dressdaisy

[dressdaisy]

Nectar and Bane - Pt. 2

Pairings: Hunter!Konig x Witch!Reader

Pt. 1

Summary: König is hired to hunt down a pesky witch by a warlock, who paints you as the most evil thing in the past three centuries. With the promise of finding true love (or, the closest thing the warlock can offer: a brainwashed woman who is forced to dote on the hunter), König sets out on his journey. However, you aren't what he was expecting at all, and he develops a newfound obsession with making you become his.

Warnings: dubcon, mentions of rape, manipulation, kidnapping, sex pollen (kinda? If you squint? not really, but better safe than sorry), corruption kink, mentions of blood and violence, mentions of consuming human organs, unrequited pining, angst at the end, death (not for main characters), cowgirl, missionary, mating press, biting, hair pulling, nipple play, power imbalance, handjob, obsessive thoughts and behaviour (please let me know if I missed any!)

Yall thank you so much for the love you've shown this work! I'm super proud of myself for writing this, it took forever but it turned out exactly how I wanted it to and I'm happy with it - not to mention all of your comments and kudos and everything SERIOUSLY make me ecstatic!!! I really hope I can produce something like this again, for now, I'll be focusing on "I Don't Need You," but be on the lookout for a multi-chapter fic involving Konig and a Fantasy au again! Translations at the end

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For a while, he’d lost his sense of self. Visions haunted him, the blurred edge between dreams and reality too far beyond him to decipher.

Large stones rolled through the dense thicket of the trees to escape the evil in that clearing. Wide, brown, birch eyes blinked, observing, and the warlock stood with them, watching the scene unfold from the cover of the branches. You were there: spinning in circles, following the gust of the wind and the leaves as they twirled around you. Your fingers stained purple, your hands clutching a fleshy, bloody, beating heart – you held it high in the air, laughing with drunken mirth and letting the thick, dark liquid drip down on your breasts and stomach. A body sat crumpled by the bank of the creek, withered and old, cupping handfuls of the water to his lips and drinking deeply. The crimson liquid slipped through his fingers and fell upon the earth, making tendrils of rotten smoke and steam curl through the air and towards the sky.

König had spent an eternity here. Or a day. He couldn’t tell. He felt restless… where was his body? He tried to speak, but his tongue was heavy against the roof of his mouth. He felt your lips on his, and he tried to kiss you – but you were speaking, sweetly whispering secrets against the corner of his lips.

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With the limerence your restless heart bleeds, I bid thee, rest;

          Rest, and lie with the ash, until the embers stir again.

König had been awake for a while by the time he realized he was staring at the ceiling of your hut. The gentle knocking of the door against the frame slowly coaxed him from his troubled sleep, rhythmically beating within the walls of his own mind, as if trying to rouse and save him from his doom. The wind howled outside, yet the inside was warm, and something spicy and sweet wafted through the air –for a moment, it brought him back to his childhood. Sitting on his mother’s lap, chewing on a warm handful of Lebkuchen and listening to the tales she told in a low, whispered tone, her breath gracing the shell of his ear.

Almost as soon as he had conjured up the memory, it was torn from him as the scent became too sweet – borderline sickening. It invaded his nostrils and worsened the headache that angrily pulsed between his eyes.

He noticed the lull of a voice – your voice, humming sweetly throughout the hut. He heard you behind him, then in the far corner, then beside him, then back to the corner again. He never thought he would admit it, as he blinked slowly through the fog in his mind… but it brought him relief. You hadn’t left him, alone in the woods – you didn’t vanish from him like you did to the warlock.

You continued to move idly through the small space – bottles clinked and a liquid bubbled and boiled, hissing and snapping with attitude as you tossed something into the cauldron’s brew. He felt the air grow warm and humid, and his chest felt heavy with both unease and the need to see you within the dim candlelight.

His head throbbed again, more intensely than before. He groaned, lifting his arm to shield his face from the flickering shadows and light that danced on the walls of the hut; however, his arm stopped short of a few inches from the damp earth. He tugged again with confusion, and suddenly noticed the leather cuffs around it – as well as his other wrist, and both of his ankles. They were restrained in a way that had him spread open, the cuffs tethered to thick, sturdy roots that curled out of the ground. Soft, velvet blankets and warm pelts – one of them being his own, he recognized – lay beneath him as some sort of sleeping pile. If this was a bed, it was pitiful enough to make him forget his current predicament and feel sorry for you. But he still wondered: what had happened to him?

“Are you finally awake?”

Your voice tugged at him like a noose around his neck, making him tilt his head backwards to look at you. You were completely naked, your body contoured by the light of the candles that were scattered about the hut floor. You walked over to where he lay, chained and on top of a pile of soft furs, blankets, and several lumpy pillows. You had an air about you that made him think this was a situation you were commonly in, which made him concerned as to what you had planned.

It wasn’t until he felt his cock twitching as it grew, that he realized he had been stripped naked – most likely by you. Which only made him groan with arousal.

“I like to have my work finished by dusk,” you commented, sitting with your feet tucked to the side, next to his body on the furs. “but you were out for quite a while.” You watched with a smirk as his eyes trailed down your body, from your soft, supple breasts, to your sex that you barely attempted to cover with an arm draped over your lap.

“What-“ he glanced around, eyes darting anywhere except on your nudity, trying to calm the thunderous beating of his heart – “what have you done? What is this?” He yanked at the chains holding him down, though more out of desire to pull you onto his lap than to escape.

You chuckled – that sweet, sweet sound of yours he loved so much had him staring back at you, eyes softening. “The end of the hunt, König.” You traced circles over the center of his chest, making him suck in a breath through clenched teeth. “Or trap, if you’re a stickler for the correct wording. This is where I collect the fruits of my labor.”

König suddenly remembered the warlock’s words. She’ll swallow you whole, saving only your heart for last.

“Wh-“ he tried to focus, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling as he attempted to get the feeling of your fingertips on his skin out of his mind. “Mein Herz. What for?”

“Oh, for many different things…” you said, lips curling into a smile, excited to explain exactly what you would use his heart for. “Any sort of hex or potion that needs an animal heart can be amplified with a human one. Also-“ you reached across him, your breasts gracing the skin of his face, making him inhale sharply as a shudder ran through his cock – “the most important factor in a love potion, such as this.” You pulled yourself back and presented to him a small bottle, full of a translucent, viscous liquid with chunks of what he could only assume to be a human heart settled at the bottom. “The last hunter who had been sent to kill me – well, you can thank him for this.”

König’s stomach churned in disgust, but not fear. The thought of consuming something unfit for consumption, such as bits of human heart, made him queasy. But not the thought of you carving that heart out of some poor fellow much like himself. Not the image of you, straddling his thick, swollen length, tracing a knife over the skin of his chest, drawing blood from the fair skin there.

“But-“ he stammered, recovering from the allure of his own thoughts. “but why? I don’t- why a love potion?” You didn’t need to give one to him to have him worshipping your body – he’d do it right now, if it wasn’t for these verdammt cuffs.

You sighed, apparently bored with having to explain your reasonings to yet another, confused prey. “You get lonely, König – don’t you?” You cooed, laying your head down against his chest and listening to its rapid thrum against his ribcage. Like sugar you were, molasses dripping into his hungry mouth, sticky and sweet – his teeth ached with the thought of his fate, but he didn’t care. König longed to be able to stroke your hair, to pull you closer to his lips so he could kiss the crown of your head and press his nose into your locks.

“I do too. Living so far into the woods is dreadfully boring, especially when you’re alone. But, at the same time, I hate the others. Their ignorance, their injustice – and their useless judgements and opinions. Their lies. It sickens me.” You slid your hand over his chest and upwards until your fingers landed on his jugular, feeling the steady pulse through the warm skin. “They’re selfish. They don’t care what happens to anyone but themselves. If you’ve got a cunt, they lose all respect for the person attached to it. Disgusting, really. But-“ you sighed, pushing yourself to sit upright, your cunt resting on the trail of hair from his naval and downwards. König noticed that you were apparently wet, and a faint satisfaction flowed through him. At least he wasn’t the only one getting off from the current situation, he realized.

“Even I miss the thrill of a hard cock…” you unexpectedly reached back and gently wrapped your hand around his length. König threw his head back and groaned through clenched teeth. He pulled on the restraints, desperate to touch your skin, to grab your hips and pull you where you belonged – nestled atop his leaking, sore member.

He wondered if the warlock had been right, if you really were a succubus in your previous life. Was there an angelic version of that? Because he couldn’t find any fault or sin in you at this moment – he realized, like with everything else he was forced to entertain, he didn’t care. Demon or angel, he wanted your soul all the same, no matter how cold it was. He would warm it up.

“… And the way their faces change, when they realize I’m not only interested in fucking them.” You said, leaning over him with your free hand planted on his abdomen. Your brow furrowed, and your lips curled into a smirk. “You’re different, though…” you traced a finger along his jawline, wondering if König would try and bite it off, like the others had.

König was only thinking of how he wanted those fingers wrapped tightly into the locks of his hair.

“Most of them aren’t as calm as you are, even after the potion. They still put up a fight.”

Truth be told, he couldn’t tell if he was so turned on because of the potion you’d given him, or if he had been predisposed to your charm when he first saw you out in the woods. He was fairly certain that, after the potion wears off, he’d still be willing to make you his. He was figuring out how to make arrangements so that you would fuck him like this every day – and therefore, making sure that you’re by his side for the rest of his life. What if he built you a proper bed? Not some nest on the ground, with blankets that barely cut through the rough stiffness of the floor. One that was sturdy and raised off the ground, with a mattress and down pillows, near to the fireplace he would build you, so that you would never have to suffer from the cold again. It would have to withstand his thrusts as he pounds into you the way you deserve. Hell, he’d even fix on some metal hooks so you could restrain him all you’d like, if it means that you’ll keep him.

Despite his delirious thinking, there was one question that stayed in the back of his mind. It was nearly drowned out by the rest of the clamor, but the unfurled, unanswered edges of it caught each thought that whizzed by.

“Was it a lie?” he managed to groan out with his chest heaving.

“Hmm?” you raised your brow, urging him to continue. “Was what a lie?”

“Everything.” He sucked in a breath when you ran your fingers through his hair; he tilted his head into your palm to chase the tenderness in the action, despite it being a thin mask over the grim intentions.

You chuckled, watching him fight himself between the desire and the panic. “Nothing I said was a lie. None of it. It just wasn’t… everything.”

You resumed stroking his cock – his hips jerked upwards and he whimpered, not even realizing that you had stopped in the first place. “Mph… scheisse – how can I believe you?” he asked. He believed you anyway; he knew you had played your cards right, telling him only what he needed to know and letting him walk right into your palm. Still, whether he had seen it now or earlier, he fully believed there was no trick you could play on him that would make him despise you.

“Oh, I’m not going to make you believe me…” you leaned over him again, your strokes slowing down and making him growl. “Believe me or not, I don’t care. It won’t matter to you, not in a little while…”

You closed the distance, pressing your soft, sweet lips against his. He tried to suck you in, your air, your taste, your essence – each exhale through your nose had him inhaling, trying to meld with you as much as you would allow him. But your lips moved slowly, passionately, completely contradicting everything you had said and done to him. He forced himself to match your rhythm, drinking you in like sweet nectar from summer fruit. You kissed him with devotion, like two lovers that had stood the test of time – but, to you, it was just another mark of death. Your calling card, if you will.

For a moment, König thought he could taste it. What he had tasted, so often that it had become bland with time. The loneliness, your strain to replicate something real, something devoted, intimate, and fond. Something that would never fit in the cards you had been dealt. He could feel you trying to believe this stolen intimacy was something else; a shower of affection that you and your lover shared every day. He could taste the faint bitterness in the back of your throat, and he understood.

