#alpha!konig

The room feels suffocating thick with anticipation, the dim light casting long shadows against the walls. The scent of your alphas hangs heavy in the air—sharp, intoxicating, and unmistakable. Konig, Krueger, and Barrage are sitting at the edge of the bed, their bodies tense with the nearing rut, their eyes locked on you with a mix of longing and restraint. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you stand across from them. You can feel the pull of their dominance, the inevitable shift that’s about to happen. The room is charged with electricity, your omega instincts buzzing in your veins. It’s not the first time, but tonight feels different. The need in the air is thicker and heavier. 

Barrage is the first to break the silence, his voice rough, eyes dark with barely contained desire. “Are you ready, doll?” His smirk is teasing, but how his hands fidget betrays the hunger beneath it. 

You nod, trying to steady your breath, feeling the heat in your core already stirring. You walk toward the bed, every step slow, deliberate. Your alphas follow your every movement, their gazes predatory, and hungry. You feel the weight of their attention, but also the care they always offer. The balance of dominance and tenderness. 

Konig’s deep voice rumbles in the quiet, his posture leaning forward as he speaks directly to you. “We’ll take care of you, liebling.” His hand extends towards you, fingers brushing against your skin. His touch is light, but the promise in his words is enough to make your pulse race. “You will help us through this, yes?.” 

“Of course, Alpha.” You reply back, eager to please your alphas. Your relationship was rather new, have been together for the past few months, this was their first rut together, and you wanted to be there for them through it. 

——— 

You feel the need in them, just as strongly as they feel it in you. The pull is undeniable, the ache already building deep inside you. The next few days will be filled with heat and hunger, but you know you won’t be alone. Not with them. 

Barrage moves closer, his scent mixing with the others as he cups your face and presses a soft kiss to your lips. The kiss is brief, but it’s enough to send a shiver through your body. “We’ll be gentle when we need to be,” he murmurs against your mouth, “but we won’t hold back.” 

You swallow, feeling the tension rise in the pit of your stomach, your body already responding to them. The time has come. You close the distance between you, reaching out for Konig’s broad, warm hand, feeling Barrage’s touch at your back, and Krueger’s steady presence beside you. The weight of their combined attention makes the air feel impossibly thick, but it’s comforting. You’re not alone in this. 

Without a word, Barrage was the first to move, his hand finding yours and pulling you toward him. His lips crashed onto yours in a kiss that was hungry, and desperate, but there was a tenderness to it, too—a promise that this wasn’t just about the release. His fingers dug into your skin, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough of you. 

Konig was right behind him, his presence nearly overwhelming as he leaned in, pressing you back against the bed with a force that made your breath catch. His mouth found the crook of your neck, his lips hot against your skin as he kissed his way up to your ear, his voice low and rough. "You smell so good," he murmured, his breath fanning across your ear. "Sweet, like strawberries and flowers. I can’t get enough of you." 

Krueger’s hand traced the curve of your waist, his touch strong but gentle, guiding you further onto the bed as he leaned over you. His lips found yours, a deeper, possessive kiss this time as if he was marking you, claiming you in a way that made you feel both alive and completely vulnerable under their touch. 

They stripped you of your clothes, their eyes roving over your naked body with hunger. You were already wet, your pussy dripping with anticipation. Konig and Barrage, their cocks hard and ready. Konig lies on his back as he grabs you to lay on top of him while Barrage sits between your spread legs. 

Konig, slick from lube, pushing into your pussy. You gasped, the sensation of being filled by his thick cock was overwhelming. You were stretched, your pussy walls clenching around him. Konig started to move, his cocks sliding in and out of your pussy. You moaned, your body rocking back and forth, your tits bouncing with each thrust. 

Barrage started inserting a finger to stretch you out even more, you cried out at the added pleasure and discomfort.  

