the squeak that left me when I saw that word count..!!!! SO excited, Meine Perle was the first fic of yours that I read and it got me hooked so I can't wait to see what you're cooking up â€ïž
ily đ„č tysm for your patience with me!! itâs at 48k words now and we are still churning it out!! iâve been working on it everyday and i still have so much to go!! iâm so excited đđđ
konig holding his knife up to your cheek. pretty little face held in place by a rough, gloved grip indenting the flesh of your jaw. hips squirming in a futile attempt to free yourself from the muscular thighs pinning you down.
âdonât fight it, liebling. wouldnât want me to scar this pretty face, hm?â
punctuating his threat with a press of the cool metal into your skin, relishing the raw fear-soaked squeak that leaves the back of your dry throat. he forces your head to the side, teasing your throat with the knifeâs sharp edge. eyes darkening as he stares down at you, an arrogant scoff at your pathetic grunts with each useless thrash to get away from the knife threatening to slit your throat.
the tip of his blade drags across raised collarbones, the dance of steel on skin sending a wave of goosebumps down your arms. the blade catches on your collar before tearing down your front with an audible rip of cloth. at first you think heâs sliced you down the middle, that if you had looked down youâd see your guts spilling on the floor. instead you feel a scratchy glove exploring your waist before catching an exposed breast with a degrading squeeze.
âif youâre a good girl, maybe youâll leave in one piece.â
Summary: It makes him sick to think of the man he used to be. Who he was before you reduced him to an obsessive, jealous monster.
You ruined his life.
Word Count: 10k AO3
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, No use of y/n, AFAB & Feminine Reader, Unreliable Narrator, Non-Consenual Voyeurism, Stalking, Breaking and Entering, Abusive Relationships, Depictions of: Non-Con Sex, Choking, Hair-Pulling, Spanking, Slut-Shaming, Bad German, Orgasm Torture, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Smoking, Konig has a Love/Hate Relationship with Reader, Implications of Ghost x Reader, hopefully the reader isnât too out of character for yâall, unfortunately this one had to be more detail oriented, you will be making an uncharacteristic amount of phone calls iâll tell you that much
Continuation of this, but can be enjoyed stand-alone
He dreamt of you last night.
You were ethereal, liebe. A true angel - floating down to him in his dark isolation, basking him in your elegant golden light. He finally had your attention. The pleasure of having your gaze fixed on him, nothing but adoration in your sparkling eyes. Your hand extended gracefully out to him, delicate fingers cupping the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek. A gesture of appreciation for the hours he poured into you, an acceptance of his protection. An apology, for denying him the ownership that he had earned over and over again.
An ownership he was overdue for.
A chill wrapped its fingers around Konigâs spine, unforgiving frost spreading from his core to his fingertips. Your expression had changed without transition, eyes suddenly pooled with malice, lips tightened in disgust. A growl thick with hatred reverberated through him when the thrust of your arm plunged a sword through his heart.
Frantic callused hands scramble to the wound, relieved to find only a shirt drenched in sweat as Konig shook the haze of sleep. Relieved to know you hadnât seen him for what he really was, that you hadnât rejected him so cruelly.
He was beginning to resent you for the sleep deprivation. He knew you were going to let him sleep in today. Every Saturday, after a long week of watching over you, you thank him with an opportunity to sleep in.
You ruined it.
Taunting him in his dreams - fooling him even after everything heâs sacrificed, letting him taste a moment where his fantasy comes true, only to rip it away from him so brutally.
Konig soothed himself by lying back, easing himself into the first half of his dream. He replayed the vivid image of you stroking his cheek, looking at him in astonishment after learning about everything heâs done for you.
Maybe he could forgive you for tearing open his chest. For letting him feel true bliss, even for a moment. To let him know what it would feel like to have you.
Itâs the least you could do.
Konig doesnât even recognize himself anymore. Heâs entirely off the rails, fully succumb to his depraved behavior, helpless to the urges youâve scraped to the surface. It makes him sick to think of the man he used to be. Who he was before you reduced him to an obsessive, jealous monster.
You ruined his life.
His passions, his dreams, his reputation - it all pales in comparison to you. Nothing he cared about before matters now. He feels like an addict, powerless to his addiction and chasing the high. He revolves around you, the center of his universe. Heâs sure youâre the reason heâs alive. You consume every waking moment of his day, and now his dreams.
And you canât even be bothered to look at him.
Ungrateful little brat.
You had a late start to the day, making Konig wait for you to sleep off last nightâs drinks. It was well into the afternoon when you left your quarters, wearing your civilian clothes and attention glued to your phone as you navigated the paths of the base.
It was a breath of fresh air to see your face again. Heâd been drowning, choking on his pitiful existence when you were apart. Dread eats him alive from the inside out, a swarm of maggots and flies deteriorating the meat of his flesh and organs. He doesnât know how much longer he can stand without being with you every moment of the day.
But here you are, his light, his warmth. He can feel you coursing through his veins - another hit of the drug he couldnât get enough of.
You looked perfect in your jeans and t-shirt. Itâs nice to see you out of the drab and ill-fitting clothes the military forces on you. The denim hugs the curve of your ass and meld tight to perfect hips and thighs. He thinks of the show you gave him last night, the way your ass looked in the thin fabric of your panties. He knows whatâs underneath those jeans. You can hide it from the rest of the world, but not from him.
Youâre not paying attention, liebe. Fingers pecking away at your phone, only glancing up to make sure you didnât bump into anyone.
Itâs dangerous to be alone like this, even more so to be unaware of your surroundings.
You always do this.
How could you be so careless?
This is why he has to sacrifice everything to protect you. To keep prying eyes and itchy fingers away from you while your guard is down.
Your brows pinch as you focus on your phone, lips silently reading the text that fills your screen.
Who is so important that you must risk your safety to return their message?
He wants to sprint up to you, close enough that he can look over your shoulder to read your messages. It takes strength for him to restrain himself, to wait until youâre far enough away before standing from his bench, his boots following in your wake.
Konigâs longed to get his hands on your phone for some time. He knows that phone contains secrets about you he could only dare to dream about. Itâs the key to knowing your inner desires, to put him in the position to serve you as best he can. Your intimate messages, browser history, photos.
He wonders if you have nudes on your phone. The very thought sends his blood rushing.
Swiping through your dirty pictures, a collection of obscene poses from his muse. One of you arching your back and pushing your tits out for the camera. Another with you sticking out your tongue, begging to taste him and ready to choke on his cock. On your back, thighs spread, displaying a wet cunt ripe for tasting. On your knees, ass up and waiting impatiently for him to pound you ruthlessly from behind.
His fantasy is tainted by the sharp and scorching realization that if you did have nudes on your phone - youâve sent them to someone. The thought of another man daring to lay his unworthy eyes on you has his eye twitching, a searing heat already peeling his skin.
Why would you give yourself away, like youâre worth nothing?
He forces a deep breath, redirecting his focus to his pace, strides nearly double the length of yours. He hates having to follow you from so far away. He wants to walk beside you. Towering next to you - he wants everyone to know who you belong to, the mountain they would have to conquer if they wanted to get to you.
He didnât take his eyes off you the entire journey to your destination, delightfully surprised when you step into the mall. He was worried that you were foolish enough to go somewhere unsavory all by yourself. Itâs even better that you were going somewhere with plenty of people around, enough for him to blend in the crowd. Such a wide-open building, perfect for him to keep a watchful eye on you even from a distance.
Maybe today youâll make it easy for him.
Heâs getting tired of you being difficult.
When you duck into a clothing store, Konig canât help the smile that creeps on his face.
Going to pick out new clothes to model for him?
Oh, you really were being a good girl today.
Heâs eager to see what you buy, heart rate accelerating as he imagines the possibilities. Heâs already dressing you up in his mind like his little doll.
He settles at a table in the food court with a perfect view. You seemed to be in a rush - not wasting time as you scrape hangers across the metal clothing racks. Eyebrows pinched in concentration, jaw slightly cocked as you pressed your tongue to your teeth. You look cute when youâre focused.
Konigâs brow perks when you stop in your tracks, attention caught by a dress on the end display. Your face relaxes when you lay eyes on it, delicate hands running over its fabric. It was beautiful - a soft pastel blue, intricate azure and yellow flowers blooming on its pattern, a thin white lace stitched along the neckline. It was a dress fit for a princess, fit for his wife. He dives headfirst into a daydream about you wearing it once heâs domesticated you, hem dancing when you greet him with a kiss after a long day. His hands would find your waist when you stand on tippy toes to give him his welcome home kiss.
You flip the price tag before moving on, and his smile falls flat.
Thatâs the one. Thatâs the dress youâre meant to wear.
You like it, donât you?
You stop every so often to check the time on your phone, pulling a face when you do so. Running late to something, heâs sure. Where are you supposed to be? And whatâs so important that you needed a new outfit?
He watches you pull a hanger free, a black dress you hold up high enough to obscure his view of you.
No, liebe.
Donât even think about it.
He can tell from his spot across the walkways that itâs too revealing. It would cut short at your mid-thigh, neckline thatâs designed to show off your cleavage. Skin tight and would leave nothing to the imagination.
The kind of dress that would attract the attention of the wrong people.
Of course you would do this.
Dressing yourself like the slut you are.
A scowl smears across his face as he watches you walk up to the cashier.
So you were going to be difficult today.
Just when he thinks youâre finally cutting him some slack, you go out of your way to misbehave.
Youâre quick to leave, whorish dress packed away in a white plastic bag and resting on the crease of your arm. Your hands find your phone again, a slight wince at something on your screen.
Heâs too disappointed with your clear lack of judgment to think about whatâs on your phone thatâs stealing your attention.
He has to close his eyes, a few deep breaths to calm himself before he loses control, before he gives in and teaches you a lesson that you so desperately need.
His fists stay tight at his sides, knuckles splotched white on tight fists as he follows you out of the mall in haste.
With a hitch of his breath the rage carried on tensed shoulders lifts.
Itâs the sun shining on your hair that grounds him this time. Locks shimmering, revealing their true color to him as the breeze makes your soft tufts dance. Your skin glows in the sunâs warmth - it takes him right back to the euphoria of his dream. Your light, liebe - he can see it.
Your pace slows when you reach behind you, pulling your phone from the sheath of your jean pocket. He canât see your face, but he watches from behind as you bring it to your ear.
He seized his opportunity to close ground, enough that he can hear your side of the conversation. He normally wouldnât get so close to you, but you seem to be extra distracted today, and Konig is too curious to miss out on your phone call.
âI know! I know, Iâm sorry. Iâm almost at the subway. Iâll be there in 20.â
Hearing your voice makes his heart skip a beat. He missed that beautiful voice, silky smooth and goes down like honey.
Especially when you sound so apologetic.
Is this what itâll be like when you finally own up to the grief youâve put him through?
Thereâs a pause before you speak again, a small laugh escaping you.
âHe can wait.â
He?
Konigâs thoughts race before you had even finished your sentence, his moment of enamor shattering like rose-colored glasses.
Whoâs he?
Is âheâ who you picked out that promiscuous dress of yours for?
Anyone who would be okay with that dress doesnât have your best interests in mind, liebe. Konig knows whatâs best for you, and itâs getting harder to watch from the sidelines as you make mistakes time and time again. Heâs ready to interfere, to take control away from you, since youâre clearly not responsible enough to do it yourself. Someone needs to put their foot down. Youâre begging for him to step in, to discipline you until you can demonstrate youâre capable of behaving.
âUh,â You trail off in a hum before you respond, âI donât know about that. You didnât say anything, did you?â
âI donât know.â You say with a whine, âThis is already a lot for me. I donât⊠this really isnât my thing.â
âNo!â You squeak out, followed by a forced casual, âNo.â Youâre suddenly flustered, stopping in your tracks when a nervous laugh escapes you. You make a quarter turn and Konig flinches when he sees your face, searching around for a quick escape.
âJust because I talk about him a lot doesnât mean I like him.â
Konigâs eye twitches at âhim.â Who are you talking about so often that youâre being accused of crushing on someone?
Maybe you were talking about Konig.
He doubts it, but the idea dulls the edge of the blade youâre slicing him with.
âBecauseâŠâ You huff, bailing on a sentence you started without thinking through, âOkay, fine. Iâll try. For you.â
What mess were you getting yourself into, liebe? He doesnât like the sound of this at all.
âOkay, okay. Iâm at the station now. See you soon.â Your phone slips back into your pocket.
Going on the subway all by yourself. Look at you, inviting danger in.
Heâs locked onto your ass as you make the descent into the underground, hips swaying with each step down the concrete stairs.
If you look this distracting in jeans, what attention do you think youâll attract in that fucking dress?
You reach for your wallet once youâre down the stairs, the pad of your finger freeing your subway card from its slot.
Shit.
He doesnât have a subway card.
