König found the fucker who gave you your cold, sergeant fuckface over here’s been coughing out in the open air for the last two, three minutes.
“Cough inside your arm,” he finally says, tone severely curt. The sergeant was going to oblige, what with König ranking higher but something about that snappy delivery made him talk back. “What’s your problem?” He goes, omitting the word “sir”. Certainly a choice, not a brave one.
The Colonel’s left eye twitches. His problem? His problem is being too overprotective of you.
“My problem?” He says. “My problem is you spreading your fucking germs everywhere. My problem is that my wife, who was here, working with me, caught your fucking cold and has been sick like a dog for six straight days.”
The chair’s legs scrape against the floor as König abruptly stood, “Six days, sergeant. Six days and six nights, I’ve had to stay by her side hearing her hack and wheeze her lungs out, she doesn’t eat, barely drinks anything and you’re wondering what my problem is?”
The sergeant shrinks into his seat as your husband stalks towards him and almost grabbed the man by the collar, but he held himself by some miracle. “Cough into your fucking sleeve next time.”
He looked like he was about to piss himself, good. The sergeant nods, unable to pry his eyes off the behemoth who stood before him, then he scrambles out of his seat and leaves König alone in the break room, never in his life has he seen the bastard move so fast, not even during drills.
Hopefully he got the message. Now, all he needs to do is get through the rest of the day so he can return home and cuddle beside you, and hear you whine and complain about being sick.
Somehow, someway, loser!König manages to not only get a match on Bumble, but also a date. He takes you out to dinner, fumbling and awkward and earnest the whole time (and even manages to limit himself to only four brief glances at your chest), awed by how beautiful and smart and funny you are. You let him walk you home and then hug him goodbye, and he's hard the entire drive back to his flat, convinced he can still feel the soft press of your breasts against his broad chest. He can't sleep, he's so excited and he sends you a string of messages about how wonderful you are, how much fun he had, and how hopeful he is to see you again. But when morning comes and you haven't responded, he starts to worry--did he do something wrong? Did he fail to impress you? Did you see the way he struggled to keep his gaze on your face? What if you never want to see him again?
He sends a preemptive message apologizing for anything he could have done to upset you, then three more reiterating how much he wants to take you out on another date and treat you right. Then he worries that that's too much, so sends a final message trying to play it a little cooler, to act like he's not actively spiraling.
Three hours later, you text him "hiiiii I just woke up! Had so much fun last night, def want to go out again 🥰" and suddenly, it feels like he can breathe for the first time all morning. He scrambles to write a reply, but it comes out incomprehensible, his relief and excitement and fat thumbs leading to a message full of typos. He deletes the whole thing and tries again, forcing himself to go slow as he agonizes over what to say. You were nice enough to ignore his breakdown, and you said you want to see him again--surely, you mean it? If he'd turned you off at all last night or with his dozens of texts since, you'd just block him and be done with it?
As he's trying to figure out what to say, you send another text: "and ur so sweet! 🩷 U didn't do anything wrong, dw lol". His hands stop shaking, the tension leaves his wide shoulders. He blows out a breath that makes his mask flutter outwards. Right, okay. Everything is okay. He just needs to be a little more normal about you--you've only gone on the one date. He shouldn't be this into you already, and yet, he can't stop thinking about you. About your sweet smile, your pretty eyes, your soft skin, your even softer breasts... he wants you so bad, and he's terrified he's going to scare you off.
He's so desperate, he may just even ask Horangi for advice.
𐔌 cw: freak for freak relationship, mild age gap and somnophilia, underwear stealing, size difference .ᐟ
your apartment looked exactly as it had for years, the only change being the thick layered dust gathering in the corners and settling over every surface, a consequence of neglect left untouched because you’d been drafted into könig’s bedroom for months. you hadn't been given the chance to shove even a single toe past his threshold, the giant simply refused to release his grip, keeping his thick, toned arms locked like iron bands around your delicate waist.
but after weeks of doing nothing but breaking his creaking mattress from sunrise to midnight, könig finally entertained the idea of letting you go back for your belongings. he figured there had to be something you were aching for, pretty wardrobe pieces, old keepsakes, makeup, or whatever little secrets a girl keeps to herself.
he volunteered to come along and haul the cardboard boxes, though he made the offer while pinning you completely helpless onto his burly lap. sitting wide legged, manspreading on the couch and forcing your thighs wide open to hook around his own. the grilled ribs and cold beer you’d just served him were left to cool on the coffee table, entirely forgotten because he’d gone drunk on the domestic, sweet view of you playing his perfect little housewife.
two nicked fingers pumping in and out your sloppy hole, loose despite that you've been fucked awake just this early dawn, and he crooks them just right, thrust in to the last knuckle, walls clenching and pulling as his fingertips massaged at the spongy bump nestled within.
