Konig had been gone for close to ten months. What started as a quick six turned into nearly a year. So upon his return, he had a lot of "kuscheln to make up for." He'd been home for not even a week, and he'd already refused to leave your side — like a human Labrador who'd been left alone far too long.
You were in the kitchen cutting up vegetables, prepping dinner. You'd taken the opportunity to sneak off while Konig napped, finally free of his grip, wanting to surprise him with his favorite meal. But just as you bent down to slide the tray into the oven, you felt a pair of large hands snake around your waist — a sure sign your sleeping giant was awake and on you once again.
"Why didn't you wake me, schatz?" His voice was groggy from sleep, but there was still a tinge of whine to it, like a child who'd woken to find their mother gone.
"Didn't want to wake you, baby. Besides, you ruined the surprise," you giggled quietly, closing the oven before turning to meet his towering gaze.
He only hummed in response, burying his face in your hair, inhaling the soft scent of coconut shampoo — his favorite.
You went back to cooking, him looming over you the entire time, not really helping so much as watching you work your way around the kitchen. Even once you sat down to eat, he pulled you straight onto his lap, tucking in happily while you perched on his thigh like it was the most natural seat in the house.
But that was only the beginning. Curled up on the couch later, watching something neither of you were really paying attention to, he had you nestled between his legs, big arms wrapped around you, chin resting on top of your head like you were his human teddy bear.
Bathroom breaks? He came too — no matter how tired he was, he'd stand in the doorway, blocking the harsh hallway light from your eyes while you went, already grabbing onto your hand when you were done.
"It's not like I haven't seen anything before Maus"
You'd stopped questioning it around day three. This was just Konig now. Or maybe this had always been Konig, and ten months apart had simply stripped away whatever thin restraint used to keep it in check.
Mornings were the worst offender, if you could even call it that. You'd wake up most days already pinned — one heavy arm slung over your waist, sometimes a leg hooked over yours for good measure, a genuine miracle you didn't suffocate in the middle of the night with all 200lbs of him on top of you.
Getting up to make coffee had become a small negotiation every single time. You'd try to slide free an inch at a time, and without even opening his eyes he'd tighten his grip and make a low, sleep-rough sound of protest, like your absence had personally offended him before he was even fully conscious.
Working from home hadn't gotten any easier, either. You'd set up at the kitchen table with your laptop, and within twenty minutes he'd wander in "just to get water" and end up parked in the chair beside you, one hand resting on your thigh, occasionally reading your screen over your shoulder and asking mild, unhelpful questions about your spreadsheet just to have an excuse to keep talking to you. More than once you'd looked down mid-typing to find he'd simply pulled your chair — with you still in it — an inch closer to his.
Even small errands had become two-person jobs. Taking the bins out. Checking the mail. He didn't say anything about it, just appeared at your elbow, falling into step, like your house had a gravitational pull he couldn't resist standing inside of. Your friends had started joking that you two shared a single nervous system.
You didn't mind it. If anything, it had become the new normal so completely that you barely registered it as anything worth commenting on — the way you don't notice your own heartbeat until someone points it out. He was just close. That was simply how Konig existed in a room with you in it.
The stares started the moment you actually left the house together.
You didn't really clock it at first — you were too busy laughing at something he'd said, tucked into his side as he steered you both down the cereal aisle with one broad hand resting warm against your hip. It wasn't until you glanced up mid-laugh that you noticed the couple by the yogurt fridge who'd stopped their own conversation entirely to watch the two of you pass, the woman leaning in to whisper something to her partner behind her hand.
You didn't think much of it. People looked at Konig everywhere you went — he was hard not to look at, all six-foot-ten of him ducking under doorframes and folding himself into chairs that weren't built with him in mind. You'd gotten used to being the shorter half of a pair that turned heads.
A toddler in a shopping cart nearly fell out of his seat pointing at Konig like he'd spotted a cartoon character come to life, loudly informing his mother that there was "a giant, Mama, a real giant," while she tried, and failed, to hush him. Konig, entirely unbothered, gave the kid a small nod on your way past, which only seemed to delight him further.
It was in the next aisle that a man — friendly, harmless, clearly just being polite — reached past you both for the same bag of coffee, smiled, and said something easy like "after you," nodding at you with the kind of casual warmth strangers exchange in grocery stores every day.
Konig didn't say anything. He didn't have to. You felt him go very still beside you, felt the hand at your hip settle into something firmer, more deliberate, and watched the man's easy smile falter under the sheer, unblinking weight of Konig's stare — the kind of look that made grown men reconsider their life choices in real time. The stranger mumbled something that might have been "sorry", practically tripping over his own feet in retreat.
