#könig cod

[whocaresabouttactical]

eat me whole

[aemondracarys]

I JUST FOUND THIS HIDDEN GOLD THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH.

TRAINER KÖNIG

sfw + nsfw. sucking könig's humongous titties. big cock. shower sex. semi-public. non-fluent könig.

it was a practical decision, you told yourself, scrolling past flashy advertisements for gyms promising overnight transformations, past testosterone-fueled testimonials about “beast mode” and “grindset.”

you'd sworn to yourself that as soon as you had the financial breathing room, as soon as you didn’t have to mentally calculate whether a dinner out would set you back for the week, you’d do it. invest in yourself. not in aesthetics, not in performance metrics, but in survival.

something that made you feel safer so that walking home late at night wouldn’t always feel like a loaded gun pressed to the base of your spine. you wouldn’t keep your keys between your fingers like they were some flimsy excuse for a weapon.

you found a coach who was within budget, someone named könig. a straightforward profile without a profile picture and just a handful of mid-range reviews.

it was genuine in its mediocrity, not glowing in the way bot-generated reviews tended to be, but not riddled with horror stories of scams or half-baked lessons either. people mentioned that he knew what he was doing, that he was patient, that his methods were effective.

but there were a few comments about his communication too. his english, more specifically.

at first, you were more nervous about looking weak than anything else.

logically, you knew that was the point. that was why you were paying for this— to get stronger, to learn. but the thought of stepping into a room filled with people who could probably bench your body weight while you struggled with a 25 kg deadlift made something inside you shrivel. made you feel like you’d be under a microscope, mistakes magnified. the thought of someone watching you fumble through drills, assessing your form— the potential for ridicule made your stomach knot up.

so, you signed up for solo lessons.

before you even met him, könig messaged you. a late-night notification breaking through the dim glow of your phone screen.

“is it ok that my english is not so good?”

you blinked at the screen. read it again. there was something unexpectedly… earnest about it. a self-consciousness that you rhymed with your own.

your thumbs hovered over the keyboard before you replied. “of course! i don’t mind at all.” then, after a second, “i’ll probably learn some phrases from you, haha.”

a long pause. three dots appeared, disappeared, reappeared. finally— “this is nice. i will try my best.”

something about that, about the fact that he had asked at all, the careful way he phrased it, stuck with you. you didn't know why, but it did.

the first time you met könig, you nearly turned around and walked straight back out the door, convinced your coach still hadn’t arrived.

at first, you genuinely thought you had the wrong room. or maybe there’d been some kind of mix-up, like another instructor using the space before your lesson.

you had walked into the gym expecting— what? some average-looking guy in a compression shirt? maybe a little bulky, maybe with that particular kind of gym-rat energy, all tight smiles and way-too-enthusiastic handshakes.

instead you got könig.

a massive, six-foot something, tank built like something that was meant to withstand damage and then deliver it back tenfold.

his hoodie, loose on his frame and looking a bit worse for wear from too many washes, still did nothing to hide the sheer scale of him. the water bottle he was holding was dwarfed by his hand and his arms, even relaxed at his sides, looked like they could crush a man’s ribs without much effort.

out of place. that was what he looked like. less self-defense coach and more guard stationed at the gates of hell.

you hesitated in the doorway, gripping the strap of your gym bag, suddenly hyperaware of every muscle in your body tensing up.

and then he spoke.

"… my client?” his voice was surprisingly soft. deep, yes, but smoothed down with the lilt of his accent.

you had to crane your neck to meet his eyes. jesus christ.

“uh, yeah, i think so,” you shifted on your feet, clearing your throat. “i booked the solo slots.”

he nodded. “good.” a pause. then, “you are… beginner?”

you exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh. “you could say that.”

his eyes smiled, something in the creases looking like amusement, before he jerked his head toward the back of the gym. “we start slow then.”

the whole thing went… surprisingly well.

könig was an amazing instructor for self-defense, not afraid to teach you moves that were downright dirty. not just the textbook counters or polished techniques that looked good in demonstrations but the kind of violence that left real damage. moves that could end a fight before it even started. his lessons were brutal in their practicality, built for survival, not sport.

his shrug always came before the skepticism could leave your mouth, as if he already knew the doubts forming behind your eyes. anticipation sat in his expression, waiting for you to question the practicality of a move that involved hitting someone's throat or breaking a wrist. waiting for that flicker of hesitation so he could counter it.

“has no rules, defense,” he simply told you, adjusting his gloves with a nonchalance that felt at odds with the destruction he'd just inflicted on the poor training dummy. his foot still pressed into its broken torso, the material caved inward like a crushed can. “s’long as you're safe, is good tactic.”

it was truth that didn’t need embellishment to him. könig wasn’t just saying it to justify his methods— it was a simple fact.

he made it seem less brutal, more justified. not just an excuse for violence but a reassurance, a lesson in survival.

it had you thinking if maybe you had been seeing things too rigidly, measuring combat in terms of right and wrong instead of what kept you breathing. könig didn’t. his world wasn’t one of fairness, it was of outcomes.

you exhaled, glancing at the poor, ruined dummy before looking back at him. “i think you broke it.”

könig tilted his head, unbothered. “hm. ja.” then, after a pause, he grinned, nudging the dummy’s crumpled remains with his boot like it might suddenly spring back to life. “but was good form, yes?”

the laugh that bubbled up caught you off guard, an unexpected burst of warmth. the corners of his grin lifted just a little higher at that.

texting started out as a necessity. scheduling changes, clarifying techniques, occasional reminders about bringing extra wraps. that was the whole point, really— a way to communicate outside of training.

somehow, though, könig turned out to be a menace over text. sarcasm practically dripped from his messages, sharpened now that he had the time to translate things properly. he was witty, sometimes outright ridiculous, and the sheer absurdity of his jokes caught you off guard more times than you could count.

könig: i think i have unlocked a new level of muscle soreness. my body is rejecting me. i am a broken man.

you: rip. gone and forgotten.

könig: good. don't tell my story. it's kind of pathetic.

