Tumgik
#könig fanfiction
konigsslvtt · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
You don’t pick up. He’s not surprised.
It’s 2 in the morning, why would you?
Königs hand clutches the glass of whiskey in his hand as he sits back on his couch, the soft, soothing tone of your voice in your voicemail jolting the arousal in his loins. Your message ends with a bubbly little outro, fueling his drunk boldness as he begins to speak.
“God, what am I doing,” he slurs slightly, his tone raspy and quiet, swallowing roughly as the alcohol gets into his system. “I really fuckin’ wish you picked up…scheiße,” he says into the phone, his head swarming with the thought of what you look like at 2 in the morning, pulsing straight to the hardness straining in his pants. “Fuck, you don’t know how badly I want you,” he rasps out, laughing drunkenly to himself as his words come out needier than intended.
“You don’t understand how much I think about you. Thinking about the things I want to do to you,” he grits out, his self restraint weakening. His fingers curl around the crystal glass in his hand, swirling the amber liquid around in a circle as he watches it, listening as the radio silence on the other end of the phone mingles with his uneven breaths.
Another bitter laugh leaves his lips, as his head leans back against the head of the couch cushion, his hand pressing his phone tighter to his ear as his eyes close. “Seeing you, happy with your…husband. It’s infuriating,” he says, his thumb skimming the rim of his glass, a drawled out sigh passing through his lips.
“Watching him hold your hand, and kiss those lips I haven’t been able to stop fantasizing about…” Another string of expletives leave his lips in German, his jaw tensing as the alcohol severely inhibits his ability to think clearly.
Fuck, what have you done to him?
Reducing him to a state of pathetic inebriation.
He swallows thickly, taking another long sip of his whiskey, lips puckering as it goes down with a lingering burn. “God, what are you doing to me?” He voices his thoughts, his eyes opening blearily as the ceiling molds into a series of blurry blobs, his eyes fluttering unevenly.
“I know it's wrong. You're married and I shouldn't be uttering such obscene thoughts, but I can't help it. The image of you, moaning my name into my sheets as your body fits with mine, it consumes me, day and night."
He trails off, the silence hanging heavy for a moment before he speaks again, his tone intense. "Mein Gott, I need you. I—I can't sleep, can't get you out of my head. The things I want to do to you..." His voice hitches as he sets his whiskey down, his palm pushing down against the growing bulge in his sweatpants, earning a near muted groan to escape his lips.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice laced with an undeniable desire. "Every time my eyes meet yours, I fantasize about pinning you against the wall, making you moan my name." His fingers curl around the ridge of his cock, his hips pushing up slightly as he lets a groan dissipate into a breathy sigh.
“You're this…pretty little temptation, always there, always tempting me." His words come out in a mix of German and heavily-accented English, his Austrian origins coloring his speech, his voice dripping with longing and need. "I want to taste your lips, feel your body pressed against mine. I want to run my hands through your hair, feel your nails digging into my skin."
He lets out a low, almost desperate groan. "God, I want to make you scream, make you forget everything else but me." His hand tightens its grip, his thumb kneading into his tip as a growing circle of wetness stains the fabric of his sweatpants. His head lulls back a little more, his eyes struggling to stay open as his fingers grip the sides of his phone harder.
“I've known I wanted you for so long, watching you with those innocent eyes, that sweet smile. You have me wrapped around your finger, whether you know it or not,” he breathes out, something akin to longing staining his words as they leave his lips. His thumb hooks into his waistband, tugging the material down as his cock rests against his abdominal muscles. He hisses slightly as the cool air washes over him, his hand closing around the warm flesh as the pad of his thumb smears the precum beading at the tip.
“You make me feel crazy. Absolutely insane when I get like this,” he slurs, his hand sliding up, his hips following as his eyes roll back.
“Like you put a spell on me. A few pretty flutters of those dark lashes and I’m as good as on my knees for you,” he chuckles drunkenly, his lips parting with a muted groan as his hand twists around his tip, fucking his hand as he pushes his hips up. “Mmm, on my knees for you…the things I could make you feel with my tongue alone…” he rasps, his eyes closing again as his hand twists down, making a shuddering groan pass through his lips.
“Imagining your pretty face scrunched up with uncontrollable pleasure as I feel the warmth of your thighs around my head…fuck I can just imagine how sweet you taste.” His rambling is getting worse, his eyebrows drawn in in concentration as his hand eagerly works his cock, slipping through his fist in tight, controlled motions.
“What I’d do to have you in my bed with me right now,” he breathes out, his hips rocking up into his fist as his eyes slip closed once more. The pleasure radiates deep in his lower abdomen, threatening to consume him with each downward stroke of his hand.
“Feeling you wrapped around my cock, wet and tight and Verdammte Hölle [bloody hell]…just the thought of it has me so fucking hard for you.”
The hitch in his words splits open the raw desire he was hiding with the alcohol, his eyelids pressing harder together as a shuddering groan escapes his lips. His hand speeds up a little more, teasing his restraint as his hips stutter up into his hand once more, his shoulders pressing deep into the couch cushions.
“I wish you could see it…feel how I’d throb in your delicate, little hands. The softness of your palm replacing mine, fuck—“ He swallows thickly as his hand stops at the base, gripping tightly as the head throbs, trying to gain any semblance of control as his mind spins out of control.
“You have me completely at your mercy. You could make me do anything for you, and I wouldn’t hesitate,” he confesses, his eyes fluttering open heavily as the rotating fan above him sends waves of cool air rippling over his warm skin. His hand slowly slides back up, pushing down with a vice grip as a sigh of relief passes through his lips.
“I’m going to cum so hard, my sweet girl. And it’s going to be all for you,” he breathes out, the familiar tight feeling building inside of him getting harder to fend off. His thumb presses harder with each upward stroke of his hand, his body growing restless as he twitches on the couch. A whimpered-like moan leaves his lips, his jaw clenching as choked breaths struggle to fill his lungs.
“I want you to take it. Take it all, pretty girl. Every piece of me is yours,” he groans out quietly, his breaths uneven and harsh, his hand moving on its own, his hips struggling to stay rooted on the couch. “Fuck—fuck, that’s it. Oh Gott, Schatz…” With a strangled moan, his body tenses, his hips thrusting into his hand as his lips part, his release wetting his hand and painting his abdomen.
His breaths are ragged, his hand clutching his phone with an intensity bordering on painful, his mind blissfully quiet for the first time since he’s picked up his phone. He swallows back the cotton-y feeling in the back of his throat, letting out a long breath as a chuckle overcomes his senses, his head shaking.
“God, what a mess you’ve made of me, Schatz,” he says, another bob of his throat to wet his esophagus from moaning and speaking for the last ten minutes linger on the message. “But I meant everything. Drunk or not, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m utterly—“
The beeping of the message becoming too long has his words momentarily stopping, listening to the automated voice messaging system as the settling loneliness sinks in once again, as he sighs.
“—in love with you.”
The words are whispered on his lips, deaf on your ears as he says it too late, once again.
——————————————————————————————
https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayitschey
——————————————————————————————
He’s not even sure if you listened to the voicemail.
Sober him is berating himself for being so weak, half his memory of the whole thing wiped, leaving him wondering how you’d react once you see him in person. His anxiety eventually gets the best of him, as he purposely avoids the common areas he knows you inhibit.
It was hard to swallow down the pill of unrequited desire, the aftertaste bitter as he watches you from afar. You’re merely enjoying the meal in front of you surrounded by some friends, the glint of your wedding ring drawing a sour taste to his mouth.
It wasn’t fair, he told himself, letting someone as perfect as yourself be tied down to someone so mediocre, your husband blind to the sheer radiance that graces his presence whenever you step into the room. It has his fingers balling into a tight fist, a dark film covering his eyes as he watches him kiss your cheek.
Touch your back.
His cock stirs as your laughter rings out, the sound so arousing it has his breath hitching in his chest, making a mental note to remember the sound when he had his hand around himself again later into the evening.
His fingers run along his thigh as he watches your husband sit down next to you, his fingers tensing into his muscle as he watches as his hand slides onto your own thigh. The sight makes his temples burn, his knee ticking almost possessively as he watches the way your knees spread a little further, allowing him to grip your muscle more firmly.
Why haven’t you listened to his voicemail yet?
Surely it was why you weren’t outside his door this morning, begging him to save you from your marriage.
Right?
Delusions and reality seem to bleed into one confusing, muddled mess inside of his head, unable to tell if a glance from you was platonic or a silent beg for him to have you under him, deep inside of you until you—
His thoughts are momentarily halted as his eyes catch yours as you stand up from the table, the slight tug of your brows over your forehead making his own stare persist, not backing down. His hand absently slides higher up his leg under the table, feeling absolutely insane, desperate even, the longer your gaze is on his.
The two second glance feels like an eternity to him, his eyes eagerly watching as you kiss your husband goodbye, eyes widening slightly when he realizes you’re leaving alone. His eyes flicker to check if any onlookers are paying attention before he stands up, following after you unsuspectingly.
The sway of your ass, the way your hair swings with every step; it has him infatuated, his desires burning hotter as he watches you walking towards the barracks. Searing hot emotions flood through his veins, rationality leaving him as he comes up behind you, arm pushing out to stop you from entering the door, nearly making your throat push into his forearm.
“What are you—“
“Shh,” he begins in a hushed tone, the smell of your perfume making his brain cloud, the warmth of being so close to you making his eyes darken, eyes shutting momentarily as he takes a deep breath.
“König—“
“Gott, don’t sag meinen Namen like that,” he breathes out, the syllables leaving your lips making his breaths come a little more labored, his eyes gazing down at you almost pleadingly. His eyes trace every fleck in your irises, the way your lashes frame your orbs perfectly.
Obsession.
“It does bad things to my head. Makes me wanna—“ his breaths stop his words, jaw clenching as his fingers grip the door rail harder, his eyes never leaving your own, even when your eyes widen, lips parting to start speaking.
Only, his thumb presses against them, the rest of his digits curling under your chin as he shakes his head, his eyes flickering between yours.
“Don’t. You’re going to ruin it,” he whispers, already knowing the resistance about to spill from your lips, not wanting to hear how you’re married, how you’re not his.
Instead he lets his hand slide from your chin to let his fingers tangle in your hair at the side of your head, guiding you backwards against the open door, both of your bodies pressed between the door frame. His thumb skims down your cheek, the other hand loosely wrapping around the side of your neck, his thumb running down curve of your throat.
“Just let it happen,” he whispers, his voice a hoarse rasp, his hand sliding up the back of your head, digits tangling in your hair gently as he guides your face closer. He can feel the resistance, the feeling of your hand snapping out to grip his wrist. Your nails press crescents into his flesh, the cold metal of your wedding band grazing against his inked warmth only turning him on more.
“I can’t,” you choke out, your mind hazy, the warmth radiating from him slowly becoming suffocating. His hands keeping you in place, his knee wedging between your own is becoming overwhelming, the thought of your husband coming down the hallway at any given moment making your heart race faster, harder.
“You can. A piece of metal can’t stop me from taking what’s mine,” he gravels out, pushing his knee higher, the flutter it brings to your eyes satisfying as he watches every muscle in your face twitch. His head tips, lips grazing your own, sending a hot flush of arousal down to his lower abdomen, pulling taut as a choked gasp escapes your lips.
“I could give you a better one. A bigger one,” he breathes out against your mouth, making your head tip back into his palm, his eyes scraping back up your face, eyes piercing right into your own. Your throat bobs softly, breaths getting shallower the longer his eyes are on yours.
“And I’m not only talking about a ring, Schatz.”
Your eyes widen, facial muscles slackening at the sheer look of desire radiating from his gaze, his seriousness permeating through you. Your gaze flickers down almost instinctively, earning you a firmer press of his knee between your thighs as you gasp through a clenched jaw.
“Just say the word. And I’m all fucking yours.”
The words leave his mouth desperately, lilted and raspy as they reach the air, altering your brain chemistry as the line between loyalty and desire suddenly become blurry. Your hand grips him tighter, a trembling breath escaping your lips as your head falls to the side with a pleading look.
“Don’t—“
“Tell me,” he whispers, hands gripping the sides of your head firmer, keeping you exactly where he needs you. His eyes fall back to your lips, currently folded over between your teeth, your eyes slipping shut. His breaths are hard, trembling as he waits, desperation making his face lean closer, his body grow warmer.
“Tell me you want me,” he presses again, his voice a low rumble. “And I’ll give you whatever you need.”
Your teeth release your lips as your eyes reopen, gazing at him with a soft breath hitch. It was wrong; caving into him was wrong, especially after listening to his voicemail he had sent you last night. More than once.
Imagining what I’d be like to cave into temptation.
Do something reckless.
“König—“
His name leaving your lips like that again has his control weakening, a trembling groan escaping his lips as he closes the distance. His lips capture yours, the soft warmth making his head spin, having imagined it countless times. But nothing prepared him for how good it felt in the flesh.
His hand, still tangled in your hair, tightens its grip slightly, his fingers massaging your scalp as he deepens the kiss even further. His other hand slides down from your waist, grazing lightly over your hip before settling on your ass, pulling you flush against him.
His hand tightens even further in your hair, his fingers gently tugging at the strands as he guides the kiss, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate. The taste of you drives him wild, fueling his hunger for more; more of you, more of the insatiable release he’s craving.
“You have…no idea,” he begins in a soft groan against your mouth, “how many times I’ve imagine doing this.” His lips part your own as his tongue brushes against yours, the resistance melting away as your mouth matches his fervor, only furthering the ache pressed against your lower belly.
His other hand slides down to your ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh possessively. With a swift motion, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he shuts the door with his heel. The cool surface of the wall meets your back as he presses you against it, his body flush against yours.
“Did you enjoy my voicemail, sweet girl?” He gravels out, his nose tipping your jaw back as he presses kisses to your throat, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. He nips at your skin, leaving a mark that will remind you of him the next time you gaze into a mirror.
“I—“ your lower lip is sucked into your mouth as a low, rumbling moan escapes your lips, eyes half lidding as they roll shut, staying comprehensive becoming nearly impossible. He grins, the surge of possessiveness and excitement to your reciprocal responses only making him harder.
“Listening to how much I needed you, what you did to me without even being there. Fuck, you have me completely and utterly infatuated. Completely under your spell, Liebchen.”
His mouth kisses up to your chin, his hands sliding up your arms, fingers curling around your wrists as you hold onto him for support against the wall. He guides them to his mouth, lips pressing a kiss to every pad on every digit, his eyes gleaming as the reflection of your ring catches the moonlight.
His lips close around the tip of your ring finger with a guttural growl, pushing your small digit deeper as his teeth catch the edge of the ring, pulling it off your finger with his mouth. His eyes remain on yours, leaving your finger glistening as his tongue teases the hole of the band, before he jerks his head, letting it fall to the carpet.
“You’re not going to want that anymore. Not after I’m done with you.”
Your eyes remain wide, gasping softly at the rawness of his actions, unable to help the surge of arousal flushing between your thighs. Your hands grip him again as he guides you away from the wall, instead pinning you back against the half made bed from this morning.
His larger hips spread you wide under him, the softness of your thighs pressing against the jut of his pelvis making his breaths come harder. His hands slide up your torso, taking your shirt with it as his head dips to press kisses along the exposed flesh. Up your abdomen to your sternum, lingering as he keeps your shirt tangled around your wrists.
“Keep them there for me, ja? Im gonna give you something your husband probably never could,” he whispers against your torso, eyes widening as you watch his fingers hook into the band of your pants. The material slides off easily, his hands eagerly palming the warm, bare flesh he reveals, opening you wider for him as he sinks to his knees on the floor at the edge of the bed.
