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Depraved and Obsessed König Teaser 2

warnings: König is an INCEL, power dynamics, fear, manipulation, implied smut, implied non-con This fic is taking way longer than I anticipated. I'm at about 16k words right now and they haven't even gotten freaky yet oh my god,,, I hope to be done sometime next week, but while you guys wait, here's another small part hehe enjoy ;) PS. This takes place before the first sneak peek I put out!! (THE BUILD UP MAKES IT BETTER I PROMISE, JUST WAIT MWAHAHAHA) WC: 1362 MDNI

“Really, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammer. Your heart shivers in its cage of bones; it makes you sick. Instead of whatever twisted game he was trying to play, where he tries to figure out what you know while ignoring the obvious, he should be apologizing to you, begging for your forgiveness. Though you were uncertain you would even receive an apology at this point, even if you did, you doubt you would be willing to forgive him— you realize, a second too late, that it should be the least of your worries right now.

He brings his hands from behind his back towards the desk you’re pressed against, placing both palms on either side, essentially trapping you within his hold, bending at the waist to meet you at eye level. You almost jump at this, and your breath catches in your throat before he begins to speak again, piercing cerulean taking in your mortified face. “Listen, Schatz. I’ve been patient,” he huffs out, eyes burning straight through your own with an intensity that makes your stomach churn and knees wobble, “I wanted to wait. I really did.” He pauses to take in a shaky breath, “I had hoped that by teaching you, by being kind to you, by showing you how to become a better sniper— that it would bridge that gap, and allow us to become closer… naturally. You know?” A beat, and he inhales again, eyes now darker, glaring, “I must confess, though, meine Leibe, I got impatient…” 

Leibe. 

He has never called you that before— it sends your head spinning, heart sinking, stomach churning as you try to find any way you could comprehend this situation. He brings his frame a bit closer to your own, enough for you to feel his body heat on your skin, hot enough to burn.

“I should have been better, Schatz, I am sorry for getting...” There it is, the apology you've been waiting for, but it’s followed by silence— an empty regret. You try to respond to him, tell him that you’re uncomfortable at the position that you two are in, your hands finding the table behind you, pulling yourself deeper into the wood, trying to put distance between you and him, but your voice dies, a small squeak coming out instead. He chuckles slightly, almost sheepishly, before speaking up again, “Honestly, I’m really embarrassed that you… found that. You weren’t- you weren’t supposed to.” 

The first time you’ve heard him sound so nervous. 

“I want to— I want to make it up to you,” he whispers, eyes flicking down to your lips before they meet your eyes again, “I really do.” His left hand reaches up to place onto your shoulder, and he exhales, “I see the way you’re looking at me right now. Leibe, please, you don’t need to be afraid.” His heavy hand makes contact with your shoulder, resting on it, thumb rubbing small circles that were meant to be soothing, only they made you violently ill instead, his touch scorching you. “I only ever wanted to protect you. Everything I did— it was for you.” His voice cracks slightly, but he covers it with a deep inhale.

He looks inconsolable, but you try nonetheless; a part of you feels afraid to set him off if you decide to be too direct or ignore him, so you decide you have to take the route in between. “I understand how you feel, I just— you're my colonel," you shake your head, "I can't— please— you have to understand why this is a shock to me,” you murmur out, looking at him with pleading eyes.

After a moment of quiet, he speaks out, sharply, hand tightening on your shoulder, “No.” He growls, and the armoury suddenly feels too small, like the walls are closing in on you. 

Wrong move.

“You don’t understand anything.” There’s an ugly, wretched note in his words, sharp and rising with each syllable that leaves his throat; his words come out as a hiss, and it terrifies you to no extent. His grip on you becomes almost painful as he barks out another sentence, “You think you can just walk away from this? From me?” His breathing grows heavier, each word dragging out of him like it physically hurts, desperation evident in his eyes that were quickly flickering between your left and right eye. “After everything,” he takes in a hefty breath, “you smile at me, you talk to me, you laugh with me,” a pause, “you touch me.” Suddenly, you’re brought back to just yesterday when you hugged him, and you feel your stomach twist, feeling partially responsible for this outcome. No. He had that photo of you before yesterday— this is all wrong. “Schatz, you let me think that—” He cuts himself off with a choked noise, taking his hand off your shoulder to slam against the desk, balled in a fist. The knives on the table behind you rattle slightly, and you flinch. “You made me need you,” his voice is a growl now, full of accusation, “and now you want to act like I’m the problem?” Another harsh breath, chest heaving as his eyes darken further— betrayal, rage, heartbreak all tangled together.

You feel your heart squeeze itself in your chest, your rib cage not big enough to hold the feelings in. The fear rising in your veins constricts your circulation, causing you to go lightheaded— you need to get out of here. A lump forms in your throat, making it hard to speak, but you do so regardless. “I need to go,” you manage to say, vision obscured by the formation of tears starting to pool in your eyes. You’re inching sideways, trying to find a gap to slide through, considering ducking under his arm to make an escape.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarls, eyebrows furrowing in anger, “I’m laying out all my feelings out for you here— I’m being vulnerable with you, Leibe, and you want to leave? You’re unbelievable.” His hands lift off the table, and he places them on the left side of his chest, eyes now suddenly desperate, pleading, “I am trying to have a heart-to-heart with you,” he chokes with what sounds like a sob. 