“könig,” you typed one evening. “where the hell did you learn english?”

“the internet.”

immediate suspicion flooded your mind. “what part of the internet?”

“…the bad part.”

“be more specific.”

“ah…” there was a long pause, like he was regretting his choices. finally, “weird forums.”

apprehension curled at the base of your spine. “what kind of weird forums, könig?”

“…conspiracy theories.”

sheer, undiluted disbelief clung to you as you stared at your screen.

“WAIT” he backpedaled immediately, as if he could feel your judgment through the phone. “i was a child!!”

“A CHILD IN CONSPIRACY FORUMS?”

“it was not like that!!”

his frantic response only made you laugh harder. “then explain.”

“i was just reading, yes? stories. people told very cool stories. aliens, secret government projects, ghosts”

“oh my god, you were a cryptid kid.”

“nein!!”

amusement bloomed in your chest. “so what i’m hearing is you were, like, deep in the trenches. lizard people? JFK clone theories? the moon isn’t real?”

“…yes.”

“jesus christ.”

“it was fun!! and good english practice!”

“you learned english from paranoid men on the internet.”

“they were very passionate.”

laughter ripped through your chest so violently you nearly dropped your phone. könig sent a series of increasingly exasperated texts, all variations of “stop laughing”, which only made it worse.

every time you thought about it after that, a fresh wave of giggles overtook you. the next training session, you couldn’t even meet his eyes without picturing tiny könig hunched over an old computer, nodding solemnly as someone named TruthSeeker88 explained how the queen of england was actually a reptilian overlord.

he hated you for it. “you are evil,” he muttered when you brought it up again, shoving your shoulder lightly. “this is slander.”

“is it slander if it’s true?”

“YES.”

somewhere along the way, little snapshots of your lives started slipping into the conversation. könig sent blurry photos of his boots kicked up on a table, a war documentary playing in the background. “history lesson,” he’d caption, like he wasn’t watching something unreasonably brutal for fun. you sent the sky from your morning walk, pink bleeding into gold, and he always responded with a simple “pretty.”

you weren’t sure if he meant the sky or something else, but you let yourself wonder.

and then, selfies.

his were always shy, half-obscured, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to let you see too much despite the fact that you saw each other every week. the lower half of his face, mostly— jawline tucked into the shadows, the soft curve of a grin barely visible.

sometimes it was just his hands: wrapped around a steaming mug, fingers long and scarred, or flexed absentmindedly over his knee, veins shifting beneath pale skin. you never commented on them outright, just sent something casual— “cozy” or “nice gloves, old man”— but you always saved them, tucked away in your camera roll like little guilty pleasures.

yours were much less subtle in comparison.

exhausted post-workout, slumped against your couch with a dead-eyed stare. wrapped up in a hoodie, coffee in hand. the first time you sent one, you didn’t expect much. maybe a quick “good job” or some kind of fitness advice. instead, he sent “cute.”

you stared at the message for a full minute, blinking. your stomach did something stupid.

after that, he started commenting more. when you looked particularly grumpy, he’d send a teasing “you need nap, bird?” or “angry face. very scary.” and when you groaned about soreness, he was smug about it, “should have stretched. tsk tsk.”

it was cute. unbearably cute.

but all good things must come to an end.

one month. that’s how long this was supposed to last. four weeks of training, a neat little package of lessons that would leave you more capable of handling yourself in a fight. somewhere along the way, that timeline stretched, bending under the weight of something neither of you dared acknowledge.

könig should have cut you off weeks ago.

“you are expert already,” he tells you one evening, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. his tone is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of real curiosity beneath it. “i do not think class is needed. why do you keep taking?”

hesitation flickers in your chest. because of you, you want to admit, but the words sit heavy on your tongue, too risky, too exposing. instead, you roll your shoulders back and offer something easier, something safer.

“i need to beat you first.”

amusement dances across his features. könig huffs out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head as if considering the possibility.

“it will not happen in a million years, i think.”

arrogance suits him. confidence carved into his bones, stitched into the way he moves, the way he fights. you don’t argue because he’s right— he’s bigger, stronger, more experienced. if he wanted to, he could probably break you in half without much effort.

but miracles happen.

it’s a fluke. both of you know it. a momentary lapse, a split second where his guard lowers just enough for you to slip past his defenses. könig lets you try—indulges you, really, humoring your attempts at taking him down like he’s teaching a child to wrestle. that cockiness, that easy amusement, is what costs him.

somehow, impossibly, you get him in a triangle choke.

his body tenses the moment your thighs clamp around his neck, locking him in place. shock flickers in his eyes before it shifts into something unreadable, something quiet and assessing. his breath comes out steady despite the position he’s in, controlled in a way that makes your pulse stutter.

for a moment, you think you have him.

then, with an ease that’s almost insulting, he pries your legs apart, spreading them like it’s nothing.

a gasp hitches in your throat.

his movements don’t stop there— before you can even process what’s happening, he shifts, pressing himself close, kneeling between your thighs, completely caging you beneath him. his grin is wide, pleased, entirely too unbothered for someone who had just been seconds away from losing.

“very good, bird,” he praises. “very good takedown. i like.”

air sticks in your throat. something is wrong.

“k-könig-”

he blinks at you, tilting his head slightly. “ja?”

your bugged-out stare flicks downward, and his follows instinctively.

oh.

his entire body tenses. his pupils shrink.

understanding dawnes, slow and terrible, as he finally feels the press of something very, very apparent against you.