“was thinking about helping you get your things, häschen” his breath scorched your nape, pressed into your skin alongside crooked nose and chapped lips. he licked and nipped at your warmed flesh until a sharp shiver forced your spine to arch sinuously, hips rolling instinctively with perky ass grinding into his stirred cock, which thickened heavily beneath worn joggers.
broken whimpers and breathless sobs hitched behind your teeth, stuttering until you were panting under your breath, head dangling down and eyes bleary with pleasure, you watched the shallow, rhythmic movement of his digits drawing in and out, the bulging bands of his tendons flexing with every stroke.
arousal stretching thin in glimmering strings as your drenched cunt squelched lewdly around his fingers, his calloused thumb finding your clit, already pulsing and twitching restlessly, rubbing in firm, relentless circles until you sobbed out a choked, close to be agreement “a—ah! p—please!”
the flat was too small for his massive shadow, and könig felt as though he could barely fit in. a fluffy carpet lined the entrance and the living room, every wall and shelf meticulously decorated. on the kitchen island sat a bouquet of withered flowers, the sight of those blossoms making him wonder with an ugly, spiking jealousy if they had been gifted by some secret admirer.
his broad palm tightened possessively over your hip in response, though his jaw lost its tense, rigid edge the moment you leaned up on your tiptoes, plump lips catching his weathered, bristly cheek in a kiss that smoothed out his scowl. there were photos scattered about too, kept in delicate frames, some captured at formal events, some at rowdy parties, others during your concluded college years.
he lingered to study each one, turning the frames restlessly in his massive hands while you went around the flat, gathering what you needed. following your retreating scent into the bedroom, he stepped in just as you knelt by the bed, folding clothes across your lap with the same neat, meticulous care you always showed at his place, ensuring no wrinkles would form.
könig watched you pack your shirts, pants, and those cute skirts he already starved to make you parade for him once you were back under his roof. he certainly wasn't against the underwear you began placing into the cardboard boxes, not at all, there were lacy, plain, and flower embroidered pieces, some so sheer he could see right through them.
they were devastatingly sexy garments, the view making his blood run hot and prompting to let out a petulant, slightly angry grunt “who did you buy these for, kleines häschen?” thick eyebrows scrunching together in troubled line. you looked up at him with gullible eyes, lower lip rolling out into the most adorable pout, your chin raised to project all the mock hurt you could muster.
reaching up, your hands cupped his prominent cheekbones, fingertips mapping the rough tracks of the scars lining his jaw, batting your eyelashes and gazing directly into his striking, baby blue irises. his massive head tilted under your touch, the coarse bristles tingling against your palm as he nuzzled affectionately into your skin, a lopsided, uneven smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“there wasn’t anyone worth showing these to” to him, you looked like a darling, helpless little prey rabbit, tooth purring so, his restraint snapping and hands reaching out, broad palms kneading your curvy ass, blunt nails digging firmly into the fat there.
jaw dropping slack when his lips smashed over yours, tongue sliding past teeth to claim your mouth immediately, sloppy and unrestrained, your fingers curled tightly around his bulky shoulder blades, digging deep into his shirt as your broken, smothered whimpers made his length thicken with a violent pulse against your thigh.
packing should have gone much quicker, especially with his help, carrying on every single bottle he found in your bathroom. he stood there looking utterly bewildered by the sheer volume of them, lotions, bubble baths, creams, and scrubs, and that was before he even realized the entire second shelf was just for your face, at which point he didn't understand a damn word.
you giggled, promising him that you would pamper him with an evening face mask once you were back home, to which he nodded with a boyish excitement, though he knew his rough mug was never going to match yours, and he didn't care to try, just wanting to keep his hands busy groping your skin anyway.
when you moved to the kitchen to collect your pots and pans, könig watched you with a thoroughly puzzled expression, leaning against the counter. his muscular arms were folded tight across his stocky chest, one eyebrow cocked upward, curious as to why the hell you could possibly need those when his own kitchen was already stocked, and you had already been cooking with them anyway.
