R18/Guro warning

you look up. the musk of others mixed with the cloying scent of spun sugar. around you, there was quite a lot of people. a crowd… watching. watching the aerialist stand upon a platform. their mouth gaped in absolute sheer delight. their eyes reflected the nauseating spectacle of what was like an angel above all. you sat there on the hard seat. your knuckles were white. clenched tightly on your lap. you couldn’t help but stared at her. the aerialist. watching as the woman was using silks. dyed in crimson red. the show had barely started and somehow you can see, or perhaps you knew that she was a professional. with the precise controlled movements that… showed decades of practice. you can see how she took in a deep breath. inhale and exhale in a gentle rhythm that felt devastating like a mirror of someone you knew so long ago... 

then the soft chiming of a music box. distant but it halted the loud whispering amongst the crowd. ❝ once, in a court where laughter was currency and sorrow was a sin. they had called the fool… the mocking bird… and i was the starlight ❞ she finally spoke. her voice though gentle, calm… so wistful… it was loud. running chills down your spine. just as a fool dressed in patchwork of colours tumbled in. the jittering spotlight found the fool. they were in a garish patchwork motley. the fool had a permanent smile on his face. ❝ a little bird in a gilded cage ❞ her voice rang out. her fingers ran along the silks. ❝ he was the ringmaster ❞ and somehow that word made you wince. ❝ i was the silent one in feathers… the beauty… the wings in the air, he’d say. the tragedy on the ground ❞ she frowned. her body moved along the silks. tightening around her body. watching her as her body arcs so beautifully… turning pain into perfect elegant shapes. before her gaze immediately darted towards the audience. ❝ and the people loved it ❞ before she immediately reached out towards a tarnished hoop. her fingers traced the curve of the hoop. 

❝ he didn’t need me in chains. he found me when i was broken and built a cage around me and called it a stage ❞ she reached and unravelled herself from the silks. ❝ and every night, i will follow his musings, sing to his design… fly to his patterns… my body was not in my mind anymore… it was a puppet for his to control ❞ gripping the hoop tightly. her knuckles were white on the hoop. she did not get into the hoop. still suspended in silks like it was what was safe. ❝ and he spoke. talked to them about me. ❛ look at her ❜  he would sigh. ❛ so fragile, like she will snap in a breeze… ❜ and the audience laughed. was it nervousness in their tone or those watching a bird that could not fly freely ❞ she spun the hoop slowly. the fool gestured towards her, making mocking shakes of the shoulder. before her eyes snapped back on the hoop. watching it spin with a calculative eye. ❝ and then he pulled a mirror ❞ as the fool raised an ornate. facing it towards her. ❝ something that was a warped filthy thing… hold it up to me ❞ the painted grin never left the fool’s face. 

❝ ❛ see yourself, little starling! see how you look ❜ he preened. showing a pale hollow thing… is that myself? moving in that distorted glass? ❞ she hung down the silk, swaying slowly. the silk twists around her limbs like snakes that were tightening its prey. ❝ and this was his masterpiece. his pièce de résistance. he didn’t just control me… he made me an audience to my own captivity. watching the slow dwindling light in my eyes each and every time. he made me hate the thing i became in the air ❞ she whispered. her voice broke. it crack like tugged in your heartstrings. you didn’t like how this story was. it truly felt like a mirror raised to your eyes. showing you the memory of the cruelty that had befallen your friends. ❝ and i believed him… that his voice… that mocking yet honeyed poison was the only truth in the world. that i deserve the cage. that i was the broken thing ❞ she hung limply. like the fight had truly left her body. even when the silks restraint her body. representing the cage. trapped in repetition. climbing. catching herself. swinging. again and again. it became somewhat like a beautiful cage. 

you clutched your fist. feeling your nails dig into your palm. your eyes clenched tightly and head hung low, like you wanted the story to end already. ❝ then… a new bird came ❞ you immediately opened your eyes. your head darted upwards. when the sound of a light flickers on. a fool dressed in complete white, swung in silks itself. ❝ a dove. a white little thing. it must have flown through the cracks ❞ it slowly moved. frantic. panicked even among the silks. but columbina’s voice was of a fondness for hope. even when she spoke of it being panicked. ❝ it was lost. fluttering against the lights… but the mockingbird saw it. of course he did ❞ her tone changed, sneered. watching the patch-work fool gestures to the white fool. ❝ ❛ look! ❜ he had crowed. ❛ even the vermin wants a taste of the spotlight ❜ he laughed. swatting at it ❞ her hands clenched onto the ropes. watching as the mockingbird showed a big theatrical swipe towards the dove. which made the audience gasp. 