As his hands move off of the table, your blood rushes, your vision tunnels itself, and you use the movement of his arms as leverage, in a haze, you push past him, ducking low, as you sprint for the door— your boots slam against the concrete as you sprint, the fluorescent lights of the armoury buzzing overhead, overstimulating your senses. Behind you, heavy boots pound, twice as loud as your own— the noise of pure rage. As you rip through the entryway, cold air of the night hitting against your skin, pumped full of adrenaline, you put a considerable amount of space between yourself and the entryway. You don’t hear footsteps past the concrete floor of the armoury, and you come to a stop and turn your body around to assess your situation, backing up still, ready to bolt if he starts moving towards you. Turning to face him allows you to see his body, leaning against the door frame of the small building, huffing with what you can only assume is unbridled rage. You could see just through his eyes how defeated he looked, head tilted down, to look at you with resentful, heartbroken eyes. 

“Fuck Schatz,” his sighs, voice breaking with desperation and he pauses, watching you hastily walk away, “you want to do things like this?” He breathes in deeply, lifting his head and widening his eyes at you in what feels like a challenge, wildly. You can see his chest rise and fall unsteadily as he does so, “Fine.” The last bit of his monologue was a growl, anger lacing his words with a small puff, “Have it your way.” He pushes off the doorway with his forearm and begins walking over to you. Each one of his steps, two of yours, and with your body turned to face him, stepping backwards, it was almost three— he didn’t need to be fast. You did.

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I’ll probably post this within the next week, maybe the next two weeks??? Sorry for the wait 😭🙏 It’s lowkey a bit longer than I had anticipated, but I hope you guys fw it regardless. It’s gonna be SO juicy 😩😩

Depraved and Obsessed König Teaser

MDNI please :) Been working on this fic for a little while now, let me know what you guys think!! It's my first time writing and I'm a little nervous about how it'll be received, but I'd LOVE some feedback!! Basically, König's chasing poor reader through the woods, oopsies. There's gonna be so so so much build-up to this point though in the final work! WC: 762 words, planning to be about 15-20k once it's done, so get ready 😩

You could taste the blood in your mouth as you ran, lungs constricting with each heaving breath, trying to take in enough oxygen to sustain another quick stride. The corners of your vision were going black— you were fucking exhausted, but the adrenaline kept you going, it had to. Your legs burned, barely able to feel them anymore; the only sensation reaching your brain was your soles against the floor of the forest, as they destroyed leaves beneath your sprint. 

That and the pitiful burn of your heart. 

Turning to look behind your shoulder every other second frantically, you were met with nothing but the deafening silence of the night. Shivers of lightning struck through your body, and the entire situation started to feel too real. The gasping inhales and exhales of your collapsing lungs, the sound of your pulse beating harshly in your ears, the shrubbery crumbling apart in your tracks, wind blowing, cascading the broken leaves into the mix of ground, almost as if trying to obscure where you were going, it was all too much. No animal dared to make a noise, not a peep, maybe they were too afraid to draw attention to themselves, you should have been too, but that thought was far gone from your head at this point.

Considering his sheer size, you’d expect someone like him to be loud, stomping on the ground, practically shaking and breaking the earth beneath his feet, just as you desperately tried to. Your heart, being bludgeoned by your over-exertion, tried to keep up, but your throat tightened up with each desperate breath. You had no idea if he was meters behind, or waiting around the corner to grab at you when you thought you were safe. You knew he could swallow up the distance between you two with ease, you have seen it time and time again. On the field, in training— you saw it anywhere and everywhere he was able to fully display his incomprehensible prowess and brute physical strength. 

But tonight, tonight he was quiet, calculated, and cruel, which made your anxiety spike to unknown extremes. The dread that grew deep in your stomach felt like it weighed twice what you did; it tried to hold you down, tried to pull you into the ground. It almost did, in a way you almost wish it did— if the earth opened up and swallowed you whole, you would be away from him. The cold embrace of the earth, enclosing you in, threatening to turn you into an artifact for archaeologists— you would take that over this sickening feeling that you couldn’t shake. You tried to drop this anchor of a weight, but it clung to you like a cinder block, tightly tied around your waist with thick rope, before being tossed off the edge of a boat, forcibly pulling you into a fluid body of salt, sinking, struggling. Then it hits you. You feel your body hit the ocean floor and it rips the air you tried so hard to keep, straight out of your chest. Water fills your lungs, rushing in mercilessly, and it burns. It hits you.

All this time you were wondering where he was, why he wasn’t chasing immediately after you. At a point, you almost thought he gave up and left, but that was too merciful for him.

This was a game to him, he was toying with you.        

You stumble slightly, and it brings you back to reality harshly, the situation demanding your attention, heart feeling like it was just resuscitated. Not noticing the jagged ground you had just tripped over, inhaling sharply, your arms fly out in front of you to steady yourself so you wouldn’t crash into the ground. Catching yourself, you continued to work your legs, trying to cover more ground, trying to get as far as possible, though a small part of you knew it was hopeless. Initially, you had hoped to run back to the barracks, somewhere safe, somewhere away from him, somewhere with people, somewhere with witnesses. But he had rounded the corner, so quickly that it made your head spin. He cut you off completely, and in a haze, you had made a last-ditch for the woods encasing the base.

You couldn’t see it now, but he was smiling to himself, watching you stumble over your every breath as you dug your grave deeper, heading nowhere useful. As he analyzed your desperate attempt to evade him, he chuckles before speaking to no one but himself, starting a steady saunter towards you “So fucking predictable.”