“yours are ruined, everything burns on them” you explained plainly, holding up your skillet to show him the intact non stick coating, reminding the big soldier that his own cookware was covered in scratches and looked a hell of a lot cheaper than your spotless, rubber handled sets, so convinced, he nodded in agreement.
you were already babbling happily about what you wanted to cook for dinner this evening, reaching up into the cupboards to grab a collection of mugs and drinking glasses adorned with silly drawings and shapes, when his massive bulk swamped you from behind, pinning you down. prickly chin rubbing over your exposed neck, mouth pressing in to suck wet marks into the tender skin at the crook of your shoulder before his hot breath drifted right to your ear.
unsurprisingly, you get bend over the kitchen cabinet, hoisting your weight into his chest until your toes were left barely brushing against the cold floorboards beneath. gorged cock hammering in your drooling cunt, countertop digging into your tensing tummy, mouth agape with blabbered squeals and keens “h—hnh, k—könig, too much!”
puffy clit pulsing relentlessly, but he reaches with his fingerpads only when about to burst, slipping easily with the tacky wetness that oozes out, teasing the sensitive nub back and forth. you slump bonelessly, his muscular hips slamming against your juddering ass, scorched by the harsh impact.
throbbing tip jerking at your gooey insides with grinding, dragging thrusts, growls growing deeper “schh, take it wie das brave häschen, das du bist” veiny fingers knuckled tightly into your cotton shirt, bunching the material in his fists over the swaying curve of your breasts as his hands scrambled hungrily at them.
when könig was done, he hoisted you up to sit on the counter, your weight suspended as creamy globs of his release dripped from between your thighs, chapped lips finding your forehead. pressing down with soothing, gentle kisses, and he smiled softly against warm skin as your fingers tracked their way into his hair, curling through the thick strands until you finally felt steady enough to stand on your own.
he carried every single cardboard box out to the vehicle, never letting out so much as a grunt at how heavy they were, while you huddled contentedly into his side, eager for the ride back to his place, leaning back and preening like a coddled thing when he hauled you onto his lap in the car, showering your flushed cheeks with tender, lingering kisses.
somehow, a few pairs of panties had gone missing from the box containing your underwear, perhaps you had simply forgotten to pack them. yet, when those very same garments began to reappear beneath the pillow he slept on, the deep, ragged groans he let out in the dead of night, right before he would turn over to cradle your tits in his sleep, suddenly made perfect sense.
So convinced John, Simon and König have big babies.
Big, chunky, chubby cheeked, 90th percentile, rolls on their arms, stomach and legs, doe eyed cabbage patch kids, babies.
They are the closet thing you or him are going to get to angels on this earth. They the cutest babies known to man. You don’t know how you managed to push such a big baby out of you, but you got the more adorable (and hungry) little thing known to man.
John, the old man, is almost appalled when the three of you get home and three months in, none of planned baby clothes or diapers can fit any of their clothes cause they’re so small. John definitely has a baby with such chubby cheeks, they’re like big mochi balls and have the cutest boba tea eyes that match yours. John fucking loves it. Cutest thing alive. The man can not say no to the babe for anything. Whatever the baby gurgles or cries for, John gives you that pout to match it.
Simon, always encouraging play time. Even when your baby can’t roll over, Simons giving the best examples (after pushing the coffee table and the couch out of the way) in the living room. A loooong baby, everyone so sure they’ll be tall. Your grandma can barely even lift them when they hit 9 months, they’re a heavy little thing. Simon is one of the few who can hold the baby in just one hand. Always eager to hold the baby in his arms, asking to help him put the carrier on so you can take (another) break.
And König who has to explain when your signing the baby up for daycare that his baby big baby is just 1 years old and not 3, who just started walking and has all those cute little rolls on his arms and legs, And yes, forced the 6’5 man to face his anxiety head on, still shy as ever and quietly apologizing after your child goes up to strangers like he knows them and babbles their heads off. But he’s right there, watching shows like Ms.Rachel, Blues Clues, Kipper abd Little Einsteins and singing along softly to all the songs. Your baby sat in his lap and enjoying every moment of it.
a/n: so unserious and probably ridiculously inaccurate. I just thought it’d be cute if these men had big babies.
