#submissive!könig

[notknickers]

this fic took too long to commit to digital paper than it should have, but it's done, so let's focus on that. i have incorporated a few of the headcanons i listed in another dedicated post. or, at least, i tried. synopsis: a strange routine has settled between you and colonel könig, your direct superior. one unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome, after you got over the shock elicited by the reserved, dreadful giant seeking you out for comfort you did not imagine him needing… and the fact that he seems to need it from you more often than you from him. but an unspoken agreement is still an agreement.

warnings: unethical power imbalance, ptsd, dub con to full con, muffdiving for comfort, maledom to malesub, crying, heavy petting, orgasm control and denial, könig is a pet, slight degradation, praising, humping, cum eating, dispassionate fingering, second-person narration in present tense, no gender mention, but reader assumed to be afab, military-related inaccuracies, probably.

word count: 3887

A/N: if you're unsure whether to read this fic or not, here's something about me that might help you decide:

i like my porn grotesque and sentimental;

i like my men dangerous, submissive, pathetic (affectionate) and in tears.

a less blurry tentakönig than his previous appearance is once again here to kindly remind us that the following is aimed at an adult audience. please, respect this.

you are walking with a couple of new recruits along one of the corridors of the base’s building. from out the windows, the light hardly makes a difference, too weak at this early hour to lighten the interiors. chill still blankets you like dew on the grass outside: it hasn’t abandoned you since you woke up for drills.

this isn’t the fastest route to report for training, but there is still time, so you don’t fret. you chat lightly, nodding here and there in spite of the little interest you have for the banality of the noobies’ small talk, when the sound of heavy footfalls echoes ahead.

you hear him before you can see, the sight of colonel könig’s imposing frame following close behind the sound of his stomping gait. your comrades hesitate only a moment, going quiet and halting to salute the higher-ranking official. you don’t.

you are too busy taking in könig’s haunted eyes locking on you, a shiver running down your spine as soon as you notice how crazed they look. two dark pits in the holes of his mask, staring ahead through heavy eyelids smudged in black. your body has stopped moving before your brain could take stock of it; his pace has only increased.

there is not a doubt left: you are his target.

the colonel ignores the recruits and, without even slowing, seizes you by the waist with an arm, lifting you bodily and dragging you along with him. you do not fight it. instead, you gesture towards the hesitant others to go on without you and, after an awkward glance exchanged with one another, they are swift to follow your unspoken advice.

if something unethical is going on between an official and a private, neither of them wishes to witness it. the less they know, the safer their positions within their employer’s company.

you watch their shadows disappear on the wall, behind a sharp corner, and the bitter stench of tobacco mixed with acrid breath hits your nostrils, even through the fabric of the colonel’s mask. it makes you think how many hours he has been up, how long he has been storming the base looking for you, how many times he has choked the desire to drag you from your cot in the middle of the night with yet another cigarette for that smell to linger so thickly…

until the distraction of smoking stopped being enough to help him hold back.

he drops you to your feet, unceremonious, back against wall and falls to his knees, masked head reaching above your waist as he hastily unbuckles your belt. it jingles sharply in the gloom of early morning quiet, the padding of his thick gloves hindering the deftness of his movements, but not his will.

«colonel…», you hazard, voice small. but all you receive in response is more of his frenzied panting and a jolt as your belt is finally torn from your trouser’s loops.

one of his hands disappears under the trail of his mask, teeth pulling at glove, before brash fingers are back to tug at your button and zipper. you relent, disliking the idea of having to request another standard-issue uniform so soon and manage to get your hand under his, removing every obstacle along his way.

könig barely glances up at you in approval. he swipes down trousers and underwear in one pull with a groan. you barely see the pale, scarred skin of his lower face flash in the dim light as he lifts the dangling ends of his mask just enough, that his head already dives between your legs.

his thick fingers hold the softer flesh on your inner-thighs apart with such urge you sense with certainty you will find them bruised, as the colonel easily covers the length of your cunt with the flat of his tongue, uses it to spread your lips, so his can attach to your soft, delicate folds and suck enough to make you ache in both discomfort and desire.

«colonel…», you try again to little avail, the wet, smacking sound of his mouth on yours getting louder as he presses his lips, his chin, hard against you, his panting soon turning to satisfied groaning.

«make me…», he rasps hot against your skin while snatching one of your hands and planting it firmly on top of his own head, pale stubble of hair stinging your palm through the neck-hole of his t-shirt-mask.

as if you could really make colonel könig do anything in this state.

so desperate that his hips thrust back and forth of their own accord. they have been since the moment the colonel dropped in front of you to lose himself in his self-assigned task. they always do when his lips can taste your juices – or those of any other, you presume. they fuck empty air, occasionally swatting your legs as he laps at your cunt with wanton greed unknown to you before you and the colonel were introduced, large, gloved hand still covering yours, squeezing your fingers as he fantasises about you forcing him to pleasure you, like he requested.

it’s more of an instinct, an uncontrollable tic for him, than a genuine attempt at release for himself. he doesn’t even register how he could dry-hump your boot to get himself off, so completely taken by his visceral hunger for you while in the unshakable grip of whatever darkness stirs within.

the one that guided his actions so far. the one that guides his actions often.

you are certain he revels in the feel of your sex against his tongue more than you in the feel of his tongue against it; as if every lick and suck brought him closer to a salvation otherwise denied.

this confirms the initial suspicion that formed in your head as soon as you looked at his grey, dire eyes as he came at you like a battering ram: another one of his night terrors. another phantom lingering in his wake.

you don’t know what it is he sees in the back of his skull every time he blinds himself from sight, when exhaustion claims him and he has no choice but to succumb to it. that is the one thing that still remains a mystery and you won’t prise. you can imagine the horrors, you have seen it before, and that is not the kind of information you force out of someone, no matter how erratic they behave because of it.

his messy slurping is getting out of hand; the way he traps your lips and folds in his teeth and pulls on them, before burying his tongue in your slit to harangue your too-sensitive nub with his nose becoming unbearable; his feasting off of you far rougher than usual.

