#Cod König x fem reader

[saturncodedstarlette]

Y/N : I’m so hot. *standing in front of electric fan*

König : Yes you— I mean— yeah. Yeah its- its hot in here.

[diejager]

Saccharine and Monstrosity pt.1

Pairing: Eldritch Horror!König x mermaid!reader

Cw: kidnapping, manipulation, DARK FIC, trap, luring, mention of breeding kink, protective König, mention of partial nudity, hunting, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 4K

I got inspired by @konigsblog ‘s post.

You enjoyed the sun as much as any other betta fish mermaid, laying on the warm rocks and bathing under the bright, yellow sun. You lived in a school of fish that moved near the shores of a tropical island a few generations before, building houses under the coral reef and rocks where newly placed branches would grow and work as a natural shield. The world you lived in - the part of the ocean you called your home - was bright and colourful, the shallow waters clear and gleaming under the warming sun.

You liked all things bright and colourful, either big or small, you decorated your part of the cave with things you found while swimming around your territory. Be it a golden coin shining on the ocean floor, or a shard of coloured glass, you picked it all up and stuck it around your room. Sometimes, you found pretty things near the limits of your home, and other times, you ventured closer to the edge of the darkness when something shiny caught your attention. 

Over the ridge of sand that drew the start of the darkness, that deep and menacing slope down to the deepest part of your ocean, where darker, meaner and cruel beings born of cruelty and madness lived. It was somewhere all mers were warned of, to stay far away from the darkness and never stray from the light that fed and protected you. You thrived in the light, your body absorbing the warmth from the sun that made your scales vibrant and feeding from the fauna and flora that lived beside you: seaweeds and small fishes. 

Your kind grew up with stories of horrifying monsters and cruel creatures that lived in that abyss, lingering near the shallow to catch a pretty, little mer for their hoard. Whatever became of the taken was still unknown, once a mer was taken by One, no one would hear from them from then on. Your parents had warned you about straying too close from the shallow, daring fate when you swam over the ridge to collect those pretty gems you fancied so much.

“Don’t worry,” you’d grin at her, fins flickering behind you. “I’m a fast swimmer, mom!”

You were a fast swimmer, slipping between rocks and corals, hands cradling your little shells while you fled from the dark, twisting over the ridge and vanishing between the corals. That’s what you did most days, picking up people’s trash to make it your treasure, fingers cleaning the sand off the holes and crevasses before sticking them to your walls. You also tinkered with metal creations you found, a silver fork or a rusted-looking instrument. 

Granted, you joined in hunts, catching sardines and herrings, claws digging into its scaled bodies and teeth ripping into its flesh, the only other taste being sea salt, or bathed under the sun, but you preferred scavenging for loot. Although mers hunted alone, most found it easier to do it in groups, swarming shoals of fish and catching in a group of a dozen at a time for your little colony. So when you were fed and rested, you were back out, treading the line between the shallow and the abyss.

You swam slowly, head turning left and right for anything that would catch your attention, for that small glint hidden under a thin veil of sand or a long metallic object sticking out from the ground. You already had a few things in your arms, a few shells, human objects thrown overboard or floated into the sea, and small treasures: white pearls. You picked things up from both sides, mind in a comfortable and pleasant space, prideful of your catch so far that you were oblivious of the eyes following your colourful body. 

His pale eyes wandered over your puffy cheeks and sweet lips, those squinted eyes in mirth as you searched for more. He went down the curve of your shoulders and the swell of your breasts, perky nipples covered by pretty shells, over your soft stomach and that bright, colourful tail of yours that first caught his attention. Every scale glistened under the sun, reflecting the light on the sand while you swam, your fins curving with the twist of your tail. 

You were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, an angel collecting treasure, just like he did. He saw the batch in your arms, clutched between your breasts when you dove to pick something up on his side. You were as adorable and innocent as you were pretty, your action oblivious of his predatory eyes, dipping into his territory without fear of retribution on his part. He liked that bold and daring attitude of yours, fitting for someone so courageously bright and flashing your bold colours to him. 

If he were to drop something closer to him, would you still swim towards it or ignore it for something closer to the ridge? If he hid until you were close enough, would he be able to wrap his limb around you? To feel your soft skin and coarse scales under his slimy arm. He was glad he decided to hunt today, searching for both prey - mer or fish, he isn’t picky about what he ate - and treasure. Hidden under a couple of tentacles, he dropped a golden coin a few feet away from him, his veil and the darkness helping him hide from your sight. 

His heart soared when he saw your eyes widen, a smile curling at the corners of your lips when you saw his little coin, diving towards him with enthusiasm. You were so close to him, hand stretching to grab the object with small, clawed fingers. When you held it in your hand, appraising it, he felt pride bubble in his chest, rising to his mind as he took this occasion to get his arm around you. You flinched when he wrapped the tip of his tentacle around your tail, squirming around in terror. In a panicked struggle to escape him, you dropped everything you’d collected and fled from him with a cry.

He watched you swim away from him through saddened eyes, hearing the thudding from the things you dropped, even the coin he gifted you. His eyes never left your fleeing body until you jumped over the edge, your tail the last thing he saw in that moment of self-deprivation and sadness. He hoped you’d come back, forgetting the fear of his sudden attention and daring fate once more.

He came the next day and the day after that, but you weren’t there, your precious smile and happy eyes were a memory in his mind, a fleeting moment in his gloomy world. He came back every day, hiding in the darkness, on the line between pitch darkness and light shading. He wished you were there every day, his eyes bleeding with optimism and hope for a single smidgen of bright colours. 

He hadn’t seen you in the following week. His shoulders slumped and caved into himself in sadness every time he came by, his blue eyes dulling bit by bit, that hopeful thinking drowning under realistic thinking and a pessimistic mind. Then he caught a glimpse of colour against the white sand. Before long, he saw arms filled with shiny items, trailing nearer to your side than his, but still chasing for treasures. 

If he wanted to approach you, to touch your soft-looking skin and run his arms over your scaled tail, he’d have to find a way to lure you in. He watched you the first few days, his tentacles curling on itself and burying himself in the sand, the hundreds of suckers searching for buried treasures to leave for you. When you turned your back to him, his unwinding arm left the things he found near the ridge for you to find and take. Little gifts for you, courting gifts he left and gifted you in an attempt to woo you. 

You were skittish and fleeing but took all his gifts with shaky smiles and grateful eyes, you knew he gave them to you. Of course, you did, you were his brave and smart little mermaid, approaching his offerings with apprehension - he felt hurt you feared and got nervous around him, but he understood you, his kind ate yours - and scanned the sand around you for any danger before crossing the line. He felt giddy when you added them to your stack, his mind-blowing with dreams and thoughts of you decorating your little cave with the things he gave you. On the ceiling, against the wall and on the ground or surfaces, you would use the things he gave you for your home. 