He could make this real. It was real for him, love potions be damned. He would show you that he could love you, that he did love you.

When you eventually pulled away, he let his head fall back again. He panted like a dog, his eyes flicking between your breasts, your sex, and your eyes. “Please-“

“’Please’ what?” you interjected, your smirk growing bigger at the signs that König’s resolve was beginning to cave. “Are you going to beg for your life?”

König couldn’t give a fuck if you stabbed him now, as long as you let him show you what you meant to him, and blessed him with the feeling of your cunt, first.

“No-“ he gasped, bucking his hips into your hand again. He never thought he would find himself so desperate, that he would be the one begging underneath someone… but he would swallow his pride for tonight. He added the idea of convincing you to let him be on top every so often to his to-do list – of course, once he did actually convince you that you needed him to stick around. “Just- please, I need to feel you, need to fuck you.”

You chuckled. “You need to earn that, König.” You said, pushing your hips back and up to hover over his erection. You grasped it once again, giving it a squeeze that had him hissing and arching his back. You slowly brushed his tip along your entrance, sighing softly – it was going to be a tight fit, but you would be lying if you said that didn’t excite you.

“Please-“ he begged again, pulling at his restraints. “I need- want to hold you, liebe.”

You cooed, fisting his cock even faster, making a string of German spill from his lips and his head fall back onto the pillows. “I know you do, König… but not yet. You deserve this first – consider it a ‘thank you’, for what I’m going to do to you.”

You released his cock – his head shot up with a look of confusion, and you could see just how flushed he had become. You shifted back, hovering your glistening pussy over his swollen member, looking down at the flushed thing as it wept with precum. He groaned as if you were already wrapped around it, watching with an eager expression as you finally, finally sank down onto it.

It was a new experience for both of you. You had never had someone so thick, so big… it stretched your walls to the point where they burned, and you thought you might tear. König had never felt a cunt as soft and perfectly molded for him as yours. After you pushed his head into you, your warm walls had sucked the rest of him up in one go, making his eyes screw shut and the air force itself from his lungs in a stuttering exhale. You let out a moan (louder and more strained than usual, but when had anyone filled you until they were visible from the outside?), followed by a broken groan from König.

Your ass was flush against his thighs – the need to take handfuls of it and squeeze until you were spilling out of his fingers was unbearable. He dared to open his eyes again, watching as your head was tilted back in pleasure, maybe even a bit of pain. “Gah- Heilige Scheiße-“ He bucked his hips once, making you jolt and gasp and plant your hands on his chest to support yourself.

Much to slow for König’s liking, you ground your hips against his, letting your clit graze across the hair above the base of his cock. You began moaning airily, your eyes squeezing shut as he filled you to the brim with his length. It sent warm electricity crashing through your abdomen like a wave, shooting up to your breasts and making your nipples turn into stiff buds. The head of his cock dragged along your walls, catching on that one spot that made you clench around him and squeeze your thighs against his.

Each time you squeezed the life out of his dick, König let a strangled groan escape from his lungs. He was forced to feel the full effect of your sex – he couldn’t grab your hair, your thighs… he couldn’t crash his lips into yours, swallowing the both of your moans. He couldn’t even plant his feet on the ground and properly fuck up into you the way you deserved. He was subject to feeling nothing but your slick pussy desperately pushing and pulling at his erection, and it was intense.

He looked down with desperation at where your hips connected with his. “Mph- bitte, bitte Liebling, genau so, bitte...” Every exhale was a moan – nearly a whine – as he watched you languidly roll your hips against him, clearly seeking your own pleasure. It wasn’t enough to satisfy him. He loved your soft mewls, but he wanted to hear you crying out from each rough smack of his hips punching into yours. He adored how you were treating him like a toy – you had no regards to his own pleasure and you were perfectly fine if he didn’t end up cumming at all. As long as you got decent use out of his dick, before you ended up carving out his heart. But he knew how to make you scream his name, he knew what would have you clawing at his back and crying loud enough to rouse every creature in the forest, living or dead. If he ended up reaching his own orgasm too, that would be a privilege on its own.

Maybe I must earn that, too. He thought.

As much as he could with his ankles restrained, he started bucking his hips upwards again. The tensing of his thighs had you springing upwards and off of him, making you yelp at the sudden force that crashed into your cunt. You looked down at him, a lustful and impressed grin upon your face.

“Is it not enough for you?” you cooed, leaning down towards his face and arching your back. “Am I going too slow, König?” you spoke into his ear with a syrupy tone, your breath caressing his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. He huffed, trying to buck into you again, but you hovered your hips above him just enough so that the last inch of his cock wasn’t sheathed inside you. “What do you want from me, hmm?”

He attempted to speak, but the first few sounds from his mouth were choked gasps. “Need to fuck you-“ he begged. He hated that he was begging… but if he could just convince you that you needed to let him take control, he wouldn’t mind begging for a little while. “Need to make you feel good, need- scheiße, hha- fuck you deep, prinzessin.” His hands clenched into fists above his head as he imagined how he would grab your hips and hold you down, slamming his cock into your wet hole.

You chuckled. It was rare that your victims would want to pleasure you, let alone even speak about it – typically, they only sought out their own high. You wondered what you had put extra of in the potion, and if you could hopefully replicate it for the next man who fell into your trap.

“You need to cum, don’t you?” you purred, licking and placing a wet kiss at the base of his throat.

“Scheisse, Ich muss dich zu meinem machen-“ He bucked his hips again, groaning painfully when he couldn’t get the friction he needed.

“You promise to be good if I let you go?”

He nodded vigorously, his lips parted with desperation. He felt he might go insane if you teased him any longer. “Bitte - Ich werde gut sein, lass mich einfach in dir vergraben.”

You hummed thoughtfully, teasing his cock as you rolled your hips back and against its length. He whined and looked at you with nothing short of blissful agony. You’d certainly had more difficult victims – ones who cursed and threatened you as they chased their high, shouting that they would kill you after you drew their orgasm from them. König was one of the rare ones, so affected by the potion that they were too worried about fucking you until you both melted away into nirvana, most likely too exhausted afterwards to protest as you drive your knife into their chest.

You sighed, reaching above him and grabbing the shackles around his right wrist. Your supple breasts hovered tantalizingly above his lips; he took the opportunity to run his tongue along your hardened nipple, sucking as much as he could into his mouth when you lost your balance from the jolting sensation. You tutted and grabbed his hair with one hand, yanking him away from your breast – he hissed from the pain, but continued staring at the mound that hovered just out of his reach.

You whispered an incantation, quiet and foreign, and his wrists sprung free from the cuff. Both ankles were also released, and instantly, he wasted no time wrapping his hands around your lower back and sitting up. You giggled when you saw his half-lidded eyes and the flush across his cheeks. You weren’t worried about whether he would try and stab you (at least, besides his painfully hard member); he was too lost in the euphoria to think of anything other than your cunt.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he slowly lowered you onto the blankets and furs. He took a moment to drink you in: your pink cheeks, the layer of sweat over your delicate, soft skin, the sound of your breath coming out in short bursts, the way the flickering candlelight danced over the curves of your hips and your breasts…

He was a man on death’s row, and you were his last meal.

He quickly dove down and began sucking marks onto your neck, listening to your excited mewls as he sloppily bit and licked at the skin there. He took one of your hands in his and pinned it by your head, locking your fingers together – with his other hand, he grabbed your hip and tilted your pelvis up. He sat on his haunches and tucked you into him – he easily slipped into you, balls deep, not an inch of room between your bodies.

You winced and gasped when he re-entered you, digging your fingers into his shoulders. “Fuck! Ha- mph-“ There was no room for you to wiggle and adjust to his size. His happy trail was still pressed against your clit, and as he started rutting into you, you nearly screamed from the intensity. You were positive that this was the best fuck you’d ever had in your dreadfully long life.

König’s breaths turned into grunts with each jut of his hips. He hooked his hands around your shoulders so he could properly fuck you, dragging you back down onto him as you were pushed back from each thrust. Your juices dripped down his balls, your folds sucking him nicely and tightly as he continued driving cock in and out of you. Pleasure vibrated throughout his abdomen, muscles tightening and vision dotted with stars as electric, white-hot bliss seared through every vein in his body. Your whines were painfully loud, but he was too focused on the warmth of your folds and the greedy, pulsing rhythm around his dick to care.

“Du bis- scheiße, du bis perfekt für mich...” he gritted out through clenched teeth, groans slipping out between each breath. “Ich behalte dich. Ich- fuck, mein Königin- Ich werde dich niemals gehen lassen ... Süßes Mädchen ...” His lips moved along the skin of your neck and up to your face, until he bit down on your cheek – not roughly, but enough to hold you in place.

You whimpered at the sudden action, squeezing your eyes shut. It was a bit too intimate for you – after all, you were just playing with your food. But you supposed that he deserved to get one last fuck in before his death, so you played along – that, and you couldn’t form a coherent thought through the euphoria and hormones swirling in your mind. Cries and whimpers were punched out of you, making you grateful that this particular monster of a man had been the unfortunate one to stumble your way.

You dragged your hand up and into the curly threads of his hair, scratching your nails at the base of his scalp. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you weren’t enjoying his deranged, mostly-selfless need to pleasure you.

König growled in your ear, releasing your cheek from his teeth as his thrusts grew quicker. He was already close, despite wishing that this moment would last forever. The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy echoed in his head like bells inside a cathedral. His breath became strained, panting whines, his arms held you closer, as if to mold the both of you into one being, the way the Greeks had said humans once were. Eventually, each exhale became a zealous chant of fuck, fuck, fuck- “Ich komme- fuck, Ich komme-“ and he felt his balls tensing, seizing-

You weren’t the one in control anymore, and you knew it. But, from the looks of it, neither was König. The both of you were driven by primal instincts, and he was dragging your and his naked bodies through rough terrain and thick, wet mud until you found nirvana.

It hit you first. Your cunt clenched tightly around his cock, still pistoning in and out of you, squelches and slaps echoing against the walls of your tiny hut – pleasure ripped through your naval, your stomach, up into your breasts, and even further, dancing behind your eyelids as you squeezed them shut. Your legs locked against his hips as you screamed, loud and high, probably piercing through the still and silent forest beyond your door.

König didn’t last much longer than you. The grip with which you strangled his length made him sputter and choke, driving his hips in and out, in, and out, bouncing off of your pelvis, until his balls tensed painfully. He thrust one hand against the ground, bracing himself as his cock twitched and his mind ascended into thoughtless bliss – he roared as he came, his seed shooting into you and seeping around his dick, some leaking out with each pull out of you, before it was stuffed back inside as he thrust in again. His eyes were twisted shut, his teeth bared, and his back hunched as he ground his hips down, groaning and huffing and shaking from the intensity.

Eventually, he released you, slowly, still panting. You let your arms fall from his shoulders – a shiver ran down your spine as the air moved between your bodies, hitting your sweat-slick skin. You watched him, him and his glossy eyes, sweat dripping from his forehead as he hovered over you. You could tell he was still recovering from the aftershocks – as were you, with your cunt still occasionally squeezing him – yet that same, delirious, devoted look still lingered, creeping through the depths of his pupils and dragging itself to the cerulean surface of his irises.

A shame… you thought. Such a fresh face, such a strong and dedicated soul… you knew, however, that it was all due to the potion. Once it had worn off, he would be in a hurry to kill you for making him act so shamefully. You needed to be quick – you couldn’t spend time admiring each and every freckle on his face and shoulders, running your hand through his hair and basking in his warm, earthy musk. You needed to end this, to put him to sleep and take his heart, before he had any time to think. I can spare him a painful death, at least, as a reward for being so good.