His gaze flicks to the kiosks before back to you, already swiping your card and pushing through the turnstiles. He scans the crowd before he lands on a pair of cops monitoring the station, ruining his chance to jump the stiles.
He almost drops his wallet as he fumbles for cash, rushing to the kiosk to pay.
Heâs pleading under his breath for the machine to process faster. Heâs convinced the kiosk could sense his fear, uncooperative to the forceful press of its buttons. Panicked glances over his shoulder reveal you progressing through the station until youâre around the corner and out of sight.
Heâs lost track of you by the time he secures his card. The crowd parts for him, his intimidating stature coming in handy as he makes laps around the station before he realizes youâre gone, with no way for him to know where you are headed. A blackhole of dread swallows him whole - sweat escapes the flustered heat that blistered his skin, heart pounding against his ribcage. His hand finds his head, quiet but rigid expletives riding his exhales.
Why do you have to make things so hard for him?
Heâs failed you. Heâs sorry, liebe. Heâs supposed to be your guard. Anything that happens to you tonight will be his fault. He suspects youâre really going to be acting out tonight, going somewhere out of your comfort zone with other men, dressed like a prostitute. Your light on display for anyone to dim.
White hot flashes of grabbing hands, lingering eyes, and cheap compliments invade his thoughts, stomach tightening and threatening to retch.
This is your fault.
Youâre just a foolish little girl who doesnât know whatâs good for her. Youâve pushed him to his limit, he canât let this go on anymore.
If you wonât behave, heâll just have to show you how a good girl acts.
It takes him too long to realize heâs holding his breath, fist clenched and teeth grit as his rage burns him from the inside out. His eyes pinch shut as he tries to recenter himself, forcing deep breaths through his tightened jaw.
Nothing too extreme.
A gentle nudge.
A push to test the waters, to see if you can handle the expectations that go along with being his. To give you an opportunity to change your indecent behavior before he puts you in your place the hard way.
Konigâs taken the lives of countless men, a ruthless brute in the heat of the battlefield. Heâs been in thousands of life or death circumstances, finding himself on the other end of blades and triggers on a near daily basis. He thrives in danger.
Itâs nothing in comparison to the adrenaline coasting through his veins as he picks the lock to your quarters.
He can hear his heartbeat, the rush of his blood deafening him as he crouches in front of your door, head snapping side to side to ensure the coast remains clear. Heâs nauseous with excitement, stomach churning and sweat soaking his clothes.
Thereâs a part of him, a sliver thin remnant of the respectable man he used to be, that manifests as a weight of guilt in his stomach. He knows what heâs doing is wrong, that he was so far beyond the line he couldnât even see it anymore. This was a new magnitude of violating your privacy.
He knows that if he got caught, heâd be discharged faster than he could explain himself. Heâd lose you, his warmth.
You left him no choice.
If you didnât want this to happen, you shouldnât have run from him. Youâve given him the perfect opportunity. Heâs got more than enough time to get his fix, and itâs the only substitute heâll accept for missing an evening without his eyes you.
When the lock finally pops, hands fumbling for the knob, he miscalculates his strength and sends himself tripping into your room. Quickly but quietly shutting the door behind him, clicking your lock back into place before standing straight, hands falling to his side.
The rush of standing in your room crashes over him like a wave, dizzy and disoriented as he takes you in.
He canât believe heâs here.
In your room.
It doesnât feel real, an out-of-body experience. A dream. His dream.
He doesnât dare move for a full minute, breathing heavily as he fidgeted in his spot.
When he finally works up the courage to move, he inches himself towards your captivating things. A gloved finger grazes across your dresser as he inspects the belongings scattered on its surface.
He picks up a perfume, carefully uncapping it and bringing it up to his nose. With a deep inhale, his eyes flutter shut as he takes the scent of you in.
Immediate warmth pools in the pit of his stomach, already straining against the give in his pants. He spritzes into the air, the sun shining through the slats in your blinds catching on the cloud of mist. Heâs hoping your scent will linger with him during his stay. He snaps the cap on with a satisfying pop and ensures he places it down exactly where he found it, cautious to leave little indication of his visit.
A shimmer catches his attention, eyes drawn to a dainty necklace. Two fingers lift it in the air, letting its reflection sparkle while he inspects the metal. He wants to put it in his pocket, a little trinket of his visit. Something to remind him that it wasnât a dream. A piece of you to bring him comfort whenever heâs away from you. A good luck charm.
He resists the urge, placing it back on the dresser in a pile of intricate looped chains.
Your hairbrush is next, shaky fingers wrapping around the handle. His thumb skims over the bristles, watching them through half-lidded eyes as they rhythmically spring back into place. He inspects the glossy stray strands left behind in a tangled mess, imagining you gliding the brush through your gorgeous hair, your fingers following in its wake as you hum a soft tune.
Heâs setting all your things down carefully, not only because he doesnât want to leave evidence behind, but because he knows the worth of your priceless treasures.
He leans down, giving him a closer view of a polaroid taped to the edge of your mirror. You and a friend, eyes crinkled with big cheesy smiles plastered on your faces, arms wrapped around each other in a close embrace. Konig finds himself smiling at the photo, touching the border with the pad of his finger. He wishes that was him next to you, him you were embracing tightly, him you were happy just to sit next to each other on a night out.
He steadily slides a dresser drawer out, mindful to the sound of wood scraping against itself. Inside he finds your pajamas. He pulls his gloves off with his teeth, reaching in to stroke the material with his knuckle.
He grabs the shirt on top, oversized and well-worn. Broken in and softened over hundreds of restful nights. He brings it to his face and takes another inhale, getting high off the smell of your fabric softener and the image of you drowning in the shirt.
Once youâre in his grasp, heâll make sure you only sleep in his shirts, liebe. Exposed thighs and legs peeking out from beneath his shirt that barely clings to your shoulders. A clear representation of the size difference between you two. A reminder to you of just how small and powerless you are compared to him.
He brushes the fabric against his stubbled jaw to know what it would feel like to rest his head on your shoulder. To bury his face into your chest after a long day. To rest his head on your stomach while you comb your fingers through his hair.
He wants to take it with him. Cut eye holes and replace his hood with it so that he can wear your shirt over his head every day, high off your scent as he inhales you in with each breath he takes.
He gently folds the shirt and puts it back into its place, closing the drawer before moving on to another. He thumbs through the rest of your clothes until he gets to a drawer that makes him freeze, heart stopping and fingers still laced around the handle of your dresser drawer.
Your panties.
His cock is at full attention now, painfully hard and leaking precum. Trembling hands make a slow descent, meticulously choosing his favorite. He holds them up to get a better look, picturing you filling them out, just as you were last night. The lower half of your ass peeking out to tease him. He didnât think he would ever be jealous over scraps of cotton, but he knows these panties have kissed your perfect cunt and soaked up your arousal, everything he was entitled to.
He canât help himself this time, liebe.
You have to understand that he canât just let this opportunity slip through his fingers.
A reward, for all of the hard work heâs poured into you. For everything heâs sacrificed for you.
He stuffs your panties into his underwear, casual and discreet, as if he were stealing them in front of a crowd. He even looks side to side, just to make sure no one was watching over his shoulder. The feeling of your panties pressed up against his cock had him throbbing, staining the fabric a shade darker with precum. With a slight twitch of his hips, the head of his cock forces against the bundled cloth, electricity sparking through his lower half. He swallows hard, mouth turned cotton.
Konigâs getting intoxicated off of you, less gentle when he rummages through your nightstand. His arousal is taking control now, heâs desperate to uncover more of your dirty little secrets.
He holds a sharp breath, lips parting when he uncovers your vibrator. A deep purple and molded into the shape of bunny ears.
Thereâs a twinge of jealousy, accompanied by a pull of his lips.
Why use a toy when you can have the real thing, liebe? You donât need a toy when you have him. Heâd pleasure your cunt anytime you ask, lapping at your clit until youâre screaming his name. His tongue coercing orgasm after orgasm until youâre begging for him to stop, tears streaming down your face at the overstimulation. Heâll make you regret even asking him to pleasure you.
The jealousy is shelved when he pictures you on your back, legs spread and displaying your perfect pussy for him. Glistening with your arousal, face twisted in euphoria as you sway your hips on the vibrations. Soft moans would spill from your mouth, breathy whispers of Konigâs name on your tongue.
He stumbles backward onto your bed, hand reaching blindly behind him to find the mattress as he studies the soft silicone of your toy.
He canât help himself anymore. Heâs sorry, liebe. His erection borders on painful, balls swollen and cock begging for release.
Itâs your fault.
Putting your promiscuous toys and dainty panties on display for anyone to find.
He lies back on your bed that creaks and flexes under his large stature, his head nestling comfortably on your pillow.
He fumbles the button of his pants, sloppily freeing his cock from the restraint of his waistbands. He wraps the jumbled mess of your panties around his shaft, holding the fabric in place as he grasps his base and steadily pumps himself.
Youâre straddling him, cunt grinding against him through drenched panties. Biting your lip while you rock your clit on him, looking down at him with eyes glazed with lust.
Heâs had enough of your teasing, liebe. Heâll punish you for working him up like this.
Yanking your panties to the side, lubing the tip of his swollen dick on your slicked rim. Tight grip indenting the flesh of your hips as he forces you down on his thick cock, watching your face twist while you strain to work around his girth. The biggest youâve ever had. He has to train you, stretch out your tight little cunt so you can handle a good pounding. Heâll ruin that cunt, leave you a gaping cum-filled mess for any other man that dares to try. No one else will ever compare once heâs finished with you.
âKonig, I canât-â
âYou will.â
Youâre soaking, liebe, just a wet little mess dripping down his pulsing cock.
His fingers slide down to your thighs, nails digging into you once youâre flush with the base of his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you struggle to take him.
âLook at me.â
You obey like the good girl youâre supposed to be, looking to him with pitiful, pleading eyes as he lifts you, a sharp gasp escaping when he buries fully into you.
He holds you in place with a strict grip, hovering inches above him while he thrusts up, mercilessly fucking your hole like the cock sleeve you are.
Choking on your moans, overstimulated by a mixture of pain and pleasure that has you squeezing around him.
ïżœïżœTake it like a braves MĂ€dchen.â
A sob leaves you as he pounds into you, limply doubling over before he catches your upper arms, propping you up like a rag doll.
âAlle meine. You understand me, brat? All mine.â
A raw cry scratches the back of your throat, tits bouncing relentlessly against your ribs as he tortures your g-spot. An involuntary whimper rhythmically with each thrust, arms sore from Konigâs harsh grasp.
He forces you forward, bending you at your core so he can catch one of your nipples in his mouth with a tight suck. He doesnât waver from his strict plunges into your cunt as his tongue eagerly circles the sensitive bud. The pleasure amplifies under the stimulation, he can tell by the roll of your eyes and the way you collapse in his arms, hypnotized by his power and stuttering out his name with broken breath. Giving yourself to him.
A brain dead, cock drunk little slut.
His hand snakes around the back of your head to grab a fist full of hair, a stiff yank forcing your neck to crane and pulling him off your tit with a pop. His spit turns cool over your nipple, tightening the pink flesh with a chill down your spine. Nails scratching desperately into his glistened chest, begging for mercy.
You wonât get any from him, little girl.
Youâre his.
A toy to dump his cum into, a wet hole for him to ruin, a doll to control.
The clapping of slicked flesh on flesh fills the room, tugging your hair down to keep you from wiggling away from the ruthless fucking. Your swollen clit slaps against his mound with each bottom out, intertwining with the unforgiving pleasure of your abused g-spot and knitting into a cruel euphoria.
âListen to your pathetic moans. Everyone will know who you belong to.â
The hand gripping your hair releases suddenly, repositioning to clench around your throat, silencing your moans with a threatening squeeze.
Your eyes snap open, an intoxicating fear spread on your features as your eyes beg for release. Pointlessly clawing at his grip, fighting for your stolen breath. Heâs addicted to the way your horror steadily builds with each passing second he doesnât let go.
He waits until your expression loosens, until your eyes cross and youâre seeing double. When he morphs into a blurry figure, floating farther and farther away from you, and the only thing you can possibly focus on is the brutal pounding of your cunt.
He lets you go seconds before you faint, cunt squeezing down on him with each desperate cough for breath. He grabs onto two fistfuls of ass, spreading you apart. Opening that cunt, making sure to fill you to the brim with each slam into you.
âKo- gnâna cum!â
âBeg for it.â
A desperate, breathless cry tears your throat.
âPlease, Konig! Please!â
A hand winds back, full palm returning to give a harsh smack to your ass. When you gasp in surprise, his grip tightens threateningly, voice lowered to a vicious growl.
âAddress me properly.â
âPl-â Youâre briefly distracted by the rhythmic pounding, trailing off before he leaves another imprint of his hand on your ass.
