megssandbox

[megssandbox]

König x Reader – BDSM, rough dom, mean with hints of softness

You shouldn’t have said it.

Shouldn’t have called him cold.

But it was too late now.

The hotel room door slams shut behind you and König’s voice slices the air before your back even hits the wall.

“Wanna say that again?”

Low. Threatening. Controlled only by sheer force of will.

You try to respond, but he’s already closing the space—six foot ten of raw, coiled fury. His jaw ticks as he presses a palm flat against the wall beside your head, caging you in.

“I said,” he growls, “say it again. Call me cold.”

You stare at him, heart thundering. His mask is still on, only his eyes visible—ice blue and burning. The sharp scent of sweat and gunpowder still clings to his gear. There’s tension rolling off of him in thick waves.

“I didn’t mean—” you begin, but his hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is velvet-edged steel. “You meant it. You think I don’t feel anything?”

You shake your head. “I just… I wanted a reaction.”

“Well, you’ve got one.”

His grip tightens, not cruel, but punishing. His other hand snakes between your thighs, fingers brushing over your panties, slow and deliberate. His eyes—those bottomless, haunted eyes—watch every flicker of your reaction.

“You want warmth?” he sneers, slipping his fingers under the fabric. “Earn it.”

You gasp as two thick fingers shove inside you, rough and merciless. He pumps them without warning, curling them to strike deep, mean spots that make your legs quake.

“No prep, no patience, just like you wanted, right?” His lips brush your ear. “You poke the monster, don’t cry when it bites.”

Your moan is swallowed by his mouth crushing against yours, brutal and possessive. His free hand releases your throat and tangles in your hair, yanking your head back to bare your neck. He licks a stripe up your throat, then bites down—hard. You cry out, wetness flooding his hand as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.

When he pulls away, he licks his fingers clean, then wipes the rest across your cheek like war paint.

“Strip,” he commands. “And kneel.”

You do, hands trembling. König paces as you bare yourself, tossing your clothes aside. When you drop to your knees, he stops in front of you, towering and impassive, his cock straining against his pants.

“Look at you. All mouth earlier. And now you’re quiet.”

You glance up at him through your lashes. “I’m sorry.”

“Too late for that.”

He unzips, pulls himself free. He’s thick, veiny, heavy in his hand—and already leaking for you. You barely have time to adjust before he grabs a fistful of your hair and guides your mouth to him.

“Open.”

You obey. He slides in deep, forcing your jaw wide. The burn makes your eyes water. His pace is punishing, relentless, each thrust forcing you to take more, gagging on him until tears stream down your cheeks.

“You wanted real,” he grunts, thrusting harder. “This is what it looks like.”

You gag again, nails digging into your own thighs to anchor yourself. He’s merciless, head thrown back, groaning like thunder. You think you catch the faintest tremble in his hips before he pulls out and hauls you up.

“On the bed. Face down, ass up.”

You scramble into place, heart racing, legs trembling. You don’t see him shed the rest of his gear, but you hear the belt—the low hiss of leather sliding through loops. Your breath catches.

Then, crack.

The belt lands across your ass, fire blooming across your skin. You whimper, but he’s already winding it around your wrists behind your back, tying it tight.

“Still think I’m cold?” he murmurs.

“No,” you breathe.

He lines up behind you, nudging your legs farther apart. The tip of his cock drags through your slick folds, slow and deliberate.

“No safeword tonight,” he says, voice raw. “You want me soft? Beg for it.”

He slams into you, hard enough to make the bedframe slam the wall. You cry out, but he doesn’t let up. Each thrust is deep and punishing, every inch of him dragging fire through you.

“Louder,” he demands. “Let the whole fucking hotel know who you belong to.”

You scream his name, broken and sobbing, body stretched to its limits. He pounds into you like he’s trying to leave bruises on your soul. Your body shakes, sweat mixing with tears. You feel split open, ruined—and then, suddenly—

His hand slides under you, finds your clit. Starts rubbing fast, ruthless circles. You wail, legs buckling, orgasm ripping through you like lightning.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Come for me. Come on my cock, slut.”

You do—clenching, sobbing, trembling. But he doesn’t stop. He grabs your hips, keeps thrusting, deeper, harder.

“Not done.”

It’s too much. You’re crying now, begging without words. You feel raw, used, broken open—and then he comes too, with a hoarse growl, spilling deep inside you, burying his cock as far as it’ll go.

For a long, shuddering moment, he stays there—chest heaving, hands gripping your hips like they’re the only thing anchoring him.

Then slowly, he pulls out, unties your wrists. You collapse onto the bed, wrecked.

And then—his hand brushes your hair back. Gentle. Careful.

You feel the weight of the covers pulled over you. Arms gathering you against a broad, bare chest. A heartbeat thundering in your ear.

König exhales. “You drive me fucking insane.”

You nuzzle into his chest, dazed. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then you feel his lips against your temple.

“You’re not,” he mutters. “But I still want you.”

[megssandbox]

Title: “Look at You”

Konig x reader

The mirror’s fogged at the edges from your breath. The room is too warm — from him, from you, from everything he does to you. König’s massive form presses against your back, his gloved hand tangled in your hair as he pulls your head up.

“Eyes on yourself, Liebling,” he growls, voice thick with accent and something darker. “Don’t look at me. Look at you.”

You try to obey, even as your vision blurs from the sting of tears and the sweat sliding down your chest. He’s buried inside you, thick and relentless, hips slamming into you with punishing rhythm. You can’t think — you can’t breathe — without feeling him everywhere.

The mirror trembles with every thrust. So do you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans against your ear. “So beautiful. And you still can’t say it.”

“I’m not,” you whisper, almost too quiet to hear. Your cheek burns where his mask brushes against it. You’ve said it before — can’t. You don’t know how to believe it.

König’s thrusts stop so abruptly it knocks the air out of you. You whimper, clench around him involuntarily.

Then: “No?”

His voice is cold now. Not cruel — never cruel — but disappointed. He pulls out just enough to make you feel the loss, then drives back in with a snap of his hips that leaves you gasping. You brace your palms on the vanity in front of the mirror, but your knees nearly buckle.

“I’m not,” you say again, weaker this time. “I’m not—”

He pulls out fully this time, grabs your hip, and spanks you — hard. The sound cracks through the air, the sting blooming hot and fast across your ass. You cry out, more from surprise than pain.

“You are,” König growls. His hand comes down again. You jolt forward, breasts brushing the cold glass. “You’re going to say it.”

“Please,” you gasp, arching back toward him despite the sting. Your thighs are slick, your pussy aching with need. You don’t know what you’re begging for — forgiveness, the friction of him inside you again, anything—

“Say it,” he demands, spanking you again. “Say you’re beautiful. Say it while you look at yourself.”

“I— I can’t—”

He growls deep in his chest, almost like an animal. With one arm, he hauls you back upright, slamming you into him. His cock presses against your soaked folds but doesn’t enter you. The tease is unbearable.

“You can’t?” he hisses. “You can’t, but you take my cock like a good little whore? You drip for me. You clench around me. And still, you lie to yourself?”

You shudder at the way he says it — degrading but laced with affection, like he’s trying to break something in you to build it up stronger.

His hand slides between your thighs, dragging over your slick folds. He doesn’t enter. He just pets you. Slowly. Cruelly.

“Say it, Schatz. Say you’re beautiful. Say it while I fuck you like you deserve.”

You meet your reflection’s eyes.

Your mascara’s smudged. Your cheeks are flushed. Your lips are parted and swollen from the way he kissed you earlier — bruising, biting, his. You look ruined. You look—

“Say it,” he growls again.

When you still don’t, he shoves into you hard. You scream.

“Fuck— König—!”

He gives you no time to adjust. His pace is brutal now, slamming you against the vanity with every thrust. Your hands scramble for purchase, your body tipping forward. But he holds you upright by your throat, making you watch.

“Say. It.”

You sob. Not from pain — from overwhelm. From the way he’s unraveling you, ripping you apart and demanding you see yourself through his eyes.

“I’m—” you gasp. “I’m— I’m b-beautiful—”

The second the words leave your lips, his pace falters — not stopping, but stuttering. A deep groan escapes him like he’s coming undone, like that was the reward he needed most.

“Again.”

You choke on a moan, legs trembling. “I’m beautiful.”

“Louder.”

“I’m beautiful—!”

“Yes, you are,” he growls, fucking into you harder now, his control snapping. “My beautiful girl. You take me so well. You’re perfect, you hear me? Perfect.”

You come without warning. Your whole body seizes up, cunt clenching around him so tight it drags a curse from his mouth in thick German. You scream his name, sobbing, shaking in his grip as the orgasm rips through you.

König doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release with ragged breaths. “Mine,” he pants. “Fucking mine—”

He slams deep one last time and groans, coming inside you with a shudder. You feel it — hot, thick, spilling out around him as he stays buried to the hilt.

He holds you there, both of you trembling, sweat-slicked and panting in front of the mirror.

You glance up.

You still look ruined. But there’s something different in your eyes now.

Pride.

His hand smooths your hair, a surprising tenderness after all that fire. He kisses your temple through the mask.

“You’ll never say you’re not beautiful again,” he murmurs.

And this time, you believe him.

[megssandbox]

You didn’t even hear them come in.

One moment, the house was quiet—only the hum of your fridge and the distant rattle of a loose vent. The next, a cold gust of air prickled up your arms and the unmistakable creak of floorboards behind you froze your blood.

You turned just in time to see two shadows cross your kitchen tile. One was tall. Massive. Silent. The other smiled.

“Evenin’, sweetheart,” the smiling one said—Pol. His voice was warm in a way that didn’t match the situation. “Hope we’re not interrupting anything.”

You couldn’t even scream before Jo had you pinned.

He moved like a ghost, black-gloved hand clamping over your mouth, the weight of his body forcing you back into the wall. The smell of leather, steel, and aftershave hit you all at once.

“Don’t bother,” Jo muttered low into your ear. “Walls are thick. No one’s coming.”

You kicked—futile. The man was a wall.

Pol came up behind him, dragging something behind him. You saw it before you could even try to speak.

Rope. Black. Soft. Already looped.

“Hands,” Pol said sweetly, as if asking you to dinner.

Jo grunted and spun you, one arm locking yours behind your back. “She’s squirmy.”

“I like that,” Pol said with a little hum. “But we can’t have you running, can we?”

The rope burned, not painfully—but enough. Within seconds, your arms were bound behind you, wrists tight. A soft sound escaped you—fear and something else.

Pol smiled. “Good girl.”

You shook your head, eyes wide. Your chest heaved. You should’ve been screaming, but no words came. The pressure of their bodies against yours—one cold and brutal, the other deceptively gentle—was short-circuiting every signal in your brain.

“I think she likes this,” Jo said flatly. “Look at her thighs.”

You flinched as his hand smoothed down your hip, squeezing hard. He leaned down to your ear again, voice barely a whisper.

“You want us to stop? Then say it.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth opened, but only a broken moan came out.

Pol chuckled behind you, voice darkening. “She’s soaking through her shorts.”

Jo made a quiet, amused sound.

Your knees buckled as hands gripped you from both sides—Pol’s warm, worshipful; Jo’s brutal, exacting. They guided you to the floor like prey. There was no mercy in their touch, but there was control. Expertise. Like they’d done this before—like they’d been planning it.

Pol knelt in front of you. He brushed your hair from your face, expression soft but eyes wild.

“You’ve wanted this,” he murmured. “We know. You leave your window cracked. You look out into the dark hoping something pulls you under.”

Behind you, Jo grabbed your bound arms and yanked you back against his chest. You cried out—more from the shock than pain. Your breathing came in shallow, trembling gasps.

“I’ll hold her,” he said. “You start.”

Pol smiled like he’d just been handed a favorite toy.

You weren’t stripped all at once. That would’ve been too kind.

No, they peeled you open. Bit by bit. Jo tore your tank top down the middle with a sharp blade and held it flat against your belly. Not cutting. Just reminding.

Pol rolled your shorts down, baring your thighs with reverence. He kissed the inside of one, gently biting down hard enough to leave a mark. His hands worshiped you—soft belly, trembling hips, thighs that shook with adrenaline.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he said, and it almost broke you. The contradiction. The softness inside something so brutal. “We’re going to take everything. Every scream. Every sob. And then you’ll thank us for it.”

Jo tugged your head back again, this time pressing his gloved hand over your throat—not choking. Just… owning. “You should.”

They didn’t touch you there yet—not quite. But the promise hung heavy. You felt Pol’s breath on your center, warm and deliberate, and your whole body tensed.

Jo held you as Pol’s mouth brushed over you through your soaked underwear.

You cried out, hips jerking involuntarily.

Pol laughed into you. “Oh, she’s soaked.”

Jo groaned behind you. “Hurry the fuck up.”

The wet heat of Pol’s mouth hit you full force—and Jo’s grip on your throat tightened just enough to keep you still.

You sobbed. A real sound. Because it was too much—too overwhelming. Your mind couldn’t process pleasure and fear and helplessness and praise and shame all at once.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as your legs shook. Pol licked you like he was starving. Jo held you steady like you were prey. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t run. Couldn’t do anything but feel.

Pol pulled back just long enough to pant, “You’ll take both of us, won’t you?”

You shook your head, trembling, mouth gasping open for air.

Jo’s voice in your ear was a snarl. “Yes, you fucking will.”

They didn’t ask again.

Chapter 2

The rope burned.

Not cruelly—just enough to remind you how tightly you were held. Jo hadn’t let go since they forced you to your knees. Pol’s mouth had ruined you, slowly and sweetly, his tongue playing your body like an instrument until your thighs trembled and your cries turned to sobs.

But they weren’t done. Not even close.

“I can feel her shaking,” Jo muttered behind you, voice like ice cracking in a glass. His hands were solid against your hips, thumbs digging into your softness possessively. “She’s already half-fucked and we haven’t even started.”

Pol leaned close, crouched in front of you, thumb stroking the wet track of tears down your cheek. His gaze was molten—tender, even as he dragged your soaked underwear down and tossed them aside like a trophy.

“She can take it,” he said softly, to Jo—but his eyes were locked on yours. “Can’t you, baby?”

You whimpered. You didn’t say yes, but you didn’t pull away either. Didn’t protest when Jo shoved your knees wider apart from behind, his grip merciless. Pol’s gaze lingered, like he was waiting—for a blink, a breath, any sign of true fear.

A low growl of satisfaction from Jo. “Shut up and take it.”

Pol kissed your cheek where the tears clung, and then he was undoing his belt.

You were already sobbing before he pushed inside.

He was gentle—for a second. Easing into you slowly, stretching you around him with practiced care. He watched every flicker of your face as you cried, as your head dropped forward and your bound arms pulled helplessly against the rope.

But once you’d taken him—every thick, hot inch—he started to move.

Hard. Deep. Controlled. The wet slap of skin filled the air, echoing off the walls of your tiny living room. Jo held your hips perfectly still as Pol fucked you with intent, his mouth moving with quiet filth:

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Fucking perfect. Your cunt was made for this.”

You keened.

Jo shifted behind you. You could feel the heat of him, heavy and hard against your ass, still fully clothed.

“Open her mouth,” he said flatly.

Pol stopped moving—just for a second—and reached to cradle your face in both hands. “You want Jo’s cock in your throat too, don’t you?” he asked, sweet as honey.

You sobbed—but you nodded. “Yes—please—yes—”

“Good girl,” he said with reverence.

And that’s when it got messy.

Jo unzipped and took your jaw in one hand, his cock hot and heavy as he slapped it once against your lips before pushing inside. No patience. No slow start.

You gagged immediately, eyes streaming.

Pol thrust into you again just as Jo drove into your throat. Your body folded—held between them, stretched open, stuffed full of heat and rhythm and dominance.

You couldn’t breathe properly. You didn’t care.

Tears blurred your vision as you whimpered around Jo’s cock, his fingers tightening in your hair as he fucked your mouth with slow, brutal strokes. Every time he bottomed out, Pol drove in deeper behind you, thrusts syncing like they’d practiced.

They were using you. Worshipping you.

And you were falling apart.

“You’re doing so fucking good,” Pol panted. His hands gripped your waist, fingers bruising. “Taking both of us like a fucking champ.”

Jo grunted, barely verbal. “Messy little slut. You like this? Crying with our cocks in you?”

You nodded around him, choking, tears spilling faster. Your thighs were shaking again, slick with arousal and overstimulation. The rope dug into your wrists—tight, grounding.

“Want to come?” Pol asked. “You want to come with us both inside you?”

You tried to answer, but Jo thrust deep into your throat and you gagged again—your whole body convulsing.

Jo pulled out suddenly, letting you gasp for breath, drool and spit dripping down your chin.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say what you are.”

You gasped through your tears. “Y-Yours—please—I’m yours—please let me—”

Pol’s hand came down hard on your ass. Once. Twice. The sound echoed. The pain blurred into need.

“Then come for us,” he snarled—and slammed into you.

You shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you like thunder. Your vision went white. Your scream was wordless, broken. Jo was in your mouth again, fucking you through it, while Pol drove into your cunt like he never wanted to leave.

You couldn’t stop sobbing. Couldn’t stop shaking.

But they didn’t stop. Not yet.

Jo came in your mouth with a grunt, pulsing down your throat as he held your head in place. You swallowed around him, still crying, and he didn’t move until every drop was inside you.

Then Pol groaned behind you, hips stuttering, and you felt him spill into you—deep, raw, overwhelming.

You collapsed.

Jo caught you.

Pol untied the ropes slowly, murmuring praise into your hair as he loosened each knot.

“You were perfect,” he whispered. “So fucking good for us.”

Jo didn’t speak—just wrapped you in one of their jackets, holding you in his lap like something precious, stroking your hair with surprising care.

Your breath came in ragged sobs.

Neither of them moved to leave.

Chapter 3

casual, warm. You turned toward him—he was making tea like he belonged here. Shirtless, in sweatpants, hair damp from a shower. You looked down. The hoodie you wore was probably his.

Jo was leaning against the wall. Fully dressed. Arms crossed. Watching you like a lion might watch a lamb that had wandered back into the den.

“I made you tea,” Pol said, carrying the mug over and crouching beside you. He didn’t touch you—not yet. “You need to hydrate.”

You took it. Hands trembling slightly. “…Thanks.”

“Still sore?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You didn’t answer. Just nodded.

He brushed a thumb under your eye where the tear tracks had dried. “You did so well last night. You didn’t say stop. Didn’t try to run. You wanted it.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “Do you still want it?”

Your thighs clenched. You hated how fast your body responded. You should’ve been afraid. Or ashamed. But instead… you were wet again.

You nodded.

“Words, sweetheart.”

You swallowed. “Yes. I still want it.”

Jo shifted, and you looked up to meet his eyes. Still cold. Still unreadable.

“She begged,” he said flatly. “And she came like a fucking whore. Don’t let the quiet fool you.”

You flinched.

Pol stood up slowly. “That’s not how we talk to her now.”

“She wants discipline,” Jo snapped. “So she’ll get it.”

You blinked. “Discipline…?”

Pol smiled down at you, soft but wolfish. “You didn’t ask permission before you came last night. That’s against the rules.”

“I didn’t know there were rules—!”

“Then learn,” Jo said, pushing off the wall.

They were on you fast.

Pol took the mug from your hands, setting it down. Jo pulled the hoodie up and off before you could blink, exposing your bare, marked body to the cool air. You trembled.

You breathed hard. Eyes darting between them.

Jo grabbed your wrist and turned you over, laying you across the couch like you weighed nothing. Pol moved around to kneel in front of you, fingers stroking your jaw.

“This time,” he whispered, “you ask for it.”

You nodded, tears already starting to prick.

You were gagged gently—not because they didn’t want to hear you, but because they didn’t trust you to keep quiet. Pol tied your wrists above your head, the rope familiar now, grounding. Jo spread your legs and strapped something around your thigh.

It buzzed.

Your whole body jerked. You whined behind the gag.

Pol’s hands caressed your face. “That’s a pretty sound.”

Jo turned the vibrator up. “This is your punishment.”

You squirmed—already overwhelmed. Already needy.

But Jo didn’t fuck you. Not yet.

They watched you squirm. Whimper. Shake.

“Look at her,” Pol murmured, almost reverent. “She’s going to cry again.”

You did.

But when Jo finally undid his pants and knelt behind you, you lifted your hips to meet him.

He paused.

Pol looked at you. “Tell him. Say you want it.”

You nodded furiously, gagged, teary-eyed.

Pol slipped it from your mouth just long enough for you to gasp, “Please—Jo—please fuck me, I want it, I can take it, I promise—”

Jo growled—and shoved inside.

