–”

You feel him probe the side of the fabric, then casually sliding your poor, soaked underwear aside. Your wet folds are exposed to cold air and warm fingers; the last of your armour, your pride and shame and vows, drift away like they were made of nothing but simple steam.

He drags his fingers across your folds, unhurried and pleased to meet you so ready. The fact that this man could crush your windpipe or break your spine, he could grab your thighs and force them apart like sticks, have his way with you if he wanted, doesn’t make you afraid of him like it probably should. You know he would never hurt you, but the intensity, the intimacy in his glare and touch, are enough to make the air around you feel electric.

“You’ve never been with anyone…?”

The question is breathless and thick, causing your core to tighten.

“No…”

Is it that obvious…?

“Hmm.”

“‘Hmm’ what…?”

“Nothing. You’re sweet.”

He doesn’t try to steal a peek at your glistening sex, all bared and slick for him. He only has eyes for you. Your rushed breaths, how they hitch in your throat when he brushes a thumb over your clit. Your lids, fluttering over defenceless eyes as you try to search for something to ground you. But there’s nothing to hold on to but him, so you anchor yourself in the dark hunger of his eyes.

“I tried to leave you alone. I truly tried, Kätzchen… But you’re so sweet it’s illegal.”

The words hit you, loaded with lust, but you’re too weak to answer him anymore. Pitch-black darkness stares back at you as the sounds of your drenched pussy fill the room. You want to touch him too, but you’re too shy, still trying to silence the buzzing beehive of your brain and come to terms with the fact that this is actually happening.

“I should’ve come back for you… I knew I should have, right away. I was too dumb, meine Liebling…”

Starved and dreamy, he looks down at you, whole body tight as you hold on to him and take in his confession. Only, you feel like you’re the one who’s confessing here… He seems to read you like a book, giving you just enough to keep that adoring look on your face.

He slips a finger in, and you stop breathing for a second, the room seems to go darken, even when it’s high noon. Time slows down while your heart thunders in your chest, giving you a sense of urgency where there is none. Pulling out and adding another finger straight away, he ushers a mewl out of you.

Your fingers curl around his shirt, pulling and tugging it as you try to keep intact. A deep rumble echoes in his chest when he sees you so pliant, clutching him like you’re drowning.

“I know you want this,” he says, voice so rough that you barely recognize it’s him. “Don’t hold back…”

You try to beg him for more but the words come out as a whimper without a voice, causing something dark to flash behind his eyes. That’s all the reply you get: a pleased, filthy stare of someone who’s about to wreck you up. He must like his victims like this, too: on their backs, begging for mercy before he finishes them…

Blinking in despair, you try to drive the intrusive thoughts away, but he’s already upon you. Crossing the last breath of air between you, he captures your mouth in his.

You can do nothing but take, take, take: his fingers and his mouth, greedy for the rapture that’s already blooming in the distance, rising like a tidal wave. He won’t stop kissing you even when you spread your legs further – to what end, you don’t even know, because he fucks you without effort, keeps you pressed against him in a way that says you’re his.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tasting him, your whole body going tense before you erupt with a miserable, pained moan.

You reach the peak and break, right into his mouth, around his fingers, the weight of it all almost unbearable. He groans on your tongue, kissing you while you milk his fingers, your inner walls hugging him in waves.

Nothing moves except you, the shudders and squirms gradually leaving your body while he draws circles on your clit, lazy and somewhat absent-minded, like you’re his favourite toy now.

The release brings with it a roaring wave of sadness, a deep grief, something that has been locked up inside you for months – no, years, now brought to the surface from the bottom of a stagnant sea.

He lets you go reluctantly, releasing your mouth so you can breathe more freely. Burying his face into your neck, you decide to do the same, escaping to the solace of his strength while trying to prevent tears from welling up.

König doesn’t yet understand that your release continues as a cleansing wave of relief; he only pulls out, slowly and carefully, gently sets your panties back where they were, straightens your dress, and hugs you as if nothing ever happened.

You start to cry in full, not even knowing why. You just know you’ve wanted this for ages. This connection, this ecstasy, this mutual presence and fulfilment, this sense of belonging to someone.

“Scheiße… Did I do something wrong?”

König finally realizes you’re crying, and grows taut from the middle like an iron cord. The pure concern in his voice only makes you bawl louder and grip him tighter, and the man starts to veritably panic.

“Kätzchen, I–”

“No, no,” your jaw is shaking as you try to explain. “I just… It’s…”

You’re hugging him so tight that you don’t know where you end and he begins, but as König caresses your back, swallowing as he does it, you eventually come back down to planet Earth and back to this bed.

“Did you like it…?” He asks, still with so much worry that you could announce your love for this man right away.

“Yes… Very much.”

“Gut.”

You think about returning the favour, but selfishly, you’d want nothing more than to stay here like this, in his arms, for just a few more minutes. Or an hour... Well, if you got to decide, you’d stay here for the rest of your life.

“Come here,” he says while you’re already locked in an inseparable embrace. He doesn’t make a single move to coax you into touching him in return, and after a few seconds, your voice comes out as a frail question.

“Should I… Do you want me to–?”