You would miss this one, which was the first time you had realized that for any of your victims. He had reacted to the potion well, letting it consume his mind as well as his body. Maybe you could dissect his brain, throw it into your cauldron and see what fumes it produced, to figure out how you could replicate his behavior in your next subject.

König saw you staring, watching, calculating. The euphoria had washed away for you, and you were back to your cunning, grinning self. He was still lost in the abyss of his obsession with you. The fucking had only made it more intense now.

How was he going to do this? How was he going to convince you to keep him? Not for his own sake, for yours? Because it’s what you deserved? He knew it was only a matter of minutes, before you fully recovered and took what you wanted from him, doing gods know what with the rest of him. He saw it in your eyes, in your lips, pressed together in a thin line as you prematurely felt a hint of remorse for what you were about to destroy.

Maybe that was it – that weak, mock sadness could be what he needed to change the tide. He saw you reach a hand out to cup his face, and instead, he snatched your hand into the both of his, bringing it to his lips.

You immediately frowned. The sudden action had thrown you into a slight panic: was he already recovered from the potion? When he pressed an urgent, desperate kiss to your lips, you were confused. Maybe there was still some lingering neediness…

“Bitte-“ he spoke into your palm. “I need you, please.”

You smiled sadly at his profession. You reminded yourself that, if it came down to a struggle, you had your knife lying in the furs next to you. Hopefully, the hunter hadn’t noticed it in his haze.

“You don’t know what you need, König.” You said sweetly, watching as his brow creased with helplessness. “And I’m sorry – but this is what it is. This is the way it will always be.” You sighed, sitting back on your elbows, and he rested on his haunches, never breaking his stare. “I will say, though, this was the-“

A raven’s screech suddenly ripped through the air, filtering into the cabin’s thin walls, making your head jerk to the door. Your eyes glassed over with panic, and König faltered.

“Stimmt etwas nicht?” he asked quickly. “What-“

The door then swung open with a bang. König’s head whipped towards the sound, finding the warlock standing in the doorway. He looked crazed, eyes fully locked on you – he seemed entirely unaware of the precarious situation he had caught the two of you in, only fueled by his apparent wrath.

König’s heart dropped. The warlock wasn’t supposed to be here – he was never a part of the plan, beyond being the one to order it. Why is he here?

You cursed through clenched teeth, trying to shove König’s body off of yours. Before you had a chance to scramble to your feet, your head was thrust back against the pillows by an unseen force. You clawed at your throat, right before your hands were pinned by either side of your head. König watched with panic and concern in his eyes as you struggled to breathe. You stared back at him with a hateful, betrayed glare as you choked and gasped for air.

“I’ve finally got you, you bitch.” The sorcerer seethed. “Right in your own snare.” He slowly entered the hut, still staring at you, watching you twist and writhe as you desperately attempted to breathe.

König’s focus was also on you. He saw a mark similar to a hand print appear on your neck. He hovered his hands above you, curling over your entire body, all while you stared at the warlock and attempted to sputter out curses. How do I stop this?! His muscles screamed with the need to somehow give you air, but his mind offered no assistance on how to do it.

“Was this life better? Than what I freely gifted you?!” The warlock continued, oblivious to König’s shaking form; he assumed that the hunter was still coming down from the potion. He would be thankful after, once he had returned to his normal state of mind and realized the horrors and atrocities you had forced upon him.

“I gave you everything you know, I protected you, I loved you when no one else would!” the sorcerer stalked even closer, watching the skin on your face turn a dangerous shade of red. “And you run away, take my life’s work like you earned it! Like it was ever yours! And look at this place-“ he gestured to the dingy hut around him – “you call this home? You’re hiding in this pile of shit, and you think you’ve improved, compared to what you had? Pathetic!!”

König could hear every word the warlock said, but he only thought of you. For the first time since he was a boy, tears welled in his eyes at the prospect of you being snatched from him so soon. His throat felt tight and tense as he watched, helpless and desperate as your eyes began to flutter shut, and your struggling weakened. He can’t lose you – not now. You didn’t deserve to die like this. None of this was your fault, you were only doing what you could, how else were you supposed to live? He felt the last, pathetic ember within his chest dying out as he struggled to gather his thoughts and save you.

I can’t lose you. I won’t, not when I’ve just found you, found myself in you.

“I’ll let you do the honor, boy.” The warlock spat.

König looked back at him – his eyes were still transfixed on your form, his hands outstretched and clutching around the air, choking you merely with his will. “See what she has done to you, what she has taken from you? What she would have taken?”

König remembered your fingers tracing over his heart. The way your nail had slightly dug into his skin.  Did you truly take anything from him, that he didn’t already give to you?

“Kill her, and I’ll give you all I promised.”

König’s mind froze for a moment – his eyes landed on the knife, tossed amongst the folds of the velvet and furs on the ground. He instinctively reached down, curling his shaking fingers around the handle. It was heavy in his hand, heavier than any blade he had ever carried. He stared at his own eyes in the blade’s reflection: tense, afraid.

What did he want? “Perhaps, to find a love of your own?”

He looked back down at you. Your cheeks were red from the lack of oxygen, your chest pushed forwards as you tried to wrench your arms free of the warlock’s invisible grasp. Tears streamed down your face as you struggled to stare back at König, but you were not afraid. You were not begging for your life from him. You were warning him, maybe threatening to curse him from beyond the grave, should he kill you now. Still, he saw no attempts to bargain for your right to live, the right you had most likely pawned off by now… just pure anger. You had lost.

But, if you did, so did he. He too would be lost.

The warlock had already shown him what he needed.

Without another thought, König turned to face the sorcerer. At the same time, he launched the knife towards him – it lodged itself into the side of his neck, cleanly piercing into his jugular.

The warlock gasped, then choked, pulling his hands back to rip the knife from his throat. Blood gushed onto the floor and down his robes as he tried to keep the gash from draining his life source. He collapsed onto his knees with panicked eyes.

As soon as the blade had struck him, you gulped in a breath of air, wheezing and coughing. You bolted upright – König tried to run his hands along your delicate throat with concern, but you hastily shoved him down. He fell back onto the furs as you scrambled away – you quickly collapsed next to the warlock, still dizzy from the lack of oxygen, and took the blade from the floor. With a furious cry, you plunged it deep into his heart, all while sprays of his blood smattered across your skin.

He glared back at you with anger and fear. He reached a hand out to your throat, but you quickly pinned it to his side. You scowled at him as you watched his life seep out of the wound, his eyelids growing heavier and his movements slowing by the second. He tried to mutter a curse in his dying breath, but you knew it would be futile. He didn’t have enough blood to get him through the cadence.

Eventually, with one last groan, he slumped against the floor. His dead eyes stared at the ceiling and his hand flopped to the ground. You scoffed, twisting the knife in his chest with a grunt.

“I should have taken your heart all those years ago.” You seethed, spitting on the ground next to his head.

With a heavy sigh, you sat back on your heels, glaring down at the dead expression on the warlock’s face. You had spent a good amount of time fantasizing about his death a few decades ago, although you were fonder of poison or a hex, rather than spilling his worthless blood all over your dirt floor.

You glanced back at König; he was now kneeling on one knee, and seemed surprisingly calm for what he had just witnessed. His chest heaved from the urgency of the intrusion, but his eyes were relaxed. Or, relieved? It was hard to decipher him, as his eyes darted between the body on the ground and your blood-stained face. Still, he was unusually not worked up after having consumed the potion.

Your eyes moved to glance at the bottle on the nightstand, wondering if you might not have given him the entire dose. Upon seeing the vial, your heart leapt into your throat with dread.

It was completely full. You had never given him the potion.

Your wide eyes landed back on König. Questions raced through your mind at a thousand miles a minute. Was he trying to trick you? Why had he pretended to be under the spell? Why had he bothered to entertain your lust after you had released him from the restraints? Was there some kind of placebo effect? No, that’s not possible – was he just going along to have a good fuck before he would end up killing you? Playing you at your own game?

He must have known you didn’t give him the potion. Why didn’t he kill you earlier, when the knife was right there, and he had you boxed in underneath his body? Was this an attempt to gain your trust in the long run? It didn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t need to survive the long run – he could have killed you long before now.

Panic had settled deep underneath your skin, along with an angry confusion. You ripped the knife from the warlock’s chest and quickly hurled yourself at König, pinning him down underneath you as you pressed the blade to his jugular. He held his hands up near his head and let you shove him down. His eyes remained on yours – never scared, never angry. It’s like he expected your every move, and your stomach churned at the thought of it. Had he planned this from the start? Had he distracted you from giving him the potion? How could he have known this would work?!

“You bastard!” you shouted, leaning in and baring your teeth in your rage. The confused tug of his brow only angered you more. “How did you know?!”

He shook his head delicately, trying to avoid catching his skin on the edge of the knife. “I don’t understand.”

“The potion.” You retorted. “I never administered it to you.”

He dared to tilt his head up behind him to look for the vial, but stopped when you pressed the blade further against his skin. His breath became stuck in his throat. “I didn’t- I didn’t realize.”

You scoffed. “Don’t take me for a fool. Why did you do it? Were you so desperate for sex?! Did you know the warlock would come?!”

“I did not!”

“Why didn’t you try to kill me?!”

“I could never kill you – I won’t do it.”

You wanted to stab him then and there. Was this man so starved of affection – not even that, of lust, that he would risk losing his life for it? It can’t be that… no sane man would do that. And maybe he didn’t seem like he had all of his screws, but… you couldn’t understand his reasoning here.

“Why not?” you asked. Your voice had softened with confusion, although you still held the knife firmly to his neck. Why haven’t you killed him yet? Perhaps the loneliness was getting to you, too. And you had found someone as fucked up as yourself.

He swallowed hard. “You’re perfect. You’re perfect, and- and you deserve a home. I will build you one, I’ll keep you safe from the hunters, from floods and fires. I don’t care what you’ve done, and if you could forget my vices, I would do anything for you.”

König knew words could never be enough for what he felt – truthfully, he didn’t know exactly what these feelings were. Maybe it was a result of his insanity that he had become so smitten with someone who wanted nothing more than his cock and his blood, but he couldn’t fight it. He wanted to give you everything you never had – real love, comfort, affection, and security – and he wanted to be the one to give it to you, specifically.

You scowled at how he wasn’t afraid – it was clear that you didn’t have the upper hand in this situation, even though König was not trying to best you here. “I have killed countless men before.”

“As have I.”

“I will kill you!” You spat, leaning closer to him, as if your statement was a promise. You wanted him to cower in fear. What was wrong with him? Why was he looking at you with such sweetness, such longing? After everything you had done to him? He must be empty in the head – that was the only explanation. No one had looked at you with love like he did – never.

König could do nothing but pant and stare back at you. You, with blood splattered across your skin, flecks of crimson staining your hair. The vulnerability in your nakedness, yet the power in how you didn’t seem to care. You were not afraid of him.

He knew he was nothing more than a pawn to you, just a few meaningless moments of entertainment. But he didn’t care. It was you he wanted, whether that was with his rough fingers caressing your body, or your soft, open palm colliding with his skin. By the gods, if you had killed him now, it would be less painful than if you ushered him out of your hut for good. But, even if you denied him a thousand times, ten thousand times, he would still follow you like a loyal hound with nowhere else he would rather be than by your side. He didn’t refute that he was crazy – even you, the cursed witch that never dared to step foot out from the forest, would say he was insane. But the absurdity of it all paled in comparison to his adoration for you.