You screamed.

He was rough. Relentless. Using your slick, overstimulated cunt like it was his right. You sobbed openly, hands clenched in the ropes. Pol held your face gently, whispering praise through your tears.

“Good girl. So good. You were made for this.”

Jo didn’t speak—just fucked. Deep, bruising thrusts that had you keening, twisting, begging for mercy and more in the same breath.

The vibrator stayed on the whole time. You came once, twice, without permission, sobbing apologies that Jo ignored.

When you couldn’t stop shaking, Jo pulled out and let Pol take his place—Pol was softer, kissing your back, stroking your stomach as he slid in.

Still big. Still deep. But soothing.

You came again.

This time, they praised you.

And after?

Jo unbound you silently, but he didn’t let you fall. He cradled you on the couch, your back to his chest, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your hip.

Pol brought you tea again. Brushed your hair away from your sweaty face. Kissed your temple.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

You nodded. Eyes closed.

Jo’s voice was low. Closer to human than you’d ever heard it.

“Good girl.”

The air felt thick, humid with the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

You sat on the couch again—same place where they’d used you, wrecked you, praised you until you cried. Your thighs still bore fingerprints. Rope marks curled like quiet secrets around your wrists. You hadn’t washed them off.

Jo hadn’t said a word since this morning. Just sat at the table with a book, pretending not to watch you.

Pol, on the other hand, had hovered.

He handed you water. Touched your back lightly whenever he passed. But tonight, he was different. Sweeter, yes—but more calculating too. Like he was measuring your responses. Gauging something invisible.

When you finally spoke, it was barely a whisper.

“I want more.”

Jo looked up first. His eyes sharpened like glass catching light.

Pol didn’t smile. Not this time.

“You sure?”

You nodded.

He stood slowly, crossing the space between you in two strides. His voice was soft, but serious.

“Then you do what you’re told. No talking unless you’re given permission. You’ll only take what we give. And if you want more—” his hand caught your chin, tilting your face up, “—you beg.”

You swallowed hard. Your breath hitched.

And you nodded again.

“Good girl.”

The ropes were faster this time. Familiar.

Pol bound your arms behind your back in a prayer tie—tight but safe, forcing your chest out, your body completely exposed. You were on your knees between them, head bowed, already panting from the anticipation.

Jo stood in front of you. Watching. His belt hung loose in one hand.

“You’re not allowed to speak,” he said, his voice like steel dragged across velvet. “Not even to whimper.”

You met his eyes.

He undid his fly and pulled himself out, hard and thick already. You opened your mouth without hesitation.

He didn’t ease in.

His hand gripped the back of your head and forced your mouth down on him, inch by inch, until your eyes watered. You choked, gagged, tears spilling over—but you didn’t stop. You wanted this.

He held you there. Your throat clenched around him. Saliva dripped from your lips to your chest. Your own thighs trembled with how wet you were.

Pol moved behind you.

You flinched when his hands parted your knees wider—but you didn’t resist. He teased your folds with his fingers, spreading slick that had been leaking since the moment Jo’s belt came off.

“She’s soaked,” he murmured, sounding almost disappointed. “So much for discipline.”

You wanted to say something. Beg, maybe. But Jo was fucking your throat now, harsh and unforgiving. Your gag reflex twitched and you fought it down, tears spilling freely.

“That’s it,” Jo muttered. “Take it. You know what you’re for.”

Pol shoved two fingers inside your dripping heat and curled them. Your whole body jerked.

You came embarrassingly fast—without permission. Again.

Jo pulled out with a wet pop and grabbed your face. His palm landed on your cheek—not hard, but enough to sting.

“You don’t come until we tell you,” he snapped.

Pol let go of your cunt. You whimpered despite yourself, punished by the emptiness, by the ache.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered without permission.

Jo’s hand returned to your throat. Not squeezing—yet. Just there. Possessive.

“What was that?”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I—I didn’t mean to.”

Pol crouched beside you. His hand slid up your inner thigh, smearing slick against your skin.

“You love being punished,” he whispered. “That’s why you keep misbehaving.”

You started to cry—because he was right. Because you wanted to be used. You wanted to be hurt and praised and held. You wanted it all.

Jo kissed you, out of nowhere.

Hard. Controlling. Nothing like the sweet affection you were still learning to crave. But when he pulled away, his hand stayed on your cheek. His thumb wiped away a tear.

“You want to be ruined, little thing?” he asked. “Say it.”

“I want to be ruined,” you whispered, eyes wide and wet.

“Then say ‘please.’”

You broke. “Please. Please ruin me.”

Jo groaned low in his throat and stood, unbuckling his belt properly this time. Pol had already stripped, positioning himself behind you on the floor.

And then they were inside you—Jo in your mouth, Pol in your cunt—spitroasting you, not like last time where it was about ownership, but this time with something more intimate threaded into the brutality.

You sobbed. Moaned. Cried freely as they used you, filled you, praised you between growled curses.

Pol murmured, “You’re perfect. So full. You can take more.”

Jo hissed, “Fucking tight little mouth. You were made for this.”

And you came again—hard, full-body, screaming around Jo’s cock as Pol fucked you through it.

They didn’t stop.

They used you until you were shaking so hard you couldn’t kneel anymore. Jo caught you as you slumped, and Pol held your hips so you wouldn’t collapse.

They laid you down gently.

You were crying.

Not from pain.

Not even from being overwhelmed.

But because you’d never felt wanted like this before. Not by men who touched you like you were breakable and ruinable all at once. Not by anyone.

They cleaned you with warm cloths. Tucked you under a blanket. Fed you sips of water and whispered soft, grounding things in your ears.

Pol lay beside you on the couch, arm around your waist, his lips at your temple.

“You were good,” he whispered. “So good.”

Jo sat nearby, watching. Always watching. His eyes were unreadable again.

But just before you drifted off, you felt his hand brush your ankle.

A gentle squeeze.

“I’m not done with you,” he murmured.

And you didn’t know if it was a threat or a promise.

But you wanted it either way.

Chapter 4

You said the words with no hesitation.

“I want it to hurt tonight.”

Not a whisper. Not a question. Not even a plea.

A demand.

The moment it left your lips, the room changed.

Jo’s expression didn’t shift. Still blank, still cold. But something in his body stilled—like a wolf catching scent. He put his book down slowly, deliberately, spine cracking as it closed.

Pol, on the other hand, hesitated. His eyes flicked to you, warm but unreadable.

“You’re sure,” he said.

It wasn’t quite a question.

You nodded.

Jo stood.

They didn’t drag it out this time. No teasing, no prolonged warmup. You were stripped, tied, and laid bare on the kitchen table, wrists bound tight above your head, legs open and secured with soft rope looped under the heavy oak. You were trembling—not from fear, but anticipation.

Jo stood over you with something new in his hand.

A knife.

Slim. Surgical. Gleaming.

Pol cleaned it. Right in front of you. Alcohol, cloth, careful hands. Not for theatrics—for safety. For ritual.

You watched him as your breath shortened.

“You can stop us at any time,” he said, voice low. “You say red, we stop. You say mercy, we slow.”

You nodded. Words were useless now.

Jo didn’t wait for ceremony. He dragged the flat of the blade down your chest—not cutting, just tracing. Cold steel kissed your breast, your belly, the soft underside of your thigh.

You gasped. Not from pain.

From the intimacy.

Then—just below your hip—he pressed, slow and deliberate. A shallow cut bloomed red. Bright. Stark against your skin.

You cried out. Not loud. Just enough to feel real.

Pol was at your head immediately, murmuring something you couldn’t hear over the sound of your own heartbeat. His hand cradled your jaw. His lips brushed your temple.

“You’re doing so well, baby.”

Jo pressed another cut. And another. Nothing deep. Nothing dangerous.

But enough to claim.

Your tears came quick—not just from the stinging, but from the way Jo watched you. Focused. Intent. Like your pain was something sacred.

Pol’s fingers slid between your thighs as Jo marked you. You were soaked. Ruined already, and they hadn’t even fucked you yet.

“She loves it,” Jo muttered. “Fucking sick little thing.”

You sobbed. And nodded.

Pol kissed you this time. Deep, warm, anchoring. His tongue silenced your whimper. His hands reminded you that you were safe—even here, tied down, bleeding lightly, losing control.

Jo moved lower.

You felt the steel drag across your inner thigh—no cut this time, just a threat.

And then—

His mouth.

His tongue on your clit, his fingers spreading you open, slow, precise.

You bucked, moaned, begged without speaking.

Pol whispered into your ear, “You’re ours. Every part of you. We break you, we build you. That’s the rule.”

You were shaking now. Coming apart.

And when you finally shattered—writhing, bound, blood-kissed and broken—it wasn’t the pain that undid you.

It was the love behind it.

After.

They washed you. Jo silent, methodical. Pol gentle, talkative—checking your pulse, your color, your breath.

You cried again. From release. From overwhelm.

Jo didn’t comfort you.

But he didn’t leave, either.

He sat beside the bed while Pol held you, brushing your hair back, murmuring soft things in a language you didn’t understand.

Eventually, Jo’s hand found yours.

Not gripping.

Just resting.

“I won’t let anyone else touch you,” he said quietly. “Not like this.”

And it felt like a promise.

Or maybe a threat.

You didn’t care.

Chapter 6?

The ropes bit into your wrists as Jo’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you roughly against him. His breath was hot against your neck, his voice low and commanding.

“You’re mine,” he growled. “Don’t forget it.”

You nodded, heart pounding, craving the roughness, the discipline. But then—a hesitation, a tiny flicker of doubt.

Jo caught it.

“You want to stop?” His tone was sharp, but beneath it, a flicker of something else—concern? No, possessiveness. “Say the word.”

You swallowed hard but didn’t say it.

Pol, who’d been watching quietly from the side, stepped forward, his eyes dark.

“Jo,” he said softly but firmly, “not like this.”

Jo’s hands stilled. His jaw clenched.

“You pushed too hard this time.”

You whimpered, caught between wanting the pain and fearing you’d broken something.

Pol moved to you, wrapping his arms around your shaking form. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”

Jo’s voice softened as he knelt beside you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Tears streamed down your face—part shame, part relief.

Pol kissed your temple. “We’ll fix this. Together.”

Jo held your hand tightly. “I’m not letting go.”

You looked between them, your heart raw and open, the dark spiral of your trust stretched thin but still holding.

Aftercare was slow, tender. Pol washed the marks Jo had left, soothing your skin. Jo pressed gentle kisses to your tears, murmuring praises and apologies.

You clung to them, broken but loved.

Chapter 7?

The ropes are tighter tonight.

Not dangerously tight—but enough to remind you that you can’t move unless they let you.

Your arms are strung above your head, wrists aching slightly from the pull. Your legs are spread and bound at the ankles, trembling just from how exposed you feel. Pol is behind you. Jo is in front. And you’ve never felt more surrounded. Or more alone.

“You’ve been distant,” Jo says. He’s not asking.

Pol is silent as he strokes your thigh, his touch maddeningly soft.

“I’m not—” Your voice catches, brittle.

“Liar,” Jo snaps. “You want to disappear when we’re not touching you. Admit it.”

Tears start immediately—hot, fast, unforgiving. You weren’t ready. But maybe you wanted this. The confrontation. The stripping bare.

Pol leans down, lips brushing your ear. “Why are you afraid of us when we’re kind?”

That’s what undoes you.

Because you are. Terrified.

Of how much you need them. Of how easily they undo you. Of how much power you’ve given them without a contract, a safeword, or a way out. You’re not here for love. You’re here because it hurts, and they make the pain beautiful.

Jo moves first.

His hand strikes your cheek—not hard, just sharp enough to snap your head back. “Answer the question.”

You choke. “I—I don’t know who I am unless I’m hurting.”

Pol doesn’t flinch. He just kisses the side of your neck, soft as a prayer. “Then we’ll take that pain and make it mean something.”

Jo doesn’t wait for more confessions.

He’s inside you in a single, brutal thrust. You scream—part pleasure, part panic—and Pol covers your mouth with his palm, pinning your head back so Jo can take what he wants.

It’s not slow.

It’s not romantic.

It’s war.

Jo fucks you like he’s trying to erase the part of you that resists being theirs. And you let him. You give in. You need to be broken to feel whole. The pace is punishing. Your wrists ache. Your thighs tremble. You’re sobbing, and Jo is praising you for it.

“Good girl. Cry for it. Show me how badly you need to be used.”

Pol’s mouth finds your shoulder, biting down hard. Not gentle. Not sweet.

Just real.

You’re no longer sure which tears are from pain and which are from whatever dark bloom has taken root in your chest.

Jo doesn’t slow down. You’re shaking, desperate, ruined.

Then Pol shifts. His hand slides between your legs and rubs your clit in slow, agonizing circles—completely opposite the brutal rhythm of Jo’s thrusts.

Overstimulated. Overexposed.

Overcome.

You’re spiraling and they know it. Pol is whispering in your ear—low, reverent. “Let go. We’ll hold you when you fall.”

And you do.

You fall apart so hard it feels like dying.

You scream.

You sob.

You come so hard your body convulses.

Jo finally stills, buried deep, panting against your chest like he’s the one who shattered.

The comedown is quiet.

They untie you carefully.

Pol strokes your wrists while Jo wraps a blanket around your shoulders. You’re not sure who you’re leaning on, only that you’re being held. Touched. Kept.

Jo speaks first. Not cold. Not cruel.

“Next time you want to disappear, tell us.”

You nod.

Pol kisses your temple. “We don’t want to fix you. We just want to know you.”

You fall asleep between them, raw and claimed and completely unsure how you’re going to survive them.

You shouldn’t want Jo this much after what he did last time.

He left you trembling and sore, emotionally threadbare. You should hate him for it. Or at least fear him.

But tonight, when he touches you, you lean in.

Pol sees it.

You’re in the den, curled against Jo’s chest on the couch while Pol brings you a glass of water. He watches the way Jo strokes your hair—slow, possessive, like he owns you again. You know that look on Pol’s face. It isn’t anger.

It’s pain.

You stand up fast, suddenly cold. “I—I didn’t mean to pick.”

Pol shakes his head, jaw tight. “You didn’t. That’s the problem.”

Jo rises behind you, towering and calm. “She doesn’t have to pick.”

Pol’s voice is low. “Not yet.”

You’re not bound tonight.

Jo insisted, said it would “be realer this way.” No ropes, no gag, no bruises to blame. Just your choices. Your body. Your guilt.

But you’re still naked between them, and that feels like surrender.

Pol is the one who touches you first—so gently it almost hurts. His fingers trace your ribs like he’s memorizing what Jo tried to tear apart.

“I can’t share you if I don’t know you still belong to me,” he whispers against your neck.

You moan, quiet and aching. “I do.”

Do you?

Jo moves behind you, hands already rougher. His teeth find your shoulder.

“You like it when we fight over you,” he growls. “Makes you feel powerful, doesn’t it?”

“No—” But your voice betrays you.

Jo’s hand slides between your thighs.

“You’re soaked.”

Pol doesn’t stop him. He watches.

You hate how good that feels. Being the center of their hunger. Their competition. Their war.

Jo turns you to face him, pushing your back to Pol’s chest. You’re trapped between them again—but this time, you’re not restrained by rope.

You’re restrained by your own want.

Jo doesn’t wait. He’s already inside you before you can catch your breath. No prep. No slow build.

You cry out, grabbing Pol’s wrist behind you as Jo starts to thrust.

Hard. Unrelenting.

“You’re mine when I’m inside you,” Jo growls. “Say it.”

You don’t.

Pol’s arms tighten around you.

“Then say you’re mine when he’s done,” Pol whispers, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck. “Say you’ll still want me.”

Tears burn your eyes.

Jo fucks you harder. Pol holds you closer.

And you fall apart between them—splintered, soaked, screaming.

Not from pain.

From grief.

Aftercare is different tonight.

Jo wipes you down with a warm cloth but doesn’t speak. He doesn’t hold you after.

Pol lets you cry into his chest, but he’s trembling too.

None of you know how much longer this can go on.

You’re going to have to choose.

Just not tonight.

End of Chapter

Chapter 9

Pol didn’t ask tonight.

He didn’t need to.

You knew something had shifted the moment he locked the door behind you, his hand heavy at the small of your back. Jo was already on the couch—watching. Waiting. Letting Pol take the lead.

“You’ve been letting him use you,” Pol says, low, almost bitter.

You don’t answer.

He takes your chin in his hand and forces you to look at him. “Tell me you remember how I feel.”

It’s not a request.

He walks you backward into the bedroom, slow and deliberate. Jo doesn’t follow, but he doesn’t leave either. He leans back on the couch with that same unreadable stare—like he’s testing how much of you Pol can claim before you shatter.

Pol doesn’t tie you up.

He wants your hands on him. Your fingers in his hair. Your nails in his back. He wants to feel the way you choose him.

So you do. You touch him like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

When he pushes inside you, it’s not slow—it’s urgent, ragged. His hips slam into yours with a force that rattles the bed. His hands pin your thighs wide open, eyes burning into yours.

“Say my name,” he breathes, fucking you harder. “Not his.”

“Pol—” you cry, voice breaking as he slams into you again and again.

Tears spill freely. You don’t even try to stop them.

Pol doesn’t either. His mouth finds your neck, biting down so hard you gasp—but you don’t pull away.

“You’re mine,” he growls, chest heaving. “Not because I’m meaner. Not because I’m softer. Because you belong here.”

Your orgasm takes you under like a riptide—messy, sobbing, drenched in guilt and need.

Jo’s watching.

You see him through the crack in the bedroom door, his eyes sharp, jaw clenched. He’s letting it happen. But the storm is coming.

And when it hits, it’s going to destroy something.

Pol holds you for a long time after.

He kisses your temple. Rubs your back. Traces your ribs like he’s afraid he hurt you even though you begged for more.

You bury your face in his chest and cry until you can’t feel anything but his hands.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but you feel it in every touch:

Choose me.

End of Chapter 9

You feel it before you see it — Jo’s presence filling the room, sharp and heavy like a storm about to break. Pol’s grip on you loosens for a split second, and Jo slips in, silent, calculating.

“You think you own her now?” Jo’s voice is low, bitter, and edged with something darker.

Pol doesn’t answer. He just watches, his eyes burning with a challenge.

Jo’s hands are on you before you can catch your breath — firm, possessive, almost demanding. He pulls you back against his chest, and you’re trapped between the two men again. Pol’s eyes flicker with something wild, but Jo is the first to act.

His lips press harshly against yours — biting, claiming — and you taste the sharpness of the fight inside him. His hands move rough and sure, tugging your clothes, undoing buttons with impatient fingers. You’re naked under his touch, exposed, vulnerable — and every part of you burns with desperate need.

Jo’s hands bind your wrists to the headboard, tight but not cruel. You want the restraint; it’s the only thing that keeps your mind from fracturing. Pol watches from the shadows, silent, a dark storm contained.

Jo doesn’t waste time. His thrusts are hard, relentless, pushing you to the edge and beyond. You cry out — not just from pain or pleasure, but from the raw ache of belonging and breaking all at once.

Between each pounding motion, Jo whispers, “You’re mine. Don’t forget it.” And you don’t. Not for a second.

Pol steps forward only once — to cup your cheek, to kiss your tears away, to remind you that you’re wanted in more than one way. Then he fades back, watching. Waiting. The tension between them crackles like static electricity.

When it’s over, Jo’s rough hands soothe your bruised skin, his voice low but tender. Pol wraps you in his arms, holding you close as you tremble, crying. You want them both, but you don’t know if you can have either without breaking.

Jo leans down, voice rough with emotion, “You’re worth every scar.”

And in the quiet aftercare, wrapped between two men who claim you so differently, you realize the hardest choice is still ahead.

The air between Jo, Pol, and you is thick with tension — like a storm about to break. You can feel it in every glance, every touch, every breath you take.

Jo doesn’t speak much tonight, but his presence is heavy and commanding. Pol is restless, pacing, his eyes dark with jealousy and something deeper — fear, maybe.

You’re caught between them, more tangled than ever.

Pol pulls you close first, his touch desperate, needy. “You don’t have to choose yet,” he murmurs, voice rough.

Jo’s laugh is bitter, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. “She will. Sooner or later.”

You don’t want to break anyone. You want them both.

But you know that’s impossible.

The sex is rough tonight. Pol’s hands grip your hips, holding you steady as Jo enters you from behind, their movements perfectly synchronized and merciless.

You cry out, overwhelmed, torn between pain and pleasure, between the men who claim you in such different ways.