âPlease, Colonel! I-â The words get stuck in your throat, but your desperation pushes them through, so raw and pleading it doesnât register to you as your own voice. You let off on a whine, eyes screwing shut while your body is degradingly shaken under the powerful bucks of his hips.
âDo it, brat. Cum.â
He watches your face contort, mouth fully gaped, suddenly radio silent as you convulse on his cock. He doesnât let up on you, taking advantage of your walls tightening around him.
When your voice returns, youâre squeaking out anguished whimpers, squirming away from the progression into overstimulation.
He doesnât let up. Your pleasure is nothing but collateral, liebe. Heâll use you until heâs finished. Bully you with his fat cock, ignoring your weak begging and futile attempts to pry yourself from his grasp.
Itâs the harsh ripples of his orgasm - the warm droplets of his cum landing on his stomach, the sound of him choking on a hitched breath in the dead silence of your bedroom - that shocks him back into his pathetic reality.
Tensed muscles relax seconds after heâs milked the last of his intense finish, his sweat and shame wrapping him in a suffocating blanket.
Heâs defiled you, liebe. A slimy creep, breaking into your sacred space and getting off in your bed. Where you lay your head after a long day, hiding from the world under these cozy covers. Heâs tainted the sanctity of an angelâs hollow.
A disgusting, selfish pervert.
He buries his face into your pillow, breathing you in as he catches his breath and wipes away his mess with your panties.
âTut mir leid.â He whispers into your silken pillowcases. Heâs sorry, liebe. He didnât mean to lose control like this. To let him get this close to you, close enough his depravity bleeds into your personal life. He meant to keep his distance, to keep you safe from him and his degenerative sickness.
But here he is, in your bed, pretending that youâve welcomed him here. That he was giving you a fucking fit for a whore.
He feels dirty, he wants to shed his skin, to get a fresh start. A life where he never even met you. Where he never gave you full control over him. Where he never succumbed to his atrocious urges.
Itâs too late.
You ruined his life.
His best course of action was a shower, to wash away the evidence of his sin and maybe feel clean again. To feel worthy of you again.
To bathe in your scent and take it with him.
To steal just a sliver of your light and wear it proudly.
The warm water soothes his aching muscles, always sore after a long week of strenuous work. He lets the water take him away, calming himself as much as he was capable under the circumstances.
He wonders what youâre up to. Where youâre at, what mess youâve gotten yourself into without his supervision. Probably in that slutty dress and giving your attention to undeserving men. Flirting with them like a common whore.
The scent of your shampoo wafting in the hot steam eases his racing thoughts, closing his eyes while he massages his hair.
He imagines youâre in the shower with him, insisting to scrub him. He has to lean over so you can reach his head. Gently scratching his scalp, giving him a tingling sensation as you wash him clean from your tiptoes.
Youâd scrub his body next, making a careful loop around his neck. Gently soaping his chest, lingering around his strong biceps. Feeling the strength that protects you every day. Youâll slide down to his stomach, attention on his tight abdominal muscles.
Itâs his cock you pay the most attention to, stoking him clean, your other hand massaging bubbles onto his balls.
Such a good girl, liebe.
Taking care of him after a hard day.
When youâre done with him, heâd scrub you down, rough hands squeezing soft soapy tits.
Heâd take his time with you, making sure to give every inch of you the care it deserves before flipping you around and fucking you ruthlessly against the shower wall, water clapping obnoxiously as he clashes into your thighs.
Such a good girl, liebe.
Taking care of him after a hard day.
Konig finishes his shower, wiping himself down with one of your towels before wrapping it around his waist.
He spends some time poking around your bathroom cabinets, curiously reading the labels on bottles of medicines. Helping himself to your Q-tips, your skin care, your deodorant.
Heâs getting closer to the perfect mixture of your scent, liebe. Heâll carry it with him as long as he can, surrounding himself in a cloud of you.
When heâs done drying off & redressing himself, he carefully folds his towel and tucks it into the middle of your stack of clean towels. He bites his lip at the thought of you using the same towel that dried him.
Once he leaves the bathroom, heâs ready to poke through the rest of your things. He starts with the three sliding drawers that support the right side of your desk.
Pens, highlighters, chargers, scissors, tape.
A notebook?
He prays itâs a diary, a glimpse into your internal dialogue. He runs a finger down the thin metal coil of the spiral edge before flipping the cover.
Heâs enamored with your handwriting, unique and flawed in its own wonderful way. It crafts inked scribblings documenting your time in training. Meticulously written notes on the processes of your position. He skims through the pages, filled to the brim with dry information.
Youâre brilliant, liebe. The amount of knowledge that it takes to fill your shoes speaks to how intelligent you are.
He stops on a page with doodles in the corner, touching the hint of you peeking through dull instructional pages.
When heâs satisfied he plops the notebook back into its drawer and continues his search.
Batteries, a flashlight, a spool of thread.
A book.
He stops to read its spine, running his fingers over the raised title on the cover.
A romance novel?
A dark romance novel.
His heart skips a beat as he flips the book over and reads the summary.
Youâre just as filthy and deviant as him, arenât you liebe?
This is what you wanted, isnât it?
You want him to follow you, to control you, to dominate you. You want him, donât you?
He settles onto your bed, back flush with the covers as he nestles into your pillow. He peels the cover back, swiping through the introductory pages with his thumb, eyes attentively soaking in the words of the first chapter.
Heâs determined to figure out your ideal man, your perfect idea of romance. This is his guide, heâs sure. Exactly how he should treat you to earn your affection.
The first chapter lulls him, losing interest during the wholesome exposition.
He sets the open book on his chest, arm propping behind his head as he memorizes your room. He closes his eyes, absentmindedly stroking your cozy blankets. Giving a pleased hum as he nuzzles his head further into your pillow.
He wonders what it would be like to fall asleep next to you. To have you nestled into the crook of his arm, cheek pressed to his chest, arm draped over his torso. Flat on your back, his head on your chest as he listens to your heartbeat and soft snoring. Curled on your side, your ass pressed into his cock in a spoon, letting him grind into you as you drift off.
Itâs the rattling of your lock that wakes him, his eyes snapping open in a panic and finding your window, sun no longer shining through the gaps in your blinds. He can hear your muffled voice through the door, belongings brushing against the wood as you struggle with your keys. He canât believe heâs let the time slip through his fingers.
Itâs your fault.
He hasnât gotten a full night's rest in weeks.
Itâs an intense scramble to clean up after himself, hands fumbling for your displaced book, vibrator, and soiled panties. He stumbles over his feet in a last ditch attempt to have you avoid spotting him, hoping the sound of your wardrobe door sliding closed is quiet enough to be concealed by the sound of your entrance.
Heâs dead-still in his cramped position, terrified heâll rattle the hangers that held your day clothes surrounding him. You flick on the lamp, a line of light casts a vertical strip on his face, pupil dilating as he peers through the gap in the closetâs doors. His heart is pounding in his chest, loud enough that heâs sure you can hear it.
He has never been this close to you before.
âLook, I know Iâm usually chill about shit like this but that was not cool, dude.â Youâre talking into your phone, pinched between your raised shoulder and cheek. âYou canât just bail like that without saying anything, my clothes were at your place.â
You take a deep breath, setting your wallet and keys down before kicking off your uncomfortable shoes. Konigâs leering gaze finds your ass as you bend over, one hand gripping the wood of the dresser to steady yourself. You do look good in that dress, liebe. Plump full thighs on display for him, skin tight cut teasing every inviting curve.
Your voice is softened when you speak again, âIâm worried about you, okay? I didnât like that guyâs vibe. Just, let me know youâreâŠâ
You trail off as you turn around, freezing in your place.
Your attention was caught by the soft blue dress with the intricate azure and yellow flowers, displayed on a hanger Konig had hung on your bedpost.
His gentle nudge.
Shit.
You freeze for a suffocating four seconds, face stone cold as you process the sight. Konig can see your gears turning, his face pinched in hot regret.
ââŠokay. Call me back.â You whisper, tone no longer strict with annoyance.
You quickly end your call before blindly placing your phone on the dresser behind you, stare locked on to the dress.
âDid IâŠ?â You mumble under your breath, slowly stepping forward and reaching a careful hand out to touch the dress. Your brows furrowed, features drenched in confusion.
You look over your shoulder, and Konig swallows hard. This is it, youâre going to search for the intruder and find him. Heâs in for a world of trouble- and thatâs only if you donât kill him first.
Your head turns back to the dress, now holding it with two hands, hem lifting off the floor.
Put it on, liebe.
The fabric slides through your finger as you let it fall into place, returning to your phone and swiping at its screen.
You raise the phone to your ear again, free hand rubbing your fingers together in a fidget. You sway in your spot, eyes darting nervously around the room while waiting through a painfully long set of rings.
âHey - uh, Lieutenant.â You nervously clear your throat, âSorry to bother you on the weekend- something kind of weird happened and I uh- I just have a question for you.â You let out a small nervous laugh, âSorry. Bye.â
You quickly hang up, cheeks flushed as you press the side of your phone to your forehead in a clenched fist. Cringing at yourself for your awkward voicemail with a curse under your breath.
Why is Ghost always the first person you call at the first sign of trouble?
Konig is supposed to be the one who protects you, who keeps you safe.
He has to force his jaw open to keep his teeth from grinding.
Youâre fucking him, arenât you?
Itâs all making sense now. Of course Konig hasnât been able to catch you two in the act, the only way youâd be able to get away with it is by keeping it a secret. If anyone found out about your affair youâd both be discharged. Sneaking around and being intimate when no oneâs watching, getting off on the forbidden love of a subordinate and a superior.
Konig can fulfill that fantasy too, yâknow.
Konig can see your mind racing from your cramped wardrobe, pacing in your spot while you fidget with your nails. There is just enough doubt on your features, just enough doubt that he thinks he might get away with it. Gaslight you into thinking maybe you did buy the dress. Maybe you made a trip back home in between the mall and the subway. Maybe âbad vibe guyâ spiked your drink and made you lose a chunk of your evening.
As soon as Konigâs thighs start to burn from the contorted half-squat heâs in to fit in your wardrobe, thereâs a knock on the door. You take a sharp breath, head harshly turning towards the sound. You freeze again, lips parted and eyes squinted in unease.
Another rap at the door, followed by your name spoken in a familiar voice. âYou in?â
Ghost.
Got your message and came running to your rescue. Tricking you into accepting him as your knight in shining armor.
His face twitches at the way your shoulders relax when you hear his voice, holding back a smile as you rush to open the door.
âLieutenant.â
Untelling eyes look you up and down, and you follow his gaze to your outfit, almost surprised that you are still wearing that filthy dress youâve been parading yourself in.
Thatâs why you bought it, isnât it? You picked it out to show your curves off to him, the professor to your little schoolgirl crush.
âOh, fuck. Sorry Lieutenant. I-âYou let out a nervous laugh as you look over his unreadable face. âI didnât know you were going to, um, stop by.â
Liar.
âNice dress.â He says, impossible to tell if heâs being genuine or making fun of you. Konigâs not sure which he prefers, but his jaw shakes at the very sound of his voice.
âI just got back from a night out.â You explain, words pouring quickly in a desperate attempt to save character.
âI can tell.â He says, flat and gravely. He gives you grace by changing the subject, eyes peering over you and scanning your room, âGot your message.â
âOh, yeah. No, itâs uh, itâs probably fine. Sorry to put you out.â
âIt was quite the journey from across the hall.â
Your voice raises an octave when you try to sound forced casual, âYou didnât go in my room, did you? Itâs just, youâre the only one with a key.â
The thought of Ghost having a key to your place makes him sick to his stomach. Heâs probably already been here, already dug through your things to get his filthy hands all over your belongings.
He could sneak into your room at any moment, liebe. Inviting him to break in and take advantage of you.
An eyebrow raises, the extent of his expression, âNo.â
Your fingers rub together again, âAre the guys- are they hazing me or something? I mean, itâs fine if they are. I get it, new guy and all- but I just need to know before I lose my mind.â
âWhatâs going on?â He asks, cutting straight to the chase when he hears the distress creeping in on your rambled words.
You clear your throat, looking over your shoulder, âThat dress.â You say, looking to it and trailing off.
âPretty.â He says, not straying from his uninterested tone.
Konigâs face twitches when Ghost compliments the dress.
Itâs not for him.
âYes- it is.â
âHaving a fashion show?â
âNo,â You give another timid laugh before your nerves make your face slink. âI didnât buy it?â You finish on a high, unsure note, âThe dress wasnât here when I left, right? And then I come home - and hereâs the dress.â
âAn unusual form of hazing.â
âNo, no- thatâs not the weirdest part.â You point to it again, âI went shopping today, and that dress - I saw the dress, I stopped to look at it. That exact dress. I didnât buy it, at least- I think I didnât buy it.â You clench a hand into a fist, âIâm sure I didnât buy it. I just got home and there it was.â
Ghost doesnât speak, just looks down his nose at you.