❝ and this small… this foolish… terrified bird ❞ columbina’s words felt sad like she was describing someone she held dear that made your heart sink. realising this was an act, she quickly tried to wipe any tear that tried to spill. ❝ it turned on him. it didn’t flee… ❞ columbina took in a deep breath, god, she wished it did. ❝ it dove and became a feathered ball of pure rage… a dove? acting in such a manner… ❞ watching as the dove, the white fool acted. thrashing around. no coordination in the fight. it just fought. and you couldn’t help but feel something with each word. each passing strike. and just like that, you watched the mockingbird, the patchwork fool yelped. batting the air with the white fool. ❝ and all i can do was watch. trapped in my own making ❞ her voice wavered. ❝ i watched this creature so small… contained… show its claws ❞

though perhaps the element of horror truly snapped into action. as the patchwork fool slammed the white fool down. the white fool fell from its silks. broken on the ground. which made your stomach lurch. ❝ the mockingbird… got rid of the dove. completely flustered. and watching that dove… something in me just snapped… not in the way you would think. it wasn't breaking. it felt like an unlocking of some sort ❞ she whispered. as she reached towards the dove that did not move. her breath hitched. watching as the patchwork fool turned to click his fingers. ❝ snapping his fingers at me… a command to descend… and i did ❞ she whispered. she let go of the silks. grasping onto the hoop. practically descending down into a fall. just a few feet. the metal and the entire rig screeched. ❝ oh, he had never truly shown me that birds could have claws ❞ she spoke with emotion. 

the mockingbird who had tried to recover being flustered, noted how she, the starling was different. ❝ he was startled. he tried to command. he tried to do anything… and then i saw real fear then… not the staged fear of a fool… but the cold fear of a man watching what he had built crumble and burn. so for one last show, they both danced. where the starling was in command and he… now the fool that follows the orders ❞ she grasped a loose silk. her movements were sharper. it circled around him. ribbons wrapped around the panicked fool. and the real horror show began. she moved in the air. she inverted and the man contorted. she pun in the hoop with ease. and he spiralled in madness. it was a duet. where she was the graceful bird… while now he was the one confined. the one now trapped. the one who was following her command. she pulled the hoop down. her feet mere inches down the ground. but the fool was slung upwards. one tug. the body of the fool contorted, twisted… the sound of something breaking and shattering was masked by the music box playing its final notes. 

she stepped down the hoop. giving the hoop one last, gentle push. it swings silently in the silence. before it was pulled up to the high rigs above. and watched as the silks that were suspended fell down with a splat. watching the patchwork fool broken… on the ground. ❝ and so the end of this tale. the mockingbird made death his final performance and taught the starling how to bow in an audience ❞ she finally declared. her arms stretched out. as the other fools pulled the two figures.. all fake, right? stunt doubles or perhaps just sacks that represent fools… you couldn’t be sure. just as the applause had roared around you. hooting and hollering.. but you felt like you just watched a murder. you glanced at your friend and seemed a little startled. ❝ that… that was quite a unique show ❞ your friend had uttered. laughing nervously as they clapped. but your hands rested on your lap. clenched. the people behind you laughed into her friend’s shoulder calling it extremely realistic. someone else was already asking for an encore… you watched her. her chest rising rapidly in exertion. dazzling under the stage lights. 

but you knew. god you knew… because you had heard the sound. the supposed orchestrated crunch. the sound of something wet. your own hands trembled violently. fingers numb and cold. every cheer from the audience, every clap…. it landed like a deep sickening blow in your chest. you wanted to shout at the crowd. in the audience. that was a real person. those were real people. that someone had to stop this. but the words stayed lodged in your throat. wondering how… how did no one seem to see. seeing the grotesque display that had your heart hammering. your breathing rushing out in puffs. it was too realistic to be fake… and if your memory served you right… the things you did were as accurate to an actual murdering… then you… everyone here had just witnessed a murder right in front of their eyes and no one knew. 

then when your eyes met with hers. you couldn't help it tense up a bit. you truly felt like you knew those eyes… but you immediately turned your head away from her gaze. your breath ragged. this was getting too much…

——————————————————————————

just right after the show. both of you guys sat on a bench. your head hung long as your friend was slowly rubbing your back. you got sick. viscerally sick. your hand was grasping a palm stone. ❝ it is okay ❞ your friend tried to reassure you. but you simply felt trapped. the reassurance from your friend felt hollow. whether you truly had witnessed something or that your mind was truly still healing in its own fucked up way… you wondered if you had made a mountain out of a mole hill. but you felt everything. the feeling was real. the dread was real. all you could do was replay what had happened. the story that hurt you in more ways that you can explain… the audience had laughed, clapped…. asked for an encore. everything felt wrong. the two fools. they were not acting. it was scripted but in a way that it was scripted to be a part of the show. and your friend turned towards you. their expression was steady in a way that should feel comforting. even when you knew they were being calm without being dismissive. and you just hoped that was the case. that everything can be okay… but in the back of your mind, it was like it was a paused image… frozen on the two crumbled bodies… 