Jo’s voice is harsh in your ear. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you manage between gasps.

“That you’re mine.”

You hesitate.

Pol leans forward, biting your shoulder. “Say it to me.”

You sob, the pressure breaking you open. “I’m yours.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning.

After, Pol holds you close, rocking you gently. Jo is silent but present, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

You feel shattered — but somehow, safe.

Safe with them both, even though you know this can’t last forever.

End of Chapter 11

The silence between the three of you stretched thin, like the last fragile thread holding a storm at bay. Jo sat back, eyes dark with something like regret, while Pol’s jaw tightened in frustration. You felt torn, a taut line pulled between two forces that both claimed you.

Pol’s hands were gentle at first, tracing soothing circles on your skin as he whispered, “Tell me what you need.” But even as he spoke, his eyes flicked toward Jo, who was watching with a coldness that sent a shiver down your spine.

Jo broke the quiet with a harsh laugh. “You think she can choose?” His voice was rough, but there was pain behind it. “Maybe she doesn’t want to.”

Your heart slammed in your chest, a mix of relief and guilt swirling inside. You did want both of them — desperately — but that only made the choice harder, the fractures between Jo and Pol wider.

Then Jo’s hands were on you, rough and demanding. He pushed you down on the bed, lips capturing yours with a possessiveness that left no room for doubt. Pol’s hands found your waist, steadying you, holding you in the eye of the storm.

The sex was brutal and raw — Pol’s thrusts steady, grounding, while Jo’s movements were wild and sharp. You cried out, torn between the two, between pleasure and pain, between belonging and breaking.

Jo’s voice was a harsh whisper in your ear, “You belong to me.”

Pol’s fingers dug into your hips, “No. You belong to us.”

You felt yourself breaking apart, tears streaming as the intensity overwhelmed you. But as the waves crashed over you, they also held you, tethered you with their aftercare — whispered apologies, gentle touches, quiet promises.

Safe. Fragile. Broken. Whole.

End of Chapter 12

Ready for Chapter 13? We can keep this dark and angsty, or twist it in a new direction — just say the word!

The house was silent except for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. The night had settled thick around you, but inside, the tension was a wildfire, smoldering and dangerous.

Jo’s shadow loomed large against the dim light. His eyes were sharp, unreadable, but his body betrayed a restless energy, a barely contained storm. Pol stood beside you, fingers entwined with yours — a fragile anchor in the chaos.

You felt the weight of their gazes like pressure on your skin, each demanding, each claiming, each waiting.

Jo’s voice cut through the quiet, low and hard. “You don’t get to have both, not forever.”

Pol’s grip tightened. “You’re wrong. She’s not a prize to fight over.”

Their words twisted inside you, sharp and confusing. You wanted to scream that you belonged to no one — that you belonged to yourself — but the ache of needing them both was too raw, too tangled.

Jo stepped forward, his hand cupping your face with surprising gentleness before his thumb brushed over your lips. “You’re mine. I won’t let you forget that.”

Before you could respond, Pol pulled you closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “We’re hers. Together.”

Their hands moved in unison, stripping away your defenses, your clothes, your doubts. You were exposed, vulnerable, trembling — but also craving, desperate to be held, to be claimed.

Jo’s hands pinned your wrists above your head, the leather cuffs cold but firm. Pol’s fingers traced the sensitive lines of your ribs, his touch both tender and possessive. The two men circled you, a predator and protector entwined.

Jo’s mouth found your throat, biting gently, leaving a mark that stung deliciously. Pol’s lips trailed along your collarbone, his breath shaky with need. You gasped, tears spilling as the sensations overwhelmed you.

Jo whispered, “You’ll learn your place tonight.”

Pol’s voice was softer, “We’ll keep you safe.”

The contradictions collided inside you, a maelstrom of fear and desire.

Jo’s thrusts were relentless, deep and demanding, driving you to the edge of control. Pol’s hands roamed your body, grounding, soothing, reminding you that you were not alone.

You sobbed, the weight of everything crashing down — the choices, the love, the pain. But in their arms, broken and whole, you found a strange salvation.

After the storm, Jo’s rough hands smoothed your hair, while Pol’s steady voice murmured comforting words. Their touch was a balm, a promise that no matter how fractured things became, you were still theirs — together.

Chapter 13

he night pressed heavy on your skin as the door clicked shut behind Jo and Pol. The air inside your apartment felt charged, thick with unspoken promises and dangerous restraint. You wanted to say something—anything—but the knot of emotions in your throat swallowed the words before they could form.

Jo’s gaze found you immediately, sharp and assessing. “You’re trembling.” His voice was low, dark, but not unkind.

Pol moved closer, his fingers brushing the side of your face. “You’re safe. For now.”

Safe. The word echoed hollowly. You wanted to believe it. You had to.

Jo took the lead, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly. The leather cuffs were already waiting on the nightstand, an unspoken contract between all of you. You slipped your hands in without hesitation. The cold touch grounded you, pulling your scattered nerves into focus.

Pol circled behind you, his body warm and steady. His breath ghosted over your ear. “You’re mine tonight.”

Jo’s lips pressed against your neck, teeth grazing skin that flushed hot with both pain and desire. You swallowed hard, the mix of sharp edges and softness inside you igniting a storm.

“Remember your safe word,” Pol murmured, voice thick. “But don’t think you’ll use it. Not tonight.”

You wanted to argue, to push back, but the overwhelming need that thrummed through your veins silenced every doubt.

Jo’s hands moved with expert precision — stripping away layers until you were exposed, vulnerable. The roughness in his touch was a promise and a warning, a boundary you’d crossed willingly.

Pol’s lips trailed lower, leaving a path of fire across your collarbone. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, voice full of praise that made your chest tighten.

Jo’s hand tightened around your throat briefly, a gasp escaping your lips. Pain blurred with pleasure, a twisted symphony only they could compose. You cried out, tears spilling as raw emotion and physical sensation collided inside you.

Pol caught you just before you fell, cradling your trembling form with steady hands. “Shh, I’ve got you.”

The tenderness was almost jarring after the storm of roughness, but it was what you needed — a lifeline, a reminder you weren’t alone.

Jo’s hands were relentless, gripping your hips and pulling you closer to his heat. Every rough touch sent sparks through your nerves, setting fire to the ache deep inside you. Pol’s fingers dug into your thighs, steadying you even as the world tipped and twisted around you.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, tears streaming unchecked down your cheeks as the pain and pleasure collided, raw and unfiltered. You sobbed, voice broken between desperate cries and whispered pleas, each one a surrender and a claim.

Jo’s voice was a low growl, thick with possessiveness. “You’re doing so well, baby. So fucking good.”

Pol’s lips brushed along your spine, trailing kisses that soothed the sting even as their grip never loosened.

“I’m here,” Pol whispered fiercely. “Always.”

The room spun in a haze of sensation—heat, sting, soft touches, harsh commands. You were breaking, and yet, somehow, you were whole.

When it was over, they held you close—Jo pressing kisses to your tear-streaked face, Pol cradling you like fragile glass.

“Rest now,” Jo murmured. “You earned this.”

[megssandbox]

König x Chubby!Reader | Dom/Sub |

Your arms burned from how long you’d held the position—kneeling, back straight, palms up on your thighs. Naked. Waiting.

The room was silent except for the faint creak of König’s boots as he paced behind you. You didn’t dare look up. You’d disobeyed earlier—nothing major. Just forgot to ask permission before speaking, and he’d gone quiet in that way that meant something was coming.

Punishment. Correction.

But what he didn’t know—what you hadn’t dared to say—was how much the shame had already eaten you alive.

You’d been pushing yourself for weeks. Trying to be perfect. Good. Desirable. Desperately hoping he wouldn’t grow bored of someone like you—soft, big, scarred in ways that didn’t always show.

And now, here you were: trembling, humiliated, terrified he’d finally see how unworthy you really were.

The sound of him unbuckling his belt made your heart stutter. You flinched instinctively, breath catching in your throat.

“You’re scared,” he said behind you. “But not of me.”

Silence.

“You’re scared because you think you’ve failed me.”

Tears welled in your eyes. Still, you nodded.

“Look at me.”

You turned, chest heaving, eyes meeting his—cold blue, narrowed through the slit of his mask. His shirt was off, muscles tense, veins down his forearms prominent from restraint. You could see it in the way his fists flexed at his sides—he wanted to wreck you.

“Lie on the bed. Face down. Arms above your head.”

You moved fast, thighs jiggling as you climbed onto the mattress, flushed and trembling. The sheets were cool against your burning skin. Rope brushed your wrists—then tightened. Secure. Controlled.

“Count for me,” he said, and then the first strike came—his belt against the curve of your ass.

Crack—

“One,” you gasped, fingers curling into fists.

Again. Louder.

Crack.

“Two…”

By the fifth, you were sobbing.

By the seventh, you were moaning through the tears.

He paused. Fingers brushed over the welted skin, gentle. Worshipful.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice low.

“Yes, sir,” you whimpered. “Please… please don’t stop.”

The mattress shifted as he moved behind you. Calloused hands spread your thighs wide, exposing you. His fingers slid through your slick folds, groaning when he felt how wet you were.

“So obedient. Even now. You’re perfect like this, scheiße…”

He didn’t prep you much—not that you needed it. You were soaked. Needy. Broken open by punishment and desperate for him to claim you.

When he thrust in, you cried out—a raw, high sound—because he didn’t ease in. He took. One long, brutal stroke that had your vision swimming.

You could hear how wet you were—each punishing thrust echoing obscenely in the room. Your body rocked beneath him with every movement, soft thighs jiggling, breasts pressed into the bed.

“So fucking tight,” he growled. “You always take me so well, meine Maus. Like you were made to be ruined by me.”

You sobbed into the sheets, overwhelmed. The pain of the spanking, the stretch of him inside you, the shame—you thought it would drown you. But instead, it cracked you open.

“I c-can’t—” you choked. “I’m not—good enough, I can’t keep up—”

He grabbed your hair, yanked your head back just enough to speak into your ear, his voice fierce.

“Stop. Don’t you ever say that again.”

A sharp thrust. Your eyes rolled back.

“You are mine. Not because you’re perfect. Not because you earn it. You’re mine because I fucking choose you.”

Your orgasm hit like a wrecking ball—no warning, just heat and lightning ripping through you. Your body clamped around him, shaking uncontrollably, mouth open in a silent scream.

König fucked you through it, pace relentless, cock pulsing inside you as he cursed in German, finally spilling deep inside your body with a low, broken groan.

He didn’t pull out right away.

Instead, he leaned over you, breath heavy against your neck, arms caging you in.

“You don’t have to break yourself to deserve me,” he whispered. “You already do.”

—

You were half-asleep by the time he carried you to the bath.

He said nothing at first. Just lowered you into the warm water, cupped water in his hands, and gently washed you.

Your thighs. Your back. Your face.

Then he sat behind you in the tub, pulling you into his lap, arms wrapped tight around your middle.

“I see the way you look at yourself,” he murmured. “Like you think I’m settling.”

You swallowed. Couldn’t answer.

“You are everything,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Your body. Your mind. Your loyalty. You belong to me—and I will never let you forget what that means.”

You exhaled, tears falling silently, but your body relaxed fully for the first time in weeks. In his arms, under his voice, under his care—you felt safe.

And for once… you let yourself believe him.

[megssandbox]

You couldn’t remember exactly when the shift had happened.

One moment, you were sipping wine in the dim haze of his apartment, your knees pulled up on his couch, pretending you hadn’t been waiting all week for him to say the word. The next, you were bound and breathless on his bed, wrists stretched above your head with soft rope, your body naked under the weight of Polnareff’s gaze.

He stood at the edge of the mattress, shirtless, silver hair cascading over one shoulder, belt undone and fingers poised on the fly of his pants. His eyes dragged over every inch of you—cool steel, smoldering with intent.

“You know what I’m going to do to you, ma belle?” he asked softly.

You swallowed hard. “Yes, Daddy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Then his hand came down.

A firm slap to your thigh—not cruel, not unexpected—but it made you jolt. Made your breath stutter. It wasn’t about the pain. It was about the feeling of being claimed. Taken. Stripped of control.

“You think you know,” he said, climbing onto the bed like a stormcloud—slow, inevitable. “But you don’t. You think this is about sex, about pleasure. But I see it. I see how badly you want to be ruined.”

His hand cupped your throat—not tight, just a reminder of how small you felt beneath him. His lips hovered over yours. “You want me to fuck the fear out of you. Don’t you?”

Your chest heaved. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

The kiss came like fire—demanding, deep, all tongue and teeth. When he pulled away, you were gasping, your thighs already slick. And still, he took his time.

He slid down your body, biting and kissing your skin—your ribs, your hips, the inside of your thigh—until your muscles trembled with need. When he finally reached your center, he didn’t ask permission.

His tongue was hot, unrelenting, working you open like he owned you.

“God,” you sobbed, twisting in the ropes.

“Language,” he said without looking up, before sucking your clit with punishing precision.

You came fast, too fast, shuddering and breathless—but he didn’t stop. Not until you were whining from oversensitivity, tears pricking your lashes. Only then did he sit back on his knees and strip fully, his cock hard and thick, veins prominent, flushed with heat.

He lined himself up.

“You don’t need to be strong tonight,” he said, dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, teasing your entrance. “You can fall apart. I’ll catch you.”

And then he slammed into you.

Your scream caught in your throat as he filled you—deep and rough, hips snapping hard enough to rock the bed. The stretch was brutal, the pressure dizzying. The ropes bit into your wrists as you writhed, helpless, pinned by his weight and the intensity in his eyes.

“So fucking tight,” he growled, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “You were made for this. For me.”

Every thrust punched the air from your lungs. You were crying now—not from pain, not even from pleasure, but from everything. The pressure that had been building in your chest for weeks, the loneliness, the fear of needing someone this badly… it all came spilling out in sobs.

Polnareff slowed.

His voice dropped, softer now: “There she is.”

You shook your head, trying to bury your face in your arm. “Don’t look at me like this—”

He grabbed your chin and made you face him. “No. Let me see you. Let me see all of you.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks. “I’m scared,” you choked. “I don’t know how to let go—”

“You just did,” he said, and thrust again—deep, grinding, as if he were imprinting himself on your soul.

You shattered with a broken cry, clenching around him, body pulsing in a blinding orgasm that tore something loose inside you. You didn’t recognize the sounds coming from your own mouth. You didn’t care.

Polnareff groaned above you, pulling out just in time to finish across your stomach, hand stroking himself as he cursed in French—hot, guttural, reverent. He collapsed beside you, immediately reaching to untie the ropes, fingers surprisingly gentle.

He gathered you into his chest.

You were still shaking. Still crying, quietly.

And he just held you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “You were so brave for me.”

You buried your face into his shoulder and let it all out.

[megssandbox]

[megssandbox]

long way down ᥫ᭡ pt 3

MDNI!!!

part 1 ᥫ᭡ part 2

könig's been a big help in your scheme to get benji (your ex) back, but is that what you even want now?

(virgin fem!reader, implied age gap: reader is mid 20's, reader's ex is: pushy talking about sex (not graphic though <3), manipulative, toxic, and controlling in a flashback . aside from that, general fluff with könig! smut coming in part 4; sorry to make y'all wait but it got away from me >.<) word count: ~5k...

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

you finally see him in full, his mask having apparently fallen off during the night. you’re not surprised to find the könig you conjured in your head- after piecing together his self-descriptions and stories- matches what’s in front of you. you smile as your gaze traces over his crooked nose, the white scar slashing through the left side of his bottom lip, a thicker one stretching from his temple to the front of his eyebrow, a fresher looking scar dashed across the apple of his right cheek- you could lay here for hours memorizing every detail of his face, the ruggedness of years of this work contrasting endearingly with the peaceful expression on his sleeping face… well, formerly peaceful as he wakes with a start, snorting a little when he practically scrabbles to get out of the bed.

“gott im himmel, i’m so sorry, schatzi!” he rumbles, sleep clinging to every syllable as he tries to figure out how to slip out from under you without touching you. you laugh softly, patting his chest like he’s some startled horse. “no, no, it’s okay, könig, really! i’m the one who woke up using you as a body pillow. i move around a lot in my sleep…” you explain, as he fishes his mask out from the blankets, slipping it back on before tentatively laying his hand on your back again. you can feel his heart pounding through his chest, a steady rhythm against your palm.

“are you sure? it’s just- i thought you would not like being close to me like this…” he says quietly, trailing off like he’s half hoping you won’t even hear him.

“wha- is it because of the whole i’m a virgin thing?” you ask, the blanket pooling around your lap as you sit up to look at him. könig nods sheepishly, a terse movement like he's worried he’s touched a nerve there. he visibly relaxes once you laugh and playfully swat at his chest “oh, könig! you’re so- yes, i’m still a virgin, but it’s not because i’ve vowed to never touch a man or anything that serious! i’m just a little scared, is all… what if it hurts or something?” you say, your voice growing quieter at the end.

now he turns to look at you, such an earnest expression in his baby blue eyes as he too sits up in bed, the frame creaking with his movement. “it should not hurt much if it’s done- properly and carefully, schatzi…”

“tell that to benji”, you say, rolling your eyes and hugging your arms to yourself.

there’s the slightest lick of contempt in your voice as you say his name, and though it initially makes a spark of hope ignite in könig’s chest, the massive wave of concern that follows snuffs it out. “he hurt you?” he asks carefully, his hands subconsciously tightening their grip on the sheets, his entire body tensing like a drawn bow. he’s certainly fully awake now, waiting for your response with bated breath. if stevens did something to you-

“no! well- not physically… he’d been hounding me about it for weeks, sending me some wild videos he’d found on random sites of couples having rough sex, and he’d say he wanted to do the same with me. i’d try to laugh if off, being like ‘but you’d be gentler, right?’ and he’d just laugh too, as if the idea was ridiculous. he said as much when i finally got the nerve to confront him directly. i told him i’d never feel comfortable enough to have sex with him if he didn’t stop with the videos- if he didn’t promise he’d be careful with me- then he practically blew up, launching into a whole rant about how i was basically asking for him to leave, that i was such a shit girlfriend for not being willing to do this one little thing for him… i started crying, because he was being so hurtful and because i somehow actually felt guilty that i couldn’t make him happy. he stormed out after yelling at me for a good while, and that’s how we ended up the way we are now…”

könig is so still and silent when you finally turn to look at him after a couple of seconds, his unblinking eyes- locked on to the far wall- so icy blue you swear you shiver a little.

“i know it’s a bit of a pathetic story, but i didn’t think it’d be that bad” you joke awkwardly, hoping that lifts the mood and snaps him out of it. what happened wasn’t even that big of a deal, you shouldn’t have offloaded it on könig like that; he has bigger things to worry about than some dumb argument-

“i am so sorry you had to experience that, liebe. you didn’t deserve that- no one does.” he finally says, carefully taking your hand in his and squeezing it gently.

something in your chest fractures at the gentleness of his tone, the knit of his eyebrows as he looks at you with such sincerity and what you can only describe as love that it makes hot tears brim in your eyes as everything finally clicks into place: you’d dedicated years of your life to being benji’s. you’d watch every step, consider every word, practically count each breath so you wouldn’t do the wrong thing and upset him. you’d tailored every aspect of your life to best suit him, even before you’d started officially dating. you’d apologize for “always starting shit” when you’d try to speak up for yourself, when you’d say you deserved to have friends and to have hobbies and to make decisions on your own. you were right all those times you said he was too controlling, no matter all the lies he tried to tangle you up in so you wouldn’t notice. you’d always thought relationships were simply like that, that the constant ache in your chest was because of love, that his need to be centered in your life was normal- yet that wasn’t true. even in this fake relationship with könig, you’d always been respected, downright revered. your wishes were always heard and followed, every thought you spoke was thoroughly considered by him, every one of his touches gentle and always welcome by you because he never overstepped… you couldn’t fathom könig doing even a fourth of the things benjamin did. könig would never speak to you so rudely, never be pushy, never treat you like he owned you. benjamin made you live an existence of arguments and tears, feeling such guilt and shame for not tending to his needs- that you let him control everything else out of fear he’d leave, and he did so anyway, blaming you…

“benjamin fucking sucks,” you breathe, blinking away tears that blur your vision as you look up at könig. the two of you come together like a puzzle, könig wrapping you in a hug as you cling to him, holding on to his solid form as you laugh a little incredulously, questioning everything you ever thought was true love. you’re so thankful könig’s here, holding you together, murmuring soft honeyed words into your hair, exactly what you need at this moment. there’s a reason you’d never dared to say that story out loud before. you knew you had to face the ugly truth if you did: benjamin has never once cared about you, only himself.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

könig quietly closed the door to his room, not wanting to wake you as you dozed off again after such an emotional morning. you’d cried it all out, finally voicing aloud every time stevens had been a dick, and könig had listened intently, his heart clenching at the thought of you experiencing that though all the years you’ve known stevens. könig did his best to cheer you up after, providing more out-in-the-field stories when you asked for a distraction, even able to draw a couple laughs from you when he told the story of that time he sat on a cactus, until you’d settled again.

he almost whined when you sent him off to work, shaking his head when you said you’d taken up enough of his time as is. you didn’t buy a single one of his excuses, knowing he was only putting off work today because he was worried about you, but you assured him you felt a lot better having talked about it, that you’d just hang out, nap, maybe visit stiletto. really, you just didn’t want to even hear stevens’ breathing right now; you were so disgusted with him. könig didn’t either. he’d rather prefer if stevens wasn’t breathing at all after your story, but you specifically asked him to not bring it up again, much less tell anyone else.

he’d never betray your privacy like that, not after you trusted him with such a delicate topic, but, god, did he want to punch stevens’ face in- “hey, man!” came horangi’s voice from behind him. könig quickly shushed him, jerking his thumb at the door. “oh, shit, sorry. your girl is still sleeping, aye? you tired her out or what?” horangi whispered, a dumb grin on his face. it wasn’t everyday he got an opportunity to tease könig like this, but was it really worth the heavy-handed slap to the back of the head könig rewarded him with?