Your hand flops dramatically to your side, head turning away, âYou think Iâm crazy.â
He says the first thing all night you can tell he means.
âI believe you.â
Your eyes perk up, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The same way you had looked to Konig in his dream. The same spark of appreciation that Konig was entitled to.
And youâre giving it to Simon fucking Riley for doing the bare minimum.
Konigâs the one who got you the dress, liebe.
Ghost doesnât give you gifts, Ghost doesnât love you like Konig does.
He shifts in your doorway, arms crossing and head slightly tilted to the side. âYou think someone broke into your quarters?â
âI⊠guess? Iâm more worried that I am losing it. That I did buy it and I just, I just forgot.â
He takes a moment to analyze you, skimming over your nightclub attire before finding your face again, âYou drinking?â
You hold a hand out, almost like youâre physically stopping his train of thought, âI know what youâre thinking, I only had two. Iâm a lightweight, but, câmon. Not enough to forget.â
He doesnât say anything, making his silent judgments through half-lidded eyes.
Your tightly pressed fingers raise to touch your lip.
âOh, Iâm losing it, arenât I?â You say with a whine, hand falling dejectedly to your side.
âYouâre not losing it, soldier.â
âIâm losing it.â
âNo. Listen to me.â He uncrosses his arms to hold a finger in your direction, âYouâre not losing it.â
Konig canât believe heâs talking to you like this. Stern, strict, and commanding you like Konig should be doing. Squashing the doubt that would safeguard his plan.
âThe boys are probably just fucking with you. Iâll talk to them, yeah?â
You nod, slow at first but then more assuredly, âYes, yeah.â You close your eyes, words relaxing with a sigh, âYouâre right. Sorry, again, for bothering you.â
âNo bother.â His head tilts again, âYou alright?â
âAll-left, apparently.â
âDo you want me to stay?â
âI donât want to take your time. Iâm okay.â
âI donât mind.â
Donât give in, liebe. Heâs just looking for an excuse to leer at you in that dress. To come into your sacred room, to get a look at your precious things.
Your eyes flick to the floor before back to him, âAh, okay. Sure.â
âI didnât interrupt anything, did I?â You ask when you turn away from him, giving him space to come in.
Youâre always so thoughtful. Ghost doesnât deserve you.
âNo.â Ghost steps in while carefully eyeing your room. He inspects your window, nonchalantly checking over the locks before tugging at it to make sure itâs secured.
âNo fun Saturday night plans, Lieutenant?â You asked with a cheeky smile, smoothing out your blanket to sit on your bed, feet dangling off the side.
âNot as fun as yours.â He says, eyes falling on your dress and lingering there a little too long for Konigâs liking. Ghost straightens out, leaning against your dresser to face you.
âSorry,â you say sheepishly, adjusting the sleeve of your shoulder, âA friend dragged me on a night out.â You move to stand, moving towards the dresser Ghost blocked, âNot my usual getup. Iâll change.â
âDonât feel obligated on my account.â He says dryly.
He doesnât have your modesty in mind, liebe. Looking at you like youâre a piece of meat. He just wants you on display for him, a trophy.
You look at him, briefly attempting to decipher an underlying meaning of his statement. You glance to the guarded drawers before backing up to your spot on the bed. You tug the bottom of your dress down, eyes fixed on the ceiling as a stiff silence falls over you three.
âMy friend, uh, set me up on a blind date.â You say after a clear of your throat, desperate to rid the awkward pause. You give him a small laugh, âIt was terrible.â
âThat so?â
You kick your foot, smiling at the ground, âYeah, a friend of this guy sheâs really into. All he talked about was basketball, and he didnât ask me a single question about myself. I donât think he even knew what my name was.â You roll your eyes, âAnd a bit too touchy-feely if you ask me.â
Konigâs sorry, liebe. That he wasnât there to protect you. The thought of you being all alone on a terrible date makes him sick to his stomach. Heâs sorry heâs allowed this to happen. He gave you too much slack on your leash, he should have kept you reined in.
âMust be difficult to gauge a womanâs comfort level when NC State is doing so poorly this season.â
You snort, happy to lighten the tension, âTheyâre actually doing pretty well. 4-1, apparently.â You say with a roll of your eyes.
Ghost gives an amused scoff, the closest thing to a laugh youâve ever gotten from him. It catches your attention, and to his dismay Konig watches you purse your lips to hide a pleased smile.
Kick him out already.
âMy friend ditched me, so I had to sit through all of the strategies the Celtics should have implemented last year, and she never even came back.â
âMm, abandoned the buddy system. No good.â
âNo good! Thank you. I had to walk home in stupid shoes I borrowed that donât fit.â
âNow thatâs just torture. Maybe we should start implementing that in boot camp.â
You deliver the laugh drenched in sarcasm, âHah hah.â
âNext time, call me. Weâll do a full EVAC.â
That was Konigâs job.
You roll your eyes again, âI can handle myself.â
He gives a shrug and a shake of his head, âDonât count out the buddy system.â
You pull your legs up on the bed next to you, thighs pressed together and bent almost underneath you. You look like youâre on a fucking casting couch, peering up at Ghost through thick eyelashes with those doe eyes, just begging for him to pin you down and expose what little of you was hidden under that dress.
âYou really donât have to stay.â
His eyes find the blue dress, still hanging on the bedpost, before he looks back to you, âIâll leave if you want me to.â
The faintest blush spreads on your face, hesitating in your response.
âSmoke?â He asks after a few seconds, much to your relief.
âGod, yes. Let me change quick.â You commit to shooing him from your dresser this time, pulling out the first shirt on top. The shirt Konig had touched to his cheek hours before, the unknowing and indirect touch filling him with a satisfying thrill. You grab a pair of sweatpants and disappear into the bathroom, leaving Konig to keep a close watch on Ghost through the crack in his wardrobe.
He starts eyeing your possessions, unworthy eyes befouling your priceless things.
Konig has to close his eyes to rid the sight. Stifling the urge to reveal himself and snap Ghostâs spine over his knee. He hates him, hates how heâs always coercing you from Konigâs safety, sneaking you away for the chance to get his hands on you. Heâs never loathed someone more.
Youâre just an empty-headed bimbo who bats her eyes and whores herself out for any man who pays attention to you. Youâre too stupid to realize just how slimy he is.
Konig opens his eyes with the scrape of your bathroom door, watching Ghost follow you out to the hall.
Konig sighs a long breath once youâre both out of sight, he doesnât know how long heâs been holding it. His fingers grip your things like he's trying to destroy them.
Fucking Ghost.
At least you changed out of that dress. The way Ghostâs attention drew to your chest and legs at every opportunity left him tensed in a seething rage.
Konig finally moves, taking his chance to stuff your cum-soaked panties and vibrator into his waistband, flexing the fingers that cramped up from his awkwardly clasped hands. He sets the book at his feet, popping his knuckles and stretching his legs while he considers the choice he has to make.
Does he sneak out now? You hadnât suspected the wardrobe, now that youâve changed you shouldnât be digging in your closet until morning. Heâs sure heâs sufficiently camouflaged, but thereâs still the risk youâll find him. This is his window to escape without consequence. Heâd be able to supervise your smoke break, but he wouldnât be able to sneak back in to watch the rest of your evening.
Itâs the thought that Ghost might follow you back into your room, that he might try to take advantage of you in your vulnerable state, that keeps him in his spot.
Dread pools in his stomach when heâs away from you, knowing youâre under a predatorâs stare. Heâs probably got his hands all over you right now. Heâs seen your thighs that beg for touch, your tits popping out of that dress that invites groping, a waist asking for a strong grip. Flirting desperately and using that charm that comes naturally to invite him to take you.
Heâs stealing the attention Konig was owed. Basking in your light and adoration while he has to hide in the shade, longing for your soft warmth instead of this heat of irritability that boils under his skin. He pushes your day clothes from him in frustration, face twitching as he sifts through all of the worst case scenarios.
It takes you too long to return, Konigâs blackhole of obsessive thoughts intensifying with each minute youâre tangled in Ghostâs web.
âI hope not.â You say as you return, the smell of smoked tobacco clouding the room and singeing Konigâs nose.
âHere.â
Konigâs face pulls when Ghost takes the dress from you, manhandling and wrinkling the delicate fabric. Itâs nauseating to watch him lay hands on Konigâs gift.
Youâre supposed to wear his dress, liebe. Burn that slutty black dress, and accept the guidance you need. Give him even the slightest bit of control from you.
The rejection stings, turning him weak in the knees as the blood drains from his face. It tears his chest wide open watching you give his gift away like it was nothing. His face burns with humiliation, the prick of betrayal drying the back of his throat.
This is what he gets for going out of his way for you? For giving you a token of his affection? For the love and care heâs poured into you?
Fuck you.
You donât get to make him feel this way. You donât get to run from him when he knows whatâs best for you.
âYou want this back when Iâm done?â
âUhm,â You stare at it for a moment, the corner of your lip perking up ever so slightly, âSure, yeah. Itâs uh, it really is pretty.â
Konig swallows, eyebrows pinching and elated grin immediately plastered on his face.
You do like it?
Oh, liebe. Heâs sorry he doubted you.
You do want him.
You can be a good girl for him, accept Konigâs redirection. You want to wear his dress for him, you want Konig to own you and teach you how to behave.
He canât wait to see you in it.
âWill do.â
âThanks for uh, yâknow.â
âDonât mention it.â
âNight Lt.â
âGoodnight.â
When the door snaps shut behind you, Ghost sent packing, and Konigâs grin spreads.
You crawl into your bed, the same bed Konig had defiled hours earlier.
For thirty minutes you scroll on your phone, but Konig is happy just to watch your facial expressions as you react to the things on your screen. You watch silly videos, occasionally giggling at the content.
This part is just for him.
It sounds so wonderful to hear your laugh, liebe. He imagines itâs him making you giggle, a blush and coy smile as a result of a joke he made.
This is his favorite part of the day, when you settle in and he can watch you be your genuine self. Itâs comforting to be with you while you unwind, he knows this is what it will be like once he has you, how youâd spend the evenings once youâre together.
And he gets to have his good girl all to himself.
The shower is the hardest part.
In addition to praying the evidence of his shower has fully drained, he knows youâre just a few feet away, completely naked and soaking wet. His cock twitches at the thought, still sensitive from his orgasm.
Youâre doing this on purpose, arenât you?
Teasing him like this.
He wants to follow you into the shower, see if he can peek at you from over the shower curtain. Offer to scrub you down, groping you like youâve been asking for. Fuck you, how you deserve to be fucked.
His brow quirks when he spots your phone resting on the nightstand, charging after a long day out.
He waits until the sounds of the water hitting the ceramic loses rhythm, droplets now flowing down your body instead of raining on the tub.
Heâs got time.
He takes a deep inhale before working open the wardrobe doors as stealthily as he can, cursing the creak of the wood under his shifting weight.
Mindful footsteps get him to your nightstand, shaking hands picking up your phone. With a push of your lock button the screen is illuminated, and his breath catches. He canât believe youâve left your secrets unattended for anyone to steal. How careless of you.
Your background is adorable, he canât help but smile at the glimpse into an expression of your personality.
He swipes at the screen and his smile falls flat at the demand for a passcode.
Why do you always have to make things so difficult for him?
He huffs in frustration before he locks your device, using the dark screen and light from the lamp to search for fingerprints.
Thereâs a bunch towards the bottom, evidence of your fingers typing precious messages to your loved ones.
He needed those messages.
Konig thinks he can tell which smudges are your passcode. Heâs got 6 possible numbers for a 4-digit code, and no way to tell which order.
He curses under his breath. Heâs looking for a pattern. A birthday, a year, a sequence.
Heâs got nothing.
You couldnât have made it 1234?
He returns your phone to its spot. Heâll figure out your passcode, liebe. Heâll wait until heâs close enough to watch you enter it, get his fingers on it when youâre inevitably acting careless.
You donât get to hide things from him anymore, liebe.
Heâs earned it. Youâve lost the privilege of privacy.
This is a new level of immoral behavior, and now that heâs this close - he refuses to distance himself from you.
A rush so thrilling he canât ignore it, a newly conquered high heâs never dared to risk, without the willpower to walk away from it.