taking in a deep breath. ❝ how about we go to a less… stimulating tent? ❞ your friend asked. already had asked around in hopes to find something that wasn’t so physically taxing. you were silent. your hands clasped together around the stone that was slowly warming up. ❝ what… what are the other tents about? ❞ you finally asked. finally peering up. with a shaky breath. you were practically hoping for something tame. something that won’t cause you queasy, or projectile vomit. your friend couldn’t help but press their lips together. deep in thought. almost like trying to consider what to tell you. ❝ well… maybe the red tent is a little intense. it is ground acts, you know. like acrobatics… knife throwing ❞ which immediately earned a shake of the head. ❝ too violent ❞ you answered quick. ❝ the green tent is storytelling! puppetry! ❞ your friend suggested which you answered with a hummed, maybe. ❝ the blue tent is a mirror maze ❞ your friend added which you considered. but you were not in the right mental space… ❝ the cyan tent is an immersive attraction! you sign a waiver and have some plague doctor check up on you ❞ they tilted their head. making you gulped. ❝ and the purple tent… is a little theatrical. they use the fools as actors and there is a narrator ❞ they muttered. 

and all you can feel was this sickening feeling. even water wasn’t helping you. but you paid good money to attend these attractions. it was only fair to attend every single tent. though those tents… that white and black one… it made you curious. and yes, ❛ curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back ❜ but that saying would be meaningless if you actually died due to your curiosity. but you can just ask. ❝ what about the white and black one? ❞ you asked. your friend couldn’t help but think. trying to remember the quick eavesdropping to conversations. ❝ the both of them are off limits ❞ they answered to your question. ❝ the black one, there is sometimes a line… but perhaps it’s for workers? ❞ they added quickly. and somehow you couldn’t even think properly. letting out a shaky breath. ❝ why… why don’t you choose? ❞ you asked with a wary smile. 

what is the next tent that would haunt you whenever you closed your damned eyes…

from a distance, dressed impeccably. ticket taker’s eyes narrowed. watching you. quietly. both eyes watched your every movement. how you were rubbing upon that polished stone. rose quartz. how peculiar. however, nothing sticking out. there were humans that were interested in gemstones. ticket taker stood perfectly still. he saw the way your hands shook. saw how your breath had came out shallow and quick… and ticket taker understood… the human had seen things… seen the truth behind the scenes.. he could see that you had grasped what what happened during the performance. the fact he could sense a presence behind him. ❝ report, bil ❞ jester’s voice felt like a mist that almost pulsated in the air. ticket taker was not startled by the sudden presence of their leader. he had felt jester had been approaching for some time. he turned. unhurried. seeing the one clad in purple before inclined his head.

❝ the audience satisfaction was high… however, some humans had attempted to prowl into the black tents… they have been attended to. they were quite a stealthy bunch ❞ ticket taker had reported. nothing out of the usual. ❝ however… one of the white ticket holders… we are unable to obtain them due to a companion disruption ❞ he added. jester had said nothing. the silence had stretched between the two. heavy… expectant. ticket taker glanced over to the direction of the two. you and the white ticket holder that was swindled beneath his gaze. ❝ is that them? ❞ jester asked. he recognised the barista. all their targets were well documented. they always made sure to keep an eye. to research and make it so that they wouldn’t warrant any major attention to the public, to the law. but he did not recognise you. his eyes were cold. calculating. while ticket taker took a moment to consider what he would say next. 

you were like a rabbit that was realising you were in the middle of a den of wolves. he didn’t know what he was looking at. and that was a first. it felt cloudy in a mind that was usually so neat. most humans never got that far with their performances. they saw the performances and expected what they saw in a circus that was advertised as the freak circus of horrors. they would clap. they would roar. humans with their strange interest in horror… in crimes… ❝ they are beginning to perceive ❞ ticket taker said. there was a genuine note interest in his voice. which jester hum in shock at their old friend was interested in a little thing like you. ❝ not the full picture… no… not yet… they know something is wrong in that tent with bina… they know it wasn’t just a show ❞ ticket taker answered. jester shifted, his clawed fingers finding comfort in his hair. a brush between his thumb and his index finger. an instinctual habit that had stemmed back then. 

❝ do you believe they can be tuned… controlled? ❞ jester’s tone was cold and clinical. ticket taker was quiet. glancing over at you. some humans' minds shatter and come apart like wet paper. some were hard to sway. ❝ perhaps ❞ he answered. ❝ they are perceptive… and very… aware of danger. ❞ the silence that followed between the two was much different. like a silence that jester was considering. possibly approving. a silence of slight satisfaction. ❝ see to it, bil ❞ jester slowly receded back to his tent. preparing for his performance. the performance for the end of the night.

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Previous Chapter

Chapter Six

König ran through the grocery store like a madman. Ignoring the scared looks of the other shoppers. He had to stock up on supplies for your heat. He needed paper towels, a variety of foods, extra towels, and omega pain medications. König would be lying if he said he was upset your heat came early, but the panic set in immediately as neither of you were ready for it. He busted through the apartment door and set the bags down on the table. He briskly walked to your room and opened the door slowly. You were asleep in your nest but not peacefully. Your breathing was labored and quick. You had sweat on your forehead; it released pheromones that made König weak in the knees.