"He was being nice," you said, biting back a laugh, tugging Konig's sleeve to get his attention back on you instead of the man's retreating back.
"I know," Konig said, entirely unrepentant, eyes finally dropping back down to you, softening instantly the way they only ever did for you. "I did not like it."
"You didn't like a man saying 'after you.'"
"I did not like a man looking at what is mine."
You should have found that ridiculous. Mildly concerning, even, said so plainly and without a flicker of irony. Instead you just felt something warm settle low in your chest, and let him tuck you back against his side without argument, because you'd long since stopped being able to tell the difference between Konig being sweet and Konig being a little unhinged about you — they'd started to feel like the same thing.
You ran into a friend from your pilates class near the registers, who hugged you tight and then had to visibly recalibrate her whole posture to greet Konig, who had one hand resting easily on your shoulder the entire conversation, thumb absently tracing small circles against your collarbone like it was the most natural thing in the world to be doing mid-conversation about someone else's dog. He didn't say much. He rarely did around your friends — just watched, quiet and unreadable, tracking the conversation as if he were cataloguing every word for later, every laugh you gave her that wasn't for him.
"You two are disgustingly cute," she said, half amused, half something else you didn't quite clock — the same look she'd give a very large dog that hadn't technically done anything wrong but was still standing a little too close to her drink. "Does he always just — stand like that? Attached?"
"Like what?" you asked, genuinely unsure what she meant, glancing up at Konig, who only raised an eyebrow back at you like he was equally baffled by the question — though his hand, you noticed, had drifted from your shoulder to loop loosely around your waist sometime in the last thirty seconds, without either of you clocking exactly when.
"Nothing," she laughed, a little too quickly, shaking her head. "Never mind. You two have fun."
You didn't think about it again until you were back in the car, Konig's hand resting on your knee at every red light like it belonged there, and you found yourself smiling at the memory instead of puzzling over it. People said things like that sometimes. You'd stopped taking it as anything but a compliment.
That evening, curled into his side on the couch with his chin propped on top of your head, you brought it up anyway, mostly just making conversation.
"Do you think we're clingy?" you asked, tracing idle patterns against his forearm where it was wrapped loosely around you.
He considered the question with the same seriousness he gave everything, like it deserved real thought rather than a quick answer.
"I think," he said slowly, "that I spent ten months unable to touch you. I think I am making up for lost time."
"That's not really an answer."
"It is the only one I have." He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, unhurried, like he had nowhere else in the world he needed to be. "If it bothers you, I will stop."
"I didn't say it bothered me."
"I know," he said, and you could hear the smile in it even without looking up at him. "That is why I am not stopping."
You laughed, swatting lightly at his chest, and he caught your hand there instead, pressing it flat against him so you could feel the steady, unhurried thump of his heartbeat under your palm — a small, quiet reminder that he was here, solid and warm and entirely yours, however much space he insisted on taking up doing it.
"You were a menace at the store, you know," you added, half-teasing. "That poor man just wanted his coffee."
"He can find a different coffee."
"Konig."
"I mean it," he said, entirely serious, and you felt more than heard the low rumble of it against your back. "I do not share well. I did not, before. I am worse now."
"Worse how?"
"Before, I would notice another man look at you and think, that is unfortunate for him." His arms tightened fractionally, an absent, instinctive thing, like your closeness was something he checked the way other people checked a lock on a door.
"Now I think about it for the rest of the day. I think about it in the shower. I do not love this about myself. I have decided I do not care."
You should have found that a little alarming. You did find it a little alarming, somewhere beneath the warmth spreading through your chest — and yet you couldn't quite summon the will to mind it, not with his heartbeat steady under your palm and his chin tucked against your head like you were the only thing in the room worth anchoring to.
Other people got the unsettling stare, the silence, the sheer immovable wall of him standing between them and whatever he'd decided was his to guard. You just got this — impossibly gentle, faintly unhinged in a way that only ever pointed inward, toward you, like every intimidating inch of him existed for the sole purpose of being your very large, very devoted, slightly feral teddy bear.
"Ten months," he said again, quieter now, almost to himself. "I am allowed to be a little insufferable about it."
"A little," you agreed, tucking yourself impossibly closer despite there being no real room left to close. "Just a little."
He hummed, pleased, arms tightening around you the way they had every single day since he'd come home — and you let him, because somewhere in the last week it had simply stopped feeling like something to let him do, and started feeling like the way things were always supposed to be.