He slowly moved to take your hand from his chest – he did not reach for the one holding the knife, still pressed against his throat. He looked into your eyes – still angry, with a tinge of confusion. You couldn’t be sure if he was playing tricks on you right now. You pressed the knife flush against his jugular, creating a small nick in his skin; a warning. König hissed through his teeth, but he didn’t waiver. He interlaced his fingers with yours, still looking at you with utter devotion in his eyes.

“If it is by your hands that I die,” he said quietly, chest heaving, “I only ask that they hold me as you lay me to rest.”

You stiffened, your lips turning into a frown. Yet, your heart thrummed against your ribs like a dove in a cage, one that had not felt the warmth of the sun in decades. “Don’t say such a foolish thing.”

“I would worship you from the grave.” He replied quickly, as if you hadn’t spoken at all.  

Had such a poetic profession ever been directed towards you, by someone who wasn’t under one of your spells? Had anyone ever spoken with such unconditional love since the great poets had walked this earth? The knife in your hand lowered, falling next to König’s head as you observed him with confusion and disbelief.

He didn’t call you wicked, wretched, temptress, or bitch. He didn’t refer to you as the brine of the earth. He didn’t say heartless bastard, murderous whore, or spawn of satan. He didn’t look at you with hatred or repulsion – only desperation, ardency, and a need for you to understand him.

His fingers reached to touch your cheek, and you let them in your daze. “I love you.” He whispered, though he didn’t think it did justice to how he truly felt for you.

You frowned again, batting away his hand. He only caught your fingers in his, holding them gently, yet firmly. “Don’t lie.” You said, although it was less of a command, and more of a question.

“Let me wash you.” He said, massaging your blood-stained fingers. “Please.”

You were utterly baffled at his intentions. This couldn’t have been real. Even insanity couldn’t explain whatever reasoning coursed through his mind. But, it called to you. Your own heart, surprisingly still able to have an impact on your decisions, begged you to latch onto König’s outreach. His ribcage had been cracked and torn open by his own hands, and the blazing heat that radiated from it beckoned to you. You couldn’t find the strength within yourself to keep from falling into it, letting the ribs close in back around you and hold you tightly.

You let him slowly sit up, careful to keep you in his lap. He tentatively stretched a hand to take the knife from you, but you pulled it back. You still couldn’t fully believe that he wouldn’t try to kill you, despite his sudden and unusual devotion. He let you keep the knife, scooping your body into his strong arms and standing up from the pile of furs, grabbing his pelt along the way.

You felt vulnerable, out of place… when was the last time someone had touched you like this – gently, without the intention of maiming you?

He carried you over the warlock’s dead body, still bleeding out on the ground, and out of the hut, into the clearing you had claimed as home. He made a mental note to clean your floors later – after all, the mess was his fault. He thought about building you wooden floors, a foundation for your home – which he planned on calling his, too – one that would be even and smooth, without stones or roots that you might trip over or cut the soles of your feet on, one that would keep the both of you safe and dry should a bad rain make the river flood the forest floor. Maybe he’d build you a garden box, maybe two… he had to keep himself busy, since he wouldn’t be hunting anymore. Not for money or revenge, anyways, but maybe animals to keep you fed and healthy, or humans for whatever potion-worthy organs they held.

He gently sat you down on a large, flat stone by the fire pit, moving to kneel in front of you. He positioned his pelt to hang around your shoulders, nearly swallowing you whole.  His hands never left your skin; he ran the both of them up and down the sides of your thighs as he stared at your distant expression. His eyes were locked on you with an intensity and adoration that poets dip their pens in before they write.

He took your chin in his hand – you were still too confused by his obsession, as well as too drunk on the newfound warmth in his doting actions, to pull away – and turned it side to side, inspecting the bruises on your neck. His lips turned down and his brow furrowed as he saw red and purple marks forming on your skin. He wondered how it was possible, as his thumb traced over each bruise, that the warlock had managed to do this without even touching you.

“I’ll get some water.” He said, squeezing the flesh of your hip. The gesture wasn’t sexual – it was reassuring. Comforting. I’ll be back. “Stay here-“

“Wait.” You commanded, grabbing his wrist before he could pull away from you. He placed his hand back onto your thigh as he looked at you expectantly – like a hound waiting for a command.

“What do you need?” he asked.

You looked back at the hut; the warlock’s body was partially visible through the entryway, supine and turning an odd, greyish color.

“Bring me his heart.” You ordered.

König looked back at the corpse – he didn’t gawk at your demand, nor did he question why you wanted the heart. He would do anything for you, no questions asked, other than to make sure he was doing what you desired in the most beneficial way for your needs.

“Is it still useful?” he inquired, wondering if it mattered that the heart had been pierced by a dagger.

“Useful enough.” You replied, turning back to look at König’s hand on your thigh. “It will be messy. Best to do it before bathing.” Who had you become? Why did you care to make this hunter’s life more convenient? If it weren’t for the warlock, König would have been the dead body inside your hut.

He grunted in agreement, then stood, letting his fingers grace your cheeks as he walked away. You huffed in anger at yourself. You hated it. You hated that his touch made you feel warm and good. You hated his blindness to your selfish and sinful nature. Still, the urge to snap at him and tell him to not touch you died in your throat when his fingers had pulled away, and you found yourself wishing they had lingered a second more.

It was never supposed to be like this. You always ended up spilling your story into the heart of your next victim, and of course, they took it like nectar from the sweetest fruit. They assumed that your loneliness would make it easy for them to be welcomed into your home, your arms, your cunt, before they would leave you dead in the woods with your eyes in their satchel. This game, turning the tide on each hunter that came to kill you – it was how you allowed yourself to feel and let go of your anger, of what had been done to you. It was therapeutic, even when you ended up killing the poor soul. Your confessions and emotions would be washed down the river, along with his blood.

This, you weren’t prepared for. You had thrown all of your faults, your feelings, and your atrocities into König, and he had absorbed it like a dishrag. Now, he had survived your game, by the luck of the warlock’s well-timed attack, and your own shock. He knew everything about you, and you had a feeling he wasn’t going anywhere.

What was worse, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be getting rid of him. You were afraid of how quickly you were becoming attached to him, to his delusional devotion. You had been craving it all this time, and here he was to offer it. The way he’d carried you from the hut nearly had you trembling with the ache it made you feel in your chest. Yes, he was after your sex, like they all were – but now that he’d had it, he was still here. And it terrified you, what you would do to make sure he stayed forever.

König returned, carrying the warlock’s body over his shoulder, unbothered by the blood that stained his back. You watched as he laid the corpse on the riverbank; he had your knife in his hand; he would have used his, not wanting to spoil any of your things with this worthless man’s blood – but he wasn’t sure if there was some sort of ritualistic power in your blade that made it better for the job. He began skillfully slicing and carving away at the greyish skin on the chest. His eyes held no abhorrence to what he was doing, only a trained keenness and observance as the blade peeled away the layer of flesh. He cracked open the rib bones and sifted through the other, useless organs with precision, carefully cutting the arteries and veins to separate the heart from the body.

He was much cleaner with the procedure than you. Typically, you’d be digging your fingers into the stab wound, ripping and tearing skin back, tugging at the ribs with frustrated snarls and grabbing fistfuls of organs before tossing them onto the surrounding earth.

Maybe, since König would be sticking around, you could learn a thing or two from him.

He slowly cupped the heart, pulling it from the chest cavity and inspecting his work. He then glanced around at the forest floor, before picking up two, decently large, wet leaves and wrapping them around the organ. He stood and walked back to where you sat, placing the wad of tissue into your palms. The leaves kept the blood from staining your fingers, which were still tinged a faint purple from the berries before.

“Does this please you, Herzblatt?” he asked, looking affectionately into your eyes.

Your lips turned down into a pout. Here you were, thinking you had the upper hand on this massive, devoted giant; yet, despite not knowing exactly what he had said in his native tongue, you knew he was trying to match your level of power in this new dynamic. Even so, you didn’t find the challenge insulting – only flattering, in some twisted way. You huffed through your nose, placing the wrapped heart into your lap. “Good enough. It will do.”

König chuckled and smiled for the first time that night, realizing that your bite had lessened quite a bit, now that you had decided against killing him. He stood back up and took a few steps back.

“I will wash my hands, then I will come back for you. Wait here.” He began walking back towards the bank.

“Wash yourself a few paces before the tree.” You said, and he briefly paused to listen to you. “Before the water hits the roots. He needs to drink, again.”

König was confused by your request, as he watched you stand and grab your basket, placing the warlock’s heart into it. You pulled clumps of wet dirt and leaves, murmuring foreign words into each handful before packing it over the organ. An icy blanket crept over the inside of the basket, crackling as it froze the contents.

He didn’t understand what you meant by the tree needing to drink – aren’t the roots submerged in the water enough as it was? Nevertheless, he obliged, and knelt by the creek, where the water rushed downstream and wove through the twisted wires at the tree’s base.

As he washed his hands, he snuck a glance back at you as you stood above the wicker basket that rested near the firepit; you were deep in thought, chewing your lip and brow furrowed as you hugged yourself. The night was cold, and your nipples were still perked up in the chilly wind. As he watched you move towards the bank a good distance from him, cupping handfuls of the cold water and scrubbing the blood from your skin, König silently made you a promise to warm you up tonight – he wanted to ravage your body again, make your voice hoarse and cracked with each orgasm he would pull from your body, but he figured that you deserved a deep, restful sleep after the day’s events. As he observed the bruising handprint around your throat from where he sat, he decided that he would settle for curling in close to you on the sleeping pile, and his body heat would be enough for tonight.

Suddenly, there was a groan – a heavy, long, tired sound that rumbled through the air. König’s head turned towards the sturdy oak where the noise came from, watching as the branches ever so slightly twitched and creaked. The red, vein-like lines that snaked across the bark now undulated and pulsed with life. His eyes fell to the creek at the tree’s base, and a slight fear stirred within his chest: the crimson cloud of the blood he had washed from his arms and hands had pooled by the tree, never making it further downstream. The roots sucked the colored liquid through the water, reaching out and trembling as they drank greedily.

The hairs on the back of his neck raised. He was overwhelmed with the realization that he was knelt next to something old, yet very much alive. It felt like the tree was observing König just as much as he was staring at the being. A dull buzzing echoed in the back of his mind, and if he focused hard enough, he thought he could hear a voice. The words were whispered, then hissed, though he couldn’t understand them. He strained to decipher the cadence, his fingertips gracing the surface of the water. His eyes landed on the roots as they sucked up the last of the red-tinged cloud from the creek.

Thank you, thank you, thank you-

“He doesn’t like being stared at.”

König nearly jumped out of his skin when your hand touched his shoulder. He looked back to find you standing behind him, skin glistening with water from the creek, watching him with a gentle smirk. You ran your hand down his pectorals, leaning over him to place a kiss to his scalp.

Just as he was thinking how unusually affectionate the gesture was, you ran your other hand through his hair, before locking your fingers into it and yanking his head back. He grunted from the pain and let out a wince as you pulled your fingers tighter, leaning your head down and pressing your cheek next to his. Your lips softly graced the skin there, and he could feel his blood already making its course back down to his cock.

“Make yourself useful, hunter,” you whispered against him, “and keep me warm tonight.”

You released his hair with a shove, making him brace himself against the cold earth. He turned his head to watch you with an indignant frown as you made your way back into the hut, the door clanging shut behind you.