“Schön…so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips pressing along the inside of your knee, hands gripping when your muscles jump, your gasp making him want to pull even more sounds from you, trailing a path to where he knows you’re aching.
His fingers pull your panties to the side, too eager to bother removing them before he licks a languid, light stripe vertically. Your hips tipping makes his eyes half lid, already drunk on your taste. He lets out a groan as a trembling moan leaves your lips, his lips closing around your clit, focusing on the spot that has your fingers fisting the sheets above your head.
“Fuck, you taste better than any of my fantasies,” he groans against you, his hand lifting to probe a finger at your dripping entrance, sinking it inside as his eyes roll shut. Being this tight around one of his fingers has his cock throbbing, aching to be buried inside of you.
His name escaping your lips pushes him to redouble his efforts, the taste of you making him even more eager, unable to help himself. His hands keep your thighs open, tongue dipping inside of you alongside his fingers as your hips buck slightly, rolling against his lips as your back arches, the sight so erotic he swears he could cum just by watching you enjoy yourself.
Your thighs beginning to tremble around his head and your body growing restless has his cock throbbing, his tongue narrowing in on your clit as he pulls it between his lips, groaning as your high pitched moan turns into a desperate plea of his name.
“Ja, baby that’s it. Cum for me, show me who it is who knows exactly how to please you, how to treat you,” he groans, sliding another finger inside as he curls them, pumping them in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. Your eyes roll shut as jerky tremors race through your body, his eyes opening hazily to watch you succumb to your orgasm.
Your cheeks are flushed, your lower lip trapped between your teeth, and it makes his hips press into the mattress, grinding slightly to get any form of relief. He groans as he continues to lap at you, pulling every ounce of pleasure from your body as you weakly squirm against his grip.
He relents, slowly pulling away as you tremble, his hands soothingly running up your thighs as he grips the soft flesh, standing back up as his eyes darken. The tent in his pants has never felt so painful, so stiff, his body unable to focus on anything other than being inside of you.
“I need you,” he breathes out, his hand already pulling on his belt, his eyes half lidding as he uses his knees to spread your shaking legs open once more, your eyes focused on his hand freeing himself from the torment of his pants. Your mind is reeling, the soft tan line on your finger from where the ring used to be making you feel conflicted.
But the sheer ecstasy coursing through you replaces any doubts, your lips parting to gasp as his hand pushes down on the material of your shirt between your wrists above your head, keeping them pinned them to the bed.
“I’ll reach places your husband could only dream of, Schatz. Show you how it feels to be under a real man,” he growls out, his eyes lowering to watch himself push against your folds, his breaths growing more labored.
Immediately your hands are palming his hips, attempting to slow the hard length of him stretching you open almost painfully, choking on strangled gasps as his groan of relief passes through his lips. His hand grips the back of your thigh as he leans forward, pushing it closer to your chest as the curve of the back of your knee settles over his shoulder. He pushes harder against the shirt around your wrists, keeping them above your head as he gazes at you.
“You can handle it, for me, ja?” He pants, his control slipping as his fingers tense into the sheets above your head, the other pressing your bound wrists deeper into the mattress. Your back arches as he pushes the remaining inches inside of you, bottoming out as his head hangs low, your foreheads brushing as you let out a choked sound resembling a moan.
His hips slide back, before he’s plunging inside again, your eyes struggling to stay open as he starts to move, deep, harsh strokes that already have you crying out.
“Fuck, you feel so good, so fucking tight, exactly how I imagined,” he groans out, his hips picking up speed, the headboard rattling softly against the wall as his fingers twist harder into the sheets, your fingers void of feeling from his tight grip around the cloth.
You moan, your eyes fluttering closed as a mix of pleasure and a hint of pain dance across your features. It only makes him more carnal, more possessive as he becomes immersed in your tight depths. The sensations have your thighs wanting to close, but his hips keep you open, sinking into you over and over again.
His hand lets go of your wrists before he has it snaking under your back, holding onto you as he drags you ontop of him. His back leans against the headboard, parted lips releasing a groan. You gasp as your thighs straddle him, sinking down onto his cock deeper as your lips part in pleasure. “Fuck, that’s it. Taking all of me like the good fucking girl that you are,” he groans, his feet hiking up the bed for leverage as his knees bend, before his hips thrust upwards.
It makes your head fall back, your nails sinking into his broad shoulders as a muffled moan escapes your lips that your teeth currently have ahold of. He takes the opportunity to wrap his hand through your silky hair, tugging it backwards gently as he exposes the soft expanse of your throat.
He leans forward, lips capturing your warm flesh as his teeth sink into your pulse point, lips pulling your flesh between them as he sucks. It’s painful and carnal, knowing a deep splotchy mark will be there when you wake the following day, mirroring the other he gave you earlier. He trails down, rotating between harsh bites and whispered kisses, making your hips roll against him. His hand tightens in your hair as the other drags down your back, settling on your hip as he pushes you harder down onto him, effectively ripping whimpers and moans from your pretty little mouth.
“Fucking hell, you’re so good at taking me. Like you were practically made for my cock,” he groans, his fingers digging almost painfully into your hip as he drives into you repeatedly, each thrust harder than the previous. Your hands flex on his shoulders, letting out a moan as his arms wrap around your slender back, fingers curling around the backs of your slender scapulas.
"You're fucking mine. Du gehörst mir, [you belong to me.]" He says, his hands dragging down your back, one of his large hands palming your ass as he grips rather harshly, moving your hips for you ontop of him. His hungry gaze all but devours your body writhing ontop of him once more before he speaks again. "Is that clear?"
You bite down on your lip as your eyes hood, gazing down at him with an innocence you weren't trying to use, eyes wide and round, your orbs darkening a shade. "Yes," you gasp out, fingers twitching against his shoulders as you arch away from him slightly, your eyes drinking in the look of his face, his eyebrows drawn together in pleasure, his lips parted just the slightest as soft puffs of air escape him.
"Say it. Sag mir, dass du mein bist. [Tell me you're mine.]" He says raggedly, his own self control slipping as he slides his hands up your neck, his fingers curling around the back of your head, thumbs digging into the soft flesh under your jaw as he holds you there. It forces you to look directly into his eyes, your lips trembling as he stills inside of you, pushing his cock as far it’ll go as he holds it there. His fingers tense around your head, his bicep straining under the pressure. The veins rise to the surface of his epidermis, pulsing with the sheer need radiating in his body.
“Fuck, I’m yours,” you cry out quietly, the feeling of his cock pressed so deep inside of you bringing moisture to the edges of your eyes as your walls flutter and clench around him. His lips tip into a grin as a chuckle leaves his lips, his head nodding as he starts moving, punishingly quickening his pace once more.
“Such a good girl. Fuck, you were made for this, made to be fucked by me, not that husband of yours,” he groans out, his hands falling away from your face, instead pulling your arm behind your back. One of his hands flex around your bicep, clenching tightly as the other grips your wrist, pulling it back straight and keeping you firmly rooted on top of him.
The sensation makes pain ripple through your muscle fibers, a burning sensation that has you breaching closer to the edge as your legs begin to lock up. He can sense it, his fingers curling harder into your flesh as his hips drive upwards maddeningly.
And in an instant you’re back on your back as he pushes you backwards, his cock slamming deep inside of you once more as his hips spread you open. Your thighs open wider, pressing against the harsh jut of his pubic bone harder, a telltale sign you were close.
“Mein Gott, I need you to cum for me. I need to feel that sweet little cunt of yours squeezing me as you take me,” he groans out desperately, his hips snapping forward harder, faster, chasing his own impending release as his face buries in the crook of your neck.
Your hands clawing at his back has his jaw gritting in sheer ecstasy, the pain something he was becoming addicted too. Your muffled moans and cries have him relentlessly hitting that spot inside of you, your walls clenching down on him as your orgasm takes over triggering his own.
“Fick! Ja, that’s so fucking good—“ he moans out, hips sloppily thrusting as his whole body tenses, his breath held as he spills inside of you. His chest heaves slightly as he slows down his pace, his breaths choked up as he tries to expel them out of his tightening chest. His hips shallowly rock into you as he rides out the tremors of his climax, his body shuddering as he finally slips out.
Fully sated blue eyes gaze down at you as you finally open your eyes, body aching as you struggle to breathe. He presses more of his weight on his forearms, his lips finding yours, languid and deep, making your head spin as he pulls back with a groan.
Before he can even speak, the sound of your door opening has both of your heads turning, the sight of your husband standing there drawing a smirk to his lips. His hands possessively keep the sides of your face in his grip, his eyes glinting almost manically.
“What the fuck?”
——
“Keep your eyes on me, Schatz,” he whispers against your mouth, his hands threading through your hair at the side of your head. His eyes never leave yours, the sheer panic and lingering hints of regret making him bent on making sure you don’t crawl back to your husband; not after what just happened between the both of you.
“Y/n! Look at me! I’m your husband, not him! Did he drug you or something? Did you take advantage of her?” Your husband yells, and it makes Königs eyes roll, his pathetic brain storming making him physically ick as those become the only logical explanations for your husband.
Your lips part to speak but his thumb presses against your still kiss-swollen flesh, shaking his head slightly before he turns it to face your husband. The look on his face has his ego surging; knowing the sight of your thighs still wrapped around his hips and your fingers digging into his shoulders is driving your husband mad.
“Is it so hard to believe your little wife wanted me back? Wanted someone who could please her, fuck her the right way? Mein Gott, you should have heard the way I was making her scream my name as she told me she was all mine,” he taunts, the smirk broadening on his lips as your husbands face goes red, his body rushing forward.
“Woah, easy buddy. Come any closer and it won’t be very pretty,” König bites out, his eyes darkening as he rolls off of you, making sure to let the sheet cover your body. His own hands slip his pants back on, his stature easily over shadowing your husband as he buttons his jeans, chin tipping arrogantly as he gazes through half lidded eyes.
“You—I—“ your husbands words come out strained, his eyes narrowing as he gazes at you over Königs shoulder, your body shrinking into the covers as embarrassment and regret crash over you.
“This is ridiculous! Y/n! Get up, we’re leaving. Or else,” your husband grits out, but König is quick to side step, effectively blocking his path to you as his eyes darken. His jaw clenches, his head tipping as his abdominal muscles flex.
“You dare threaten her?” König growls out, his hand gripping your husband’s shoulder as he shoves him backwards slightly, his vision slowly bleeding out into blackness, rage overcoming him at the tone your husband had spoken to you with.
“Don’t fucking touch me! I think you’ve done enough of that with my wife already,” your husband refutes, his words snapping something inside of him as his hand snaps out, gripping his shoulder harder this time as he shoves him roughly against the wall. Some of the picture frames rattle, the items on the night stand toppling over.
“Where’s her ring, big guy?” König smirks manically, eyes flickering with anger as he eyes him down, his digits digging harder into his shoulder, unable to help the physical reaction to someone coming near you with malicious intent. His eyes skirt to the metal band on the floor, your husbands eyes following.
“I don’t think she’s your wife anymore,” he says lowly, quietly, and the whole thing exploding in front of your eyes has them stuck wide, your fingers clutching the sheets as you watch the two men hash it out over you.
“Fuck you!” Your husband yells before his hand takes König by surprise, his fist meeting his cheek and nose, the hot spring of crimson sliding from his nose down to his lip finally making him snap. His hand is quick to block his next attack before Königs hand drives into his stomach, his foot knocking him off balance as he delivers a punch to his face.
“Grave fucking mistake,” König growls, knees digging into the carpet as a flurry of fists and grunts fill the air, your eyes widening in fear as you suddenly spring from the bed. You slide Königs shirt on, eyes wide, trying to find a way to halt the brawl currently breaking things on your dresser and desk as the two men ruthlessly tear into the other.
Königs knuckles split under the pressure of his fists meeting your husbands face, blood and saliva raining over his closed digits. Rage consumes him, unable to stop, his grunts and strangled breaths mixing in with your husbands groans of pain.
“König, stop! You’re gonna kill him!”
Your voice suddenly breaks him from his anger induced stupor, his breaths ragged as he pushes away from him, sinking back on his ass as his eyes scrape from him to you, the sheer fear on your face suddenly making him feel guilty. His breaths escape as bursts of air, his head tipping to gaze at you, unable to help the emotions flooding through him at the sight of you in his shirt.
“He yelled at you, I—“ He manages to compose himself, his eyes skirting back to your husband pushing away from the floor, the back of his hand wiping away the warm crimson pooling on his lip. Your eyes soften slightly, his aggression a reaction of his protection for you doing something twisted in your head.
Was it attractive? Definitely.
“You know what? Fuck this. And fuck the both of you,” your husband bites out through a split lip, the muffled words making you wince, hand absently taming your hair as your nervously bite on your lower lip. The door slamming has your eyes trained on the space your husband was just occupying, a rush of emotions flooding into you.
“Hey, Schatz. Don’t worry about him. With me, you’ll never spend another day worrying about anything,” he whispers, turning to stand on his knees in front of you, eyes keen on your hand lifting, thumb grazing the sore flesh covering his cheekbone. Your delicate touch has his breaths still labored, his hands running up the back of your thighs as he keeps you close to his chest.
“Let me clean you up,” you whisper, hand dropping to graze his bloodied lip, thumb dragging the crimson down to his chin, unable to help the flicker of attraction simmering behind your irises. The sight of him bloodied and bruised all because of you has your lips parting, head tipping as your hand slowly slips off his face.
“That can wait, ja? All this adrenaline’s got me worked up again.”
He rises to his full height, hands sliding under his shirt to cup your ass, easily lifting you, your warmth seeping against him as he walks towards the bathroom, purposely kicking your wedding band aside as he does so, making a vow to chuck it off the next chopper he’s on.
As your eyes meet in the bathroom mirror you can’t help but let your eyes wander his, hands caressing his arms as he sets you on the counter. You head tips to gaze up at him slowly, locking eyes as he stares at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
All because of one voicemail.
38 notes · View notes
groguspicklejar · 5 months
Text
minors dni
König begging insecure reader to go down on her? oh, those two are kindred spirits.
because there's nothing that comes more naturally to him than to show you how beautiful you are. you're vehemently against it, so sure that you'll gross him out and make him leave you like the last guy you've been with.
you haven't been dating König for that long. he's the best boyfriend you could ever ask for. so kind and thoughtful in his way of loving you. and respectful of your boundaries. except maybe until now.
"i won't fuck you with my cock. just—" he's got you back up against the wall, hands on either side of you, eyes wide and desperate. "j—just let me—"
so you try to distract him, veer his attention away from the idea of him putting his mouth on you. but it doesn't work. his hands clamp down on your arms to pull you up when you try to get on your knees and service him instead of the other way around. almost instantly, you realize that you severely underestimated how much he wanted to taste you.
"Kö—" he's already prying your legs apart once you've reluctantly agreed to let him go down on you, gasping for air when he uses his terrifying strength to lift your hips up, throwing both of your legs over his broad shoulders.
any protests you had immediately muddle in your throat when his tongue cards a hot stripe through your folds. he folds your thighs until your knees hit your chest and he just goes to town on you like it's all he was ever made for.
immediately, he's gone. pussydrunk on your taste and completely out of his mind. fingers dent the back of your thighs as he holds you still when you squirm and he's not even doing it on purpose, he's just high on your essence that he instinctively locks your position so he can keep having his meal without any interruptions.
he licks hotly and thoroughly, his tongue wild and erratic between your folds and on your clit. he moans out loud when he sucks on where you're leaking more, tasting you, drinking directly from the source. and it makes him worse.
he draws out your orgasm with wild intent and when it hits, it feels like you're struck by lightning. the rush of your cum flowing on his tongue makes him feral. he growls when you try to scoot away from his mouth, arms locking around your thighs and keeping you trapped against his mouth as he suckles at your pussy.