«col--- könig!», you finally call, voice stern, and his head lifts, chin glistening with spit, before the lower hem of his mask falls back down, sticking to it.

he looks at you as if he were seeing you for the first time today, fury, if not sated, at least subdued, for now. the troubled look so vivid in his eyes moments ago dulls enough that it’s only a pale, threatening glimmer on their glassy surface.

you carefully pinch the hem of your clothes, slowly lifting them to cover up. he stops forcing your thighs apart, so you can adjust your uniform around your hips, gaze still boring into his as you refuse to avert it from his unreliable nature, hoping it will be enough to stay his brash hand.

instead, he helps you with the button, then shuffles back a little, signalling he is no threat to you. he never really was. not willingly, at least.

«belt!»

he swiftly collects it from where he discarded it earlier in his state of rash lust and mysterious turmoil and coils it tidily around his fist, before placing it in your outstretched hand.

he watches, still on his knees, as you loop it back in place and buckle it close, his breathing quiet again.

«könig», his eyes are back to yours as he expectantly awaits for your next words, «to your quarters, colonel.»

you are the one to lock the door behind the two of you with the colonel’s implicit blessings. both of you know what comes next, yet könig does not move, waiting for your say.

so you do. you inhale deeply, closing your eyes for a moment to recollect yourself, knowing now that the distance between you, modest though it may be, will still be the same when you reopen them.

«kit off, colonel», there is no harshness in your voice, but it sounds authoritative all the same.

könig complies, ridding himself of any encumbrance save for his mask, then stands there, further waiting. you don’t allow yourself to indulge in his attractive figure too long, even when his arousal is difficult to ignore, pointing straight at you, leaking thickly.

«come», you barely open your arms and he goes down to the floor, crawling towards you. you meet him on the tiles, slipping your back against the door and settling in a squat as you invite him to join you, invite him closer.

now he can touch you.

he hugs your waist tight, almost dragging you down with him, but careful not to. his head immediately finds shelter in the hollow of your neck, silently begging for comforting touch you are now willing to provide. your hand is soon going through his short-cropped hair, mindful not to lift his mask.

not until he is ready to do it himself, or give you leave to.

there, on the floor, you both find your peace. the peace of liminality: fleeting, for it won’t last and, therefore, all the more precious. he barely moves, trying not to burden you with his conspicuous weight, even when, after a while, even your well-trained thighs and knees need reprieve from the squatting.

you sit down, legs spread wide to make room for könig as he slots himself between them, ruined, scarred lips tracing your throat downwards, then up again as his hands open the top of your fatigues, where more of your skin can be freed for him, covered only by your tank top.

he needs that contact. close. warm. reassuring. even when he unshackles your breasts from the trappings of your attire, mandated down to your underclothes, it is not out of need of his loins that he does so.

you hold him to your chest and soon, you feel his throat tremble. hot, wet tears melt his face, safely hidden against you, breaking the soft murmur of quiet breathing in low, reluctant and shameful sobs the colonel holds in until he cannot any more. a litany of exhalations and mutterings in his native tongue pushes out of him to take their place.

delirium

you hold him tighter as one of your hands finds its way under his mask to contour the battlefield that is his face. unevenly raised scars older and newer that litter his skin welcome the pads of your fingers as you wipe the tears with your palms, gently stroking.

he glances up at you, miserable, bloodshot eyes supplicating for things he couldn’t name if he knew what they were called.

«shhhh», you reassure him that there is no need to ask for anything as you begin to lift his mask, slowly enough to give the colonel time to object. he doesn’t and the fabric swishes off his head quietly.

now he is fully bare. a level of nakedness that you are sure not many have had the chance to witness.

your hold tightens around him and your hand runs through his matted hair, his damp cheeks, contouring the crooked shape of the left cheekbone, the one that broke and never healed right, dabbing at ever-renewing tears as he curses a past to you unknown.

the colonel shifts his heavy eyes, voice louder as he hisses at an invisible figure that hangs in the air of his memory, right next to your head, then shelters his face in your bosom again, crumpled on his knees, fingers digging the sides of your back, which he easily hugs.

you haven’t stopped stroking his hair a moment, holding the colonel as tightly as you’re capable of, trying to hush his whimpering with voice steady and secure.

you don’t know what could reduce the epitome of man such the colonel is, or at least, presents as, to this shaky mess and, at this point, you hope you never learn. the slump of his otherwise proud, muscled back looks pitiful as you stare at it. it brings a bitter scowl to your lips. what, indeed, could possibly have brought reserved and competent könig this low, in front of you?

you remember a tune you once heard him hum when he thought no one was there, or when he was so lost in thought that he did not even realise doing it, more likely. you intone it to the best of your memory.

this seems to soothe the colonel, enough that he is quiet, save for the occasional shaky gasp that still seizes his throat. he soon joins you, voice off-key and hoarse, to complete it with sparse words you couldn’t possibly know.

you try not to think of the consequences of missing the daily training, yet have no intention to ask the colonel to vouch for you. you want to keep this strange moment all to yourself, separate from your quotidian routine. a slice of time in an alternate place, cut away from your everyday reality.

yours and könig’s alone.

your thoughts are interrupted by the colonel’s mouth, warm and hungry. it wraps about the tips of your tear-stained tits and sucks, finally driven by different needs than consolation. your body responds right away to the ravenous love bites he marks on your skin, another blemish of his you will carry with yourself. a memento that this was not some daydream that never really was outside of your imagination.

your nipples pebble in his mouth and, as he steals another gasp from your throat, his demeanour emboldens. his large, rough hands cup your breasts while his teeth move to your neck, your jaw, your lips.

you are weak to his advances. you don’t deny him. yet it leaves you wondering who is taking advantage of whom.