König closed the door gently, making sure not to wake you. He went to his room and changed into a pair of sweatpants. He opted for no shirt, considering he would get very sweaty in your nest. He brought the extra supplies into your room, setting them down neatly for when they're needed. He knelt down beside your nest and caressed your face, wiping away any sweat around your brow.

“Schatz....” He woke you gently.

The gentle light of the morning forced you to rub your eyes as you woke up. You whined softly, feeling the cramps of your heat. When you opened your eyes, you were met with your Alpha's brilliant blue ones. Your inner omega immediately started making demands.

'Alpha! Mate with Alpha. Mate Mate Mate!' Your head was reeling.

You knew König was talking to you, but it was hard for you to focus on his voice. You shook your head trying to get the fog to leave and hopefully shut your omega up a bit.

“Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?” König said. He offered his hand for you to take.

You nodded and crawled out of your nest, using his hand as leverage. You didn't completely trust your legs not to give out. König saw your wobbly knees and swiftly picked you up. You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in the crook of his neck, taking deep breaths of his sweet, comforting scent. König sat you down on the edge of the tub and turned on the shower. You still had makeup on from the previous night. Once the temperature was to König's liking, he started stripping you. Even though you knew it was just for a shower, your wetness started to drip down your thighs.

König chuckled at your dazed state. You looked at him with such lust and adoration. After you were undressed, König shed his sweatpants and helped you into the shower. As soon as the water hit you, your muscles relaxed. The cramps eased up little by little. König got in as well, making sure to keep you under the stream of water. He caressed your bare skin, making sure to saturate your entire body. You moaned and sighed at his touch, absentmindedly touching his chest. König rested his forehead against yours, savoring the steamy water.

“Feeling better?” He asked quietly.

“The water helps.” You say breathlessly. König grunts in response.

“Have you had your heat before?”

“Yes, but it wasn't this bad.” You said.

“Did you have someone to help you?” König asked quizzically. You shake your head.

“Would you like me to help you?”

“Please! I mean...uh, yes. I really would like that.” You stumble over your words.

Without another word, König lifts you up, pinning you against the shower wall. He parted your legs with ease, slotting his hips in between them. You can feel yourself get soaked immediately. König kissed and suckled at your neck, leaving small love bites near your scent glands. Your heat started to take over. You whimpered and moaned, grinding into his hips trying to find a little bit of friction. König caught your mouth in a hard kiss; he swirled his tongue against yours feverishly. Water and your slick pooled at the bottom of the tub. König inched his hand down and in between your legs. He made gentle circles around your clit; you shivered and moaned at his touch. König slipped his finger into it, curling it deliciously. You held onto him tightly as your body twitched and writhed.

“Let go, pretty girl.” König says softly.

Just as he says that he uses his thumb to rub your clit firmly as he curls his finger inside you. The orgasm came like a tidal wave. You moaned loudly, your legs shaking as he continued to rub, drawing out your orgasm longer. Your vision went fuzzy, and your muscles tensed. You've never came so fast in your life. König held onto you with a small smirk. You tried to catch your breath as you came to. You barely remembered the rest of the bath, too high from your orgasm. König turned the water off and stepped out of the bath. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your body while guiding you out of the tub. You shivered slightly as the cold air enveloped you. König wrapped his own towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. He placed his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your room. You sat on the edge of your nest, too dazed to pay attention to most things.

“Would you like to put on clothes, Liebe?” König asked.

You shook your head. You were too sweaty to wear clothes. You crawled into your nest with the towel still around you. König tutted at you.

“You’re going to make your nest wet.”

“Mrrphhh,” you responded, snuggling into the blankets. He chuckled and tucked you in, leaving you to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You jolted awake, a migraine already festering in your head. You were warm, very warm. You slid out of your nest and ripped off the towel you had on. It was dark outside; you had no idea what time it was. You left your room and padded to the kitchen in search of something you could stomach. You didn’t notice König on the couch reading. You rummaged through the fridge like a wild animal. You found some salami and ripped the package open, stuffing a few in your mouth. König watched you with amusement in his eyes. His omega, in heat, naked, stuffing food in her mouth—you couldn’t get more perfect in his eyes. He cleared his throat, making his presence known. You jumped slightly.

“Oh, Alpha! Um, I was hungry.” You said sheepishly, trying to hide your nakedness behind the fridge door.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” König got up from the couch and walked toward you.

“I didn’t know if you were asleep or not.” You looked down a little embarrassed at his gawking.

“It doesn't matter if I’m asleep; I take care of you.” He raised your chin up and pecked your lips.

You clenched your legs together; your heat made any attention from König hot and heavy, and he knew it. He pulled you away from the fridge by your waist and closed the fridge.

“You go lay down; I will bring you food.” He said.