No lock, no windows, no foundation… where would he start? Would you prefer your cottage backed up against the hill, where your current, collapsing hut was? Or would you prefer it in the middle of the clearing, with several yards of even ground surrounding it? With the right tools, he would be able to stain your windows, if you so wished to have the sun casting iridescent shades onto the walls of your home. He would still be able to return to the town, even if you wouldn’t, as long as no one was suspicious of the warlock’s disappearance after his meeting with him. Maybe you would realize that he’s more than just a cock to fuck, although he wouldn’t mind if that’s all you cared to use him for. He’d happily give it to you.

He sighed, running a hand down his face, and then stood up. As he walked back to the hut, he told himself that he would start by gathering wood. Whatever dry logs could be salvaged before winter came in, he would store for later and use to build your garden boxes before spring comes in. Then, he would start working on the foundation, after asking you where you wanted your new home to be placed. Hopefully, you would give him a real answer, and not laugh at him and tell him to sit down, calling him an oaf and odd for trying to improve your life at all.

He entered the hut, eyes narrowing as the doar groaned and squeaked. Maybe he’d start by oiling those hinges.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Verdammt – dammed

Scheisse – fuck

Liebe – love

bitte, bitte Liebling, genau so, bitte… - please, please darling, just like that, please…

scheiße – shit

prinzessin – princess

Scheisse, Ich muss dich zu meinem machen – fuck, I need to make you my girl

Bitte- Ich werde gut sein, lass mich einfach in dir vergraben – please- I’ll be good, just let me bury myself inside you.

Du bis- scheiße, du bis perfekt für mich... Ich behalte dich. Ich- fuck, mein Königin- Ich werde dich niemals gehen lassen ... Süßes Mädchen ... – you’re- shit, you’re perfect for me. I’m going to keep you. I’m- fuck, my queen- I’ll never let you go… sweet girl…

Ich komme- fuck, ich komme – I’m cumming- fuck, I’m cumming

Stimmt etwas nicht – what’s wrong?

Herzblatt – a German pet name that comes from the cardgame, Skat. It refers to the cards that can be the determining factor for winning or losing the game – jack, queen, king, or ace of hearts.

Taglist: @a-sadmilky @earthaskittens @milk-man3000, @z0mbi3-rxt @pinkslaystation

[dressdaisy]

cw: smut, fingering, blow jobs, choking, man handling, age gap relationships, afab!f!reader

Poor König, just wanted to court you right and proper. There was a significant age gap between the both of you - with him taking the lead. You were a real pretty thing, and he was in love. Helplessly so.

Call him old fashioned, but König wanted to "win your heart" the traditional way. Took you out on dates that he paid in full, showered you in flowers and jewelry, did his got damned best to be "charming". Safe to say he was desperate.

Yet you didn't seem to mind. Rather, you giggled at his bad jokes, even let him pull you into his lap, leaning into him as he mapped out your curves through your clothes. A dirty, delicious, man; one who thought you were the most innocent thing hes ever seen.

Come the time you both decide you were "ready" to take the next step. Didn't take you to a trashy hotel, or fuck you in his car like other men might've. König invited you to his home, cooked you a fresh dinner of something from his native country - a pleasant conversation with dim lighting. How fucking romantic.

In his mind, you were so compliant, so swooned by his love and nuturing nature toward you. Probably hoped it would own a few blissful moans this night, afterwards he'd tell you to quit your job and live with him while you were still cock drunk. But after dinner, when the conversation slowly stumbled into the bathroom and was discarded on the floor in the forms of clothes and underwear - well, it was safe to say you were anything but the innocent bird he thought to have nurtured.

Rather, you lead him to the bed, pushing him back to a seating on the bed. His hands tangled in your hair, groaning and grunting as you nipped and kissed all his favorite places. Neck, jaw, his muscles even; you were so fucking perversely thorough. It left him weak and malleable to your desires and sinful actions.

Couldn't even question you as you begged to suck his fat, weeping cock. Just nodded with a stupid, star struck expression in his eyes. His head bobbing backwards as you licked and greedily fit him inside your warm mouth. The hot muscle of your tongue swirling against the sensitive head of his cock, followed by the vibrating moans of your throat, it was all crashing down at him at once.

The moment he felt himself about to come to a seering hot climax, you pulled away, licking your precum smeared lips, your sticky fingers earning the same treatment afterwards.

"Mhh.. Choke me, please?"

You were so bold. So unbothered by your own words. König could help but use the remained of his breath to release a laugh. Kids these days, so fucking vulgar. Though, it wouldn't sop him from grabbing that pretty throat and lifting you back to his lap.

After all, the sweet folds of your pussy practically oozed prayers of attention. And König was not about to deny his angel. He'd have his thick fingers ramming into your cunt, spreading them from the inside while you whined and cried his name; almost helplessly orgasming from some choking and fingering alone. König would give you proper whore treatment if that's what you begged for.

[dressdaisy]

calling jock! Konig a dick while he bullies his way into your cunt after a game

He just wanted a reward from his gf for winning :(

-🐈

tw dubcon

he doesn’t take any of your threats or fits seriously, not when you look so cute and fuckable all pouty and mad. blames it on your hormones — that you need a good dicking just as much as he needs to give it to you, and you’ll be back to being his sweet, loving girlfriend. tells you that anyone else would be grateful to take a victory fuck from the football teams best offense, would take it without complaint, but you just have to be difficult. don’t you, kleine? you should really learn to be more proud of his accomplishments.

he gets off on you yelling at him for being so cocky and rude as he shoves your face into a locker, pinning your flailing hands behind your back because he knows you’re a scratcher. he’s not even sure why you’re mad this time, all he can focus on is trying to sink his stupid cock inside your tight hole, your skimpy shorts pushed out of the way to expose you to him. he’s sweaty and exhausted from the game, heaving as he sinks inside you, thick girth stretching your little pussy out so much it’s painful. his hips buck into you at an unforgiving pace, fucking the words out of you until you’re producing nothing but a series of breathless, cut off whines. he can tell how wet you are from watching him play all night, obscene sounds of your moans and squelching cunt are sure to be heard by anyone passing by, but könig’s too busy worried about getting his well deserved nut to care about anyone else.

if you were as mad at him as you claim to be, you wouldn’t be fucking back on his cock, sticky pussy squeezing around him tightly. just stay silent and let your hardworking boyfriend have what he earned!! :(

[dressdaisy]

tummy bulge with konig... the way he'd tease you about it :(

-🐈

he’s so mean and smug about it. pressing down on the indent of his thick cock with a large, warm palm, his smile cocky and mocking because he knows his dick is so big you can feel it in your stomach, and the pressure on your little womb is so overwhelming for you. tears are already crystallizing in the corner of your eyes, the breath knocked out of your lungs from how fucking deep he is. and he’s relatively unbothered apart from the way he’s engrossed in the sight. “look at that, maus. feel me right here, ja?”

he’ll patronizingly shush your whines and attempts at forming words, bringing your shaky hand down to hold over the bulge when you try to grasp his arm for purchase. slow grinds to make sure you feel him turn into rough thrusts that send the headboard knocking loudly against the wall and your body up the mattress. you fit his cock like a glove, he might as well be considered another organ.

[dressdaisy]

if i had access to that man (könig), i would kiss every single inch of his face

mhm mhm! and he would let you because he loves it just as much. makes him feel wanted, makes him want to give you everything in return, just so he can keep feeling your lips pressed to his face forever <3. swears you’re healing all his scars too so you give him more. you want something? just give him a lil peck and it’s yours. he’s leaving? lay one on him for good luck! he can’t think of anything better than having your lipstick marks all over his face after coming home from deployment — except for maybe seeing them on his cock.

[dressdaisy]

König who always uses his height to his full advantage.

Especially when teasing you. Especially when it comes to kissing him.

Whenever you'd crane your neck up to kiss him, perhaps even stand on the tips of your toes or the balls of your feet, König, thoroughly amused, would either lift his head enough to where you'd be lucky to catch his chin or he'd offer his cheek.

You'd get your reward soon enough. The cat-and-mouse of it all was entertaining and endearing to him, however.

But when you finally had enough, when you found yourself standing on König's feet for leverage, and you craned your neck up and pulled him down to meet you halfway, your tall lover could do naught but smirk in the embrace.

And sure enough, you got your reward.

It was worth every moment of his teasing you.

[dressdaisy]

making out with könig is so needy and sloppy and erotic, on both ends. large hands exploring every inch of your soft body while he licks into your warm mouth like a starved man. he’s not the type to be ashamed about being vocal either, making you swallow his moans and whines while your lungs scream for air, hovering off the floor from his subconsciously firm grip on you. if hes especially worked up, it’s clumsy and uncoordinated, more knocking teeth and tongue than anything else, borderline painful the way he’s trying to devour you whole. pinning you to the wall and humping against you because it’s never enough — he kinda needs to crush you. can’t hold enough of you in his hands. he’s always painfully hard and covered in both of your spit, eyes glossy and unfocused, when you pull away. he kisses like he eats pussy and i need him.

[dressdaisy]

I want him.

[dressdaisy]

Me with regular Konig: baby boy. Baby. Let me pay him on the head and call him a good boy.

Me with fae! Konig: nasty. Nasty horrid man. Mangy alley cat. He has fleas all over. Give him a bath.

Me with Regency! Konig: Whore.

It's funny to me that Konig in the fae AU - as the "ultimate predator" - would have no reason to growl.

In the animal kingdom, an animal that growls wants to scare you away. An animal that doesn't growl wants to kill you.

Why alert your prey of your attack? Animals only really growl to scare away another animal instead of fighting it so they can conserve energy: Snakes hiss and rattle so they don't have to use up all their venom and be left vulnerable for another attack while they use valuable energy to produce more. Animals growl to scare predators away if they think they can't win the fight or don't want to get seriously wounded in the fight.

Konig would have no reason to doubt his ability to win a fight. Konig would have no reason to worry about conserving energy, he can find food easily. Konig would have no reason to fear being wounded because who could touch him?

And it makes sense that Konig wouldn't want to scare away those he wants gone, it's more efficient, easier, and more logical to kill them, that way they can't come back.

You know why he would growl? To impress a mate.

I mean, if he can't kill someone (however temporarily he'll let them live) lest he risk being banned again he can still make a show of it. Mate doesn't let him show how strong he is through his normal methods? Look, even these magical beings are scared of a measly little growl.

He would enjoy showboating I think too. How deep and rumbling his growl can be. Using his vocalisations to express other feelings as well.

You've also mentioned him enjoying the hunt with Libeling and stalking her without much noise but letting her be aware of his presence so she can feel at ease and he gets the thrill of the hunt. Which would tie into how he wants to respect her and wants her to see him and appreciate his strengths but not necessarily fear him too much.

I think it would be cute that during their first couple meetings Konig growls and Liebling of course assumes it's him throwing his weight around or trying to scare her and is upset. Whereas poor Konig is shellshocked because he didn't even mean to growl it just happened. For the first time in... Ever? Maybe?

He growled because he knows Liebling wouldn't like how else he deals with problems - why is he changing his behaviour for a human? He growled because he wanted to impress her - when was the last time he ever had to try to impress? He growled because for the first time in aeons he wants to communicate with another being - he's so used to wanting to maim and kill and hunt that he mistook the intense feelings as the same instincts he always had but were they something more?

Liebling, angry: Did you just growl at me?!

Konig, dumbfounded: did I just growl at you?

Just, Liebling angry at Konig while Konig is having an existential crisis.

Regency König is a WHORE.

Fae!König absolutely has no reason to growl. He has no reason to do a lot of things that he does in the modern age, he only does them because it helps him blend in. König has extremely weak magic, the man can use it but he's not adept wit it, he only taps because it helps him look more fae. He didn't growl until he met Liebling, because she considers it more polite than just ripping people to shreds.