“It’s ok sweetheart, just try and relax, it will feel good soon,” Barrage said, now thrusting two fingers in and out. Once you were ready, he inserted his cock. Now Konig and Barrage were thrusting in sync. Your pussy tightens around them causing them to groan. 

Konig plants his feet onto the bed, Konig's hands gripping your legs, holding you steady as he thrust into you, his cock hitting your sweet spots with each powerful stroke. His voice was hoarse with desire as he whispered how well you were doing.  

The bed creaked with the force of their thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending alive with pleasure as you were fucked by two powerful alphas. both of their balls slapping against each other with each thrust. Barrages pubic hair rubs against your clit, causing more pleasure. 

“Fuck, you're so tight. I love how you squeeze us.” Barrage mutters out while he continues to fuck you senseless. You were so far gone in pleasure, that you couldn’t reply, only moaning out “alpha” over and over again. 

Krueger, his cock hard and ready, stood in front of you. You looked up at him, your eyes filled with lust. You took his cock in your hand, your fingers wrapping around his shaft. You licked your lips, your tongue darting out to lick the tip of his cock. Krueger groaned, his hips jerking forward. You took his cock into your mouth, your lips wrapping around his shaft. You sucked on his cock, your head bobbing up and down, your tongue swirling around his shaft. Krueger's hands gripped your hair, his hips thrusting forward, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth. 

Konig and Barrage, their cocks slick with your juices, continued to fuck you. Their cocks sliding in and out of your pussy. You moaned, your body rocking back and forth. You were close to orgasm, your body trembling with need. Their knots started to form, pushed into your pussy. You cried out, your body convulsing as you came, your cunt clenching around their cocks. You moaned as you felt their cum filling your cunt.  

After about 30 seconds, their knots had reduced in size so they pulled out. Cum leaks out of your pussy. Barrage leans down and licks your clit, you moan out at the sensitivity. 

“Let me have my turn,” Krueger said, nudging barrage to move. He pulls away and takes the spot on the other side of you so you are now lying between Konig and Barrage. 

You looked up at Krueger, your eyes filled with lust. Krueger took Barrage's place, his muscular body pressing against yours, and you felt a surge of pleasure course through your veins. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and he smiled, a hint of mischief flashing across his rugged features. He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss.  

You moaned into his mouth, your body already on fire from the previous encounters with Konig and Barrage. Their cum still coated your skin, adding a slick layer of lubrication to your heated flesh. You moaned, your body arching against his. He positioned himself at your entrance, his thick cock glistening with your juices and the remnants of his comrades' release. He teased your pussy, rubbing the head of his shaft against your clit, making you whimper and push back against him. You were so wet, so ready for him, and the anticipation was almost unbearable.  

In one swift motion, he thrust forward, filling you up. Your eyes widened as you felt his length stretch you, the sensation of being so full again almost overwhelming. Krueger's cock was thick and hard, and you could feel every vein and ridge as he began to move, setting a relentless pace.   

“Fuck, you’re so perfect, Schatz,” Krueger moans out as fucking you harder. The bed creaked beneath the force of his thrusts, and you clung to the sheets, your fingernails digging into the fabric.  

Konig and Barrage started to suck on your tits, their mouths latching onto your nipples. You screamed out, your body arching against Krueger's. His cock felt incredible, hitting all the right spots as he slammed into you. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, and you could feel his powerful thighs quivering as he held himself up. The sight of his muscular body glistening with sweat, his veins popping as he fucked you with primal need, was enough to send you over the edge.  

“Fuck, fuck,” Krueger growled, his pace increasing.  

Krueger's cock began to swell inside you, and you realized he was knotting, his thick member expanding to fill you completely. The pressure was incredible, and you cried out as your pussy clenched around him, milking his cock as he came. His hot seed filled you, adding to the intense pleasure coursing through your body.  

Konig leans down and eats you out. You moaned, your body arching against his mouth. Konig sucked on your clit, his tongue flicking against your sensitive nub. You came again, your body convulsing. He continued to eat your pussy, his tongue licking up your juices. You were a mess, your body slick with sweat, your pussy dripping with cum and juices. 