“But Alpha, you aren’t that good at cooking...”

He growled lowly. “Go.”

You scurried off to your room without another protest with your pack of salami. You were pretty content in your nest, munching on your snack, when König strolled in with a plate and a glass of water in hand. On the plate was a sandwich, a very nice-looking sandwich.

“You made this?” You asked.

“Mhmm.”

The sandwich had ingredients you knew weren't in the refrigerator.

“How did you make this?”

“I can make a sandwich,” he said defensively.

“You brought it, didn’t you?” You smirked.

“...yes.”

You thanked him and started eating. König left you to eat in peace. Your migraine faded away as you ate and drank. As your strength returned, so did your heat. The burning in your lower abdomen was intense, but you managed to keep it under control. After you finished eating, you dug yourself deeper into your nest. You tried to calm your urges, but you knew what you needed. You felt bad asking König to help you. You didn’t want to burden him, especially since he hasn’t marked you yet. As much as you hated to admit it, you felt insecure about it. What if he didn’t want to commit to you like that? You whined softly at the thought. Your temperature climbed steadily, and your heat returned at full force. All you could do was breathe and whine, the cramps becoming more unbearable. You tried to go back to sleep to avoid it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

König smelled you before he heard you. He should help you...he wants to help you desperately. But he also wants to make sure you're comfortable with it. He’s doing everything he is supposed to do: feed the omega, comfort the omega, and help her when she asks. But those noises... Down the hall, you are in agony. Being so close to an alpha, your alpha. It’s driving you crazy. You didn’t even realize how loud you were. Your hand drifted under the waistband of your panties, just to relieve some tension. Your fingers worked tirelessly, but they felt like feathers in comparison to Konig’s. A steady mix of moans and whines left your lips, calling out to your alpha. The frustrated noises made the alpha grip the couch arm tightly. He shouldn’t...

“I can’t...not without—”

“Nnnghh....König...”

“...Fuck...”

You couldn’t help it. Your heat wants him. Normally, König walks quietly through the apartment, mindful like on the battlefield. The large man stomps down the hall, too distracted to care about how much noise he is making. You heard him through your desperate mewling and lifted your head to peek over the blanket. König stands in the doorway, his shoulders rising and falling as he huffs the air in the room. He can’t get enough of that scent. Sweet but not overly so, spicy but warming. You both stared at each other for a moment. Neither one of you move without permission from the other. You sit up slowly, your breathing labored.

“Schatz...”

“Come...please, Alpha...”

König moved on command, closing the door behind him. You looked up at him, already feeling some relief from his presence alone. He takes his hood off slowly, revealing his rugged face. You have to hold back a moan as you gaze up at him. He kneels at the edge of the nest, still searching for permission. You move closer; for a moment you think about just pulling him down into the nest, but a bigger part of you takes over. You slip out from under the covers, still nude from the shower earlier. You turn around, getting on your hands and knees, poking your ass towards the large man. König’s breath hitched as your plump ass raised into presenting position. You let your head rest on the blankets while glancing back at him. König brings a fist to his mouth, biting down on his knuckle. It is taking every ounce of strength he has not to ravage you. He needs to take this slow; your first heat with him is important; he has to make it special. But, boy, are you making it difficult. König rests both of his hands on your hips, squeezing the flesh under his fingers for a moment.

“Are...you sur—” König is interrupted by his impatient omega.

“Yes! I already said yes, just fuck me! Please!”

König startled slightly at the annoyed tone from his omega, but it quickly dissolved into lustful happiness. He knows he is being a little too careful; he knows that they have had sex already before, but he can never be too careful with his omega. You, on the other hand, were already tugging at his pant leg, silently telling him to strip. The alpha obliged, making quick work of his belt and pants. He lifted his shirt up and off in one smooth motion. His hands wandered down your back, soothing the burning sensation just beneath the surface. You sighed, arching into his touch. Your hips hinged back, bumping König’s enthusiastically. His hard-on poked through your legs, slipping through your slicked pussy lips. You groaned, melting at the feeling. You sink deeper into the nest below, fully presenting yourself to him. König used one hand to hold the base of his cock and the other to steady your hips. He forces himself to go slow, not wanting to hurt you with his size, though you wouldn’t care too much anyway. The alpha slides his tip around your entrance, coating it in slick while simultaneously drawing more from you.

“So wet...this is all for me, Schatz?”

“Mhmm...please...please, Alpha, all yours...huunngh...”

The cramps are amplified in response to his ministrations. König can feel his knot starting to swell before he’s even inside you. He has never been this horny in his life. But then again, he’s never had an omega begging and mewling for him like this either. Let alone his perfect omega. König slowly slips the tip of his cock inside you, drawing moans from both your lips. You, being the impatient omega you are, open your legs a bit further and sink your hips back onto his cock. Another thick inch sheathed inside you. You let out a high-pitched groan, your legs shaking from the stimulation. König hissed, holding your hips tightly to keep you from doing that again.