«turn around, colonel», you forcefully grab a tuft of könig’s hair and pull the roots to show him you meant it. again, he complies, even though you can sense a note of disappointment.

he sits in front of you and you kneel at his back, bodies pressed tightly together as you reach around to knead his stomach, muscles flexing involuntarily as your hands descend. the thickness of könig’s abdomen forces you to struggle to reach his cock, but you can work with it. you already have in the past and the fingers now curling around the root of it confirm it.

your hand barely contains his heft, but it is quick to move along the heavy organ all the same. you squeeze, a groan reaching your ears as his flesh throbs back your touch, fingers tracing pulsing veins along it until they come away wet, foreskin rolling down softly almost on its own.

enough with the toying. you want to hear the colonel, könig, gasp and whimper as desperately as when he was weeping, but for rather different reasons. your determination spurs your movements and you start stroking his cock in earnest, wasting no more time.

it feels more aggression than service, almost violent, the way you abuse his cock with your hand, but you know he can take it. can take it. the man demands it. you know by the way, uncomfortable though it is sitting on the floor like that, he bucks his hips into your fist, meeting your downward slide with a jolt from his loins.

and when you torture him with your delightful touch, only to open your fist, enough for him to feel the silky warmth of your palm, but none of the friction, he whines for your hand back. he wines oh-so-sweetly for it as you mock him in pointed whispers in his ear.

this only riles him up more, forcing the most endearing of sounds through his broken lips. so you grant him his wish, hugging his girth in your fist and returning to your task, skin sliding smoothly with könig’s own wetness.

you repeat one, two, three more times, delighting each one in his reactions, until you force him to pleasure himself with your hand.

you hold it still around him, making him work for his release, his hips back to their frantic bucking, until you cheat him out of his pleasure one last infuriating time.

he curses in his tongue, that much you understand without need for translation, as you rise from the floor to stand a little distance away, in front of him.

«silence, dog! you know what i want, now.»

his chest heaves visibly as he peers at you from below, almost hateful in the intensity of his leer, but he obeys. back on all fours, he crawls towards your outstretched hand, seeking contact once more.

you stroke his face, damp and exhausted-looking, by now: «you’re a good, obedient dog, colonel.»

he hums at the praise and lets you guide him closer to you by his hair as you extend your left leg towards him, planting the heel of your boot to the floor. he observes while you let a glob of saliva trickle down on its tip and shuffle your foot to spread it on the rest of the black leather surface.

you lean towards him: «you know what i want from you now, pup.»

könig nods, then positions himself atop your boot, thighs straddling each side of it, disappearing it from sight with their large, powerful muscles. he stares up at you as he rubs his cock against the squeaky-clean, smooth leather you maintain in impeccable condition. he would do so even if that hand of yours caught in his hair weren’t twisting his neck backwards enough to relish in the sight of him.

his slower, sensuous movements begin to grow more haphazard once more. you are sure he will give himself rope burns with the laces if you don’t let him find relief.

«go on, colonel. i want you to come. now.»

he buries his face between your thighs as his hips keep working your boot, rubbing his cheeks against the rough fabric of your fatigues, lapping at it with his tongue, mouth hungry for the warmth and sweet taste of your cunt, just below the clothes, yet out of reach for the colonel until you decree otherwise.

he will have to settle for breathing in its scent, especially after those theatrics of his, earlier this morning.

finally, his penance is served in full. he moans against your crotch as he floods your boot with his seed, breath scorching as his mouth seals against your trousers to quiet his pleasured utterings.

his tongue is dry when he sits on his haunches to recover his breath.

you pet könig’s head, sweat wetting your palm as you run it along his skull: «you are a good pup, colonel», he basks in your praises, eyes almost beaming, «but do you know what a really good pup would do, now?»

he nods, sparing you the breath to tell him and immediately goes down to your boot again, lips and tongue working, relentless, to clean it from his mess. he doesn’t come up until not a single trace of his juices is left on your footwear, nor the floor around it, where it trickled.

you watch him swallow the last of it. No complaints.

that’s when you kneel to encase his jaws in your hands, so you can tilt his head towards you: «you were perfect, colonel.»

you can feel all the tension leave könig’s body. as for the anguish that plagues his spirit, you have done what you could.

colonel könig’s uniform looks impeccable on him. it hugs him perfectly, as if every piece of it were not lying crumpled on the floortiles only minutes ago. his mask is back on his head, shrouding his face as he likes. he waits by the door, gaze illegible, with a glass of apricot brandy in hand whose bottle he retrieved from one of the drawers.

he offered you some, but you declined. even if you could bear its taste, you don’t feel like indulging in spirits when your day has yet to begin. he shrugged and went to lean against the egress wall. he’s still sipping on it to rinse his mouth as you readjust your own fatigues.