Barrage pulled Konig up for a kiss, so he could taste your juices on his tongue. It was hot as hell, watching them devour each other's mouths, their bodies pressing together as they fought for dominance.  

———— 

The room is quiet now, the air thick with the remnants of their rut. Konig’s arm is wrapped possessively around your waist, his breathing slow but heavy, the primal intensity still flickering in his gaze. Krueger lays behind you, his hand tangled in your hair, his chest pressing against your back in a comforting weight. Barrage, instead of being next to you, has shifted to lie beside Krueger. His body is angled towards him, their closeness almost protective. 

Of course, König has heard of omegas like her - omegas who claim alphas in dangerous jobs, conniving things hoping to coast off of life on a fat, heavy pension, but she chose him, him, all sharp edges and trembling fingers, descendant of Cain and Adam and all men who have known sin and blood on their hands.

Never before has he been chosen - no, it's always been necessity that has drawn others to him, a magnetic force they can't quite resist, but her...

She chose him.

Devotion is a funny thing. He'd never understood the words of the preacher, sat knobby-kneed and fidgeting in the pews of his small hometown's church. Der Weg zum Himmel ist schmal, holprig und voller mühsamer und anstrengender Anstiege, und er kann nicht ohne große Mühe beschritten werden.. The path to Heaven is narrow, rough and full of wearisome and trying ascents, nor can it be trodden without great toil.

But he understands now.

All of this, all of this suffering, is in the purpose of Colette, the light of her holy attention.

He wastes more than a few nights deployed fucking his fist to the sound of her name, followed by that surname, Bauer, so regular compared to the gospel of her. Shoots thick ropes of his spend over the paper until the ink bleeds, and even then, he keeps it, tracing over her name with his eyes, breathing hard through his mask. He counts down the days until the deployment is over, counts the hours and the minutes and the seconds and —

Patience is a virtue he's never had. Too twitchy.

He spends the rest of the mission impatiently taking out anybody who crosses his path, accidentally dispatching an ally in his eagerness to return home to his engel. It doesn't matter; nothing matters save the drive to return from his pilgrimage. Blessed land - he's never thought of the house he lives in as holy land, but with Colette now there, it's papal, anointed ground, blessed.

When his boots land on the driveway to his home, enshrouded in trees, far from civilization, he can smell her. Stepping inside feels holy, sacrilegious - like entering a cathedral, Konig's boots leave prints on the hardwood. Every exhale fans the scent of her, heady, intoxicating, deeper than frankincense.

"Engel.."

His voice echoes through his home, and for the first time, he doesn't find the spacious halls to be empty. No, they're appropriate - a church for him to worship at the altar of his omega. His.

"I'm home."

The smell of omega in his home is gentle, the softest scent of floral notes and vanilla, sticky-sweet and unclaimed, and for the first time, his house feels not like a tomb, but a home. Shelves have been dusted, rugs vacuumed, and, fuck, there's the scent of butter and baked goods in the air.

Dann sagte Gott, der Herr: „Es ist nicht gut, dass der Mann allein ist; ich werde ihn zu einem für ihn passenden Helfer machen.“

And in his bedroom...

Her. Curled up in his sheets, looking small and soft and perfect, a book opened to her side like she'd fallen asleep reading. Her chest rises and falls, full lips parted just so slightly in her respite. She seems so unguarded, so relaxed. Like she belongs here, belongs in his home, spirited away from the rest of the world.

Fuck, she’s even dressed in white, his engel, the pale nightgown she wears doing little to hide the soft curves of her body. So soft looking, his mate, soft hair and soft skin and soft curves. Thick thighs and wide hips, full breasts that just peek out over the neckline of her nightgown.

Lovely. Perfect, no, holy - and his.