“Shh.”

…

Six months without him.

Six months, and now you couldn’t bear to be apart from him for six hours.

You’re glad you were sensible enough to shave before running to him that morning. Making up more excuses about how you’re seeing your friend because she just suffered a terrible loss and needs some spiritual and emotional support, you sneak a couple of blocks down the street to see König. If anyone suspects something, they say nothing, but you feel the lies as a grimy cloak upon your shoulders as you hurry up the stairs of the B&B.

The shadows dissipate when König catches you in his arms. You get smothered with kisses as he spins you around, making you chastise him for being so careless with the wound.

It’s, of course, difficult to scold a man who’s kissing you so profusely… You’re starting to feel like he wants it to open again so that he never has to leave this place. To be honest, you wouldn’t mind it either if you two stayed here forever.

“You’re crazy, and silly, and I like you,” you tell him while looking down at him – a strange thing to do, even if the man has picked you up like this once before.

“Is that so?”

His eyes always light up when he sees you, but now, he looks like a man in love.

“Yes... I like you a lot.”

“And I like you. Do you want to see how much?”

He gives you that slightly crooked grin that reminds you of feline predators, or fantasy creatures who are up to no good. He also moves quickly for a man of his size, and before you know it, you’re thrown on the bed like a sack of potatoes. As you laugh and try to adjust yourself on the bedding, he’s already on his knees, head quickly disappearing under your robe.

God, he’s not going to–

“What are you doing…?”

“Giving you a kiss,” comes a muffled voice under your dress.

He’s headed straight between your legs, two days worth of coarse stubble scraping the insides of your thighs as he goes.

“But… But what about your injuries?” You try to scurry upwards on the bed, hands shooting instinctively to hold his head in place before he does something utterly shameless.

“König–”

“Sei ruhig.”

God – you’re not the most confident woman when it comes to these things to begin with. It’s one thing for a man to lay his fingers on you and look you in the eyes while you cum, and another thing entirely to place his mouth where you’re wet and aching.

What if he won’t like it...?

What if you’re not beautiful enough there?

...What if you taste odd?

You’re shy, as any woman would be on their first time getting head. You’re infinitely grateful to yourself for shaving because there’s a delighted, surprised sound under the robe when König strips you from your underwear.

“For me…?”

He’s smiling at your pussy, voice dampened by the thick cotton, and you thank God that he can’t see your mortified face right now.

You brace yourself for a delicate kiss, maybe a tentative lick or two. But the soft tenderness of yesterday is gone as König presses his whole face into your sex, giving it a good inhale followed by a good, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

Wrenched awake from your semi-relaxed state, you jerk up on the bed as he does it again. Then come the flat-tongued, starved licks – your pussy wakes up after recovering from the initial shock, giving a full throb against his stubbled jaw. König breathes a short laugh against you, pleased with this response.

The noise of him “kissing” you is obscene and only gets worse when he drags his tongue up and down your slit. You truly hope the doors here are solid wood because you can’t stifle all the sounds that escape you. For some reason, it is vital for you not to let the old receptionist know that a humble sister of Christ is getting licked to ruin in his establishment.

You’re stunned, and a bit appalled – was this all it took to turn your nose up to your vows? A big man with big arms and a big gun? Some guy who wants to get under your dress after a few weeks of acquaintance…?

Because that’s what this is, a few weeks’ acquaintance currently under your robes, eating you out like you’re his last meal.

The things you’ve imagined him do to you are shameful; even now, you fantasize about König picking you up and taking you against a wall when he gets better. This man treats you right, he treats you sweet, but you want more, you need something earthly and raw, and him lapping you under your habit is precisely that. It’s ravenous and adorable at the same time, so conflicting that you don’t know who you are anymore.

You’re going through several stages of ego death and bliss; you’re going through a crisis of faith and multiple rebirths while König is having a field day with your pussy. It should concern you that he’s so eager to wreck you like this. It should arouse suspicion that the playful aura of this man changes whenever he gets between your legs... He becomes deliciously dark somehow, dark and base and addictive, and you wind into another plane of existence with him, to someplace only reserved for you two.

“König,” you whisper. “I’m– I’m about to cum…”

“Uh-huh. You have my permission.”

It’s dark, again, so smooth and rich that your inner walls clench, then flood with pleasure and pain. The inevitable orgasm is thigh-shaking and soul-ripping, your moans long and pitiful now. They’re not whimpers but cries, bare and pained as he continues to bully you with his tongue, grunting silky sin into your core.

You can feel yourself leak on his chin as you cum, violently, forgetting the whole existence of the man downstairs. He turns you into an overstimulated, limp, heady mess – your chest is heaving by the time König emerges from under your robes.

“Oh God…”

It simply escapes from your lips when you see how wet his jaw is. There’s a pussydrunk look in his eyes as he takes a look at his good work.

All thoughts of What if he doesn’t enjoy it evaporate when you see the demanding erection between his legs, pointing at you so viciously that you feel pity for the fabric of his pants.

“Ja... I made you see God?”

“Stop it… You’re so cheeky...”

“Eh. And you’re technically still a virgin. We need to fix that, don’t you think?”