you nod your head in goodbye and make to leave, but his figure doesn’t budge. you wait for an explanation. all you get is his gaze trailing behind you as he eyes his large desk, instead.

you sigh, considering what he is offering. your absence must have been noticed, by now and you don’t think a few more minutes will make a difference. in truth, your unsatisfied arousal is probably tainting your common sense, but you already said no to the brandy. it wouldn’t do to leave you superior without saying yes to a kindness he offers.

you nod and he sets his glass aside after emptying it. the temperamental giant easily lifts you again, this time much calmer and gentler, allowing you to find balance by gripping his shoulders as he walks towards the elegant wooden surface.

he rests you on it, sheltering your head with his arm and taking a few steps back as he waits for you to undo your trousers and pull them down enough. you do, clumsily, but quickly and you see him return, towering from above, eyes vacuous and inexpressive now that his mask is back on his face.

he repositions you to his liking, bending your knees to your chest to grant himself a nice view of both your face and your cunt, dripping from all the pent-up energy you accumulated during your session.

he ungloves his right hand, bringing the fingers to his mouth to wet them more out of habit than need, then plants the left one beside your face as he leans over you, mask hovering above you, brushing your face as his fingers find easy way inside you.

he gets working right away, no preambles, rather utilitarian in his approach. his thick index and middle finger squelch rhythmically inside you as his thumb covers your clit. he attacks your sweet spot right away, curling his fingertips as you bite hard on your lower lip to stifle your noises.

the recent memory of him kneeling at your feet, obedient and desperate, coupled with a few more pointed, circular motions and you’re convulsing around his hand, arms instinctively sheltering your eyes from his as your back arches. you feel him retreat right away, his job done and you can finally readjust your clothes for good.

you glimpse könig sneak the fingers he used on you under the hem of his mask, the sucking sounds you hear as you buckle your belt around your waist eloquent enough. he doesn’t seem satisfied until he has licked all of your humours from them, then his glove is fitted back on.

now you can leave.

thank you for reading. let me know what you thought, if you feel like it. and please, if you enjoyed it, consider reblogging.

[cod-dump]

Soap: If I run and jump at König, he will catch me in his arms. Watch.

Soap: HEY BIG GUY!!! HEADS UP!!

König, holding a coffee: Sergeant no-!

*seconds later*

Gaz: Why is there coffee all over the floor??

Soap, in König's arms: No idea.

[theoutlawfaleena]

What do I need to do for him to hold me like that?????

see now ur asking the important questions. what can we as a society do to get könig to manhandle us

no but can u imagine being on a mission with him and having to be quiet and in the heat of the moment he holds u against him to keep u hidden. the way his tall ass form would just totally swallow u up...

[notknickers]

it's here, barely in time. enjoy, or don't. i'm done. which is what matters.

synopsis: when colonel könig gets restless, he knows he can always count on his favourite recruit to put him in his place the way he needs to. warnings: unethical power imbalance, full-con otherwise, boot blacking, proud to messy submissive, slight degradation, manhandling, könig loves it when mummy steps on him, orgasm control, masturbation, praising, köning is a little worm who loves to squirm, smoking, light petting, aftercare, second-person narration in present tense, no gender mention, but reader assumed to be afab, military-related inaccuracies, probably. word count: 2643

a/n: i was stoked to write a boot blacking scene, so i hope it came out right.

if you are under 18, tentakönig doesn't want you to clik below. you don't want to make tentakönig sad, do you?

that day started exactly as expected. early wake, frugal breakfast and another simulation of a real mission. tomorrow will be the same, until, one day soon, it will not be just another realistic exercise to drag you from bed, but a real, multi-day operation with unbelievably high stakes. so you and your squad completed your tasks, competing against the others, making use of all the skills cultivated in the almost ten years of service before being hand-picked for your new position in the private sector, just to see if your current employer is satisfied with it, or thinks you could all use a few pointers and much more training to meet their very high standards. you cleared the assigned objectives to the best of your abilities, each member of the team there to shore up each other’s weaknesses and emphasise each other’s strength, then exfiltrated and had an end-of-day debrief. a very boring one, by then. with all the adrenaline spiking and dropping, all you could think of was supper, then the cot. not a recap of the day. even less so a reprimand for accidentally tracking mud inside. that one ended with the sergeant with a stick up his arse threatening all kinds of debasing chores around base to instil in you some sense of decorum. luckily, colonel könig stepped in to take the task of teaching you a lesson personally.

the sergeant really wanted to be the one to discipline you, before the colonel swept you from him! too bad.

you felt grateful, suspecting könig had far different plans in mind, even though exhausted, dirty and starved, you were not sure you could perform them as well as he had come to expect.

you found comfort in the fact that he did not appear to be in a full-on crisis like last time, even though you could sense nervousness exude from his fidgety fingers and pace.

when the two of you turned the corner of a corridor and he lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing – to avoid leaving any more mud prints and no other reason, surely – all worry dissipated like fluffy clouds battered by ruthless winds.

so, this is how you find yourself in the colonel’s private office, sitting on his incredibly comfortable – and duly reinforced – leather chair he usually keeps behind his desk, with one muddy boot rested on the kneeling man’s bulky right thigh, a boot blacking kit set on the floor beside him.

he has just finished wiping the worst of it from your soles and is now undoing the laces, pinching them between thumb and index to force the dried dirt to crumble on the towel he has intelligently spread under both of you.