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He is everywhere…

LOOK AT WHAT MY FRIEND SENT ME LMFAOAOAISHAJ 😭

‘Meat & Sausage Company’ is right 😭💔🥀

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LOOK AT WHAT MY FRIEND SENT ME LMFAOAOAISHAJ 😭

‘Meat & Sausage Company’ is right 😭💔🥀

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He’s Just So Desperate…

Dom!Simon x F!Reader warnings and info: just straight up smut, praise praise praise, praise with degradation oh myyy, overstimulation, dacryphilia, cunnilingus, breeding, reader is SO hopeless for Simon but so so embarrassed at the same time :.), dub-con if you squint, no use of y/n The brain worms got me… Thinking about Simon and how he would react to his partner feeling oh so incredibly embarrassed about the faces they make in bed + his reaction when he’s in a sour mood coming home from deployment and needs some stress relief… He definitely wouldn’t put up with your shyness, not at all. Instead, he’d pull your hands aside and leave you a desperate mess until you’re sobbing for him… Oh god.. and he would EAT UP the way you cried. Gvsghhghsv. WC: 1762 (this was supposed to be a drabble, I got carried away...) MDNI

Simon was hardly ever aggressive with you. 

Although he was huge, and his size itself felt like a punishment when it was roughly kissing up against your cervix with each thrust, he wanted you to know, wanted you to feel, just how precious you were to him— how perfect you were for taking him so well. 

He would coo you with praise and kiss at your face, even as your eyes filled with tears at the overwhelming pleasure, juxtaposed by his harsh and deep strokes that worked in tandem to drive you over the edge.

You were always embarrassed when your eyes would well up, who could blame you, though? You’ve never been one to tear up during sex. But with him, it was different.

He was everything you’ve ever wanted and way too much all at the same time. 

The way his cock stretched you open, barely fitting when he would initially push into your tight cunt, the way his curved tip hit just the right spot over and over and over again, in a steady, but brutal pace, the way he would use one hand to push down on your lower abdomen, all the while using his thumb to gently circle your clit until you were seeing stars, begging for him to let up.

It was impossible not to whine and cry from how overstimulated he left you, especially after he had you falling apart for him three, four, and maybe five times all in one night.

Every time it would become too unbearable, too embarrassing, too good, your go-to would be to cover your face with your hands, trying to muffle your cries with your palms. But knowing Si, he would gently pry your hands away from your tear-stained face with a, “God baby, move your hands, please. Lemme see your face,” followed with a, “Fuckin’ gorgeous jus’ f’me, isn’t that right, love? So beautiful.”

He craved the luxury of seeing your expressions contort beneath him. 

Simon was hardly ever aggressive with you, but he had his moments.

One night, after a particularly intense deployment, and weeks away from his sweet sweet darling, he returned home with an insatiable craving, hungry, filled with desperation and an undertone of anger— unravelled in a way that only his missions could provoke out of him.

He was practically on you the second he walked into your apartment, shutting the door so quickly that you weren’t even able to greet him properly; it was a shame— you were quite excited to embrace him in a hug and ask him about his time away. It was only natural; you had missed him so much, wishing to spend time just in his company and catching up as you two usually did.

He, missing you just as much, maybe even more, had other plans.

He was quickly backing you into your shared bedroom with frantic kisses to your lips, muffling your protests. You had almost fallen backwards with every step, and you would have if not for his unrelenting hold on your hips, most definitely bruising your skin. It hurt, but your whimpers were swallowed up by his lips. You’ve never seen Simon like this before, and it scared you, only half as much as it excited you, though.

The second he pushed you down, and your body hit the bed with a force that made you bounce slightly, you had come to the realization that tonight, he would be anything but kind, anything but what you were used to. It gave you whiplash, the way he crawled onto you, tearing your bottoms off, along with your panties, leaning into your warmth, breathing in deeply before lapping at your heat like a starved man— he was usually slow, he usually took his time to admire the cute pair of lacy undergarments you decided to wear for him. Usually, but not tonight. Tonight, he would watch your back arch as you came undone on his tongue, begging him to slow down, feeling overstimulated beyond comprehension already. He would feel you trying to pull away, whining, sobbing, tugging at his short hair— but he wasn’t done. Not yet, not in the slightest. 

He wanted every last drop of your dripping pussy on his tongue for him to savour, “One more, love. You can take it, c’mon,” he’d say before circling your clit, vibrations of his laughter shaking you to your core.

He wanted you delirious, begging, desperate for his cock; he would refuse to split you open on his dick until you were sobbing beneath him, screaming his name like it was a mantra— and it was working. 

You two had a safe word, of course; Simon never wanted you to feel uncomfortable with him, that was probably his biggest fear— and although the word was ready to leave your lips at a moment's notice, a part of you revelled in how he was so adamant on making you feel good.

But you had your limits, and you were losing your patience, you had been pleading for him to stuff you full since the second your first orgasm washed over you, but he refused, “Oh baby. I know you can beg better than that. C’mon if you jus’ wanna cum on my tongue again, be honest with me, yeah?” He’d chuckle, mocking your efforts before relentlessly resuming his torment.

After the second orgasm he’d given you, you’re left shaking, legs ready to close, but his hands would hold them apart with a force that was sure to leave a print on the inside of your thighs the next day. 

A third, then a fourth.

He’d watch you cover up your face in pure ecstasy, begging and sobbing for him to fill your needy cunt. This made his heart skip, but you’d be so horribly mistaken if you thought covering your face would slide tonight, if you thought your little whines that he found so endearing would cause him to have any kind of mercy on you.