König's natural noise is something more akin to clicking. Sort of like the Predator, but I also think of it like mandible clicks, something reverberating and distinctly inhuman. He's based off of a mammalian predators, but I don't think he made normal mammal sounds for a LONG time. Speech is sort of new to him, same with disguising himself. This is why he tends to lose control of his form when he's not paying attention to it(thank God for Liebling being a monster fucker).

You're dead on the money that König respects Liebling and wants her to see his power without fearing him. He has a huge amount of respect for her, not only because she's the only person that stands up to him, but also because she's incredibly smart and self sufficient. König loves how much she doesn't need him or want him, she has no desire for his power and so he has no issue giving it to her.

I think he growls for Liebling because he truly sees her as his better, as the one person that can match truly him. There are a lot of firsts from König in his relationship with Liebling, and a lot of confusing feelings that he's never really had before. Lust, sure, but love? Nope.

"Did you growl at me?" You try to fix the disbelieving glare on your face, your cup of tea half raised. König stares at you like he doesn't believe it either.

"Did I?" He asks, as if that will get him out of this.

He didn't mean to growl at you. The rumble in his throat had just slipped out. Something deep and aggressive had taken hold of him, something warm in the pit of his stomach. You eye him suspiciously, glaring over the rim of your cup. König can't offer an explanation. He hasn't made that sound before. There's no reason to warn anyone of his teeth, if they can see them it's already too late. But you...

You glance at the people passing by, enjoying the sunshine, the weather nice enough to sit outside your favorite bakery after work. Your lashes dust against your cheeks when you blink, your skin looking warmer for all the sunshine. You're close enough to see his teeth and yet you're not running scared. You've seen them, and you still sit across from him, still turn your attention away from him, your bare neck on display with all the trust in the world. You're so lovely.

The sound bubbles again, a reverberating growl in his throat that pitches down, attempting to escape lower. You glare at him from the corner of your eye and turn to face him.

"What?" You question, spit it like a swear as you set your cup down. König blinks, sits back in his seat, straightens to sit taller. He doesn't know. He has no reason to warn you of anything, no plans on eating you. He doesn't even growl at the fae unlucky enough to get caught in his claws. What threat could you possibly pose to him that he needs to warn you away? What energy does he need to conserve? His teeth don't run out of bite, his claws still rip and tear, he is as much the monster he always has been, and you are still small and soft comparatively.

"Nothing," He tells you, because truly there is nothing. He doesn't know what there might be to make him do this. "You're beautiful," he offers instead. Compliments always make you look away from him, and this time is no different. You press your hand against your cheek, leaning against the edge of the table and turning away from him. He can almost hear the blood rushing to your cheeks, feel the pout of your lips against his hand.

The sound settles lower now, rumbling in his chest pleasantly with the contraction of his lungs. It thrums through his vocal cords, and against his tongue, as soft as the curl of your fingers. You don't look at him this time, seem to try and twist further out of his view. Something sparking like recognition in your eyes. König tips his head to study you, brows drawing together.

Is it concern that flutters in his stomach? Is it aggression that clenches hot in his chest? Does he growl at you because you're so much greater a threat than he is?

"You're purring," You mumble, voice muffled by your hand, "it's embarrassing."

You say that, but all your lovely spider-silk tethers glow a pleasant gold, and König's heart beats a little faster.

[dressdaisy]

retired!könig who’s most excited about food freedom now that he doesn’t have such a strict obligation to keep his physique in top condition under the military’s requirements. you’ll wake up to him on most mornings sitting at your kitchen table in a fuzzy sweater that didn’t used to cling so snugly to him, leftovers of the coffee cake you baked last night half-eaten on the table, newspaper in hand and a mug of something dark and hot in the other, because old habits die hard. he’ll detect the look on your face easily, the way your yearning eyes wander around his body, and lean back instantly, patting his lap for you to fall into. he’ll feed you what he didn’t scarf down and rub your back soothingly, an unspoken agreement between the two of you because he knows how much you love his new look. knows that if he were to reach down, your panties would probably be soaked through.

you have retirement to thank now that you don’t have to suffer through watching him eat his body weight in various gross looking forms of protein at every meal, but also for turning him into such a cuddle-able giant — all his extra weight a telltale sign of how well his cute little wife is taking care of him.

[dressdaisy]

☾ VICE ☽

The Prologue

Simon Riley x You x König

Postmark: KorTac | Location Undisclosed

@dustycrusty09 @cutiecusp @sigrid666 @pxssygxblin @misshugs

Masterlist is right here 🌝

[dressdaisy]

augh just thinking about virgin!konig.. he just cant keep his hands to himself !!! whenever you get out of the shower he always wants to dry you off.. of course he only really wants to feel you..

- 🐶

whoever said its harder to go without pussy only after having it was a liar. könig’s dick hasn’t been soft since he met you, and he’ll find any excuse to feel your soft body against his. his desperation for you really should be more embarrassing, but any sane man in his position would feel the same, being in such close proximity to someone as gorgeous as you.

he’s came into his calloused fist countless times, recalling how warm and pliant you are under his fingertips. he just knows you’re warmer and softer inside, and he’d do anything for a chance to feel it!! he finds himself replaying memories of him groping your damp body through your towel, to your boobs pressed against his firm chest in an innocent hug, down to just your fingertips grazing sweetly along his rough hand, while he gets himself off. he always comes so quickly with you on his mind, frustrated that you’re not the one he’s beating his dick sore into.

he asks to give you a massage one day, and just the feeling of the muscles and doughy skin of your back is enough to push him over the edge. that, paired with your quiet moans of content and sporadic praise — he’s achingly hard and breathless, oozing pearly droplets of precum into his pants. he convinces himself you have to be teasing him, because otherwise he’ll feel guilty about having such intense lust for you. just take pity on him and let him hump into your pudgy thighs, he’ll be quick, he promises!!

[dressdaisy]

Idk if you remember but you wrote a small drabble where reader was konigs secret admirer and it's been eating at my brain ever since😭 would you ever consider making it an actual story?

Oh I fell in love with the concept too! Here's a part 2 to that little drabble, I humbly offer it to you with my fluffy little paws ^^

CW: 18+ smut, fluff. Nothing bad here, just sweetness. Ok maybe a tiny bit of biting and light angst because it’s König after all... (Part 1 here)

He still doesn’t know who the mystery girl is.

She likes to tease him with cute messages and a photo of her tits but won’t tell him her name or where she lives. The girl won’t come to meet him so that he can show her some love, nor will she agree to go on a date with him. She just responds to his pathetic suggestions with a bundle of emojis that are about to drive him crazy, and another message that says: “Soon!” 

König has to fall back on the bed and go to sleep with a rock hard dick and a set of twitching, lonely hands. His dream of having a proper girlfriend was shoved on the back burner ever since he joined the Jagdkommando, but now there’s a certain girl inside his head, a new, even better dream he can’t repel. The next day is no better; he even forgets what he was supposed to bring home from the store, knowing his mom will only sigh and tell him they’ll survive without some ingredient they both know is very well essential.

He stands before the butters and spreads, trying to recall what his mother wanted when he hears a soft gasp further down the aisle. He turns his head and barely catches the sight of a woman, turning in her heels and rushing down the flour section, just somewhere out of sight.

Hope and curiosity spark inside him as he leaves the butter and darts after her, calling “Hey” and “Wait” between the shelves as she flits towards the cashier in mild terror. He chases her as if he were trying to catch a thief, and the girl picks up her pace, then slows down to a complete halt… and turns.

Lovely, fearful eyes behold him the immediate second she meets his gaze, immobile hands clutching a bag of croissants and a jar of chocolate butter against her chest.

He slows down his jog and arrives in front of her with a smile, but the girl only looks more and more afraid. Even her jaw is clenched shut, the spitting image of a prey who just got caught.

“You’re her, aren’t you? The mystery girl,” he asks, trying to make it clear as day just how excited he is to finally meet her in person.

Her eyes stay wide as she blinks, the little bag of croissants crunching a bit further in her grip as she tries to shield her vital parts.

“Are you done shopping…?”

Still no answer.

She’s shy, just like he is... Maybe even more so, which is incredibly endearing: the same girl who sent him a picture of her boobs last night, the same girl who had no trouble teasing him to the point of leaking cum all over his sheets is as shy as a deer when caught in daylight. 

It’s so incredibly cute… He thought she was a seductress of the most dangerous kind, but here she is now, looking up at him as if he was some boogieman about to come and snatch her away.

His smile only widens as he looks at his little minx who just tried to run away from the individual she’s sent postcards and love letters to ever since they were kids… Who knew his secret admirer was a bashful little cutie who sneaks around the local store to get herself some sweets and snacks?

“Let me pay for those,” he gestures at the products in her hand. 

Another awkward silence follows until she finally turns her eyes to the floor and nods.

Perhaps it’s not that odd that she sent him anonymous notes and talked to him in texts and letters if she’s this timid -- he of all people should know how tough it is to walk to someone he likes and tell them he wants to go out. But he can’t help but wonder if the girl is mute, or partly deaf, or both. He wouldn’t mind. As long as they understand each other, it’s perfectly fine. 

She looks at him like he’s a god —or a monster—while he pays for her humble delicacies. She stares at him with eyes still wide while putting the groceries inside a tiny cotton bag she has with her, and says nothing when he extends his hand towards her. 

“Here. Give it to me.”

He’s trying to act the part of a gentleman to the full, and she offers the floor a tiny smile while handing him the bag. It weighs less than a half kilo, but the gesture is all that seems to matter because she is indeed smiling, shy and pleased as he shoulders the so called burden for her.

“I can walk you home if you like?” he suggests while pushing the door open for her. 

She steps out into the luminous sunlight, eyes squinting a little from the sudden brightness. Then she turns to him and says her first meek words.

“But... Then you’ll know where I live…”

“Ah! She talks,” he laughs with a full smile and watches with a spreading warmth in his chest how she starts to grin, too. She’s looking at the asphalt and her shoes but she’s smiling, incredibly beautiful and pretty, outshining even the prettiest summer day.

“Don’t worry,” he starts to banter with increasing confidence—when has he ever teased anyone, let alone been confident around a girl he likes? “I promise I won’t come howling under your window at night...”

“It’s… It’s not that,” she laughs and bites her bottom lip. “I still live with my mom…”

She starts to walk towards where he lives, and he follows, his long legs catching up with her with ease. 

“There was the COVID, and my mom is a little unwell… And with the economy… I’m still a student,” she explains while they stroll down the street.

“Really? I’m a student, too.”

“Oh…? What are you studying?”

“How to kill people,” he shrugs, cursing his stupid carefree mouth immediately. “Fuck… Sorry. That was… I mean, I’m in the army.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles.

He sneaks a peek her way, and she indeed doesn’t seem to be shocked in the slightest. Far more frightened she looked at the store when he noticed her and began to chase the poor girl. 

They proceed to talk about what he does and why, how he only just returned from a month’s training that included concealment training in the mountains. She seems interested enough in his choice of career, which he tries to make sound as striking as possible, far more intriguing than it actually is. He tries to appear a little too glorious in her eyes, fearing he won’t live up to the reputation and fantasy she has built inside her pretty little head.

What if she wanted him to be a doctor instead of a moronic soldier? Maybe she fantasized about a lawyer or a historian with whom she could have fascinating conversations… And he’s just babbling nonsense about weather meters and ghillie suits.

But her eyes are still smiling, always at him when he looks away and starts to talk with his hands. When they arrive at the little wicket gate leading up to her house, he notices she lives only about a kilometre away from his childhood home. 

She was always here, and he never knew anything about it… His secret admirer, his passionate seducer, turns out to be a harmless, lovely angel who lives right in the neighbourhood.