It sent him up the walls of his caves with joy and excitement, his limbs curling to rearrange his home to prepare for you, to accommodate your arrival to his big, lonely home.

It took a week or two - or so he thought, his perception of time was and had always been warped in some way - before you became comfortable enough to approach him, to let him curl his slimy tentacle around your tail and up your body. He could finally feel you and it made him ecstatic - he was over the moon every time he got to touch you. Little pokes, fleeting squeezes and feathery bites from his suckers on your flesh, all things he let himself taste before your coupling. A coupling between the prettiest and the cruellest beings in the ocean would unwind the seams that made your worlds, pulling the string that separated the beauty and the beast in this cursed universe.

Granted, you hesitated to cross into the pitch darkness of the abyss, dancing just a few inches from his abode with an armful of trinkets from König. Your slow and steady breath, words you blessed him with when you muttered to him, calling out to know if he was there and your grateful grin were a common, yet welcome sight in his daily swim. While a bit reluctant to join him on the other side, you eventually swam across, your eyes melting into the black before you. You were unseeing as much as you were blind, if not for the guiding palm of the Eldritch creature that you befriended and the shine of treasure you saw around him. 

You wished you could see anything but the gleam of treasure and the black mist of the abyss, your hand wandered over his, searching for his body, to feel the one who’s been gifting you treasures. Your fingers trailed upwards, feeling the tightness of his muscles, the curves and hardness of his arms were sinful. You truly wished you could see him at this moment, but you kept at your advance, clawed fingers moving slowly with unbridled curiosity. When you reached his broad shoulders and well-pronounced chest, it rumbled, a purr coming from König. Its deep sound shook you with need, your tail enthusiastically moving back and forth as you listened to him. 

“Are you happy, Schatz?”

His voice was even better than his soft purrs, in a way that made you want to melt into his arms and never bother moving if he kept talking to you, the sound of the creature that gave you gifts and affection. König’s spine-chilling voice seemed like a mix of many voices, both soft and raspy, and both deep and smooth, but it was something you enjoyed, that you found yourself liking a bit too much. 

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes travelling skyward, towards the source of his voice.

Your breath caught in your throat, choking a gasp at the prettiest blues you’d seen staring down at you. They were majestic, gem-like with a pretty sheen that made them glow like a beacon of light. You wondered why you’d never seen them, seeing how bright his eyes were. They lit up his face, or the veil he wore over his face, showing the pale streak of makeshift tears down the incision he made for his eyes. You shamelessly admired him, unbothered by the lost puppy-like stare you gave him in your glowing beauty. 

You’d crossed a threshold, where a creature of light never dared to cross, stepping into the arms of an Old One and embracing their madness. Although you were oblivious to his intentions, the loud proclamation of his courting rituals and attempts of crying out his love - the Old One’s rituals and cultures were much of a mystery to those who didn’t study them, much of a taboo for anyone outside of delusion and greed - he hadn’t refrained from his deliberate show that would be nearly shameful and embarrassing to others of his kind. 

Some wouldn’t bother with such frivolous acts: confessions from the deepest part of their dark soul, proclamation of love and undying adoration, or having to scavenge for gifts - offerings - to the subject of their attention. His kind took and took, reaching for that small glimmer of hope and beauty and corrupted it, bending it to their liking and building something from the ashes. It wouldn’t - would never - be the same as they were before, but that was how the Old Ones liked it: control, corruption, ruin, madness and power.

König wouldn’t do that, he wanted to cherish you, add to what you were and watch it bloom like those bioluminescent creatures in the abyss; even against his creator’s wishes. He’ll put you on the highest pedestal he has, eternally imprinting the image of you as his most precious treasure into his mind. You’ll be a thing of miracles, a thing of blessings, a thing of new beginnings. He wanted all and everything with you, but he’d have to take it slow, to coax you into this redundant pattern that ensured your trust and comfort and have you follow him of your own volition. 

He doesn’t mind waiting, he’s had hundreds of years of sitting and waiting, patience was a virtue he grew to learn, to hold in his giant palm and clutch like a gift from the ever-growing, chaotic universe. He can wait and plan, so he will, König will lay down his plan and wait until he can bring it to reality.

Wait he did, for you to grow comfortable enough to follow him deeper and let him pull you in from your side. It took you a month of back and forth, squirming around your infatuation with König and exchanging trinkets, words and fleeting kisses with him. He adored your little giggles when he traced your sides with a bolt tentacle, curling under your plush tits and the tip sliding under your strap. He loved the pretty shells you gave him, cleaned from sand and any barnacles, it showed him how much time you spent on it for him. His heart bloomed and swelled to impossible heights when you pecked his lips, giving him shy and gentle kisses that he grew addicted to. 

You were so sweet and so soft, your lips the taste of heaven for a creature of madness. Your hands were gentle like a cool balm over a burn, soothing his wild thoughts. Your little gifts for him - reciprocating his affection - were currently the most important things in his cave, a sign of your love and devotion. It made him wonder what would you let him do once you gave yourself to him. Would you succumb to the everlasting pleasures he could give you, or would you demand to help him take care of his own in a mutual haze? He couldn’t help himself, letting his chaotic mind conjure the most absurd and erotic dreams, his body vibrating with excitement; and now, at the peak of your trust in him, he watched his plan - a well-placed trap - come to fruition. 

“Come, Schatz,” he beckoned you forward, his burly arm stretching to coax you to follow him, holding out his open palm to you. “I have something I want to show you. Pretty things.”

Without a thought, to question his intentions or to ask why he couldn’t have bought them for you like he usually did, you took his hand and let his fingers curl over yours, intertwining your smaller digits to his as he pulled you to his chest. His embrace was as safe and pleasant as the last one - yesterday - and caused a flurry of emotions to erupt in your chest, he was warm in the cool darkness, loving in all the ways you could think. You could close your eyes and imagine a smile rippling across his face with joyfully squinted eyes peering down at you. 

Held against his chest, his other arm wrapped around your waist with a firm squeeze of his hand where your skin turned to scales. He whispered sweet promises, words of encouragement to see the way to his home and excited explanations of what awaited you. Pretty things, he said, you knew what he meant - at least you think you did - you shared much in common, and pretty things were something you both agreed on: shiny metals, interesting trinkets, shimmering shells or finely-minted coins. All things humans valued before throwing away; one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. 

How unfortunate that you couldn’t see in the dark, yet how fortunate you wouldn’t know the way back, it was something he relied on heavily to keep you, if you didn’t know how to navigate in this utter blindness, there were no risks of you trying to escape his caring hand. You were smart, you wouldn’t simply venture off without knowing where to go and how to see, especially with how vast his territory was and how dangerous it was. He shared his home with other simple-minded animals, sharks, fishes, eels and any other abyssal creature that lived and depended on the dark to live. 