"König..." you whimper, pawing at his head, trying to break him out of his newly formed addiction.
"more, liebling." he moans against your folds, his grip tightening when you squirm helplessly against him. "i need more."
you could do nothing but lay there and take it, eyes rolling back at the heat building at the base of your spine, gearing up for another hit of ecstasy.
whatever reservations you had about repulsing him went out the window. not when he gets on his knees, begging for another taste. if only KorTac could see him now, eyes pleading and desperate for you.
14K notes · View notes
sweet-as-an-angel · 19 days
Text
König's Breeding Kink
Warnings: 18+, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Mentioned Lactation, Dirty Talk, Profanity, Fem! Reader.
“Going to breed you like the bitch you are,” König panted, his growl rivalled only by the sound of him sheathing his cock all the way inside you, a nice, long bump forming there as his tip nestled against your cervix. His balls, heavy and drooping with the weight of weeks’ worth of unspent seed, slapped the skin of your backside raw and red. He couldn’t help but pinch the skin there, only to hear you yelp and feel your body spasm around him, sucking him in deeper.
“God, look at you – practically milking me. So desperate for my cum, aren’t you?”
You couldn’t think straight. Not when your beast of a boyfriend seemed determined to make you cum so hard that you’d be seeing stars before the hour struck a new day. He had your leg hooked over his shoulder, desperate to get as deep as your body would allow. When you didn’t – couldn’t – answer him, König took your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.
“Aren’t you,” he repeated. Between your moans and gasps for breath – the latter of which being knocked out of you – you nodded, whispering yes over and over again until König relinquished you, his hands coming to rest on your breasts. He squeezed them, hummed as he tilted his head back, massaging the plush beneath calloused hands.
“Can’t wait to see you dripping with milk, Liebling,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. “Can’t wait to taste you.”
You were always so close. So close to unravelling and being reduced to your most base, carnal instincts, becoming nothing more than an incubator for the behemoth between your legs, destined to be bred and fucked dumb for as long as you could stand.
“Don’t worry, Schatz,” König reassured. “I won’t stop until it takes.”
He looked down at you, eyes ice yet possessing a warmth he held only for you. He reached down, pressed an uncoordinated kiss to your lips. His breath fanned your face, uneven. “We have the whole night to ourselves.”
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist
AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account
5K notes · View notes
konigsblog · 3 months
Text
now all i can think about is virgin, college nerd könig and he's rotting my brain away. 🧠📚
he helps you on your studies, for a small favour in return. majority of the time he writes your essays for you, in return for a sloppy, messy blowjob or a nice, tight handjob.
and you're always so eager for it, like a dumb slag! bent over on all fours underneath his desk and fucking yourself back on his hard dick while he studies.
nerd könig probably wears glasses, and you just love to tease him by taking them away, only to be punished with a hard, relentless fucking. könig will whisper beside your ear degrading things, pulling your hips down against his fat, hot, bulbous cock while you apologise profusely and breathlessly for taunting him. near tears as he brutalises you for being horrible to your boyfriend!!
nerd könig will stuff your face into a textbook and tell you to study during backshots. ploughing into your swollen, wet folds for hours because you can't answer a simple question on the pages infront of you. a wet, slick mess bent over and sobbing into the pages with the answers, unable to focus on anything other than his big dick stuffing you full!
“come on, mäuschen... you can read--look, what does that say? read it out to me, my dear-i'll help you, little one.”
5K notes · View notes
ghouljams · 3 months
Text
Tw dub-con
König is not helping you when you're sick. Actually he sort of likes when you're delirious and weak, likes how warm you are, likes that way you drift in and out of consciousness as he fucks you through the worst of your fever. Your poor body shakes and shivers, your arms are weak when there try to cling to him, he can manhandle you as much as he wants and all you can do is whine. Poor thing. Poor weak little love.
He'll fetch your meds when you ask, but he doesn't want you better, he wants you to stay soft and weak and reliant on him. Just so you don't have the energy to complain about cockwarming him all night. Just so you're too weak to push at him when he spends hours licking between your legs, enjoying the taste of you. Just so you can cling to him and whine and be a good little pet for him, just like you should be.
8K notes · View notes
konigslittleliebling · 2 months
Note
i NEED to see könig get jealous when call-girl!reader gets occupied with another client~ i just discovered your blog and it’s absolutely delectable
- bear 🐻🩷
YOU LIKED THAT?? thank you sfm, it kinda flopped :( ok, ok client!könig jealous of other clients !! also, hi bear :33
mdni. creepy yandere, stalker!könig, privacy invasion, unrequited feelings, possessive sex.
Tumblr media
“you come to my house smelling like other men.” he grunts, punctuating each word with an aggressive thrust of his hips. “you use my bathroom mirror to reapply your smudged lipstick.” he snarls, timing his snapping movements in tandem with every syllable. “you’re not even wearing my favourite shade.” he tells you, lifting a hand to wipe your lips clean of the nude paint. “i prefer the red one. you know how nice it looks smeared all over my cock.”
you’re a whimpering, blubbering ball of sweaty limbs — one leg hooked around his hammering hips whilst the other has been uncomfortably pressed against your chest and bent over his shoulder. “you come here with sweat on your skin and torn panties. you shouldn’t be wearing any panties at all when you come here, mouse.” you whine, mouth gaping as moans and ‘i’m sorry’s’ pour from it. you’re apologetic and rightly so, fingers scratching at any part of him you can reach, little claw marks stretching down his chest, arms and back.
“you come here with messy hair, make up all ruined.” he carries on, fucking his cock against your cervix. “do those other men fuck you like this, haser? nein? tell me.” you choke on a strangled moan, clusters of hair sticking to your waxy cheeks and dampening the pillow. “no! no one ever fucks me like you do, könig!” his rhythm increases at your confession, hitting into you deeper. “how do they fuck you, then?”
you wiggle beneath him but his grip on you strengthens and he lifts your hips, fingers biting into them as he settles on his knees, your legs dangling limply on either side of him. “n-umf! not like this!” you cry out, hands scrunching at the bed sheets. his movement stills and he starts sliding your cunt up and down his erect cock instead, thumbs pushing onto your lower belly. “do you think about me when you’re with them, hasilein?” he doesn’t care if you’re just telling him what he wants to hear; he just wants to hear your pretty voice say it.
“y— yes! fuck! yes, yes, yes!” you move your hands to fondle your breasts but he pinches your sides, silently telling you to let go of them so he can watch them lurch when he fucks you onto his stiff length. “i watch you with them, liebe.” he admits to you, so casually. your eyes widen, hiccups and gargles still tumbling from your open mouth. “what- ah! what d’you mean?”
“i installed a mic in your house, little mouse.” he explains, still spearing you on his girth whilst he tells you the horrifying extent of his obsession. “i take note of your clients’ addresses and then…” he starts rocking into you again, meeting your hips halfway so he can puncture your tight pussy needily. “i watch them fuck you.” he humps into you particularly roughly this time, face snarling. “they do not know what they are doing. they move rapidly and inconsistently. they do not prepare you or kiss your lips.” he keeps listing the wrongdoings and mishaps of your other clients, pointedly moving in and out of you with expert precision and skill. “you should charge them extra just for being so inadequate. they are like babies, useless.”
you groan, your chord tightening as he fucks some sense into you, or fucks you senseless. “good idea.” you manage through an exhausted smile. “i might up my prices.” könig settles your lower half back onto the bed, crawling forward so you’re chest-to-chest without pulling out. “cannot put a price on you, liebe.” he rolls into you with deliberate accuracy, knowing exactly how you like it and how to hit your perfect spot. “i am sick of those arschlochs occupying so much of your time.” he speaks against your temple, kissing it between words. “you will not see them anymore, will you?”
you frown, forehead crinkling with a combination of your approaching climax and confusion. “what—” a large hand sits atop your throat, not wrapping around, just resting over the soft slope of it. “you will stop seeing them now, won’t you?” könig reiterates, fucking his dick into your cunt’s velvety roof without an inch of him pulling back — hips sandwiched against yours. you blink up at him, your arse rocking into the mattress with his deep angle of his tempo. “könig..?”
“you do not fuck anyone else, schatz. not anymore.”
4K notes · View notes
jammyjen26 · 2 months
Text
Disclaimer: I remember seeing a post that was just like this and it was like a few months ago and it inspired this post.
____________________________________________
König is tall. He’s 6’10. He knows it, he’s tall and muscular, thick thighs that can crush your head while you deep throat his large cock.
König’s the type to use his height against you whenever he has the chance, finding it funny when you furrow your eyebrows and get angry at him when he raise his hand up above his head so you can’t reach your phone in his hand.
He loves it when you ask him to grab something from the cabinet, pressing his bulge against your ass and whispering filthy things and what he’s gonna do to you later that night.
He finds it hilarious when other men try to get your attention, and the moment he stands behind you and glares down at them. They all tremble and run away.
He loves to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder and smack your ass, loving the way it bounced and jiggled. He’d always have you on his lap no matter what, loves the feeling of your body pressing up against his, loves to smell your scent, and gosh he loves the way he can feel your panties quickly get wet the moment his hand touches your inner thigh.
When you guys first got together, he’d always be angry about the fact he couldn’t sleep in the bed with you due to his legs hanging off and the blanket not being able to cover the both of you. You offered to lay blankets down on the carpeted floor so you guys can sleep together but he refuses. He’ll lay down in uncomfortable positions just so he can cuddle you.
He loves you so much, the day you moved in with him he knew then and there. “I’m gonna propose to that woman..” He thinks to himself as he stared at you trying to put the Californian king bed frame together alone.
4K notes · View notes
kneelingshadowsalome · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Theseus is dead. You’re escorting the Minotaur, more beast than a man, out of the Labyrinth. The problem is, he seems to be more interested in what’s between your legs than in his mission of killing the notorious king of Crete… (12 k. Minotaur is not an actual hybrid in this fic. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Part 1 here.) Tags/warnings: Shameless smut mdni, dubious consent, extremely possessive behaviour, abduction, first time (König & reader are both virgins), hugs & cuddles, washing blood off your monster boyfriend, awkward flirting, semi-rough sex, shifting power dynamics, sexist insults & slurs (the citizens of Crete do not approve of your choices), implied cannibalism, fluffy ending. Mythical AU.
The candle goes out before you reach the surface.
To someone else, it would be the end of the world: to you, it’s only a hindrance, a nuisance, mostly. 
You’re not easily distressed. If you were, you wouldn’t be in the service of the greatest goddess of the Underworld. And you’re not mourning losing the sight of your warmly illuminated beast... You’re only worried about what he will do once the darkness descends. Whether he will forget about his vow, whether the baser instincts take over him once the darkness falls.
And darkness is not capable of making you lost: you can always follow the string in your hand. But without light, it’s difficult to predict the Bull’s moves: whether he decides to maim or fuck you against the wall, you can never tell. He hasn’t lived in the real world among people; he doesn’t know what’s right or wrong and what’s expected of him. Even the best of men can succumb to the demands of the flesh, so what power would a Bull Man have against his animal wants? No one ever taught him to respect the gods, let alone the maidens who serve them...
Then again, if a simple candle was the only thing that kept you alive, then what’s the point of lamenting the loss of it? Your life was already forfeit when you chose to descend here.
So you let it go: as always, the greatest lesson in life is to simply let go. Of control, of judgment, of fear, of hope. 
He doesn’t say a thing when the light flickers, then fades. The candle goes out in silence, and you let it drop before the remaining wax burns your palm.
And it’s not the absence of light, but strength, that forces you on your knees before even an hour has passed. There’s still a long way to go, and the yarn is like a thin string of hope in your hand, but you’re too exhausted, too worn out, too hungry and too tired to go on.
The Bull Man doesn’t object to your suggestion to lay down and sleep for a while. He has walked behind you in silence the whole day. Or night… You can’t tell the difference; you lost count somewhere along the way down here. The air is stale and humid, and there’s no torch, not a single candle anywhere and even if there were, you wouldn’t do anything with them without a flint. 
The horror is kept at bay only through your numerous exercises with the goddess who introduced you to darkness many, many moons ago. You were initiated during the dark Moon, the new Moon, the blood Moon, introduced to the mysteries of the maiden, mother and crone, to the secrets of both the living and the dead. You’re not afraid, but your body still warns you of danger: you just don’t know if it’s a memory from childhood or a reaction to the Bull, panting behind you – out of lust or exertion, you don’t even know. Someone who wasn’t a maiden probably could tell… At times, you curse the fact that there hasn’t been a single phallus inside you because men too possess knowledge. Taking a man into your bed would have initiated you to a different set of mysteries, but now, you are poking blind. 
The Bull Man is an animal, you remind yourself. The longer you stay in his company, the more he starts to resemble a human, even if he is a man of few words. How he even remembers them is another mystery: you thought he was sent down here as a young boy. He speaks oddly but eloquently, a remnant of his noble descent, perhaps. Or perhaps he has listened to the people speaking in the Labyrinth, eavesdropped his victims an hour or two before killing them. Whatever the reason, you have to constantly tie your tongue because there’s simply no point in talking to a beast. The less you know about him and his past, the better.
You ready yourself for sleep, but the cursed cold of the tunnels keeps your body awake. Your flesh is human even if your mind is forged to withstand hunger, thirst and pain. Endurance against cold was never your strong suit, and you miss the heat of the sun, the warmth of it on your skin, even the ample light it gives. You, a lover of the moon, missing the heat of Apollo… It’s a joke, surely.
On the stone floor, it’s even colder, the rough, damp ground making your very bones ache. How on Hecate’s name has the beast survived this place?
“Bull Man,” you speak into the darkness, thick like an impenetrable wall and thin like a virgin’s veil.
“Maiden,” he echoes with a dark, low growl, slightly amused by the name you’ve selected for him.
“Are you cold?” You whisper.
Perhaps he doesn’t quite understand the question or why you asked it. It doesn’t matter: you have to swallow your pride and ask for his help if you’re going to survive this dark prison.
“I don’t get cold,” he finally responds.
“Good. I need your heat.” 
The silence drags on, and you fear he has misunderstood you again, but then he speaks again, with the same slightly amused tone as before.
“Come take it.”
You’re not sure if you’ve completely lost your mind, crawling to him through the uneven floor of the Labyrinth. Who knows what he will do to you once he gets those arms of iron around you? You’re placing your maidenhood, your whole body at his mercy. And you’re not even sure if it’s a he, if this thing is human at all. 
Human or animal, your hand meets the bull’s head on the way to him. He has taken it off, then... It’s not a part of him, just like you suspected. Maybe he is just a giant, daunting man, born from whatever forbidden desire Pasiphae had. Who knows if she only went to a foreign lover’s arms when her husband was at war? Who knows if King Minos has trouble getting his phallus up… These things happen: women get pregnant from their lovers, they do desperate things to pacify their husbands. And you don’t need a bull to get yourself an heir...
You feel his heat before you feel his skin: the Minotaur is verily blazing. He has gotten used to the cold, it seems, his body like a small bonfire in the clammy tunnel. 
“Cold little female,” he comments when you snuggle towards him shyly, thoroughly aware of the uninviting chill of your body. 