Hi u hope it's not too weird but I love your writing and I wanted to ask if you'd be down to write könig who got a but chubby under the readers cooking?
könig getting softer after retirement
he's been retired for a few months now, taking the time to laze around the house and spend more time with his pretty missus, except he's noticed one thing.
back when he was in the military, he was fit, in shape with sharp muscles and defined abs that you loved to run your tongue down. he had worked hard for years, reflected greatly in his physique, with beefy arms, brute chest and thick thighs. his skin also littered with scars that you kissed every night.
now he was home with you. after years of deployments, he decided he wanted to settle back with you for the rest of his life. he had gotten lazy after retirement, spending more days on the couch watching a telegram program with you on his arm, or fucking you stupid on every surface of the house—the only real exercise he's gotten in months. while he is a man of discipline and routine, he just wants to make up for the lost time he spent away from you.
so his physique might've slipped away from him, but you can't blame him! he has a cute wife that spends countless time in the kitchen—definitely not due to the fact he's got you bent over the countertop. your food is heavenly, and it doesn't help the man eats enough for an entire army. sometimes you'd excuse yourself from the table, pushing the plate in his direction with the excuse, "i'm full," but once he found out you were lying about that, he made you cum more than you could count on both hands.
but if only all the fucking could help with the weight he's gained.
he's gotten softer.
his abs now have a smooth layer of fat over them, the skin stretched with marks, and you can see his soft gut through his mouth-wateringly tight shirts.
His thick arms only got beefier, a thing you loved because you could now sink your teeth into the plushy flesh—he doesn't know why you like it, he just goes along with it because it makes you happy.
and his thighs. his. thighs. they got impossibly bigger, you could mistake them for tree trunks, decorated with more stretch marks that you adored and kissed every time you got on your knees for him.
he sees how much you like his softer figure, muscles still strong under the extra layers of fat, and it's definitely not like his staminas been affected in anyway.
so he'll continue devouring your food like his stomach is a bottomless pit, and make sure his wife is stuffed full too—in more ways than one. he'll rub a large, calloused hand over your food baby. his grin devilous as he coos.
speaking realistically: imagine how much a man that big would reek after ops. because naturally, larger people produce more body heat+sweat, right?
imagine how warm König is all the time. it’s practically too hot under the covers, and you can sleep soundly with your feet hanging from out the blanket because look at the massive, strong guy you’re cuddling with. what’s there to worry about??
imagine you stick your hands down his shirt after being in the fridge or something, he literally screams; jumping and writhing about, begging you release him from your icy clutches, “Aaah!- Nein, nein! Cold!— Mercy, please, mercy!” it’s hilarious.
imagine it being winter, and you’re both inside cuddling on the couch with a blanket. no need for hot chocolate! he’s about as warm and sweet as it gets around Christmas.
imagine König..
so am i the only one who sometimes thinks about something grabbing my feet when I’m trying to sleep? just me? ok.
✩ how you became könig’s penpal and how he fell in love with you
✩ please like and reblog if you enjoyed! if this gets enough support, i’ll make it into a series!
✩ it all started when your therapist suggested ways to overcome your social anxiety
✩ you've always been terrified of social situations, constantly afraid of being judged and humiliated by others.
✩ you'd dread events for weeks, going through every scenario in your head where things could go wrong, turning every social event into a disaster before it had even begun.
✩ and when you're actually there? the disaster becomes true.
✩ you tremble and stutter through conversations while avoiding eye contact at all costs
✩ eventually, your nausea and your racing heartbeat becomes too much, and you escape to either run home or have a panic attack, whichever one comes first.
✩ even then, there's no salvation: you reflect on every moment, noting every single cringeworthy detail, creating your own punishment that was personally designed to render your self-esteem non-existent.
✩ it's so embarrassing…
✩ after months of isolating yourself, staying home instead of going outside and humiliating yourself again, you get online therapy sessions.
✩ the therapist suggests a way to start talking to people again: a penpal program organised by the army where you send a soldier a letter.
✩ she said the letters would be less stressful than in-person or online conversations since there was no pressure to respond immediately
✩ a soldier? seriously?!
✩ telling a soldier, who risks their life every day, that you get a panic attack talking to strangers?
✩ your dignity would crumble to dust!
✩ what you didn't know was that that there was an awkward austrian soldier who perfectly understood your struggles.
‘Hi,’
✩ no - too casual…
'Hello,’
✩ better. to whom it may concern? far too formal. just a simple 'hello' will do.