Your innocent curiosity about the things he deemed pretty enough to hoard made his heartbeat, that addicting feeling he got from touching you, kissing you and speaking to you. Even if the deeper he went, the colder it became, you never once complained, your wide eyes and grinning face were the only thing you gave him. He was truly relieved to know that you were patient and understanding of his home, not one hiss or pout while you shook and clung to him, depending on him for warmth. He liked that, to see you rely on him so much. 

“We’re here, mein Liebling,” he hushed, cradling your face as he dove down, through the entrance of his cave. He shielded your fragile body with his many arms, protecting you from the rush of water current flowing against him. He chose this one to build his nest, using the strong current as a natural barrier against weaker creatures. 

When the waters calmed to a still, he loosened his hold on you, unravelling his arms to let you explore the many passages and alcoves in his home. To accommodate you, he strung up bioluminescent flora, using them as light to find your way around, with silken algae over a few rocks to mimic the beds mers slept in and a few other things that he thought you’d need: a mirror, a few floating plants to add to its mystical beauty and clusters of soft materials in nearly every room. 

He let you wander, your tail flapping back and forth to lead you down the long hall and explore the many rooms. He used a room to sleep, one as a pantry and storage, and another one to hold his hoard, but he had a lot of empty and unused space, more than enough for you and your children to thrive. He wanted to let you roam at your own pace, but he had something to show you, something he was proud of making. 

He pulled you from your little cloud of joy, wrapping an arm around you, his sticky suckers latching onto you as he coaxed you his way. Only then had you taken the time to admire König under blue light, cheeks warm with a burning flush and doe-like eyes staring at the naked expense of his hard abdomen, stomach sculpted to perfection that had Adonis shying away. His arms were big and round, muscles straining the scarred skin with delicious appeal. 

Downwards, following the sharp dip of his navel, were dozens of dark tentacles lined with round, pulsing suckers. Like an octopus, they were covered in a slimy sheen, every limb flexible and able to move independently. The lower ones were thick and soft, acting as a cover for whatever he hid beneath them, while some were thinner, whose source came from under his veil. Those, however, were a mix of normal and horrific tentacles, some had eyes replacing the usual suckers, tinted in the same colour as his irises, that glowing, pale blue. 

It made your body heat up, fingers tingling with nerves - or was it? When faced with something you found appealing, it’d be natural to feel flustered, no? König thought so, that’s how he spent the first days reacting to you, heating up to a bothersome flush to everything you did. He watched your awed stare, that daydreaming haze in your eyes when you looked him over, his whole body clear under the gentle light in his cave. 

“This way.”

Without making your gaze leave his figure, he drew you in, heading towards his biggest room where he caught and strung everything to fit his pleasure and mood. It was somewhere deeper into the system with walls strong and sturdy, and the round ceiling higher than the other rooms. On one side was a pile of golden objects of all shades, light yellow to a darkish gold, nearly bronze; on the other was a mix of pretty silver things and metallic black objects, rusted by age and the salty ocean; and on another, the smallest of them all, comprised of a few dozens of colourful shells and corals frozen in time that you’d given him. 

He saw your chest expand, your smile growing brighter and brighter at the pile of gifts you gave him, your bubbly laugh as you swam towards it, twirling around it proudly. You looked around the room, admiring his large collection and how it seemed to spill down every pile in an attempt to reach the other one, forming a protective ring around your presents, but always coming back to the bright pink, blue and yellow shells. You were happy and appreciative of the time he spent working and arranging his hoard. If he could, he’d preen and purr to you, to show just how much your proud smile meant to him, watching you appraise his work was satisfying. 

He already felt like things were falling into place perfectly, he could see the life he had envisioned with you coming to life, the little intricacies that popped into his mind seeming too appealing. His dreams were slowly becoming a reality, the things that he could only imagine were now tangible to his hands, and the future he salivated at was so, so close that he could sink his teeth into its flesh. 

He knew it. He knew it when he watched you swim to him with that big, adorable smile on your face, that it was in his hands. He could see it now, how his lonely cave would be filled with life and laughter, children with a mix of your beauty and his madness chasing one another between the many openings and your round, swollen stomach welcoming another of your children to the world. That was all he could think of while he cradled you in his arms, his tentacles latching to your tail and back. 

“You’re happy, ja?”

Next

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @candlewitch-cryptic @im-making-an-effort @0alk0msan 

[yawnderu]

Thinking about how König loves using toys on you under the excuse that he's just preparing you to take his massive cock :((

It might have been true months ago, but he's just such a perverted loser that he gets off more to seeing you take big toys and even his fist if he's feeling extra mean that day :((

Just the image of you bending over for him with your ass up, taking an impossibly huge toy into your puffy, fucked-out hole makes him hard as a rock :(( he loves ruining you for other men, knowing you'll never find satisfaction again, proud that he corrupted you into a needy slut who can only get off with his help.

The day he decides to finally fuck you with his cock is the day ass training begins, wanting to corrupt every single one of your holes.<33

[rileysluvr]

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.

[fawnpires]

husband!könig who is well aware of how much an important man he is — a higher ranked in-position soldier, a colonel to kortac. other than filling in the status of your significant other, he was undoubtedly a man of both authority and independence. this also means a routine to expect on how regularly he's contacted about work, calls and messages throughout the day sourcing from that cellphone of his even when he's temporarily relieved off of his duties—and when he’s got his cock pounding into your sweet little cunt.

könig uses his shoulder and ear to hold his phone up, those stoic eyes of his holding a certain playful sort-of gleam to them as he watched you slap a hand over your mouth while struggling to hold in those needy moans you couldn't help but let out when the motions of his thrusts grows more violent and rabid just to catch you off guard in keeping quiet. he silently chuckles to himself before using his now-free hand to rub a thumb at your engorged clit and the other supported at your waist while he continued speaking on the other end with, who you assumed, was another higher-rank just like him.

"oh, my wife? she’s a real good girl, taking things so well - our marriage and all." he said into the phone, his smirk seeming to grow along with those words. (which seemed to have an ambigious meaning.)

and when he’s done practically torturing you with multi-tasking on both giving you a good temporary quiet fuck and talking business, his phone is thrown and long abandoned on the further corner of the bed—sheets coming off the edge and shuffled in a disorderly fashion. both large palms are clasped over your waist, his upper body sloped over you and having you in a shadowy cover. your hand shakily falls from your mouth, resuming this symphony of desperate noises of pleasure out-loud instead of muffled with your hands to his back and painting red lines into the naked stretch there. könig's onslaught of brutal thrusts kiss right up against your cervix, giving you remembrance to his each vein, each detail to his cock whenever he fucked into you just like this.