You settle next to him, every muscle in your body tight like a bowstring, your breaths shallow when he gives you a welcoming rumble. Goosebumps prickle across your skin and your throat goes dry, the thick swallow in the tunnel echoing around you like a thief.
Arms like iron go around you, and his body is taut, just like yours, but for a whole different reason entirely. He’s not afraid or nervous; he’s just… big. Pure muscle, his whole body thick, the stock and heat of him remind you of the sun. A miniature sun down here in these dark tunnels, but while you start to slowly soften in his arms, a different threat is already emerging. It doesn’t take long before his cock stiffens against you, and with the scarce clothing you both have, you can feel its every excited twitch.
Artemis… Protect me from this beast. Turn him into a dog if he tries to penetrate me. Let him rip my throat instead… 
You’ve never prayed to the Virgin Goddess; you don’t know if she can even hear you from down here. But Hecate would only laugh if this Bull decided to breed you. No mercy would arrive from that direction: she would either send a disease of blisters upon the Minotaur for touching her chosen or then she would cackle like an old woman, thousand times raped.
“Thank you,” you whisper, hoping your kindness will distract him from what’s happening downstairs.
“My pleasure,” he grumbles, mimicking the words he probably heard as a child in his father’s great hall. 
It sends a chill down your spine and butterflies into your heart to hear him speak like a polite man of court. And again, you think of asking him about his childhood... His mother, his father, the things he remembers from the surface. How he survived here without water, if there are underground springs here somewhere. Whether he eats humans like they say... If he ever embraced the dead women he killed. 
“Can you do it again,” he rumbles against you, cutting you away from your grotesque thoughts.
“...Do what again?” 
“Touch me… With your hand.”
His words are blunt now, his speech clumsy. But the way he says it is not an order. It’s an odd beg, more like. Laced with hope and wishes far away from greed. This Bull is never greedy, per se… He’s just lacking. Starved, for so many things that you fear there’s not enough time nor kindness to give him what he needs.
Your pulse flutters when you slowly lift your hand and caress the strong cords of muscle that make his neck. The rumbling returns; it turns into a low purr as the beast relaxes under your touch. Something softens inside you when he sighs from relief. His unbridled happiness tugs at your heart, trying to yank open something forbidden. It’s the softest violation you’ve ever felt: to be held by a giant killer having a roaring erection, while the said killer clearly enjoys your caress like it’s the touch of Aphrodite herself…
You even stroke his face. His jaw, unclenching under your touch; his cheek, covered with what you suppose is simply a wild, overgrown beard. 
“Your hand,” he groans softly, “makes me sleepy and warm…”
The cold, uncaring goddess recedes. The burdens of past, present and future dissolve. Softness takes place in your heart; the iron locks give in like brittle brass. A smile plays on your lips as you continue to pet him softly, lulling you both to sleep with your voice.
“Then sleep, Bull of Crete...”
You wake up to his cock pressing against you.
Not against your stomach like when you went to sleep – that you could do with – but against your cunt, barely veiled by the thin linen of your dress.
The panic is soon wrestled down with reason: you tell yourself it’s just a cock. It’s just him. You’re simply in the Minotaur’s arms, and he’s sound asleep still; there’s no reason to buck and jerk and scream. 
The darkness feels like a safe womb now, but with nothing to lock your gaze to, you have to take a moment to ground yourself into reality. And the first thing you ground into is a thick cockhead, pressing fast into your nether lips. He’s practically at the gates, and you’re lucky he’s still asleep.
It’s perhaps your fault this happened in the first place: you notice you’ve dragged your thigh over his hip; as if wanting him to fuck you in your sleep… You embrace him like Helen of Troy, and he holds you through his sleep like a man in love, perfectly content with napping on the cold ground with you.
“Mm…” The beast stirs, probably noticing how the female in his arms is tense as a rod. “You smell like you want to fuck…”
“No I don’t,” you hurry to whisper.
Gods curse this man’s ability to smell everything from miles away. Blood and humans and, apparently, a woman at her most receptive. 
What if he can actually smell the wetness between your legs?
“We need to go,” you slowly remove your leg from on top of his waist, hoping it would go unnoticed that you were clutching him like a lover. You have no such luck: he grabs your thigh and draws it back, sets it safe and snug around his waist while adjusting his grip on you, now hugging you entirely like a lover would.
“I want to mate with you,” he says softly. “You want to mate too. Why go?”
He sounds so adorable when he’s still in the process of waking up to a new day. Drowsy and sweet, voice husky from sleep, body warm as can be, the hard-on between his legs happy and stiff.
“I thought you wanted to kill the king,” you try to point out. 
“This is more important,” he gruffs. “Urgent.”
The cock pushes further up and against you, now spreading your folds under the dress, trying to penetrate into your heat. Your eyes go wide as thick need pools down to meet his greed. His body, his cock makes your head go dull for a moment; you feel like you’re not even capable of thinking actual thoughts.
“No, it’s not. We need to get up.”
You stiffen in his arms, push yourself away, and to your surprise, he actually lets you go. Reluctantly and with a hollow grunt, but he lets you go. 
You rise with a wobble, and adjust your dress, your head spinning from his advances. You swear he becomes more man-like every day, every passing hour, even. Or is it just you who’s changing…? 
The Bull Man is up before you get to ponder on that thought for too long. Your heart and head struggle to find their footing for a moment, your legs are so weak you feel like fainting. He catches you before you fall, the warm, thick arms closing around you with stout affection.
“You need more heat?” He asks softly.
You look up out of habit, even if you can't see his eyes, covered by the carcass again because his voice is muffled.
“No… I’m hungry.”
He’s silent for a moment, probably thinking what he could do to help the situation. You fear he will suggest you go back to visit his “pantry” and eat whatever horrible, half-rotten man-flesh he might have in store there, but he only holds you close to prevent you from sliding back to the ground.
“Hmm. No mice up here,” he ponders. 
“You eat mice…?”
“Sometimes.”
You leave it at that: you don’t want to know what he’s had to do to sustain himself down here. You don’t even have a fire to cook the vermin, even if you would be ready to eat even those after another day or two without food. 
“Not a long way up,” he says. “We will reach the sun soon. Then I’ll find you something to eat.”
“How do you know that…?”
“The air smells different.”
You sigh and search for the string, your lifeline to the outside world. You can’t wait to get out of here, and with both hurry and an odd dread, you hike for what seems like another whole day. Tension, hunger and thirst distort your thoughts, and you’re sure by now that the time flows differently here in the Underworld. With no small amount of pride, you feel accomplished to have survived this place so far. Even gods have had to do some tricks to escape the nether worlds: it is no small feat to charm the Minotaur and then walk out of here unharmed. 
To your knowledge, you’re the only one who has ever escaped the Labyrinth. You haven’t even had time to think about what you will unleash with you… The demon that walks on your heels will take his revenge, not only on the king but on the city who threw him here. 
Well. It’s their problem now. Minos and Pasiphae simply have to deal with their successor. The world will simply have to deal with the Underworld’s wrath. 
And oh, how Hecate would laugh if she saw this monster prince of Crete escape his prison because of you – the feared Minotaur set free, only because he’s mesmerized by a woman. You suspect he would have his cock jumping for any girl, though. It's not because you're an exceptional sorceress that he follows you: it's your cunt he's after. And it shouldn’t make you feel jealous that he probably gets distracted the moment he sees a better offer walk by.
But it does. In your darkest wishes, you would keep the Bull Man all to yourself. Get him a leash, perhaps... Feed him with your own hands and let him grope you in the dark, watch him go wild from lust when you finally give him access to your cunt. 
Many would hardly think you’re a virgin if they took a peek inside your head. But the things you’ve seen and done, the white bulls you’ve slaughtered for the dark Goddess, adorning them with cypress wreaths before slashing their throats open, would turn any woman bleak and twisted like this. For once, you would like to save the bull from slaughter.
When you see the first evidence of light, your body lets out a sigh it has been holding ever since you arrived here. Seeing the sun gives you more strength than any food or meal, and you pick up your pace while the Minotaur behind you begins to hesitate. 
“It’s too bright,” he says before you’ve even walked out of the tunnel, now turning into a vast cave, the entrance to the Labyrinth. 
You turn around to look and stop in your tracks when you see the fear in his eyes is acute. It’s mixed with wonder, the curiosity wrestling away doubt slowly but surely. He only needs a little nudge, a gentle pull, an enticing little smile and eyes that he can trust.
“You’ll get used to it soon,” you extend your hand. 
He takes a step, then another, then another, until he reaches your outstretched fingers, and hand in hand you walk out of the Labyrinth and into the bright morning sun, burning over the kingdom of Crete.
He’s only a breath away from panicking, but covers it well. You wonder if it’s truly the light that’s too bright or if the feeling of being so exposed is what makes him so afraid. Clearly, the vast space opening up before him is intimidating. 
There are grassy plains as far as the eye can see, little hills that dot the horizon, and skies so expansive and bright it must hurt his eyes. Goats are grazing under the sun, trees are bending in the wind, the rustling of leaves and the sound of birds calling him to look in all directions as he tries to make some sense of his surroundings.
“It’s alright,” you give his palm a soft squeeze, and the way he looks there under the sun, so big and powerful and able, and still so utterly lost, is giving you heartache you haven’t known since you were a child.
“There’s… so many colours,” he says, looking at the blue summer sky, the deep olive greens, the dirty whiteness of the goats, the flowers upon the grass. A butterfly, flying past, yellow like the citrus that people harvest from a few miles from here. A big blackbird with an orange beak, swooping down to catch a cricket, the slate grey pigeons flying so close to the sun that he has to shield his eyes even if they’re already safe and sheltered under the bull head.
Seeing his wonder and awe makes you look at the scenery so differently that it burns, it actually hurts: there’s so much beauty in the world, and you have always taken it for granted. Cursed the rain and the storms, cursed the droughts, cursed the gods for sending down another famine, when in truth, the world was filled with abundance, of colours, of life and joy… And all you’ve done is worship darkness. Now the darkness is out: it’s standing next to you, watching the view of your mundane everyday life like it’s nothing short of a miracle.
And when you turn back to look at him again, his eyes are upon you.
“What?” You ask, freshly caught in your moment of weakness.
“You are pretty,” he says, eyes wrinkling with delight under the mask. 
Gods damn him… 
He doesn’t know that human men don’t act like this, talk like this, or if they do, there’s usually something vile involved behind it all. He doesn’t know how to play games, he was never introduced to the lies and deceit of the world.
The Bull of Crete only looks at you with soft fondness in his stare – he doesn’t understand that he should cover that softness as well if he intends to win. Any woman could put a leash on him before another moon has passed, but he doesn’t seem to care. And it’s not even heat or hunger that makes you weak this time... It’s those eyes, looking at you with more and more warmth.
“Nonsense,” you huff without a voice, and turn towards the old road with an adoring bull on your heels.
The cold sigh of the underworld is quickly left behind you as you walk up the old carriage road, nearly grown in with weeds. The Labyrinth is located miles away from civilization, but the people living in these hills are used to the cold cave by now. They trust that the Minotaur will never escape and only turn away their heads and close the doors of their huts when the screaming, crying human sacrifices are delivered to the mouth of the cave. Little do they know that the monster is now looking at their little hills and goats with delight, not bloodlust.
For the Minotaur is fascinated with your world: he has to touch every leaf, every tree, every blade of grass, it seems. The goats are afraid of him, but one small nanny is bold enough to come and sniff his hand. Perhaps it remembers that beings walking on two feet give her apples sometimes, and the giant studies this small white animal with gentle curiosity, allows the goat to smell his hand, only chuckles when the goat gives out a little scoff when she notices there are no treats to be found there.
The vision is more adorable than when you’ve seen children play with kittens, and no matter what you do, you can’t turn your heart into ice anymore. You were taught that the Minotaur is a monster who enjoys torturing his victims, creatures far more helpless than him. Now you see him watching the she-goat with warm curiosity, rumbling softly inside his helm, far from the ravaging beast that approached you in that tunnel what seems like months ago.
You watch him with tender sadness as he marvels at the sky and remembers how he used to sit in the shade of an olive tree when he was a child. He goes to sit there now and examines how the sun filters through the massive branches of the tree as if trying to recall the memory. 
He asks questions like: “How can you humans stand this heat?” or “Why is there only one road?” and listens to your answers carefully.
He says he can smell the sea, even if the salty water is miles and miles away, and gets curious about what’s behind that hill, or that one, what about that one… You wonder if he’s even interested in killing the king anymore and suggest that he could just forget about this cruel place and buy himself a sea voyage with that expensive sword. He could get rid of his helmet and ask if anyone needs a goat herd or an able-bodied man to help at construction sites or stables; he could get work from the docks any day, sail to Athens or some other big city, forge himself a new life. 
But he doesn’t want to.
He says he has to avenge his mother who always cried when he was little.
More wretched tugs pull at your heart as you approach the city. The lovely summer’s day turns into a nightmare once people see who’s on his way to the heart of Crete.
You don’t understand their screams, not anymore, while only a few days ago you knew they preceded death. The Minotaur doesn’t kill anyone, mainly because he doesn’t have to. Everyone flees before his wake, people rush to their homes and bar the doors, even soldiers slip away to be with their loved ones or run to warn the king if they have any loyalty left. 
You’re left to walk through the marketplace in settling dust and tense silence as the Bull Man explores the abundant samples of food on display. He has to have a taste of everything from all stands, but only after he has offered figs, olives, grain, grapes, grilled meat and fish to you first.
“Eat,” he says and shoves a handful of pine seeds your way. “You were hungry?”
“This is not the way to–” you ignore the food only through sheer willpower. “This is not right. People own these things. They sell them at the market, you need to pay for these.”
“Pay? With what?”
He looks at you for a moment, unable to recall what money is and how these things are supposed to work. He probably had his mother’s servants bring him everything he needed as a child anyway, so how could he know? 
“They will take your hands for stealing,” you try to explain with softly building despair.
“I will take their heads before that.”
“The next king will hunt you down and punish you,” you rush after him, and when he won’t listen, you seize his hand and finally get him to halt. He looks down at the weak palm around his wrist, then raises his gaze to you.
“Bulls don’t have kings.”
Your attempts to tame him are futile. The things they’ve taught him to be are now being used as a way to escape responsibility, and while it’s none of your business, you refuse to let him believe that he is nothing more than an animal.
“You are not a bull,” you wail in frustration. “You’re a man.”
He hesitates, only for a moment; the gentle, loving gaze makes your legs weak.
“You’re the first to think that.” 
Then he rips himself away from you, softly but sternly.
He doesn’t need directions to the palace: he knows he has to head for the most prominent building in the city to reach the king. The grandiose heart of Crete, white-chalked and beautiful under the burning midday sun is the pride of every citizen, even if it houses another monster.
You sigh as you watch him go: the Bull Man, the demon of the underworld, the one you thought would rape you bloody before you get to crawl out of the Labyrinth. The fact that he wanted to kill his father more than he wanted to be born again into a new life wasn’t a surprise, but that he chose to bloody his sword rather than his cock is somehow... insulting, almost. 
What actually haunts you is how your insides coil and turn when you rush back to your temple. It’s not like you thought the Minotaur would take you with him. Board some trade ship bound for distant shores, and ravage you ever so softly in the belly of the creaking hull. It’s not like you dreamed of petting him to sleep while you two embark on a new life. But the way your heart twists and wails inside your chest makes it clear that losing him is even more painful than losing Theseus and the life he promised you. 