“shut up, kim,” könig grumbled as he made his was to his office.

“ease up, i was just kidding- besides, tonight's old kev’s retirement party, remember? i know you’re not much for gatherings, but you can take notes for your own upcoming retirement party, and you can introduce your girl to the best bar in the whole city. it’s a win-win!"

“i’m going to ignore that first part, but yes, it would be nice to take my schatzi… i’ll ask her later, once she’s up” könig mused, internally wondering if you’d even be up for such a thing today. he could just forget the party, stay in with you and watch cheesy movies if the nap didn’t help your mood, but what if you did actually want to go? then it’d be rude of him to not mention it to you, wouldn’t it? yet he didn’t want you to feel pressured into going- his own head was a mess after all you’d told him…. at least he had until the end of the day to figure it out, no?

they’d arrived at his office by now, horangi quickly making himself at home in one of the chairs facing the desk. könig sat in his chair, raising an eyebrow at his friend. “is there anything else or…?”

it’s never a good thing when horangi gets serious, especially when the sunglasses come off, the clink of them against the desk ringing through the room like the toll of a bell. “look- i’ve been hearing… stories, from the recruits. they’re saying your girl had something with stevens before. not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course, but i thought you should know…” horangi rushed out, interlacing his fingers as he leaned back in the chair.

“yes…and?” asked könig, the tension leaving his body upon realizing it wasn’t a new problem.

“...you already knew?” 

könig nudged his mouse, entering his password to check his emails. “of course, she told me about it when we bumped into him here.” he lied smoothly.

“oh, good.,” horangi let out a relieved sigh, making a show of shaking out his hands and legs. “i’d been worried for a bit there, and stiletto was going on and on about how i shouldn’t butt in, but what kind of brother would i be if i didn’t tell you, yeah?”

“do i give the impression that i would have a problem with that? that i’d want her less or something?” könig scoffed, side eyeing horangi as he typed out a response to a query about ammunition stock.

“no, not at all. i was that worried because i see the way you look at her, like you’ve been knocked on the head and she’s the only thing you remember. you’re in deep, man.”

könig smiled under his mask, your face suddenly overlaying his screen as he pictured you. “that i am.”

horangi barked out a laugh, slipping his glasses back on. “i didn’t even know you were capable of being that soft- thought you’d be a lonely old dog forever-”

“get out of my office, kim."

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

you slipped out of könig’s room, making sure to lock the door behind you with the spare key he’d left on the bedside table next to the tv remote, a little “at my office. if you need me just call, schatzi- for anything.  i’ll bring lunch” scrawled on a slip of paper, alongside a wonky looking smiley face. you can’t help but return the doodled smile, your heart lifting at the comfort of even his handwriting.

you were pretty conflicted this morning, untangling your mind from all the lies benjamin fed you over the years, so much so you turned down breakfast, but now you really just wanted to stop thinking about that- about him- all together. he didn’t deserve an ounce of your energy. he never did, you'd thought, making your way to könig’s attached bathroom to wash up and depuff your eyes from all the crying. you had put on yesterday’s clothes when you were done, absentmindedly wondering if you should do a quick trip to your place to get more clothes, but then again…

would you still be staying here?

you and könig did your show last night, proving to benjamin you did stay the night, but did you even care what he thought anymore? since this morning you haven’t thought a single good thing about him, and why would you? it was looking more and more like it was time to call this whole thing off- you certainly didn’t want benjamin back anymore- but you didn’t want to blindside könig like that. you’d speak to him this evening, then it’d be done, you decided as you were stepping out.

you double checked that his door was locked and slipped the keys into your pocket before making your way to stiletto’s room, following the instructions she messaged you, the shorts she lent you rolled up in your hand. you’re so thankful benjamin doesn’t really have a reason to be out here in the private room’s area right now, because the last thing you want is to see him. still, you can’t help but feel a constant shiver along your spine as you make your way to stiletto’s, only her smiling face when she opens her door settling you again.

your “hi!” and her “bella!” overlap as she lets you in, a playful smile on her face.

“look at you all tired from last night! i won’t even ask what you were up to,” she teases, smiling even wider at the blush on your face. you always hated you could flush so easily, but right now it’s convenient because it helps sell the story, at least for this final leg of the show.

“oh, stiletto! enough, i just came to hang out. well that, and to ask where the laundry room is, so i can go wash the shorts you so kindly lent me.”

“ah, don’t worry about it, bella. i got it,” stiletto says, taking the shorts from your hand and tossing them across the room into a half full hamper. “do you need to borrow more clothes- for the party tonight?” she gently takes your hands guiding you to sit on the edge of her bed with her, the mattress dipping.

“party?” you ask, racking your mind in case könig told you and you just forgot, what with everything going on.

“your man didn’t tell you? oh, quello stupido. it’s nothing big, just a retirement thing for a guy who probably grew up with könig” she laughs at her own joke, bracing her hands on the bed as she leans back. “i’m mainly going because i’d never turn down a drink at the black dog-”

the door creaks open and horangi strolls in, his mask tucked under his chin as he snacks on some chips. “hey, stiletto-” 

“stronzo, knock first! how many times do i have to tell you?”

“ugh, as if i’d want to see anything- you’d have locked the door if you were changing anyway- oh, hey!” he grins as he finally turns to see you, instantly offering his bag to you. you thank him and take a handful, laughing when stiletto reaches for some too, only to be met with a slap to her hand. in a flash she’s snatched the whole bag from him, making a big show of shovelling a handful in her mouth as horangi watches in mock horror. “this is why i don’t share with you, you always do this-”

“it”s what you get for not knocking” stiletto quips back, looking so smug as she hugs the bag to herself.

yeah, it’s safe to say your mood has completely improved watching these two bicker like toddlers. you’re really going to miss them once you leave…you can’t help but let out a quiet little sigh at the thought of never seeing them, or könig, again. maybe you could still be friends, somehow? what would they think once they heard it was all fake though…

“so?” asks hornagi, fully focused on you after accepting the loss of his chips. you blink in surprise, looking to stiletto for help.

“he asked if you were going to the party tonight” she supplies around another mouthful.

“oh! um, i actually don’t know… isn’t it like a work thing?”

horangi waves you off, settling to lean against stiletto’s dresser. “ah, old kev won’t mind. he said we could invite anyone; the more the merrier... könig’s down”. 

you hum as you think, wondering if you should just make some excuse up. what would be the point of you going? könig has done enough as is, letting you take up most of his days all for a goal that you don’t even care about anymore. how could you intrude on a work thing too? he probably wants to spend time with his friends, maybe even meet someone new at this place. you can’t help but feel a pang at the thought, but you don’t even know why. there’s no point to keeping up the act, the very thought of benjamin makes you nauseous now, so you really should just leave this place behind as soon as possible. it’s only logical, but why does it hurt so much? 

“come on, bella, the big guy only agreed because of you! he’s only attended these things like twice before. i just know he’d love to show you the black dog! it’s our second home away from home,” stiletto insists, making to take your hand but stopping when she catches the crumbs coating her hand.

“you think? maybe…”

“we’re sure”, says horangi, nodding at you. “at least if you go, he wouldn’t just be glaring from a corner like the rare times he has gone. i’ve never seen him so happy as when you’re around.”

“okay, i’m down, too, then.” you say, smiling at the thought of more time with könig and these two. now, you couldn’t possibly put a damper on kev’s party by calling off the plan, right? it’d be downright rude. what else can you do but wait til tomorrow for all that? your hands are totally tied here, 100%, no doubt about it. looks like the act is still on for at least another day, a thought that has you smiling as stiletto launches into searching for more clothes for you.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

you now realized why könig was so excited when you met up for lunch and you told him you wanted to go to the gathering tonight. sure, the bar’s floors were a little bit sticky with past spilled drinks, and the smell of smoke from many cigarettes hung in the air, but the energy of the place was spectacular. from the dark wood to the dimmed lights hanging from the ceiling, you instantly felt a lot more at ease than you’d felt on the way here.

kev, the man of the night, was so kind when you greeted him, his hand warm and rough when you shook it. he clapped könig on the shoulder, barking out a “maybe this party should be for you and your girl, aye? look how far you’ve come, boy. i still remember when you first showed up, all scrawny like a… like a green bean, so scared of everything. you jumped ‘bout a mile into the air the first time you checked out the haunted snack machine-”

könig rubbed the back of his neck, quickly congratulating kev before steering you away, kev’s cackle followed you through the crowd.

“you said you didn’t believe it was really haunted,” you tease, grinning up at him as he led you between the tables and other attendees, your hand in his. “well, yes, i eventually reached that conclusion after some investigating,” he said carefully, avoiding looking at you. “it had been acting funny for so long, what was i supposed to think, schatzi?” könig whined, making you laugh harder.

“bella!” stiletto shouted, waving at you from the table she and horangi had commandeered. “we were wondering where you were!” she gushed as she stood to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “oh, i guess you’re here, too,” she joked, sparing könig a quick glance.

he rolled his eyes, helping you into your chair before sitting. ever a gentleman you thought, smiling as you greeted horangi across the table.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

for such a small place, it sure got lively! conversations ebbed and flowed, mixing up like a pile of threads, the tables quickly filling and the drinks flowing. the four of you chatted and joked, occasional guests popping in when horangi waved them over. kev must be well loved as soon it felt like the whole base was in the building, although you were thankful to not see many rookies. benjamin would surely think a thing like this too below him. his types of parties usually ended with multiple arrests and lots of property damage, and at least 10 people puking in bushes… you were pulled from your thoughts when könig gently nudged your hand with his, dipping his head so you’d hear him over all the clamor of voices.

“alright, liebe? wanna leave already?” he asked softly, and you just barely caught the way his brows furrowed under his mask. you smiled, feeling your heart warm at how considerate he always was, so in tune and attentive to your moods without you even having to say anything.

“no, i was just thinking… it’s so comfy. i feel like i could stay the whole night” you grin, taking a sip of your drink. 

no one can ever say kev’s farewell party was boring. soon, many were launching into loud songs, others shouting at each other over the ratty pool table in the back, people stumbling as they mingled among tables. just when you’d thought horangi and stiletto ran out of embarrassing könig stories, they’d brew up another, helping each other remember details that the other didn’t.

könig’s defenses would never hold up, any excuse or reasoning for each embarrassing moment only making it worse until he just gave up, laughing along with the rest of you. his dry wheeze of a laugh only made you three break down even worse, horangi saying it sounded like crunchy leaves blowing away in the wind, before kev made his way over to the table.

“what’s going on over here? we telling war stories for the little lady? i want in,” he said, looking around for a chair yet finding them all taken. könig made to stand, about to offer his chair, but horangi held out a hand to stop him.

“easy, old man. you aren’t so young yourself, hm?” he laughed, almost sloshing a bit of his drink over his cup. “how about your girl sits on your lap, then kev gets her chair, and everyone’s happy?” he asked, smiling over at you.

“sure!” you quickly agreed, standing and taking your drink as könig scooted his chair back, making room for you. you nodded at kev’s thanks, assuring him it was perfectly fine, könig saying “komm hier, schatzi”, playing the perfect part of a loving boyfriend. 

you’re thanking all the higher forces that exist for the dim lighting now, feeling your face warm as you settle on könig’s lap, biting the inside of your cheek to ground yourself. the warmth of könig’s hands radiate through your clothes as he casually holds them but a millimeter away from your hip, just enough for it to look like he’s hugging you to him from the others’ point of view, without actually touching you in this impromptu moment.

the others, to their credit, just spare you a quick glance before they’re back to loudly arguing about whether kev did or did not manage that impossible shot he’s always bragging about- trying to work out if it’s worth telling you if it’s false- and you take the opportunity to turn to könig, silently communicating in that way you’ve unlocked over these months. you give him a slightly confused look, your eyes flickering to his hands to indicate what you mean, and he raises his eyebrows in response, as if saying “your choice”.

you turn back to the table, unable to hide your smile as you place your hands over his, guiding one to fully rest on your hip and the other about midway up your thigh. kev laughs when he admits he can’t even verify the legendary story himself, “so many memories become muddled over the years, the old brain’s not what it was, you know how it is” he says, directing that last bit at könig, much to the other two’s amusement.

you playfully soothe him, patting his hands with yours as you tell him not to listen to them. horangi’s laughing like a hyena, but he has to be bailed out by stiletto when he chokes on his spit a little, and that’s enough to redirect him, the fun of teasing könig quickly forgotten when he realizes he’s got the man of the hour at the table. “willing to try your luck tonight, kev?” he asks, pulling out the pack of cards you’ve learned over the months he always has on him.

something about this feels so… right. you have never felt more at ease in your life. maybe it’s the drinks warming your gut, or just the effect of having fun with friends, but you relax, leaning back against könig's chest as the chatter of the other’s settles over you like a blanket. könig hums, the sound reverberating through his chest before he leans down to place a soft kiss on your temple.

you’re vaguely aware horangi’s showing off his shuffling skills, quickly dealing himself, then stiletto, then kev in before turning his attention to you. you shake your head when he asks if you want to play, könig saying you can help him instead, reaching past you to pick up his cards. you can’t help but mourn the loss of his hands on you, the ghost of his warmth on your hip and thigh only making you feel colder as he fans his cards out so you can see his spread too.

you never really knew yourself to be clingy, stevens always shrugging you off and rolling his eyes when you’d just try to hold his hand. guess that wasn’t really an environment for you to learn about your preferences and needs. who’d have known?

you could get used to this, truly being könig’s schatzi, visiting him on base every other day, hanging out with these new friends- learn card tricks from horangi, train with stiletto- finally experience what an actual loving relationship is… you’re almost certain he feels this same way. what else would you call his kindness, his gentleness, the way he always turns to you first… he wouldn’t have agreed to this whole hare brain scheme if he didn’t like you, if he thought you were annoying, right?

you watch the game play out in front of you, basking in this delicate warmth as you lean your head against könig’s shoulder, breathing in that comforting pine scent that always clings to him. he makes a little noise of surprise, and you know it's because you’re acting different, but you shake your head, cutting off his concern before he even asks if anything’s wrong. “just got a little cold,” you say quietly, hearing horangi complain that he’s losing, that stiletto must be cheating, old kev settling their bickering.

“oh, schatzi! you should have said so” könig murmurs, a smile on his voice as he reaches for his jacket draped on the corner of kev’s- formerly your- chair, and lays it over you, tucking it around you like it’s a blanket. it feels like one, with how vast and worn it is.

you can see some irregular stitches at the shoulder seams, and you smile to yourself at the thought of könig tearing his jacket because he forgot how wide his shoulders are, he must have stretched just a bit too far, and then that night he put his sewing skills to work, stitching the pieces back together. he’d look so cute, maybe his tongue would stick out just the slightest bit as he focuses on his work, his brows would furrow in that way they do when he’s turning something over in his mind- well shit.

you let out a shaky puff of breath, feeling your hands tremble just the slightest bit as you wrestle with the undeniable fact: you’ve fallen for könig. you’ve been falling since you first spoke to him, clinging to every detail he mentioned, memorizing the inflections in his voice, finally truly laughing for the first time in a while thanks to his stories over the phone. you’d initially braced yourself for him to ask about you and stevens when he mentioned the letter, but he never pried, only took what you gave him, and you quickly learned he wasn’t the type of guy to press and insist like that.

it’s why you trusted him so much since the beginning, why you’ve never once felt apprehensive or nervous around him- not counting the butterflies you’d ignored over the past months… 

könig peeks down at you, a quiet “are you sure you’re okay, liebe?” drawing you from your thoughts.

“yeah… yeah, i’m good,” you breath out, assuring him with a smile. “i’m just gonna go get some air” you say, sliding off his lap and standing.

könig quickly drops his cards on the table, face up, making to stand after you “i’ll go with you”.

“no, no, you stay and finish your game! i’ll just be right outside.” you insist, placing your hand on his shoulder, and he actually stays seated, but he’s looking up at you with those worried puppy eyes of his.

"schatzi-”

“stay” you say, smiling as you can practically hear him whine in response, but, just like a well-trained dog, he wouldn’t go against you. really, there’s nothing for him to worry about. the street itself is well lit, those in the area are more focused on themselves; they’re respected men and women just having a night to relax.

you shut the door behind you as you take a deep breath of the cool air, tugging könig’s jacket further around you. how different life feels when you’re no longer living for someone else. the stars have never looked as pretty as they do tonight, and you’ve never felt so light of heart since this morning.

you’ll speak to könig tomorrow, tell him the plan is off, but then confess your feelings and hope he believes you. you wouldn’t hold it against him if he’s a little skeptical, just last night you were still trying to get stevens’ attention...

you shiver at the thought of him, hardly able to believe you ever once thought he was a good guy, that he was worth your effort like that. it’s laughable now that you’ve met truly good people, seen what it’s like to be treated like you’re actually someone. you check to make sure the wall behind you is clean before you lean against it, smiling up at each twinkling light in the sky.

it was as if the stars themselves were telling you everything would be okay- or maybe they were telling you to watch out, you think when you hear his voice from your left, a chill going down your spine.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

part 4, the final part, is already in the works! <3

taglist: @practicalgauntlet @captain-ofmusic @darkangel4121 @laduenadelswing @galactict3a @nexthyperfix @distinguishedprincesstrash

[megssandbox]

Postal Mishaps - Jojo's x Reader

Characters: Josuke Higashikata, Okuyasu Nijimura, Rohan Kishibe, Mikitaka Hazekura, Jotaro Kujo, Noriaki Kakyoin, Jean Pierre Polnareff, Muhammad Avdol, Joseph Joestar.

A/n: There was a point in the poll that part 3 & 4 were tied so I've just wrote both. Sorry bit shit but didn't want to not write the 3 fics I promised.

The but you sent it back text in Josephs fic is supposed to be from Joseph and not the reader. I'll fix it tomorrow

[megssandbox]

PORN DIRECTOR KÖNIG

nsfw. 40s könig. come eating. pussy slapping. voyeurism. manhandling. degradation. squirting. sex work.

you never planned on doing porn.

you don't think anyone does, really. you had a whole different life mapped out— degree, stable job, retirement.

but college was bleeding you dry. bills stacked faster than you could pay them, textbooks cost more than your monthly groceries, and your financial aid office had the efficiency of a broken vending machine. part-time jobs barely kept the lights on. dinner was whatever was cheap and lasted the longest.

you worked, studied, scraped by, but it felt more like drowning in slow motion.

camming started as an experiment. a shot in the dark born from desperation.

you bought a cheap ring light from amazon, found a secondhand webcam on facebook marketplace, and set up your little filming space in the corner of your apartment. it was nothing fancy. the lighting was bad, the camera wasn’t great, and instead of a tripod you had a stack of books.

but it worked.

you slipped into the only matching lingerie set you owned— soft pink lace, delicate ribbons, tiny bows stitched in all the right places. sheer enough to tease, but still leaving just enough to the imagination. the bra straps slipped down your shoulders as you posed in front of the mirror, lips parted, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

picking the best ones, you captioned them with something playful then posted them to onlyfans, shut your laptop, and forgot about it. you weren’t expecting much. maybe a few subscribers, a little extra cash, nothing major.

then, your account blew up.

someone with a bit of reach had apparently found your photos and posted them to a a ddlg subreddit, and suddenly you were everywhere.

at first, you didn’t notice. but when you woke up to hundreds of new notifications, dms, and tips flooding in overnight, you started digging.

that’s when you saw it. a post on reddit. thousands of upvotes. hundreds of comments dissecting your photos in excruciating detail.