"you're such a spoiled girl, engel, — scheiße, — just couldn't wait until i was done to fuck this pretty little pussy of yours." he chuckles breathily, throwing his head back while grunting alongside and feeling himself losing entirely into you. "but who am i to refuse my pretty wife, huh?"

[dmitriene]

könig likes to be held, but only in your arms, because only you have the right to touch him — to run your velvet touches through the slightly overgrowing strands of his hair, tangling in density and allowing yourself to weave small braids from his strands.

he practically purrs and preens under your touch, his heavy and wide chiseled body rests on top of yours with warm weight, burying his face in the crook of your neck with warm puffs of breath as you run your nails down his spine.

muscles ripple under the pads of your fingers, his wide shoulder blades come together before you trace them with your fingers, and he immediately goes limp, sinking into you even more with illegible purrs in the skin of your neck, könig arches just barely to press his chest tighter against yours, wide arms circle the curve of your waist.

he cherishes moments like these from the bottom of his heart, when you press your soft lips against his temple, and he melts in the place, squeezing his arms against your waist tighter before nuzzling his nose from your neck to your cleavege.

you and your touches are könig's sedation, the warmth and brightness of your shared bedroom is his sanctuary, and he doesn't need anything else, just you.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place. 

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts. 

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay. 

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle... 

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages. 

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue. 

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox. 

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots. 

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom. 

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger. 

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”  

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious. 

Why would you say that? 

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion. 

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass. 

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you. 

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile. 

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur? 

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you. 

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts. 

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly. 

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you. 

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.” 

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears? 

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat. 

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to… 

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels. 

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats. 

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use. 

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want. 

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man. 

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone. 

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out. 

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand. 

He wants you to guide him to his father. 

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years. 

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens. 

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you. 

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is. 

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh. 

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out. 

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely. 

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory. 

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand. 

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission. 

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm. 

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.” 

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick. 

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.” 

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

[imsilay]

MANIA pt.2

obsessive love; very possessive and often jealous.

mdni NSFW! +18, cw: hurt/comfort (well maybe next chapter), size k!nk, forced masturbating? (slightly), possessive behavior, dominant behavior, fem!reader, piv, German praise, belly bulge.

word count: 1k

read prev

read next

summary: König doesn’t wants you to leave him, even for a second. he finds excuses and makes it your problem so he could fuck you until you’re too sore to leave again.

(confession: this is my first time writing smut) :>

art cr: @kinky-thirsty-reader i love your art 🛐

His lips were hungry and his hands are impatient now. He growled when he tore of your panties. He pulled back from the kiss. You chased after him, but he stopped you by placing his hand on your chin. He always liked the sight of your wet cunt. So he had to see it before he continued to hungrily devour your lips.“Scheiße.” he groaned, then he get back to kissing your addicting lips.

His hands found your thighs again and squeezed roughly. Just to force those slutty whines out of you. You put your hands on his broad shoulders for support as his hands teased your thighs moving up enough to feel your dripping cunt but moving down again just to keep you waiting, making the anticipation build within you. König wanted to make you beg for him. And you knew König wouldn’t let you cum until you beg for it. He grabbed one of your hands, which had been placed on his shoulder, and guided it down to your wet core making you whine in protest. “Touch yourself.” he said after breaking his long kiss with a grin. “König please-“ you begin but he squeezed your thighs making you gasp with pain. “Do as i said.” he hissed. You knew he was wanting you to obey him without protest.

So, poor you lifted yourself up a little and started to pleasure yourself. One hand quickly finding your clit as the other stayed on his shoulder to keep yourself up. But even though it give pleasure to you, it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t what you used to. You needed his thick and long fingers. Your fingers found your dripping hole, but your little digits couldn't even react that sweet spot he hits effortlessly. You moan, whine, cry… All of them useless, until you beg. He watched your struggles to satisfy yourself with a cocky grin.

“Armes Mädchen.” (poor girl.) he purred, then placed his hands on your hips and pulled you close, causing your body to jerk forward and press against his. “Your little fingers isn’t enough for your greedy cunt, hmm?” he propped you up and adjusted your position on his lap. He placed you right on his crotch. “Don’t you need something else?” he said suggestively, making you slowly ground against his cock and wet his boxers with your juices. You moaned and pressed your forehead against his. You were so close and just wanted to cum. “Yes i want- need it. Please.” you begged.

He placed a kiss on your lips. “You need what? Come on, Schatz. You gotta say it.” he pressed you down to his hard cock drawing low moans from both of you. You whined and rock your hips with the help of his hands. “need you to fill me.” you breathed, he let out a low groan as he grabbed your hips firmly and pressed you against his cock again. Feeling his big cock underneath your wet core made you moan and squirm with need. “Mein kleiner Hase, you’re so needy… but who am i to not give you what you need?” he whispered to you ear. “Especially when you’re soaking like this f’me.” he added.

With a quick maneuver he pressed your back against the mattress and spread your legs open. “Hold your legs like that f’me, Hase.” he mumbled as he slid his cock out of his boxers. His tip red and already dripping with precum, his form towering over you as his chest move with his hot and ragged breathing. Your pussy flutter at the sight. Imagining his long and thick shaft deep inside you, inch by delicious inch, made your head spin and left you moan desperately. You used all your willpower to not squeeze your thighs together to ease the aching between your legs.

“Braves Mädchen.” Of course he didn’t miss any of your subtle movements. He chuckled lightly like he was reading your mind. He leaned closer and spread your legs furter with his body between them. “Are those pretty moans for me or my cock?” he whispered as he brushed your hair off your neck to kiss and suck it. He took his sweet time to mark your sweet neck as he teased your pussy lips with his tip. He was rubbing his tip on your pussy until it was covered with your slick. All you could do was holding his shoulders and whimper desperately. “You won’t be needing this in my bed.” he grabbed the hem of your shirt and took it off before you could react. To give him easy access to your breasts. He made sure to give close attention to them. His lips found your hard nipples. His lips captured one of them while his fingers pinched and pulled the other. You squirmed as your walls clenched around nothing. “König please… i can’t take it anymore.” you sobbed and cried.