“that was not supposed to happen.”

no shit.

könig’s weight shifts over you, muscles tight as he tries to move away but instead— maybe by accident, maybe not— his cock drags against your core, thick even through the fabric separating you. the pressure is just enough to make your breath hitch, a spark of something warm licking up your spine before a sound slips from your throat.

he freezes, head jerking up like a startled animal, eyes darting around the empty training room, scanning for any sign that someone might’ve heard, his breath uneven as he listens, as you listen, as the silence between you stretches impossibly thin.

nothing. no one.

he exhales. something in his face twitches, like he’s still trying to convince himself this is real, that you really just made that sound because of him.

his gaze drops, landing back on you, mouth parting, jaw flexing. then his body moves again, slower this time, cock grinding against you, rubbing you through your clothes, dragging heavy between your thighs, and you swear you see his eyelids flutter just slightly at the friction.

his forehead presses against yours, breath coming faster. “tell me to stop.”

the words hit your skin as more air than voice, warm against your jaw, but you don’t even need to think about it, because stopping is the last thing you want right now, the very last thing your body would allow.

“d-don’t stop.”

he curses, words slipping before he can stop them, and you don’t know what they mean, only that they sound wrecked, like they’ve been dragged up from somewhere deep in his chest.

könig’s forehead presses harder into yours. his hands tighten at your waist. his breath comes out uneven, stumbling over itself, and his voice fumbles through the next words. “i don’t have lube.”

“we don’t nee-”

“we do.” his face twists a little, mouth pressing tight, like the idea of taking you without it is actually painful.

you swallow, shifting slightly under him, feeling just how big he is. slick gathers between your thighs, and before you can stop yourself, the question slips out, barely above a whisper.

“are you big?”

his lips twitch, like he’s fighting back a grin, like he can’t believe you just asked that, and then it spreads into something quintessentially könig, — slow, lazy, and warm.

he presses in harder, dragging over your soaked cunt through the fabric of your underwear. the friction pulls a gasp from your lips, hips rolling up instinctively.

his grin stretches wider, eyes flicking down to watch you grind against him. "i am not small."

heat floods you, pussy fluttering around nothing, aching. your hips move again, searching for more, slick soaking through your underwear. your head tips back, breath catching. the sound that escapes you is closer to a whimper than you’d like to admit.

his lips find your jaw, tongue flicking out, tasting sweat and skin. his voice follows his mouth, words warm against your neck. "pretty little pussy..." he murmurs, dragging the syllables out like he’s savoring them. "bet it’d feel better wrapped around me."

the sound that leaves your throat is humiliating, high-pitched and needy. you don’t mean to make it, but it’s too late.

könig grabs your wrist. pulls you up. your balance falters, and before you can recover, he hauls you toward the showers. boots thud against tile. the door slams, lock clicking into place.

his mouth finds yours before you can speak. lips crash into yours, messy and eager. tongues tangle, breaths mix, heat pouring between you as your fingers twist in his hair. a laugh bubbles up between kisses—yours or his, you can’t tell—and he groans into your mouth, grinning against your lips.

“fuck,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at you. cheeks flush, eyes dark with something feral. “wanted this so long…”

clothes hit the floor in frantic shoves. hands fumble, pulling fabric away until skin meets skin, warmth pressing in on all sides.

his cock, thick, flushed, and dripping with precum, hangs between the two of you, weighed down by its own girth.

he sees your stare and grins. "big, huh?”

words fail you and for a moment you can't do anything but nod dumbly.

könig reaches past you, flicks on the shower. water crashes down, steam rising fast. the air thickens with heat and he wastes no time to pull you under the spray, water slicing over skin.

scarred hands find your face, thumbs brushing your jaw as his mouth returns to yours.

your hand slides down between you and wraps around his cock. konig's hips jerk forward, breath shuddering out against your lips.

“could kill you with this, eh?” his grin tugs lazy at the corners of his mouth. his chest lifts and falls, breaths dragging in deep, water cascading over both of you, hot against skin already burning.

your hand tightens, fingers sliding along the thick length of him, precum slicking your palm. warmth pulses beneath your touch, veins pronounced under your grip. he twitches when you give a slow twist near the tip, hips jolting forward. a groan rips from his throat, echoing off the tiled walls.

“scheiße,” he hisses, jaw working as he fights the urge to thrust. one hand flies to his hair, tugging as if the sting will help. water streaks down his face, lips parted, breaths breaking up his words.

“not helping,” you breathe, voice shaking. you press your mouth to his jaw, pressing a kiss there before your tongue darts out to taste the salt of his skin. his breath catches, eyes squeezing shut.

“oh, fuck-” his hips rock forward again, cock dragging through your fist, smearing more warmth along your stomach. precum drips from the flushed head, glistening in the steam-filled air.

a grin tugs at his lips, strained but there. “you tryna kill me?” the words slide out. "scheiß kleines ding…”

you laugh, kissing down his jaw. “not my fault you’re easy.” your thumb slides over the tip.

his head knocks back against the wall, neck stretching, throat working through a swallowed groan. “you- fuck- you think is easy?” a hand finds your chin, pulling your gaze up. “look at me.”

könig’s eyes catch yours. blown out. a ring of blue against black. then suddenly his lips curl, and his voice slips through his teeth.

“i have touched myself to you.”

you blink. “what?”

his grin widens. “before.” his hips push forward, cock dragging against your belly. “many times.”

your face burns.

“oh my god.”

his head dips, lips brushing yours, his breath hot and amused. “you do too, hm?”

your heart stops. heat shoots through you, cunt clenching. “yeah,” your breath shudders. “me too…”

his eyes widen, like he didn't expect you to admit to it, then narrows, grin pulling crooked. “yeah?” his cock twitches in your hand again. “fuckin’ knew it…” laughter spills out, breathless and warm.

könig’s head dips to press a sloppy kiss to your lips. tongue sliding against yours, messy and eager. laughter rumbles out, hips rolling, giggles slipping between mouths.

“fuckin’ knew it,” he repeats, words slurring together. “think about me late at night? fingers stuffed in that pretty cunt…”

you gasp, half scandalized, half aroused, hips shifting as slick pools between your thighs. “könig-”

“yeah?” another thrust. precum smears across your belly. “tell me.”