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older roommate könig who the first time that he sees you enter the apartment his brain blue screens and has to remind himself to act like a normal human. he helps you with the boxes, doesn't talk much, is glad that he was still wearing his mask so you didn't have to see you blush. he was weird, yes, but rent was cheap and the place was close to your campus.
könig keeps a good distance with you, staring behind his mask, talking very little, asking enough, noticing. he knows which snacks you like and how high or low he has to put the temperature, he knows when you do your laundry and when you need someone to rant to, he is there, nodding as he fidgets with the pillow that rests over his lap.
könig who comes home late after a long workout, taking off his mask after closing the door, freezing when he hears a small gasp from the couch, you sit there staring at his face, sharp angles jaw, tall nose, buzz dirty blonde hair, a few scars all over, his cheeks go pink. "i thought you'd be asleep by now" his voice comes a bit higher than usual. "i was waiting for you... i couldn't sleep" you say back, still looking at his face, he truly is breath taking. "i'll make some tea" he says before rushing to the kitchen to die in silence.
a few months go by, könig still prefers to wear the mask around the house, sometimes you ask if he can take it off so you can look at him while you talk, he can't say no to that pretty smile. every time he looks at you blush or giggle at him, he feels guilty, nasty, he hates how he fucks his fist in the bathroom after you touched his arm. he hates how much he stains your panties; he hates how the small of your shampoo gets him hard.
but what he hates the most is that he can hear your soft moans at night, that no matter how much he tries he can't stop his hand from sliding down his sweatpants and take out his leaking length. dreaming of being the one to make you sound so pretty.
so, that night when your friend dropped you off at the apartment after a party, könig gently carries you to your bed, placing a small and soft kiss in your head, getting ready to leave until your hand grabs his. "sleep with me" you whisper, and he can't say no. his body makes the bed sink, too big for your twin sized bed. your body lays over his, your face on his chest, your legs on each side of his thigh, you can feel him poke your thigh, his uneven breaths, his big hand on your lower back. he is getting hard by just the smell of your hair, by feeling your body so close to his. "i need you" you whisper close to his jaw, and he gives in, flipping you over without effort, his big body caging you in, the bed creaks. his bulky hands rip apart your shirt, his lips crashing into yours as he moans your name. he is gentle, slow, stretches you out with his fingers, wats you out, tires you, but never puts his dick in. "i want you to be sober for that, ja?" he whispers into your ear, his leaking tip resting on your stomach.
after that night and a long talk in the morning könig becomes your personal stress relieve, taking the worries out of you with his big dick and soft kisses
könig who gets so needy and whiny when he is at the apartment after a long day working and you are out studying with some friends or enjoying your friday night with drinks and music. he hates it, hates how his feet move him to your room and how his body colapses in your bed, face smushed into your pillows, he lifts his mask just enough to take a nice sniff of your bedsheets, his hand pushing his sweatpants and boxers down, letting his big veiny and leaking dick out.
when you come back home you can hear faint grunts and huffs from down the hall. your bag slides off your arm as you walk over, könig doesn't stop when he hears you come in, if anything, he starts fucking your pillow harder. "fuck, sorry" he mumbles under his breath, his hips stopping as he turn around, his body cover most of the bed, his leaking tip stands tall. "help me, ja? i was waiting for you, you know how i get when you are away" his large hand extends out to hold your hand, leading you towards the bed.
You had been terrified your entire pregnancy. Not of being a mother. Not of König. No— you were terrified of the size of the baby.
Because your husband was a mountain of a man.
Nearly seven feet tall, broad enough to block the entire doorway, hands so huge they made coffee mugs look childish. König looked like the kind of man built to father massive babies with bowling-ball heads and shoulders wide enough to ruin your life on delivery day.
The closer you got to your due date, the more emotional you became about it.
“König..” you whispered one night, staring at his chest while he held you against him, “what if your baby comes out built like a full-grown toddler?”
He nearly choked trying not to laugh.
“Our baby is not coming out with a beard, Schatz.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It is a little funny.”
You’d smacked his chest weakly while he kissed your forehead, though the poor man did try comforting you afterward. He promised he’d stay beside you the whole time, promised your body was made for this, promised doctors existed for a reason.
Still, you expected pain.
Expected terror.
Expected to hear nurses gasp in horror at the giant infant you’d somehow created with this massive Austrian soldier.
Instead—
Your baby arrived…..tiny.
Absolutely, unbelievably tiny.
A little thing wrapped in hospital blankets, blinking up at the world with huge blue shiny eyes and the faintest dusting of strawberry-blonde hair across their soft head.
The nurse placed the baby into König’s arms and the sight almost made you cry harder than labor itself.
Because König looked gigantic.