He didn’t stop for a moment. Mercilessly kneading your breasts and sucking your nipples while you whimpered and squirmed. When he decided it was time for filling his kleine Hase and give her the sweet release he pulled back from your breasts reluctantly. “Are you ready, Hase?” you nodded eagerly and looked into his eyes like he was your whole world. With that he lost himself. “Gott, Hase. You have no idea how hot you are.” he said through gritted teeth and finally filled you up. Even he couldn’t understand how a petite woman like you, compared to him, turned him on that much and made him crazy for you. “You take me so good, Hase. Can you feel how much i’m filling your little cunt?” his gaze lingered on the bulge on your belly. He didn’t move at first letting you adjust the fullness. When your back arched slightly and moans got more erratic he knew it was time for him to move. He pressed his palm to the bulge on your belly his cock made. It made your back arch further and him twitch inside you. “Could fuck you for hours, meine kleiner Hase.” he pulled out and slammed back in watching your breasts bounce. “So gut für mich~” he purred when he picked up the pace and fucked you into mattress.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc<3

a/n: also i post everyday -sometimes 2 posts in a day- so if you follow me i won’t disappoint ;)

[saturncodedstarlette]

Y/N : He’s… he’s dead.

König, out of breaths : He was trying to hurt you.

Y/N : I—I know.

König, hyperventilating : I had to do it. I can’t- I can’t let anything happen to you. I had to—

Y/N, took his hands into their own : Hey, hey! Look at me. I know, okay? That bastard was going to kill me. You saved me. I’m just… sh🦄t. I’m just shocked, I guess?

König, looks into their eyes : But not scared?

Y/N, softly chuckles : Of you? Never.

⛓Bonus⛓

[pixeechix21]

Take it, Mein Engel

Königxreader praise kink

Summary: You’re on a very cold mission; it’s cold, and well, he can warm you up… you try your best not to wake up the rest of the team, but it's hopeless.

He’s a lethal soldier, a monster of a man, who is weak at the sight of you using him so that you come.

TW: smuuuutttttt, PRAISE KINK to the MAX, sex, size kink (Idek @ this point?), pinv, oral,

It’s freezing outside and slowly it’s seeping into your tent. There is a light snoring and  mumbling coming from the team in their own tents. You feel restless as you gradually lose feeling in your fingers and ears, shifting positions trying to find any heat. Finally when you’d had enough you wrap yourself up and exit your tent heading straight to his. He’s normally out like a light so you figured you could just temporarily ‘borrow’- let's be honest steal- his mini electric heater.

Upon entering your eyes squint into the darkness seeing his large body rising and falling steadily. In the corner you hit the jackpot, the radiator glowing a warming red. Trying not to wake him you creep in further, pausing instantly as you hear him mumble something in his sleep. You look at him, his features are soft, yet more masculine than ever, as he sleeps. A sudden urge to curl up to his large body, and touch his lips, comes over you. As you go to grab the heater you trip over a large boot exclaiming, quietly, as you fall. Into his bed. I know I wished for it but seriously, you think frantically trying to scramble out of his bed. Before you could, a large muscular arm wraps around you hugging you in closer, under the covers. He still has his eyes closed as he says, “can I help you Engle?” his accent heavy in his drowsiness. 

“Let me go, I was just coming to borrow your heater,” you whisper loudly.

“Mmm. stay here it’s warmer,” he snuggles into your neck, breathing you in lovingly. You try to get out but every time to wriggle about he tightens his hold, as if he’d never want to let you go. 

“König,” you say flatly, guiltily enjoying as you sink into him and you feel his hard worked body pressed into you.

“Ja mein liebling,” he gives your neck a small kiss, as he scoots you both onto the center of the small bed. You moan involuntarily as you feel his soft lips move against your neck. You wriggle once more trying your luck. I need to get out of this you think stupidly knowing full well this is exactly where you wanted to be. “Stay still, you feel so good,” his voice is husky as his hand lowers to your hips and holds you. He has no clue how he makes you feel when he talks to you in that low tone of his. Bodies together and the dark blanketing you both. He slowly grinds into your ass so that you feel his hard on, turning you on more you reciprocate and arch your ass back to meet him. You exhale as you feel yourself want to straddle that man's hips and feel his large dick in its fullest. “Shieze, y/n they’re next door,” he gets out gruffly now fully awake placing wet kisses and lightly biting your neck. 

“We’ll be quiet,” you say, reasoning with him. 

“Trust me Engle I want to make you scream my name, not be quiet,” he forwarns. It doesn’t matter, your body wants, you want him, and he needs you. He rolls on top of you. His huge body was laying on you, and you could feel his erection imprint on your stomach. Looking up to him with doe eyes you bite your bottom lip seeing his muscles through his tight shirt. He takes your throat in one hand, face coming close, so close that as he speaks his lips brush over yours. “Promise you’ll be quiet as I pound into that pretty pussy of yours?” He says his crystalline blue eyes looking deeply into mine. “Promise,” he tightens his grip and you start to see black around the corners of your vision.

“I promise,” you say begging for friction as your clit throbs and heat grows in your core. He squeezes once, “I promise I’ll be quiet as you pound into my pretty pussy,” you repeat, needily.

“Good,” he says before he obliterates your lips with a deep carnal need. His tongue dominates yours and your cold finger goes under his shirt and pushes him to crush you under his weight. He inhales, surprised at the cold. His hand goes to your hard peaked nipple, twisting it between his fingers making you arch, tossing your head into the pillow. Hurriedly he takes off your shirt tossing it into the dark, coming down on you taking your breast into his mouth sucking and biting. You moan quietly as he plays with you at his leisure. He looks up at you, his lips swollen from the kissing and his eyes sharp searching your face. Your small hand cradles the side of his cheek and he kisses it sweetly. He’s had fantasies in the long nights, just meters apart, about him finally being able to pleasure and cherish your body. Countless nights he’s imagined himself with you as he comes in his hand, wishing it was you pussy. He kisses you down to the waistline of your pants, a hand pulling it down you, a rush of cold hits your sensitive clit. König’s thumbs make small circles in the inside of your thighs. Taking your feet he drags you to the edge of the bend getting on his knees to get closer. At first he licks your folds then almost as if one taste wasn’t enough he goes all in. His head clenched by your thighs, he holds a leg  for support as he tongue fucks you, then moving his toung to your clit he bites it gently forcing a small squeal. At the sound he stops his movements entirely. “What did I tell you?” He breathes out, his hair disheveled and out of place. 

“I’ll be quiet, please I promise König,” you plead, twisting your fingers through his soft hair and pushing him back down. Pleased he digs back in lapping at your wetness nearing your climax. His finger fucks you as his tongue flicks, and sucks your overly sensitive clit, “come for me Engle. Come on my face,” you take a pillow and cover your face as you moan loudly as you cum on him. “That’s it,” he continues as he licks all of you. Thighs firmly on either side of his head he opens them so that he can look down at you. “Such a good girl, Mein Liebling,” he watches as his two fingers circle your enlarged clit, causing you to squirm. He chuckles laying on the bed leaning against the tent wall, taking you into his lap. Your naked body straddles his lap and without knowing- as you wrap your arms around his neck and his arms shift your ass- you start to grind on him. Yearning for friction you lay all your body on his hard cock. You feel him straining against the fabric, he groans, he slides up and down your wet sopping cunt, a watch patch marking his pants. “Fuck, König,” you breathe out. You place a hand on his broad chest and the other one behind you so that you hit your spot. You grind on him faster and faster as he leans back and watches hungrily at you fucking his lap. “Oh my god-” you start out as you take yourself to another finish. His hands start to guide you, and you can feel him twitch under you. As you shake rising he lowers his pants taking his cock into his hands. You salivate at the size of him, large and the tip bulging needing release. You take him in your hand, wrapping it around König’s as you sit on it. 