She takes her little cotton bag and turns to open the gate, and his hands twitch and flex. Say something clever, his mind yells, ask her out for fuck’s sake… But he needn’t worry, for his precious girl next door immediately turns back and shields her eyes from the sun while looking up at him.

“I’m sorry… I froze a little at the store. I just… This wasn’t how we were supposed to meet...”

“No? What did you have in mind for us then?”

She drops her hand back down and gives him a little halfway shrug, embarrassed.

“I don’t know. I just… I don’t even have any make-up on...”

He risks to bring a hand to her face, his thumb on her cheekbone, sweeps a little arc there to let her know she’s fucking beautiful.

“You’re very pretty,” he says, and she raises her eyes back to his, this time looking like she’s being blinded by the sun even if he’s shielding her from it.

“I really liked the picture you sent me,” he says boldly, and for the second time this afternoon, hopes the earth could swallow him right then and there. 

A pretty girl sends him one nice picture of her tits, and he has to be an asshole about it… She looks super uncomfortable, so flustered that she nearly guides her face away from his palm. 

Fuck that he’s stupid… Must he always be such an idiot and fuck everything up?

“I’m sorry... I meant to say that–”

“I’m glad you liked it,” she rises on her toes and plants a quick, flustered peck on his cheek, then turns to the gate as quickly as a whirlwind. Opens it, and returns solely to give him a bashful, naughty little smile. 

“I liked your picture too,” she says so softly he can barely hear it. 

“...Oh,” he squeaks, cheek still burning from her kiss.

“Do you want to come and see me tonight...? Mom usually drops before ten...”

“I… I… Sure.”

…

It’s a catastrophe.

His old jeans barely fit him anymore, they’ve become way too tight around the thighs. He’s put on some weight during the past few years and made sure to go to the gym every slack hour he has at his disposal, which means he’s packed a bit of muscle here and there. That, along with the many outdoor trainings, have ensured his appetite remains even bigger than usual so it’s no wonder none of his old pants fit. The only ones that don’t look utterly suggestive and wrong are his grey sweatpants, which he wore to the store today. He can’t very well wear those on a date, no matter what all those thirsty TikTok memes say...

He sighs, and grabs the black military pants he had on when he came here, pairing them with a simple black T-shirt. That’s all he has in his drawers: black, black, black, a few white ones that have some food and coffee stains on them, stains that never leave no matter how hard his mom tries to wash them for him.

The house is silent as he slips the keys into his pocket and hollers that he’s leaving. Like some lovesick, unneutered dog about to slink into the night…

“Mom? I’m going out. I… I have a date.”

“At this hour...?”

“Yeah… We’re… Going out to look at the moon,” he makes up off the top of his head.

His mom would scold him for harassing some poor girl when it’s almost midnight, even if it was her who invited him to her house. And if he’s lucky, there’s going to be a lot more action than just staring at the moon together… Not that that’s all he wants; it’s just that he’s been lonely as fuck and could really use a hug. 

Is it a crime, with the past that he has, to want some human contact? Some skin on skin memories that don’t include punching?

“My little boy,” his mom strolls into the room, looking at him with soft, worried eyes. “You look like you’re about to invade some poor, innocent country…”

“Eh… I know. All the other pants were too small.’

She smiles at him: seeing a grown man sweat like a pig before a date must be a silly sight, even more compelling when that man is your own boy. The clock ticks on the wall as she looks at him like he’s about to march off to war, his only shoes a pair of standard leather boots he’s used for two years now. He showed them some grease and a brush, managed to make them look a little less worn and torn – if he had known some cute girl back home had a crush on him, he would’ve visited a clothing store before he came here…

His mom raises a shaky hand and draws him down to kiss him on the cheek, her eyes glossy and hazed from the gathering tears. 

“I’m glad you’re finally eating enough,” she whispers with a voice that barely holds intact, and they both know why it’s shaking, why everything’s trembling; her hands, her voice and her tears.

His bottom lip is twitching too from witnessing his mom being so happy for his sake. But he doesn’t want to cry. He must stay oblivious and strong and pretend that things are finally how they should’ve been: normal and easy and wholesome and good. For her, he will never show that he’s shaking… Too many things in her life have done that when she needed them to stay stable and safe.

“Wish me luck,” he gives her a nervous smile, laughing the tears away.

“I always do…”

He leaves before his tower crumbles, slips out into the sweet, scented night.

There’s roses somewhere, roses that smell heavenly, some early jasmine too that wishes to intoxicate his mind. He realizes he has nothing with him to take as a gift for her, and cusses again. This is a fucking date, and he’s not even dressed properly; he doesn’t even have flowers to bring with him… She’s going to think he’s a nobody, some penniless freak who dresses like a crazy person when he’s supposed to dazzle her and make her swoon.

On his way to her place, he stops to cut a small branch from a flowering rowan tree and shelters it from the gusts of wind that blow from the river. The tiny flowers are delicate and fragrant, not exactly what he would’ve taken to her had he been clever enough to visit a florist before they all closed. But it’s cute enough, to him at least, especially when it’s cut from the tree that was his safe haven as a boy.

The curtains at her window shift when he arrives at the gate, and he knows she’s been expecting him, waiting for the clock to strike ten as eagerly as he.

The front door opens, and there she is: dressed far more accordingly than he; his lady has slipped into a sweet summer dress like the angel that she is. It’s bright and yellow, far from the darkness he always wears, and his heart is slowly squeezing to bits inside his chest.

“Hey,” she gives him a wide, knee-buckling smile.

“Hey,” he smiles back, marching to her door like a horny, ugly wolf. “You want to go for a walk? It’s a beautiful ni–”

The moment he arrives at her feet, the moment she sees that he’s carrying a tiny branch from the rowan tree for her, she snatches the front of his shirt and pulls him inside with a surprising amount of strength.

His forehead hits the doorframe with a thick thud before he manages to bow, and there’s a bit of a commotion after that. He huffs something akin to Oof and laughs, making the angel flit around him in a wild, flustered shame, apologizing to him at least ten times.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry! I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”

“Heh. It’s okay,” he smiles while rubbing the achy spot on his head. He’s forced to sit into an old wicker chair, wide enough to accommodate his back but far too low to hold his stature. He sinks inside it like a veritable giant while she continues to fuss around him, inspecting his “wound” and taking the offering from him with a helpless, embarrassed stare.

“I’ll get you some ice,” she says before leaving him in his chair, the flower he brought softly placed on the bed. 

He’s afraid the furniture will break if he moves, so he stays as still as possible while taking in his surroundings, the soft girl adobe he has somehow managed to sneak his sorry rotten arse into. 

She has a large TV in front of her bed, a gaming console and a lot of books, candles everywhere he steals a look. The beige bedding looks freshly changed and incredibly soft, and there’s an old bunny toy on her bedstand along with another book, both loved to bits. Some houseplants on the floor appear to be doing extremely well, a small leather bag and some makeup left scattered on her desk. Rocks and twigs and dried flowers rest on her window sill, treasures she’s gathered from her trails. It makes his heart grow soft because he knows she will probably put his little offering there too. A bouquet of expensive, luxurious flowers wouldn’t have hit their target at all.

She returns with a small pack of ice and rushes to him in her flowy, blooming summer dress. Descends on her knees and brings a small towel to his forehead before pressing the ice over it, ensuring that it’s not too cold to make him uncomfortable. 

As if he could ever feel uncomfortable, seated in a wicker chair with an angel between his legs, treating his supposed wound with ice and the softest touch…

“Remember all those postcards you sent me?” he asks while she continues to look like the worst person who ever lived, simply because she was too eager to pull him inside her room.

“Sadly, yes.”

“Remember what you wrote to me?”

“Not really,” she says, dabbing the ice pack all over the rising bump on his head. “Something stupid, I suppose…”

“You told me that you love me.”

Her eyes dart to his for a while, hope and shame battling in her fae stare.

“...Oh God.”

“Many times. And then you told me that I’m cute…”

She sighs and brings the ice and the cloth somewhere in her lap. The breasts inside their soft little cell look astoundingly delicious when viewed from up here: he’s slouching in a chair and still, is able to take a rude little peek inside her dress. He slaps himself mentally for being such a goddamn pervert, but then she sighs again, the cute little peaches swelling inside her dress once more.

“That’s it?” 

“That’s mostly it, yes…”

He’s getting hard here, which is a problem. A big, big problem…

His shy admirer never notices anything, not even when he softly gestures for her to give the ice to him. He continues to press it on his forehead, trying to concentrate on the cold sensation rather than the swelling dick in his pants. 

How is he supposed to not grow hard when he knows this adorable little creature has been infatuated with him for so long? When he knows she’s flustered now, just from hearing him tease her about those silly, harmless cards?

“I kept every single one,” he tells her, only to watch how the shy girl grows even shyer.

“You didn’t…”

“I did.”

He tells her about the bullies and how they made it look like they had sent the cards, telling him no girl could ever want to be with him. It’s a sad attempt to fish for her affection and pity, words of contempt and judgement to hammer it home that he did receive those cards from this girl, he did, in fact, deserve to be loved and adored.

And then she starts to talk about how she watched him... How she went to a different school than him, but that she sometimes strolled behind him when he walked home. They shared the journey to and from school, and he was always completely unaware that he was being followed.

“You stared at this rowan tree for what seemed like hours,” she recalls with a sad smile. “Then, if a bee caught your eye, or a bird or some flower, you stopped to ogle at those instead…”

He laughs, but there’s a bittersweet stone in his chest. If he remembers correctly, these were the only times of the day he could drop his eternal guard: in school, he was being tormented by cruel kids and at home there lived a tyrant with his sad little subjects. Trees and bees and birds were a welcome distraction.

She smiles a little, but it’s not a happy smile, even if it is affectionate.

“My mom always told me to come straight back home,” she says. “But you were never in a hurry...”

He looks at her, and she looks back, some pity in her eyes. There arrives a sweet and sour pain in his heart, a feeling that comes from knowing there was someone who witnessed a glimpse of the hope and pain he lived in. That there was someone there all along… 

“You even stopped to look at dog poo…”

“Heh... Was that the moment you fell for me?”

Her lip twitches, the pity in her stare breaks. She rises a little to lean forward, and he catches her with ease as she falls there into his arms, snug into his lap. His lips find hers without effort, and sensation bleeds: his hands are sweaty and shaking as he runs them down along her dress, cups her ass so that she gives a little gasp straight into his mouth. 

That’s the thing he was pining for: for her to open that pretty little mouth so that he could pry it further open with his own. Plunge an exploring tongue inside, not too quick and not too greedy, just a little poke to see if she wants to be claimed.

The angel melts in his lap, like pure white snow, until he braces his core and rises to his feet. It’s now or never, and he’s not going to let this moment slip past his fingers. Somehow, they end up on the bed, the smell of fresh linens and her dainty perfume catching his nose before she presses a pair of weak hands on his chest.

“The flower...”

The flower... Of course. 

The flower from the rowan tree.

He huffs a laugh on her face, a relieved smile as he understands she’s only worried about trampling his gift.

It’s set aside on the table, but right after that, he attacks her again, begins the ascension to heaven. His lips won’t get enough of her, not even as he drinks her like honeydew and ambrosia: the dress he used to associate with seraphs and summer now seems like a huge obstacle between his tongue and her skin, the need to taste more of her urgent in his hips.

“Can I take this off?” He roughs a hand down the fabric that shields her breasts, relishing the tiny moan that follows when he does that. “I want to kiss you everywhere…”

Her throat makes a wet, charming sound as she swallows, her eyes now pools of dark, drunken love. 