He‘d roughly catch your wrists in one hand and pull them away, “Cover your face again, n’ I’ll leave you here, drippin’, no cock f’you. Y’want that?”

Practically sobbing at this, shaking your head wildly, you’d beg him to fuck you open, more adamantly this time— to finally give you what you’ve been craving. A loud laugh would billow deep out of his chest at this, “You want me that bad, huh? You’re so desperate f’me to ruin you. Bet you want me ‘til you pass out, only so I can fuck you back to consciousness, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

At his words, your heart would jump, threatening to burst out of your chest, wetness would pool on the sheets below you, and you’d nod so eagerly, letting him know you were more than ready for him to wreck you. You sobbed and looked up at him with the saddest most pleading eyes he’d ever seen, and he’d feel his resolve break at this, “Fuckin’ hell, love,” he’d groan, “Can never say no to you, fuck, those eyes. Jus’ keep lookin’ at me like that, yeah? Don’t take ‘em off of me.” He’d cuss through his teeth, pulling his cock out of his unbearably tight cargo’s and boxers in once movement to slap against your clit, eliciting a sharp whine from you. He’d grin at this before slowly lining himself up with your slit, not before teasing your entrance until you sobbed again with distress, begging for him. After a moment, one that felt like it dragged on for way too long, you found him finally sinking in. 

The feeling almost made you cum on the spot, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him in deeper; you’re wailing, mewling, arching your back, left a whimpering mess (just how he likes it) by the time he’s buried himself into you, to the shaft. “Mhmm. Baby, so fuckin’ tight. Made ya’ cum so much already and you’re still as tight as a fuckin’ virgin,” he’d groan with a small huff. 

His pace, although it started off slow, was anything but nice, anything but kind— it was ruthless, full of so much desperation and so much pent-up rage. It took the breath straight out of your lungs with each thrust, almost winding you in the process. You’re barely able to make out any sentences, let alone process any thought other than him, and how good he felt rutting into you like an animal in heat. He’d lean down to your ear and curse the most foul things you’ve ever heard, “Such a gorgeous fuckin’ slut f’me, right?” He’d huff, growling into your ear, drawing out the words, “Been waitin’ to fuck this pussy for weeks. Have no idea how much I’ve missed you— fuck.”

He had his way with you in a way you had never felt before, and it was good, too good— you were addicted to the way he made you feel. 

With your eyes rolled back and mouth slightly open, hands desperately trying to grab onto his shoulders for any semblance of support, he’d chuckle, “So cock drunk f’me already? My good fuckin’ girl.”

His words spurred you on, and you knew they did for him, too, especially with the way he was grunting and groaning. 

It didn’t take very long for his pace to become sloppy and for his breath to start coming out raggedly. “Fuckin’ hell, take it, take it— god— so good f’me, so fuckin’ perfect, fuck— fuuuck,” he’d curse before his thrust suddenly staggered and he was emptying his hot thick load right inside of you. The tight knot building inside of your stomach would snap at this, and you’d convulse around him, walls squeezing him for every last drop of his seed. He’d continue to thrust into you, as deep as he could, helping you ride out your orgasm that ripped straight through you all the while pumping into you, your cunt swallowing up his cum hastily.

After catching his breath, watching you shakily try to catch your own, he’d slide himself out and watch the cum ooze out of you. It was a captivating sight, and it made him want to bury himself inside you again and again and again. But he could see the exhaustion on your face, and it made his heart swell, so instead, he’d put his forehead onto yours, holding your face in both his palms, thumbs brushing the side of your face with all the love in the world, wiping away the dried tears, “I missed you so much.”

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Welcome to my blog :) I'm super new to writing, but I'm working on getting better and posting more consistently! If you guys have any requests you'd like to send over, please feel free to do so Practically all of my work will be dark content, so please navigate with care and remember to read the warnings before consuming! Love ya, Astra <3

MDNI , 18+

This will get its own page once it gets a bit longer :>

MASTERLIST

⋆｡°✩ COD ✩°｡⋆

Konig

☆ Little Teaser (~800 wc) ☆ Little Teaser 2 (~1.4k wc) ˋ°•*⁀➷ COMPLETED FIC SOON :)

Ghost

☆ He's Just So Desperate (~1.8k wc)

Multi

☆ Good Cop, Bad Cop (They're Both Bad) (~4k wc) ˋ°•*⁀➷ PART TWO? MAYBEEE?

Drabbles

:) soon

divider credit: @cafekitsune

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Good Cop, Bad Cop (They're Both Bad)

Basically cop!König and cop!Ghost pull you over Since my current König post is going to take a while, I decided to cook up this little post for you guys, I hope you enjoy it :) If there's enough traction, maybe I'll make a part 2, lemme know what you guys think <3 TW: power dynamics oh my, manipulation, implied smut, implied non-con/ dub-con WC: 4046 MDNI

The asphalt stretches ahead, darkness swallowing far beyond your line of sight. Your dim, aging headlights carve a soft path through the void for your eager eyes to make out, their yellow glow flickering against the cracked asphalt; trees loom on either side, their twisted branches reaching, almost as if to grab you. The night is thick and quiet— too quiet. Each bump in the road rattles through your hands on the wheel, a reminder that you’re alone out here. Or at least, you should be.

You push your foot on the gas, watching the speedometer climb up, noticing an abandoned car on the side of the dirt as you whiz by it. It’s customary to see at least one on these long deserted back roads. You’ve always wondered what ends up happening to these cars that are left behind by their owners. Do they rust away, staying on these streets? Do they get towed away? Broken into? Stolen?