“y/n you’re so tight, schiβe,” he rests his heavy head on your shoulder. It feels euphoric how he stretches you and fills you to the hilt, how his chest goes up and down with restraint as you squeeze around him as you go up and down. Breaths one and the same as he gazes into your eyes, watching you strain with effort. “That’s it. Take it I’m yours,” he kisses you in between each word, as you quicken your pace. The impact of your body hitting and rubbing against him as you ride him hits you deliciously. He hand cradles your neck as you lean back, the sounds he makes pressing you closer to finishing you fingers go in between your bodies to further you. Before long he switches, back on top of you taking both hands up above your head. You look angrily at him, because he interrupted you, but not for long as he gains control. 

He wants to make you scream his name so loud that even the enemy forces can hear you. He wants to obliterate you so much that he renders you unable to walk. And to his wishes, he thrusts viciously in and out of you. You cry at the pressure building within you, and the sheer pain that his force causes you. “Shh, shh Engle.” He grunts with each thrust next to your ear. The air prickles your skin to form goosebumps. “Take it for me, Mein Gott. Just like that,” you bite the crevasse of his neck to stop you from breaking your promise.“Tssk,” he gasps. Inside you, you feel him hardening even more. He’s lost all control as you wrap your legs around his waist. A calloused hand goes over your mouth, as he looks down at the connection between you two.

“Come with me,” he says, working harder. The wet sounds of him fucking your pussy, your helpless moaning, mixed with the light creak of the small bed, sounds like his new favorite melody. “Mein gott y/n, just like that,” he rasps out as you cum around his cock and he cums in you. He pumps a few more times strenuously before he collapses on the side of you. He pulls you across on top of him as he snuggles into you. You're a wreck and melt into his large body that engulfs you in a warm bear hug. He hums faintly as you fall asleep, the cold long forgotten.

is it jus me or do these sometimes feel like you're reading straight porn but like its not cuz your reading it?? jus me???🙈🥰

plz leave any ideas, or comments on wt ever 🥳-xox piciechix

[yawnderu]

Thinking about Sugar Daddy!König...♡

A much older man who has way too much money to spare, paying for everything you could ever want in exchange for going on dates with you.

He loves dressing you up like his pretty doll, role-playing as his lovely trophy wife even when you're not even a couple. The pride he feels at seeing your happy smile when he brings you presents or takes you shopping can't be topped.

“So pretty, meine Puppe...” König drags out, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand, the other one helping him press his needy tip against your entrance, teasingly rubbing against you.

"Such a good girl." He praises in a soft voice, rubbing your hardened nub over and over, his precum mixing in with your wetness. His masked nose presses against your cheek, nuzzling it delicately as he looks down at you like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

“And you know what good girls get, ja?” He leans in closer, his voice low and husky.

“They get rewarded.” With a swift thrust, he slams his hips against yours, filling you completely. Your pretty whines and moans do nothing but fuel his desire, giving you a few seconds before he's pounding into you, his meaty thighs slamming against your plump ass.

“Good fucking sex doll.” Each word is punctuated by a deep thrust, making your back arch, letting him fuck into you harder.

“You're so big—” He grunts at the sound of your needy voice, relishing in the mix of pain and pleasure that his huge cock gives you. His thrusts become faster and harder, his grip on your hips tightening, leaving marks that will remind you who you truly belong to.

“Yeah?” You manage to give him a lethargic nod, feeding into his already big ego. His hand comes up only to slap your ass, pounding into you faster as he sees it jiggle.

With a feral hunger in his eyes, he pushes you off his cock, letting your body fall limp in bed, sopping cunt clenching around nothing. Masked lips start to plant needy kisses all over your naked back, his cock teasing your puckered hole, waiting for any resistance— only to feel you arching your body into his touch.

“Filthy girl.” The words are demeaning, yet nothing can erase the affection bleeding into his tone. The room becomes a scene of carnal intensity as König thrusts into your ass, his movements gentle despite how tight your ass is.

He gives you enough time to get used to his size, his thrusts growing more primal, his pace quickening up as every single inch of his cock rams into you, rubbing against your sensitive walls.

König's need for release builds up again, his climax approaching with fierce intensity. With a final, deep thrust, he shoots ropes of thick, hot cum right into your ass, claiming you as his. His breath is ragged as he tries to recover, slowly withdrawing from you, baby blue eyes fixed on the scene in front of him— your gaping ass, leaking with his cum.

He lays down next to you, warm hand running up and down your naked back soothingly until it goes back down to your ass, rubbing the leaking cum all over your needy, wet pussy.

[rileysluvr]

something really short cause i have nothing else. könig nsfw

just imagine a situation where you’re forced to sit on könig’s lap because there’s less room than needed on the small military aircraft due to a field emergency, so you opt for his space because he’s the closest person to you out of the bunch and not to mention the largest, kindest, most comfortable looking one. he’s so hesitant at first but it’s all kept internal because he could never say no to you, let alone stand to watch you on another man’s lap for the next two hours. he begins to question if he prioritized the correct things, however, when he ultimately fails at suppressing his hard-on after just barely managing for the first half hour of the flight.

you feel his dick practically digging into your ass through the multiple layers of cargo pants, and he knows his prayers for discretion have gone unanswered when you adjust your hips against his lap. the feel of it surprises you—you want to laugh, why now?—but the entire concept of it does not come as a shock; it only nourishes the given cockiness in you. you’d have to be a blind mutt not to notice the way he looks at you, shying away when he thinks you’ve caught him staring. silly guy. the hood doesn’t hide all, könig.