“On one condition,” she tells him, out of breath. “If I can kiss you everywhere too?”

It’s a deal, his mind exclaims immediately, but his devilish grin is how he tells her he’s more than eager to accept these terms. His clothes find their way on the floor along with hers, black on black on yellow, but he won’t let her shiver in the cold for long. Like a man possessed, his body finds hers, her soft, naked skin colliding with his like heaven after all those lonely nights of slick, urgent fapping. 

He’s not sure who’s worshipping who here, but he vows to never again let this angel fly under his radar, no matter how perfect of a guardian she has been. A guardian angel, following him with her blessed stare, sending him heavenly messages that were real and true all along. 

She should be rewarded for her abundant gifts, and so his lips find her shoulders and her neck; they graze her nipples and claim her breasts in devouring that leaves her back arching on the bed.

“You don’t have a girl? Waiting for you back there...?” she asks shyly, even when half her tit is being sucked by his mouth.

“The only thing waiting for me back there is my hand,” he rasps while diving down, down, down, all the way past her navel and the mound she still tries to protect from plunder.

“...I can be your girl,” she whispers somewhere high above, her hands holding his head like that of an untamed dog. “If you want…?”

He breathes on the apex between her thighs, presses a furious kiss there without care. 

“F-fuck…” she sighs those thighs open, and from that point on, nothing is enough.

It’s horrible that it must be so: that he finally gets to drink his fill, and it’s still not enough. Her sighs are not enough, her trembling body is not enough. Her attempts to muffle her moans with the back of her hand are not nearly enough.

He wants more, so much more: he wants to try all there is to this with her, forever and ever until the day he dies. He wants to hear her soil her tongue with more curses as he ruins her, bit by bit, just a little bit…

“Say it,” he pants into her glistening lips, “Say that you’re my girl…”

When she does nothing but whimpers in return, he attacks her with both teeth and tongue. Bruises the thigh beside her treasure before plunging straight towards the main prize with reckless want. That’s what finally forces the words out of her mouth: his tongue inside her cunt, delving so deep he has to breathe through his nose to keep from fainting.

“I’m your girl,” she moans on the bed, a bit louder now. “I’m yours, I promise… I always… Always…”

I always was….

She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t need to. 

He grants her mercy after that, replacing the tongue with a finger or two. Slow wide circles over her clit accompanied by quick little pumps in her hole make her cum in no time, and he’s glad he listened to the dirty mess talk of his filthy comrades. Patience is not his virtue, but for her, he makes all the effort.... He for sure leaves a little memory on her thigh. It’s not very nice of him, and he fears those teeth marks might stay with her longer than just a few weeks. 

Maybe she’ll forgive him if he fucks her after this, rocks her slowly and softly, fucks her like angels ought to be fucked. But no, fucking is not the right word... He wants to make love to her. Drink her moans right from her lips while he does it.

After the climax, he’s still hard and she’s still panting.

He wonders if he’ll get slapped or kissed if he asks for permission to put it inside now... His dick is throbbing while they stare at the ceiling together, but as always, his angel is two steps ahead.

“My turn,” she says with newfound vigour, and he gets more than he bargained for: everything and more as she gives his body the same attention he just gave her. Bites his nipples a little too hard, the little minx, licks his ribs as if it’s some kind of a contest to try and make him tickle. Laughs angel trails across his skin, draws a finger down his nether hair until she meets his jutting dick.

She gives him a tame little lick at first, then slowly, expeditiously, kisses his cock from root to tip. Before due time, his thighs start to tremble, and that’s when she takes it in her mouth: sucks and licks him deep until his abs and balls pull tight. The sheet in his fist threatens to get torn to shreds when he cums, and for a moment, he forgets everything, even his name, until he notices that the poor little thing can’t swallow all his load. She almost chokes on the first spurt, withdraws to cough with her mouth closed while he hisses fat curses past clenched teeth. 

When he arrives back to Earth, there’s cum everywhere: on her face, on the sheets, all over his abdomen and his thighs, an eruption that spilled everywhere because his angel got a little appalled.

“I’m sorry,” she peeps with her mouth still full of it.

The poor girl swallows it bravely, and his heart is about to explode: his angel swallows his filthy load like a champ and looks so incredibly valiant while doing it.

“Hey,” he raises a shaking hand towards her, too weak to rise from the bed to comfort her. “It’s okay… You didn’t need to do that…”

“But I wanted to,” she complains while the thick, sticky cum drips down her cheek and onto her breasts.

“Shit… Come here,” he coaxes, and she crawls forward to nestle in the nook of his arm. 

He uses the sheet to dry the rest of it off her face. She looks up at him with that trademark seraph stare, so helpless and in love—if this is what having a girlfriend is like, then he doesn’t feel bad at all that he had to wait a little longer than most men. It was worth all the trouble and toil that he has her here now, in his arms, batting her lashes sweetly. 

“You’re still incredibly cute, you know...?” she whispers, and a mountain inside him moves. 

It’s not sorrow, nor is it yearning; it’s just sweet, simple love. The room smells of salt and sin, but there’s nothing sinful about her when she cups his chin. He knows it’s not elegant to tell someone you love them on the day you've met them, but if the one you love happens to be an angel, then isn't it a sin not to confess?

[dressdaisy]

könig with a small titty gf ༢ೀ⊹

tags [boyfriend könig x fem reader] smut, mild hurt/comfort, established relationship, insecurities, biting, grinding, spit wc 950 [oneshot]

a/n feedback? ♡

you weren’t stupid. you could tell how much könig adored your tits.

it all started on your third date with him. it was a rather hot day and you swapped your usual sweater for a lace camisole, a detail that didn’t go unnoticed. on several occasions he had to tear his eyes away from your chest with flushed cheeks.

you assumed he was inexperienced and his little infatuation would wear out with time. but, no— each time könig has gotten his hands on you, he’s routinely overcome with desperation.

you’ve lost count of how many times he’s had you straddle his lap while you do something completely innocent (like chatting about your day). if you accidentally brush your chest against his, there’s a good chance you’ll feel the heat of his bulge growing against your thigh. “my fault, prinzessin…”

other times könig is shameless. stressful days on the field often wipe him of all decorum, so he’ll interrupt whatever you’re doing at home by pressing his frame against your back, large hands easily cupping your tits. it makes him breathe heavier in your ear. “missed me, schatz?”

needless to say, you were never insecure. that is, until you’re curled up in his bed, messing with his hair as he plays some shitty mobile kingdom game, phone absolutely tiny in his hands.

he’s had the app for months to de-stress (which is cute) but you haven’t truly sat and watched him play until tonight. all joy evaporates the moment you realize he can’t build new fortresses without watching a long ad— usually of some huge-breasted woman in historically inaccurate armor.

“verdammt ads,” he huffs.

“why don’t you just get the paid version?”

“waste of money.”

you couldn’t help yourself from prodding. “frugal. you like seeing them or something?”

he stares at you for a second before returning to his game, clicking around and updating his armor. “you puzzle me, schatz.”

"le'mme pay, then.”

he raised his brow as if you just suggested stealing from the homeless. "nein."

well, that whole interaction bruised your ego. the man had no problem buying you an overpriced coffee or taking the whole bill on dates, but couldn’t scrape up the cash (or let you scrape up the cash) to get anime tits off his screen? seriously?

you pull away from him and roll onto your side, facing the wall. after a few moments the ambient music from his phone shuts off. must be ready for bed. whatever. no cuddling tonight.

suddenly, your eyes snap open at the feeling of being manhandled onto your back. oof.

könig hovers close over you, knees on either side of yours. his raspy voice indicates he's in need of good sleep. “what do you think you’re doing?”

you shrug to the best of your ability. all of your space to breathe is occupied by him. there’s no real venom behind his words or how he handles you; he merely forgets his strength, especially under stress.

“could it be that mein häschen is jealous?”

you shake your head quickly, attempting to wriggle away. könig only braces himself firmer above you. your face grows hot— the scent of his aftershave is intoxicating, and his focused gaze doesn’t help.

“don’t lie to me.”

“fine,” you stutter, and everything flows out at once. “why wouldn’t i be? you don’t give a shit about spending money until it comes to the fucking advertisements of girls with their tits out."

the room is hit with intense silence. you can only hear the air conditioner buzzing and crickets and cars and it nearly drives you insane. könig just looks down at you with an emotion you can’t pinpoint, something you haven't quite seen before. is it disappointment?

no, he knows you. despite the bite in your tone, he probably understands that you're seeking reassurance. or, that's what you hope. you've never been on your boyfriend's bad side.

finally, he moves, lips resting dangerously close to your neck. you can feel a breathy chuckle fan across the length of it, pulling you from your thoughts. “want to know what i think, prinzessin?”

you nod nervously, but the pang of jealousy is wilting and blooming into something exciting.

“you are what is worth money to me.” he then coaxes your inner thighs apart and settles his hips between them, voice coming out strained. butterflies circle low in your stomach when you realize what he wants to do.

“könig…”

“don’t even notice other girls, just want you, always thinking of you, häschen…” his accent is thicker, now. he’s evidently hard as a fucking rock, huge, and it rests right between your legs.

you squirm as he holds your pliant hips, grinding crudely against the wet spot in your panties. you’re dizzy from the feeling, slumping back onto the mattress to take whatever he gives you.

for just a second you miss his hands on you before he pushes your bralette up, exposing your tits to his (now fully blown out) eyes. calloused fingers brush against your nipple and you swear it makes his cock twitch in his boxers.

könig’s free hand finds one of yours, much smaller, and pins it above your head. he grunts at how tight you squeeze when his breath ghosts across your chest, mouthing each of your nipples until they’re slick with his spit.

he might be drooling. you might be, too. you don’t care. 

“pretty, perfect girl…” he says it all with his mouth full, panting, splaying his hands across your ribs while he bites and sucks little marks all over. each time, he passes his tongue in neat sweeps over the bruise, attempting to soothe it— but you both know your tits will be sore for a week.

soft noises spill from your lips but the daze of arousal has you practically incapable of being shy.

he rambles at this point, shifting your hips up to pull your panties down. “get these off before i cum early and have us both soaked, engel. wanna feel it in your stomach."

[dressdaisy]

muncher!könig, but only if it's relates to your pussy — he's a good boy that stays loyal his temple, one that is keeped right between your supple thighs, rounded flesh keeps his thick fingerprints from the way he holds on to them, because otherwise you'll slip out from under the ministrations of his fat tongue, and he doesn't want that at all.

könig easily brings you to overstimulation every time, because if you let him try once, he won't come off — licking into your sopping, coated in your slick and his saliva, cunt, tracing circles around your slit and moving up and down, jaw opening till it's hurts him and his nose is bumping and rubbing against your twitching little clit.

he's everywhere — inside where your gooey, gummy walls pulse around his tongue that lolled out to fuck into your sweet pussy and against your spongy spots, or outside — where könig endlessly sucks on your swollen clit or licks against your slit, folds puffy and fluttering just as your eyelashes everytime you roll your eyes back inside your mushy, empty head.

everything squelches, ringing in your ears together with loud slurps and chocked groans that emanate from könig's slightly chapped lips, now soft because of how much they are coated in your slick and creamy cum, dribbling to his chin and down to your trembling thighs, before landing onto once dry sheets.

könig won't stop until his hunger is satisfied, in spite of how much more chocked and squeaky your melodic moans and mewls become — slowly turning into sobs and whines, small twitches of your limp limbs.

cause once you let a dog get a taste, he won't stop begging for more.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[dressdaisy]

Broke: having König instead of Gaz in the 141

Woke: König and Gaz are both there and become besties

[dressdaisy]

-draws human battering ram König like its my next hit of crack-