“I don’t feel like a virgin.”

“Well… I can take the blame.” He gives you a naughty little wink. “Remember? I would go to hell for you.”

And as if you weren’t in over your head already, he starts to drag your robes up. Too limp to do anything about him unravelling you like that – not even wanting to prevent it – you continue to catch your breath as his eyes go wide.

“This is what you’ve been hiding under here all this time…?”

He tucks the thick fabric up until your breasts are exposed. You’re not wearing any bra; you stopped wearing them years ago as useless and immoral. Your nipples perk up from excitement under his stare, your panties wrenched down in a hurry, now crumpled and forgotten somewhere between your thighs – the look on his face is priceless as he takes in the view of your exposed body like you’re a Christmas present he just opened.

“You naughty girl…” he says thickly, and while you’ve received plenty of attention these last two days, it still makes you feel odd to be adored like this. His hawk eyes fly back to you, the corner of his mouth tugging up with some new, nasty idea.

“Want to see what I got?”

Oh God…

You don’t even get to express your consent – which would be enthusiastic – before König pulls the waistband of his boxers down.

The cock that springs free is long and thick, heavy and red-pink from the tip that’s pointing straight at you. Curving slightly to the side, it’s even bigger than you thought, somehow having been rendered harmless by his pants, making it seem hefty but never that tall.

Your friend was right about him – tall men have tall dicks… Big hands indicate a big dick, too, you remember as you watch how he wraps tall, lean fingers around himself, giving his shaft a slow half-stroke.

“You want to practice with me?”

You quickly rip your eyes up to his – you’re the world’s lousiest nun, caught staring at a cock like that. König only seems proud that you’re so intrigued by it, his eyes watching over you with dark amusement.

“Uh–huh,” you swallow and nod – Christ, your voice is breaking…

And whatever he means by “practising”, you can only hope that he’s not going to put it inside. There’s not even a condom for crying out loud.

It’s a sigh-inducing thing when he gets to it, rests the heavy head of him on your clit, then drags the fat tip down across your folds.

“F–uck…” his head falls back a bit, lids fluttering closed from the way your slickness feels against him. That’s the most sensitive spot in a man – more of your friend’s advice floods your brain as you watch how he does it again, rasping while guiding himself up and down your slit.

You’ve never seen him so serious: his brows furrow together as he explores your folds, spreading your wetness all over himself while stroking his length. Agonizingly slow, you can see his balls hang heavy and gradually pull tight as he continues to work his cock.

You know you should touch him, return the favour at last – but it’s hard to interrupt a moment like this. You’re mesmerized to see him already tensing from the chest up, the tendons on his neck becoming visible as he grits his teeth together.

“Kätzchen…” he rasps, “Would you mind if I…”

You fear that he’ll ask for permission to slip it inside, tempted and weak-willed. And to be honest, you’re not sure if you’d have the will to deny him.

But that’s not what he has in mind, apparently, as he begins to fist himself in a slack hurry, with half-lidded eyes and a slightly open mouth. He just wants to cum like this and ease the pain that must be terrible after days of sexual tension…

And seeing you laid out before him, naked and dreamy and bare, licked stupid just moments ago isn’t helping, that’s for sure.

“No,” you whisper, “No I won’t mind…”

You brave your heart to reach out and touch him: it’s just a shy hand gliding down his chest, but it makes him groan from pleasure. A brush of fingertips across his abs, and his muscles contract, and when you slide your palm over his hipbone and coax him to come closer, he finally leans forward and on top of you.

“Kätzchen…” he groans in whispers now. “You’re so wet…”

He could slip it in from this position, search for your opening and rough it inside. It’s tempting, so alluring that you almost say please – but that would be a catastrophe, and so you only look up at him, speechless when he supports himself on his hands and starts to glide up and down, fucking himself between your thighs.

The bulged tip caresses your clit each time he pulls back – you doubt you can cum another time like this, but he sure as hell tries his everything to get you off too.

“You want it…” he grunts above you. “You want me to fuck you. Right...?”

“Yes… But–”

“I’ll get a condom.”

“No, wait–”

Now it's your turn to panic. You were always taught that condoms are unacceptable, while simultaneously, you know you could never do it raw, not even with König.

This is a moral choice you've never had to face before, and your brain is no use to you now. It's riddled with chants of Put it in and Forget about the bloody plastic because even with your zero experience you know it wouldn't feel as good as skin.

"No? It's a sin or something?"

König pants above you, both tired and needy, and you nod with pleading eyes, not knowing what else to do.

"Ok… Ok," he adjusts to the new reality while hovering on the brink of eruption. "I'll talk you out of it later..."

You give him a small smile, and he answers it with his own, slowly, starts to move again. Just the feel of the smooth surface of his cock dragging up and down your slit is enough to bite your lip and moan. Sliding your hands over his waist and down his butt, you give him a good squeeze–

And were he inside you, the effects would have been disastrous.

He cums abruptly, with a stiff, broken groan as soon as your nails dig into his skin. Hot, heavy seed meets your folds; it’s thick, the spurts neverending as he continues to fuck himself between your thighs with little control. How you still have anything left to give, you cannot comprehend, but the sudden, messy orgasm of this indomitable man makes you cum as well.