“scheiße, du schweinehund,” he breathes defeatedly to himself, eyes squeezed shut in humility. he’s the only mutt here, really. he can’t imagine how pink his cheeks have gone, except for the fact that they feel like they’ve been repeatedly grazed by a blowtorch you hold. he musters up a straight voice, yet his words just barely break past a whisper; “…forgive me.” he grits his teeth and bites his tongue, “gott—i am not in the correct headspace right now, i-i am so sorry.”

you giggle that same laugh that had his knees threatening to buckle in on most days. “it’s okay, könig, really,” you tell him, so convincing and so sweet that he has no choice but to believe it to be true. still, he’s beyond mortified. you hum after a few seconds, “more than okay.” he sucks in a sharp breath. you don’t need to see him to know what sort of affect you’re having on him, arms crossed over your chest while his are unsteady and sweaty at his sides. he’s so awkward, it’s adorable.

like this, you can truly absorb all of him like you never could on an average day; he’s soft spoken off the field and with a deeper drawl, and far more reserved. that manly, post-mission musk of his, apparent through the close proximity, is only insanely attractive. and he’s just so. fucking. big. you lean further back against his frame, head resting on his broad shoulder, and you can feel his heart beating at his ribs against your upper back. with everyone else chatting amongst themselves or already deep into their sleep, you wouldn’t mind teasing him a bit.

“i actually think it’s really cute,” you add, with another slight of a giggle, of course. “and hot.” you bite and bite and he groans so lowly every time, something almost of a broken whimper, you’d say. you wiggle your hips a bit, not terribly noticeable to the outside world but he swears your every action comes with a bite of an aphrodisiac. you smirk and he hears it, right past the nonchalance in your voice; “and quite impressive, i’d say.”

you hear a whine die in his throat—it’s fucking whorish, and needy—along with another swear, and in an instant, you’ve made up your mind to take him out of the public eye once you land and show him just how impressive he really is.

[konigceo]

doing ur skincare before u go to sleep and then könig just kinda walks in and asks what everything is !!!!! he washes his face with bar soap and never lotions it. lets be real here u guys he is probably at least late 30s and had never heard of what a moisturizer is...! even tho könig is kinda dumb about skincare he still likes it when you do ur routine on him !! he mainly likes your hands being on his face but still !!!! you tell him it's good for him, so who is he to not trust you?? he goes to sleep that night smelling like rose water btw. he's so cute bye

[fawnpires]

꒰ ₊˚⊹ ᨳ 𝐃𝐁𝐅!𝐊Ö𝐍𝐈𝐆. ꒱ — DBF!KÖNIG.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: age difference, cunnilingus, loss of virginity, innocence kink, könig's a massive pervert (still love him tho), groping, size difference & kink, panty kink, unprotected sex, praising, filmed sex, fingering, teasing, spreading the older man könig agenda.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ notes: finally got the motivation to write something again and i literally feel so bad for not writing anything, so i wrote a lil something for my bby könig.

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig enjoyed every single second of being your first time. he was practically infatuated with you—his best friend's pretty little daughter. when your father is another one of those high-ranking colonels along with könig, expect to find him being invited over almost every single day of the week for a simple drink with your father or a casual invitation to dinner. although unbeknownst to your father, there were times with könig that were deemed too debauched when it was just the two of you alone. one particular instance is when he snuck into your bedroom, your father off to sleep with the house to yourself, and könig. once you and him were kept in those four confining walls of your room, the door closed and only the lamp shade providing a minimum of dim lighting; the next thing you knew your legs were thrown and settled on top of the broad slopes of his shoulders, both of his large hands intertwined with your smaller ones while pinning them down to the surface of your mattress. sensual moans laced with softness spilling, at this point, without shame past your parted lips. the thrusts of his ample cock were carried with a firmness yet a loving, comfortable passion into your tightened sopping cunt, knowing that it was your first being so intimate with somebody. "try to relax, mein liebling. you're doing so good, and for your first time too, taking me in all at once like this - taking me all in like the sweet little girl you are."

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig was a sucker for everything about you. from your sweet and innocent personality, to your alluring exterior appearance. his favorite part about you was especially the fact that he was so much larger than you, both in height and that built-up military strength earned from his time spent as a colonel. his favorite thing to do was manhandle you into all kinds of different positions once you and him had settled into the routine of casual fuck sessions in secrecy, observing how the bare aspect of your pretty body curved and contorted while he fucked into you. his favorite perspective is when you're laying on your back, legs sprawled on either side of his torso while those hands of his kept a solid grasp on your waist to pull you back and forth on his cock. this never failed to force you into a state of mind where you were drunk on nothing but how his immense size relentlessly pounded into you without mercy. he can't help but allow a cocky smirk to sweep across his lips underneath his sniper hood at your state, temporarily raising the bottom edge of the veil to his nose before inclining the upper half of his body over you to rest his head in the crook of your neck; mouth pressing gentle kisses to the sweat-soaked skin of your neck in contrast to his violent thrusts before speaking in a husky tone, "who would've thought my best friend's daughter would be the best fuck of my life? you're truly a special girl, engel. very special." he comments breathily with a light chuckle that was so full of depth. “such a cockdrunk slut, huh?” his words barely registering in your fucked-out mind.

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig constantly finds ways to have his hands on you. sometimes his touches were innocent and loving in the sense—hands resting at your hips, his head leaning downwards to nuzzle the side of his head against yours, or just a simple caress of your hand against the back of his own. but knowing how perverse he was at the same time behind that sweetness. for multiple instances, it wasn't abnormal to find him groping and kneading at the soft, supple flesh of your tits or reaching beneath your skirt and that additional layer of panties to rub at your slick folds teasingly with his calloused fingertips in private or not. he never lets down on his praises though, his fingers would be knuckle-deep and thrusting rapidly in the warmth of your cunt and he would talk to you throughout it, "such a needy girl, hase. just couldn't keep my hands off of you, not when you've got the prettiest damn body i've ever seen." he praises through heavy breaths, his free lovingly rubbing circles into your side while you lost yourself in this spiral of arousal.

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig who's well aware how much of a perv he is. to his surprise, he pockets various kinds of your pretty panties either after giving you a good fuck or sneaking into your bedroom unabashedly—relishing in the concept at how confused you would be when you couldn't find them anywhere. instead those panties would be swathed around the throbbing length of his cock while he pumped at himself to the thought of you late at night in privacy; legs spread, his head angled backwards, near-animalistic grunts spewing from his throat, and pre-cum dripping down from the slit at the tip while it decorated the soft lace in a thin, white layer of sticky fluid. underneath that t-shirt sniper mask, his face sheeted over with slick sweat as the heat surrounding inside the cloth mask only piled on with his increasing arousal which ends up with his cum splattered all over your panties. it's not really a surprise anymore if you find somehow find your missing panties returned hanging off the edge of your laundry basket, a little messy reminder of him left in them.