You never even wanted Theseus; you only wanted him to take you away from here. His affection would have been the result of ample witchcraft at best.
He’s practically already dead, and your heart turns to stone far more slowly than you would prefer. It’s just your luck to first have the golden hero of Greece look down on you in disdain, and then witness even the Bull Man walk away from you like you never meant anything to him. Men killing each other is the oldest story in the world, and you want no part in it, but something in this beast has stirred you awake from a long, cold slumber. It’s infuriating that you can’t dispel a simple animal from your heart. Oldest story in the book, that one, too…
But oh, how you now yearn after some cruel, lowly, dirty beast… The Minotaur already owns you, and he never even had to plunge his sword inside you to prove that. Besides, you would’ve been perfectly willing had he decided to take you on the green grass, under the vast sky, while some noisy goats graze around you. You realize that that’s what you expected to happen, and when it didn’t, you’re left more than disappointed: you're left completely hollow. You always find out these things a little too late, it seems… The Bull is headed for the palace and will likely get killed after he slaughters his cruel father. There’s at least thirty spears in that building, and more will arrive when called.
You arrive at the temple, panting and with your body flushed and weak. The maidens at the entrance share a quick glance with each other before turning their fearful gazes back to you. They’re the youngest arrivals, not even initiates yet; one of them hardly even bleeds. 
“The King is dead,” you announce without bothering to even greet them, and the girls huddle up together like they’re a bunch of slaves about to get slapped.
You realize you must look like an animal with your dirty robes, dishevelled hair and your wild, alive stare. No wonder they look like they’ve seen a ghost... You basically are one, coming back from the dead like this.
“What?” 
A priestess arrives at the threshold like an image of Hecate herself, dressed in robes as black as the midnight sky, but you don’t shy away from her like you used to.
“Or he will be. Soon. The Minotaur is here.” 
“How did you… How did it...”
You’ve never seen the priestess in disarray. She’s always composed, cold and distant, but seeing you like the wraith that you are, freshly escaped from the Labyrinth, spat back from the bowels of the earth like the dark gods didn’t even want you there, makes even the greatest of Hecate’s servants a little uneasy. 
She gathers what’s left of her dignity and finds her most commanding voice. Sadly, it doesn’t have the power to shake the ground anymore.
“Where is Theseus of Athens?”
“Disemboweled… is my best guess,” you say in a listless voice, then turn your head toward the smell of fresh fruit.
Normally, you would walk these halls with dignity, but now, you simply barge in and grab the first piece of food you find. You ought to get whipped for your insolence, but no one dares to raise a hand against you. The maids and priestesses stare in shock as you eat and drink like a starved prisoner. You’re a living Hecate in certain aspects, your arrival the first toll of the bell of doom as the palace guards sound the alarm.
So…
The Minotaur has reached the king.
The priestesses deem it only logical that the King finally pays for his sins: the gods have been offended by the number of human sacrifices sent to the Labyrinth, and this is their way of exacting revenge. You were only an instrument of their will.
After a quick wash and some more food, you begin to feel like a human again. The maids bring you a new chiton, flowing and white: your old clothes are burned in a brazier as if that would help you forget.
And this might be the only place you don’t get blamed for unleashing a monster. You were at a crossroads with the Minotaur, and anyone would have done the same: try to talk him out of his killing spree, calm him down, entice him with a gift. No one expected that the beast could even speak, so your approach was unusual, perhaps, but it worked. Hecate guided you through the tunnels, even when the candle went out, she stilled the Bull’s loins until you reached the sunlight where the beast got distracted with other things. You leave out the Minotaur's attraction to birds, bees and butterflies because your story is unbelievable enough as it is.
But the Minotaur will be slain after he has done his deed: Minos is the one who should be punished, not the city of Crete. And it is only just to put down this beast, a mercy.
So when he appears between the pillars of temple, this time wholly covered in blood, people are bound to scream. Even the priestesses who are used to seeing blood, shriek like widows when the Minotaur steps inside the holy shrine of Hecate.
“Where is the maiden of the crossroads?”
He came back for you, after all…
The boom of his voice is familiar, and yet, you cower on the bench when you hear it. The Minotaur sounds like he’s an envoy of Hades himself, and while you’re not among those who scream and yell, it still sends shivers down your spine to hear him speak like that.
Or is it the excitement, a tiny flame of hope that makes you quiver like this?
“We all belong to the goddess,” someone peeps, the Minotaur now descending down the stairs.
The massive head turns, gaze like razor sweeping across the marbled shrine. You’re so far back that he can’t catch you, sitting behind many bodies and faces, and before you can force yourself to rise, the main priestess, the oldest, most crooked of the crones, steps forth to meet this beast.
“This is a House of Hecate,” she speaks. “No man is allowed to enter unless they are Death.”
The black carcass turns, but the priestess doesn’t waver. If anything, her spine turns into unbreakable metal before this man’s gaze.
“I am Death,” he says, far more gently than anyone would expect. Then he walks past the crone like she’s just a harmless elder. No one does a thing, because even the head of your temple is powerless now.
“She had a red string and a candle. Where is she?”
He grabs the first woman he sees, and you rise up before he decides it’s time to thrust his blade into someone to loosen the tongues of these women. 
“Please,” you take a hesitant step towards your Bull. “I’m here... I’m the one you’re looking for.”
The Minotaur lets go of the frightened initiate the instant he sees you. She’s shoved aside with little interest, the blue eyes behind the corpse now solely fixed on you. The way they soften into hazy ice makes your knees weak – that’s the stare of someone who recognizes their loved one among a thick, dull crowd…
“Come with me,” he extends a hand when he reaches you, strong legs swallowing tiles like he’s in a hurry to get back to you. You open your mouth, close it, and look at his hand, the rough, enormous palm held out for you to place your own little hand in.
“You belong to me,” he says with great weight when you don’t speak. It should spark the ire of the goddess for him to dare to talk to you like this… But mostly, your body sings. It tells you to take a step and take his hand: to let him have you, once and for all. 
“My place is here,” you utter, all power gone from your voice. All your dreams, all your fears are offering their hand to you with his, and the maidens, mothers and crones of this hall look upon your exchange with the Bull Man in stupefied silence. 
“You were sent down to me,” he presses on. “You are mine now. You belong to me.”
Your body is singing, singing, singing.
It’s not a request… Or a proposal. 
It’s a god, taking what’s his.
You swallow with nothing in your throat and look at the head priestess with helpless misery: she looks back with the eyes of a noxious Medusa, wholly dispassionate to the problems you brought upon yourself. And what could she even do? She’s unarmed against the claims of Hades: Death is now in love with you, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it. 
He doesn’t want to stay in the city, as enchanting as it is, saying that it stinks and that he’s tired of the screams. No one wants him here; he already knows that, and the task he was meant to do is done. He doesn’t seem to be much moved by it either, only asking you if there is a place where he can wash the blood off himself. 
People become more bold when they see you walk out of the city. Not even the sight of a crimson demigod makes them watch their tongues. Insults and slurs follow you through the streets, shouts such as “Kingslayer!” and “Beast!” are accompanied with curses such as “You are an abomination!” and “Go back to your lair!” 
No one treats him as their prince and savior, no one sees him as the man he truly is. And because hatred thickens in crowds, you get your share of the insults as well. 
What kind of a woman would follow a beast like him? Have you sold your soul to the demons of the desert, or has Hades himself forced you to be with this monster? Are you behind the murder of their king?
“Must I remind you?” You turn on your heels, standing tall and proud with the posture of a queen. “According to the old laws, the one who slays the king is the next to rule.” 
“You led him out of the Labyrinth, didn’t you?” the voices ask.
“Gave him your cunt, too,” they sneer.
“You’re worse than the bloody Gorgon,” they mock, but you have a thick skin: if anything, you take it as a compliment to be referred to the mighty slayers of men.
What cuts through your heart is the filth and hate they spit at him, the man who has known nothing but loath since he was born. 
“Hecate’s whore… I should kill you first,” one soldier shouts with spit running down his chin.
The citizens of Crete would never hail the Minotaur as their king, but none can say the deed didn’t prove great strength. Some would even call it justice. He is the queen’s son, after all: he’s more royal than any of these dung-stinking peasants will ever be. He should never have been sent down to those tunnels in the first place.
Before you know it, the Minotaur swoops past you in haste, diving towards the screaming crowd with hunched shoulders and a fiery breath.
“Stop,” you say, and he halts immediately, gaze still directed to the one who called you a whore. The soldiers back away along with the peasants and tradesmen, these poor, humble Cretes who act like they never meant to be so mean.
“Let us go in peace,” you command, voice unwavering and stern. “Or I will curse you all. You and your families, down to the seventh son and seventh daughter.”
That manages to shut them up. The threat of a curse frightens these poor beasts even more than the enraged Minotaur breathing fire through his helm. No one wants rot and puke to follow them wherever they go; no one wants to doom their offspring with illness, death and sorrow. They disperse in all directions and only hiss and whisper as they go.
You spit on the ground as your last gift to these people, leaving the city of Crete with the ever-adoring Bull at your heels.
“You’re even prettier when you’re angry,” he says while walking next to you, voice thick with genuine passion and awe.
You roll your eyes: any man would cower before Hecate’s curse, but this one? This one only gets more horny. 
“Perhaps you are part bull after all,” you retort dryly.
“It takes more than one spear to kill me,” he boasts, but you don’t need more proof of his prowess. Surely, people have tried to kill him in the Labyrinth, but he’s survived every single attempt on his life – for that alone, he should be a decorated hero.
The only thing that makes you annoyed, however, is this childish need to prove he could’ve taken the whole city by himself just because some man happened to call you a slut.
“Mother said I’m a monster instead of a man,” he says, completely unaware that your snap wasn't meant as a compliment. He says it like he’s partly proud of it, and you finally sigh and turn. 
“Your mother was heartless. And wrong.”
The Minotaur only looks at you with a building passion that goes straight to your loins.
“But you’re not.”
“...What?”
“Heartless.”
You feel stripped naked before him, the way his eyes seem to burn away your poor dress. But the fact that he unearths your most guarded secret, just like that, is a catastrophe of a far wider scale.
You’re not sure who’s tied to whom anymore… Or if you’re tied to each other, the gods now laughing in their wine as they look down at you two: a fierce and bloodied giant following the maiden he stole like it’s you who took him and not the other way around.
You reach the roaring waters of a waterfall in silence, the night wrapping the lands inside a dark blue veil. Stars will be visible soon, and with the moon creeping up to the sky, you won’t be needing candles tonight. The silver mistress gives plenty of light for you to admire your beast, and compared to the thick darkness of the tunnels you emerged from this morning, it feels like a generous blessing.
You sit on the banks of the small, clear pond, utterly exquisite at nightfall. The sun’s heat has turned into a warm, caressing breeze, and you submerge your feet into the water, giving out a satisfied sigh as the cool pond embraces your travel worn feet. The Bull sinks to a crouch some distance away from you, curious about your obvious moment of pleasure.
“Did you meet her…? Your mother?” You ask from the cool water lapping at your feet – how can a simple man make you feel so restless and shy?
“Did you… kill her?” 
“She cursed me,” he says, sullen and wholly unsurprised. Time and time again, you are shocked by the hatred his own kin shows him. How can a mother be so cruel?
“How could I kill my own maker?”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “For everything.” 
You swallow before such unwavering love. The same man who cursed the gods yesterday  honours the womb he came from so much that he won’t raise a hand against it, not even when his own mother spits curses at him. You don’t know if it’s his greatest strength or biggest weakness, but sometimes you wonder if he’s more human than humans, this beast.
“I’m not,” he retorts immediately. “The king is dead. Mother is safe. I have you... This is the best day of my life.”
You turn to look at him. Time and again, the lack of lies and deceit in this man catches you off guard. It’s more painful than any wound, to see how the Minotaur has no protective skin against the corrupted human nature, that he is human nature before it was defiled.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you falter. 
The chiton pools around your ankles, and you wonder if the man even breathes anymore. You know your skin is glowing with the last rays of the setting sun, you’re aware that the water and moonlight play upon your skin and make you look like an illusion, powerful in its own way.
When have you ever faltered…? Back when you were a little girl, you reckon, the notion euphoric and eerie in your bones.
You rise up and undress before him nonchalantly, trying to ignore the fervid stare of your admirer. Unclasping the brooches holding up your white linen dress, you let it fall down and set you free, secretly reveling in the downright carnal stare now glued to your skin. 
Ripe for plucking, you think while stepping out of the pile of cloth and into the thin evening air. His gaze feasts on you: the plump breasts no one ever loved, the vulnerable navel down below, the dark triangle between your legs, the secret power it holds.
Heat pools into your core as you watch him: everything in your body turns warm and soft when you take in the utter heftiness of him. The mean, swelling phallus between his legs, the near inhuman strength those shoulders and chest possess. Your body is the complete opposite of him, ethereal, almost, compared to the absolute brute strength before you. 
His eyes linger there the longest until he rises too, stiff and dreamy, a beast entirely taken by a thrall. The loincloth is practically torn away, as if it’s only a nuisance he must get rid of immediately. His eyes never leave your shape while he bares himself, and the phallus, you notice, belongs to a human. It’s thick and wondrous, fully erect, adorned with dark curls and accompanied by a set of balls you’ve mainly seen on horses. Big, full and round but unlike animals, they’re covered in dark fur, almost black here in the evening light. Thick seed beads through the slit of his cock from simply seeing you, and the way his chest heaves makes it clear that this man is ready to mate as soon as he’s allowed to do so. 
“You need to take off your helm,” you lift your chin, thoroughly aware of your power over him, even if it’s laughable, a miracle that he doesn’t fuck you on the spot like the animal he is. “You’re a man, not a bull.”
His eyes don’t betray any kind of hesitation. He doesn’t seem to be interested in whether he wears his mask or not. He just blinks as if he’s indeed under a spell and nods.
“If you say so.”
The broad muscles flex as he takes it off, and what is revealed to you from underneath the head is both a surprise and a disappointment. There’s not a monster under there, only a man, a stoic, boorish, shaggy male who’s in desperate need of a wash and a comb. He’s somewhat handsome under all that facial hair and knots, actually, not bad at all – if you like your men rugged and wild. 
He lets the head drop to the ground with a thud as if it was never a part of him at all, and follows you into the pool like you’re his mother and he’s your cub about to get scrubbed clean. 
He seems to dwarf you, even when half submerged in the pond, leaning back with a sigh not unlike yours. If you’re afraid, your body has a peculiar way of showing it: even in the clear, glossy water, you can feel yourself get wet. Never have you seen such strength, not in any man: in horror and awe, you realize he could be a descendant of Zeus himself. As if providing proof to these claims, he looks up to the sky, mesmerized by the myriad stars dotting the vast, unattainable blue.
Using this momentary distraction to your advantage, you reach to pluck a handful of moss from the bank. With this soft little sponge in your hand, you hope to make it clear that this is indeed a bath, not foreplay. 
“They’re stars,” you say softly while slinking closer to him. “Have you ever seen them...?”
“Yes,” he rasps with his head lolled back, throat completely exposed. It always hurts your heart to see that he trusts you so fully. You are no threat to him – even if the gods changed the moss in your hand into a weapon of some sort, you wouldn’t pose any kind of challenge. And still, the way he allows you to creep towards him and wipe his rough hide with the makeshift sponge without so much as flinching is heartbreaking. 
“I have forgotten…” his voice drifts off as he examines the night sky, eyes filled with distant, glass-like delight.
“Beautiful, aren’t they...?” 