Itâs too late for you, liebe. Heâs bleeding into you now, his sickness spreading into your life and infecting you like ink on cloth.
him capturing you and bringing you to some sterile, dark holding room, waiting for his partner as he watches you squirm in your handcuffs, kneeling at his heavy boots. heâs more than a little shocked to see such a small, innocent looking thing be the face of the law enforcementâs current most wanted. criminals come in all shapes and sizes, but heâd be lying if he said they were usually as pretty as youâŠ
all of your attempts at conversation are met with heavy silence. you shift uncomfortably on your achey knees, a bratty sort of pout on your face as you watch the giant, masked man stare you silently, dark eyes bored and unwavering. the movement seems to trigger a reflex in him, the cold metal tip of his rifle pressing firmly to your forehead. much to his misfortune, you see the way his eyes darken when you lean into it, bold and daring.
he canât help himself, curious to see how far he can take it. his hand seems to grow a mind of its own, trailing the large gun slowly down to your awaiting mouth. a low groan escapes his throat as you suck the tip between your plump lips and you smile, having finally gotten a reaction out of him. he wonders if you can tell how long itâs been since heâs experienced something as erotic as this, and you wonder if he can tell how fast your heart is racing in your chest, racking your brain with all the probable ways you could make your escape. the feeling of having your life completely in the hands of this scary, faceless person has adrenaline thrumming in your veins, and, embarrassingly, heat gathering between your thighs.
just as heâs using the gun to push down the low neckline of your shirt to expose more of your cleavage, the door bursts open and in walks his equally as menacing looking partner, who pauses at the compromising position youâre in, eyes widening underneath his skull mask.
the part where Konig jacks off in the readers bed was so hot I think I went blind for an hour after reading it *-* you really do write the best smut <3
đ„č thank you so much liebe <3đđâšđđ
that second chapter was so insanely good Jesus CHRIST
I need this terrible man to be rewarded for his terrible behavior immediately â„ïžâ„ïžâ„ïž
hi liebe đ„č
i literally went to your blog to send you an ask to thank you for the nice comments in your tags but i couldnât send one from this blog bc itâs not my main đ
obsessive konig is such a blast to write im so happy you liked it!! iâm used to writing from the reader perspective so writing from Konigâs unhinged, obsessed, and angry perspective was really fun to explore.
Summary: It makes him sick to think of the man he used to be. Who he was before you reduced him to an obsessive, jealous monster.
You ruined his life.
Word Count: 10k AO3
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, No use of y/n, AFAB & Feminine Reader, Unreliable Narrator, Non-Consenual Voyeurism, Stalking, Breaking and Entering, Abusive Relationships, Depictions of: Non-Con Sex, Choking, Hair-Pulling, Spanking, Slut-Shaming, Bad German, Orgasm Torture, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Smoking, Konig has a Love/Hate Relationship with Reader, Implications of Ghost x Reader, hopefully the reader isnât too out of character for yâall, unfortunately this one had to be more detail oriented, you will be making an uncharacteristic amount of phone calls iâll tell you that much
Continuation of this, but can be enjoyed stand-alone
He dreamt of you last night.
You were ethereal, liebe. A true angel - floating down to him in his dark isolation, basking him in your elegant golden light. He finally had your attention. The pleasure of having your gaze fixed on him, nothing but adoration in your sparkling eyes. Your hand extended gracefully out to him, delicate fingers cupping the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek. A gesture of appreciation for the hours he poured into you, an acceptance of his protection. An apology, for denying him the ownership that he had earned over and over again.
An ownership he was overdue for.
A chill wrapped its fingers around Konigâs spine, unforgiving frost spreading from his core to his fingertips. Your expression had changed without transition, eyes suddenly pooled with malice, lips tightened in disgust. A growl thick with hatred reverberated through him when the thrust of your arm plunged a sword through his heart.
Frantic callused hands scramble to the wound, relieved to find only a shirt drenched in sweat as Konig shook the haze of sleep. Relieved to know you hadnât seen him for what he really was, that you hadnât rejected him so cruelly.
He was beginning to resent you for the sleep deprivation. He knew you were going to let him sleep in today. Every Saturday, after a long week of watching over you, you thank him with an opportunity to sleep in.
You ruined it.
Taunting him in his dreams - fooling him even after everything heâs sacrificed, letting him taste a moment where his fantasy comes true, only to rip it away from him so brutally.
Konig soothed himself by lying back, easing himself into the first half of his dream. He replayed the vivid image of you stroking his cheek, looking at him in astonishment after learning about everything heâs done for you.
Maybe he could forgive you for tearing open his chest. For letting him feel true bliss, even for a moment. To let him know what it would feel like to have you.
Itâs the least you could do.
Konig doesnât even recognize himself anymore. Heâs entirely off the rails, fully succumb to his depraved behavior, helpless to the urges youâve scraped to the surface. It makes him sick to think of the man he used to be. Who he was before you reduced him to an obsessive, jealous monster.
You ruined his life.
His passions, his dreams, his reputation - it all pales in comparison to you. Nothing he cared about before matters now. He feels like an addict, powerless to his addiction and chasing the high. He revolves around you, the center of his universe. Heâs sure youâre the reason heâs alive. You consume every waking moment of his day, and now his dreams.
And you canât even be bothered to look at him.
Ungrateful little brat.
You had a late start to the day, making Konig wait for you to sleep off last nightâs drinks. It was well into the afternoon when you left your quarters, wearing your civilian clothes and attention glued to your phone as you navigated the paths of the base.
It was a breath of fresh air to see your face again. Heâd been drowning, choking on his pitiful existence when you were apart. Dread eats him alive from the inside out, a swarm of maggots and flies deteriorating the meat of his flesh and organs. He doesnât know how much longer he can stand without being with you every moment of the day.
But here you are, his light, his warmth. He can feel you coursing through his veins - another hit of the drug he couldnât get enough of.
You looked perfect in your jeans and t-shirt. Itâs nice to see you out of the drab and ill-fitting clothes the military forces on you. The denim hugs the curve of your ass and meld tight to perfect hips and thighs. He thinks of the show you gave him last night, the way your ass looked in the thin fabric of your panties. He knows whatâs underneath those jeans. You can hide it from the rest of the world, but not from him.
Youâre not paying attention, liebe. Fingers pecking away at your phone, only glancing up to make sure you didnât bump into anyone.
Itâs dangerous to be alone like this, even more so to be unaware of your surroundings.
You always do this.
How could you be so careless?
This is why he has to sacrifice everything to protect you. To keep prying eyes and itchy fingers away from you while your guard is down.
Your brows pinch as you focus on your phone, lips silently reading the text that fills your screen.
Who is so important that you must risk your safety to return their message?
He wants to sprint up to you, close enough that he can look over your shoulder to read your messages. It takes strength for him to restrain himself, to wait until youâre far enough away before standing from his bench, his boots following in your wake.
Konigâs longed to get his hands on your phone for some time. He knows that phone contains secrets about you he could only dare to dream about. Itâs the key to knowing your inner desires, to put him in the position to serve you as best he can. Your intimate messages, browser history, photos.
He wonders if you have nudes on your phone. The very thought sends his blood rushing.
Swiping through your dirty pictures, a collection of obscene poses from his muse. One of you arching your back and pushing your tits out for the camera. Another with you sticking out your tongue, begging to taste him and ready to choke on his cock. On your back, thighs spread, displaying a wet cunt ripe for tasting. On your knees, ass up and waiting impatiently for him to pound you ruthlessly from behind.
His fantasy is tainted by the sharp and scorching realization that if you did have nudes on your phone - youâve sent them to someone. The thought of another man daring to lay his unworthy eyes on you has his eye twitching, a searing heat already peeling his skin.
Why would you give yourself away, like youâre worth nothing?
He forces a deep breath, redirecting his focus to his pace, strides nearly double the length of yours. He hates having to follow you from so far away. He wants to walk beside you. Towering next to you - he wants everyone to know who you belong to, the mountain they would have to conquer if they wanted to get to you.
He didnât take his eyes off you the entire journey to your destination, delightfully surprised when you step into the mall. He was worried that you were foolish enough to go somewhere unsavory all by yourself. Itâs even better that you were going somewhere with plenty of people around, enough for him to blend in the crowd. Such a wide-open building, perfect for him to keep a watchful eye on you even from a distance.
Maybe today youâll make it easy for him.
Heâs getting tired of you being difficult.
When you duck into a clothing store, Konig canât help the smile that creeps on his face.
Going to pick out new clothes to model for him?
Oh, you really were being a good girl today.
Heâs eager to see what you buy, heart rate accelerating as he imagines the possibilities. Heâs already dressing you up in his mind like his little doll.
He settles at a table in the food court with a perfect view. You seemed to be in a rush - not wasting time as you scrape hangers across the metal clothing racks. Eyebrows pinched in concentration, jaw slightly cocked as you pressed your tongue to your teeth. You look cute when youâre focused.
Konigâs brow perks when you stop in your tracks, attention caught by a dress on the end display. Your face relaxes when you lay eyes on it, delicate hands running over its fabric. It was beautiful - a soft pastel blue, intricate azure and yellow flowers blooming on its pattern, a thin white lace stitched along the neckline. It was a dress fit for a princess, fit for his wife. He dives headfirst into a daydream about you wearing it once heâs domesticated you, hem dancing when you greet him with a kiss after a long day. His hands would find your waist when you stand on tippy toes to give him his welcome home kiss.
You flip the price tag before moving on, and his smile falls flat.
Thatâs the one. Thatâs the dress youâre meant to wear.
You like it, donât you?
You stop every so often to check the time on your phone, pulling a face when you do so. Running late to something, heâs sure. Where are you supposed to be? And whatâs so important that you needed a new outfit?
He watches you pull a hanger free, a black dress you hold up high enough to obscure his view of you.
No, liebe.
Donât even think about it.
He can tell from his spot across the walkways that itâs too revealing. It would cut short at your mid-thigh, neckline thatâs designed to show off your cleavage. Skin tight and would leave nothing to the imagination.
The kind of dress that would attract the attention of the wrong people.
Of course you would do this.
Dressing yourself like the slut you are.
A scowl smears across his face as he watches you walk up to the cashier.
So you were going to be difficult today.
Just when he thinks youâre finally cutting him some slack, you go out of your way to misbehave.
Youâre quick to leave, whorish dress packed away in a white plastic bag and resting on the crease of your arm. Your hands find your phone again, a slight wince at something on your screen.
Heâs too disappointed with your clear lack of judgment to think about whatâs on your phone thatâs stealing your attention.
He has to close his eyes, a few deep breaths to calm himself before he loses control, before he gives in and teaches you a lesson that you so desperately need.
His fists stay tight at his sides, knuckles splotched white on tight fists as he follows you out of the mall in haste.
With a hitch of his breath the rage carried on tensed shoulders lifts.
Itâs the sun shining on your hair that grounds him this time. Locks shimmering, revealing their true color to him as the breeze makes your soft tufts dance. Your skin glows in the sunâs warmth - it takes him right back to the euphoria of his dream. Your light, liebe - he can see it.
Your pace slows when you reach behind you, pulling your phone from the sheath of your jean pocket. He canât see your face, but he watches from behind as you bring it to your ear.
He seized his opportunity to close ground, enough that he can hear your side of the conversation. He normally wouldnât get so close to you, but you seem to be extra distracted today, and Konig is too curious to miss out on your phone call.
âI know! I know, Iâm sorry. Iâm almost at the subway. Iâll be there in 20.â
Hearing your voice makes his heart skip a beat. He missed that beautiful voice, silky smooth and goes down like honey.
Especially when you sound so apologetic.
Is this what itâll be like when you finally own up to the grief youâve put him through?
Thereâs a pause before you speak again, a small laugh escaping you.
âHe can wait.â
He?
Konigâs thoughts race before you had even finished your sentence, his moment of enamor shattering like rose-colored glasses.
Whoâs he?
Is âheâ who you picked out that promiscuous dress of yours for?
Anyone who would be okay with that dress doesnât have your best interests in mind, liebe. Konig knows whatâs best for you, and itâs getting harder to watch from the sidelines as you make mistakes time and time again. Heâs ready to interfere, to take control away from you, since youâre clearly not responsible enough to do it yourself. Someone needs to put their foot down. Youâre begging for him to step in, to discipline you until you can demonstrate youâre capable of behaving.
âUh,â You trail off in a hum before you respond, âI donât know about that. You didnât say anything, did you?â
âI donât know.â You say with a whine, âThis is already a lot for me. I donât⊠this really isnât my thing.â
âNo!â You squeak out, followed by a forced casual, âNo.â Youâre suddenly flustered, stopping in your tracks when a nervous laugh escapes you. You make a quarter turn and Konig flinches when he sees your face, searching around for a quick escape.
âJust because I talk about him a lot doesnât mean I like him.â
Konigâs eye twitches at âhim.â Who are you talking about so often that youâre being accused of crushing on someone?
Maybe you were talking about Konig.
He doubts it, but the idea dulls the edge of the blade youâre slicing him with.
âBecauseâŠâ You huff, bailing on a sentence you started without thinking through, âOkay, fine. Iâll try. For you.â
What mess were you getting yourself into, liebe? He doesnât like the sound of this at all.
âOkay, okay. Iâm at the station now. See you soon.â Your phone slips back into your pocket.
Going on the subway all by yourself. Look at you, inviting danger in.