“i- fuck- yeah,” you breathe. “think about you all the time.”

he groans like the words alone could undo him. könig’s hands drop to grip your thighs, fingers digging firm into the flesh as he lifts you like you weigh nothing. your back meets the cold tile with a dull thud, heat from the shower clashing with the chill seeping through the wall.

your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him close. his cock drags through your folds, thick length sliding slick against your cunt, nudging your entrance but never pushing in.

könig watches your face, chest lifting with every shaky breath. “how much do you take?”

you blink, heat simmering through your skin. “what?”

his cock slides against you again, harder this time, grinding against your clit, making you twitch. “normally. how much?”

a shrug rolls through your shoulders, confidence bubbling up, reckless. “all of it,” you answer without thinking, back arching, rubbing against him, arms looping around his neck. “i can take everything.”

he stills, expression shifting— his lips part, brows lifting just slightly. then he laughs, a low, amused sound, mouth curling into a grin. “nein, you can not.”

challenge flares in your chest. “i can.”

another laugh, softer now, hands adjusting on your thighs. “you are-” he shakes his head, grinning wider, lips brushing your cheek as he exhales, “-so very stupid.”

heat pools in your stomach, thighs clenching around him. “i’ll prove it.”

hands grip your thighs, fingers pressing deep into flesh as könig shifts his weight, cock grinding slow against your entrance, precum smearing where you’re slick and warm. a breath shudders out of him, jaw tight, brows pinching like he’s trying to hold something back. “you say this,” he mutters, “and then you cry.”

“i won’t,” you shoot back.

“hm.” his gaze flicks down to where his cock pushes against you, dragging through your folds. “we’ll see.”

könig’s fingers flex. his grip tightens and your breath hitches. “ready?”

“please,” you gasp, nails biting into his shoulders.

he grits his teeth, cock sliding as deep as your walls will allow, head bumping against your cervix. every sob that escapes your lips makes his hips stutter, breath catching like he’s holding on by a thread.

"oh shit," he mutters. "look at you... crying so much."

"feels too good." your hands are weak on his shoulders.

könig grins, breathless, hands squeezing your hips. "ja? but you begged for this, no? say ‘please, könig, fuck me’-" he mocks your voice, low and whiny, then thrusts, ripping a squeak out of you. "and now you cry like a little baby like i said."

you shake your head against his chest, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. you love it—you love his cock so much it hurts—but you just can’t stop the sounds. every thrust drags a new sob from you, body trembling in his grip.

"shh." he squints down at you. "you are too loud-" his hand slides to the back of your head, pressing you close. "fuck... here. suck."

your lips brush his chest, and his nipple is right there, stiff against warm skin. you hesitate, dizzy from pleasure, but then your mouth opens and you latch on, tongue flicking over the peak before you suck soft and slow.

könig’s hips jerk.

"oh, shit- good girl," he breathes, head falling back. his fingers tangle in your hair. "yeah, just like that. little baby needs something to suck on, huh?"

your cheeks burn, whining against his chest, mouth working over his nipple as his cock drags in deep and slow. he groans, low and desperate, fucking you through your cries.

"such a messy baby," he grins, looking far too fucked-out to be as smug as he is. "can’t stop crying, can you? too good, yes? too much?"

you nod, sobbing around him, and könig just laughs, like he can’t believe how fucked you both are.

"keep sucking," he growls. "will fuck you ‘til you’re dumb.”

[sever1220]

yee

[sweetstrawberryys]

"Drowned in You"

Summary: König never expected to walk in and find his girlfriend completely swallowed by his favorite hoodie. Now he doesn’t know whether to tease her, marry her, or never let her out of his arms again.

Rating: pure fluff, cuddles, and König being soft as hell

---

König froze in the doorway, halfway through removing his gloves, when he saw you padding across the room—completely swallowed in one of his hoodies.

His hoodie.

The one he always wore around base, faded black and oversized even on his massive frame. On you, it looked like a full-body blanket. The hem nearly brushed your knees, the sleeves dangled way past your fingertips, and the hood drooped so low it almost swallowed your whole face.

You blinked up at him innocently. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away. His hands hung awkwardly at his sides, eyes wide beneath the fabric of his mask. Then he cleared his throat—twice.

“Mein Gott…” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You look so… tiny.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “I am tiny. Especially next to you.”

König stepped forward, slower than usual, like he was afraid if he moved too fast, the image might vanish. His eyes were glued to the way the sleeves swung when you moved. You tugged the collar up to your nose, burying your smile into the soft fabric.

“It’s warm,” you said, muffled. “And it smells like you.”

His heart did something strange—stuttered, then raced. “That’s my favorite hoodie.”

“Not anymore,” you chirped, spinning slightly in place. “It’s mine now. ”

He huffed a laugh, the tension melting from his shoulders as he reached out, wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling you against his chest. You disappeared into him just as much as you disappeared in the hoodie.

“You can keep it,” he murmured into your hair, “but only if I get to hold you every time you wear it.”

You tilted your head back, grinning up at him. “Deal.”

He stared at you a moment longer, then sighed dramatically. “You can’t wear this outside. Someone will fall in love with you.”

You snorted. “Is my big, scary soldier getting jealous?”

“I’m not scary,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead through the hood. “I’m just very… protective.”

“Same thing.”

His arms tightened a little. “Especially when you look this adorable.”

[quarterlifekitty]

“Just the tip”

cw: includes some dubcon/noncon depending on interpretation

Gaz is saying it to tease you when he’s just barely inside of you. “Is that enough for you, love?” He can feel you pulse around him as you whine, just short of begging.

Soap is saying it when he’s drunk, you’re drunk, and you definitely shouldn’t be doing it. He’s promising you don’t have the go all the way— just a little, just to help him get it out of his system, ok?

Ghost is just straight up tricking you. Told you he’d take it slow tonight, but then he snaps his hips against yours so hard that your ass flesh of your ass ripples. “Can’t believe you keep fallin’ for that one, birdie.”

Price is condescending as all hell. He’s talking to you in that babying way when you’re horny and desperate. “Just the tip— that’s all she needs, yeah? This sweet little pussy… Aw, does that feel better, darl’?”