“Your world is pretty,” he brings his gaze back to earth and to you. “But you’re the loveliest thing I’ve seen so far.”
You almost freeze upon hearing that. His compliments always catch you off guard, but this time, something forbidden and long forgotten comes undone: a lost want, no, a need to hear such simple words of shallow praise.
“You do not scream... You do not run. Why?”
Your eyes are liquid, glass about to break as you set yourself on the task of scrubbing him clean. You refuse to get emotional in front of him: an initiate of the dark goddess, shedding tears when a horny man calls her pretty? What utter nonsense.
But then he grabs your wrist: not to seize back power, but to prevent you from escaping this fragile moment.
“You are different,” he agrees calmly, then releases you, but you reckon it’s mostly because he misses the soft rubs you were giving him. 
“Perhaps I’m crazy,” you breathe while looking at the damp curls on his chest.
Yes… That’s the only explanation for this madness. It has to be.
“Is that why you took me?” 
“I took you because you’re mine. I want you.”
“You can’t just take what you want,” you warn softly.
“Why not?” His head tilts a little to the side as he’s trying to make sense of you and the manners of your world. “Don’t you want to be mine?”
You lift your gaze and risk a look into his eyes, stripped from all facades as always. You even catch a passing wave of worry there: he had counted on you being as fascinated with him as he is with you. The hunger behind that want, the need to be something special to you, is a whole another issue that must wait until your head is more clear. Way more clear…
“Perhaps,” you confess.
“I have nothing to give you,” he shrugs, eyes looking slightly past you this time, out of shame or anxiety. It takes a while for you to understand he’s liking you to the goods at the market and thinks he’s expected to have money to be able to keep you.
“You don’t need to pay for me,” you smile, trying your best to disguise the soft amusement in your voice. His brows only furrow as he tries to calculate and think.
“I don’t understand the rules of this world,” he finally shakes his head. 
“I’ll teach you.”
For a while, he only looks on with fascination how you rub his arms and belly, basically massaging him with the wet moss. His eyes drift closed when you scrub the back of his neck, the stout erection only getting thicker under the cool water. You’re careful with his legs, not because you’re afraid he’s ticklish but because you try to avoid touching the huge cock already jutting up from happiness. It gives a few excited bounces when you wash his inner thighs, hopeful to get its needs satiated soon. 
“I can hunt for you,” he suggests. “Bring you food… Protect you.”
He’s visibly excited when figuring out a way to give you something in return. He wants to provide offerings for your company, your lore, and eventually, your cunt, too. You might be a virgin, but you’re not stupid: of course he wants the soft, wet prize between your legs. A pair of lovely tits to squeeze at night... Ears to groan hushed confessions into, thighs to nibble, bite and suck until you cry... 
“What do you think?” He asks, breath heavy from the bliss you’re already granting him by simply giving him a bath. “I could give you my heat. Please you...”
“You know how to please women?” 
“No. But you could teach me.”
The way he says it is not shy. Only tentative. A bear, walking on ice and hoping it would carry his weight. One wrong step and the ice will swallow him, spitting out his bones only in spring. 
And then…
“Do you know how to fuck?”
The ice holds, mainly because you’re too shocked to even slap or ridicule this man. His eyes bore into you with such unbridled greed that you have trouble keeping your precious pride intact.
“Of course,” you hear yourself whisper like it would be an insult to your intellect if you didn’t.
“Teach me,” he says, ever more greedily.
“I…”
Your jaw is left open, but not a word comes out. A strong palm closes around your wrist again, this time to bring you flush against him. The water laps at your skin, a distant crow cackles somewhere. Your hand is brought to his phallus, but he doesn’t have to wrap your fingers around it: you do it all by yourself, breath locked in your throat as you feel how hard and blazing he is.
“You want my cock,” he says, mouth only an inch from yours. “Don’t you...?”
You wet your lips – a mistake, because his half-lidded gaze darts to your mouth the instant your pink tongue lashes out. You’re in a predicament, but on the other hand, what else did you expect, taking your clothes off in front of a touch-starved bull?
“I’d give it to you happily,” he insists. “No female ever wanted to spread her legs for me.”
Or a leash. 
Your fingers tighten on their own, they mould around him. Like a bond…
“Really?” You breathe. “What fools they were...”
The cock gives a full throb inside your palm, exalted to be yours. But only a moment later, the dreaded Minotaur moves. 
You find yourself under him before you can even gasp for air: the soaked, hot body of a giant now pinning you on the grass and crushing you under it with ease. The weight of your error is fully pressed against you: he was never tamed, and you were a fool to think you could put him in chains.
The raw scent of earth and musk fills your nostrils, making the stars above you spin. His cock is trapped between your bodies, giving another rich pulse against your thigh. Gods, if he were throbbing like that inside you…
“You make my skin burn,” he growls into your ear, the heat of his skin now unbearable, the coarse hair prickling your skin from neck to thigh. “My loins, ache…”
“Are you a witch?” He asks, and you finally allow yourself to breathe.
If he only knew… But hexes and charms are of no use for you now: the only thing you can do is moan, apparently, as he dives for your neck, planting barbarous kisses on your skin.
Down, down, down he goes, pure avarice driving him to feast on every part of you. You’re too weak to stop him when he searches for the source of your intoxicating scent. Discovering it between your thighs, he dives nose-first into your sex, meeting your core with a hungry grunt.
Your back arcs with pleasure, your nails sink into his back: a funny thing to do when he’s already as close as can be. The trail of crude kisses leads him to your breasts, and you try to keep your whimpers in control, but a gasp erupts when he drags a hot tongue across your nipple. Massive palms close around your tits while you squirm in his hold: he doesn’t seem to be driven by the need to please you; rather, he wishes to study you first, examine how your body reacts to his groping. He leaves your breasts aching and sore, every bite and suck managing to make you wetter and wetter, your cunt screaming for attention by now.
“Gods...” you wriggle on the soft earthen bed, not expecting him to take you with his mouth first.
He withdraws, only a little, but his voice is surprisingly soft.
“Do I hurt you...?” 
“No… But this is not mating…”
“Even I know that much,” he says darkly, and grabs you by the waist, moves you around like a doll until you find yourself on your belly. 
He looks at you from between your thighs, demonic and keen. The broad shoulders force your legs wide apart when he’s seated there, waist-deep in the water, with you hauled to the shore like a siren.
Not a moment is wasted as he pulls you back to him by the hips: you’re drawn to all fours, a hot streak of cum dragging on the inside of your thigh from the cock that meets your skin. He grabs and steadies it with an annoyed grunt, and the fat tip is shoved straight into your folds, your nether lips parted with brute force almost. 
“Guide me.”
His voice is demanding, impatient as he drags the fat head up and down the entrance of your hole, coating his cock with your slick in the process. You wonder if it’s instinctual, if he knows that this is where he should poke and that it will hurt you less if he’s well-oiled. He’s about to rut you into oblivion the instant you tell him where to shove his cock, and the prospect only sends more sap flowing down your thigh.
“There…” you stutter when he finds it, the aching spot that’s leaking profusely. He pushes the head in, not by teasing but by bullying, almost forcing it inside from how tight and unreceptive you are.
“Tighter than my fist,” is his only comment, and it makes you shudder. “I will not last long…”
You wince from the burn, but the rest of it glides in like a dream, and suddenly you’re filled, to the capacity, one could say. He grunts just from the way your womanhood is hugging him, not sure what this foreign object inside you is – is it a good thing or a threat?
“Easy then,” you breathe a huff into the sweet night air, filled with fireflies and night birds who know nothing about the fucking you’re about to go through.
He doesn’t move – inside you, that is. Outside, he crawls forward until he moulds around you, heavy body enveloping you completely. The hairs on his thighs tickle the back of your legs, his chest scrapes your back just so as he demonstrates how you belong to him in every way. But when your cunt starts to squeeze him again, he swallows thickly.
“Does this feel good to you too…?”
You catch faint confusion and concern in his voice, astonished that such a soft, frail body like yours can take his cock just like that. Little does he know you’re still adjusting to his size, thanking all the gods that he doesn’t move yet.
“Yes,” you confess because it does feel good: his thickness inside you, stretching you both gently and violently, studying how it feels to be inside a loving, wet heat.
“Then I will fuck you every day,” his lips come to brush your ear. “Many times...”
You hear yourself whimper, more humble now than ever. No man would dare to take you on all fours, but here you are, like a bought bride about to get stuffed…
He withdraws a little, asks, “Like this?” when he returns with a rough, nasty thrust. The balls meet your mound, heavy on the tender nub you’ve flicked when you’re lonely, covering your mouth while you do it. Both your hands are planted on the ground now, your legs spread before this beast, cunt filled to the brim with his cock.
“Not so rough,” you warn, and he heeds your instructions to the letter until he’s moving in and out with a slow, delicious pace that allows you to feel every thick bump of him. Soaked now down to your thighs, the sounds of your mating is utterly sloppy and slick, and of course he’s curious.
“Are you always like this…?”
“Like… what,” you huff in between the slow, torturous thrusts.
“Soft,” he rasps. “Tight… Wet like rain.”
“No. It’s just when…”
“When you want to fuck?”
You whimper for an answer, mostly because he starts to slip from the agreed sluggish pace. His cock invades you with more urgency, chasing the eruption that must be generous from those thick balls that should belong to a horse.
“I knew it…” he says dreamily behind you. “Some women want to mate with bulls...”
He punctuates his newfound pride with a full, deep thrust, and you wince.
“You’re not a–”
“Keep telling yourself that, little maiden.”
He exhales a hot smile next to your ear, and you’re neck deep in love. Your mouth hangs open, your lids half closed and fluttering from the way he pounds into your poor, abused cunt. Heavy balls slap your swollen nub with careless abandon, making you squeeze his thickness every time he hits the end of you. His grunts become more animalistic with every thrust, and your cunt is a wild thing, leaking and weeping and throbbing until you fear there’s something wrong with you – no woman is supposed to be this needy for a beast…
I’m going to come… You realize in horror as the slick sounds of fucking overthrow even the coursing roar of the waterfall. The knowledge shoots your body full of dark, hot ink; it explodes inside your core like a liquid star, throbbing through your cunt currently being ploughed like you’re nothing but a needy, sloppy hole for him. You’re swimming in so much pleasure that it’s almost painful, the revelation some secret of the gods, no doubt. 
He growls when you moan, heavy arm snaking its way around your middle to keep you in place for him. The purr is eager and low, the rumble erupts from his chest like a thick, loving volcano, a statement of how perfect you are. He nuzzles his nose into your neck and rubs his scent all over you while fucking you through it, the divine rapture that leaves your throat dry from moans. 
He doesn’t need to be told what it means when you’re crying like that: he doesn’t need to be explained that his cock is giving you ample pleasure. It’s so desperate, how much he wants to both fuck and please you, just own you and fulfill you, that you start to shake, your frail body not capable of handling the orgasm he just gave you. 
Your strength fails, and you find yourself on your elbows, cunt even more exposed to him now, the cock pistoning into you with a relentless pace. He’s like a titan upon you, taking pleasure from your quivering, weak frame and the tight wet hole that belongs to it. You’re still in rapture when he starts to sound like broken, wounded man.
“You were made for me,” he huffs. “You were made...for me…”
His voice evaporates along with your thin, adoring mewls, just before he fucks himself over the edge. You can feel the hot, thick spurts, filling you as he roars into your hair, balls pressed flush against your sex, thighs meeting yours in a moment frozen in time. 
They can probably hear him all the way to the city, hear what a cunt like yours does to an invincible beast like him… But his cries are only met with silence; the night sky looks back with disinterest, the birds continue their songs when they notice it was only the roar of a mighty beast that filled the land. Before long, he’s groaning above you, using your hole more softly; loving it until the last drop is milked. 
When he stops, his whole body is trembling from release, but you’re not given a moment of reprieve. He forces you to the ground with him on your back, the rough, thick body never leaving yours. Coarse beard chafes your neck, his body trapping you completely under him, he even opens his jaw to take your shoulder between his teeth and bites you while his cock is still pulsing fat inside you. 
“I can’t get enough of you,” he pants into your ear, angry, almost.
“Good,” you breathe a smile, but he’s not satisfied.
“You couldn’t get enough of me too… I noticed.”
“You gave me pleasure,” you agree. “Lots of it.”
“That was a lot of seed… I haven’t spilled in days.”
He huffs into your ear, astonished and proud that he could do such a thing. You feel him shift to take a better look at you, fingers arrive to graze your temple as if to make sure you’re real, as if having his cock inside you wasn’t enough proof of that. They’re a little shaky, a little uncouth, but the touch is gentle enough, and sweet.
He's boasting again perhaps, you don’t know, but you give him a soft laugh, notice how he stops breathing momentarily when hearing the bright sound.
“I am filled to the brim with you, yes… It will take a while before I can take more.”
“...You have other holes in you,” he offers after a while, quite seriously, in fact. 
“Get off me, you beast,” you huff and squirm to get out from under him, but there’s a luscious grin on your face, a smile that tells him you would more than approve of his obscene ideas later. 
“This feels good,” he murmurs into your hair. “This feels right...”
He allows you to leave from under him, only whines when his cock gets exiled from your cunt. He misses the wet heat like a newborn child misses the womb, but you need to recover from the recent invasion. Seed gushes out from your hole, making a mess on the ground as he pulls you against him, wanting to cuddle you next.
You wonder if he even knows what cuddling means as you lie there with a sticky mess between your legs and the heat of an entire sun on your cheeks. You smile into the coarse, sweaty body hair tickling your nose, deciding it doesn’t matter whether he knows or not: the most important thing is that he wants to hold you like this.
“Yes,” you smile. “This feels right…”
Something blooms in your chest. An odd flower, persistent and sweet. 
The stars above are cold but motherly as they look down on you two: born again into a world that doesn’t want either of you. The only things that accept you now are flowers, birds, the wind and the rain, bees and salty sea, but that’s aplenty. That’s more than the whole of Crete could ever give you.
“Are you thinking about your hero,” he asks above you.
“What? No…”
“Good,” he rasps, so softly now that you start to fear he’s about to cry.
You are more than capable of lying, but Theseus hasn’t crossed your mind in hours: the last time it did, the memory was received with loath and disdain. Thinking about Theseus while you’re draped all over your Bull, his seed flowing out of your womb... What a ridiculous idea. 
The reason for his hardly disguised anger is laid out plain before you: he's just jealous like any other man. Somehow, it makes you feel even more glowy inside.You’re my hero, you want to say, but have no courage to spill out the words. He was balls deep inside you mere moments ago, but telling him this intimate truth seems to be too much.
It never occurred to him, then, that you would enjoy copulating with him. He fucked you with the impression that you needed thoughts of another man to make you wet… That perhaps with the help of the image of Theseus in your mind, you were able to come with his cock inside you. 
“My Bull,” you whisper. “Tell me your name. You must have a name…?”
His breath stops only for a moment, the heart in his chest gives an arduous beat before he answers.
“Asterion.”
Starry one…
Of course.
All monsters have names, usually the opposite of what they’re claimed to be. His birth is in heaven, in the stars; he belongs to the company of heroes and gods.
“Asterion,” you whisper it out into the night air while the animal an man both find their new home in your arms. “Your birth is written in the stars. Did you even know…?”
“Does that make me a hero?” He snorts, more old wounds torn open right before your eyes. 
You wriggle yourself out of his hold, but he avoids your stare. You lift a hand to bring those beautiful Olympian eyes back to you.
“It makes you immortal.”