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig adores how you look on camera. he'll take you out and rent some motel room for the night, or two if he's feeling special, and you'll find yourself pinned down onto the fresh crisp sheets of the mattress; one of his hands holding both your wrists right above your head, the other holding his recording phone firmly as it was aimed down at you under him. with bare thighs pressed up into the plush of your breasts, he positions the phone on a nearby pillow to hold it up just so he could sloppily eat out with your cunt, spit and all, with his mouth pursing around your swollen clit and his fingers rubbing circles into your dripping folds—creating a perfect angle to showcase both you and him in such a vulgar yet erotic manner. könig then picks up the phone once more as he finishes you off, holding it once more as he spreads your orgasm-slick thighs apart so he could pound his cock away into the tightness of your pretty cunt. every moan, every sound of skin against skin, every touch, is kept solely on that phone of just for him to relieve some stress while he's away from you and your lingering on that mind of his. "look at you, liebchen, like my own lil' personal pornstar. god, i can never get enough of you. look at the camera, baby, eyes on me. it's like you were made for it."

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig who was your first time for everything. first boyfriend, first kiss, first time. he can't help but feel a small amount of possessiveness over you knowing that, especially when guys around your age try to make some kind of shitty move on you. he relishes in the fact that he's the only one who could bring you to such heights of sensual pleasure, knowing just the right locations to touch you that caused you to writhe and whimper in the sweetest tones. you had a type of romance with him that you would only see in films, knowing that your father was always the strict type when it came to you and guys getting their hands on you. it wasn't a surprise when you found yourself feeling like the prettiest girl when könig would treat you so much better than boys your age; constantly bringing affection in the form of sweet physical contact while also treating you like his personal fleshlight when he was in need for some stress relief—drawing intense, messy orgasms after orgasms that would be leaving you whimpering and strangely in need for more of him. "könig..." you whined weakly, on the brink of a fourth orgasm with his pounding twitching cock buried between your trembling pulsing walls as you gave könig the most pleading and exhausted gleam in your eyes. it made you sound desperate, like a slut. "i know, engel. just a little bit more, baby. give yourself all to me."

[diejager]

Technical Issues Cw: smut, sex work, OnlyFans, porn, fuck machine, squirting, prostitution handjob, tell me if I missed any.

Part3

It started with a reluctant alliance between SpecGru and KorTac, two powerful PMCs that were tricked by the same employer, played and played again, unable to work alone to take them down. So both heads of the PMCs decided to work together to take down this problematic employer, which meant that they’d have to come and go between bases, sharing the same space and the same area. They were unenthusiastic about it, still holding a grudge against the other.

There was a technical issue in giving access to KoTac members sent over to the British base the right clearances for the compiled data, to-know intel and the statistics. That’s how König found himself in the database, looking up the different clearance codes to give him access to the information he needed before 1900, he only had half an hour to find the code if he didn’t want to miss the event.

Unfortunately, all he stumbled into was a page, a familiar name popping up on this person’s browser history. It was Soap’s. Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish, the snipe and demolition specialist that König knew from both experience and intel. It was a strange find, Soap had used a public browser to watch his nightly activities and had forgotten to wipe it clean —did he even wipe his history? Something ugly flared in König’s chest, an explosive warmth of possession and envy. How could’ve he not seen him on the chat when König spent so much time on it himself?

With dilated pupils and a one-track mind, he completed his search and rushed to his room, pushing past everyone he met in the hall with his broad shoulders and even bigger ego, nostrils flaring and seeing red. He knew this kind of reaction was nonsensical, near illogical on his par, seeing the type of content he consumed, but he couldn’t help it, he was the second highest payer.

Slamming and locking the door behind him, he ripped his mask off, throwing it haphazardly on the floor and ripped his clothes off, his skin hot to the touch in his cold room. It was 1857 —perfect. Settling himself on his temporary desk in nothing but his briefs, he felt his cock struggle against the fabric, head poking out on the side of his boxers. He was quick to open up the right tab, clicking in the sweet temptation of the profile picture.

A screen popped out, a familiar bed in a familiar setting with familiar objects surrounding the plush sheets, and in the middle, sat the little cherub of his dreams. Seraphim, the little slut that he was happy to spend his legacy on, to watch and indulge in the sinful act jerking off to a woman he might never meet or know outside of this screen. He pushed his waistband down his thighs and his cock swung out, hanging low between his legs, veins pulsing with the rush of blood from his head to his cock and uncut head drooling on his chair.

👑 gifted you 100$

“Hello, sir,” you smiled so sweetly at him, glossy lips pulled into an innocent image, “Thank you for the gift.”

He always gave you a gift at the start of each live he watched to get a greeting from you and would gift you much more with ever minute he spent watching you bend over your bed, ass up and face down, getting fucked by the fuck machine he gifted you. You had two cameras set up, one that let them view your tight cunt stretched around the silicone copy of his cock - thick and veiny - and one giving them a clear view of your tearful eyes and cock drunk expression.

König kept his eyes glued to your cunt, ploughed so roughly bu his girth that slick gushed around it, lips swollen and wet, and the little plug your pushed into your flared rim, the flat handle spreading your ass for them to see. He jerked himself, calloused fingers gripping the head of his cock and spreading pre down his shaft, the foreskin spread around his girth. He shuddered, his cock throbbing in his hand, reacting to the image of your ravaged and gasping figure taking the dildo so well, mewling and wailing like the angelic whore you were.

He wanted you to come, he wanted to see you squirt around the toy, slick rolling down your thighs in waves of pleasure, your voice breaking as you mewl and wail. He moved thoughtlessly, hand moving to type out his command, sending you more money, it was an addiction at this rate, his need to sustain you and your living. If you let him, he’d be your sugar daddy, paying for everything you’d need and you’d have the real deal, his hot and heavy cock rather than a silicone.

“Please let me come, sir!” Your begging had always been delicious and who was he to deny you of your pleasure when you brought him to his ground shaking climax.

He came with a loud groan, a deep rumbling in his chest, still pumping his cock as the head twisted, spraying his opaque cum over the table, white and viscous. His eyes rolled at the back of his mind, lids feeling heavy and body wracked with tremors, legs jerking as his hand slowed down, steadily riding out his mind-numbing release.

“Them too?” Horangi peered at the four Brits, an unamused gleam in his hidden eyes.

König nodded, his hood twisting with every motion, fingers moving gracefully over his rifle, dismantling and cleaning it after their recon mission. A groan caught his attention, his eyes moving from the beauty of his weapon to the cold blues that stared back at him.

“It does not matter,” Nikto’s voice had always been violent, a rough and jagged husk that exhumed power, “We found her first.”

It was a statement to himself, a strong and unyielding one that stemmed from Nikto’s dark and broken person, but they agreed.

Part 5

Taglist: @warenai @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @cutiecusp @ladyof-themoon @yourdaydreamerfan @blackhoodlea @daisychainsinknots @under-the-dirt @moansteur @iamnotfinedaddy @0alk0msan @katzarantos @danielle143 @bubbletae7