König really meant it in the moment that he said it. He knows you’re anxious about taking him— and for good reason. But once he finds himself inside, how is he supposed to resist? You’re just too sweet. Too warm. Too wet. Too tight. Too breathtaking beneath him. He’s only a man, liebling.

[oscengrim]

I know everyone has gotten used to primarily smut from me... but in this house, we love könig, okay—

Just a side note come May 22nd. There is a chance my posting may go way down if I don’t fully schedule it all out in advance. We'll see of my picky and forgetful self remembers to plot it out.

YOU GET MEEEE LIKE YES THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I HAD JN MIND FOR MAIL ORDER KONIG TOO 😩😩 and the dialogue was too good not to add, so thank you sm ☕️ anon!! <33

Reader x mail-order soldier könig

You weren’t proud of the choices that led to this.

In your defense, when your unhinged, narcissistic ex-fiancé decided to take “I can do better” as a personal threat and “leave me alone” as a flirtation, your options shrank quickly. Police were useless, restraining orders were suggestions, and the panic room catalog had a three-month shipping delay you really couldn’t afford at the moment.

So you did what any desperate, slightly unhinged person with Wi-Fi and a bottle of wine would do at 2AM: you shopped online.

Not for a therapist- you didn’t like being robbed more than once per month- and not for new locks, and not even for a machete and a training montage or karate lessons.

You shopped for a bodyguard. And not just any bodyguard- mail-order, military-grade, possibly-black-ops (you didn’t know exactly what that meant, but you knew black belts were the strongest in karate so it probably applied here too) bodyguard. Because you weren’t looking for subtle; yoh were looking for make him cry and question his choices.

The site was slick, you could admit. Black and red and sleek fonts, the kind of design that screamed we definitely waterboard people but make it ✨fashion✨. The site also billed itself as Elite Protection Services: Discreet, Deadly, Dependable. It might as well have been Bodyguards R Us. You scrolled past the profiles like you were picking out a toaster.

“Ex-Interpol, trained in Systema, bilingual in seven languages.”

Nope. Too smug-looking. Kinda reminded you of Johnny Bravo but without the appeal.

“Specializes in anti-stalking protocols. Former MMA champion.”

Too pretty. Psycho ex would take that as a challenge.

You scrolled past endless profiles: more ex-SEALs, ex-spies, people who listed training styles like they were personality traits. Everyone looked like they were auditioning for a movie about stopping nuclear threats with emotional damage and well-fitted tactical pants.

Until you found him.

KÖNIG.

That was it; no last name, no smiling profile pic. Just one blurry photo that looked like it was taken from a security feed during the purge. A massive man mid-stride, face obscured by a tattered executioner’s hood (does he like cosplay?), one arm casually holding what was either a high-powered sniper rifle or a small medieval ballista. Just the quiet threat of do not attempt to engage unless you are fireproof and have no dreams… and hopefully have a will.

His bio was just as minimal as his name, but thankfully not bolded and capitalized like he was the living version You-Know-Who: Former special forces. Classified background. Urban combat. High-threat asset protection. Temperament: Reserved. Languages: German, English. Hobbies: [Redacted]

And honestly? He was perfect.

You hit “Hire” with all the solemnity of pulling a lever on a guillotine.

The meeting, then, was scheduled at a “neutral location” (aka: a converted warehouse that probably used to be a meth lab but now boasted folding chairs and bulletproof windows and claimed to be state-of-the-arts just). You were told to wear neutral colors and avoid sudden movements like he was a military contractor-slash-deer.

He was lucky you didn’t have a driving license or car yet.

The facilitator, woman named Claire who radiated HR department energy and quiet terror, greeted you with a nervous clipboard smile.

“Please remain calm during the introduction process,” she said, like she expected you to run. Like he was a bull and she forgot to tell you not to wear red even though you were very sure bulls didn’t actually get bothered by the color. “Sometimes clients are… startled.”

You waved her off; you were not going to be startled. You were in charge. You were the employer. You were cool and rational. You were the man-

And then the door opened, and he walked in.

It wasn’t so much a walk as a tectonic shift, honestly. The lights dimmed- or maybe your brain flickered like a dying flashlight trying to process the sheer volume of the man now in the room with you because the damn profile and profile pictures absolutely did him no justice at all.

Easily built like a walking mini-cathedral, every step he took echoed with the weight of someone who didn’t walk so much as advance steadily like a cursed forest creature with war crimes on his résumé.

The hood was real, by the way. Not a vibe, not a metaphor, not a cosplay prop. A literal ragged executioner’s hood, like someone had looted a plague doctor’s wardrobe and decided to lean in (actually… were those shirt sleeves-)

Anyways, he said nothing, and so you stared with your mouth half-open and your neck craned and your buffering. There was a pause, the kind of silence that usually precedes a boss fight or a marriage proposal but without the music for both, and you weren’t sure which direction this was going to go.

Claire cleared her throat with the delicacy of someone trying not to disturb a sleeping lion.

“Well, if you’re not feeling a connection, we can always-“

“Don’t you dare.”

It came out louder than intended and far more desperate than you’s ever hoped anyone would hear you. You pointed at König like someone calling dibs on a rare Pokémon, and almost gave yourself a whiplash from how quickly you turned your head to glare at her.

“He’s perfect. Get your own!”

Claire blinked and König didn’t move. But you could feel him blinking behind the hood, probably wondering what, exactly, he had just been spiritually adopted into.

There was another pause.

König tilted his head, then slight nod that was just enough to suggest acknowledgment… or possibly pity. You’d need to peer into his eyes and make him do different expressions so you’d understand what he was thinking behind that hood, because you weren’t sure if his nod meant I accept this job, please never yell again, or you are an unhinged rat and I respect that, but either way: he was yours now.

You turned back to Claire with all the confidence of someone who had definitely just bought an armored tank off Craigslist.

“Where do I sign?”

Claire, likewise, slowly handed you the paperwork like she was passing off custody of a weapon of mass destruction. Something like an armored tank bought off Craigslist.

“…Please don’t antagonize him.”