you observe the meticulous care with which könig folds the lace into a hank and puts it on the corresponding side, so he will know to what boot it belonged. he does the same with the other.

perched up in his – now yours – chair, you watch the colonel dip the bigger brush in water and saddle soap a few times, before he begins to lather the leather until the whole surface froths with white foam, the circular motions soothing your aching feet even through the thick material.

but it’s not just the pleasant, physical sensation that captures you: it is always fascinating watching the colonel labour with such practised skill.

it’s not that you are a stranger to caring for each item of your uniform to the mandated standards yourself: minding your equipment is just another one of your duties. however, the fact that a man several ranks higher than you is hard at work on his knees to clean muck from your boots never ceases to tickle that well-hidden spot in the secret hallways of your mind. that spot that feels increasingly less concealed, as time goes by and colonel könig keeps, knowingly or not, to appeal to it with such naked candour and good will.

you sink into the padding a little, closing your eyes as the clean, slightly pungent, scent of soap fills your nostrils and the gentle rustle of cotton against the leather grain reaches your hearing with regular cadence. könig is vigorously wiping the foam with a rag, mercifully sending warmth up your stiff legs, weary from all the walking, scuttling and crawling.

he takes his time with it and you don’t dare say a word, lest you distract him and ruin the moment. you can envision his serious expression even under the mask he has not removed: brow knitted. intent focussed. mind clear.

you wonder if the colonel is the type who, when fully committed to a task, lets the tip of his tongue inadvertently snake and wander from the confines of his lips, leaving it to peep out for the duration. the thought makes you snigger, a small but crystalline sound that has könig halt a moment in question.

you shake your head in dismissal, mirth warming your features: «please, colonel, continue.»

the harsher sound of dry bristles from a smaller brush going through seams and metal eyelets resumes as he obeys, until this stage, too, is completed to his – and, implicitly yours – satisfaction.

as much as you crave the sight of him, so much you wish you could burn it in your retinas, you don’t have it in you to open your eyes when he firmly lifts your right leg to rest it on the bulging muscle of his quadriceps, like he just did with your left, to restore that boot, too.

you let the colonel serve, his movements and their sounds giving you a very clear idea of what is happening all the same, as you sink even more in your seat.

the clinking of a metal jar makes you grimace faintly, but the known smell of shoe grease gets you back in the moment. he works the stuff with his bare fingers, massaging it into the leather up to the ankle, which he carefully turns to slather the whole boot.

you almost wish you could get away with keeping your endowments in worse condition, as all it will take for your boots to rediscover their as-new shine will be a single coat. two at most. you can’t help but sigh, trying not to let your disappointment sift through: so attentive and attuned is the colonel, he would surely detect it and risk thinking he is the source of your displeasure.

a notion that could not be furthest from the truth.

as the left boot soaks in the wax, the colonel’s hands operate as deftly on the other. this time you indulge in watching him knead more product in with knowing touch. the time to buffer the other one with another clean clothe comes too soon, but you enjoy the care anyway. when the right one has also been thoroughly wiped, he takes both of your feet back on his thighs to laces them back up. making sure the length on each string is even.

quiet but proud, he waits for your verdict.

you peer at the renewed leather with critical eye, toying a bit with the colonel with long pauses and pensive frowns, the soft light of the desk lamp suffusing the outline of your right boot enough to let you admire its state.

«an impeccable job as always, colonel», you state as you plant your left boot on his shoulder, «however…»

you sense his tension at your objection, that sudden tautening that goes through every fibre of könig’s ample figure like lightening. his eyes lift to yours, expectant.

«however, i think they could use a spit shine… what do you say, colonel?»

könig eases right away as his neck turns towards your ankle. there’s no need to specify you expect his tongue to serve as both applicator and buffer, this time, as the colonel is already lifting his hood, using the bridge of his nose to secure its hem.

his eyes fix on yours as his tongue traces your boot from heel to toe, through the side, and a deep, intense shiver seizes you from within as he continues, lips smacking as he delivers a flurry of wet and languorous kisses on the leather itself.

his large hand firmly braces your ankle, further bending your knee. he cups the rubber sole with the other, as his tongue contours the shoe’s silhouette. he glances at you in between long sweeps of his tongue, desire glinting as bright as fireflies in the dark.

you take it all in from above. the fluid movements; the way his ruined, red lips, glowing with spit, part and suck; how his soft, pink tongue flutters over the dark surface, careful not to miss a single spot.

as diligent with his mouth as he is skilled with, you have come to believe, all he does. a quality of his you thoroughly appreciate.

you find your teeth pinching your bottom lip as the sight of him filters through the heave of your chest, getting slightly faster as it accommodates your heart picking up pace. so devoted to his task, he barely notices when your stamp your other boot on his muscled chest and push, shoving him down to the floor.

you abruptly stand as könig drags backwards on his elbows, resettling after the unexpected fall.

«tell me, colonel, do my boots taste good on your tongue?», there’s a hint of a cruel smirk pulling your lips in a tense line.

könig, eyes a little desperate in arousal, nods slowly.

you draw closer, speaking more softly: «do you miss it, colonel, their taste?»

again, he nods as he still holds himself up from the floor on his elbows as you loom closer.

«how much?», you breathe out as he watches you advance with no more room to escape.

you press the boot on his cheek, pushing his face between floor tiles and rubber, forcing könig to lie on his back.