His enormous scarred hands cradled the baby so carefully, so delicately, like he was terrified even breathing too hard would hurt it. His shoulders shook beneath quiet laughter, stunned and disbelieving.
“So small..” he whispered.
Your baby’s hand curled around one of his fingers— and couldn’t even hold all of it. König stared like his heart had been ripped straight from his chest. Meanwhile you were still emotional for an entirely different reason.
“That’s it?” you croaked from the hospital bed. “That’s what I was scared of?!”
König outright laughed then, deep and breathless behind his mask before he leaned down to kiss your forehead repeatedly.
“You were very brave for surviving our terrifyingly tiny child.”
But I can’t decide if he’d have an absolutely ginormous wiener or if it’d be comically little
have you considered both versions? me and other mooties have
ginormous cock that matches his abnormal size and thickness, thick, veiny, so heavy, really hard to wrap a hand around (especially if they’re small)
small (in comparison to his size) which is actually just average, like around 6 inches (i think that’s average, idk and im lazy) and he gets made fun of it one time as a recruit and then never shows it to anyone
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older roommate könig who the first time that he sees you enter the apartment his brain blue screens and has to remind himself to act like a normal human. he helps you with the boxes, doesn't talk much, is glad that he was still wearing his mask so you didn't have to see you blush. he was weird, yes, but rent was cheap and the place was close to your campus.
könig keeps a good distance with you, staring behind his mask, talking very little, asking enough, noticing. he knows which snacks you like and how high or low he has to put the temperature, he knows when you do your laundry and when you need someone to rant to, he is there, nodding as he fidgets with the pillow that rests over his lap.
könig who comes home late after a long workout, taking off his mask after closing the door, freezing when he hears a small gasp from the couch, you sit there staring at his face, sharp angles jaw, tall nose, buzz dirty blonde hair, a few scars all over, his cheeks go pink. "i thought you'd be asleep by now" his voice comes a bit higher than usual. "i was waiting for you... i couldn't sleep" you say back, still looking at his face, he truly is breath taking. "i'll make some tea" he says before rushing to the kitchen to die in silence.
a few months go by, könig still prefers to wear the mask around the house, sometimes you ask if he can take it off so you can look at him while you talk, he can't say no to that pretty smile. every time he looks at you blush or giggle at him, he feels guilty, nasty, he hates how he fucks his fist in the bathroom after you touched his arm. he hates how much he stains your panties; he hates how the small of your shampoo gets him hard.
but what he hates the most is that he can hear your soft moans at night, that no matter how much he tries he can't stop his hand from sliding down his sweatpants and take out his leaking length. dreaming of being the one to make you sound so pretty.
so, that night when your friend dropped you off at the apartment after a party, könig gently carries you to your bed, placing a small and soft kiss in your head, getting ready to leave until your hand grabs his. "sleep with me" you whisper, and he can't say no. his body makes the bed sink, too big for your twin sized bed. your body lays over his, your face on his chest, your legs on each side of his thigh, you can feel him poke your thigh, his uneven breaths, his big hand on your lower back. he is getting hard by just the smell of your hair, by feeling your body so close to his. "i need you" you whisper close to his jaw, and he gives in, flipping you over without effort, his big body caging you in, the bed creaks. his bulky hands rip apart your shirt, his lips crashing into yours as he moans your name. he is gentle, slow, stretches you out with his fingers, wats you out, tires you, but never puts his dick in. "i want you to be sober for that, ja?" he whispers into your ear, his leaking tip resting on your stomach.
after that night and a long talk in the morning könig becomes your personal stress relieve, taking the worries out of you with his big dick and soft kisses
Wholesome!König who is completely infatuated with you, but is too shy to ask you out.
You work at a coffee shop near base that he frequents in the mornings. He so rarely encounters civilian women that even seeing you in your sexless uniform, your hat and apron with funky little buttons pinned along the straps, stirs butterflies in his stomach for the first time in years. His favorite part of your appearance is the stunning smile you wear when speaking with customers.
Not him, of course. He downloaded the app so he could order ahead and just pick up - that way, he didn't have to talk to anybody. Online ordering is how he takes care of most of his business. Sometimes, you catch his eye when he goes to the pickup counter and give him a little nod or wave of acknowledgement that send him into temporary cardiac arrest. He's relieved when he can get back to his car and read your little sharpie messages in peace.
In the app he'd put himself in as Col - a throwback to his rank the Austrian Army before he'd opted for the mercenary life. It felt tacky to use his callsign outside work and he was certainly not going to use his real name. So in gorgeous cursive you would write, "Col," and beneath it, various levels of silly, unhinged nonsense:
"For the motherland!"