Everything’s hot and sticky and dreamlike, almost pornographic, your thighs drenched in cum as he ruts through the orgasm with you. You roll your hips in sync with his, arriving at the end of your own mellow, beautiful peak, wondering how on earth it can only get better every time you have sex…

The afterwaves are magical; you basically came together, and it hasn’t even been in yet. If this is what sex is like, mind-blowing and relaxing, hot and sweet and fulfilling with the right person, then you feel both dumb and proud for saving yourself for König.

And you’re starting to realize that you might just have a boyfriend…

No – not a boyfriend.

You have a man.

…

König orders food – or goes downstairs in nothing but his shirt and boxers and makes the poor man order it – while you lie in bed, under covers, still high from all the lovemaking. The room must be smelling like a sex cave by now.

You take a quick shower while waiting for the delivery, mentally berating yourself for being so reckless. Having a man cum all over your folds is not exactly a safe way to practice sex… You’re doing everything wrong, asking König if he has any diseases when he comes back.

He just pulls you back into his arms with a gentle laugh and says: “What do you take me for, a jerk? Of course I’m clean, silly kitty.”

That calms your nerves a little. You’re feeling anything but virginal right now, and putting on the black, heavy robes of a nun doesn’t sit well with you. You leave them on the floor, making König a very happy man by deciding to sit on the bed completely naked.

You reach for the comforter when there’s a knock on the door, and clutch it against your chest like a paid woman while König pays the courier – still in his black boxers and t-shirt, like he’s just a guy who happens to live here.

“What...? Eat?”

The smell of Nepalese food fills the room: the rich, mouthwatering scents in stark contrast to what you’re used to at the convent’s kitchen. Butter chickens, lamb koftas and flatbreads are laid out steaming on the bed between you, and König attacks the food like someone who hasn’t seen a meal in weeks.

It makes you smile; him being so happy with simple things such as good food and some kinky sex, a nice cuddle and a nap to top it off. He munches on the food with his mouth open because it’s so hot – the man’s secretly so greedy that you can’t help but wonder if he had enough love, food and shelter as a child.

“Do you do this often?” You ask when he rips another handful of flatbread to dip in the sauce.

“Seduce women.”

“Seduce…?” He laughs. “Kätzchen, I couldn’t seduce a woman even if I tried.”

You’re unsure if he’s dodging the question or being humble – or worse yet, if it means you’ve been an easy conquest.

“You just did,” you point out, realizing you’re sulking when König tilts his head with curiosity.

“Oh. I’m sorry… Did it hurt?”

You grab a pillow to throw at him, but he dodges it and laughs.

“Careful with the food…!”

And of course he isn’t.

You decide it’s useless with him, and besides, jealousy is not a good look. But you just can’t help it... You’re so in love that it’s not even funny anymore.

To you, he’s a hero and a God in one man, he’s both Satan and the Saviour. But to König, you’re probably just a nice foreign friend... Some cute nun he met months ago, who he finally gets to grope and taste and, hopefully, soon fuck. He says he doesn’t have time for women, and yet he licks you like a professional – not like you know what a professional in this area feels like, but it’s pretty clear that König is not a virgin even if you are.

It must be nice to live a dangerous life and bump into women on the street... Woo them off their feet and leave them yearning, then get shot and cared for by some fussy, naive nun who’s head over heels for him. Perhaps it’s his favourite pastime hobby to torture ladies with flowers and letters and some cock and then leave like a cowboy. You wonder if he has a girl in every city – girls who aren’t nuns, girls who know how to show him a good time.

“Kitten... I’m not like that,” he says, a curry-drenched piece of bread dripping sauce over his fingers. “I only hold hands with you. Now that you finally let me.”

And you don’t know what’s more decadent: eating naked on the bed after making love, or being a Catholic nun who’s about to beg a man to fuck you, with or without a condom.

He finally notices he’s about to make a mess on the sheets, and gobbles the food as quickly as he can before there’s sauce all over the bed. Licking his fingers with dark, glimmering eyes set on you, you quickly focus your attention on the food.

The bastard is flirting with you every chance he gets, even when you two are trying to eat...

“Is this what you call holding hands?” You ask, reaching for a piece of bread he's offering you.

König looks at you a while longer, with an expression he sometimes wears when conversing about serious, deep subject, the issues of God and Heart.

“This is what I call liking someone so much it hurts.”

…

König learns your body language; he knows it like a native speaker by the end of the week.

You, on the other hand, learn that he’s ticklish on the sides of his stomach and behind the ears. You discover that he gets hard if you caress his abs or whisper in his ear that you like him... You learn everything about what kind of handjobs he likes; you find out that he almost rips the sheets apart when you take him in your mouth.

You lie on top of him, you lie under him, you let him hold you any way he likes. He moves you around like a doll, kisses you until you’re soaked, laughs into your neck when you tell him he’s being impossible again. He loves your breasts religiously, bites and nibs and licks them until you grab his head and tell him you can’t take it anymore. He has an oral fixation for your body and has to kiss every part of you: your inner thighs, your hip bones, the quivering place just below the navel; your neck and fingers and arms, even the arch of your foot.