✩ you introduce yourself and write how you hope they're ok. actually, that's too friendly.
‘I hope this letter finds you well’
✩ that's good... what next? should you talk about yourself? what do you say? should you mention the social anxiety? no way - that's too personal for the first letter. you’re strangers, so just keep it surface level.
✩ you write about how you saw an advert for the penpal program and decided to join. a lie, but there's no need to tell the truth yet.
✩ you write that you appreciate the work that they do even though you don't fully know what it entails. that's true, at least.
✩ you think about what you could say about yourself.
✩ your life isn't exciting - you've spent months at home doomscrolling and watching tv.
✩ that's it! you could talk about what television shows and movies you like! wait, would they even have time to watch stuff?
✩ maybe on their time off! yes! plus, even if they don't, it gives you more to talk about! you’re a genius!
✩ you write about your viewing habits and get into a flow, giving your opinions and personal recommendations. you ask if they get to watch much, or if they prefer other hobbies, which smoothly transitions into a short paragraph about your own hobbies.
✩ it’s short since you can only do so much from your own home, but again, there's no need to mention that yet.
✩ alright, this is going great! now, how to sign it off?
‘I hope to hear from you soon,’
✩ sounds too eager... puts pressure on them to write back as well...
'There's no pressure to respond. I can imagine how busy your work can get, so it's ok if you don't have time to write back.
All the best,'
✩ you write your name and triumphantly slam your pen down on your desk with a grin big enough to be seen from space
✩ you read through your letter before carefully folding it and delicately sliding it into an envelope. you write the envelope, stick a postage stamp in the corner and send that bad boy!
✩ you’re on cloud nine for a while after that. however, after a month goes by with no reply, your anxiety rears its annoying, ugly head.
✩ what if your handwriting was too messy? what if they found you embarrassing? what if they laughed at your letter and threw it in the bin? what if they showed the letter to their army comrades and laughed at it together?
✩ why did your therapist suggest doing this? this is TORTURE!
✩ on the other side of the world, however, a supremely tall soldier curls himself onto his cramped army bed and reads your letter over and over with a smile that grows every time he reads it.
✩ he promptly opens up his notebook and flips to a blank page to start writing his reply:
'Hello,
My name is König...’
✩ i had to type all this out again bc tumblr ate the original post! :)
✩ i tried to give the reader more personality, i hope that comes through in the writing!
✩ again please like and reblog if you enjoyed! i really appreciate your support <3
Summary: König never expected to walk in and find his girlfriend completely swallowed by his favorite hoodie. Now he doesn’t know whether to tease her, marry her, or never let her out of his arms again.
Rating: pure fluff, cuddles, and König being soft as hell.
Masterlist
---
König froze in the doorway, halfway through removing his gloves, when he saw you padding across the room—completely swallowed in one of his hoodies.
His hoodie.
The one he always wore around base, faded black and oversized even on his massive frame. On you, it looked like a full-body blanket. The hem nearly brushed your knees, the sleeves dangled way past your fingertips, and the hood drooped so low it almost swallowed your whole face.
You blinked up at him innocently. “What?”
He didn’t answer right away. His hands hung awkwardly at his sides, eyes wide beneath the fabric of his mask. Then he cleared his throat—twice.
“Mein Gott…” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You look so… tiny.”
A grin tugged at your lips. “I am tiny. Especially next to you.”
König stepped forward, slower than usual, like he was afraid if he moved too fast, the image might vanish. His eyes were glued to the way the sleeves swung when you moved. You tugged the collar up to your nose, burying your smile into the soft fabric.
“It’s warm,” you said, muffled. “And it smells like you.”
His heart did something strange—stuttered, then raced. “That’s my favorite hoodie.”
“Not anymore,” you chirped, spinning slightly in place. “It’s mine now. ”
He huffed a laugh, the tension melting from his shoulders as he reached out, wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling you against his chest. You disappeared into him just as much as you disappeared in the hoodie.
“You can keep it,” he murmured into your hair, “but only if I get to hold you every time you wear it.”
You tilted your head back, grinning up at him. “Deal.”
He stared at you a moment longer, then sighed dramatically. “You can’t wear this outside. Someone will fall in love with you.”
You snorted. “Is my big, scary soldier getting jealous?”
“I’m not scary,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead through the hood. “I’m just very… protective.”
“Same thing.”
His arms tightened a little. “Especially when you look this adorable.”