“Calm down, omega...you are going to...hurt yourself...”

“Shut...up...fuck me...”

“Mmhm...Yes, my love...”

König shouldn’t deprive his omega of what she wants. But truthfully, he just wants to last longer than he knows he will. Slowly, König pushes himself inside her. As their hips get closer, his body drapes over hers until his front rests on her back. His pointed Germanic nose brushes along the back of your ear, making you shiver. His mouth finds your scent glands, kissing and licking them gently. You want him to mark you, claim you right here and now. You don’t get much further in the thought as the alpha begins to thrust. They are tentative at first, shallow and gentle. Making sure you are truly ready for him. Once your slick starts dripping down his thighs, he picks up the pace. His thrusts are a slow staccato rhythm, but they are hard. König uses his weight to fuel his thrusts, lazily letting his hips slam down on the poor omega beneath him. He knows she likes it, judging by the moaning, screaming mess under him.

“Oh my—!...Fuuuuckk....AH! ALPHA!!!” You whine wantonly.

“You take me so well.... You want my knot, little omega? ... Answer me...”

“Yes! Please...Knot...Oh god...KNOT ME!”

König couldn’t help but smile as he pounded his little heat-ridden omega into the mattress. Normally, this would be embarrassing for you, but right now, his cock is the only thing that feels right. The alpha’s hand slips up your hip and torso to reach your head. His large hand grips your jaw gently, tugging your head back. Your back arches into him involuntarily until your vision goes sparkly. The tip of his cock nudges your cervix hard, making you grit your teeth. The slight pain only amplified the intense pleasure. König feels his knot inflating, but he holds back, determined to make this last a little longer. The alpha huffs heavily in your ear. Slowly, your eyes open wet with pleasurable tears as they meet his. König’s baby blue eyes are dark with lust. He stares straight into yours. You almost cum on the spot as he growls at you, baring his teeth. The animalistic rumble vibrating through your chest. Your omega responds in turn, purring loudly. The feeling scares you at first; you have never purred for anyone before. König hears it too and urgently locks his knot inside the shuttering omega.

“AHHAH....shit fuck....nnugh...”

König twitched, groaning and growling deeply as his knot inflated to its full size. You whine, unable to hold yourself up anymore. The alpha gathers you in his arms, letting both of you fall into the soft cocoon of her nest. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you protectively. Your purring never ceased. It lulled you both into deep relaxation. His hot pulses pump you full of his seed. Your mind clears up slightly from the heat-addled state it was in before.

“König...we didn’t use protection...” Your voice was hushed but not remorseful.

“...So?”

“So...”

“I want four pups.”

“Four?! That’s too many.”

“Ok...three?”

“Ugh...”

König smiles, nuzzling into your neck affectionally. He knows he will convince you to have as many pups as he wants. Especially if your heats are this intense. You pout but don’t protest, too tired to fight him on the number of children you will have. You fall asleep quickly and without a care in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the night becomes a routine. You wake up, whine for König to fuck you again, sleep, and repeat. The poor alpha doesn’t know if he has any more to give come morning. Luckily, you are asleep most of the morning. Ever so quietly, König grabs his phone off the floor. He orders some breakfast for delivery so you have food when you wake up. He stays with you until the order arrives on the doorstep. You whine as his warmth leaves your nest. It wakes you slightly, but the haze of your heat keeps you bedbound. As König retrieves the food, he sighs heavily. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow absentmindedly. It’s a little worm in here. The alpha turns down the thermostat in the kitchen to cool the house down. He doesn’t think much of it as he brings his omega the food in her nest. You lift your head up slowly, watching the alpha plop down on your shared nest.

“König...you smell good...”

“Ja? Thank you.” König is happy that you like how he smells.

“Not just...like normal. You smell strong...”

Like, assaulting the senses strongly. You can feel the slick pooling between your legs the more he stays next to you. The omega leans closer to him, their nose twitching as they scent the alpha.

“Are you...in rut?” You ask slightly concerned.

“Rut? No. No, I haven’t had one since I was a teen...”

König is well overdue for his rut. His body just never felt safe enough to allow it. But now...König can feel the sweat accumulating on his skin. The vaguely familiar ache he had as a young teenager was now back like déjà vu. The alpha swallows nervously.

“I, uh...feel...”

“Does this mean you’ll claim me?” You ask a little too eagerly.

“I...I didn’t want to bite without your clear permission, Schatz.”

“Please do...” You bat your eyelashes at him, pouting softly.

“Ah...don’t look at me like that...”