Her chest rises and falls, her breath divinity in itself. Descendant of Eve, of the first sin, and yet, as she lies there, tucked so deeply into his bed, he can't help but find her resplendent. The moonlight spills across the skin bared from the blanket tossed off of her, too hot in the midst of sleep, and Christus, she's something else.

His. His mate, his engel, his world. One who can provide forgiveness and absolution with not but a look. His breath catches in his chest, large hands curling up into tight fists then relaxing. Lovely. So incredibly lovely.

“Wer kann eine ausgezeichnete Frau finden? Sie ist viel wertvoller als Juwelen.” He whispers to himself, fingers splaying and fisting with the need to touch.

Konig's gaze darkens as he takes in the sight of his engel curled up so small and soft in his bed. She looks fragile there amongst his dark sheets, pale and lovely, a stark contrast to the harsh edges of his sparsely decorated bedroom. He can see the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath, soft lips parted just so, completely vulnerable. His mate. The one who chose him.

He's never seen anything so beautiful in all his years.

The scent of her permeates the room, sweet and sticky like overripe fruit. It makes his head spin and his cock ache, already half-hard just from her proximity. She smells like salvation itself, rich and pure, untainted by his blood-soaked hands.

Konig sheds his fatigues hastily, muscles tight and tense with anticipation. He's never undressed so quickly, boots and belt hitting the floor with dull thuds. The dog tags around his neck jingle softly as he crawls onto the bed behind her, movements predatory and graceful despite his imposing size.

Christus, just looking at her makes him dizzy with want. The curves of her body are barely concealed by the thin fabric of her nightgown, the swell of her breasts visible above the low neckline, just the slightest hint of pink areolae peeking through. He trails his rough, calloused fingers down the soft curve of her side reverently, watching in fascination as she shivers in her sleep. His engel. His mate.

His.

Konig presses closer, the heat of his bare chest searing against her back even through the thin barrier of her nightgown. She smells divine, like absolution and home, like holy smoke and purification and deific chastity. He breathes her in deeply, nose brushing the sensitive spot behind her ear and making her whimper softly. The sound goes straight to his cock.

Gently, so gently, he splays his large hand over her belly, rucking up the hem of her nightgown. She doesn't stir, lost in the throes of deep sleep, even as he slowly maps out the soft, supple terrain of her inner thigh. Christus, she's perfection incarnate. An altar built just for him.

Konig's cock leaks pre-cum impatiently against the swell of her ass. He's dizzy with want, overwhelmed by her proximity. His engel. His everything. He has never needed anything as much as he needs this. Needs her.

His hand trails higher beneath her nightgown, finding wet heat waiting for him between her soft thighs. His mate might be asleep, oblivious to his presence, but her body isn't, slick gathering at the apex of her thighs, soaking the gusset of her panties in acknowledgment of the presence of a superior alpha.

Carefully, Konig hooks his thumbs under the band of her panties, easing them down her thighs. The gossamer strands of slick bridge her cunt to the fabric and he grits his teeth at the sight, having to gently peel them away. Her scent is even thicker now, unrestrained, and it makes his head spin.

She's bare before him, asleep and unaware but still wanting of him, wet for a wretched thing like him. Soft thighs parted just enough that he can see the shine of her slick coating her pretty cunt. Christus, it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Evidence of her need for him, even asleep. Proof she belongs to him.

Konig shifts, settling between her legs and nudging them wider with his knees. He's dizzy with lust, pupils blown black with desire as he looks down at her prone form. She's his. His. Made for him. The Lord has blessed their union and he'll be damned if he waits a moment longer to consummate it.

The head of his cock nudges insistently at her damp folds, already glistening with a hint of her body's sweet readiness for him. Konig's pupils are blown wide, staring down at her with nothing but ravenous hunger as his cock bobs in front of her, engorged head near brushing her soaked folds.