«well?», you taunt, «show me how much you miss it, colonel.»

in that position, he has to strain his tongue to manage to feel the lovely leather back on it, where it belongs. where he aches for it. the tip of it almost reaches you several times as he groans at every attempt, saliva dripping down his mouth to his chin, where it pools thickly, before drooling down to the floor, wetting his reddened cheeks at its passage.

«go on, colonel. if anyone can manage, that is you», you taunt and encourage at once, until, indeed, his tongue brushes the boot that holds him down.

«good, pup!», you coo, dragging the rubber of your boot lower on his chest, the tread of it engraved in könig’s face.

you don’t stop your descent, slow though you decide to keep it, until it approaches könig’s waists. his hips jolt up a little of their own accord before you’ve even found balance, letting you know in unmistakeable terms what he hopes from you.

«you want me to go lower, puppy?»

he nods more emphatically, panting a little in anticipation.

«oh, colonel… do you really want me to use my shiny, black, leather boot to make you come in your drawers, like a pathetic adolescent?»

you rub the toes of your boot downwards, feeling könig’s impressive length struggle painfully against the durable material of his uniform, barely any room to accommodate his hard-on, his hips lifting up against you.

he whines pitifully when you pull away, leaving him to thrust into empty air in utter frustration.

«oh, puppy… but what would all the respectable men and women who serve under you think, if they knew that their colonel likes to make a sticky mess in his clothes?», your voice oozes mockery and sympathy in almost equal measure, as you rile him up.

just like the defeated way in which he peers back at you in supplication both pulls at your heart strings and makes you slick between your thighs at the same time.

you sigh: «alright, then. cock out, colonel.»

he’s not quick enough to react to your tastes, so you intimate again, voice much harsher and peremptory, this time: «cock out, i said!»

he quickly fumbles with belt and buttons, until his heavy member, slicked and leaky at the tip and swollen from all the constriction ill-endured inside his trousers, springs out, lending with a smack on his lower abdomen, on his enticing trail of blond curls.

your boot is quick to kiss it, further squeezing its shaft against könig’s stomach as he groans, full of longing and gratitude. he mindlessly grinds against you as you watch him, barely having to do any work yourself.

«my floor-loving, little worm… squirming so desperately…», you swear you can feel the warmth of his skin as you taunt him.

he’s incapable of uttering anything of meaning. only grunting and grinding. the sight of it makes you feel like your heart is racing from between your legs. it seems, for now, the only one between you who will be making a slicky mess in their drawers is yourself.

you bring your fingers to your mouth and quickly moisten them, before disappearing them in your trousers, a gesture the colonel’s eyes suddenly gain focus for.

under the clothes, you part your lower lips and trap your clit between your fingers, rubbing and pulling at it idly, at first. you are so wet you could have forgone licking your fingers and your breathing turns to sighing sooner than you expected, vying with the obscene squelching of your sex for könig’s senses.

the way the colonel rubs against the tread of the boot that presses down on him, you’re not the only one mere moments away from bliss.

your breath hitches and you barely avoid embarrassingly choking on your own saliva when you try to speak: «are you close, puppy?»

könig frantically nods affirmatively, motion almost matching the rhythm of his hips. a quick glance at him, at the interest with which he stares at you, at his own movements, could have told you as much. the known, mindless litany of german words is right behind his lips, ready to tumble out of them.

it will have to wait

«good puppies wait their turn, don’t they?»

könig whines in supplication, but he will not get any pity from you.

«you might be the big dog out there, but in here, colonel…»

you fail to finish your sentence that your voice breaks, head falling back in a whole-body shiver, as heat waves scorch your core. your cunt clenches tight on nothing. you swallow, panting and can’t help the snigger that emanates from your throat as your body still shakes.

pure euphoria.

könig is not far behind you, especially after that. a few more strokes from your boot and he spills on his own stomach, pumping his hips a little longer, before sagging to the floor.

exhaustion finally catches up with you. you join könig on the floor, after sweeping for papers and tobacco on his desk. he asks you to kindly roll a cigarette for the both of you, before indulging his hunger for your slicked fingers, now that you’re so close to him.

he’s such a nasty man. you oblige him in both favours, of course.

the two of you find yourselves passing cigarettes back and forth, occasionally blowing smoke in each other’s mouths, quietly lying on the floor.

you take a drag, cinders burning bright in the dim chamber, as he undoes the top of your fatigues, clearly tired of lying on your chest without feeling your skin on his, obviously finding there something more interesting to suck in his mouth than nicotine.

he gently cups and kisses, caresses and suckles tenderly on skin and breasts and collarbone, still half undressed and stained in his own juices. neither of you particularly disturbed by it, either way.

thank you for reading. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging.

[thefloorisbalaclava]

---

hzgahafshasj @cassandras-nest and i were talking about how much of a little gremlin he is the other day! this is hilarious!! thank you for submitting!!!

[stvp1dbl00dslvt]

☆ About Me!

° My names Cole:3

° He/Him please!!

° I'm gay lol

° I'm only writing MLM

° All of my posts will be using He/Him for the reader unless I get a sub for different pronouns (I won't be using any feminine ones)

° Characters that I post (or will be posting):

• König - COD

• Ghost - COD

• Dean Winchester - Supernatural

• Sam Winchester - Supernatural

• Jeff The Killer - Creepypasta

• Leon Kennedy - Resident Evil

and ill possibly add more characters later on!

° PLEASE GIVE ME MORE SUBMISSIONS!

[lilteecupangels]

Submitted by @ma-du

Alternative title: Soap has a type, and that type is six-foot-tall masked men who can bench press him with one hand

Ps.: Warning right away that the classification is explicit, so it doesn't catch anyone by surprise – at work lol

===================

Additions by teecup:

Oh go, yeeessss.