Heâs locked onto your ass as you make the descent into the underground, hips swaying with each step down the concrete stairs.
If you look this distracting in jeans, what attention do you think youâll attract in that fucking dress?
You reach for your wallet once youâre down the stairs, the pad of your finger freeing your subway card from its slot.
Shit.
He doesnât have a subway card.
His gaze flicks to the kiosks before back to you, already swiping your card and pushing through the turnstiles. He scans the crowd before he lands on a pair of cops monitoring the station, ruining his chance to jump the stiles.
He almost drops his wallet as he fumbles for cash, rushing to the kiosk to pay.
Heâs pleading under his breath for the machine to process faster. Heâs convinced the kiosk could sense his fear, uncooperative to the forceful press of its buttons. Panicked glances over his shoulder reveal you progressing through the station until youâre around the corner and out of sight.
Heâs lost track of you by the time he secures his card. The crowd parts for him, his intimidating stature coming in handy as he makes laps around the station before he realizes youâre gone, with no way for him to know where you are headed. A blackhole of dread swallows him whole - sweat escapes the flustered heat that blistered his skin, heart pounding against his ribcage. His hand finds his head, quiet but rigid expletives riding his exhales.
Why do you have to make things so hard for him?
Heâs failed you. Heâs sorry, liebe. Heâs supposed to be your guard. Anything that happens to you tonight will be his fault. He suspects youâre really going to be acting out tonight, going somewhere out of your comfort zone with other men, dressed like a prostitute. Your light on display for anyone to dim.
White hot flashes of grabbing hands, lingering eyes, and cheap compliments invade his thoughts, stomach tightening and threatening to retch.
This is your fault.
Youâre just a foolish little girl who doesnât know whatâs good for her. Youâve pushed him to his limit, he canât let this go on anymore.
If you wonât behave, heâll just have to show you how a good girl acts.
It takes him too long to realize heâs holding his breath, fist clenched and teeth grit as his rage burns him from the inside out. His eyes pinch shut as he tries to recenter himself, forcing deep breaths through his tightened jaw.
Nothing too extreme.
A gentle nudge.
A push to test the waters, to see if you can handle the expectations that go along with being his. To give you an opportunity to change your indecent behavior before he puts you in your place the hard way.
Konigâs taken the lives of countless men, a ruthless brute in the heat of the battlefield. Heâs been in thousands of life or death circumstances, finding himself on the other end of blades and triggers on a near daily basis. He thrives in danger.
Itâs nothing in comparison to the adrenaline coasting through his veins as he picks the lock to your quarters.
He can hear his heartbeat, the rush of his blood deafening him as he crouches in front of your door, head snapping side to side to ensure the coast remains clear. Heâs nauseous with excitement, stomach churning and sweat soaking his clothes.
Thereâs a part of him, a sliver thin remnant of the respectable man he used to be, that manifests as a weight of guilt in his stomach. He knows what heâs doing is wrong, that he was so far beyond the line he couldnât even see it anymore. This was a new magnitude of violating your privacy.
He knows that if he got caught, heâd be discharged faster than he could explain himself. Heâd lose you, his warmth.
You left him no choice.
If you didnât want this to happen, you shouldnât have run from him. Youâve given him the perfect opportunity. Heâs got more than enough time to get his fix, and itâs the only substitute heâll accept for missing an evening without his eyes you.
When the lock finally pops, hands fumbling for the knob, he miscalculates his strength and sends himself tripping into your room. Quickly but quietly shutting the door behind him, clicking your lock back into place before standing straight, hands falling to his side.
The rush of standing in your room crashes over him like a wave, dizzy and disoriented as he takes you in.
He canât believe heâs here.
In your room.
It doesnât feel real, an out-of-body experience. A dream. His dream.
He doesnât dare move for a full minute, breathing heavily as he fidgeted in his spot.
When he finally works up the courage to move, he inches himself towards your captivating things. A gloved finger grazes across your dresser as he inspects the belongings scattered on its surface.
He picks up a perfume, carefully uncapping it and bringing it up to his nose. With a deep inhale, his eyes flutter shut as he takes the scent of you in.
Immediate warmth pools in the pit of his stomach, already straining against the give in his pants. He spritzes into the air, the sun shining through the slats in your blinds catching on the cloud of mist. Heâs hoping your scent will linger with him during his stay. He snaps the cap on with a satisfying pop and ensures he places it down exactly where he found it, cautious to leave little indication of his visit.
A shimmer catches his attention, eyes drawn to a dainty necklace. Two fingers lift it in the air, letting its reflection sparkle while he inspects the metal. He wants to put it in his pocket, a little trinket of his visit. Something to remind him that it wasnât a dream. A piece of you to bring him comfort whenever heâs away from you. A good luck charm.
He resists the urge, placing it back on the dresser in a pile of intricate looped chains.
Your hairbrush is next, shaky fingers wrapping around the handle. His thumb skims over the bristles, watching them through half-lidded eyes as they rhythmically spring back into place. He inspects the glossy stray strands left behind in a tangled mess, imagining you gliding the brush through your gorgeous hair, your fingers following in its wake as you hum a soft tune.
Heâs setting all your things down carefully, not only because he doesnât want to leave evidence behind, but because he knows the worth of your priceless treasures.
He leans down, giving him a closer view of a polaroid taped to the edge of your mirror. You and a friend, eyes crinkled with big cheesy smiles plastered on your faces, arms wrapped around each other in a close embrace. Konig finds himself smiling at the photo, touching the border with the pad of his finger. He wishes that was him next to you, him you were embracing tightly, him you were happy just to sit next to each other on a night out.
He steadily slides a dresser drawer out, mindful to the sound of wood scraping against itself. Inside he finds your pajamas. He pulls his gloves off with his teeth, reaching in to stroke the material with his knuckle.
He grabs the shirt on top, oversized and well-worn. Broken in and softened over hundreds of restful nights. He brings it to his face and takes another inhale, getting high off the smell of your fabric softener and the image of you drowning in the shirt.
Once youâre in his grasp, heâll make sure you only sleep in his shirts, liebe. Exposed thighs and legs peeking out from beneath his shirt that barely clings to your shoulders. A clear representation of the size difference between you two. A reminder to you of just how small and powerless you are compared to him.
He brushes the fabric against his stubbled jaw to know what it would feel like to rest his head on your shoulder. To bury his face into your chest after a long day. To rest his head on your stomach while you comb your fingers through his hair.
He wants to take it with him. Cut eye holes and replace his hood with it so that he can wear your shirt over his head every day, high off your scent as he inhales you in with each breath he takes.
He gently folds the shirt and puts it back into its place, closing the drawer before moving on to another. He thumbs through the rest of your clothes until he gets to a drawer that makes him freeze, heart stopping and fingers still laced around the handle of your dresser drawer.
Your panties.
His cock is at full attention now, painfully hard and leaking precum. Trembling hands make a slow descent, meticulously choosing his favorite. He holds them up to get a better look, picturing you filling them out, just as you were last night. The lower half of your ass peeking out to tease him. He didnât think he would ever be jealous over scraps of cotton, but he knows these panties have kissed your perfect cunt and soaked up your arousal, everything he was entitled to.
He canât help himself this time, liebe.
You have to understand that he canât just let this opportunity slip through his fingers.
A reward, for all of the hard work heâs poured into you. For everything heâs sacrificed for you.
He stuffs your panties into his underwear, casual and discreet, as if he were stealing them in front of a crowd. He even looks side to side, just to make sure no one was watching over his shoulder. The feeling of your panties pressed up against his cock had him throbbing, staining the fabric a shade darker with precum. With a slight twitch of his hips, the head of his cock forces against the bundled cloth, electricity sparking through his lower half. He swallows hard, mouth turned cotton.
Konigâs getting intoxicated off of you, less gentle when he rummages through your nightstand. His arousal is taking control now, heâs desperate to uncover more of your dirty little secrets.
He holds a sharp breath, lips parting when he uncovers your vibrator. A deep purple and molded into the shape of bunny ears.
Thereâs a twinge of jealousy, accompanied by a pull of his lips.
Why use a toy when you can have the real thing, liebe? You donât need a toy when you have him. Heâd pleasure your cunt anytime you ask, lapping at your clit until youâre screaming his name. His tongue coercing orgasm after orgasm until youâre begging for him to stop, tears streaming down your face at the overstimulation. Heâll make you regret even asking him to pleasure you.
The jealousy is shelved when he pictures you on your back, legs spread and displaying your perfect pussy for him. Glistening with your arousal, face twisted in euphoria as you sway your hips on the vibrations. Soft moans would spill from your mouth, breathy whispers of Konigâs name on your tongue.
He stumbles backward onto your bed, hand reaching blindly behind him to find the mattress as he studies the soft silicone of your toy.
He canât help himself anymore. Heâs sorry, liebe. His erection borders on painful, balls swollen and cock begging for release.
Itâs your fault.
Putting your promiscuous toys and dainty panties on display for anyone to find.
He lies back on your bed that creaks and flexes under his large stature, his head nestling comfortably on your pillow.
He fumbles the button of his pants, sloppily freeing his cock from the restraint of his waistbands. He wraps the jumbled mess of your panties around his shaft, holding the fabric in place as he grasps his base and steadily pumps himself.
Youâre straddling him, cunt grinding against him through drenched panties. Biting your lip while you rock your clit on him, looking down at him with eyes glazed with lust.
Heâs had enough of your teasing, liebe. Heâll punish you for working him up like this.
Yanking your panties to the side, lubing the tip of his swollen dick on your slicked rim. Tight grip indenting the flesh of your hips as he forces you down on his thick cock, watching your face twist while you strain to work around his girth. The biggest youâve ever had. He has to train you, stretch out your tight little cunt so you can handle a good pounding. Heâll ruin that cunt, leave you a gaping cum-filled mess for any other man that dares to try. No one else will ever compare once heâs finished with you.
âKonig, I canât-â
âYou will.â
Youâre soaking, liebe, just a wet little mess dripping down his pulsing cock.
His fingers slide down to your thighs, nails digging into you once youâre flush with the base of his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you struggle to take him.
âLook at me.â
You obey like the good girl youâre supposed to be, looking to him with pitiful, pleading eyes as he lifts you, a sharp gasp escaping when he buries fully into you.
He holds you in place with a strict grip, hovering inches above him while he thrusts up, mercilessly fucking your hole like the cock sleeve you are.
Choking on your moans, overstimulated by a mixture of pain and pleasure that has you squeezing around him.
âTake it like a braves MĂ€dchen.â
A sob leaves you as he pounds into you, limply doubling over before he catches your upper arms, propping you up like a rag doll.
âAlle meine. You understand me, brat? All mine.â
A raw cry scratches the back of your throat, tits bouncing relentlessly against your ribs as he tortures your g-spot. An involuntary whimper rhythmically with each thrust, arms sore from Konigâs harsh grasp.
He forces you forward, bending you at your core so he can catch one of your nipples in his mouth with a tight suck. He doesnât waver from his strict plunges into your cunt as his tongue eagerly circles the sensitive bud. The pleasure amplifies under the stimulation, he can tell by the roll of your eyes and the way you collapse in his arms, hypnotized by his power and stuttering out his name with broken breath. Giving yourself to him.
A brain dead, cock drunk little slut.
His hand snakes around the back of your head to grab a fist full of hair, a stiff yank forcing your neck to crane and pulling him off your tit with a pop. His spit turns cool over your nipple, tightening the pink flesh with a chill down your spine. Nails scratching desperately into his glistened chest, begging for mercy.
You wonât get any from him, little girl.
Youâre his.
A toy to dump his cum into, a wet hole for him to ruin, a doll to control.
The clapping of slicked flesh on flesh fills the room, tugging your hair down to keep you from wiggling away from the ruthless fucking. Your swollen clit slaps against his mound with each bottom out, intertwining with the unforgiving pleasure of your abused g-spot and knitting into a cruel euphoria.
âListen to your pathetic moans. Everyone will know who you belong to.â
The hand gripping your hair releases suddenly, repositioning to clench around your throat, silencing your moans with a threatening squeeze.
Your eyes snap open, an intoxicating fear spread on your features as your eyes beg for release. Pointlessly clawing at his grip, fighting for your stolen breath. Heâs addicted to the way your horror steadily builds with each passing second he doesnât let go.
He waits until your expression loosens, until your eyes cross and youâre seeing double. When he morphs into a blurry figure, floating farther and farther away from you, and the only thing you can possibly focus on is the brutal pounding of your cunt.
He lets you go seconds before you faint, cunt squeezing down on him with each desperate cough for breath. He grabs onto two fistfuls of ass, spreading you apart. Opening that cunt, making sure to fill you to the brim with each slam into you.
âKo- gnâna cum!â
âBeg for it.â
A desperate, breathless cry tears your throat.