Perhaps you should’ve known he would be enticed with an apple instead of tethers and deals. Or with a palm, held out with no intent to strike… 
It’s lovely, how he blinks every time he’s confused. You’ve yet to see him shy, but if he ever is, this might be the moment… You even catch him swallowing under that wild facial hair, an awkward blob right after that blink when his birthright is acknowledged.
But even more dumbfounded he becomes when he realizes you’re truly and veritably admiring him. When you whisper it to him – you’re my hero – and watch something shatter in him that was supposed to wrench itself free, that’s when he’s truly granted divinity.
Perhaps it was all about becoming animal again, allowing the other to have a sniff. Baring your throat and embracing the instinct to trust. Marrying your wild soul… The deepest magic of all.
4K notes · View notes
simonrillleyyysss · 4 months
Note
need to sit in between ghost legs as he tells könig the proper way to eat my cunt 🥲
KSEOODBAKDJDUFHRJEE ITS A NEED
sorry it’s short
Tumblr media
ghost would be so bossy!! his arms gently wrapped around your neck, lips gently moving across your collarbone; listening to your soft mewls as the redhead between your thighs lapped at your cunt—tongue flicking along your folds, huffing in arousal!!
‘don’t rush, y’ need to take your time, go slow.’
the gruff voice above you commanded, hands moving to cup your breasts, gently groping at the fat;snickering as könig nodded, whining slightly—before slowing his movements; big nose bumping against ur clit!!
‘better. how’s it taste? tell us.’
the austrian let out a soft whine, your eyes fluttering back with soft gasps, his tongue flat against your cunt, hips grinding against his face—muffled speech coming from him, vibrations brushing against your puffy clit!!
‘tastes..tastes so good; sehr, sehr gut.’
‘yeah? sounds like it.’
the blonde mocked, reaching over to tug at königs hair, shoving the man’s face into your pussy, immediately eating you out like his last meal, hands digging into the curve of your thighs, panting like a dog!!
lewd slurping sounds caused you to hide your face in your hand, a chuckle erupting from ghosts chest, thumbs tweaking with your nipple, rolling the bud between his thumb and index finger.
‘gonna make them cum?’
‘Immer.’
8K notes · View notes
imsilay · 7 months
Text
MANIA
obsessive love; very possessive and often jealous.
mdni NSFW! +18 cw: possessiveness, size k!nk, fem!reader, obsessive König, dominant König.
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.
i will post part 2 <3 (english isn’t my first language sorry for the mistakes) edit: posted! here
Tumblr media
art cr: @kinky-thirsty-reader
Tumblr media
He doesn’t like when you try to leave him…
After a long night, you were exhausted, your body sore from head to toe. You tried to sit up and leave the bed, but suddenly König's arm snaked around your waist and held you down. "Where do you think you're going, Prinzessin?" he whispered. "I need to shower." you mumbled as you put your hands on his forearms and tried to push him away, but it was a pathetic attempt. You were so powerless compared to him.
“So klein~” he cooed.
He chuckled at your struggles. "I don't think so, Schatz. You're staying here, in my bed, where you belong…" he purred, kissing the back of your neck and pulling you even closer, pressing your back against his chest. "König, stop the nonsense. Let go of me, i really need to shower." you protested— you wish you didn’t. His arms tightened around your midsection, reminding you that he could snap your spine effortlessly. "Are you talking back, Prinzessin? Did you forget you’re mine?" he whispered, his tone now edged with discontent. His grip was far from loving anymore. “Do i need to remind you?” he hissed, he would fuck you dumb until you understand that you’re his. His to use for his own satisfaction, his to kiss whenever he decided to do, his to touch wherever he wants. You were simply his.
When you realized you were in trouble, chills ran down your spine. You quickly apologized. "No, I was just... I don't like being sweaty. I'm sorry." Your apology made him loosen his grip a little. He placed a tender kiss on your neck. He turned you around as if you weighed nothing and pressed you against his chest.
“Hmm... let's see," his voice teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He sat up, leaning his back against the headboard and had you straddle him. He lowered his hands from your waist to your thighs and gently caressed them. You let out a groan of relief and wrapped your arms around his neck, savoring the sensation of your lover's massage on your sore muscles. However, your relief was short-lived because he wasn't finished with you yet. "You tried to escape my bed. So you need to be punished, Hase." He squeezed your thighs until the pain in your sore muscles became almost unbearable.
You cried and whined but he shushed you softly, soothing you. “We’re not done, Liebling.” It was clear that his tone had changed again. The anger and firmness had given way to something more gentle, almost loving.
You slurred something for forgiveness and apologize nonstop. “Don't be sorry, Hase. I didn't like seeing you try to escape from me." he said with a hint of a pout. "But I think i can make a exception for you this time. What about you let me…" his rough hands slowly caressed your inner thighs making you shiver and gasp in anticipation. “use you as i please, then maybe i could let you rest.” he murmured as his hand found its way to your already wet panties. Your breath hitched and you squirmed on his lap as he teased your cunt through your panties until you’re soaked for him.
“You’re so easy to seduce, Schatz.” he chuckled lightly but his voice stained with pure lust. He lifted your chin up with his free hand to take a look at your lovely face. Your eyes red, your skin flush from all the crying and stimulation. It was all for him… right?
“Immer so empfindlich, wenn ich so mit dir spiele.” (Always so sensitive when I play with you like this.) he mumbled in German like he always did. You never understand what he said -mind foggy with lust and too focused to chase that sweet release.
He grinned with a proud expression and mumbled to himself. “Braves Mädchen.” he whispered before lifting his balaclava up just enough to capture your lips in a long passionate kiss.
Tumblr media
a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked it <3
a/n: also i post everyday -sometimes 2 posts in a day- so if you follow me i won’t disappoint ;)
7K notes · View notes
asmicity-writes · 6 months
Text
Cuddling w Konig <3
Warnings: None
Sorry, part two is not available anymore :(
Pic:
Tumblr media
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
At first, he's worried that he might squish you to death in bed because well... size diff. You don't have the amount of muscle padding that he has, and he's aware! So when you start to cuddle n stuff, you had to start slow. Also, he was super nervous about it too because hes just a lil shy ykwim.
"Ahhh." Konig groans, sitting on the bed, making it lopsided due to his weight.
You were in bed, laying there innocently. You're eyes were half opened as you looked at him through your lashes. Konig places his mask down, and he whispers.
"Are you asleep, mein liebling?"
He places his rough hands on your pillowy thighs underneath your sheets, and rubs them. he spoons your figure and wraps his arms around your waist.
This was so out of character for your colonel, he was probably very sleepy. He brushes his hand and tangles it in your hair.
"So pretty..." he mumbles.
The moment your bodies molded together, you get tired. and start softly snoring.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
-asmicity
a/n: As i write more, i started to realise i dont feel that comfortable writing NSFW for u guys. I get that you may like it but idk... theres lots of creators that do it too, so mayb ask them. Im rlly sorry yall :( ill be rewriting part two though. 💌
7K notes · View notes
konigsslvtt · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
His head tips to the side, his eyes lingering down to the way your legs seemingly elongate in that dress you’re wearing, his eyes fixated on the way you effortlessly attract men like moths to a flame, tempting them to get burned; a faux offer of sinful salvation, a temptation heavy enough to put even the strongest of men on their knees.
Including himself.
The undercover mission was the last thing on his mind when it should have been the first, but the way his eyes can’t stop from circling back to you when he’s supposed to be looking for their target makes his hand clench around the glass of Whiskey in his hand even tighter, his emotions burn hotter.
The soft melody playing through the large ballroom has his mind spinning, unable to focus as the instrumental strangles his thoughts. A vice around his brain, ready to implode from the way his mind and body craves you; wanting a glance, a touch, anything, even as minuscule as it was.
Your body sways gently in the arms of another man, his hand slipping down your back, resting just above your ass. It has König’s heart lodged in his throat, the perfectly tailored suit straining over his tensed muscles as his jaw clenches. His fingers grip harder around the glass, even though he knows it’s part of the mission.
To blend in.
Instead he tosses back the rest of the amber liquid in his glass, the burning sensation racing down his throat as he clenches his jaw, setting the glass down on a nicely made up buffet table. The whole thing was just some time- wasting ploy, and he was growing restless.
Had he known he was signing up to watch a bunch of men dance with you all night he wouldn’t have agreed.
His eyes catch the way your lips part, the soft melody of your laughter mixing with the faint ambiance of the room, making his eyes cloud over with a mix of annoyance and insatiable desire. Whatever sick spell you casted on him was clearly working.
“He our target? Or are we playing speed dating, Serg?”
He gazes at the man who turns you in his arms, the surprised look in your eyes as his voice rings in through your earpiece making his hands itch to break the ones resting around your waist as he catches you in an elegant dip. His veins burn as your eyes catch his, offering an eye roll as you’re dipped towards the floor, neck arching as your head tips back.
“Jealousy suits you well.”
Your snippy response has his eyes narrowing, tongue sucked between his teeth as he bites down, tracing the backs of them as his eyes glower with unamusment. His fingers push against the table as he leans his weight into them, eyes tracing the way your fingers splay across the man's chest, the smirk on your lips tugging at the edges of his self-control. The Austrian accent in his voice is more prominent as he responds, trying to keep his tone light, "Jealous? Of that man? Hardly."
His blue eyes trail down your body, taking in the way your dress clings to your curves, his mind wandering to thoughts that have no place in a mission. He's always known you were beautiful, but tonight, under the soft glow of the chandeliers, you look ethereal.
His attention is momentarily stolen by a waiter passing by and he snatches up another glass of whiskey, the burn of the amber liquid doing little to quell the heat pooling in his stomach. The way you effortlessly charm everyone, the way you move, even the way you playfully tease him, it all adds to the fire that's been building inside him.
"No," he finally murmurs, his voice low and husky in your earpiece, "I just don't like sharing, especially when it comes to you."
His words hang heavy in the air between you, the music around you fading to a dull hum as you process his confession. He watches your reaction carefully, the smirk on his lips fading into a more serious expression. He clears his throat, attempting to regain his usual confident demeanor. "I'm just saying. I don't enjoy watching you dancing with other men."
He takes another swig of his whiskey, his gaze never leaving your figure. The music changes, a slower melody filling the room and he sees the man pull you closer, his hand resting dangerously low on your back. The sight stirs something in him, a primal urge to claim, to show everyone who you belong to. Even if you were unaware of it still.
The glass in his hand shatters suddenly, the shards falling onto the marble floor around him, a clear sign of his growing frustration. He curses under his breath, the German words slipping past his lips before he can stop himself.
"God damn it," he growls, his voice rough with annoyance and... something else. Something he hasn't let himself feel in a long time; something you so flippantly allowed himself to get so consumed in.
"I need a fucking break."
He turns on his heel, striding out of the ballroom and into a deserted hallway. He leans against the cool marble wall, running a hand through his hair as he tries to calm his racing heart.
This is a mission, not some twisted love story.
But as he stands there, trying to regain his composure, he can't help but picture your smirk, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. And he knows, deep down, that he's already lost.
He's still trying to control his breathing when his earpiece crackles to life, your voice filtering through. “König, you okay?" The concern in your tone has him closing his eyes, his hand clenched into a fist at his side.
"I'm fine," he answers gruffly, pushing off from the wall. He needs to get back, needs to be there to protect you in case the mission suddenly went sideways. His feelings be damned.
He strides back into the ballroom, his tall figure easily spotted among the sea of people. His eyes find you instantly, dancing with yet another man, a smile on your lips. It's a sight that's becoming too familiar, one that stirs a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Where’s our target?" he asks, his tone clipped, all business now. He needs to focus, to remember why he's here. He can't afford to be distracted, especially not by you.
His eyes never leave your figure as he waits for your response, his heart pounding in his chest. He can't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on him, a fear that he might lose control. But he pushes it down, forces himself to wear a mask of indifference; something he was more than capable of.
"Target's on the move," you reply, your voice steady in his ear. He breathes a sigh of relief; finally, some action in the never ending tormented night he seemed to be stuck in. "I'll follow him, keep an eye out."
"Got it," he responds, his gaze following your progress through the crowd. His heart lurches as he watches you disappear into the throng of people, his mind flashing with images of what could go wrong. But he trusts you, he reminds himself. You're capable, more than capable.
He takes a moment to recompose himself, straightening his tie and smoothing the wrinkles from his suit as he pulls on his cuffs, eyes discreetly scanning the crowd. He takes one last look at the dance floor, the place where he'd watched you, wanted you, and turns to follow at a discreet distance.
His heart pounds in his chest as he weaves through the crowd, his eyes never leaving the sight of your figure up ahead. His mind races with the possibilities, the what-ifs, but he forces them down. He needs to focus. For his sake and yours.
He follows you into a quieter hallway, keeping his distance. He watches as you approach the target, a man in a tailored suit, your smile as charming as ever. His jaw clenches at the sight, but he forces himself to stay put.
He can't interfere, not yet.
He leans against the wall around the corner, his breathing ragged. He can hear your conversation, the way the man's voice drips with arrogance. He can practically see the smirk on your face, knows you're playing him like a fucking fiddle.
"Good girl," he murmurs to himself, a hint of pride in his voice as he watches you butter the man up with ease. But then the man's tone changes, something in his voice setting off alarms in König's head as his eyes narrow, catching movement in the corner of his eye. His heart drops, a sense of dread washing over him as he grits his teeth.
Something definitely wasn’t right.
A trap.
Pushing off the wall he rounds the corner, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he's rushing forward, his only thought being to get you out of there. He doesn't care about the mission, doesn't care about anything but keeping you safe.
"Get down," he growls, his voice echoing in the hallway as he tackles you to the ground, his body shielding yours. The palms of his hands cup the back of your head, pressing your face to his chest, his large frame easily shielding you. The sound of gunfire rings in his ears, but all he can think about is you, beneath him, safe from the potential danger growing closer.
His body is a solid wall against yours, shielding you from the chaos; gunfire rings out, echoing off the marble walls of the hallway, shouts and screams distant, but close. His heart pounds in his chest, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps against your ear. But he doesn't move, doesn't dare to, not until he's sure it's safe.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice rough with concern. He doesn't wait for your answer, his hands already moving over your body, checking for injuries. When his fingers find nothing but the soft fabric of your dress, he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"I'm fine, König," you assure him, your voice steady despite the tremble he can feel in your body. You push against his chest, trying to get him to move, but he doesn't budge.
"Stay down," he orders, his gaze flickering to the end of the hallway above your head, his breaths still ragged. He can hear footsteps approaching, can hear the sound of voices getting closer. He tenses, ready to fight if he needs to, ready to protect you at all costs.
But then, the voices fade, the footsteps retreating as they thankfully decide to back off at the last second. He waits for a few more seconds, just to be sure, before he finally moves off you, pulling you up with him. His hand lingers on your waist, his thumb brushing against the bare skin there. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the violence that just unfolded.
"We need to get out of here," he says, his voice firm. He doesn't wait for your agreement, just starts pulling you along with him. His grip on your hand is tight, reassuring. He doesn't let go, not even when you're safely out of the building, not even when the danger has passed.
He doesn't let go until you're back at the safe house, the door locked securely behind you, windows double checked to make sure nobody followed you. He leans against the door, his chest heaving, his eyes never leaving your figure. He looks at you, really looks at you, and for the first time, he allows himself to acknowledge the feelings he's been hiding.
He's in love with you. And it scares the hell out of him.
His heart hammers in his chest as the realization hits him, his palms sweaty against the cool wood of the door behind him. He's been denying it, trying to convince himself that it was just physical, just lust. But the fear he felt back there, the sheer terror at the thought of losing you, it's more than just physical attraction.