You don’t think much more of it and continue tearing up the road, tapping your finger idly on the steering wheel, mimicking the music beating loudly through the speakers, wanting to get home as fast as possible. You’ve never been a fan of driving at night, especially not this late and alone. 

Suddenly, the headlights of this so-called abandoned vehicle come to life in the distance, flashes of red and blue catch your attention from the rearview mirror, and your heart sinks in dread, “fuck.” 

The police car eases its way off the gravel that lines the side of the street and onto the concrete. For a moment, the car gets smaller and smaller, your speed creating distance between the array of flashes, and you hope that this distance consumes the car straight out of your sight. To your dismay, the vehicle starts to speed its way to you, lights becoming more pronounced and more difficult to ignore. 

You curse yourself and pivot your foot from the gas onto the break, slowing your vehicle down steadily. Due to the sheer speed you were driving at, it takes a moment for the car to decelerate. The dial on the speedometer shifts counterclockwise and you watch as the numbers slowly crawl down, as if dying. After a few seconds, the car is slowed enough to pull it onto the shoulder of the road, tires crunching as they make contact with the gravel, the car rolling to a stop. Your heart is pitter-pattering in your chest, and your hand that was shaking from the sudden rush of adrenaline reaches for the transmission to push upwards on the knob, parking the car, doors unlocking with a click at the gear change. Your foot lifts off the break, and the car steadies itself with a small roll, tires locking. Instinctively pressing down the red and white triangle button on top of your audio system, the hazard lights flick on, imitating the tick of a metronome to illuminate the crushed rocks beneath the vehicle slightly. You’ve never so much as stolen anything before, being pulled over and having to face authorities in these conditions makes your stomach sink into a pit. As you ruminate, the police cruiser slows behind you, parking itself, lights still flashing wildly. You lament the situation, thoughts flooding your mind about how stupid it was for the cops to be here in the first place. It’s practically empty almost all of the time on these backroads, especially at this hour of the night; it doesn’t make sense to you why any kind of law enforcement would wait for a driver to pass by just to nail them with a ticket.

You almost forget that you’ve been pulled over, sucked into your thoughts, until you see a large figure exit the vehicle from the rearview mirror. Your heart jumps at this, and you quickly reach for your glove compartment to grab your vehicle registration, closing the door with a thud. A sharp knock at the window makes you jump and turn your head. He was fast, you thought you had at least a few more seconds. The officer bends at the hip after a moment, leering into the car, and you push down on the window switch, watching the glass disappear into the driver's side door.

You strain your eyes trying to make out his face in the dark, noticing that it is obscured by some sort of cloth, the only part visible being his eyes. You’ve never seen an officer hide their face before, let alone with a piece of fabric.

“License and registration,” he says, accent cutting through the silence like a knife, reaching your ears. 

“One second, sorry,” you stammer, grabbing your wallet in the middle console, unzipping it and pulling out a plastic card. You hand him both the registration papers and your license, and he takes them, gloved fingers brushing against your own for a fleeting second. Your heart jumps at this contact, already overstimulated by being pulled over— you retract your hand, placing both your palms onto your lap, beginning to think of excuses.

He stares down at the card, holding it in his large hand. Your name leaves his lips as he repeats it, reading it off of the thin piece of plastic, “Do you know how fast you were going?” His eyes flick up, boring into your own. The dark makes it hard for your brain to construct his eyes, but the light from your dashboard is enough to see the cold expression he holds in them, blue irises a thin line around his blown pupils.

“Uhm.. no officer,” you hesitate, a bit quieter than you had hoped for your words to come out. 

“About thirty over,” he states matter of factly before looking into your car, eyes catching your outfit, “What are you doing out this late?” 

You feel your mouth go dry at this. The truth is you were just at a house party, celebrating the end of a successful-ish semester. It was about 1:30 am now as you sat in your car trying to come up with any semblance of a believable story. You told yourself you weren’t going to drink, not having a ride back home, being forced to take yourself back to your place through the outskirts of the city at the end of the night. You told yourself. You even made sure to reject any and all alcohol until a close friend of yours urged you, drunkenly begging you to take a shot to celebrate finishing classes. “One can’t hurt, just drink some water after, you’ll be fine, please, for me?” Your friend’s words ring in your ears, and you wallow at yourself for being guilted into taking two more after their initial coercion. It’s been an hour since that, but fear creeps up at the thought of a breathalyzer test. Although you felt sober, you knew the test would not reflect that, and would get you in trouble with the bulky officer staring down at you from your left. It was best to just not act suspicious, take the ticket, and reap the consequences to your bank account later.

“I was just at a friend’s house. Stayed up too late watching a movie, so I decided I needed to get home,” you respond, lying through your teeth, hoping it was convincing enough, feigning a small smile nervously. 

The man hums in thought and you feel relief, thinking he bought your lie. He pauses before speaking up again, “Wearing that?”

You look down at your outfit, a pair of jeans and a tiny top that did little to preserve your dignity. You wish you brought a sweater. Arms almost immediately wrap around your waist, insecurity filling you whole. “Yes...” You murmur, hoping he won’t question you further than that. 

He breaks eye contact and motions towards the vehicle parked a few feet behind yours, almost like he was calling someone. You watch from the rearview mirror as another figure steps out, this time from the passenger's seat. Their silhouette looked almost entirely black, except for the white on their face that reflected the red and blue lights spinning on the top of the car. The figure’s boots made contact with the ground and crunched softly as they made a few strides towards the other man. “Ran a check, looks good on my end. Yours?” His voice was deep, with an accent behind it that you could only assume was from somewhere in England, something rough and commanding in its tone.