[r/ddlg] found this new onlyfans girl and i'm losing my mind. she’s so soft. look at her. look at her.

🔺14.3k upvotes 💬 793 comment

u/daddysfavorite456: this is the most perfect little babygirl i’ve ever seen wtf

🔺6.2k

u/sirspanksalot: the way she’s tugging her panties down just a little… i need a moment

🔺4.9k

u/subsugarplum: her little pout in the third pic is actually ruining my life

🔺3.3k

u/softdom_daddy: how do we make sure she never pays for anything again in her life?

🔺7.1k

your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled. every detail of your photos was being analyzed. obsessed over.

the way you tilted your head just slightly, eyes wide and doe-like. the way your fingers curled in the hem of your panties, like you were hesitating. like you needed permission. the little pout in the last photo, lower lip caught between your teeth, the faintest furrow in your brows.

suddenly, your subscriber count was doubling by the hour.

new subscribers flooded in overnight. your follower count jumped by thousands. dms piled up, requests, tips, compliments, outright begging.

"you're perfect. please let me take care of you." ($20 tip)

"you’re the softest little thing i’ve ever seen." ($50 tip)

"tell me you do custom videos. i’ll pay whatever." ($100 tip)

the sudden influx of attention was overwhelming. you barely had time to process it before people were demanding more.

demand skyrocketed. they were practically clawing at your metaphorical door, begging for more content, more variety— more, more, more.

for now, solo work was fine. it was safe. comfortable. easy to control. but you knew it wouldn’t be enough forever. you saw it in the comments, in the messages, in the ever-growing list of requests. they wanted more than just you and a camera. they wanted another presence. another body in the frame.

you debated your options. a studio would be the safest bet. you had the budget now— painstakingly built, every small tip, every renewal adding up until you finally had enough that you didn't need to comprise comfort.

but finding the right studio was another thing entirely.

you didn’t want the overproduced, garish lights and cheap theatrics of mainstream porn. you wanted subtlety. intimacy. something with taste. good lighting, soft edits, angles that captured the feeling rather than just the act.

something that matched the persona you had so carefully built.

you thought about it for weeks before finally bringing it up to valeria, a girl you often had collabs with.

she tilted her head when you mentioned it. "professional production..? you know there are a lot of seedy guys out there."

you nodded, worrying your lip between your teeth. you’d done enough research to know that most so-called "professional" setups were just glorified scams, with sleazy directors who treated performers like props.

valeria watched you for a second, then clicked her tongue. "but, if you ever actually follow through, i know a guy. a lot of the girls have worked with him before. big name in the business. respects his actors. good guy." she pulled out her phone. "i’ll send you his portfolio. put in a good word."

you meet könig a few weeks later, after countless back-and-forth emails, late-night calls hammering out details, discussions about setups, plot points, pricing. every conversation had been strictly professional so far and you appreciated the distinct lack of attempts to try and get in your pants.

you don’t expect to spot him the moment you step into the airbnb you rented for the shoot, but there he is, standing head and shoulders above the rest of the crew. and the first thing that strikes you isn’t his height (though jesus, he’s massive). it’s how out of place he looks.

he doesn’t carry himself like someone in the industry. doesn’t exude that easy sleaze, that over-familiar smirk you’ve come to expect from men in this business. no tight black tee straining over biceps, no carefully curated air of supremacy with just a hint of nicotine.

instead, he looks like someone’s dad who got lost on his way to a hardware store and somehow ended up in the adult industry instead.

his glasses are perched high on the bridge of his nose, pushed up with the absentminded shove of a knuckle. his sweater— soft, thick, comfortable— hangs loose on his frame, sleeves pushed up to reveal thick forearms dusted with silver hair. he’s dressed like he should be standing at a backyard grill, not directing an erotic film.

he’s older than you expected. forty, according to his portfolio, and he wears it well. silver threading through black, crow’s feet at the corners of sharp, washed-out blue eyes. his nose is crooked— like it had been broken once and never quite set right— makes his face look lived-in, a little rough around the edges. his stubble is light, a soft dusting of salt and pepper.

he looks warm.

he’s talking to someone. one of the crew, maybe, head dipped slightly, listening intently. but even hunched, even relaxed, his sheer size makes him loom.

and then the door clicks shut behind you, and he hears it. könig's head lifts, pale blue eyes settling on you in an instant.

he excuses himself with a quiet murmur. hands tucked into the front pocket of his pants, broad shoulders rolling slightly like he’s trying to make himself smaller, less imposing.

it doesn’t work.

“good to finally meet you,” he says, accent curling soft in his words.

oh, you think. you hadn’t expected that, either.

his voice is deep, just shy of being harsh. it's a far cry from the sharp tone you’d imagined after hearing him speak over the phone. there’s something smoother about it in person, a warmth undercutting the rough edges.

you shift the tray of coffee in your hands, balancing it carefully before setting it down on the small folding table near the entrance.

“brought coffee for everyone,” you say, wringing your hands because you refuse to brush them off on your dress.

he glances down at the cups, and for a second you think you see something soften in his expression.

“thoughtful,” he murmurs, and though his face remains unreadable, you can hear the approval in his voice.

you exhale, trying to shake off the nervous energy thrumming in your chest, and clear your throat. “figured caffeine would help. don’t wanna be the reason your crew collapses mid-shoot.”

könig huffs something close to a chuckle, tipping his head toward the set-up behind him. “they’ve worked under worse conditions.”

you’re not sure what that means, but before you can ask, he gestures for you to follow him further into the space.

the next few minutes are easy. professional. you go over the shot list, the angles he’s planning, how he likes to work— efficient and minimal retakes unless absolutely necessary. he asks about your preferences, what you don’t want, what you do.

it’s…comfortable. smoother than you expected. he’s patient, but direct. no wasted words, no unnecessary small talk, just the work. you like that.

and then your phone rings.

you pull it from your pocket without thinking, glancing at the name on the screen. simon riley. your co-star. you press accept, bringing the phone to your ear.

“hey, you on your way?” you ask, already stepping away from könig, mind half on the conversation you’d just been having.

but simon doesn’t answer right away. there’s a beat of silence. “can’t make it.”

your stomach drops. you stop short, pulse spiking. “what?”

“somethin’ came up. won’t be able to get there.”

you glance at könig, breath stalling in your throat. this cannot be happening.

“simon, i can’t reschedule,” you hiss, stepping further away, out of earshot. “i already paid for the location, the crew’s already here-”

“nothin’ i can do, sweetheart,” he interrupts, not unkind. “’m sorry.”

but sorry doesn’t fix this. sorry doesn’t change the fact that if you don’t shoot today, you’re out thousands. your grip tightens around your phone. “simon, please-”

the line clicks.

he’s gone.

panic creeps up your spine, cold sweat starting to form on your palms. you can’t not shoot today. you can’t afford it. the budget’s already stretched thin, and a reschedule isn’t just inconvenient— it’s impossible.

you drag a hand to wipe the sweat on your forehead.

könig’s eyes are on you and you can feel the heat of his gaze. when you turn, he asks, “problem?”

you open your mouth, hesitate. because what the fuck are you supposed to say? every option you can think of results in you losing a few hundred dollars at the minimum.

you figure the truth is the best option you've got. “simon's out.”

könig watches as your fingers tighten around your phone, knuckles turning white. you press your lips together, trembling just slightly before biting down.

he tilts his head, slow. "know anyone that can sub in?"

you shake your head immediately, too fast, too frantic. a sharp inhale makes your shoulders rise, lashes fluttering against the unshed tears that suddenly gloss your eyes.

fuck.

you’re going to cry.

könig shouldn’t be looking this closely.

shouldn’t be cataloging every shift of your body. shouldn’t be tracking how your throat works as you swallow, how the delicate line of your jaw tenses under pressure.

it’s detail that shouldn’t register. detail that has no purpose. no place. no right to send his thoughts careening somewhere they have no business going.

but there they go anyway.

because he's been watching you.

not in a way that's creepy— könig tells himself that, over and over. he was just a professional doing his research, getting a feel for his clients. it’s good business practice, staying informed, making sure he knows who he’s working with, what they bring to the table.

and if that research led him to your socials, to hours of footage in soft, honeyed lighting, to endless clips of you sprawled out on pristine white sheets as you mewled into the camera— well. that was just part of the job, wasn’t it?

nothing personal. certainly nothing unprofessional.

but the truth, the thing he never says out loud, not even to himself is that he’s spent far too many nights with his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, watching you through the screen.

watching you in those tiny lingerie sets. pink and white lace, frilly little bows, the kind of girlish softness that makes his teeth ache.

könig's watched every fucking video. every stream. every post. hours spent with his laptop open, pants shoved down around his hips, hand working his cock as you bat your lashes and moan so sweetly it makes his head spin.

‘am i a good girl?’ you breathe into the mic, like you’re talking right to him. like you know.

and god, does he know you.

he’s studied you. learned you. mapped out every twitch, every tell, every fleeting flicker of pleasure that crosses your pretty face. the way your brows pinch together when you’re getting desperate. the way your lips part right before you come, glossy and swollen, tongue darting out to wet them like you want something in your mouth, like you’re inviting someone to grab you by the jaw and fuck your throat until you can’t think.

he’s seen how your thighs start to tremble when you edge yourself too long. how your back arches off the sheets when you finally let go, hips rolling into your own hand, breath catching in your throat as you fall apart in a mess of shuddery gasps.

könig has jerked off to all of it.

not just once. not just twice.

so many times he’s lost count.

sometimes slow, drawing it out to hear that little whimper you make at the end— the one that sounds like you’ve been fucked dumb.

sometimes rough. desperate. chasing his own release with one hand fisted in the sheets and the other pumping his cock.

it drives him fucking crazy.

it’s worse up close. worse when you shift on your feet, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, trying to hold yourself together.

stop.

he clenches his fists. drags in a breath through his nose. he is not some fucking rookie. not some kid who can’t keep his head straight.

but then you make a sound that crawls under his skin and sinks deep. and suddenly his thoughts are careening somewhere they shouldn’t go—

places where that breathy little sound is choked out against his palm. where those fingers twisting at your sleeves are scrabbling at his belt instead, pulling, fumbling, desperate.

his cock twitches.

jesus christ.

it’s perverse. it’s wrong. twenty years between you. he shouldn't even be thinking about you like this. but then he thinks about how small your hands would look trying to wrap around his cock. how easily he could press you up against the nearest wall, let you feel how bad he wants you, let you know exactly what you do to him—

and yeah.

he’s fucked.

his grip tightens on the coffee cup, knuckles white, cardboard crumpling in his palm.

"we can reschedule." it’s the logical thing to say. the right thing.

but you stiffen immediately, shaking your head almost violently, like the mere suggestion hurts.

"i can’t." your voice wobbles. "i don’t have the budget for it. the airbnb, the crew- if we don’t shoot today, it’s done. i lose it."

he can hear the distraught in your voice, the panic creeping in, rising in your throat. and könig— könig has never been good at ignoring that kind of thing.

his jaw tightens. his fingers flex. his pulse pounds in his ears. and before he can think better of it—

"i can do it."

your head jerks up, eyes locking onto his. wide. startled.

"what?"

könig lifts a broad shoulder, deceptively casual, ignoring how his pulse is hammering in his throat. acting as if he didn’t just offer himself up like it was nothing.

"i can do it," he repeats. "you need a scene partner."

he pauses, just long enough to make sure you’re really listening before he adds, pointed: "i’ve done worse for less."

it’s true too. könig had started shooting for money, not for passion, not for art. there were years where he took any job that paid, no matter how grimy, no matter how degrading. no dignity in it, no careful framing, no thoughtful direction. just harsh lighting, rough hands, the sound of too many bodies shifting in too little space.

it’s not like that anymore.

now, he works for himself. he makes art, in his own way. he only takes projects that meet his standards, only shoots what he knows will look good.

and this, you, would look incredible.

"are you-" you swallow hard, throat working, voice tight. "you’re serious?"

könig lets out a short, amused breath, tilting his head. "wouldn’t offer if i wasn’t."

your gaze flickers down to his mouth, just for a second, before snapping back up.

he notices. of course he fucking notices.

you hesitate, worrying your lip between your teeth, and he wants— god, he wants.

he lifts his coffee, takes a slow sip. watches you.

"think it through," he says, letting the accent curl around the words. "do you trust me?"

you stare at him, breath coming in short, uneven pulls. your fingers tighten around your phone.

and then, even though you probably shouldn't, you nod.

this is insane, is all you can think as your hands smooth down the dress, fingertips catching on the fabric’s delicate weave. it sways when you move, hem teasing the tops of your thighs.

the crew picked it because it feels normal, something someone’s wife might wear on a lazy sunday, waiting for her husband to walk through the door. not lingerie, not tight or short or scandalous. innocent.

somehow, that makes it worse.

the set sprawls before you, carefully crafted to mimic home. the couch sits comfortably worn— or at least looks like it, upholstery creased just enough to suggest years of use. a blanket lies draped over the back, fringes brushed out to seem effortless.

the coffee table holds small artifacts of a life: a half-empty mug with a faint lipstick stain, a book splayed open, pages curled, a pair of keys glinting under the warm overhead glow. off to the side, a framed photo perches, two strangers caught in mid-laugh, frozen happiness you’re supposed to claim as yours.

the lighting bathes it all in amber. soft, forgiving. like sunset spilling through a window that doesn’t exist. everything is designed to feel. to pull the viewer into a scene that isn’t real but wants to be. warmth. comfort. longing.

your pulse trips. nerves coil tight under your. stepping out, you inhale–

and there he is.

könig stands beside the couch, posture loose, almost as if he’s holding himself back from something. the uniform strains against him, fabric pulled taut across broad shoulders and the solid line of his chest. it’s glaringly obvious that it wasn’t tailored for a man like him— you doubt anything ever is— but he wears it like it belongs to him anyway. the belt grips a tapered waist, dog tags resting cold against his sternum. they glint when he shifts, catching the warmth of the lights.

he’s big. that part you knew. everyone knows. but there’s something about seeing him like this, the bulk of him filling the space, boots planted, arms crossed, sleeves clinging to thick forearms, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

he looks like he could hold the world in his hands. break it if he wanted.

then he lifts his head. and his gaze finds you.

it hits like a physical weight, gravity pulling you closer.

his eyes track the line of your body. starting from your face, drifting down, and back up again. for a moment you assume he’s taking inventory, cataloguing details you didn’t know you were offering.

your skin prickles under the attention. heat pooling low, spreading outwards.

könig’s jaw shifts. a muscle ticks. his fingers flex where they rest against his bicep, knuckles pale for half a second before he eases them loose.

you swallow. "do i look okay?"

silence stretches. then: "you look perfect."

his voice sounds like it's been scraped raw from something you can’t name. and you know you shouldn’t take his words to heart. shouldn’t make something out of nothing. he was just being polite—

but god, he doesn’t stop looking.

you breathe out. "are we ready?"

that seems to snap him out. könig exhales, nostrils flaring. “yeah," he says, looking away.. "we’re ready."

you nod and he turns, clapping his hands together.

"quiet on set!" his voice cuts through the chatter. "lights- ready? camera?"

a muffled ‘rolling!’ comes from behind the equipment.

he glances back, stepping into place. "sound?"

"speed!"

he nods, shoulders shifting under the snug uniform. "all right. action on me. three... two..."

his gaze flickers forward, locks onto you. his hand lifts, a silent ‘ready?’

you nod.

"action!"

the front door creaks open.

you see him first— broad shoulders filling the doorway, boots heavy against the worn rug you picked out last fall. his bag drops with a dull thump, keys jangling, and for a beat, you just stand there, watching.

it doesn't feel real. something out of a dream. your husband looks older somehow. tired. lines carved a little deeper around his eyes, hair at his temples brushed with more gray than before.

it's longer now too, the ends curling where sweat and travel have left it mussed.

then his gaze lifts, blue catching yours. and that’s all it takes.

you move.

your feet carry you faster than you realize, dress fluttering against your legs as you throw yourself into him.

könig catches you with a small grunt, part effort, part relief, hardly moving from his spot. strong arms close around you as he lifts you off the floor with an ease that's almost unfair.

his hand finds the back of your thigh, fingers splayed wide. "easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice rough from disuse, deepened by exhaustion and age. there’s an edge to it, earned from years of barking orders and nicotine abuse. "still getting old, you know."

you huff a breath that’s almost a laugh. "you’re not that old."

"hm." könig presses his face into your hair. "tell that to my back."

your chest tightens. god, you missed him. missed the way he smells— soap, leather, that faint trace of cologne you’d tucked into his bag months ago, almost worn off, but still miraculously there. you press your nose to his neck, breathing him in, and whisper, "missed you."

"missed you more." when he pulls back, his gaze traces every line of your face, eyes crinkling at the corners. "lemme take a good look at you, baby."

heat blooms in your cheeks, but you let him. there’s something reverent about his gaze when you meet his eyes.

then, he kisses you.

and fuck.

it’s messy. warm. his mouth is rough against yours, stubble scraping your skin, tasting like coffee burned down to the dregs.

"god," you breathe, voice catching on a gasp. "i love you."

könig chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours. "love you too," he murmurs, using that voice he saves for early mornings when you’re tucked against him, trading lazy kisses and whispered secrets.

his hands slide down to your hips, pulling you close. the world tilts, narrows, until there’s nothing but him. his body, his breath, the scratch of his stubble when he tilts his head, brushing his nose against yours.

then his fingers slip under your dress. his breath hitches the moment he finds you bare, his touch grazing soft folds, sticky and warm with slick.

"no panties?" his voice dips somewhere between a laugh and a growl.

heat blooms in your stomach. you bite your lip, shrugging. "figured you'd appreciate it."

his gaze darkens, blue eclipsed by black. "oh, do i."

könig’s fingers slide between your folds, dragging through the slick mess you’ve already made. you flinch at the contact, hips twitching toward him before you can catch yourself.

he pushes it in, slow. the stretch punches a gasp out of you, walls fluttering around the intrusion. he pauses, ignores your whine, brows drawing together, finger knuckle-deep. "did you get tighter?"

his voice is soft, almost like he’s talking more to himself than you, words slipping out under his breath.

his finger curls, pressing snug against your walls, testing just how much resistance it meets.

you whimper, thighs twitching, nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. "m-maybe if you fucked me more, i wouldn’t be."

the words tumble out before you can think to stop them. your pulse skips as you process what you just said. heat floods your face.

könig’s head tilts. his eyes flick up, narrowing, — not angry, not exactly— but his stare steals the breath from your lungs all the same. your lips part, trying to fumble out an apology stuck at the back of your throat when—

slap.

he pulls his finger free and smacks your pussy.

you squeak, body jerking as the sting blooms quick and hot between your legs, warmth spreading through your skin, rushing up your spine. you’re caught between shock and the low, simmering heat that pools in your belly.

"careful," könig warns although his tone is deceptively light. his fingers tap against your clit in soft, featherlight pulses of teasing pressure that makes your thighs jump. "keep that attitude and i’ll slap this pretty little thing five times. make you count every single one. s’that what you want?"

your cunt clenches, slick dribbling down to coat his knuckles. he feels it, of course he does. feels how your body betrays you, responding before your mind can catch up.

chest heaving, you shake your head, breath shivering out of you. "no-"

"no?" he echoes a soft mockery, fingers dragging through the mess between your thighs, spreading it just to hear the wet sound it makes echo in the space between you. "then behave, sweetheart. don’t make me teach you."

your heart pounds, breath coming in little gasps as you offer him a jerky nod. könig only watches with lazy half-lidded eyes.

"now," he murmurs, finger filling you again. "gonna ask one more time. have you gotten tighter..." his thumb brushes your clit, just enough to make you twitch, "...or have i just left you empty for too long?"

heat surges through you. your hands clutch at his jacket, grounding yourself in the weight of him. your face burns.

"you were gone for so long," you whisper, voice small, shame curling in your stomach.

he sighs. something in his gaze softens, guilt threading through his voice. "i know, baby." his forehead presses against yours. “missed you too."

you sniffle, nuzzling into his shoulder. "y-you can’t go away that long again..." the words tremble, cracking at the edges.

he kisses your temple, breath warm against your skin. "i won’t," he lies, gentle. "let me stretch you out, yeah?"

könig guides you further into your home, coaxing you down on the couch. könig kneels between your legs, broad hands spreading you open and drinking in the sight of you laid out before him.