You receive attention only reserved for saints, and fear that someone will notice the smell of cum on you, or the musk of a man, lingering in your hair. Your sisters could easily notice your flushed lips if they wanted to. They could see the dreamy smiles, eyes that have just seen God, but everyone is looking inward, and no one sees how you rebel against the Lord right under their nose.

You stay strong in your no condoms policy, but practice with König every day; you practice so much that his wound opens and starts to bleed.

“Oh my God…”

“Heh… It’s okay,” he says as your stare drifts down to the side of his stomach. The bandage is slowly blooming with red, and your crazy soldier would simply go on if you didn’t order him to lie down.

You’re both naked as you start to patch him up, convinced that this is some sort of a punishment for being so reckless. König only smiles on the bed while you treat him; it’s like his master plan finally worked.

“I like it when you take care of me,” he explains while you clean up the wound. You raise your stare, and in place of a horny, able-bodied man, there’s briefly a boy, a kid who used to make himself sick as a child to get at least some attention.

“Has no one ever taken care of you…?”

“Not really.”

He grunts when the antiseptic seeps inside the wound – you wince, sympathetic to his pain.

“Is that why you like me?” You try to chitchat and take his attention away from it, secretly nervous when fishing for details on why he would want to be with someone like you.

“There are many reasons why I like you.”

“Such as…?”

“Your smile, for starters... I like that. And then… I really like your ass.”

“König...”

“What, I’m not allowed to?”

You purse your lips to scold him, but really, your heart hurts so much it burns. There are a million doors to this man, but he only keeps one or two open at a time, to prevent an attack of some sort.

“I like your devotion,” he says, finally with some serious air about him. “Your kindness. You don’t hurt people.”

“...But you do,” you whisper. It’s not an accusation, only a comment.

“I would never hurt you.”

The playfulness is gone, and while you miss it, you also like it when König gets fragile like this, stripping himself of all the shields that make him a strong, confident merc.

“Sometimes we have to fight for the things we love,” he continues, probably explaining why he endorses violence.

“Killing is a sin,” you say, more to yourself than to him.

“Kätzchen... You can’t tell me it’s a sin to kill the ones who would try to hurt you. You can’t tell me it’s not love to hurt them back.”

You look at him, calm and adoring on the bed. He’s so sure of his choices, like an archangel set on the borders of Eden with a flaming sword in his hand...

And the rose is starting to unfurl, the enigma finally unravelling itself. You’re the sacred Other, the opposite of him, you’re the great Mystery he’s infatuated with. You have peace and faith and hope and love: everything he lacks.

And he’s the opposite of you. Fierce, vengeful, violent… Hopeless, suffering, without peace. Ready to dive into the world and bathe in it, be it a pool filled with love or blood.

He’s searching for the answers, too, only in different ways.

“And no one ever will.”

“No one’s trying to kill or hurt me,” you whisper, trying to stand brave under that flaming stare. But he’s stronger than you, even when recovering. He pulls you back to the bed and in his arms because that’s where you simply belong now, and caresses your cheek, as gently as you caressed his withered flower in your cell.

…

You know your days at the convent are coming to an end, but when the abbess gives you a warning after the fifth day of you skipping half of your chores, appointments and prayers, you go to see her.

Without mentioning König or what you’ve been up to lately, you simply tell her you’ve decided to move on with your life. You say you’ve studied your soul for months now, coming to a conclusion that the life of a nun doesn’t suit you after all.

These things happen, and people have left before; it’s nothing new under the sun that a nun or a monk wishes to return to the world. This is not a prison, you remind yourself, knowing that your departure will send some waves through the place but that eventually, people will go on with their lives.

You will probably be forgotten in a year: someone else will take your place, and you will continue your adventures someplace far away from here… Or that’s what you hope.

But even if things didn’t work out with König, and you somehow ended up alone, it has become clear that you can’t stay here and continue this double life.

König’s offer doesn’t sound too bad: the Austrian Alps sound very enticing, actually. A simple life away from the buzz of the city is a golden opportunity for you; peace and faith can remain in your life without preventing you from participating in it. If only you knew whether he was kidding when he said that…

“Are you sure, sister? This seems like a rash decision.”

“Yes. I’m sure. I… I think I have found something,” you try to awkwardly explain.

“Something… Or someone?”

“I just know that I can’t stay here. It’s not right.”

“On that, I agree.”

You go through the procedures, ritualistic, almost. The abbess asks whether you understand that this cannot be undone: you can’t just leave and then come back if you change your mind. The doors of the Church will always remain open to you, but your vows cannot be renewed, not in this convent. If this acquaintance of yours turns out to be a disappointment, you cannot simply come back here, don your robes, and start over.

She’s only doing her duty, and you try to listen respectfully, nodding as she lists the things that will be out of your grasp after you walk out those doors. Thinking that everything’s settled, you inform her you’ll leave today, to which she puckers her brows.

“My dear. Don’t you owe it to this convent to meditate on this for one more day? Don’t you owe it to yourself, to the Lord...? I’m sure the world can wait a few more hours.”

