Ok but how could u just mention ballet au konig wants to rip her tights. Like I wanna see this. I LOVE THEIR RELATIONSHIP SO MUCH

Genuinely I had to go back and read my own tags how did you find that I hid it so well.

Ballet!König is my favorite creature man, I think of him often and keep forgetting to write for him. Here's some good old fashioned tights ripping for you :)

König's fingers tug at your tights, his teeth biting the sheer material to make a hole before he rips the seam open with a truly satisfying 'rrrrrip'. He stares at the pink leotard under it, his thumbs holding the seam open as he breathes heavily. His eyes dart to yours and he swallows thickly, you blink at him. The embarrassment of having him physically rip your clothes is almost more than you can handle. He presses his face against your mound, breathes you in with a satisfied groan, and licks a stripe up your slit through your dance clothes.

"König, wai-" There's another ripping sound, his fingers curling and pulling against your thigh, putting another hole in your tights. You don't know why it makes you arch, your hands flying to his hair to hold him close as he continues wetting your leotard with his tongue. He moves his hand under your thigh, coaxes you to hitch it over his shoulder only to rip yet another hole in the back of your tights. He's teasing you, letting you feel the slick pressure of his mouth, the heat of his breath, letting you hear his desperation, without actually touching you.

You look to the side, watching yourself in the floor to ceiling mirrors of the practice room. The way your chest rises and falls, the way König hunches over you, the way your skin presses against the ribbons of nylon still hanging on to you, you can even see König's cock straining against his sweats. After hours in the company studio, you'd thought he'd want to practice your pas de duex, not- You whine as he pulls your leotard between his fingers and his teeth and rips.

"Naughty, naughty, Schatz," He tuts, stroking his fingers along your dripping cunt "you really should wear underwear to work." You both know you're not the only ballerina in company to leave the house with one less layer, but that doesn't stop the heat that ripples over your skin at his chastising. His tongue flicks against your clit without the fabric barrier and you moan, feeling the heat of it clench deep in your stomach.

He presses a finger into you as he sucks on your clit, big and thick and reaching further than yours ever could. You buck your hips into his gentle thrusts, desperate, whining. He reaches around your leg to rest his arm against your stomach, holding you down. You're not a weak person by any measure, but neither is he, and the strength he exerts to keep you in place as he licks you is disastrous for your ability to think. The same hands that lift you so carefully, so effortlessly, keeping you still while he pulls back and eases a second finger into your slick cunt.

You whine and whimper for him. Tight heat steadily builds in your stomach as he scissors and thrusts his fingers in tandem with the roll of his tongue. The all too pleasant ache of being stretched is starting to make you sweat, still in all your clothes built for warmth. You can feel your hair starting to come out of its bun from all your wiggling on the floor. "König please," You beg, even knowing your pleas are going to fall on deaf ears.

"One more, don't want to hurt you," König mumbles, taking a moment to bite the untorn tights on your other leg and rip. You can feel your wetness on his lips, on his tongue when he licks your freshly exposed skin. Despite the promise of another finger, he curls the two already inside of you. You bite your lip, try to keep your voice down until he presses against that soft spongy spot and you hum out your pleasure, attempting to arch your back under his iron grip. He coos praises down at you, and those are somehow worse than the chastising. Your cheeks are hot thinking about the dancers that were in this room earlier, the ones that would return tomorrow, what would they think if they knew you were dripping all over the floor from your lead's fingers.

A third finger presses into you, stretching you with a delicious little burn. Full, but not in the way you want to be. Not in the way König knows you'll beg him for. He twists his fingers in and out of your cunt, working your clenching heat open. His eyes never leave your face, even as his tongue laps at your sweet folds. He can never get used to the way you fall apart for him. The way your little whines turn into panting pleas.

He never seems to stretch you out enough to not ache when he pushes his girthy cock into you. Always wants you to feel every inch, every vein, of it as it splits you open. It's no fun if he doesn't see the little spark of pain in your eyes when you raise your leg or drop into the splits. No fun if he can't fold you in half and hear you sob as he fucks into your tight little hole, begging for more from him. Always so greedy his little ballerina. You clench around his cock so nicely, gummy walls dragging against his length, so desperate to hold him inside. God you're gorgeous falling apart for him, legs shaking and head thrown back as you cum on his cock. He never has to slow his thrusts, he knows you can take it, knows you're as desperate for him to cum and fill you up as he is.

Pretty little ballerina. He loves watching his cum drip out of you, staining your already ruined clothes. Watching you dance is a treat, but knowing he'll have you like this afterwards? Well, that makes it all the better.