“I would never,” you replied, already mentally redecorating your apartment to accommodate a seven-foot medieval cryptid with probably boundary issues. You couldn’t imagine anyone with those backgrounds not coming with built-in issues unless they were rich and old.

König, for his part, said nothing. Just stood there, looming like an ancient ruin that had wandered into a security job. But you swore- when you weren’t looking directly at him- you caught the faintest rise in his shoulders. Like a chuckle.

Or maybe a sigh.

Either way, you’d take it; you had a human mountain now. And your ex?

Was going to shit bricks and you’d be there to film and enjoy every. single. second. of it.

“C’mon, big boy,” you grinned at him, taking one of his big hands and tugging uselessly. “We have so much to do!”

[le-artpotat]

Lost a bet. Had to draw my friend's pookies <3 (plain sketch undercut)

Meow.

[stargirlstabber]

imagine könig, the big man he is, slamming his massive dick in and out of you, not caring if it 'doesn't fit'. he will make it fit. he will. he'll manhandle you into various positions, the ones he wants to fuck you in that moment. you'll probably start crying by the time he chases his second release or when he decides to fill both of your tight holes and pushes a dildo or a plug into you. or maybe a vibrator. it really depends on his mood and how good you've been for him. squirming away won't help if he's balls deep into your sloppy cunt, the grip his massive hands have on you holds you like you're a doll to him. which you are.

[machveil]

your friends thinking your boyfriend, König, is actually your pet. you haven’t introduced him to them yet, just offhand comments about, “Oh— it’s getting a little late, I should go home. König probably misses me.”, or, “Oh, König would love this! [pet bowl for his cat]”. they hear you talk about how you have to be back home early, “He gets stressed out if I’m gone too long.”. maybe he’s a big dog breed? a poor thing with separation anxiety. “König fell asleep on my lap last night and I couldn’t get up for, like, two hours.”, your friends nodding along, they know the rules - you don’t get up if your pet falls asleep on you. “He got into my snacks last night. I couldn’t really be mad, his eyes got all wet and sad.”, awe, your pet has killer puppy dog eyes. with a little training your pet shouldn’t get into your food

color them shocked when they ask to see a photo and it’s a behemoth of a man, “Isn’t he cute? We’re going on a walk later.”

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Unexpected but not Unwanted but also Unwanted

I love torturing König. He gets so much pain, all the time. Either way, enjoy massaging König. Poor König gets a little bit too excited. This one gets a wee bit nsft, so please no minors. This is an 18+ fic.

Tws: sexual content alluded to, erections???

Wordcount: 1.9k

Art from This Post

Rest of the Story Below the Cut

Unexpected but not Unwanted but also Unwanted

Your efforts to lock König down as a mate had so far failed.

König was an elusive creature by nature. Such was the case for most cephalopod merfolk. Your kind didn’t tend to group together unless there was a migration or a breeding season on the horizon. However, you’d been to both often enough to know that König was different from most others you'd met. He wasn’t just reserved, it was like he was almost afraid of you. He was quiet enough to spook you when he was crawling around the nest. All your attempts at getting closer had been gently rebuked by him patting your head and pushing you away to go play with some of his pets.

You didn’t think it was impossible though. There was still a chance. It was just unfortunate that König couldn’t be more oblivious to what you were trying to do. It was almost like he was purposefully blocking you out. If it weren’t for his odd behaviours, you would’ve backed off. As it was, König showed a few signs that he was more interested than he let on.

One such behaviour was something you didn’t think König noticed that he did.

It had been late after a hunt when König had fussed over what parts of the squid you were eating.

“Why aren’t you eating any of the good parts?” he asked as he tore into the mantle of a Humboldt squid.

“You were the one who did all the hunting,” you shrugged and chewed on the gristly end of an arm.

Before you could try to stop him, he took a deep bite out of the mantle and flicked it your way. You fumbled as you caught it in disbelief.

“König, you don’t have to,” you looked at the big chunk in your hands.

“You are my guest,” König replied, “you don’t have to eat scraps here.”

“But this is…”

“Eat,” König urged you, “you need it.”

The weight of the meat and the implications of sharing weighed heavily in your hands.

Merfolk rarely shared food. That was just a rule of your kind. Food was something you got for yourself, and if you couldn't, you wouldn't last long for your world. A weak merfolk was a dying merfolk in your culture. If you did share, it was often with caveats.

Though König had promised to share with you earlier, you’d expected to be given the worst parts of his prey. That was what most merfolk would’ve offered, if they had decided to share in the first place. Feeding a smaller, weaker mermaid was already a bizarre act on its own. However, going so far as to share the best parts of a meal was something that you’d only seen close mates do with each other. Sharing with a guest like this was completely unheard of.

You took a bite of the flesh and slumped on the side of the den. You hadn’t eaten something so substantial in… Actually, how long had it been? You’d gotten used to isopods, snailfish, occasionally you managed to snatch up a small shrimp to get by. If you were lucky, you’d find a part of a carcass that had been dropped by a larger prey. Having fresh and nutritious meat like this just wasn’t something that was a part of your life. Or at least, not before you’d met König.

“This is incredible,” you said as you swallowed.

König’s eyes turned up sweetly, “Good. You’ll only get the best from now on.”

“You really don’t have to,” you tried to say but he waved you off.

“No. You are my guest here. You will eat as I eat,” König insisted.

You took another bite of the mantle and muttered a quiet thanks.

—

With full bellies and tired eyes, you and König rested easily in his nest.

Since König had crawled to his side of the nest to settle, you’d heard him mutter and groan painfully.

“König?” you crawled out of your shell to look at your friend, “are you alright?”

“Mostly,” he replied, “I think I just strained something when I was hunting.”

“You hurt yourself!?” you fluttered out of your shell to land down by his side, “why didn’t you tell me anything?”

König blinked slowly, “Why would I?”

“Because I could’ve helped!” you took his lower arms in your hands and ran your fingers along the suckers, careful to avoid the ‘teeth’ inside them.