“Can’t say the same,” the taller man speaks out, eyes flickering to yours for a brief moment before quickly shifting away to meet the man standing beside him. The officer with the white mask makes his way toward the other, and as he closes the gap, your mind scrambles to make sense of his appearance. Squinting, you notice that the mask covering his face is white, with strange grooves etched into it that resemble the jagged shape of a skull, deep and haunting. His eyes are like dark, void-like holes that seem to bore right through you as he passes, there’s something unnatural about the way he carries himself, something predatory, and you can’t seem to pry your eyes away.

“What’ve we got ‘ere?” The shorter man, not to imply that his height was by any means unimpressive, chimes, his voice oddly casual. He leans towards the open window of the car, placing one forearm on the side of the metal encasing you safely, almost like a prison.

“Suspected intoxication,” the hooded man speaks up, his tone flat and emotionless. His words hang in the air, each one settling in your chest with an increasing heaviness. The other hums, eyes scanning you once more, but unlike the cold blue ones of the officer standing behind him, his gaze isn’t as icey, there’s something deeper in it, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“You been drinkin’ sweetheart?” His voice is laced with a syrupy sweetness that makes your stomach flip. The term ‘sweetheart’ rolls off his tongue like a curse, and the word itself feels out of place as if he’s using it to control the situation, to unsettle you. The question hits you hard, and your stomach drops with the weight of an anchor. The unease in your gut tightens into full-blown dread. Something about this doesn’t sit right with you. This isn’t how any regular traffic stop should feel, is it?

When you don’t immediately answer, his voice shatters the silence again, colder now, sharper, “Talk to me.” 

You feel your throat tighten, words barely escaping your lips as you answer meekly, “I haven’t..” It’s almost a whisper, barely audible against the growing noise in your head. The man at your window continues to stare at you, eyes piercing, trying to get a read of the situation, searching for any information he could use against you.

��Ghost.” The voice calls from behind him, a demand. The man you now know as Ghost turns, his posture stiff, his gaze flicking to the other looming behind him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses, voice laced with annoyance. Shaking his head with a slight scoff, turning back to face you, his eyes crinkle in the corner softly, and you imagine that behind his odd display of a face, is a smile— though something about this situation makes it feel like a threat.

Watching this play out is frightening, to say the least. You feel your pulse quicken, and every second that passes tightens the knot in your stomach. You don’t know if this is the experience most people face when pulled over at night, or if it was just your terrible luck. You don’t have any prior experience to compare it to, but something in your heart screamed at you that this was wrong, something was terribly wrong here.

You stare at Ghost, now leaning forward slightly as he tilts his head. His voice breaks through your racing thoughts, low and silky, “Why doncha step outta the vehicle for us?”

Your body freezes. You aren’t entirely sure why you reacted this way; regardless of what it was, the suffocating feeling, the lead weight against your chest did not waver. Every single instinct inside you is telling you to get out of this situation. 

“Did’ja hear me?” His voice shatters through the silence again, sharper now, and the calm, almost bored tone from before disappears, replaced with a command, “Turn the ignition off, n’ step out, love.”

The instructions linger in the air like a final warning, and despite every fibre of your being telling you to refuse, your shaking hands reach for your keys nestled in the ignition and you twist, the engine dying, along with the lights at the head of your vehicle. Holding the keys in your hand, you step out of the car, hesitantly. Ghost steps back to give you space to open the car door and exit. You stand and immediately notice how he dwarfs your height, looking down at you through his skull mask, arms crossed over his police vest. The red and blue spinning on top of the police car creates a cast of colours, allowing you to still make out the scene in front of you despite the darkness that engulfs the scenery. You notice a dark streak across the white letters that read out ‘POLICE’ across his chest. In blue light, it looks almost black, but as the red circles back around, you make out a faint scarlet colour. 

Blood? 

Your eyes focus on it, your heart skipping a beat. Though the thought barely forms in your head before he speaks again, “Hands against the car, love, turn around.”

You blink, not understanding or comprehending the sudden demand, “What?” You ask, almost automatically, surprised at his sudden order.

“Gonna search’cha. Turn around, hands on the hood of the car. It’s standard protocol, isn’t that right König?” He remarks, turning to look at the man behind him. His words are so casual, so rehearsed, and it takes you a second, but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the looming presence of the larger man, König, who just nods in approval. 

You aren’t well versed in what your rights are exactly, despite seeing countless posts online urging you to become aware in case some cop tries to take advantage of your ignorance. You think back on those moments you’ve scrolled past and feel regret, maybe you should have been more cautious, should have taken some more time to read up on it. The thought of outright saying no flicks through your mind, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came; you’re not entirely sure if you have the right to refuse, so you comply and turn to face your vehicle slowly, moving your arms to place your trembling hands on the hood, still warm from the engine. “Good girl,” he whispers with a growl from behind you.

The words make your skin crawl, sending a wave of nausea through your gut. You want to turn around, stand your ground, and demand answers. You want to scream at him, ask why he pulled you over in the first place, especially here, in this deserted, dark stretch of road. But your body is frozen, your limbs heavy with a deep, paralyzing dread. You can’t speak. You can’t move.