You sigh, bow your head, and bend to her will.

She’s right; you can’t just leave as if all the years of joy and peace here meant nothing. You have people to say goodbye to, and you owe it to God to say your prayers, not your last, but last behind these walls. You haven’t even attended the evening mass these days; it’s like you stopped being a nun when a certain Austrian soldier asked if you wanted to take a nap with him.

You receive lots of well wishes, hugs, even tears when you tell others you’re leaving. Embarrassed that you almost got rid of your robes and sneaked out to another secret lover’s meeting without even saying farewell, you meet everyone with full presence until you find yourself crying too.

You catch very little envy in your sisters, but there are some who look at you with jealous disdain when you tell them that no, you don’t even have an apartment yet, nor a job, but that you’ll take your new life as a gift and face it like an exciting adventure.

Thinking about König all day long, you can’t wait for tomorrow so you can tell him the good news. You hope he understands that you can’t visit him every day, even if it has been your silent agreement that you knock on his door before noon. It’s a good thing that the poor man gets some rest: you can tickle and giggle and practice with him tomorrow to your heart’s content, it’s not like he’ll disappear in the next 24 hours.

He’s in König now; all that bliss resides with him and the moments when you two break bread together, or wash each other, tell each other silly secrets on the bed, fall asleep after a round of good sex.

Except that that’s exactly what you fear while you go about your day.

Sorrow and excitement mix in your heart with bittersweet torment, but what haunts you most is that you no longer find God in the great hall where your sisters sing. You don’t feel His presence during the Mass.

Sun sets behind the window, and you sigh while peeking out of your nunnery turned prison. Silence weighs upon you like a blanket, but you can’t get any sleep.

There’s a sudden “clack” on the window, followed by rap, small pebbles or something clattering against the glass. You rise to sit on the bed, instantly thinking of König and his stupid, silly threats.

The longing is awful, it’s even worse when König was away for half a year because now you actually have something to miss. You wonder if he’s watching the same sweet skies as you, if he’s worried or hurt when you didn’t visit him today.

You wonder if the man has only shrugged his shoulders and left…

It can’t be…

There’s another clack, then another, until you jump from under the covers and go to the window, opening it without even remembering to be quiet.

As soon as the windowpane glides open and you peek out, you meet König and his stare.

“What are you– You can’t be here...!”

“I was just about to sing,” he grins without even bothering to tone down his voice, letting the remaining gravel in his hand fall to the ground.

Bending his knees, he swiftly jumps up, pulling himself to the window sill like it’s easy parkour, probably opening that goshdarn wound again in the process. No wonder men die younger – you’d have to tie this specimen to a sturdy lamp post if you wanted him to stay put...

Throwing a pair of long legs over the sill, he makes himself at home, forcing you to take a good few steps back as he simply waltzes inside your room.

“You didn’t come to see me today,” he says like it’s some kind of an explanation for this silliness.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” you roll your eyes. “Something came up, and I had to stay here.”

If you tell him that you’ve just renounced your vows, there’s no way you’ll get him out. He’d just say you must celebrate the good news by making love all night.

“That’s alright,” he says amiably. “I’ll just visit you.”

Trying to argue with whispers doesn’t really help your cause. König only smiles down on you like a cheerful, jovial sun.

“But... It’s... You can’t be here…!”

“I promise I’ll behave.”

“You and your promises… We both know how well you keep those. Go back before you get me into trouble, silly. We can see each other tomorrow.”

“But I want to see you today.”

“Well, you’ve seen me,” you extend your hands to your sides, knowing you’ve already lost. “You can go back now.”

“I don’t think so.”

He takes another step, forcing you to back away until you bump into your bed. Crossing the final breath between you, he pulls you into a kiss.

So much for contemplating your choices and dedicating your last night as a nun to God…

And it’s laughable how fast he rids you of your clothes these days. It’s stupid how fast you’re able to help him get undressed… You all but tear the clothes off each other; actually, you can hear a seam rip when you both yank the shirt over his head, the new black t-shirt you just bought him a few days ago.

Does he even know what he’s doing to you…?

Muscles rippling in the fading sunlight, he’s a god mortalized. Body built as a weapon to rip or ram his way through enemies, to you, he’s only ever been the source of joy and pleasure.

You could pray on the altar of his pecs, sing songs and chants to his lips, worship the bunching muscles of his thighs, kneel before the thing that rests thick between them. The sheer width of him is enough to make you drunk: desire pools, brims, until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore.

You lay yourself on the bed, and he follows, like a big panther or a prowling titan. The bed sags as he sets his knee on it, it wails when crawls on top of you. Heavy cock swinging between his thighs, it seems like a cruel joke that you chose this man to be your first.

And you didn’t expect that you’d lose your virginity this way: in your old room at the holy convent you swore yourself to a few years ago. You didn’t expect you’d lose it to a giant soldier who starts to frantically search for a condom after you whisper to him you’re done with practising.

While theoretically a sin, you’re more sullen with the prospect that you won’t be able to feel the silken hardness of him now that he rolls the plastic on. A little too enthusiastically – as if he hadn’t seen a woman in weeks, let alone cummed all over one two times yesterday.