Your friend hummed and lay his head down over his upper arms, sighing as you started to massage out the knots.

Now that you got a good look at him, you could confidently say you thought König was handsome. You didn't need to see his face to come to that conclusion. He had broad strapping muscles crossing his back over thick and strong lower arms surrounding two long tentacles. He was a mighty and proud specimen of what your kind aspired to be.

You’d never really thought about dating a squid mer before (you'd only shared a bed with a couple of octopus mer), but König had changed so much within the past week you’d shared a nest. True to his word, he fed you well and kept you safe in his nest. He sometimes let you join in on territory patrols at night to keep you entertained. He’d even gone so far as to let you cuddle with him when you went to bed together. That said, he still insisted on tucking you into the shell at night first. If you ended up curled up by his side in the night, then he didn’t mind. He’d learned to live with it.

He didn’t have to live with pain, though.

“Why are you doing this?” König asked as you rubbed the suckers at the tips of his tentacles.

You shrugged, “I just like doing it. It’s something I can do for you.”

“You don’t have to,” König started to stir before you put a hand on his back.

“Are you uncomfortable with me doing this?” you asked.

“No!” König said too quickly, “no, it’s alright. I didn’t expect this.”

“Well,” you started working up his tentacles, “you can start expecting it. If you ever get hurt, I’ll take care of you.”

“I don't trust you to take care of me,” König said suspiciously.

“Well you should. I’ve lost plenty of arms before,” you replied and wriggled your lower arms in front of him, “growing back the webbing sucks, sure, but usually it doesn’t take more than a week until I'm back to normal. Scratches, crushing, teeth getting stuck in me, I’ve had it all. And look! I'm fine!”

When you turned back to work on König, you saw how wide his eyes had become.

“What?”

König shook his head and lowered his chin to his forearms with a huff, “A little mermaid like you shouldn’t have to go through so much.”

“When most people think of you as an easy dinner, life gets tough,” you grunted as you worked a particularly tough knot under his skin.

König hummed to himself quietly. He seemed to want to say more, but he kept it to himself. A pity. You would’ve liked to know just what was on his mind. König always had the most interesting things to say. It was as though he’d spent his entire life collecting observations he’d just been dying to share with someone. It always felt like he was sharing one of his little treasures with you whenever he offered a little tip or a comment on the day. 

“Can you do my back?” König asked quietly.

You looked at the wide stretch across his back. The pale skin was smooth, clear save for crossing scars and a few freckles speckled along his spine and over his biceps. It looked… Comfy.

“Sure,” you tried to sound nonchalant, “any particular spot?”

“Between my shoulders,” he said, “bottom of my neck.”

“Here?” you moved your hands up to the spot.

König groaned approvingly as you pressed down and massaged it. You could feel his muscles actually relaxing underneath your touch. You grabbed at the soft skin and pushed into the muscles. They were terribly stiff under your touch.

More importantly, they were strong. König was clearly the apex predator in this part of the ocean. It was a good thing too, or he wouldn’t have been able to defend his encompassing territory. It had taken an entire day to follow König around the borders of his territory, and even then you only just got back before you had to go to sleep.

He was a mighty creature in form. Sleek as a shark and powerful as a whale, he was a monster of the depths. And yet, while he could’ve snapped you up in his jaws, he instead found pity on you and taken you under his wing. You still didn’t fully understand why he did so. He still stuck to the reasoning that you were ‘cute’ and ‘too small to survive’, which although aggravating at least meant that he was willing to give you lenience he wouldn’t have otherwise afforded to a trespassing merfolk.

It was nice that he was so willing to give, but you could only handle taking from König for so long. You liked the idea of being his pretty little mate, but with that came certain responsibilities. As such, you were more than happy to watch over the nest critters and herd them away from his treasures. You’d taken a special pleasure in taking care of his treasures, treating them less as ‘his’ and more as ‘both of yours’.

But being a mate didn’t end there. Being able to have a chance to physically massage König was an opportunity you were relishing in. From the sounds of it, he was too.

Your mate-to-be was sighing and groaning as you worked the muscles of his back just so. He whimpered when you pressed down on a spot on his spine like a dolphin and curled ever so slightly under his touch. You worked your way down his back until you were at the small, right where his body merged into the lower squid half.

He gasped sharply as you traced the line of his spine.

“Too much?” you asked quickly.

“No,” he grumbled, “good. Very good.”

You raised an eyebrow. Good he said? Well, you could be good. You could be very good. You could be perfect.

He melted as you pressed down into the small of his back. As you pushed your palms into small concentric circles you noticed König grinding his hips into the sand.

That piqued your interest.

You tried it again to get similar results. The smirk that spread across your face was downright diabolical as you worked the spot on his back before turning into a full grin as he ground his hips down into the sand. If you just kept going, a little bit more, a little bit harder right here-

“Is this okay?” you asked, unable to hide the smile from your voice.

König stilled his movements. Quietly, he pushed himself up and stretched his back. He turned over and immediately your eyes were drawn down to his lower half.

There, just barely peaking out from the sheathe of his slit, was the very tip of his dick. The pink tip throbbed steadily as König laid his head back to rest against the wall of his cave. His breathing was heavy, his gills working overtime as he panted.

You couldn’t take your eyes off his slit. You knew you had an effect on him, but that was more than you expected. If you’d gone this far, then maybe it was just time to go straight for the kill.

“Good?” you asked lightly.

König nodded and pulled his head up. Evidently, you weren’t nearly as subtle as you hoped, as the moment he figured out what you were looking at he practically screeched and dove into his den.

“König?” you rushed behind him.

“I’m so sorry,” he moaned as he positioned himself in such a way where you couldn’t get into the nest with him, "just leave me alone."

“König it’s fine,” you tried to tell him, “it’s-”

“No, it’s not,” König snapped, “just stay out. I need to be alone.”

“König listen-”

“OUT.”

Evidently, you’d missed your chance.

Damn.