As you find the courage to open your mouth and protest, a wall of muscle presses up behind you— the air is forced out of your lungs in a sharp, startled gasp, and all that escapes your throat is a choked sound, trapped and desperate. It dies instantly at the pressure as if your body knows it’s powerless to stop what’s happening. A nudge from something stiff, something heavy, something warm, presses against your lower back, and the sensation almost makes you fall forward, but you keep your hands on the car, shakily. “What are you doing?” You ask, heat rising to your ears, your voice quiet and cracking, breaking under the weight of the situation.

“Just gonna check ‘ya angel, no need to panic.” Ghost’s voice is smooth as his hands start to move along your sides, gliding over your trembling skin with cold precision as he pushes his hips into you, eliciting another small yelp from you that serves to bring heat straight to your face at the feeling of his hardness against your spine. He then slowly moves down each leg, bending at the knees to pat down your thighs, not before grabbing at the skin, and moving to your ankles. You’re humiliated, and you have to stifle the urge to ask him why this is even necessary. Your top is small, and your pants are tight against your skin, they’d be able to see if you had anything in your pockets, concealed away. His leather-clad hands are along your body. And then, he stands back up, his hands lingering near your stomach, just shy of touching your chest. You can feel the tension hanging between you two, the thin line between a normal pat-down and something much worse. His fingers hover, almost hesitant as if testing the waters, “You don’t mind, do ya?” 

You blink at this, your head spinning. Is this normal? He asked for permission, didn’t he? Maybe you’re overthinking. Maybe he’s just doing his job, and you’re just nervous. But the doubt gnaws at you. You’ve heard of cops acting imposing, standing tall with a panoptic gaze, demanding submission without ever needing to speak a word. You’ve heard stories of them using that authority to cross boundaries with people— no, to break them entirely.

You’ve always struggled with confrontation. You’ve tended to let things slide before and made excuses for bad behaviour. It’s like a habit, but this, this is different. This is too much. The unease deepens into something darker. Something inside you screams to fight back, to speak up, to demand that they stop.

But all that comes out is a whisper, barely audible, “I’m a little uncomfortable.” The words feel weak, but you force them out, your voice trembling. You hope that’s enough— that the honesty will be enough to make him stop.

He was teetering the edge of patting you down, and groping you; you’re not sure if this is what a standard pat down is considered to be. You’ve seen people get checked at the airport after stepping through the scanners, lighting up with a flash, at the indication that something was out of place— it was quick, fast, non-invasive. But this. This felt like he was about to grab at your very soul, so tightly that it might as well burst in his hands, deflating any sense of pride or dignity you had left with a harsh crack and spill of the contents. “Poor thing’s uncomfortable,” Ghost murmurs with a frown, turning to look at König.

The other man doesn’t say anything at first, his towering figure casting a long shadow over you, but when he speaks, his voice is commanding, “Enough, Ghost.” Relief surges through you as Ghost steps back, his lips curling slightly in irritation as he clicks his tongue, finally, some distance. But your pulse doesn’t slow; it races, your heart still pounding in your ears, as the confusion and fear hang thick in the air, choking the space around you. Maybe they’ve decided to let you go now, but something in you tells you this isn't over. 

Your thoughts are silenced as your hands are suddenly grabbed from where they were resting, being maneuvered roughly behind your back. The sudden action makes you lose balance and fall forward with a yelp. When you make a move to straighten your torso up, a hand reaches the nape of your neck to keep you pinned to the hood of your car roughly, your chest and side of your face becoming dirty with the dust covering your vehicle. The taller man leans over your body, and you’re brought to your tippy toes as he does this, his erection pushing harshly against your ass. The cloth on his face drapes over your shoulder as he brings his mouth close to your ear, “You’re too soft with her, asking if it’s okay if she doesn’t mind. Slut like her doesn’t care about shit like that. Look at what she’s wearing… Begging for it, on display for us.” The way he spoke into your ear made your heart seize up. He spoke directly to you, but referred to you in the second person, dehumanizing you even further, not even addressing you as equal to them. This was beyond humiliating, beyond anything you would have expected. 

“Get off of me,” you protest, with a tone less than convincing. The one holding you down laughs, a chuckle breaking through his throat.

He thinks this is some kind of joke. 

“Fuck, Ghost,” he chortles, the sound low and sinister, dripping with mockery. “You should see how she’s trembling under me right now. It’s pathetic,” His voice cuts through the stillness, like a sharp blade, and the way he savours the words makes your stomach churn. Each laugh feels like a slap to your senses, echoing in your skull, ringing louder than the panic surging through your veins.

“Fucking bitch doesn’t even know we aren’t actually cops,” he says, and just like that, the ground shifts beneath your feet and your entire world is upside down. Your breath has ceased, and your lungs feel as if they were taken straight out of your ribcage. “We put on a good show for you though, right? Pulling you over like that? Saying you were going 30 over, Ghost saying he ran a check on you.”  A laugh spills from his lips again, thick with satisfaction, and every syllable feels like it's pulling you deeper into a pit of dread.

It’s as if time stops. The world tilts sideways, and your body goes cold. The weight of his words presses down on you, and you realize, with sickening clarity, that everything you thought you understood was a lie. The badge, the uniforms, the flashing lights— all of it was just a performance. A sick game.

“Cops in this area have no backbone,” König starts, with a sickening satisfaction lingering on the ends of his words, “They were so easy to take down too, Schatz, you have no idea.” Another laugh billows out from his chest, “Where else do you think we got this uniform from? The cruiser?” 

Your heart is pounding so loudly, and everything starts to click. The blood on Ghost’s vest, you should have known. You want to move, to escape, but your body feels like stone. The world around you is suddenly too small, suffocating like the walls are closing in with every laugh, every word. You want to scream, but the sound won’t come. A tear runs down the bridge of your nose and König hums, leaning in close to you to breathe in the scent of your fear, “Love breaking girls like you, fuck.”