"Prove your bullies wrong"
"It's only illegal if you get caught"
"Don't look behind you"
So liebenswert. You're quirky and cute and every now and then you wear these glasses (he can't tell if they're prescription or blue-light) that just make him melt. He's always had a thing for girls in glasses. Everything about you is too good for him.
He flirts with the idea of finally getting in line and asking you for dark roast face-to-face. Maybe you'd like his (stupid) accent. Maybe you would comment on his (inconvenient) height or flash him one of those (undeserved) smiles.
Late one night, past the hour when good ideas happen, he decides on an alternative. He orders a bouquet of flowers and writes nothing more than your name on the card. Many of your pins are purple, so he picks one with lavender. Hopefully it'll make you smile - maybe even make your cheeks heat with a blush. He won't be there to see it, but knowing that he's brightened your day the way you brighten his is enough.
What he's definitely not expecting to see is a sprig of lavender tucked behind your ear along with your cap. His eyes go so wide he thinks he'll give himself away. He somehow manages to grab his order and escape before you make eye contact.
You seem to like his gift, even if you don't know it's from him. Maybe he should send some more.
Next week it's chocolates. Then it's a teddy bear. The week after, he tries something a little outside the box. Since lots of your pins have various activist messages on them about the environment or women's rights, he pays to have some trees planted in your name and has the certificate delivered to the coffee shop. He sees it framed on the wall not long after.
König is perfectly happy with this whole arrangement. He gets to make you smile and maybe he's even sparked a little crush, without any of the anxiety the comes from a social interaction. It's one-sided and undeniably cowardly, sure, but he allows himself to fantasize that it might grow into something more. And fantasy is safe. It cannot disappoint.
But when he visits your place of business the following Monday, his heart sinks into his stomach.
Strung around your neck is a paper that says, "Are you my secret admirer? Come talk to me!!" in purple sharpie.
His immediate instinct is to flee. A conversation with you cannot possibly end well, and the very notion of seeing the sparkle in your eyes dim as he confesses is enough to make him forgo his breakfast drink.
But this is fucking ridiculous! He's KorTac's top heavy. He has a decorated military career with a confirmed kill count that's had him scouted by every PMC on the continent.
Ich kann mit einem süßen Mädchen reden, he tells himself resolutely. He snatches his order and stands in line.
When he reaches you, the look of shock on your face feels like a knife to the gut. But you quickly say, "Col! Oh my gosh, did I get something wrong with your order this morning?"
"No. It's perfect."
You light up like a Christmas tree, and oh shit, he has it bad.
"I'm glad. Is there anything else I can get you?"
Taking a deep breath, he carefully says, "I just wanted to talk to you before I left."
You look extremely puzzled as he begins to back away, so he gives a subtle nod towards your chest. Come talk to me. You follow his eyes and seem to understand his meaning - but he's already halfway out the door.
He's thrilled and terrified and he's absolutely going to vomit up this coffee if he drinks it, so he leaves it on his desk with your "Fight the power" message facing him all day. Ball's in your court, now. If you like what you see, you'll find some way to reciprocate - and if not, you can go on ignoring him and König won't push. He's just proud of himself for making a move.
When he goes in for coffee the next morning, your phone number is written in big bubble letters on his cup surrounded by purple hearts.
===
Thanks for reading! I have longfics for every CoD 141 boy + Konig on my masterlist, if you're interested 😅
Wholesome!König who metamorphoses into the ultimate European Dad whenever you go to the beach.
Insists on picking you up at 7:15am sharp so you can arrive before all the good spots are taken? Check.
Pulling up his weather app at 15 minute intervals the whole ride there, updating you on wind speed, pollen count, and UV index? Check.
A chunky, waterproof watch on his wrist with three alarms set to ensure the day stays on schedule? Check.
Sunscreen applied to every conceivable inch of skin, with an extra thick glob on his nose? Check.
Swim trunks with tiny pineapples that you bought him after the first time he tried to wear a Speedo to the beach? Check.
But for all his foibles, the day you spend together is truly the highlight of your summer. Arriving early to set up your towels, chairs, and umbrella in the right spot was the best move; the generous application of sunscreen prevents you and your dreadfully fair-skinned boyfriend from becoming sunburnt; and to his credit, his regimented, Austrian work ethic does turn off once you're truly settled in your spot.
You alternate between sunbathing, walking up and down the shoreline, and cooling off in the ocean. You've never had a relationship this easy - anything you suggest, he's already halfway done making it happen. Plus, seeing his Baywatch body and muscular build on full display fills you with a mix of desire and smugness, like you know the other women on the beach wish they were you.
