@konigs-lover @konigswaifu thought of you two while I wrote this.
Everyone assumes König likes fragile little things.
They see the anxiety first; the way his hands fidget when he’s not in the field, how he struggles with eye contact, the careful deliberation before he speaks. They watch him navigate social situations like he’s defusing a bomb, all that nervous energy barely contained in his massive frame.
So naturally, they assume his taste in women runs the same way: soft, gentle souls who’ll handle him delicately, who’ll speak in soothing tones and not make any sudden movements. Someone calm to balance out his nerves. Someone fragile he can focus on protecting instead of dealing with his own shit.
Nope.
König likes women who can manhandle him.
Like you, who has him by the collar, big fistful of fabric, yanked down hard, making him bend at the waist so you’re eye to eye, so he’s forced to look at you.
“Are you listening to me?” you snarl, your voice low and sharp. “I said don’t fucking do that again.”
He feels your breath on his face, feels your nails digging into his shirt, feels his heart hammering against his ribs, feels his cock straining, hot and urgent, against the confines of his pants. He’s hard, brutally so, as if the command alone flipped a switch inside him. It’s instant. Embarrassing. He can’t help it. Something about being handled like that, about your strength and the fury in your eyes, makes him dizzy with want.
Your grip tightens as you tug the collar again, meaner, just to watch the shock ripple across his face. “Answer me, König.”
His voice catches, low and rough. “Ja- yes. I hear you. I won’t.”
But you don’t let go. If anything, you yank him even closer, lips barely an inch from his, letting him see exactly how unafraid you are of his size. For a moment he can only stare at you, completely under your control, wild with the need to be handled. You could do anything right now- shove him, bite him, pin him to the wall- and he’d thank you for it.
You don’t let go. You hold him there, make him wait, make him squirm while you decide if he’s earned your forgiveness. And König’s never felt more alive than when you’ve got him like this; at your mercy, desperate for another order, just waiting for you to use him however you want.
You drag your gaze down his broad chest, the twitch in his abdomen, the useless flex of his fingers as he fights not to touch you. He’s huge and shaking and trying so hard to be good. It makes you cruel.
You catch his jaw in your palm and angle his face down, thumb skating over the seam of his mask, then slip two fingers under the hem to find his mouth. Heat. Wet. A surprised, helpless noise. He opens for you, tongue greedy, sucking your fingers down to the knuckles as you hold him there and watch his eyes go glassy.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” you murmur, pulling your fingers free and smearing his spit along his cheek. He follows your hand without thinking, eyes locked to yours like a man about to fall. “Next time you do that, I’ll put you on your knees in the hallway.”
A shiver rolls through him. He nods, obedient, hoarse with it. “Ja, Schätzchen.” A beat. “Promise?”