Ghost remains silent in the corner, his eyes watching, but you can’t tell if he’s complicit or detached from the cruel charade. You’re too far gone to care now. All that matters is the cold truth sinking into you like a heavyweight. Your mouth goes dry, the room spinning as the sick realization settles in harshly. You weren’t just caught in a trap. You were the prey, and every moment of this has been designed to break you, to twist you into their game.

Your eyes look backwards to meet Ghost’s, and you plead to him with begging eyes, for him to say anything, to get the man on top of you off, give you some sense of respite, some room to breathe, some time to process what is happening. As you thought you were starting to make progress, looking at Ghost with such a sad, pleading look, König notices and glares down at you. He leans into your ear again and speaks words that make you feel like you’ve died, a million times over and over again, “Oh Schatz,” he chuckles with a small sigh, sounding almost disappointed at your display, “Don’t look at him like that, he’s just waiting his turn.”

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100 likes on my little König post 🥹

My heart is so full of love

You guys have given me so much motivation to finish this, thank you! <33

More updates soon :)

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Depraved and Obsessed König Teaser

MDNI please :) Been working on this fic for a little while now, let me know what you guys think!! It's my first time writing and I'm a little nervous about how it'll be received, but I'd LOVE some feedback!! Basically, König's chasing poor reader through the woods, oopsies. There's gonna be so so so much build-up to this point though in the final work! WC: 762 words, planning to be about 15-20k once it's done, so get ready 😩

You could taste the blood in your mouth as you ran, lungs constricting with each heaving breath, trying to take in enough oxygen to sustain another quick stride. The corners of your vision were going black— you were fucking exhausted, but the adrenaline kept you going, it had to. Your legs burned, barely able to feel them anymore; the only sensation reaching your brain was your soles against the floor of the forest, as they destroyed leaves beneath your sprint. 

That and the pitiful burn of your heart. 

Turning to look behind your shoulder every other second frantically, you were met with nothing but the deafening silence of the night. Shivers of lightning struck through your body, and the entire situation started to feel too real. The gasping inhales and exhales of your collapsing lungs, the sound of your pulse beating harshly in your ears, the shrubbery crumbling apart in your tracks, wind blowing, cascading the broken leaves into the mix of ground, almost as if trying to obscure where you were going, it was all too much. No animal dared to make a noise, not a peep, maybe they were too afraid to draw attention to themselves, you should have been too, but that thought was far gone from your head at this point.

Considering his sheer size, you’d expect someone like him to be loud, stomping on the ground, practically shaking and breaking the earth beneath his feet, just as you desperately tried to. Your heart, being bludgeoned by your over-exertion, tried to keep up, but your throat tightened up with each desperate breath. You had no idea if he was meters behind, or waiting around the corner to grab at you when you thought you were safe. You knew he could swallow up the distance between you two with ease, you have seen it time and time again. On the field, in training— you saw it anywhere and everywhere he was able to fully display his incomprehensible prowess and brute physical strength. 

But tonight, tonight he was quiet, calculated, and cruel, which made your anxiety spike to unknown extremes. The dread that grew deep in your stomach felt like it weighed twice what you did; it tried to hold you down, tried to pull you into the ground. It almost did, in a way you almost wish it did— if the earth opened up and swallowed you whole, you would be away from him. The cold embrace of the earth, enclosing you in, threatening to turn you into an artifact for archaeologists— you would take that over this sickening feeling that you couldn’t shake. You tried to drop this anchor of a weight, but it clung to you like a cinder block, tightly tied around your waist with thick rope, before being tossed off the edge of a boat, forcibly pulling you into a fluid body of salt, sinking, struggling. Then it hits you. You feel your body hit the ocean floor and it rips the air you tried so hard to keep, straight out of your chest. Water fills your lungs, rushing in mercilessly, and it burns. It hits you.

All this time you were wondering where he was, why he wasn’t chasing immediately after you. At a point, you almost thought he gave up and left, but that was too merciful for him.

This was a game to him, he was toying with you.        

You stumble slightly, and it brings you back to reality harshly, the situation demanding your attention, heart feeling like it was just resuscitated. Not noticing the jagged ground you had just tripped over, inhaling sharply, your arms fly out in front of you to steady yourself so you wouldn’t crash into the ground. Catching yourself, you continued to work your legs, trying to cover more ground, trying to get as far as possible, though a small part of you knew it was hopeless. Initially, you had hoped to run back to the barracks, somewhere safe, somewhere away from him, somewhere with people, somewhere with witnesses. But he had rounded the corner, so quickly that it made your head spin. He cut you off completely, and in a haze, you had made a last-ditch for the woods encasing the base.

You couldn’t see it now, but he was smiling to himself, watching you stumble over your every breath as you dug your grave deeper, heading nowhere useful. As he analyzed your desperate attempt to evade him, he chuckles before speaking to no one but himself, starting a steady saunter towards you “So fucking predictable.”

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New Military Express headliner - Task Force 141

(ref ⬇️)

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Nov 2023

Creepy guy

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Was your star next to mine ?

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How I feel after finally finishing that long-ass chapter...

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Unfortunately he fell asleep

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I think I like blue-yellow color schemed landscapes, I think Twitter | Prints | Ko-Fi | Patreon

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what is this outfit 😭🙏

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The boys from Mystic Messenger would never treat me like this.