"König?" Your voice pulls him from his thoughts, your eyes filled with concern as you look at him. He pushes off the door, forcing a small smile onto his face as he strides towards you carefully, slowly.
"I'm fine, just tired." He reassures you, his hand reaching out to cup your face. His thumb brushes over your cheek, his touch gentle, filled with a tenderness he rarely shows.
“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"
You shake your head, your hand coming up to cover his. His heart clenches at the contact, the simple touch sending a jolt of electricity through him. He pulls his hand away, stuffing it into his pocket to hide the tremor that suddenly makes his fingertips feel like they were numb.
He turns away, running a hand through his hair as he tries to regain his composure. He has to keep it together, has to stay focused. He can't afford to let his feelings get in the way, not when there's so much at stake.
Right?
"Fuck it," he mutters, his resolve crumbling as he turns back around suddenly, eyes trained on your mouth as he closes in. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, the kiss deepening.
It's everything he's ever imagined, and so much more. The taste of you is intoxicating, the feel of your lips moving against his enough to make his head spin. He's lost in you, lost in the feel of you, the taste of you, the sound of your soft moan as he deepens the kiss.
He pulls away, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged. He opens his eyes, meeting your gaze through a half lidded expression, gauging your reaction; seeing if he’s scared you away or reeled you in. He sees the same desire, the same longing he feels mirrored in your eyes.
He doesn't say the words, doesn't tell you how he feels. But he hopes, he prays, that you can see it in his eyes, can feel it in the way he kisses you, in the way he touches you.
The silence between you stretches, his hand still cradling your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. His gaze is intense, his blue eyes burning into yours as he waits for your response to his sudden act of desire.
"König," you whisper, your voice shaky. "I..."
Before you can finish your sentence, he's kissing you again, his lips moving against yours with a desperation he can't hide. His hands move down your body, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. His body is hard against yours, his arousal evident, shamelessly pressed against your hip.
"I need you," he growls against your lips, his voice rough with desire.
"I need you now."
His words send a shiver down your spine, a wave of arousal washing over you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss with a trembling sigh. You can feel his large hands wandering down your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips, the swell of your ass.
He lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries you towards the bedroom. His lips never leave yours, his tongue exploring your mouth as he kicks the door closed behind him.
He lays you down on the bed, his body covering yours as he kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. His hands are everywhere, exploring every inch of you as he rolls his hips forward on instinct, grinding against you as his hard length presses against your core.
"I want you," he repeats, his voice a low growl.
"I want you so fucking bad."
He lets it out as a low growl, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, pulling it free from the grip of your teeth. "Mine," he whispers, his voice a low rumble.
Without giving you a chance to respond, he crushes his lips onto yours once more, his kiss rough and demanding. His other hand slides down your side, gripping your hip and pulling you closer to him. He was fueled by jealousy, by desire, by the need to claim you as his own. His tongue slips past your lips, exploring your mouth with a fierce possessiveness. He was rough, yes, but there was an underlying tenderness in his actions, a silent plea for you to choose him, to want him as much as he wanted you.
His hand moves higher, his fingers curling around your thigh as he pulls you closer. He wanted to erase the feel of the other men on you, wanted to mark you as his and only his, and he was going to make sure you knew it; felt it in every nerve when he was done with you.
His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back to deepen the kiss, his tongue probing your mouth, tasting the sweetness of your lips as his hips roll forward once more, growing impatient. He lets out a low growl, his grip tightening on you as the kiss turns desperate, more passionate.
His hand fumbles down your bodies as he pulls the belt from his hips, the snap of leather against metal making his pulse quicken, still kissing you; messy and desperate. His breaths are coming as ragged gasps whenever your lips part for split seconds at a time, the increasing, intense need to be inside of you making him almost crazy.
Your hands are pushing his suit coat off his shoulders as he shrugs it off, throwing it somewhere not important as his back dips as he presses against you again, hand holding your jaw as he kisses you, sending your head back against the pillows, unable to stop. He was getting drunk on the taste of you; the most sinfully sweet intoxication he never wants to be without again.
Fingers travel up the warm flesh of your thigh poking through the slit in your dress, his fingers digging into the fleshy part of your inner thigh, keeping your core flushed to the throbbing bulge in his dress pants, begging for attention.
His hand runs the distance of the curve of your hip, traveling around the expanse of your ribs, fingers landing on the zipper on the back of your dress. With an expert tug, the satisfying sound of the zipper coming undone has him eager to get you out of the damned thing, the material pooling next to his coat on the floor.
“Fuuuck,” he nearly drawls out in a raspy whimper, eyes clinging onto the warm flesh revealed to his gaze, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbing your nipples into pebbled peaks, making his eyes darken. His hands run back down the curve of your waist, before reluctantly pulling away to undo the buttons on his dress shirt.
His pants are next, and before he knows it he has your thighs spread around his hips, his mouth on yours as he pushes his cock through your folds, jaw clenching at the relief it offers, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He makes it a point to slowly bring two of his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them before running them the length of your slick slit, checking your readiness as he lets out a hoarse groan.
"Fuck, you're so wet," he growls, his hands already reaching for your hips again, pulling you closer. He positions himself at your entrance, his large, thick cock pressing against you. He groans at the feel of you, so wet and ready for him as he pushes into you with a firm thrust, burying himself deep inside you.
"Ah, scheiße," he curses, his head falling back as he savors the feel of your tight heat clenching around him, the look on your face as he stretches you something that’ll forever be ingrained in his head. He starts moving, his hips snapping against yours in a primal rhythm, each thrust making you gasp and moan. He's rough, but he knows you can take it, knows you like it, and he doesn't hold back.
He can feel you trembling beneath him, your heat clenching around his cock, and it only spurs him on. His hand moves to your hair, pulling on it lightly to tilt your head back so he can see your face, his other hand moving to grip your hip, helping him drive deeper into you. "Fuck, you feel so good," he growls, his words punctuated by sharp, hard thrusts, each one making you gasp and whimper.
With a swift, practiced move, he pulls out of you only to flip you onto your stomach, ass in the air. He wastes no time in positioning himself at your entrance once more, pushing into you with a rough thrust that draws a gasp from your lips.
He groans at the sight of you beneath him, ass up in the air, back arching as he drives into you. His hand comes down on your ass, a sharp smack echoing in the room, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he watches the redness bloom. "So good for me, ja?" He growls, his hips snapping against yours in a punishing rhythm, his cock driving deeper into you with every thrust.
“Mhmm…”
His lust-filled groan echoes through the room, your mumbled, pleasure induced response sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock. "Fuck, yeah you are. My good fucking girl—" he growls, his hand coming down on your ass again, the sound of skin against skin filling the
room.
His thrusts become more frenzied, his need for release growing with each passing second. He reaches down, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts. "Gonna make you cum, liebling," he grunts, his words a promise, a threat.
His other hand grips your hip, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, his cock driving deep into you with each movement. The sight of you beneath him, the feel of your tight, wet heat clenching around him, is too much, and he can feel his climax building, a pressure in his lower abdomen that's begging for release.
He leans over you, his chest pressed against your back, his hand sliding up to grip your breast. He pinches your nipple, a smirk playing on his lips at the gasp the action draws from you. His other hand continues to rub your clit, his touch rough but calculated.
"You're getting so tight, so wet," he groans, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "Come on, Schatz." He increases the pace of his thrusts, each one driving deep into you. He can feel you starting to clench around him, your gasps and moans growing louder, and he knows you’re close. "Cum for me, liebling," he groans, his thumb rubbing her clit in tight circles, quickening the pace.
"Such a good girl, Liebe. You can do it for me, ja?" he gasps, his hips snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm, fighting off his own orgasm with every frenzied stroke inside of you. He can feel you trembling beneath him, your body coiled tight, ready to unravel. His thumb continues to rub your clit, his touch firm and unyielding.
He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "Let go, liebling," he whispers, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine, making your fingers clench the sheets harder as ragged gasps and moans spill from your lips. "Cum for me." His words are a command, a plea, his own release coiling tight in his belly.
He feels you clench around him, your body spasming beneath him, and he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic. "That's it, cum on my cock," he gasps, his hand gripping your hip tightly as he drives into you, riding you through your orgasm.
His eyes are locked onto you, the sight of you cumming on his cock sending a jolt of pleasure through him, making his hips snap against yours in a desperate rhythm.
He grinds harder into you, his cock buried deep inside of you, continuing to ride out your orgasm. His fingers dig into your hip with an intensity that has him gasping, his other hand still toying with your nipple, drawing out your pleasure for as long as he can.
"Fuck, that's it," he grunts, his voice a low rumble in your ear. His thrusts become erratic, his breathing harsh and ragged. He's close, so close, and he knows he won't last much longer.
"Going to fill you up, liebling," he grunts breathlessly, his hand tightening around your hip as he drives into you one final time, his own orgasm washing over him. He groans, his hips stuttering as he cums inside you, his hot seed spilling into you in thick pulses. His body trembles, his grip on your hip slackening as he rides out his orgasm, trying to comprehend the sheer pleasure pulsing inside of him.
He shudders as he feels you rock back against him, his oversensitive cock twitching inside of you. He groans, his body slumping against yours, his forehead pressing against your back as he attempts to catch his breath.
"Fuck," he breathes out, his voice a low rumble against your skin. His hand slides from your hip, tracing lazy patterns on your skin, his touch gentle, a stark contrast to the rough, desperate man he was just a few moments ago.
After a few moments, he carefully pulls out of you, his cock slipping out with a soft sigh from him. He rolls onto his back next to you, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes dark and satisfied. "You okay, liebling?" he asks, his voice softer, almost tender.
Your eyes find his as you let out a trembling sigh, swallowing the thick lump in your throat from the exertion he had put you through. He watches you roll onto your side next to him, head propped in your palm as he takes the opportunity take everything about you in.
“Never better.”
Your response has the lingering tension escaping him, his eyes flickering between the both of yours as his large hand skims through your hair, eyes watching the movement as a smile plays at the corner of his lips.
“After today, I just—“ he begins to speak, wanting to spew out everything he’s been harboring but he catches himself, shaking his head as he inhales. His eyes find yours again, softening as he watches your face flicker in rapt attention to his every word.
“—I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been trying to deny it, been trying to tell myself that love has no place in business. But you,” he whispers, fingers skimming your jaw as his words drop a few octaves, his eyes falling to watch the movement.
“You changed that for me. And it scares the hell out of me.” His eyes flicker back to yours as he swallows, having never felt more vulnerable in his entire life. He waits in agony as you process his words, jaw holding a tight clench as he waits for acceptance or rejection, unsure if he could handle the latter.
“About time.”
His eyes widen slightly, lips parting as he watches your lips curl into a warm smile, his breaths releasing in a long, trembling sigh as a smile tugs on his own lips, his head shaking almost in disbelief as he pulls you in for a deep kiss, his hands pulling you close, as if you’d disappear if he didn’t.
“Fuck, I’m so in love with you,” he whispers against your mouth, taking his time kissing you, slowing the pace, a stark contrast to the roughness of your previous fucking.
He lets the words slip out several more times that night, and he knows, deep down, that he means them just a little more every time they spill from his lips against your own.
37 notes · View notes
sweetiecutie · 5 months
Text
Ex!Boyfriend König who is NOT okay with your relationships ending. Maybe he was a bit controlling, yes; maybe possessive as well, but there’s nothing in this world people can’t solve by talking the problem out. Yes, you did talk it out three times before, but he will change this time, he swears!
Ex!Boyfriend König who litters your phone with numerous voice and text messages begging for forgiveness, several calls coming in daily, every single one of them ignored blatantly. When you finally get fed up and decide to block him on all messengers - König starts writing you emails. And when you mark him as spam, he finds new way of reaching you out. A notifications from bank app pops up in the top of your screen, 100€ had been transferred to your account, purpose of payment saying “Baby, let’s just talk about it”
Ex!Boyfriend König who keeps showing up at your front porch, never once failing to hand in posh bouquets of your favourite flowers before practically pleading for you to take him back. You’re his whole world, his very life and everything König has ever cared about, he feels so empty without you - can’t you see what you do to him? How miserable he is without you?
Ex!Boyfriend König who keeps close eye on whoever there is that may be brave enough to ask you out, not scared one bit to step in and break motherfucker’s jaw for coming way too close to you for man’s liking. You may have broken up, but you’re still his, and there’s nothing in this world König hates more than sharing.
Ex!Boyfriend König who is a literal killing machine, able to snap spines as if they were twigs; a vicious 2.10 meter tall monster with anger issues, a fucking Colonel. And yet, he turns into pathetic puddle before your feet, stepping on his own pride, begging for the first time in his whole fucking life. But it’s all perfectly worth it if in the end you’ll be his once again, because there’s no König without his sweet angel<3
5K notes · View notes
sweet-as-an-angel · 26 days
Text
Coquette Thoughts
Tumblr media
TW: 18+, Profanity, Fem!Reader
König and his coquette girlfriend as she ties a pink ribbon into a bow around the base of his painfully hard, thick cock, pre-cum staining the fabric and making the bow wilt under the weight of his plentiful seed. He hisses when she pulls the bow taut, catching the most prominent vein on the underside of his member, leaving him aching and begging for her to touch him already - please, I can't take anymore :-(
2K notes · View notes
konigsblog · 2 months
Text
more big dicked könig thots™️...
könig feels so humiliated and tense when he's getting a blowjob, fully aware he won't fit fully inside your mouth. he'll be lucky if you even get slightly past the tip, inching a little bit more than what you can usually fit in your mouth. although, you can barely get a few inches more, due to the thickness of his big, hard cock, stuffed into your wet mouth. his large, slightly rough hand guides your head, attempting to push your head down his meaty girth while he pants and grunts gutturally, utterly ashamed of his huge, thick size he's forced to listen to your muffled, pained gags as he selfishly attempts to push you even further. :(
he wants to feel your puffy lips against his musky base, swallowing every inch of his large, heavy cock, desperate for the feeling of a proper blowjob. könig can, and will get so incredibly frustrated, his orgasm being teased, never fully coming down on him. the sensation of your swollen lips suckling at his tip, leaving his hard dick achingly hard and his balls tight and painfully sore.
though, könig absolutely adores watching you mouth down his shaft, suckling and dragging your wet, slick tongue back and forth across his veiny shaft. he gazes down at you lovingly with heavy eyelids, drunk off the feeling as euphoria builds up inside of him, his calloused and large hand lazily dragging your head up and down, watching you coat his cock in your drool, unable to take his big cock all the way down your sore throat...
4K notes · View notes
ghouljams · 4 months
Text
König would be so good as a period buddy :(
He's got those huge hands and I bet he just radiates heat, he'd massage your back while you lay on him, he'd press his hand against your stomach to try and soothe the cramps. He'd be so attentive, he was raised by his mutter to be a good boy and this is important good boy activities :( fetching heating pads, candy, easy food when your hormones fuck up your appetite, soup and tea. König would just coo at you each time you whined, he hates seeing you hurting but you're so cute and needy :(
He'd love period sex. You're so squirmy and embarrassed, but you're so hot on his tongue and you make such pretty sounds for him. There's something dark and possessive that growls with pleasure seeing your blood on his cock, feeling you tremble and cry because your hormones are running wild. You're just so cute! You're adorable, he just wants to eat you up. Maybe he will, he's already got you basically confined to bed. Why ever let you anywhere else after this?
6K notes · View notes