Still, you find heat pooling down your stomach as he approaches you, keen and eager and as hard as a man can get when he sees something that he likes.

He doesn’t need to part your legs: you do it for him, and when he sees your pussy all puffed up, leaking a thin stream down on the bed, his brows knit together, the expression reminding you of approaching thunder in summer.

His gaze is heavy like midnight when he guides it back to you – always back to you and your eyes, even if there’s a whole feast down there, prepared just for him. The backs of your thighs meet his as he slowly crawls forward, spreading your legs further apart before the battering ram.

“Kitten...” he rumbles. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

The springs continue to wail beneath you: it’s like the whole world is against you today, even the stupid bed making it far too likely to get caught. And if you get caught, it won’t be just by some shocked sisters screaming when they find a man inside your room… It will be by them screaming when they find him inside you.

And he doesn’t seem to even care.

“Ach so my little nun… I hope we don’t break the bed,” he smirks.

“I hope you don’t break the bed…”

“You want me to take you down there instead?”

He nods in the direction of the floor, and you can only blink – your soldier boyfriend is offering to fuck you on the cold cement as if it’s some kind of an option.

“I’m not having my first time on a floor,” you grump.

“Heh. Thought so, princess.”

The possibility of getting caught makes him visibly excited. Hell, it makes you excited... You wonder if he’s an adrenaline junkie, leading a dangerous life and having a life-threatening job, now choosing to try his luck at fucking a nun at a cloister.

You don’t want to be a challenging conquest or a kinky story told to some fellow soldiers at a bar… You want to be a commitment; you want to mean something to him. But you can’t escape the fact that this setting is turning you on. You’re even worse than him, spreading your legs and hoping he’d touch you with that cock; just drag it down your lips and glide it in already.

His gaze is heavy, blue steel, blazing in the darkness as he looks at you so wanton on the bed, a simple crucifix on the wall as the only witness to your deeds. This must be one of the craziest things you’ve done in your life…

Replacing his hand with the head of his cock, he finally lets you have what you need. The tip of him is hot, even when covered in thin plastic, and the sight of him, large and powerful and dark, looming godlike above you, makes you think of pagan heroes and kings. To you, he’s all men in one, the sheer mass of him making your thighs tremble from want.

With a curious finger sliding down the wet, heavy seam of you, he swears when meeting you so pliant and wet. Thanks to your constant “practising”, you’re always slightly aroused, getting in the mood the instant you see him.

Contrary to your belief, having sex multiple times a day doesn’t, in fact, stifle sexual desire but adds to it… It’s like you’ve opened Pandora’s box together, only the box contained all the pleasure in the world instead.

“Are you ready, kitten…?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Just… We need to be quiet…”

His smile is a flash of a grin in the falling darkness. “I’ll try my best.”

The sound that leaves the back of his throat is a deprived, hoarse moan. He seems to be enjoying it more than anything while you’re trying to remember how to breathe, but when he settles fully in and stays there, you start to actually feel something… Something thick, and heady.

Settling to your entrance, he tells you to relax, and you try your best with that; you truly do.

But nothing can prepare you for it, the fat head of him sliding in, smoothly and with a spread that leaves you gasping. The fulfilment is phenomenal – you try to remind yourself to relax your muscles as he pushes a few inches in, and then some more, and then some more. More, more, more, until you start to feel your inner walls wake up with alarm.

Seated so deep that his balls arrive to touch your flesh, your body starts to accept him, squeeze him, hug him.

And it feels good. In a way, it’s the best feeling in the world.

He groans, slightly high-pitched and surprised; perhaps you’re tighter than he expected, or perhaps he can feel the hugging thing…

Your cheeks are panging with heat – the whole building is silent except for the broken breaths of you two, and the lewd sounds of fucking on your chaste bed not made to take this sort of abuse. Growing only wetter and wetter, you try to keep your moans lodged inside your throat as he starts to fuck you with determination, seeing that you’re enjoying yourself.

Pulling out the slightest bit, he chooses to head straight back, apparently not wanting to be deprived of your heat even for a second. Thrust by thrust, he pulls out more, allowing you to get used to what it feels like. The bed is absolutely horrid, creaking every time he buries himself back in.

It’s a punishing of sorts, his cock knocking the air out of you every now and then. The slap of his balls against you is sinful – your room has seen nothing like this, nothing but some shy solo action every few months. Now you’re spread wide open for a good pounding, his hips reaching a pace that makes the rest of the world slowly dissolve.

Realizing he might be a bit too enthusiastic with a woman who’s a first-timer, he swallows and slows down his pace, causing you to almost scream with frustration.

“Am I being too rough…?” He asks, panting like he just ran ten miles. Plugged deep inside you, you can feel his cock throbbing and pulling near the point of cumming – perhaps another reason why he stopped.

“No… No.”

You sound puny under him, fingers flexing over his skin, the great ribs flaring in reply under your touch.

“You want more?”

“Mm. Needy little thing...”

“...Yes.”

Huffing in the hollow of your neck, he breaks into a smile and licks his lips.