"look at you," he murmurs, thumb dragging through your folds, gathering your slick up to rub slow circles against your clit. "so wet for me already. miss having me inside, huh?"

your fingers clutch at the cushions as he begins to fill you, head tipping back. "yes-"

"you gotta watch, pretty," könig interrupts, fingers tilting your chin back down.

your gaze drops, breath catching when you see it— his thick fingers buried deep inside you, slick dribbling down his knuckles. the gold band around his finger shines beneath the mess you’ve made, drenched, the sight obscene and somehow more intimate than you’re prepared for. your walls flutter around him, clenching down like your body’s desperate to keep him there.

"look at that.” he grind. "look at your cute little cunny... makin’ a mess all over me."

your cheeks burn. you squirm, trying to close your thighs, but his other hand tightens on your hip, keeping you spread. "no hiding," he says. "told you to watch."

so you do.

you watch the slow drag of his fingers pulling out, coated in slick that strings between you. your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing, and you let out a soft, desperate whimper. könig hums, pleased, pressing back in. "look how well you take me," he says, dragging against that spot inside that makes your vision blur.

you whimper, head spinning, hips grinding down onto his hand. "feels so good-"

"yeah?" he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "gonna let me in now, sweetheart? let me fill you up nice and slow?"

you nod, frantic, words lost to the heat coiling low in your stomach. könig smiles, pulling his fingers free. you whine at the loss.

"shh," he soothes, wiping his slick-covered fingers against the head of his cock, spreading you over himself. "gonna take care of you. just lay back and be good for me, yeah?"

his hands grip your thighs, pressing them up toward your chest, folding you beneath him. your skin burns under the pressure, nerves sparking with every shift of his weight. the blunt head of his cock nudges against your entrance. he’s patient, achingly so— dragging it along your folds, gathering your slick, smearing it along his length until you’re soaked enough that he doesn’t have to rip you open.

könig’s gaze drops to where you’re spread open for him. "ready?"

you nod, breath catching in your throat, but it’s barely a sound, barely a thought when he starts to press in. he breaches you, the thick crown of his cock pushing past your entrance. your cunt clenches on instinct, trying to force him out, but könig presses on.

every inch feels like fire licking up your spine, burning through every nerve until you’re nothing but sensation.

"gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” his voice is a low rumble that vibrates through your bones. "stretch you out every day i’m home-" he drives forward another inch, making your back arch, "-’til this pretty cunt just opens up for me."

you can’t speak. can’t think. everything narrows down to the drag of him inside you, veins and ridges catching on the soft walls of your cunt. your mind spins, vision blurring as your hips jerk, instinctively trying to escape the overwhelming fullness. his fingers bite into your thighs, holding you in place.

"uh-uh," he murmurs, dark amusement curling at the edges of his words. "don’t run, baby. you wanted this."

he braces himself, broad shoulders tense above you as he tries to sink deeper. but even with how wet you are, how pliant you’ve gone beneath him, your body refuses to give. his hips stutter, pushing, pushing— yet still, there’s that impossible last inches he can’t force past.

“p-please- need it, need you-” the words spill out as he pauses, pulling back an inch.

"i know, baby, i know," he pants, forehead pressing to yours, sweat slick between you, before rolling his hips back in, trying his damn best to bottom out, but your cunt clenches stubbornly. frustration twists across his face, the sight of you writhing beneath him, cunt stretched wide and still too tight to take him fully— it drives him insane.

"gonna have to fix that," he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.

you nod, dazed, tears slipping down your temples as you sob out a choked, "yes- yes, please-"

"shh," könig soothes, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. "you’re doin’ so good, baby. takin’ me so well. just need to open you up a little more, yeah?"

könig adjusts his grip, hands sliding beneath your knees, lifting you with ease. before you can even register the shift, he’s pulling you up against his chest, arms hooking beneath your legs, locking you back in a full nelson.

your breath stutters, eyes going wide as your body is left entirely at his mercy, weightless in his grip, spread open around him.

könig’s lips graze your ear. "gonna let gravity help us, yeah? lil bit of science. let’s see if this pretty little cunt can take all of me now."

your toes curl, breath hitching as he angles his hips, smearing your slick between you.

then he lets gravity do most of the work.

your breath leaves you in a shattered moan as your body sinks down, forced open as he drops you down on his cock. your walls flutter, clenching around him, stretched impossibly wide, struggling to take him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you squirm away.

"that’s it," könig groans, arms flexing as he holds you still, keeps you spread. "so fuckin’ good for me, baby. lettin’ me stretch you open- gonna make you take it all."

you whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your lips, eyes rolling back as the last stubborn inch finally, finally sinks in, his cock seated fully inside you for the first time.

"fuck," könig grits out. "that’s my girl. knew you could take it, baby. knew you just needed a little help."

könig doesn’t give you much of a chance to adjust. the moment he thinks you're ready, his arms tighten, muscles flexing as he hauls you up before slamming you back down.

you jolt, cunt forced to stretch and squeeze around him with every thrust. his strength controls everything— the pace, the depth, the way you bounce like a ragdoll, helpless to slow him down. he’s slamming himself inside, spearing you open over and over, forcing you to stretch wider than you ever have.

you can’t keep up. your limbs go slack, muscles useless, brain short-circuiting. your vision blurs, eyes rolling back, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your mouth falls open in a silent scream.

könig chuckles, pleased, watching the way you’ve gone completely limp in his arms. "gonna stretch you out like this every single day. keep you full, fuck you dumb, make sure this little cunt remembers who it belongs to."

your body convulses, wracked with sensation too intense to hold in. könig keeps moving, fucking you onto his cock like he’s trying to break you in, to shape your cunt to his cock.

"n-no-" your voice barely comes out. a sob caught in your throat as your fingers claw weakly at his forearms. your legs shake, eyes welling up, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. "g-gonna pee," you whimper, body locking up.

"no, baby." he drags you down harder, grinding the thick head of his cock against that perfect spot inside you. "you’re gonna cum. gonna make a mess all over me, aren't you?"

your sob turns into a choked wail as you gush, squirting hard, the release almost violent, soaking könig's thighs, dripping down to form a puddle on the floor beneath you.

könig watches you fall apart with hooded eyes, holding you up as your body jerks and trembles in his arms. "good girl," he praises, sounding utterly enthralled by the mess you’ve made. "fuckin’ knew you’d soak me- knew you were just a little messy thing."

you slump against him, muscles useless. the aftershocks have you so dazed that you barely register the shift before you’re being turned, pressed down against the floor, cheek squished against the slick puddle you just made.

"könig-" you whimper, trying to lift yourself, but his broad hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, keeping you open.

he ignores you, fingers digging into your hips, adjusting your position, spreading you wider. he lines himself up and pushes in, stuffing you to the brim in one deep thrust. your fingers claw at the wet floor beneath you, the slick sound of him sinking into you obscene in the quiet.

"good fuckin’ girl," he drags his cock out before slamming back in, his thighs slapping against your ass. "just let me use you, yeah? just take it like my perfect little cumdump."

you sob into the mess beneath you. könig presses your face harder against it, his broad palm splayed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned.

"lick it up," he orders, tone smooth, assured, the kind of voice that expects obedience.

your whole body burns, but the heat between your legs is hotter. könig feels the way you clench around him at the command, the way your body betrays you before your lips can even form a protest.

"kö-”

“don’t make me say it twice, sweetheart," he warns, hips pulling back, dragging his cock out until only the tip stretches you open.

"what’s the matter?" he mocks. "you were so eager to make this mess- now you’re going shy?"

your breath shudders out in a small whimper before you obey, lowering your head, tongue flicking out, just barely grazing the puddle beneath you.

könig clicks his tongue. "that’s not licking, that’s teasing."

his hips snap forward, knocking you further into the mess, forcing your mouth against it. your lips part with a gasp, and könig watches, eyes dark and hungry, as you taste yourself properly for the first time.

"there we go," he hums, smug satisfaction. "now clean up every drop."

your cheeks burn as you press your tongue flat to the floor, licking a slow, tentative stripe through the mess. the taste floods your mouth and your stomach twists— but the weight of könig’s cock inside you, the way he keeps you full and stretched and pinned beneath him, sends another rush of slick dripping down your thighs.

he notices. of course he notices.

"oh, sweetheart," he breathes. "you like this, don’t you?"

your body betrays you again, a little shiver running down your spine, your cunt fluttering around him.

"mm, you do." he chuckles, dragging his fingers through your hair, tightening his grip. "filthy little thing. you’re gettin’ off on this."

you squeeze your eyes shut, shame crawling up your throat.

"könig-"

"uh-uh," he interrupts, grip tightening, making you whimper. "keep licking, schatz. don’t stop ‘til it’s gone."

your tongue flicks out again, lapping up another mouthful, swallowing it down even as heat prickles behind your eyes.

könig groans at the sight, his free hand stroking down your spine, over the curve of your ass. "that’s it, baby," he breathes. "such a good little slut for me."

you whimper, thighs squeezing together, hips rocking subtly against him, desperate for friction, for anything.

he notices that, too. "oh, you poor thing," he coos, all false sympathy, fingers stroking your cheek where it’s damp with tears. "s’this gettin’ you all worked up?"

könig pulls back just a little, dragging his length through your overstretched walls. "you gonna come just from this?" he asks, rolling his hips. your body tenses, toes curling. "from licking your mess off the floor like a good little bitch?"

your face burns, whole body trembling. too full, too overwhelmed, too much— and yet, you nod, a choked little sob escaping your lips.

his pace stutters, burying himself to the hilt with a ragged groan, holding you still as he spills inside, his cock twitching, pumping thick ropes of cum into your swollen cunt. "fuck," he pants, chest heaving, his weight bearing down on you. "so good, baby. took me so fuckin’ well."

his cum is hot inside you, sticky, leaking, seeping out around his cock as he slowly pulls back, watching his spend start to slip from your overstretched hole. könig hums, almost thoughtful. he presses a broad palm against your pussy, scooping it up, pushing it back in with two thick fingers, shoving his spend as deep as it’ll go. "keep it in,” he says almost absentmindedly. he lifts his hand after a moment, tilting his head as he examines the way it drips from his fingers.

his free hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up. your lips part before he even has to tell you. "clean it up," he slides his ring finger past your lips.

your lashes flutter, heat prickling up your spine as you close your lips around him, sucking gently, swirling your tongue over the ridges of his finger, tasting yourself, tasting him.

könig groans, thumb stroking over your cheek, watching your lips stretch around the digit, tongue flicking against the band wrapped around his finger.

"good girl," he breathes, eyes hooded, cock twitching against your slick folds, already stirring again, already wanting more.

he presses his finger deeper, until it nudges against the back of your throat, until your breath stutters and your eyes go hazy, wet.

"so pretty like this.” his other hand slips between your legs again, rubbing slow circles over your swollen clit. "gonna keep you like this forever, wife. nice and full."

he pulls his finger from your mouth with a soft pop, watching the way your tongue flicks out after it, lips wet, eyes dazed. "gonna make you a mommy.” he grins. “fill you up every night until it takes.”

“-and cut!”

[megssandbox]

😎

[megssandbox]

i don't care if you're neuron divergent i need you to slay count fucking dracula

[megssandbox]

I had way too much to drink at the party. The fuzzy, spinning feeling was really starting to take over and it’s a miracle I’m not faceplanted on the hardwood floor right now. It was definitely time to go home. Luckily I didn’t live far from my friend’s house, and my crush was offering to walk me there. I live in a wooded area, and you can walk a trail as a shortcut to an already short walk. It cuts a 10 minute walk down to about 6, depending on your pace.

“1 am is a little late to walk home,” the party’s host slurs.

“Would you rather I drive?” I say through flushed cheeks.

“Ok whatever, as long as _____ walks you home, I won’t be worried.”

I’m locked onto my crush’s sleepy eyes and he gives the group a warm not and wave. His hand on my back leads me, and if feels like it’s burning me. I can feel his thumb stroking my bare skin, and he gives me a frown. The short skirt and crop top combo started to feel kinda silly under his gaze. As we wave goodbye and close the front door, he takes the sweatshirt off his back and slips it over my head. It smells divine and I honestly can’t believe whats going on right now. My crush, walking my drunken ass home from a night partying. I honestly couldn’t feel safer.

“Which way are we going?” he coos as me, making sure I don’t fall over.

“Left!” I point with my whole arm, and he laughs and leads me down the sidewalk. The trail isn’t far, and soon the concrete turns to dirt and pine needs. Thank god I’m being held from my shoulders and my waist, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to walk alone. Anxiety washes over me of how stupid I am, how I shouldn’t have worn my outfit and brought something warmer. I feel like a burden stumbling around, needing someone to help me home or else the unthinkable could happen. Girls go missing all the time.

We make it farther down the trail and the already dark blue sky starts to get truly pitch black with the tree coverage. “Don’t worry, I got you.” Reassuring me that you won’t trip, he lifts me into a bridal-style carry and I feel even hotter than before. I cover my face with my hands and he laughs at my embarrassment. I feel my pussy start to pulse at the sudden understanding that I am small and he is big; big enough to pick me up with out any issues despite being an easy 215 pounds. The strength of his fingers digging into my thighs and waist makes me feel weak and small.

As if he were reading my mind, “Do you live alone?” The inquisitive look in his eyes tells me that he’s concerned for my safety. We’re almost to my house, but we have to get through a narrower path to get there. I can feel how strong he is, and his grip has shifted from my waist to my breast, which I’m not complaining about. I feel my cheeks get hot again and I’m just thankful he can’t see me in the dark very well.

“Yep! I’m an independent girlie,” my words stumble out of my lips and he smiles again. “But don’t worry,” I recoup, trying to sound cool. “I did martial arts in school so I can defend myself.” I’m confident in my abilities, but truthfully, more so when I’m sober. Relieved that I have someone safe taking me home while I’m in such a vulnerable state, I relax again.

I can faintly see my house, even with my glasses on. “We’re almost there,” I tell him. He frowns, “But that was such a short walk.” He actually sounds disappointed! My heart is racing, and suddenly my feet are on the ground again. It must be the alcohol, but “doyouwantocomeinside?” blurts out of my mouth like water out of a faucet. We’re standing facing each other, and I’m hugging myself to soothe my bold choice of actions. He leans down and kisses me on the lips, moving his hand to my cheek and kisses me deeper. I pull away shocked, and his smile starts to turn into something different. I think it’s just a play of the light, so I turn around and start to lead him back to my place.

I hear a chuckle behind me, and once again I’m lifted into the air. This time I’m being carried over his shoulder like I weight absolutely nothing. My excitement spikes and I can’t wait to go back to my place!!! The tipsy feeling in my chest starts to intensify as I start thinking about touching his face and neck, kissing his lips and staring deeply into his eyes. I’m a hopeless romantic for sure. The position he has me in makes it impossible for my ass to not be right next to his face, and I just pray to everything holy that I made the right choice by not shaving recently.

But instead of following the trail like I instructed, he goes off into the forest with me on his shoulder. My confusion starts to turn to questioning, “hey, what are you—“ before I’m able to finish my sentence I’m flying through dead space, feeling the wind knocking out of my lungs as my spine hits the earth. In pain and wheezing, the only thing I can focus on other than not being able to breathe is my skirt being pushed up to my stomach. Through being smacked on the hard ground, the liquor and weed are really starting to get to me. It’s only been 5 minutes since I decided it was time to go home, so my head is absolutely spinning. Fear runs through my entire body like a shockwave and I’m now understanding what’s happening to me.

He’s going to rape me. My will to fight back is nonexistent as the nerves and muscles in my body have turned to total jelly under my skin. The trauma of being assaulted previously flashes in front of my eyes. The tears start to flow down the sides of my face and into the cold dirt as I’m paralyzed. He notices and chuckles. “I thought you knew how to defend yourself? Doesn’t seem like you really want to now.” He leans down and wipes my tears away with his thumb, and plants a hard slap on my cheeks. I instinctively flinch and recoil from the impact, and he laughs again. My silence ends and I start to whimper. I yelp as he slaps my cunt with his hand over my panties. I feel his hand strike my face again, the stinging pain rattles me and it’s hard to hear when he says “shut up, slut” or something like that. I do, and I start to disassociate, too. I know what’s coming so I just am thinking of anything but my current reality. It’s hard though, because the chill of the night breeze and rustling of leaves and branches. The spinning in my head from the alcohol has gotten worse and I’m worried I’m going to vomit at any point. I pray I don’t because his reaction would probably not be good. He must see the nauseous paleness in the moonlight because he slaps my face again, harder.

“Oh no you don’t.” He grabs my face with his hand and sharply squeezes until I’m puckering like a fish. I’m back to my painful reality, and it’s staring me in the eyes. The sleepy, sweet eyes I once craved are now dark and sadistic. Fear strikes through me again and I try to kick myself off the ground, but I don’t make it very far. And now I have my ass up in the moonlight. I’m not sure how I feel about my panties still being on. I don’t have enough time to process because they’re soon turned into a tattered mess by the strong hands of this man. My face is in the dirt, and suddenly a bright light is being shined on my face. He’s fucking recording me. A new type of rage fills my body, but instead of calling him names like I want, I burst into tears. Blubbering like a baby, telling him that “I really like you still, can we please go back to my house?” but it’s futile. A wet thumb plants itself inside my ass and circles around inside me. The shock of being violated in this way is numbing. Before I have much time to process he’s shoving his dry cock inside me. Why? The pain of being entered with no prep whatsoever was not as bad as I was anticipating. I feel his jeans scraping against my legs as he mounts me as deep as he can.

“You’re already soaking wet, you really are a fucking slut!” He picks up his pace and I’m in utter dismay. What did he just say? That I was soaking wet? I’m able to focus for a moment and the sound of sticky, suctioned pounding fills my ears. It’s true. I’m soaked. He’s not even in my pussy and he’s making those noises. The tears that were steaming down my face are now entering my mouth. I taste salty, wet earth as I’m being rutted into it. The shine of a phone flash darkens a little as I close my eyes to try and bear the pain. He starts picking up his pace and I can feel how deep he is inside me, and the repetition of the pain and pleasure over and over again starts to melt me. I’m not enjoying this, am I? And again, as if he’s reading my mind, I feel his hand strike my ass cheek and says through grunting, gritted teeth, “I haven’t even touched your sloppy cunt yet and it feels like you’re about to cum!” before I’m able to protest the phone is thrown onto the ground near my head and his hand shoves me into the dirt. The sound of my crying, his grunting, the slapping noise of skin on skin, and the feeling of my ass being raped starts to make me shake. The tension in me is rising and I think I’m going to cum. A moan of what he took as pleasure leaves my lips and he instantly rips his cock out of my asshole, leaving me cold and gaping open for just a moment. His cock is quickly replaced with three fingers, fingering my ass hard enough to make my cheeks shake. I’m getting so close to cumming that I feel like I’m going to pass out. My ears start ringing and I’m howling like a bitch going through labor. My mouth is quickly covered by a hand that smells like mine and his juices mixed together. He’s now edged me for the second time in a few minutes here. My cunt and asshole are pulsating from being used, but my brain desperately wants some kind of conclusion. Please…

“Please what, slut?” I could’ve sworn I didn’t say anything.

“I-..didn’t say anything…” my voice is course and shaky, using my throat for guttural screaming has taken a toll.

“You stupid bitch, I heard you say ‘please’, do you want something?” His voice is curt and annoyed, like I am burdening him somehow. I really don’t think that I said please out loud, he has to be joking. But that doesn’t make sense, either…

“Ohhhhhh.” He exclaims with boredom. In one swift, circular motion, my hair is being wrapped in his fist and my head is being pulled back to face him behind me. The look in his eyes has turned from dark to villainous and my heart stops for a moment. He looks…good. He spits on my asshole that had tried to use its free time to heal up already, and shoves it back in. My hair follicles on my head sting with pain too, being pulled taught by thick fingers. The deep burning sensation inside me returns with a vengeance. “You want to cum, don’t you?” A growl echos behind me. The pounding hasn’t stopped. My brain is starting to go numb again, but for some reason the last thing I want him to do is stop. If he edges me one more time I might actually start crying again. “You know what I think?” The laughing between pounding my asshole are the only things I can focus on right now. I can feel my cunt getting ready to climax when I’m interrupted mid-thought with “I think we’d have some pretty cute kids.”