âPlease, Konig! Please!â
A hand winds back, full palm returning to give a harsh smack to your ass. When you gasp in surprise, his grip tightens threateningly, voice lowered to a vicious growl.
âAddress me properly.â
âPl-â Youâre briefly distracted by the rhythmic pounding, trailing off before he leaves another imprint of his hand on your ass.
âPlease, Colonel! I-â The words get stuck in your throat, but your desperation pushes them through, so raw and pleading it doesnât register to you as your own voice. You let off on a whine, eyes screwing shut while your body is degradingly shaken under the powerful bucks of his hips.
âDo it, brat. Cum.â
He watches your face contort, mouth fully gaped, suddenly radio silent as you convulse on his cock. He doesnât let up on you, taking advantage of your walls tightening around him.
When your voice returns, youâre squeaking out anguished whimpers, squirming away from the progression into overstimulation.
He doesnât let up. Your pleasure is nothing but collateral, liebe. Heâll use you until heâs finished. Bully you with his fat cock, ignoring your weak begging and futile attempts to pry yourself from his grasp.
Itâs the harsh ripples of his orgasm - the warm droplets of his cum landing on his stomach, the sound of him choking on a hitched breath in the dead silence of your bedroom - that shocks him back into his pathetic reality.
Tensed muscles relax seconds after heâs milked the last of his intense finish, his sweat and shame wrapping him in a suffocating blanket.
Heâs defiled you, liebe. A slimy creep, breaking into your sacred space and getting off in your bed. Where you lay your head after a long day, hiding from the world under these cozy covers. Heâs tainted the sanctity of an angelâs hollow.
A disgusting, selfish pervert.
He buries his face into your pillow, breathing you in as he catches his breath and wipes away his mess with your panties.
âTut mir leid.â He whispers into your silken pillowcases. Heâs sorry, liebe. He didnât mean to lose control like this. To let him get this close to you, close enough his depravity bleeds into your personal life. He meant to keep his distance, to keep you safe from him and his degenerative sickness.
But here he is, in your bed, pretending that youâve welcomed him here. That he was giving you a fucking fit for a whore.
He feels dirty, he wants to shed his skin, to get a fresh start. A life where he never even met you. Where he never gave you full control over him. Where he never succumbed to his atrocious urges.
Itâs too late.
You ruined his life.
His best course of action was a shower, to wash away the evidence of his sin and maybe feel clean again. To feel worthy of you again.
To bathe in your scent and take it with him.
To steal just a sliver of your light and wear it proudly.
The warm water soothes his aching muscles, always sore after a long week of strenuous work. He lets the water take him away, calming himself as much as he was capable under the circumstances.
He wonders what youâre up to. Where youâre at, what mess youâve gotten yourself into without his supervision. Probably in that slutty dress and giving your attention to undeserving men. Flirting with them like a common whore.
The scent of your shampoo wafting in the hot steam eases his racing thoughts, closing his eyes while he massages his hair.
He imagines youâre in the shower with him, insisting to scrub him. He has to lean over so you can reach his head. Gently scratching his scalp, giving him a tingling sensation as you wash him clean from your tiptoes.
Youâd scrub his body next, making a careful loop around his neck. Gently soaping his chest, lingering around his strong biceps. Feeling the strength that protects you every day. Youâll slide down to his stomach, attention on his tight abdominal muscles.
Itâs his cock you pay the most attention to, stoking him clean, your other hand massaging bubbles onto his balls.
Such a good girl, liebe.
Taking care of him after a hard day.
When youâre done with him, heâd scrub you down, rough hands squeezing soft soapy tits.
Heâd take his time with you, making sure to give every inch of you the care it deserves before flipping you around and fucking you ruthlessly against the shower wall, water clapping obnoxiously as he clashes into your thighs.
Such a good girl, liebe.
Taking care of him after a hard day.
Konig finishes his shower, wiping himself down with one of your towels before wrapping it around his waist.
He spends some time poking around your bathroom cabinets, curiously reading the labels on bottles of medicines. Helping himself to your Q-tips, your skin care, your deodorant.
Heâs getting closer to the perfect mixture of your scent, liebe. Heâll carry it with him as long as he can, surrounding himself in a cloud of you.
When heâs done drying off & redressing himself, he carefully folds his towel and tucks it into the middle of your stack of clean towels. He bites his lip at the thought of you using the same towel that dried him.
Once he leaves the bathroom, heâs ready to poke through the rest of your things. He starts with the three sliding drawers that support the right side of your desk.
Pens, highlighters, chargers, scissors, tape.
A notebook?
He prays itâs a diary, a glimpse into your internal dialogue. He runs a finger down the thin metal coil of the spiral edge before flipping the cover.
Heâs enamored with your handwriting, unique and flawed in its own wonderful way. It crafts inked scribblings documenting your time in training. Meticulously written notes on the processes of your position. He skims through the pages, filled to the brim with dry information.
Youâre brilliant, liebe. The amount of knowledge that it takes to fill your shoes speaks to how intelligent you are.
He stops on a page with doodles in the corner, touching the hint of you peeking through dull instructional pages.
When heâs satisfied he plops the notebook back into its drawer and continues his search.
Batteries, a flashlight, a spool of thread.
A book.
He stops to read its spine, running his fingers over the raised title on the cover.
A romance novel?
A dark romance novel.
His heart skips a beat as he flips the book over and reads the summary.
Youâre just as filthy and deviant as him, arenât you liebe?
This is what you wanted, isnât it?
You want him to follow you, to control you, to dominate you. You want him, donât you?
He settles onto your bed, back flush with the covers as he nestles into your pillow. He peels the cover back, swiping through the introductory pages with his thumb, eyes attentively soaking in the words of the first chapter.
Heâs determined to figure out your ideal man, your perfect idea of romance. This is his guide, heâs sure. Exactly how he should treat you to earn your affection.
The first chapter lulls him, losing interest during the wholesome exposition.
He sets the open book on his chest, arm propping behind his head as he memorizes your room. He closes his eyes, absentmindedly stroking your cozy blankets. Giving a pleased hum as he nuzzles his head further into your pillow.
He wonders what it would be like to fall asleep next to you. To have you nestled into the crook of his arm, cheek pressed to his chest, arm draped over his torso. Flat on your back, his head on your chest as he listens to your heartbeat and soft snoring. Curled on your side, your ass pressed into his cock in a spoon, letting him grind into you as you drift off.
Itâs the rattling of your lock that wakes him, his eyes snapping open in a panic and finding your window, sun no longer shining through the gaps in your blinds. He can hear your muffled voice through the door, belongings brushing against the wood as you struggle with your keys. He canât believe heâs let the time slip through his fingers.
Itâs your fault.
He hasnât gotten a full night's rest in weeks.
Itâs an intense scramble to clean up after himself, hands fumbling for your displaced book, vibrator, and soiled panties. He stumbles over his feet in a last ditch attempt to have you avoid spotting him, hoping the sound of your wardrobe door sliding closed is quiet enough to be concealed by the sound of your entrance.
Heâs dead-still in his cramped position, terrified heâll rattle the hangers that held your day clothes surrounding him. You flick on the lamp, a line of light casts a vertical strip on his face, pupil dilating as he peers through the gap in the closetâs doors. His heart is pounding in his chest, loud enough that heâs sure you can hear it.
He has never been this close to you before.
âLook, I know Iâm usually chill about shit like this but that was not cool, dude.â Youâre talking into your phone, pinched between your raised shoulder and cheek. âYou canât just bail like that without saying anything, my clothes were at your place.â
You take a deep breath, setting your wallet and keys down before kicking off your uncomfortable shoes. Konigâs leering gaze finds your ass as you bend over, one hand gripping the wood of the dresser to steady yourself. You do look good in that dress, liebe. Plump full thighs on display for him, skin tight cut teasing every inviting curve.
Your voice is softened when you speak again, âIâm worried about you, okay? I didnât like that guyâs vibe. Just, let me know youâreâŠâ
You trail off as you turn around, freezing in your place.
Your attention was caught by the soft blue dress with the intricate azure and yellow flowers, displayed on a hanger Konig had hung on your bedpost.
His gentle nudge.
Shit.
You freeze for a suffocating four seconds, face stone cold as you process the sight. Konig can see your gears turning, his face pinched in hot regret.
ââŠokay. Call me back.â You whisper, tone no longer strict with annoyance.
You quickly end your call before blindly placing your phone on the dresser behind you, stare locked on to the dress.
âDid IâŠ?â You mumble under your breath, slowly stepping forward and reaching a careful hand out to touch the dress. Your brows furrowed, features drenched in confusion.
You look over your shoulder, and Konig swallows hard. This is it, youâre going to search for the intruder and find him. Heâs in for a world of trouble- and thatâs only if you donât kill him first.
Your head turns back to the dress, now holding it with two hands, hem lifting off the floor.
Put it on, liebe.
The fabric slides through your finger as you let it fall into place, returning to your phone and swiping at its screen.
You raise the phone to your ear again, free hand rubbing your fingers together in a fidget. You sway in your spot, eyes darting nervously around the room while waiting through a painfully long set of rings.
âHey - uh, Lieutenant.â You nervously clear your throat, âSorry to bother you on the weekend- something kind of weird happened and I uh- I just have a question for you.â You let out a small nervous laugh, âSorry. Bye.â
You quickly hang up, cheeks flushed as you press the side of your phone to your forehead in a clenched fist. Cringing at yourself for your awkward voicemail with a curse under your breath.
Why is Ghost always the first person you call at the first sign of trouble?
Konig is supposed to be the one who protects you, who keeps you safe.
He has to force his jaw open to keep his teeth from grinding.
Youâre fucking him, arenât you?
Itâs all making sense now. Of course Konig hasnât been able to catch you two in the act, the only way youâd be able to get away with it is by keeping it a secret. If anyone found out about your affair youâd both be discharged. Sneaking around and being intimate when no oneâs watching, getting off on the forbidden love of a subordinate and a superior.
Konig can fulfill that fantasy too, yâknow.
Konig can see your mind racing from your cramped wardrobe, pacing in your spot while you fidget with your nails. There is just enough doubt on your features, just enough doubt that he thinks he might get away with it. Gaslight you into thinking maybe you did buy the dress. Maybe you made a trip back home in between the mall and the subway. Maybe âbad vibe guyâ spiked your drink and made you lose a chunk of your evening.
As soon as Konigâs thighs start to burn from the contorted half-squat heâs in to fit in your wardrobe, thereâs a knock on the door. You take a sharp breath, head harshly turning towards the sound. You freeze again, lips parted and eyes squinted in unease.
Another rap at the door, followed by your name spoken in a familiar voice. âYou in?â
Ghost.
Got your message and came running to your rescue. Tricking you into accepting him as your knight in shining armor.
His face twitches at the way your shoulders relax when you hear his voice, holding back a smile as you rush to open the door.
âLieutenant.â
Untelling eyes look you up and down, and you follow his gaze to your outfit, almost surprised that you are still wearing that filthy dress youâve been parading yourself in.
Thatâs why you bought it, isnât it? You picked it out to show your curves off to him, the professor to your little schoolgirl crush.
âOh, fuck. Sorry Lieutenant. I-âYou let out a nervous laugh as you look over his unreadable face. âI didnât know you were going to, um, stop by.â
Liar.
âNice dress.â He says, impossible to tell if heâs being genuine or making fun of you. Konigâs not sure which he prefers, but his jaw shakes at the very sound of his voice.
âI just got back from a night out.â You explain, words pouring quickly in a desperate attempt to save character.
âI can tell.â He says, flat and gravely. He gives you grace by changing the subject, eyes peering over you and scanning your room, âGot your message.â
âOh, yeah. No, itâs uh, itâs probably fine. Sorry to put you out.â
âIt was quite the journey from across the hall.â
Your voice raises an octave when you try to sound forced casual, âYou didnât go in my room, did you? Itâs just, youâre the only one with a key.â
The thought of Ghost having a key to your place makes him sick to his stomach. Heâs probably already been here, already dug through your things to get his filthy hands all over your belongings.
He could sneak into your room at any moment, liebe. Inviting him to break in and take advantage of you.
An eyebrow raises, the extent of his expression, âNo.â
Your fingers rub together again, âAre the guys- are they hazing me or something? I mean, itâs fine if they are. I get it, new guy and all- but I just need to know before I lose my mind.â
âWhatâs going on?â He asks, cutting straight to the chase when he hears the distress creeping in on your rambled words.
You clear your throat, looking over your shoulder, âThat dress.â You say, looking to it and trailing off.
âPretty.â He says, not straying from his uninterested tone.
Konigâs face twitches when Ghost compliments the dress.
Itâs not for him.