When lunch rolls around, König sweeps you out of the water and carries you to the towel "so your wet feet don't get sandy." You would be embarrassed if it didn't heal your inner sixth grader, who'd always dreamed of a man so chivalrous.
It is entirely unsurprising that he's packed an incredible picnic lunch, with kartoffelsalat and hearty roast beef sandwiches and those little packs of pretzel sticks kids used to trade in the cafeteria. He also withdraws a small pitcher from the lunch box and shyly explains that he tried to make mojitos, but he's certain they're terrible and, honestly, you don't actually need to drink it, he's got some water bottles under the icepacks...
When you finally wrap up your day, you're relaxed and sleepy and as happy as you've been in a long, long time. König insists that you remain lounging on your towel while he packs everything else into the car. You doze off on the ride home as your boyfriend smiles fondly and turns down the radio as not to wake you.
[Smut beneath the cut.]
He tries to drop you off at home, but you demand he come inside and at least shower off so he doesn't have to drive back to the barracks grimy with sweat, sunscreen, and sand. Of course he agrees - the man has never said no to you in his life, even before he finally had the courage to ask you out - and he turns eggplant-purple when you casually shuck your swimsuit to join him.
You're stupidly horny for him after seeing him half-naked all day, so you take your sweet time lathering your vanilla bodywash into his skin. He sighs beneath the steam of the shower and the ministrations of your hands, shoulders slumping like his joints and tendons finally realized he's no longer in a combat zone. Blissed out and half way to falling asleep on his feet.
But he wakes right the fuck up when your fingers creep lower and you begin to massage his cock.
König loves your handjobs. He says you're unbelievably good at them and he never needs to worry that his size is hurting you - a frequent insecurity of his when you first became intimate. While you languidly work his hardening member back and forth, you rest your head between his pecs as the water pours down on you both.
He makes the most pathetic little whimpers as your lazy tugs turn into proper pumping. One of his hands flies against the tiles to keep himself steady against the urge to turn into a puddle at your feet.
When you tell him its time to wash his hair, he seems perfectly willing to accept that the handjob is over without having come. But when you ask him to get on his knees so you can reach his head, he quickly picks up on what's actually happening: a perfect excuse to smush his face into your tits.
König may love your handjobs, but he worships breasts.
You squirt some shampoo onto his head and begin to spread it through his short hair while König attends to your chest. Sucking, rubbing his face, thumbing your nipples, and whispering breathless gratitude into your cleavage. It's not terribly long before he picks up where you left off, the wet noises of his hand sliding over his cock speaking to something primal in your cavewoman brain. "I'm so lucky," he says over and over again. "So fucking lucky."
It doesn't take long for him to empty his balls, splattering your legs as he leans so hard into your body you nearly topple. The shower quickly washes away the mess as he plants a final kiss beneath the swell of one breasts.
He quickly asks what you'd like in return - he's happy to lick your pussy for the rest of the night, or he could sit you on his lap and use his fingers - but all you really want right now is a nap. There's something so satisfying about pampering this man, who got dealt a shit hand in life but is somehow still the type to fumble his way through a homemade mojito recipe if he thinks it'll make you smile.
Neither of you bother to put clothes back on as you collapse into bed and wrap your bodies around each other. You think to yourself, not for the first time, what a wonderful father he would make. You can picture with ease König's big hands spreading sunscreen over a little boy who has his eyes and your hair.
A goal for next summer, maybe.
===
I dont usually do requests, but I would literally jump off a bridge for @the-californicationist ❤️💕🧡 Thanks for the prompt, Cali!!
Somehow, someway, loser!König manages to not only get a match on Bumble, but also a date. He takes you out to dinner, fumbling and awkward and earnest the whole time (and even manages to limit himself to only four brief glances at your chest), awed by how beautiful and smart and funny you are. You let him walk you home and then hug him goodbye, and he's hard the entire drive back to his flat, convinced he can still feel the soft press of your breasts against his broad chest. He can't sleep, he's so excited and he sends you a string of messages about how wonderful you are, how much fun he had, and how hopeful he is to see you again. But when morning comes and you haven't responded, he starts to worry--did he do something wrong? Did he fail to impress you? Did you see the way he struggled to keep his gaze on your face? What if you never want to see him again?
He sends a preemptive message apologizing for anything he could have done to upset you, then three more reiterating how much he wants to take you out on another date and treat you right. Then he worries that that's too much, so sends a final message trying to play it a little cooler, to act like he's not actively spiraling.