The incessant pounding in my ass continues and I’m about to cum. My head is finally released from being pulled backwards and the relief from pain is enough to instantly make me start cumming. As my holes are pulsating so intensely, there’s also a wetness coming from me that I’ve never felt before, and suddenly my ass is empty again. Before I have any time to process because I’m still cumming, he shoves his cock so deep into my cunt that I think he reaches my cervix. He instantly cums, forcing his seed inside of me. The only pumping in my cunt that he does is to finish inside me while my orgasming cunt is milking every drop out of him. Cumming together with my rapist. I’ve never felt so humiliated before in my life. I silently start to cry again, and after he pulls up his pants, he wipes my tears away and silently walks me back to my house.

He doesn’t help me even though I’m still drunk, limping now, and sore from his assault. He somehow pulls my house key out of his pocket, leads me up to my front door and pushes me into the doorway. Flipping on the porch light, he wickedly smiles down at through the warm lighting. “See you later.” He says while flashing my key at me, slamming the door shut and leaving me under the glow of the light that my home’s entrance allows. The exhaustion overtakes me and I fall asleep on the welcome mat.

The following morning I’m awoken by a few buzzes from my phone. I’m in so much pain that I feel like moving every muscle in my body is something I have to consciously focus on. It’s a text from my friend, and a video message from an unknown number. My heart sinks into my stomach.

“I gave _____ your number!!!! You made quite the impression on him 😍 how did it go????”

“I guess I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

Attached is a video of a naked girl wearing the same outfit as me with her asshole gaped open, being fucked. When the camera pans to her face, she looks just like me. Except, she’s smiling.

[megssandbox]

Desperate Cookies<3

a Dark Desperate housewives/weeds style F!Reader X multiple Yan OC’s (M!doctor/Vet Ivar, F!bully Serana, M!Professor Reichsgraf, +more)

Episode 1~

MINORS DNI!

CW: Fem! Reader, reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, reader has a bad relationship with food and her body(i usually add a lil comment to hopefully make it a little easier to read), threats with gun violence, guns, HARD DRUG USEAGE by reader and pm everyone else tbh, cervix fucking(just about), names against reader (dumb whore, little cocksleeve, ) p in v, failing marriage(for now 😚✨), cheating on both sides mentioned,

Disclaimer: I fully expect you to not like reader/not relate to reader, this is purely for entertainment and i implore you to think of it more like you’re an actor in a crazy DARK soap opera! :3 or this is a chance to get all the chaos out of your system, like me!

(DISCLAIMER: don’t do drugs plz, coke literally only lasts like 15 minutes, and it’s so dangerous. smoke pot instead if you need something and are able to responsibly an all that🥰✨! this is just how this reader feels)

Song rec: Do I make you Nervous? by Lilyisthatyou

“What!? What do you mean ‘lost’” You scrunch your two fingers in the air to quote the forbidden word in the face of your newest enemy.

“I donno what to tell ya, we just lost it.”

“How do you lose an entire shipping container!?” you rub your temple.

You could just about rip your hair out.

and unbeknownst to you, your face says it all.

Reaching under the diner’s table, you push the barrel of your gun to the thick meat of his left thigh.

“I’m s-sorry ma’am, I dunno what happened, I swear!” he cowers slightly with his hands up.

“Shut up.” When you speak, he instantly zips his lips.

The diner is decorated with paper bat and pumpkin bunting and pumpkin cutouts cover the windows.

A waitress comes to your table and puts a couple things down. She’s cute, you’ll give her a decent tip. two, maybe three hundred? Your eyes follow her rump in that frilly diner dress, the bow from the apron over her front makes her waist look so perfect too. you shake your head, back to the present.

You have a milkshake in front of you, vanilla, with whip cream, a cherry, and a red and white spiral striped straw.

Your delivery boy has a plate of various american breakfast items.

Neither of you touch the food. You’re watching your carbs(stupid disgusting fucking societal standards) and he’s clearly too scared.

You pull the gun away.

“Find it.”

At home~

The trees surrounding your estate are a multitude of golds, and bright orange.

Your “husband” isn’t here, thank the gods, cause fuck, do you never want to see him.

Ever.

Especially now that you’ll have to tell him a shipment is missing somehow. You put your gun in the safe in his office. The dark wood panel closes over the safe seamlessly with a turn of a busts head back into position.

Neither of you hide anything from eachother, affairs and all laid out bare, right on the table. too bad it’s only because neither of you care about the other in the slightest.

You grunt, and your head falls to the side, landing your eyes right on your antique candy dish…

You sigh, and stand to approach it.

Taking a deep breath you take the jagged pattered crystal glass lid and set it to the side. dipping your pinky into the white powder, you’re reminded that:

Every bump you take, you say you’ll quit.

You touch your little finger to your nostril and inhale sharply.

The drip down your throat almost makes you gag, you’ve still never gotten used to it.

But your good at hiding the bad sides of things.

It hits instantly, You feel as though you can do anything, and succeed. This time you inhale freely, without any weight on your shoulders, and exhale blissfully.

Getting the house ready to receive guests is more than a breeze, sure you could do everything without it, but it’s so much more fun while on it.

*Ding Dong*

Double dipping your pinky into that candy dish, and putting the lid back on, you’re now ready to head to that looming front door and open those flood gates.

They rush in in a massive herd, handing off their coats to your doorman, and rushing to complement you on either your attire or your home.

Yes yes, you’re both lovely, don’t let it all go to your head yet reader!

Now back to business.

“Is everyone comfortable? good, good. Now,” you stand in the back of the living room, opposite the closed french doors. “How are we feeling about the last chapters of the book?” You ask.

Yes.

You host your neighborhood book club.

Of course you are an active member of society, why couldn’t you be?

Just because you have a little cocaine empire on the side?

You still have to be a good trophy wife and keep up appearances.

~

A rough hand squeezes your neck, as the man attached pounds his dick deep into you, practically piercing into your womb.

“Yes! Yes! Ye—” Your voice squeaks as he cuts it off.

“Bad girls don’t get to talk,” He slaps your ass, eliciting another squeak from your throat.

The red hot sting comes down onto your ass again and you bite your lip. Your hips are digging into the desk, it hurts so much it’s raw, but holy fuck is his dick amazing.

“P-Professor!” You manage to breathe out.

“How did they lose a SHIPPING CONTAINER! Y/N! You dumb fucking whore. They Stole it!” he seethes as he yells at you through clenched teeth, his hips slapping into your ass.

He lets go of your neck to tangle his hand into your hair and pull you back against his body, and slaps your tit, as he bites your neck.

He’s left innumerable marks across your body tonight.

Your stupid husband.

You were arranged to marry this lazy, asshole, cougar chaser of a man by your parents. It’s not like you love eachother…

But his dick game is truly top tier.

“Ahhh~!” you whine out already too dumb on his cock to speak anymore.

“That’s it, take it, like a good little cocksleeve.” His long, hard dick presses deep inside you, the way he moves his hips while it’s still inside making sure to rub every spot you like makes you melt and shudder against him.

The sweet cashmere scent of him surrounds you, as it rolls off his glistening body in waves.

His thrusts become more unstable, and he bites down harder into your shoulder. It feels as though he wants to tear you open!

His hand comes down to your burning sex, to rapidly massage you.

You cry out, “Ah! mm-mm haaah!”your body twitches as he fucks you through your orgasm. Cum mixes with cum, forming a thick ring around his cock base.

He throws your spent body down onto the bed and then leaves you in the master by yourself to catch your breath.

You push your shaking self off of the mattress, wrapping the silk duvet around your sticky body before you go.

Upon inspection in the mirror, your hair is stuck to your forehead. Uhg.

Dropping the duvet, and without evading the chill of the air, you hop into the shower with Felix.

You don’t notice his eyes roaming your body, you’re too busy trying to stay warm in the water.

He hands you your shampoo with a sly smile.

“What?” Your voice is way more annoyed than you meant it.

“Nothing,” He shrugs and nonchalantly looks up at the ceiling as if it were anything interesting.

[megssandbox]

SHE SAID IT'S HER FIRST TIME! — NANAMI KENTO

SYNOPSIS...older bf!nanami finds out he’s your first time and he intends to make it very special

INFO...older bf!nanami x virgin fem!reader, age gap (earlier 20s, early 30s), virginity loss, consent checks, praise, nipple sucking, fingering, pussy eating, penetration, slight blood, slight crying, creampie, nanami grows kinda feral, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Having Nanami as an older boyfriend was such a joy. The maturity, thoughtfulness, communication, love, commitment, and patience you received from him was more than you could have ever asked for. You were always so open with him, telling him everything and just being the annoying girl friend you were. But, there is one thing that you’ve kept hidden for the last six months of your relationship.

Every time things got heated between you Nanami while making out or getting handsy, you always backed out last minute telling him that you “weren’t ready” and he always understood and respected your boundaries. Though, you are ready. If you were to lose your virginity to anyone you’d want it to be your sweet loving boyfriend. But voices in the back of your head start to make you overthink, wonder if he’ll even want you anymore if you confess to him.

It isn’t until you’re here on his bed, hands tangled in his hair while kiss him slowly, passionately. His hands are roaming all over your body, still careful to be respectful. You’re pushing into him, smiling in between kisses. “Have I ever told you how much of an amazing kisser you are?” He chuckles, peppering kisses along your jawline.

A blissful sigh escapes your lips before you answer, “no.” You shake your head, his lips traveling lower down to your neck. Your bottom lip tucks between your teeth, enjoying the moment. His tongue glides along the skin of your neck, gently sucking and kissing, earning little whimpers from you as a reward. His hand grabs at your leg, hooking in over his waist as he pushes his hips into you.

Your breathing grows shallow, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. You gulp, feeling things grow more intense with each passing second before you push Nanami away. “I’m sorry, Kento, I just—”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand you want to take your time with this kind of thing.” He gently grabs your hand, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. His brows furrowed as he studies your features, eyes wandering every where else but into his. “What’s wrong, hm? You know you can talk to me,” he says in the most smooth voice, one that makes you wanna spill every secret. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. “Sweetheart?” He draws out the pet name, he knows something is on your mind.

“Ken, I feel bad for keeping this from you for so long, but,” you sigh, fidgeting with the hem of your t-shirt, “I’m a…virgin.” You finally look in his eyes, clenching your jaw. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, ears ringing loudly it almost drowns out your heart beat.

His lips part, eyes widening at your words. Deafening silence falls upon you like a tidal wave and you feel the embarrassment rush in. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything I…I’m just gonna go.” You quickly scramble to your feet, grabbing your sweater from off of his bedroom floor. Maybe those voices in your head were right. Why would a man like Kento want anything to do with an inexperienced girl like you, compared to a woman who would know how to please him, give him a what he wants.

Just as you were about to walk out his bedroom, you feel a tug at your arm pulling you back until you hit his broad chest. “Where are you going?” He asked, looking at you. “I never said to leave, sweetheart.” He walks you back over to the bed, taking your sweater from your hands and placing it on the back of his chair. You sit on the edge of the bed, anxiously waiting for the next words to leave his mouth. Eyes follow his every movement, watching the way he walks over to you and kneels down in front you, grabbing your hands in his. “Look at me.” And you do, eventually, meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

You find it hard to speak, to even get a peep out. Nerves are shot and it feels like your stomach is twisting in knots. “I just thought that—”

“That I’d be upset you’re a virgin?” He asked, putting it all out there. You nodded your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “Sweetheart,” he chuckles, flashing a smile at you, “you’re too cute for your own good.” He caresses your cheek. “No wonder you’ve been so nervous each time we’ve made out.” He licks his lips, taking a deep breath in before speaking again, “listen, we don’t have to rush into anything. You should’ve just told me, but I understand your feelings.”

You blink a couple of times, your heart rate finally drops, feeling more comfortable with the situation. It felt like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders, and even more importantly, you were glad Nanami took it so well. “But, I am ready.” You look away from him.

“What?” His brows furrowed, confusion written on his face.

“I’ve been ready, just been scared, nervous…I don’t know.” You shrug, your voice getting quieter with each word you say.

His hand comes up to your cheek, gently cupping it as he directs your gaze back towards him for the millionth time. “Are you asking me to be your first?” He asks in such a gentle tone, eyes carrying a look of adoration in them. Sheepishly, you nod.

“Always wanted it to be you, Ken. You’re so kind to me, and so patient,” you admit.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, “I’d love nothing more than to be your first.” He kisses the top of your hand, soft lip pressing against your skin as he stares into your eyes. “We’ll go at your pace, yeah?” He smirks.

Everything in you is telling you to pounce on this man and go at it like animals with how he was treating you. It only made him a hundred more times attractive than he already was. Your lips find his as you both fall back onto the bed, resuming the make out session from minutes ago, only this time it’ll actually lead somewhere. The kisses felt more feverish, more passionate, something that’d you been craving this entire time.

“Can I take your clothes off?” He asked, placing a kiss to your jaw. “I’ll take mine off too.”

“Yeah.” You nod, feeling his hands tug at the hem of your shirt. The fabric slipped over your head, your first instinct was to cover your chest, feeling completely vulnerable in this position. His hands carefully undid your pants, pulling them down along with your panties, discarding the items of clothing on the wood floor. You covered yourself up, shutting your legs and holding your chest.

As you watched him get undressed, your eyes landed upon the obvious tent in his shorts, leaving you turned on. His body seemed liked it was carved from the gods, toned biceps, shredded six pack. He looked like he could just easily toss you around, put in whatever position he wanted. Not to mention, you could see how big he was through his boxers, your nerves starting to wrack up again as you began to wonder if it’d even fit. And once he pulled them down, your eyes widened and worry flooded your face.

Nanami let out a light laugh at the look on your face. “What’s the matter?” He asked, rubbing his hands over your thighs.

“Do you think it’ll fit? It’s just…really big, Ken.” Your eyes couldn’t help but wander. He was thick, and slightly long, which is reasonable excuse for your worry.

“It might hurt a little, sweetheart, but that’s why I need to prepare you, yeah? Make it feel good for my sweet girl. Now, don’t hide yourself from me, okay? I wanna see all of you, praise all of you.” He leaned over, kissing your lips again, trailing down further with each one. His hands replaced yours, gently groping your tits, squeezing them in his hands. “Such soft and pretty tits.” He kissed each one. “Can I suck on them? I promise you it’ll feel good.”

Once he gets your approval, he wastes no time, his lips latching onto your hard nipple, hot tongue swirling around the bud. His eyes fluttered shut, a muffled moan escaping his lips. Your hands find themselves in his hair, little pants and whimpers leaving your lips at the foreign sensation. His other hand pulls at your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he gets lost in thought. He pulls his head up, hazy eyes staring back at you. “Doing okay, baby?” He asks.

“Yes, please keep going.” You bite down on your bottom lip, earning a smile from his as he moves over to your other nipple, tip of his tongue circling over the sensitive skin before taking it in his mouth, suckling on it. “Mmm, Ken,” you whimper, tugging at his hair.

“Feeling good?” He places kisses all over your tits, his touches so gentle. You buck your hips up towards him, grinding against him. “I’ll take that as a yes. You’re feeling needy, aren’t you, baby? Go on, you can tell me.” The flat of his tongue lays against your nipple again, slowly licking, teasing you.

You bring your hand up to your face, covering it, too embarrassed to look at him, to let him hear you. But with each flick of his tongue more whimpers spill out of you, overflowing. His warm lips press kisses to your sternum, traveling down towards your stomach, getting lower and lower until you jolt up. “What…what are you doing?” You ask, dumbly. It was clear what his intentions were with his mouth just inches away from your cunt.

“Just sit back and relax.” He caresses your side. “Open up for me, wanna get a taste,” he murmurs. He gently pushes your thighs open, scooting lower on the bed. His mouth slightly parts, eyes gravitating towards your wet cunt. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re already so wet,” he chuckles, looking up at you. He rests his head against your thighs, lips kissing your skin, worshipping you, savoring you. He plans to tease you as much as possible, he wants you ready.

You body twitches when you feel his fingers ghost over your throbbing cunt, light touches making you yearn for something you’ve never even had before. He kisses down your thighs and towards your pussy, pausing when he finally reaches. He looks up at you for approval and when you scoot your hips closer towards him with the cutest whimper, he dips his head down between your legs and presses the slowest kisses on your clit. The way you gasp makes him smirk, he wonders how you’ll sound when he uses his tongue.

Finally, you feel the flat of his hot tongue dip between your soaked folds, pushing its way up your slit and finding your clit. You sit up on your elbows, brows furrowing in pleasure as Nanami wraps your his arms around your thighs, holding your hips in place. He moans against you, pulling you closer towards him as he starves for more of your taste.

He flicks his tongue across your clit, his chin coated in your juices before he moves his tongue lower, tongue fucking you. You bite down on your plump lower lip, quietly moaning while your eyes watch his every movement, like you were studying him. His tongue slithers back to your clit, circling it before he gently sucks on it. “Hah, fuck,” you gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for his blonde locks of hair.

He lifts his head, licking his lips to not waste any drop of you. “Hey, pretty girl, can we try something?” His voice is gentle, a sense of security in it. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” The pad of his thumb rubs your clit in circles, his other hand caresses your thigh. “Wanna try fingering you while I eat this pretty pussy, get you ready for me,” he explains.

You gulp, nervously looking down at his hands. “Will it hurt as much?” You ask.

“Might hurt a little, but it’ll help. I’ll make you feel good, baby. I never wanna hurt you.” He sits up, moving closer towards you.

You nod slowly, “okay,” you meekly say. Nanami, wraps his arms around your waist, hoisting your leg around him as you both lay on your sides.

“You ready?” He asks, kissing your cheek, his fingers rubbing your slick over your entrance and back over your clit, trying to get you prepared. “Just gonna do one finger for now until you want more,” he whispers into your ear. Slowly, he slides his thick digit into your entrance and you immediately let out a pained sigh. He removes his finger, pressing another kiss to you cheek. “Take your time, baby. You’re okay. Hold on to me if it gets too much.” He continues rubbing your clit in slow circles until you give him the nod of approval to try again.

He pushes his finger past your folds, feeling your walls clench around him as he goes inch by inch. “Mmm.” Your eyes screw shut as you cling onto his broad shoulders, feeling the sting of the stretch. He finally gets it all the way through and you’re panting, clawing at his skin.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he reassures. “Hey, look at me,” he grabs your face in his direction, “it’s okay.” He kisses your lips as you whimper against his. “I’m gonna start moving my hand now.” You hold onto him tighter, the burn making you wince as he pulls his hand back and pushes his finger back in, slightly gaining in speed.

You can’t seem to look away from him, melting into his touch as the pain slowly turned to pleasure, feeling your body accept him just like you wanted this entire time. He presses his forehead against yours, bodies pressed up against one another as you fight back the urge to kiss him until you’re breathless. Your hips rock into his hand, following his movements. “Want more,” you whimper, nodding at him.

“Want more, pretty? Yeah?” He pecks your lips, carefully sliding his ring finger into your entrance. You whine at the stretch, taking in a deep breath when you feel his fingers curl up, repeatedly hitting your g-spot. Your cunt squelches around his fingers, sucking them in. “You’re doing such a good job,” he whispers, working fingers faster until you’re a moaning mess.

Wet kisses make their way down your neck, moving lower down to your chest as he repositions himself at the end up of the bed, fingers still curling inside you. He pushes one of your legs back, eyes intently watching the way your pussy takes his fingers so well. Without warning, the flat of his tongue presses down your swollen clit. “Oh fuck!” You gasp, gripping at the sheets below you. Your body shivers with pleasure, the sensation of his tongue and fingers sending you to cloud nine.

Your head falls back on the pillow, eyes rolling back, legs threatening to close around his head. He slurps your pussy, tongue working its way through your folds to get every last drop. He’s moaning at your taste, breathing heavily through his nose. His hand pushes your leg back farther, nearly up to your chest, as he works hard to drive that orgasm out of you. “Ah! Oh my gosh!” You cry out, clutching at his hair, pushing his head down when he sucks on your sensitive clit once more. “Ken, baby, I think—fuck!” You squeal, rocking your hips on his face. Your legs close around his head as your orgasm arrives, body quivering, and every touch is heightened. That doesn’t stop Nanami, low eyes watching how prettily your back arches off the bed, your walls squeezing his fingers. “Hah! Ah! Yes!” You moan.

Nanami finally lifts his head, chest heaving up and down as he looks at you with the most love in his eyes. “Fuck, baby, you did so good. Come here.” He rushes to plant his lips on yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His dick is throbbing, oozing pre from the tip just from watching you cum. “You alright?” He asks, petting your cheek.

