#dont worry könig is just gonna drop Bee in town

[ghouljams]

more outlaw!Cowboy!König? Pleaseeeeee 🥹

You wake up with a twinge in your back, sore in all the wrong places, but you think it’s worth it. Sleeping on the ground that is. You’ve got your head resting on König’s bicep, his arm slung around your waist so you can cuddle close against his chest. He’s solid and warm, and definitely worth a few aches and pains. The bed roll really isn’t too bad, but sleeping tangled up with another person is a new one for you.

Your dead-to-you husband didn’t like doing more than he needed to, and you didn’t particularly like being touched by him. So youve never been one for cuddling. This feels different though, sort of nice. It's probably the kidnapping, or the big, broad (are you drooling a little? Do you drool now? Did you drool on him? God you hope not.) fuzzy chest in front of you. You walk your fingers over his chest, feeling the soft muscle, the hair, the warmth of him. You don't get a lot of excuses to touch people these days and you are happy to take full advantage.

König makes a noise, and raises his arm to rub at his eyes, the same arm you're using as a pillow. His bicep flexes under your head and you -oh that's a big bicep, a very... big...- try not to get too flustered by the motion. His fingers stroke up your back, and you tip your head to catch him looking down at you.

"Guten Morgen," he smiles at you, his fingers tantalizingly distracting as they run over your skin.

"Buenos dias," your accent is so bad you actually cringe, he snorts. As long as he's speaking German though, you figure you'll return the favor. No sense in both of you knowing what the others saying.

"Is Spanish more easy for you?" He asks, in Spanish. You don't even understand all of it, you just piece together what you can with context clues. You think "facil" means easy.

"Nope," you pop the 'p' and König hums. There goes that idea. English it is.

"Que chica traviesa," he grumbles, you don't bother translating. It's too early for that. You'd much rather focus on the large rough hand squeezing your ass, apparently König has gotten bored of just petting you. You suppose you don't really need to know what he's saying.

"Ok, up." He tells you, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him. It takes you a moment to readjust yourself, to get settled comfortably on his lap, but it's worth it. The way he looks up at you, runs his hands up your stomach to cup your chest with reverence, like he can't get enough of you.

You've been with König a few days now, and you've noticed two things. One, he's incorrigible, a big man with a big appetite for, well, everything. And two, he has a bit of a staring problem, you've never had a man so desperate to just look at you, it's a little embarrassing. Still, he's charming even with the language barrier, so youre willing to forgive him.

He's not quite hard yet when you lean down to kiss him, but he will be. Then you can start your morning properly. One of König's hands leaves you and you hear the click of a pistol hammer being cocked. You duck against his chest in a panic, his other arm wrapping around you protectively. When you glance over your shoulder there's a woman staring down at the two of you, holding the flap of your tent open with a wolf's grin.

"¿Dónde conseguiste este?" She asks, nodding at you. König's grip tightens, his gun trained on your intruding guest.

"Get rid of her-" shockingly you understand that one, you hear it a lot. König fires a warning shot, you flinch, bury your face against his neck. The bullet nicks a few of the short dark hairs near her neck, she noticeably doesn't flinch. "Fine," you don't listen to the rest. You try to not think at all about what they're saying.

You'd almost forgotten that König was a wanted man. Wanted, it seemed, for more than just the price on his head. "Work" you hear the word more than once, no matter how hard you try to shut it out. You sincerely hope that work doesn't include you.