Three hours later, you text him "hiiiii I just woke up! Had so much fun last night, def want to go out again 🥰" and suddenly, it feels like he can breathe for the first time all morning. He scrambles to write a reply, but it comes out incomprehensible, his relief and excitement and fat thumbs leading to a message full of typos. He deletes the whole thing and tries again, forcing himself to go slow as he agonizes over what to say. You were nice enough to ignore his breakdown, and you said you want to see him again--surely, you mean it? If he'd turned you off at all last night or with his dozens of texts since, you'd just block him and be done with it?
As he's trying to figure out what to say, you send another text: "and ur so sweet! 🩷 U didn't do anything wrong, dw lol". His hands stop shaking, the tension leaves his wide shoulders. He blows out a breath that makes his mask flutter outwards. Right, okay. Everything is okay. He just needs to be a little more normal about you--you've only gone on the one date. He shouldn't be this into you already, and yet, he can't stop thinking about you. About your sweet smile, your pretty eyes, your soft skin, your even softer breasts... he wants you so bad, and he's terrified he's going to scare you off.
He's so desperate, he may just even ask Horangi for advice.
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I was sitting here thinking about König and his height and it made me think about how he has to bend down to kiss his partner. Now, depending on the height of his partner, depends on how much he has to bend down and or kneel to kiss them.
Now let’s say his partner his about 5’6 right? Which is about 167cm tall. Now könig, which I would assume is roughly around 6’5ft tall to 6’10ft tall just because I couldn’t find a proper canon height for him, but still incredibly tall and built, his s/o head would be at the middle of his chest just about.
He would have to crane his neck downward and bend his knees a bit so he could properly kiss you due to such a height difference as well as for you to crane your neck upward as well, tip toes if we feel a bit whimsical
Certainly doesn’t have a problem with this at all, in a way I think he rather likes to look down at his partner, in awe of them as they do their thing around his massive frame without a care and when they want a kiss they stand on their top toes with their head craned upward Quietly asking for a simple kiss
But, with the constant leaning downward he does tend to get knots in his neck as well, which leads you to make him sit down and work on his neck. Your fingers undoing the massive knot, working thoroughly through them as you start at the base of his neck slowly working upward (and boy does he hold a lot of tension there too)
König doesn’t mind if you dig into his dresser in search of a shirt either, rather quite likes the idea of you wearing his things, but the shirt itself? Is literally a dress, it hanging down by your knees, possibly hanging off your shoulder if it’s cut or simply stretched out but man does he go feral of you in such a sight. Sleepy, hair a bit wild, just small grunts and head nods to his questions as you slowly wake up, making a beeline for the coffee pot
Likes to hold his hand up to yours to see the size difference of them. Would possibly get small dots (or something similar of the sort) tattooed which would indicate where each of your fingers would go as you held onto his hand or arm
König likes your ass. And he wants to touch it. He doesn't show it, but you notice his gaze every single time. You find yourself wondering when he'll finally place his big palm there and give a gentle squeeze. He always keeps his hands dangerously close, visibly flustered, but never actually on your ass itself.
Sitting together? He’ll put his arm around your waist, his hand almost resting on your hip. Carrying you? He's a gentleman, avoiding any "danger zones". And when he walks past you and you feel like it's the perfect moment for a light spank, he just passes by, letting his eyes drift down for a moment but never making a move.
You were about to tell him to just go for it, but then, during a hug, you feel him dip lower than he should, his hands sliding down. You almost laugh when you finally felt his palms on your butt, because with the height gap, he had to bend down so low it was almost comical. You let out a tiny laugh and hugged him tighter, silently telling him it was okay.
i will write this one day (probably far away but one day)
imagining könig being this desperate obsessive type of man that falls in love with you after seeing you for a few times training recruits
he’s absolutely obsessed, will watch you every day for as long as he can, probably ignores some of the lamer missions he gets assigned, or is more violent during some and risks his team’s safety
ends up kidnapping you and escaping to some small house somewhere, keeps you there until you fall in love with him (it’s stockholm syndrome but shhh)
you’re so deep into it that he doesn’t mind taking you out sometime in the small city next to the isolated house and gets worried when you accidentally leave him alone to grab something
he takes you home immediately, gets so pissed off he starts screaming and throwing things, only stops when he sees you crying and cowering against the wall, at which point his shoulders fall and he slumps to his knees in front of you, hands clutching at your clothes and begging you, voice breaking as he z you to “please don’t leave, stay with me, i can’t breath without you”
Overprotective Konig x Pregnant reader would include:
- Going to store? Yeah, that’s a no go. Konig will do the shopping for now on.
- Tending to your little garden in the front yard? “You put to much pressure on your stomach, leibeling. Let me do it.” Konig will say. You were two months pregnant, you could hardly even see your bump yet.