He doesn't bother to stretch her, doesn't bother to warm her up. Why would he? She's his mate, his engel, his. She's made for him, she chose him, wicked and unworthy as he is, and the only thing that he can think as he tears through her maidenhead like tissue paper is that —

This is what Lucifer must have felt like, offering Eve the apple.

— And how wonderful, to know the downfall of something so cherubic will be on his hands, blood spilled across rough palms. Something holy in the work of ruinous claiming, he muses. Something purposeful.

"Wunderschön…," he murmurs, the praise rumbling up from the depths of his chest. "Perfekt…"

He can smell the tang of blood in the air. Virgin blood, her blood, consecrating this unholy act of claiming what's his. Her eyes, doelike and deep like the ocean, fly open and her pretty lips part on a shriek of pain, fat tears bubbling in her eyes that he promptly bends to lap up like eucharist.

Mine.

The thought pulses in his mind in time with his thrusts, a staccato of desperate, fervent worship, over and over as he fucks his claim into her body. Teeth bared, fresh air kissing his face for the first time in weeks, he hums as she begins to paw at his chest, trying to push him away. Perhaps he'll get her handprint tattooed on his skin, though with how each touch scalds him, he imagines there will be scars.

“Frauen, unterwirft euch euren eigenen Männern wie dem Herrn,” he murmurs, voice fevered and worshipful, drinking in her glassy eyes and her parted lips. “Denn der Mann ist das Haupt der Frau, so wie Christus das Haupt der Kirche, sein Leib, und selbst ihr Erlöser ist.”

Cry as she might, he can feel the way her walls flutter around his pistoning length, her eyes squeezing shut as if this is all a bad dream. A broken sob breaks from her, and he coos at it, coos at how sweet she sounds, his engel, his mate. Each little gasp is rapturous, has hellfire licking up his spine in greedy little waves.

But no. Not until his engel has cum, not until she's broken for him.

His fingers are talons, gripping bruises into the plush swell of her hips as he grinds himself deeper. Deeper and deeper still until his knot is beginning to swell, to stretch her even further open in preparation to lock them together. A calloused thumb finds the button of her clit - he'd researched for this, intent on spoiling his little mate - and begins to roll it back and forth, unpracticed but determined, and she keens, eyes flying wide and lips falling open. She all but bucks into his touch, clawing at him, claiming him with every raised line.

As if she wants him as much as he wants her.

The thought has König's eyes rolling back, jaw clenched in a rictus of rapturous bliss. He can feel it, the telltale throb and swell of his knot as it begins to catch with every harsh, punishing thrust—stretching Colette wider, pushing her to the limits of what her body can endure.

His lips curl upwards, and he bends over, an unstoppable force in the wake of her claiming, lips brushing against the pale column of her neck, taking, tasting, until she's shrieking her pleasure and sobbing.

It's not even when she's limp and trembling and overstimulated that he slows, stills, stops, doesn't dare pause the worship at her altar that has his hips stuttering and his knot swelling, throbbing insistently against the gummy walls of her cunt. Addictive, like this is the only thing that has ever mattered, like this is what he was made to do.

Christus, yes - this is right. This is what he was made for, this act of divine conquest and claiming. To take and ruin and breed, to sow his seed and brand his mate and let the world bear witness to the unholy, rapturous fruit of their joining.

Colette's breathless, pained sobs are like gospel to König—rapturous hymns consecrating the unholy fucking he's laid upon her. Her tear-streaked cheeks glisten in the low light, rosy lips parting on those broken, helpless little sounds as she squirms weakly beneath him in the midst of her undoing.

Overstimulated. How cute.

But Konig isn’t done. His thumb finds her clit and works at it again, rough circles, working her up up up again around his knot, leaving her gasping and mewling and choking out little pleas for him to stop, please. Each word is a prayer, has him humming softly and nosing at the curve of her neck.

His hips stutter, knot finally locking inside of her, and he groans as he begins to spill, scalding cum filling those holy walls until her stomach is just that slightest bit swollen with it. Bred - thoroughly bred.