“I’m okay.” You nod. “Thank you.” The sweetest smile spreads across your face, one that makes his chest fill with warmth. “But, I think I’m finally ready.” You look down towards where you two meet, only inches away from one another.

“You sure? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I want you to be comfortable,” he says softly.

“I promise I am. Just…go slow,” anxiousness riddled your tone.

“Of course. Let me know at any time if you wanna stop.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. The nerves build in your chest, and your stomach fills with butterflies. He repositions his hips, rubbing his length through your folds, smearing his precum. He lightly groans, slowly moving up and down, nudging your clit with each thrust. Nanami notices you watching, he can see you’re still nervous. “Baby, look at me, okay. It’s gonna be fine.” He gently grabs your face, staring into your eyes before his fat tip pushes its way through your folds. Your eyebrows raise in surprise before furrowing. He goes as slow as possible before removing himself, letting you take a breather.

You spread your legs further before another attempt, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pushes into you again, inch by inch you feel the stretch, the stinging sensation making you grit your teeth. “Ah!” You bury your face in his neck, when you feel his hips finally meet with yours.

Tears fall down your cheeks, and he’s quick to kiss them away. “I know it hurts, sweetheart. Let’s stay like this for a minute.” He wipes your tears, massaging your thighs as you try to accustom to his size. “Gonna start moving now.” He pulls his hips back, his length coated in a mix of your juices and slight blood. “Oh, your bleeding baby.” He looks at you with the most empathetic expression.

“Mmmph, sorry, I’m sorry.” A wave of embarrassment washes over you as it came to mind that it was most likely on his sheets.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s completely normal.” He kisses your lips as he pushes his hips against your again, the head of his cock grazing over a sweet spot deep inside you that you didn’t even know existed. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?Hah, my sweet, sweet girl—fuck,” he breathily chuckles. And now he’s moving faster, wrapping your legs around his waist, clinging onto him like you never want to let go. “So fucking tight,” he grunts.

You feel so full of him, like he was made for you. His dick dragging along your walls, his hands holding you close, wrapping around you as he whispers praises in your ear in the most sweetest voice. Your eyes roll back, nails leaving marks on his skin, your toes pointed. He’s fucking you into the mattress, but being oh so gentle about it. “It feels so good,” you mewl as he fucks you deep, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust.

“This pussy was made for me baby—oh shit—taking me so fucking well. You feel so fucking good,” he moans. He presses into you, each thrust sending your mind spiraling as shivers run down your spine, your body covered in sweat. Nanami squeezes you tightly, kissing your neck, and nibbling at the skin.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” It feels like your breath is being sucked out of you, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. “Gonna cum!” You cry out. “Hah—yes, yes!” He keeps the same rhythm, tip of his dick kissing your cervix before your shaking under him.

He holds you tightly, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as you cum around his dick. Your hands cup his face, searching his eyes. “That’s my girl, let it all out,” he says. He can feel you clenching down on him, the feeling making his dick throb harder. “Always be my good girl, right baby?” He asks. And all you can do is nod, when he starts fucking you faster, almost like he’s grown feral. “It’s good that you know because I’m about to fuck you like you aren’t.” He pushes your knees to your chest, lifting your hips slightly so that he reaches the deepest parts of you. “Nngh, fuck!” He grunts.

“Ken! Oh fuck, fuck!” You squeeze your eyes shut, the bed rocking and creaking with each other his hard thrusts. A hand clasps over your mouth in a weak attempt to muffle your screams of pleasure.

“Pussy feels so good, sweetheart. Can’t get enough—fuck—I’m sorry,” he heavily pants. Strands of blonde hair cling to his forehead, eyes fixated on watching his dick disappears in and out of you, your pussy creaming around him, leaving a white ring around the base. He can feel you clenching down on him again, your nails leaving crescent marks in his forearms as you’re cumming for a third time tonight, barely able to form words. “Atta girl. Look so pretty cumming on my cock,” he smirks.

Your back arches into him, legs quivering as he thrusts grow sloppier and sloppier. “Nnngh, shit,” he moans. “Gonna make me cum—ah!” His brows furrow as he fucks you harder, a primal feeling rises in him as he thinks of cumming inside of you for the first time ever. “Baby,” he says with desperation, “baby, let me cum inside you.” A rosy red spreads across his cheeks as he stares into your eyes.

Your arms reach out to him, dragging him down for kiss, legs locking around his waist as you push him closer to you. Nanami groans into the kiss and you swallow every last one as his seed fills you up, coating your walls. He slowly fucks you, making sure to get every last drop of his cum in you before pulling out.

“Oh my god, sweetheart,” he chuckles, a glint in his eyes. You laugh with him before he rolls both of you over, you now on top of him. He caresses your cheek and you melt into his hand, a blissful sigh leaving your lips. “You did absolutely amazing.” He smiles. “You doing okay, though?” He wonders, fingertips tracing patters on the small of your back.

“Yeah,” you nod, closing your eyes shut, “I’m doing great actually.” You smile. You rest your head on his chest. “Thank you, Ken.”

“No, thank you. I’m glad that you trusted me to be your first, honestly. It means a lot to me.” He kisses the crown of your head. “You’ll always be my girl.” He continues tracing your skin.

“Really?” You ask, lifting your head to look at him. “Promise me?” You pout, batting your lashes.

“I promise.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his thumb rubbing over your bottom lips before you press a kiss to it. He chuckles at the small gesture. “Let’s get in the shower, together, yeah? Maybe order some food? You deserve it.”

[megssandbox]

Experience | Joseph Joestar

masterlist

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Have you had a lot to drink, little lady?”

“One hundred percent sober. This is just water,” you say, swirling your glass. Joseph nods, glad for the fact. “I'll be in room 514 if you want to come and see me.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

genre: smut (minors dni)

pairings: joseph x reader

wc: 1.8k

cw: fem!reader, unprotected sex, prone bone, oral, old man joseph

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The Stardust Crusaders are in a hotel bar, taking a well-needed overnight rest stop on their quest to find Dio. Joseph observes the others quietly; Polnareff gets frequently distracted from his conversation with Avdol by a pretty woman who stops to flirt with him. Kakyoin is entertaining the girls rejected by Jotaro, who rolls his eyes at the girls flocking to him. Joseph feels jealousy creeping in at all the younger men being surrounded, but then he spots you sitting at the bar. You joined them at the beginning of their quest, having your own business with Dio.

He nods his head at you, flattered by your unabashed staring. You give him a small wave as an invitation to come and talk to you, which he immediately accepts. He slips onto the barstool next to you. To Joseph, you're the prettiest woman in the room.

“What's your name, gorgeous?” he grins as you roll your eyes at the man who you've made good acquaintances with in recent weeks. You play along with his corny joke, giving him your name and holding your hand out for him to shake. Joseph doesn't shake your hand, instead bringing it up to his lip and pressing the softest kisses to your knuckles. “What a beautiful name for such a beautiful lady,” he says in a dramatic voice. It makes you laugh, something Joseph has enjoyed doing since you've got more comfortable.

“What's your name, Sir?” you ask, keeping the facade going. Joseph knows it's sick, but hearing you call him sir makes heat rise under his skin.

“Joestar, Joseph Joestar,” he introduces himself, and you politely nod. He started the role play as a joke; he'd been joking around with you to help assimilate you into the group, but he's intrigued to see where this will go.

“I noticed you were staring over at my table. Did any of my buddies catch your eye?” he asks. Maybe it was personal of him to ask, but he wanted to know your feelings towards the others. He likes you, who wouldn't, but he wonders if you feel the same. Maybe you'd be more suited to someone closer to your age, such as Polnareff. Joseph doesn't expect your answer. In fact, it has him flustered.

“Just you, Sir. The others aren't my type. I like a man with experience who can take care of me,” You say. Joseph flounders for a response. A blush settles on his face. He's so confident, especially with women, that he doesn't get this flustered very often. Joseph supposes his attraction to you is obvious. He gets bolder with flirtation and touching with every passing day. He didn't expect you to be so forthright with him.

“Have you had a lot to drink, little lady?”

“One hundred percent sober. This is just water,” you say, swirling your glass. Joseph nods, glad for the fact. “I'll be in room 514 if you want to come and see me.”

He knows. He knows exactly what room you're staying in because it's his room. Avdol had offered to get you your own room, but you'd insisted it would be cheaper for you to room with someone. When they had let you choose your roommate, you chose Joseph without hesitation. His eyes are fixed on you as you get up and leave the room. You have the upper hand; it's not a position Joseph finds himself in often, and it intrigues him. He gives you a minute to get closer to your room before giving chase and following you. He reaches you before you reach your room.

“Y/N,” his tone is slightly more serious as he speaks your name. “Are you sure about this?” he asks. Neither of you had expected Joseph to be the one who dropped the role play first. You nod enthusiastically, reaching up to pull him down to your eye level.

“Mr Joestar-”

“Please, call me Joseph.” He interrupts you to correct you.

“Joseph, I want you so bad. I chose to room with you in hopes you would stop flirting with me and finally do something about it.” You punctuate your sentence by taking his hat from his head and placing it on yours. Joseph enjoys your fiery attitude. You look damn good in his hat, and it's driving him crazy. He laughs at your confirmation and lifts you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You squeal, but you accept your fate. You don't move too much, only kicking your legs once when he smacks your ass.

When Joseph reaches your shared room, he unceremoniously drops you down on the mattress. He wastes no time taking off his shirt, throwing it to the floor beside him. He encourages you to take your clothes off. He helps you strip down, eagerly pulling your trousers down your legs and throwing them onto the pile with his shirt and undershirt. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls your underwear-clad body to his lap. You straddle him. You remove his hat and add it to the pile.

“Sweet girl,” he hums, one hand rubbing the back of your thighs and the other caressing the side of your face. “Are you gonna let a dirty old bastard like me kiss you?”

You don't verbally respond, instead pulling him into a kiss. He'd forgotten how good it felt to have someone in his arms. You grind onto his lap and moan into his mouth. For all your big talk earlier, you're completely at his mercy. Joseph's tongue pushes against your mouth, and the ease with which you let him in has him bucking his hips up against you. His kisses move down your neck as he feels up your body. He's so pent up he could probably cum just from grinding against you, but he holds off. As he's getting older, his recovery time is going down. He lifts you enough to turn and lay you against the pillows.

He crawls onto the bed so that he's hovering over you and leans down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. It's been a while since he's had a pretty girl underneath him, so he makes the most of it, savouring the feeling of your tits. He moves to your other nipple, showing it equal love. You're squirming impatiently beneath him, desperate for him to touch you where you need it most.

“Patience,” he scolds, continuing his journey down your body. He kisses across your stomach to your hips, leaving a trail of bite marks and saliva. When he gets to your pussy, Joseph grabs ahold of your thighs and spreads them open for him. It takes you a second to realise that he's just staring at it in awe, making you shiver. “You'll have to excuse my enthusiasm, Sweetheart. It's been a while since I've had a good meal.”

He leans in to press his tongue to your cunt, licking from your drooling hole up to your clit where he flicks his tongue. He's experienced, and he's picking up quickly on the exact pace and angle that's going to make you cum fastest. He pushes two fingers into your hole as he greedily eats you out. It feels so good you grab fistfuls of the bedsheet to ground you. The walls are thin, but you're having difficulty caring at all when Joseph's tongue and fingers are sending shockwaves through your body. Each melodic moan of his name is met with an appreciative hum that vibrates against your sensitive clit.

It doesn't take long to send you over the edge, your sanity falling alongside you. Joseph works you through your orgasm, keeping his fingers curled inside you and replacing his tongue on your clit with this thumb so that he can lean up to talk to you.

“That feel good?” he asks, gently slowing his movements. You shakily nod, whimpering as he wholly pulls his fingers from your cunt. He raises them to his mouth, loudly sucking your juices off of his fingers. He makes an obscene noise, dramatizing the taste. It both flatters you and makes you laugh.

“Joseph, stop being ridiculous,” you laugh, pulling him in even closer.

“Nothing ridiculous about it. You're a fine delicacy,” he retorts, leaning in to kiss you, hoping the taste of you, the taste he can see himself getting addicted to, is still on his tongue so you can experience the wonder for yourself. You roll your eyes and deepen this kiss, pressing your tongue into his mouth. You use the distraction to grab his belt buckle. Joseph moans against your lips as you undo his belt and thread it through the loops of his trousers. He stops you short of yanking the zipper by grabbing your wrist and pulling away from your face.

“I'll ask you one more time, Y/N. Are you sure you want me?”

“I've never been more desperate for anything in my life,” you say. He slots his mouth against yours for one last kiss before he lays you down gently on your back. He focuses pretty hard on you, desperate not to cum so soon. He guides his stiff cock into your hole, stretching you out. You've never had anyone the size of Joseph before, and it takes some adjusting before you ask him to move. Joseph doesn't do quick fucks or shallowness; his cock grinds hard and deep inside you, harsh thrusts driving you into the mattress beneath you.

You moan and writhe beneath, calling his name like a mantra. In his ego-fueled stupor, Joseph pulls back to flip you over. Normally, he would take care and stuff a pillow under your hips, but both of you are way beyond that point. He drapes himself over your back, locking you flat against the mattress as he fucks you. His words are slurring into growls, and the echoes fill the room along with your incoherent moans of his name. You cum again. Your orgasm barrels into you like nothing you've ever felt before. Your pussy practically strangles Joseph's cock as you gush around him and onto the sheets below you. Your pulsing walls spur him on to his own intense orgasm, and Joseph tucks his face into your shoulder, groaning as he empties his balls inside you. It's been a while, so he savours the feeling of filling up your perfect pussy. He grunts in your ear about how good you feel around him and thanks you for letting him cum inside you. Joseph lifts himself off of you, rolling your naked, exhausted body onto your back.

“So how was I for an old timer?” he jokes, covering up the tension building now that the passion and fire are out of the way.

“So fucking good, you sell yourself short. I don't think I've ever cum like that in my life.” You say, taking deep breaths between sentences as you're still catching your breath.

“Speaking of cum, we better get you in the shower and clean you up, huh?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

this is my first jjba fic! I'm so excited to share her with you and I hope you enjoyed reading :)))

[megssandbox]

jumping on the bandwagon fashionably late feat. polnareff

[megssandbox]

This is the first I’ve ever written! Please be nice and let me know what you think!!

18+! Fingering, teasing, crying, playful sex.

Polnareff stops by your house after you drunkenly tell him that he’s too chivalrous to fuck you.

“Actually, the real reason I stopped by is because I’ve been thinking about what you said at the bar last week..” he blushed ever so slightly. “I want to.”

“W-what?” You questioned. You barely remembered the things you said that night. The thing that stood out was accidentally insulting him by telling him he was too good of a guy. The heat floods to your cheeks as she remembered that slip-up.

“You want t-to..?” You nervously stared him down.

“I want to show you that I’m not too much of a gentleman to satisfy a woman.” He said.

Your jaw drops and you stare at him in embarrassment. He’s unphased.

“I just need your permission.”

You thought about it for a few moments. Who was this man, showing up at your house and confronting you about something that was said while you were drunk?

Although, you couldn’t deny how attracted you were to him in the moment. His body was strong and capable. You imagined his big hands holding your throat hostage as he rams himself into you, or his lean, muscular hips slamming against your backside with his cock buried in you.. as you lost yourself in thought for a moment, you feel his blue eyes piercing through you.

“Y/n? What do you think?” He whispered.

“Yes. I want it-I mean, I give you permission.”

His grin set her heart on fire.

Before you could process what was happening , Polnareff picked you up off the ground with ease. He carried you upstairs toward your bedroom. He opened the door and walked you to the bed, tossing your supple body onto the mattress as if you were a rag doll. Polnareff positioned himself over you. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, then used his free hand to haphazardly tug your pants and panties down to expose a glistening slit under a tuft of soft hair. You stared up at him in shock. He was so fast, you couldn’t believe he’d already half undressed you. You were watching TV alone in your living room 15 minutes ago.

The muscular man released your arms so he could lean down and kiss the side of your hip. His lips were soft and soothing… until you felt a sharp sensation shoot up your side.

You cried out. You examined your side to see that he’d left a deep, bruising bite mark on the broadest part of your wide hip.

Polnareff looked at you sheepishly. “I have to make sure you don’t forget this moment.”

With that, he flipped your body over, then grabbed your arms to pin your back against his chest. One arm wrapped around your chest, holding you in place. The other arm reached down to explore your body.. you felt his hand roughly spread your lower lips apart. His thumb found your clit, and he wasted no time spinning circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation makes you squirm and moan against him as your mind is overwhelmed with pleasure. “Slow down, it’s toooo fast,” you plead.

You feel his body vibrate slightly as he chuckled against you. “Complaining already? Darling, I thought you liked it like this.“

You bite down on your lip, taking his taunting words as a challenge. You throw her head back against him, freely letting the moans spill out of your throat. You can feel the moisture pooling against your thighs.

Polnareff suddenly stops rubbing your clit. You feel his massive fingers slide through your folds as he prods the entrance of your hole.

“Do you want me here, baby?” He asks. You whimper without answering. This prompted Polnareff to pull his hand back. Then he lands a hard, wet SMACK against the tender flesh between your legs. You whine in pain, shocked by the sudden sting running through your sex.

Polnareff gently rubs your inner thigh, then kisses the top of your head lovingly.

“Ma amour, I expect an answer when I ask a question. As cute as your little whimpers are, I need to hear your words.”

You feel a tug in her stomach, like a million butterflies making you tingle on the inside. “Yes, I want you there. Please.”

“Good, baby.” He releases you, gently guiding your body down. “Now, I want you to take whatever I do to you. If you’re good, I’ll reward you with my cock. If you’re bad, I’ll make you suck me off and I’ll leave you here by yourself, got it?”

You, wide-eyed and dripping wet, nod at him.

“Trés bein!” He praised.

You feel him lift your hips up into the air. You feel exposed with Polnareff staring you down from behind. You feel a rough SMACK against your ass. Then another one, and another, over and over. Your legs shake as you cry out and pull away after a particularly rough hit. This prompts your tormentor to fist your hair and lean by your ear to whisper, “Aw, does that hurt? I’m just showing you that I can play rough, sweetheart.”

You moan with a mixture of pain and desire. Your legs involuntarily squeeze together as you feel the large man press against your backside, his raging erection prodding into your soft fleshy ass. Before you can stop yourself, you’re grinding back against him. He gently holds your hips in place, then he leans down to kiss your back softly.

“Shhh, not yet, amour.” In one swift move, he flips your body so that you’re facing him. His large fingers tap at your soaked hole. “I want you looking at me. Don’t you dare look away.“

He shovels one fingers inside you, then another. Your eyes roll back while he flexes his fingers inside of you, stimulating your g-spot repeatedly.

You try to keep your eyes on his, but the overwhelming pleasure makes you shut your eyes as you start to make loud, guttural noises. Polnareff uses an arm to pull your upper body toward him, cradling you while still assaulting your cunt with his other hand.

“Belle, I said eyes on me,” he nips hard at your ear, which makes warm tears wisp up in your eyelashes. When you look at him with your tear-filled green eyes, Polnareff gently kisses your forehead and pulls your body to his chest, slowing down the rhythm of his fingers, grinding into your firmly but with a gentle edge.

For some reason, this makes you cry out even more, and you feel yourself getting wetter from the mixture of his fingers deep inside you and the allure of his sensual, commanding presence. He forces another finger in and you practically scream with arousal.

“You’re torturing me.. please just make love to me, Polnareff. I can’t wait anymore.”

Polnareff chuckles. “Aww, is my petite fille too worked up? Well, just say the word and I’ll bury my cock in your sweet little pussy.”

“I already said I wanted you to fuck me. I’m practically begging! I can’t take it anymore.” You moan loudly, your arms clenching around the back of his neck as he cruelly speeds up the fingers ripping in and out of your body.

“I want you to tell me that you were wrong about me. Admit that I can satisfy you.” He smiles.

“Is this really the time for gloating?” You gasp out, your stubbornness kicking in as you realize he’s making a power play.

Polnareff stops fingering you, instead bringing his finger up to his lips to suck your juices off. “Have it your way.” He shrugs, prying your body off of his.

“N-no, don’t stop. Please, I’m sorry that I said that you’re too sweet to fuck. I was wrong. I WANT to feel you inside me, please!” You cry out, feeling embarrassed by your own desperation by too horny to care.

“Ah, Cherie, why didn’t you say that?” A wicked grim spread across his chiseled face. “I’m so glad I could change your mind.”