You barely catch the hint of degrading tone in his voice, a mocking, something about the way you’re so wet and needy for him stroking his ego just the right way.

Knowing that he’s here for reasons other than just sex doesn’t change the fact that you enjoy getting sweaty with him, spiralling into a state of total surrender. Ten times more powerful than the most blissful experiences with your God, you want to come here for worship again and again, to have his body entangled with yours.

Ecstatic that you just came, König no longer holds back; he doesn’t even let you gather the remaining pieces of your sanity before he starts to chase his own peak. Taking what he needs from you, the trusts turn into short, quick pumps, some foul German curse hissed between his teeth just before he cums.

When the tide swells, it’s a bit different: not just external stimuli and shallow friction, but areas never explored now getting nudged as well. The delicious drag of his length in and out of you, the thickness making you feel overstuffed, does make the pleasure well like never before.

You’re not accustomed to this, being forced so dumb by a cock. Cheekily anticipating the swelling wave, it breaks upon you almost without warning. There’s nowhere to escape, and the climax is blinding, the euphoria leaving you without air for a moment.

You can feel every thick pulse of his cock, and fear for the condom that looked far too tight to manage to take both him and his load. You whimper and cling to him as he ruts through his heavy bliss, entire body throbbing with heat from the joy of spilling inside you.

When done, he sinks half his weight on you, thoroughly spent, and you feel fulfilled, some deep-seated joy taking hold of everything that once was hollow. Curiously, all shame is absent. The man on top of you is sweaty and catching his breath, but you’re only glad to swim in the messy, sweaty newness of you two.

“You ok...?”

You want his weight on you… You want him to stay inside you until he grows soft, you need him to be as drowsy and complete as you.

Hugging him tight in the middle of your post-coital bliss, you feel König rumble into your neck.

“Better than ever,” you breathe a smile. “How about you…?”

“...In heaven,” he replies, and you have to stifle a giggle pushing up your throat. He has never sounded so spent. So tired, happy and fragile…

“I just want to be with you like this,” he continues to mutter on your skin. “Can I be with you like this…?”

“Yes.”

He slowly rises to lean on his elbows, propping himself on them one by one. Weary, pleased eyes slowly focus on you, and the back of his palm comes to caress you, knuckles gently brushing your temple, thumb swiping away an escapee hair.

“Kitten… I’m serious. I don’t want to live without you.”

“We have a tradition in Austria where men sometimes steal the bride.”

“How convenient,” you smile.

“I know you belong to someone else, but I’m going to steal you.”

Your eyes are full of stars, you just know they are. If this is another one of his jokes, you can’t bring yourself to care, not as long as he looks at you like that, eyes so set and determined.

“I’m sure He won’t mind,” you mirror his gesture, raising a hand to caress his cheek.

“I’ll fight Him if he does.”

“...You can’t fight God,” you laugh.

“Why not?”

You don’t even know what to say to that. You open your mouth, then close it, shaking your head on the pillow. In a way, you can imagine him taking up arms against God if it came to that. If there was someone foolish enough – or brave enough – to rise against God, that someone would be him.

“König… I renounced my vows today.”

“...You did?”

The happiness, the pure joy in his eyes, is heartbreaking. At that moment, you know that all his silly jokes, follies, and babbles about taking you to the mountains and whisking you away have been real. They have been true, honest wishes... There is no lie in him, no jest, no fakeness. Just pure, simple joy from hearing that you finally chose him, too.

“I tried to leave in the morning but the abbess made me stay for one more day.”

“Ah... So you’re being held a prisoner here?”

“Kind of.”

The familiar twinkle in his eyes tells you that he already has another plan coming right up. That grin means mischief; but with you, only the sweetest kind.

“Well. You’re in luck, then, because I’m here to save you.”

“You just said you’re going to steal me,” you laugh.

“Call it what you want, kitten,” he winks. “But I’m not leaving without you.”

…

The sun has set, but the evening is bright, the sky filled with stars visible even through city lights. It’s dark in the courtyard as you sneak out of the window with König, trying not to giggle as you escape. You call it a prison break; he calls it Einsatz Rapunzel. Whatever it is, it feels like freedom.

The old man doesn’t even care to look surprised when he sees you clothed in jeans and a simple shirt this time, smiling as you rush upstairs, hand in hand with König.

He whispers promises on your skin, saying that you won’t stay here for long; his contacts will get you to the heart of Europe, tomorrow if you want. You can’t wait to sleep with him tonight: simply sleep with him, finally, curl up together in safety, do the most basic thing all lovers do. You can’t wait to wake up to a fresh dawn together, lovely, curious, and new.

Night covers you with beauty and grace, his pulse against your palm both a promise and a blessing. You take new vows: promising to yourself to live each day fully and bravely, and never again shut your heart.

The only thing left of you on your old bed is your black and white robe, and on it, a crucifix and a rose, and a note that says:

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love… But the greatest of these is love.

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig smut #könig fluff #könig x female reader #konig x reader #konig x you #könig cod #könig fanfiction #cod smut #könig x nun!reader #könig x virgin!reader

2K notes · View notes