You giggle as he leans over, kissing you. König growls against your lips, feeling his rut coming on fast and hard. Your inner omega is squealing with joy. The alpha lays you back, eager to take you once again. The food rests next to the nest, untouched for now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: I hope I got everyone, once again

@that-fangirl-1106 @itsryuken

@midwesternwitchery @hiken-no-stark  @rouge-swears

@gxdsmonsters

@the-chaotic-cow @a-gay-cryptid @smutslutsposts @wybwtjmiadz

@somanyminidragons 

@tizylish @thychuvaluswife

@luvamps @ghostslittlegf @justkillme2005

@fishballgr3mlin @mitrr  @simpytheshrimpy69 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @sweet-can-of-beer @immajustlikeok @dinonacho

@undeadgod  @multy-fandom-lover @cloudyyjanee  @bobafett-tea @mxkaylaj @evilcherries

@warrior-of-justice

@banshee-darling @beebeechaos @lolitsthings @backgroundgirl887 @jayhoneybeecomb @flooftoof @virginalsacrifice @magicleopard69 @johfaam @warrior-of-justice @jesses-wonderland

@zalyluvvs @backgroundgirl887 @beebeechaos @bitchoftoji @urfavsunkissedleo @emmbny @capricorn-anon @sigthechild @justkillme2005 @ghostslittlegf @fieldsofbats @magicleopard69 @cassiecasluciluce @kenz-ee @mysticfire0435 @floralarcher

@littlefairybrooke

@cringeycookies

@cptg00s3@sarah-l-whiteman

@danielle143

@weaniebeaniebaby

@methamphetacheese

@starthewolf-146

@koko-1025

@evolutionarry

@svnh6021

@leahnicole1219

@samthequeer81

@kingbob09

König felt his heart jump out of his chest the moment he processed what you said. It took him a solid minute, and he glared at you in a way that made the hairs in your nape spike, your hands sweat, and your sense of self-preservation awake. He wasn't speaking, he rarely did, and when he did, you could tell he wasn't saying anything, really. You didn't know where he lived, what was his specific rank or job in the military, and you could only tell by his accent that he was foreign; But when he looked at you like that, you could tell he was saying something, he was asking you to tell the truth.

So you nodded and repeated yourself, this time with less of a shake in your voice, but the same or even more insecurity. "I, I did not mean to hurt you, or..." you trailed off, and he raised an eyebrow, letting you continue, you didn't really have any other words for him.

"I liked- like you, and I just, I thought... I wanted to take you home." You confessed, with enough shame that he didn't think you were actually that wrong in the head to be unaware of how trying to drug and kidnap someone was not ordinary courting behavior.

Then he spent another twenty seconds staring down at you, though you would have sworn it had been at least an hour. When he finished, he grabbed you by the waist, staying silent still. You could feel he was more relaxed, but you only asked where he was leading you around 7 minutes into the walk.

"Home." He answered, in an almost cheery tone. You said something about your apartment being the other way, and he shook his head. "No, not yours. My haus." He then affirmed.

You felt that tingle again, that thing run down your spine, a mix of excitement and genuine worry. But he had his hand on the small of your back, and all you could focus on was the smell of his cologne making you dizzy. You had never been so close to him for so long.

Once you came near the door of a frankly beautiful place, you unconsciously gave a confused "hum." Surely this could not be the place of a single, thirty... (maybe even fourty? You did not know him that well) something, it was a family home with a second place and a cute "Welcome" mat with nice typography. But before you could think of it too much, he pulled out keys, opened the door, and swooped you off your feet. Your stiff form felt like falling at the sudden movement, but your stomach turned pleasantly when you looked into his cerulean blue eyes. He was carrying you through the threshold in a gesture that meant something far more sinister than you had thought at the moment, with your heart beating so fast you could feel it just beneath your clothes.

You didn't register the house, only the sound of him kicking the front door to close it; too lost in whatever traces of his face you could see under his hood. You felt yourself being dropped into a plushy surface, a mattress. Just like he did when he carried you, he didn't give you time to think of anything before he lifted half of his hood to steal the breath from your lungs. He was eager and sloppy, you were tense but slowly melting. You began licking his teeth clumsily, it was too much too fast, but who were you to deny the man you obsessed over, the man you had so unhealthily chased, the man you dreamt of touching, of being touched by, of doing just this.

König could have lead the kiss to be less bestial, but far from it, he crashed your teeth together, nipped at your lower lip and exchanged spit with you. He would have liked to be more romantic, but he was already too excited, too needy for you. He could only think of your soft moaning when you were touching yourself, your guilty puppy eyes as you confessed your feelings, a scenario that would have had any man calling the cops, a scenario that had König bringing you home.

His hands were still for the long time of two seconds before starting to wander all over you, he couldn't contain himself, he could touch you now, and he was too indecisive over where to explore first!

You felt his strong hand squeezing your waist and then your thighs, then on your ribs, way too close to your breasts, then shamelessly squeezing the soft flesh of your right teat, massaging it and quickly maneuvering you on top of him and laying his head on the pillows.

You let him kiss you until he decided it was over, but you started running out of air and realized you'd pass out before the best part if you did, so you tapped his bicep three times with your palm and he let you go. His hood was fully off now. His nose was broken, his hair was a dirty blonde, and his cheeks had sun spots and a few freckles, he looked like he had never used sunscreen in his life, and he was cleanly shaven. His lips were plush and now swollen and covered in the shiny mix of his and your saliva. He was beautiful.