- Trying to put the crib together? You know just simply putting together light weight pieces of wood together with a screwdriver. Yeah, Konig is taking the screwdriver out of your hand and sliding a book into your hand before ushering you to the couch.
- The one time you stood on the stool to get a glass from the cupboard, you almost gave Konig a heart attack. “Nein! Nein! You will not be getting on there!” Konig loudly spoke as he grabbed your waist and gently placed you down on the floor, “your clumsy enough as it stands, libeling. Last thing I need, is you on a stool. You just come get me, yeah?” He said as he gave you kiss on your forehead.
- Making dinner as you usually did? No, Konig would take care of it. Per his word: “what if you get hurt? I’ll do it.”
- That’s all he said since you’ve been pregnant. “I’ll do it.” You weren’t helpless, you could still do things, but part of you liked that he was so protective of you and your baby. And as your pregnancy progressed you found you were happy sometimes, not having to do anything.
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I haven't watched obsession or anything, but I did see a post with an obsession AU, and it made me think of König.
So, imagine König using a one wish willow to wish for you to love him more than anyone and anything else in the entire world. All is good, and König notices the change instantly. You're always asking to hang out, always popping from around the corner with a bright smile and adoring eyes, following him around like a puppy.
Ah, but then it starts to become too much. He hardly has any time alone because you are always there. It's like you don't even do your own thing anymore. The way you look at him though makes it hard for him to turn you away, for him to say no to you, his sweet spatzi who he's pined for all this time. This is exactly what he wanted... right? For you to never leave him, to love him more than anyone and anything else in the world?
Is it still what he wanted when he starts to notice the small things you neglect, from your duties to personal care and hygiene. You eat less, unless it's with him. Insists he showers with you, "I just wanna be with you, König, please~?" You push off responsibilities, claiming to have the time to do it later and that right now it's just him and you, no need to ruin the mood.
Is it still what he wanted when you start to get possessive over him, getting angry whenever anyone looks his way, smiles, talks to him, or god forbid, tries to hang out with him. You snap at others, snap at him even, asking why he's set on talking to other people, having other people in his life when he has you. You are all he needs, he doesn't need anyone else.
Is it still what he wanted when he's frozen in place, heart racing, fear and panic washing over him as he stares at you. At your feet, the body of a person König smiled at in passing lays, your hands and face caked with their blood. Did he think you wouldn't see that? Did he think he could really get away from you? No. And now you'll be getting rid of anyone who tries to get between you and yours.
He’ll lay your naked body all gentle on his behemoth of a California King sized bed, kissing down your jaw, your neck, and your navel. He’ll kiss and nip at your thighs before pushing your knees to a bend and spreading you open.
Once he sees you all open for him, he’ll lean down and devour you. He’s licking, sucking, and tonguing your rim like there’s no tomorrow. Even if you can’t cum from anal stimulation alone, he’s sure as hell gonna try.
When he gets you open enough around his tongue he’ll grab a bottle of lube from his nightstand and start working you on his fingers.
He’s absolutely obsessed with watching you stretch around his fingers, even more so than his cock. He loves the progression of a knuckle, then a finger, to two, then three, and sometimes four when you let him.
If he could finger you all day, every day, he 100% would.
Once he gets you open around three of this long, thick fingers he’ll start to tease and coo at you if you beg.
“Shhh, mein süßer. I’ve got you. No need to whine.”
“Oh, yes. You’re so good for me. Mhm, so good.”
“Liebling, you’re so tight now. I thought you’d be used to it after all the fingers I’ve got you on.”
After a bit of begging he’ll relent and sit up to pour lube on his cock.
“Are you all ready for me? Hmm, liebling?” He’ll murmur against your throat before pressing his tip to your rim.
Before he presses in he’ll smooth his hands from the bottom of your ass to the crease of your knees and press them against your chest. As he pushes his thick dick into you he’ll kiss up your neck to your lips, moaning into your mouth once he bottoms out.
He thrusts into you like a jackhammer jut to feel your body rocking against his and suck on your nipples to keep you tight around him.
When he’s close he’ll bottom out and grind until he orgasms. He has to be as close as humanly possible to you in order to come.
And when he does come it’s a lot. It just keeps pulsing out of him and into you as he grinds himself through it.
Once he settles down he’ll pull out oh so gently before sliding down the bed, big hands cushioning your legs as they fall to the mattress. He’ll admire the mess he made of you before going back in with his tongue.
“Gotta clean you up, mein süßer. It’s only polite.”
And so the cycle begins, because eating your ass will only make him hard again.