âYes- it is.â
âHaving a fashion show?â
âNo,â You give another timid laugh before your nerves make your face slink. âI didnât buy it?â You finish on a high, unsure note, âThe dress wasnât here when I left, right? And then I come home - and hereâs the dress.â
âAn unusual form of hazing.â
âNo, no- thatâs not the weirdest part.â You point to it again, âI went shopping today, and that dress - I saw the dress, I stopped to look at it. That exact dress. I didnât buy it, at least- I think I didnât buy it.â You clench a hand into a fist, âIâm sure I didnât buy it. I just got home and there it was.â
Ghost doesnât speak, just looks down his nose at you.
Your hand flops dramatically to your side, head turning away, âYou think Iâm crazy.â
He says the first thing all night you can tell he means.
âI believe you.â
Your eyes perk up, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The same way you had looked to Konig in his dream. The same spark of appreciation that Konig was entitled to.
And youâre giving it to Simon fucking Riley for doing the bare minimum.
Konigâs the one who got you the dress, liebe.
Ghost doesnât give you gifts, Ghost doesnât love you like Konig does.
He shifts in your doorway, arms crossing and head slightly tilted to the side. âYou think someone broke into your quarters?â
âI⊠guess? Iâm more worried that I am losing it. That I did buy it and I just, I just forgot.â
He takes a moment to analyze you, skimming over your nightclub attire before finding your face again, âYou drinking?â
You hold a hand out, almost like youâre physically stopping his train of thought, âI know what youâre thinking, I only had two. Iâm a lightweight, but, câmon. Not enough to forget.â
He doesnât say anything, making his silent judgments through half-lidded eyes.
Your tightly pressed fingers raise to touch your lip.
âOh, Iâm losing it, arenât I?â You say with a whine, hand falling dejectedly to your side.
âYouâre not losing it, soldier.â
âIâm losing it.â
âNo. Listen to me.â He uncrosses his arms to hold a finger in your direction, âYouâre not losing it.â
Konig canât believe heâs talking to you like this. Stern, strict, and commanding you like Konig should be doing. Squashing the doubt that would safeguard his plan.
âThe boys are probably just fucking with you. Iâll talk to them, yeah?â
You nod, slow at first but then more assuredly, âYes, yeah.â You close your eyes, words relaxing with a sigh, âYouâre right. Sorry, again, for bothering you.â
âNo bother.â His head tilts again, âYou alright?â
âAll-left, apparently.â
âDo you want me to stay?â
âI donât want to take your time. Iâm okay.â
âI donât mind.â
Donât give in, liebe. Heâs just looking for an excuse to leer at you in that dress. To come into your sacred room, to get a look at your precious things.
Your eyes flick to the floor before back to him, âAh, okay. Sure.â
âI didnât interrupt anything, did I?â You ask when you turn away from him, giving him space to come in.
Youâre always so thoughtful. Ghost doesnât deserve you.
âNo.â Ghost steps in while carefully eyeing your room. He inspects your window, nonchalantly checking over the locks before tugging at it to make sure itâs secured.
âNo fun Saturday night plans, Lieutenant?â You asked with a cheeky smile, smoothing out your blanket to sit on your bed, feet dangling off the side.
âNot as fun as yours.â He says, eyes falling on your dress and lingering there a little too long for Konigâs liking. Ghost straightens out, leaning against your dresser to face you.
âSorry,â you say sheepishly, adjusting the sleeve of your shoulder, âA friend dragged me on a night out.â You move to stand, moving towards the dresser Ghost blocked, âNot my usual getup. Iâll change.â
âDonât feel obligated on my account.â He says dryly.
He doesnât have your modesty in mind, liebe. Looking at you like youâre a piece of meat. He just wants you on display for him, a trophy.
You look at him, briefly attempting to decipher an underlying meaning of his statement. You glance to the guarded drawers before backing up to your spot on the bed. You tug the bottom of your dress down, eyes fixed on the ceiling as a stiff silence falls over you three.
âMy friend, uh, set me up on a blind date.â You say after a clear of your throat, desperate to rid the awkward pause. You give him a small laugh, âIt was terrible.â
âThat so?â
You kick your foot, smiling at the ground, âYeah, a friend of this guy sheâs really into. All he talked about was basketball, and he didnât ask me a single question about myself. I donât think he even knew what my name was.â You roll your eyes, âAnd a bit too touchy-feely if you ask me.â
Konigâs sorry, liebe. That he wasnât there to protect you. The thought of you being all alone on a terrible date makes him sick to his stomach. Heâs sorry heâs allowed this to happen. He gave you too much slack on your leash, he should have kept you reined in.
âMust be difficult to gauge a womanâs comfort level when NC State is doing so poorly this season.â
You snort, happy to lighten the tension, âTheyâre actually doing pretty well. 4-1, apparently.â You say with a roll of your eyes.
Ghost gives an amused scoff, the closest thing to a laugh youâve ever gotten from him. It catches your attention, and to his dismay Konig watches you purse your lips to hide a pleased smile.
Kick him out already.
âMy friend ditched me, so I had to sit through all of the strategies the Celtics should have implemented last year, and she never even came back.â
âMm, abandoned the buddy system. No good.â
âNo good! Thank you. I had to walk home in stupid shoes I borrowed that donât fit.â
âNow thatâs just torture. Maybe we should start implementing that in boot camp.â
You deliver the laugh drenched in sarcasm, âHah hah.â
âNext time, call me. Weâll do a full EVAC.â
That was Konigâs job.
You roll your eyes again, âI can handle myself.â
He gives a shrug and a shake of his head, âDonât count out the buddy system.â
You pull your legs up on the bed next to you, thighs pressed together and bent almost underneath you. You look like youâre on a fucking casting couch, peering up at Ghost through thick eyelashes with those doe eyes, just begging for him to pin you down and expose what little of you was hidden under that dress.
âYou really donât have to stay.â
His eyes find the blue dress, still hanging on the bedpost, before he looks back to you, âIâll leave if you want me to.â
The faintest blush spreads on your face, hesitating in your response.
âSmoke?â He asks after a few seconds, much to your relief.
âGod, yes. Let me change quick.â You commit to shooing him from your dresser this time, pulling out the first shirt on top. The shirt Konig had touched to his cheek hours before, the unknowing and indirect touch filling him with a satisfying thrill. You grab a pair of sweatpants and disappear into the bathroom, leaving Konig to keep a close watch on Ghost through the crack in his wardrobe.
He starts eyeing your possessions, unworthy eyes befouling your priceless things.
Konig has to close his eyes to rid the sight. Stifling the urge to reveal himself and snap Ghostâs spine over his knee. He hates him, hates how heâs always coercing you from Konigâs safety, sneaking you away for the chance to get his hands on you. Heâs never loathed someone more.
Youâre just an empty-headed bimbo who bats her eyes and whores herself out for any man who pays attention to you. Youâre too stupid to realize just how slimy he is.
Konig opens his eyes with the scrape of your bathroom door, watching Ghost follow you out to the hall.
Konig sighs a long breath once youâre both out of sight, he doesnât know how long heâs been holding it. His fingers grip your things like he's trying to destroy them.
Fucking Ghost.
At least you changed out of that dress. The way Ghostâs attention drew to your chest and legs at every opportunity left him tensed in a seething rage.
Konig finally moves, taking his chance to stuff your cum-soaked panties and vibrator into his waistband, flexing the fingers that cramped up from his awkwardly clasped hands. He sets the book at his feet, popping his knuckles and stretching his legs while he considers the choice he has to make.
Does he sneak out now? You hadnât suspected the wardrobe, now that youâve changed you shouldnât be digging in your closet until morning. Heâs sure heâs sufficiently camouflaged, but thereâs still the risk youâll find him. This is his window to escape without consequence. Heâd be able to supervise your smoke break, but he wouldnât be able to sneak back in to watch the rest of your evening.
Itâs the thought that Ghost might follow you back into your room, that he might try to take advantage of you in your vulnerable state, that keeps him in his spot.
Dread pools in his stomach when heâs away from you, knowing youâre under a predatorâs stare. Heâs probably got his hands all over you right now. Heâs seen your thighs that beg for touch, your tits popping out of that dress that invites groping, a waist asking for a strong grip. Flirting desperately and using that charm that comes naturally to invite him to take you.
Heâs stealing the attention Konig was owed. Basking in your light and adoration while he has to hide in the shade, longing for your soft warmth instead of this heat of irritability that boils under his skin. He pushes your day clothes from him in frustration, face twitching as he sifts through all of the worst case scenarios.
It takes you too long to return, Konigâs blackhole of obsessive thoughts intensifying with each minute youâre tangled in Ghostâs web.
âI hope not.â You say as you return, the smell of smoked tobacco clouding the room and singeing Konigâs nose.
âHere.â
Konigâs face pulls when Ghost takes the dress from you, manhandling and wrinkling the delicate fabric. Itâs nauseating to watch him lay hands on Konigâs gift.
Youâre supposed to wear his dress, liebe. Burn that slutty black dress, and accept the guidance you need. Give him even the slightest bit of control from you.
The rejection stings, turning him weak in the knees as the blood drains from his face. It tears his chest wide open watching you give his gift away like it was nothing. His face burns with humiliation, the prick of betrayal drying the back of his throat.
This is what he gets for going out of his way for you? For giving you a token of his affection? For the love and care heâs poured into you?
Fuck you.
You donât get to make him feel this way. You donât get to run from him when he knows whatâs best for you.
âYou want this back when Iâm done?â
âUhm,â You stare at it for a moment, the corner of your lip perking up ever so slightly, âSure, yeah. Itâs uh, it really is pretty.â
Konig swallows, eyebrows pinching and elated grin immediately plastered on his face.
You do like it?
Oh, liebe. Heâs sorry he doubted you.
You do want him.
You can be a good girl for him, accept Konigâs redirection. You want to wear his dress for him, you want Konig to own you and teach you how to behave.
He canât wait to see you in it.
âWill do.â
âThanks for uh, yâknow.â
âDonât mention it.â
âNight Lt.â
âGoodnight.â
When the door snaps shut behind you, Ghost sent packing, and Konigâs grin spreads.
You crawl into your bed, the same bed Konig had defiled hours earlier.
For thirty minutes you scroll on your phone, but Konig is happy just to watch your facial expressions as you react to the things on your screen. You watch silly videos, occasionally giggling at the content.
This part is just for him.
It sounds so wonderful to hear your laugh, liebe. He imagines itâs him making you giggle, a blush and coy smile as a result of a joke he made.
This is his favorite part of the day, when you settle in and he can watch you be your genuine self. Itâs comforting to be with you while you unwind, he knows this is what it will be like once he has you, how youâd spend the evenings once youâre together.
And he gets to have his good girl all to himself.
The shower is the hardest part.
In addition to praying the evidence of his shower has fully drained, he knows youâre just a few feet away, completely naked and soaking wet. His cock twitches at the thought, still sensitive from his orgasm.
Youâre doing this on purpose, arenât you?
Teasing him like this.
He wants to follow you into the shower, see if he can peek at you from over the shower curtain. Offer to scrub you down, groping you like youâve been asking for. Fuck you, how you deserve to be fucked.
His brow quirks when he spots your phone resting on the nightstand, charging after a long day out.
He waits until the sounds of the water hitting the ceramic loses rhythm, droplets now flowing down your body instead of raining on the tub.
Heâs got time.
He takes a deep inhale before working open the wardrobe doors as stealthily as he can, cursing the creak of the wood under his shifting weight.
Mindful footsteps get him to your nightstand, shaking hands picking up your phone. With a push of your lock button the screen is illuminated, and his breath catches. He canât believe youâve left your secrets unattended for anyone to steal. How careless of you.
Your background is adorable, he canât help but smile at the glimpse into an expression of your personality.
He swipes at the screen and his smile falls flat at the demand for a passcode.
Why do you always have to make things so difficult for him?
He huffs in frustration before he locks your device, using the dark screen and light from the lamp to search for fingerprints.
Thereâs a bunch towards the bottom, evidence of your fingers typing precious messages to your loved ones.
He needed those messages.
Konig thinks he can tell which smudges are your passcode. Heâs got 6 possible numbers for a 4-digit code, and no way to tell which order.
He curses under his breath. Heâs looking for a pattern. A birthday, a year, a sequence.
Heâs got nothing.
You couldnât have made it 1234?
He returns your phone to its spot. Heâll figure out your passcode, liebe. Heâll wait until heâs close enough to watch you enter it, get his fingers on it when youâre inevitably acting careless.
You donât get to hide things from him anymore, liebe.
Heâs earned it. Youâve lost the privilege of privacy.
This is a new level of immoral behavior, and now that heâs this close - he refuses to distance himself from you.
A rush so thrilling he canât ignore it, a newly conquered high heâs never dared to risk, without the willpower to walk away from it.
Itâs too late for you, liebe. Heâs bleeding into you now, his sickness spreading into your life and infecting you like ink on cloth.
bet. 10k on stalker konig coming to you very soon iâm very excited ohohohoho! gonna let it marinate and do a lil proofreading & then sheâs all yours besties <3 <3