As you tried to catch your breath, he made quick work of your blouse first, then lifted you to take your jeans off. You had never been as turned on as you were with his manhandling, it would have been almost shameful if you cared about anything concerning decency at the moment. Your experience was... limited, mostly due to the way you expressed your interest before, similarly to how you did with König, though with much more unfortunate results.

You felt his erection beneath you, it was way too evident, and it made you shiver, you ground down on it almost on instinct, and he groaned. König's voice was not as deep as his imposing stature suggested, but that raspy sound was divine, you needed more of it.

König couldn't stop his hands before they were turning your bra to rags and pushed your panties aside to press the pad of his fingers against you moist pussy. It was hot and slick, ready. You were just perfect, weren't you? He thought. Your hands found the buttons of his pants. Yes, yes, you were perfect.

Without wasting time, his fingers circled your clit and made you gasp and shudder, König continued playing with you even as you moved your hips around to get him to finally put them inside. And god, he growled again. "Come onn," you whined as he continued depriving you; he murmured something in german, and the tone alone was erotic enough to get you to settle down, not for long though.

Your hands were shamelessly pawing at his stiff cock, making a mess in the grey boxers, it made you smile. He snapped once you squeezed too hard, and as quickly as he had made you straddle him, you found yourself beneath him, with him spreading your legs to get in between your knees and take off his shirt. His pants were still at his knees, you noted, but they were loose enough to move without trouble, he had not even taken his shoes off. "Liebchen..." he murmured, looking you in the eyes. You would have kept gazing into his beautiful pupils if you hadn't been distracted by his equally gorgeous (and quite large) cock being pulled off of his boxers. You licked your lips at the same time a little voice in your head told you that this was how were dying: impaled.

He reached for a bottle of lubricant, and the fact that it was so at hands-reach made you question if he did this often, the thought made your stomach churn, and not with butterflies, it was something worse, something like maggots...

Though you had little time to keep seething over the thought when you heard the lewd noise of the bottle being squeezed out and splattering lubricant all over his length, he stroked himself with fast breath as he stared down at your naked form, he was like a mighty titan looking down to you, both fascinated and starved.

He pulled down your panties and started nipping at your collarbone, one of his hands was at your hip and another on his own member as he lined up to push into you. You assumed he'd wait, he'd ask, but he just split you slowly, painfully as he whined "Tut mir leid, bitte, tut mir leid, liebe.." His words were slurred and hardly heard over your moans. He was thankfully more gentle than he had been with the first entrance. He kissed you all over your face and neck, and rested his sweaty forehead over yours as he started to move once you squirmed needfully. He never pulled all the way back. König just rocked his hips, driving into you with short, fast thrusts that made your toes curl and cervix hurt in a way you never knew you could like. It was a no brainer he'd be big, but you never once thought how something that large would feel in real life.

He lasted around three minutes before he was whimpering again, with his hands gripping your hips to a bruising extent, he spilled inside you, and you felt yourself coming as well once the creamy, hot spurts started to shoot from his tip.

You stayed tangled, sticky with sweat and fluids for an unknown amount if time before he was speaking. You expected the post nut clarity to hit him, but he kept saying he loved you and other things you weren't knowledgeable enough in german to understand. He was hardening again, and you understood it would be a while before he got everything out of system.

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

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

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

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

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

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

so, you signed up for solo lessons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

instead you got könig.

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

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

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

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

and then he spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

the whole thing went… surprisingly well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you: rip. gone and forgotten.

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

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

“the internet.”

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

“…the bad part.”

“be more specific.”

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

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

“…conspiracy theories.”

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

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

“A CHILD IN CONSPIRACY FORUMS?”

“it was not like that!!”

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

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

“oh my god, you were a cryptid kid.”

“nein!!”

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

“…yes.”

“jesus christ.”

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

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

“they were very passionate.”

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

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

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

“is it slander if it’s true?”

“YES.”

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

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

and then, selfies.

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

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

yours were much less subtle in comparison.

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

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

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

it was cute. unbearably cute.

but all good things must come to an end.

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

könig should have cut you off weeks ago.

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

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

“i need to beat you first.”

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

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

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

but miracles happen.

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

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

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

for a moment, you think you have him.

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

a gasp hitches in your throat.

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

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

air sticks in your throat. something is wrong.

“k-könig-”

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

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

oh.

his entire body tenses. his pupils shrink.

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

“that was not supposed to happen.”

no shit.

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

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

nothing. no one.

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

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

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

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

“d-don’t stop.”

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

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

“we don’t nee-”

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

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

“are you big?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i have touched myself to you.”

you blink. “what?”

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

your face burns.

“oh my god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

challenge flares in your chest. “i can.”

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

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

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

“i won’t,” you shoot back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

könig’s hips jerk.

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

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

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

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