Soap gets all the loving from his Lt and König.

[theoutlawfaleena]

thinking bout könig calling out your name whilst sleeping and waking up to you stroking his face and wiping away his tears. he would just bury his face in your neck and not let you go

PLEEEEASE HE PROBABLY HAS SUCH BAD NIGHTMARES :( i feel like he's much more sensitive emotionally than most of the others in his team so every single thing he feels is turned up to eleven, so he often has trouble sleeping at night </3 having u close to calm him down afterwards helps him so much and it comforts him to just hold u and breathe u in and know that ur there and that ur okay

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Overstimulating König

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Dick Riding, Submissive! König, Extremely Overstimulated! König, Top! Reader, Sperm Cramps, Mentions of Pain, Mentions of Fluids, Profanity, Pet Names, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Overstimulating König to the point where his voice is raw and thin from moaning, crying and whimpering (in that order), his body aching as you ride him, tearing orgasm after orgasm from him. His eyes have long since rolled back into his head, back arched and mouth agape in the visage of the many hours that have preceded this one.

His hair sticks to his forehead, body glistening with a thick sheen of sweat. His stomach is soaked in a collation of your shared fluids, strings sticking to the underside of your thighs every time you lift off him, slamming back down a moment later.

Overstimulating König until he literally can’t cum anymore because you’ve milked him completely dry and used him until he’s flaccid, his cock still held inside you by your sheer force of will to torture him (as it would seem). He can only gasp and let out breathy yelps as you use his body to get yourself off, looking down on him, your stare enough to keep him from acting up.

It hurts, is all he can think. All he can feel. He didn’t think sperm cramps were real until now. But the feeling of being so thoroughly used by the one person he loves most is enough to keep him from throwing in the towel, from asking you to detach from him, to spare him.

Your praise doesn’t help his case, either. Especially when you tell him how he’s doing so well, my Big Bear. It’s more than enough for him to endure the spasming pain coursing through his bottom half – if only to see you smiling down at him again, to have you cum on his cock for what could have been the fifth or tenth time that night — he couldn’t keep count anymore.

He’ll repay your favour in kind another night. You just don’t know it yet.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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[notknickers]

my next könig x reader fic, ''only pride in service for a military man,, (pride in service, for short) is finally finished. i just have to piece together the banner, draw the divider, assemble the intro and... i think i've earned my dinner, first... should be up before midnight, either way.

i'm really excited about this one. i hope it will be well-received.

[dmitriene]

cw: animalistic sex?

könig obsessed over your breasts, it's not the size, doesn't matter if they're more plushy or either not, it's the fact that he can watch your nipples puffen up from his sharp teeth's and greedy suckles, mouth lavishing at the pebbled flesh that warms beneath his kisses, your hands grasping tremblingly at his shaven head, rubbing across the short layer of remained hair, almost painfully so.

it makes him whine high in his throat, pitifully, submissive, enjoying the bouncing, breathy sounds of your moans and the scratch of your manicured fingers against his skin, you can tear him up, turn upside down, make him bleed at the wide expanse of his scarred back, as he licks sloppily against your nipple, swollen on his lolled tongue.

he's all rugged and ill mannered, groping at you like a mutt, outgrown nails sinking into the plushness of your skin everywhere he can find the purchase to, kneading at you, littering your clean, untouched skin with his sharp canines, making you squirm at the rough rubbing of his bristle against your already sensitive body, yet your pussy still pulsing beneath your sodden panties for some attention, könig's blue eyes eclipsed, needy and sympathetic when you gasp for him to move.

he obliges like a dog, knowing well to obey the command instantly as he hears it, your pussy devoured lewdly by his searing, slobbery mouth, all over the fabric of your panties that soak and stick to your slicked folds, but he makes no move to get rid of the fabric, because you didn't voiced out he can, even through your slurred gasps talk about your pleasure.

könig's calloused, large palms enveloping the fat of your breasts, squeezing your nipples between his fingers, fiddling and rubbing, twisting, anything to see you tremble and seize beneath him, your dripping pussy tight around his cock, a vise that spasms around his girthy, throbbing cock, fucking into you with wet, messy glides that pummel at your gummy spot, almost cumming on the spot when you scratch at the nape of his neck, clamping down tightly.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[konigsblog]

könig is a rough dom, argue with the wall 💯🎀

i know a lot of people headcannon könig to be a soft dom, or submissive due to his size. some people think he'd rather you be in control rather than himself because he might lose himself and become all rough and aggressive... but, i think he's purposely rough. i think he's into pain play.

he loves to twist and tug on your nipples. nipple clamps and pulling on them. it gets him so, so hard at the sight of your shocked and pained facial expressions, with tears rolling down your tearstained cheeks.