Konig Dump

Konig Alt Universes

[dmitriene]

cw: könig is a weirdo and reader match him.

könig likes pretty things, young and vulnerable dolls that bat their eyelashes prettily at him, wrapping their dainty hands around his thick bicep, trailing beside him despite his perverse touch, letting him lure them to his messed bed in some dark apartment, fuck their brain silly.

it's always a one time thing, könig ain't good for a long term relationship because of the bitter need to posses that been festering in him from the start, they just use each other, he has a lovely built body that makes girls salivate, and he packs a cock that is too thick you able to feel the ache even the next morning while trying to escape his apartment.

it's not the same with you, könig notices it by the way you cling to him while he punches his fat cock in your tight pussy, shallow thrusts of his wide hips making his thick cockhead pummel into your spongy spot, your hands clinging against his broad shoulders, walls tightening with rapid pulsing.

you ask him for kisses, enveloping his rough mug with your delicate palms and letting his tongue make out sloppily with your mouth, whining broken groans as he presses a wide palm to your tummy, feeling the bulge beneath where his girthy cock pistons in you, making your pussy squelch with each wet glide, as you coat his length in oozing slick.

you even let könig cum in you, flooding you full of creamy cum that drips out your pulsing hole, making a mess from the sheets and your trembling thighs, not uttering for once that now everything is tacky, instead, you curl against him like affectionate kitten and try to nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck and wrap your cramping legs around his waist.

könig doesn't even knows what to think, you don't try to escape his bed immediately, instead pressing your naked body against his beefy one, letting his twitching cock stay buried inside of you, cockwarmed by your snug walls, as you let his burly hands envelope your frame and rock you to sleep like a baby.

and when you wake up early in the morning with pleasurable ache in your body and pussy throbbing, welcomed by the sight of breakfast in bed and könig clinging to you like a pup, smothering your neck in sloppy kisses and slurringly calling you his girlfriend, you don't run away.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[glasbaotebottle]

Special training*?

The second post!This is my art from 2024,so the style will be different from now!!I will slowly move all the old arts and post them<3

[sweetstrawberryys]

"Cuddle Logistics: A König Dilemma”

Summary: All you want is to cuddle your giant boyfriend. All König wants is to hold you properly. Too bad he’s built like a tank and your bed is definitely not regulation size.

Rating: Fluff, Humor, Tenderness, Giant Man Softness.

---

You tried. Really, you tried.

You tucked yourself against König’s chest like you always imagined you would—warm, safe, and surrounded by massive arms that could probably crush a car but instead held you like you were made of glass.

Except...

“I can’t feel my arm,” you muttered.

“I can’t move any of mine,” König replied glumly.

You peeked up. He looked like a folded pretzel of sorrow.

Your poor, giant Austrian boyfriend had curled himself like a shrimp on your double bed—his legs dangling off the edge, one arm pinned under you, the other flailing uselessly in search of a place to rest.

“Maybe we just—switch positions?” you suggested.

He looked at you like you’d told him Santa wasn’t real. “I want to hold you, Schatz (darling). Not be your weighted blanket.”

“I like you as my weighted blanket.”

“You keep sliding off me like a sock on tile.”

“…Okay, fair.”

You sat up, brushing hair out of your face. König groaned softly, stretching his legs with a loud pop.

“You’re too big,” you sighed dramatically.

“You’re too small,” he huffed back, folding his arms with a pout under the mask.

You blinked. “Was that a pout?”

“Nein.”

“It was!”

“I am not pouting.”

“You totally are, König. Mein Grummelriese.” (My grumpy giant.)

“…I like it when you call me that,” he mumbled.

You laughed and crawled back to him. “Okay, compromise.”

He looked up hopefully.

You climbed into his lap, facing him, legs straddling his hips and arms wrapped around his broad chest. “You sit up. I sit on you. Now I’m the blanket.”

He blinked under the mask.

Then—arms wrapping slowly around your waist—he pulled you in and let out a soft, satisfied sound from deep in his chest.

“Perfect,” he murmured. “Mein Herz (my heart).”

You nuzzled under his chin. “Told you. Problem solved. Logistics mastered. Cuddle physics defied.”

He chuckled.

And then neither of you moved for the next two hours.

Well—except for you adjusting slightly when his leg twitched in his sleep and knocked your water bottle off the nightstand.

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

Alpha!Kortac with a new recruit!Reader who's being courted (or attempted to be) by every alpha on base.

All of them try to show off with their various positive attributes, winning fights, showing off conquests, etc.

But then there's König. König takes the time to really truly learn Reader. He learns what reader likes, their favourite scents, fabrics they like, music, everything. He learns it all.

So when heat season comes? On reader's doorstep there's about 20 different scent items, labelled from various alphas.

They're all big blankets, or hoodies, all theirs.

But then there's König's. He brought a box.

It's shirts, all your favourite colours and fabrics, some freshly bought, others from his collection. In the bottom is a fluffy blanket, it's comfortable looking, too. It has a note on it, which reads "Saw this in the autumn and it reminded me of you. I've been making sure to scent it frequently for you." With a little crown doodle. It's from König.

It's not a massive surprise to him whenever he sees you on his doorstep, trying to tug him to your nest, thick with heat smell.

[candy-ing]

he can feel your stares. he's been in the military his whole life, ofc he's hyperaware of his surroundings. but he also knows why his lovely wife is gulping everytime his biceps flex, he tracks your cycle because ofc he does, how else will he know how to take care of you and your physical and emotional needs otherwise. knows you're ovulating and decides to be a lil shit about it. not his fault darling, he's just helping you around the house, it's just too hot for him to wear a shirt darling, (he loves the way you're so obsessed with his body). for someone who has been insecure of his scars his whole life your eyes and attention make him love them too.

and when you finally have enough of his teasing, he's matching your fervor. letting you take whatever you need, he, your husband, aims to please darling.

[blackcrayons]

*Magical girl transformation sounds in the background*

Ready to fight against evil~

Suggested by @agree-to-love 🥰🥰

Visit P@treon for free 4k~