She already smells like him. Like the slightest hint of violence and lemongrass. She was made for him, his engel, his purpose, and this is proof of that.

“Mein Wunder,” he rasps, dragging his lips against where her scent is strongest. “Gott im Himmel hat dich für mich geschaffen.”

He wonders if Adam felt the same way he feels now, entranced and enamored, but even Eve had been fallible.

His engel is not.

Perfect, she splays beneath him, all soft curves and lips glossy from her spit, and he can’t help the way he growls low in his chest at the sight of her. He’ll worship her, he’s sure of it. The sound of her name, co-lette, curls hot against his ribcage, and he aches to finalize it, to brand her as much as she’s branded him.

His engel, clever as she is, knows what he intends to do when his lips draw back, baring elongated fangs, hollow and dripping with promise.

She'll forgive him for the roughness. He knows she will, she's his mate after all, but for now, he splays a large hand against the small of her back to keep her from squirming off of him —

(his knot isn’t deflated yet, she’ll only hurt herself in her panic. such a silly, foolish little thing, doesn’t she know better?)

— and bites.

Blood, sweet and syrupy, floods into his mouth as his teeth close around her mating gland, coats his tongue and slides into his maw like something holy. Blood of Jesus, eucharist, no, holier than eucharist. No tepid wine can compare to the taste of her, all-encompassing and heavy like sin.

She screams, poor thing. Of course she does, the gland is sensitive and he's sure the venom will burn, but with how she’s close to shattering on his knot again, he's sure she can handle it. He murmurs soft prayers against her throat, lips smeared in her blood, and draws her closer despite the way she thrashes in his arms.

(weaker than him, she's so much weaker than him. something to protect. to hold. to keep locked away in the eden he's made of his home, far away from any snakes who might seek to cause her fall.

to have and to hold and to cherish, he thinks distantly.)

"Mein kleines lamm," he mutters, breath humid and sticky against the ragged tears of the wound. "Ich werde dich lieben bis zu dem Tag, an dem ich sterbe."

And even then - in death, would God be able to rip him from her side? At Saint Peter's gate, would he be able to separate them? Konig is no holy man, no righteous one, and he has no qualms damning this soft little angel to hell alongside him, if it means that her velvet cunt and her sweet moans stay close by.

No, best to damn her to his side.

He snakes one arm around her, even as she goes limp, rabbiting pulse slowing as exhaustion claims her. Drawing her close, he brushes his lips to her brow, to her cheeks, gliding her blood to spread tacky and cold across her face. Such a brave little engel, facing such pain. She’ll never experience anything like that again, he’ll make sure of it.

(except for him, of course.)

The thought has his knot throbbing once more, and he sucks in a sharp breath, clutching her prone form tighter. There will be time for that later, time to take her apart bit by bit so that he might curl up against the cradle of her intestines and stay there forever. Time to breed and take and ruin and—

Later.

For now, he contents himself to hold her, to smooth her hair back, out of her face. To murmur soft revelations against the mating bite he can’t seem to stop going back to, lapping up her blood like the finest wine.

He wonders if her cunt will taste as sweet.

Is it blasphemy, to ruin such a creature? His lips catch on her mating gland, teeth worrying at the edges until fresh blood blossoms across his palate, tinged with the acris taste of his venom. There’s something blasphemous about it, certainly, to taint her so, to make her his, but he supposes that there’s righteousness in it too.

Righteousness in *her*.

Claiming her is a sin worth any punishment. An indulgence he's ached for, dreamt of in the darkest nights on deployment. Only to wake, sweat-slick and aching, to the echo of her name on his lips.

And now she belongs to him. In sickness and in health, for better or worse. He can already see the way she’ll smile and blush as he lists his wedding vows - Ich nehme dich als meine Ehefrau. Ich verspreche dir die Treue in guten und in schlechten Tagen, in Gesundheit und Krankheit, dich zu lieben und zu achten, bis uns der Tod scheidet.