“you are such a filthy thing, mäuschen...” his hand collides with your cheek, the other pulling your hips and rocking them to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“you cry so much, yet take it all so well. you enjoy getting slapped, hit? ja--of course you do, taube...”

könig is fast and harsh with his thrusts; balls smacking against your cunt when he's fucking your tight asshole, with your mouth taped and moans stifled and muffled.

he's most definitely into bondage, probably latex too. of course, he's in the military, he knows how to tie you up so that you're not wriggling another the place constantly. just so he can fuck into your glossy folds ‘til they're puffy and swollen and bloody from his fast and hard thrusts.

könig would probably be into fear play as well. he'd love to roleplay interrogation, to put the muzzle of a handgun against your temple and fuck into your hole while demanding answers. the gun isn't loaded, obviously. he wouldn't dare risk his lover's life just for some sex... he just likes to threaten you, to see the fear as you're forced to ride him and work your hips down onto his fat dick while he leans back and watches as you do all the work.

or even putting the gun on the back of your head as you suck him off obediently and shakily.

knife kink? he has it. eating you out and placing the sharp blade against your thigh, slowly dragging it up, enough to threaten you and keep you still.

stop wiggling, mausi... otherwise you'll have a cut along your thigh from being disobedient.

he loves humilation and degrading. he has you sad and whiney, sobbing for him to be gentle, which gives könig to opportunity to fuck into your hole, soothing and easing the pain and throb between your soft thighs, while wiping away the tears that ruin your pretty cheeks. :3

[lizzy019]

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────

König who is overly sensitive when you mention things that hit his sore spots. You comment on his height? His shoulders will sag. You mention how awkward he is at times? Don't expect a response from him for the rest of the day. You tease him for his scarring, even if it's playful? His skin will be covered for the whole week.

König who adores how soft your skin is when he first got to touch it, to lay his thick and calloused hands on it. The colour, the light fuzz of hair, the precious marks and dots that reminded him of just how individual and lovely you were.

König who can't stand the overly plush mattress of yours, and would rather sleep on the floor. Being in the military since 17, he's come to enjoy the harder type of mattress to sleep on due to the cots, so your overly fluffy bed annoyed him, even if it cradled him nicely.

König who would definitely wear anything for you, and I mean ANYTHING. Even if it won't fit, if you like it on him whether it compliments his skin or if it would just look cute on him, he'd buy it and wear it while covering the soft pinkish hue on his cheeks.

König who loves cooking you authentic Austrian cuisines and desserts for you to try. If you don't like it, he'll give the most playful expression of fake hurt, a hand placed against his chest as if he was distraught, but he wouldn't force you to like it or anything. More food for him!

König who absolutely needs cuddles after he comes back from his military service, craving that feeling of being able to bury himself in your grasp, engulfing his senses with you and your body.

König who has a bit of a possessive issue when it comes to you, but it's almost so subtle that it just seems like he's clingy. With his height and how he looks compared to you, he would kill anyone who dare came near you to try and take you away from him.

König who's too lazy when it comes to his laundry, and he has two hampers loaded with clothes that desperately need a wash. (He probably bought new ones just to avoid washing his dirty clothes 0.0 and he didn't wash the one he bought either lmaoo)

König who has some bad mommy issues, always needing a little bit of scratches to his scalp to relax and soothe him when he needs sleep. Begging you almost for some gentle scratches for his scalp that just craves the sensational feeling of tingles.

König who definitely supports you in whatever you do or say a bit too outwardly. You dress in a certain manner? Fuck yeah! You have a strong opinion about something? Ja! You don't like Austria but he's an exception? He's fucking honoured! (lmaooo I can picture it thooo)

König who LOVES lava temperature baths, it really gets to the deepest parts of his sore and stiff muscles, plus, it's funny seeing you try to stay completely still so the heat of the water doesn't affect you as much as when you move around. You're just so cute to him!

König who is secretly submissive and doesn't know how to tell you 0.0

König who fucking worships you like a god. In a sense, you're his Lord and Saviour, protecting him emotionally and being there for him when things get too rough. You provide him solace and comfort, a serenity that he can't find anywhere else and he's eternally grateful for it.

König who likes playing with your hair, no matter its texture <3

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────

[stvp1dbl00dslvt]

omg, I loved your recent post 😍

actual w, it was SO GOOD JRJDNEJRHHEJSBDNSIEHELA

anyways, enough of my rambling :,)

I came here to request konig headcanons, just on what u think because we need more bbg konig PLS

all up 2 u and keep up the amazing work <3

[gremlingottoosilly]

I know König probably has some type of spyware on his wife’s phone. How would he react to his wifey watching porn?

Oh! Oh... Konig has a very particular taste in porn, the one that would probably make him a dirt pervert in the eyes of almost anyone. No illegal categories, he isn't a monster, but anyone would be alarmed to know just how many rough sex categories and milfs he is watching...daddy kink too, although he hates to admit that sometimes he likes to stare at guys' dicks while watching porn. The sole reason he doesn't understand his dick is freaking huge is because he watches too much porn with giant dicks penetrating smaller women. Your fate solely depends on what porn you like to watch. Lesbians? Okay, good, at least he wouldn't really be jealous that you're staring at other guys...but now he has to cancel the book club meetings at his house because apparently, he can't trust you around your girlfriends. Hentai? A bit weird but, then again, he wouldn't be jealous of anime guys or tentacle monsters. At least he wants to think he wouldn't. It's a compelling thought. If you're watching more rough categories, gang bangs and stuff like this...he would be alarmed, at first. You're his innocent angel, you shouldn't be watching this stuff, it's horrible! Disgusting! When he can call his friends so they all could have hot group sex with you as their princess!! Konig wouldn't block your porn access because he barely understands stuff like this and Hutch already helped him too much with installing trackers in the first place...but you can prepare yourself for Konig making you sit on his lap and just go through your browser history...having sex while watching porn is weird, but Konig already found a couple new kinks he wants to try when you're already horny and submissive.

[theoutlawfaleena]

Just a question but do we all bark for Krueger too?

I BARK SNARL AND HOWL FOR KRUEGER IDK ABOUT YALL BUT--