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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

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Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Make Friends 1/4 (Word count 5.4 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

A/N: AU where König (sadly) isn't a colonel and doesn't have a t-shirt as a hood but an... actual hood. Please heed the tags lovelies 🩷

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

No one sees a cleaning lady.

Cleaners are invisible. People remember them only when their desks start to gather dust, when their floors are full of mud. No one sees her except the tallest guy in the building: the guy who everybody seems to ignore, just like they ignore her.

It doesn't take long to see why. He's different, and not just because of the mask he's wearing.

She sees him playing with knives. He throws them in the air leisurely, catches them by the handle, and never misses the catch. He flicks them from side to side, spins and whirls the blades in motions she can't even see because they're so swift.

It's pure magic. And they're not dull training knives; they're sharp as a razor, vicious, tactical – but that doesn't make them ugly. They're quite stunning, and she's caught staring more than once.

His movements are not what she'd exactly call precise and fluid. They're urgent, antsy, made to relieve stress of some sort. He's stimming with the knives. Alleviating pain or frustration. The rest of his body is still; only the ice-blue eyes flicker on the blade as he focuses all his attention on the dance. Sometimes he just stares at them, turns them around as if checking the edge, as if it wasn't evident that they're deadly and sharp. That's how she knows he takes good care of the things he loves.

He's fascinated by them, just like she is. And it's not just the knives; she's fascinated by him.

Others cast side eyes, nervous looks at him. Even some of his fellow operators look at the man like he's a lunatic. And perhaps he is, but she can't help it.

She's mesmerized.

It all changes when she accidentally walks into a meeting room while there is a briefing going on. Apparently, no one considers her a threat or a potential spy because she is summoned in before she rushes to close the door, and so she goes on about her day while the soldiers are already wrapping things up.

The hooded giant is there too, leaning back in a chair too small for him, this time playing with a butterfly knife. It's the smallest, daintiest thing she has yet seen in those hands. He always has gloves on, but that doesn't make the flashy flipping look any less dangerous.

She starts by dusting the side tables so she is not in the way. This time, she vehemently does not want to be seen. Save perhaps by the knife maniac.

The man even helps her with cleaning: he picks up some of the objects he can reach so she can wipe the surface more easily. It makes her cheeks grow hot, but she cannot bring herself to thank him. She doesn't dare to make a single sound while there is a meeting going on and their captain is still speaking, but she gives her thanks through her eyes and her smile, and the man looks at her like she's some kind of saintly sight.

The look in those blue eyes is starstruck. Almost… obsessive.

It should send ice to her stomach. But it doesn't.

He continues showing off with the knife as she moves to the other side of the room. He does it to mess with her head or entertain her, delight her, perhaps - the man already knows she’s intrigued by his vast collection of blades.

It's a bit creepy. The man as a whole is a bit creepy, but she only feels a rush, a high that turns her monotonous work day into a thrill.

"König. Would you mind?"

The sound of the flicking blade stops, and she is possibly the only one in this room who misses the noise.

"Entschuldigung."

He speaks, and the voice sends ripples across her scalp. It's twisted and amused, as if the man gets off on annoying the shit out of his workmates.

"English, please..."

"My apologies."

The blade is tucked somewhere in his pocket and the man named König leans forward on the table. Slightly hunched over like that, he looks even more intimidating than before. The playfulness is gone, and he looks fiercely professional. More shivers are sent down her spine.

König…

König is the reason she still keeps working in this odd little compound, the base of some special operations unit that requires an insane amount of security checks and secret contracts and confidentiality agreements just so she can clean the floors from their soddy footprints.

König is the reason she starts to put on some mascara in the morning, tie her hair in a high ponytail, or braid it in two little braids so she would appear cuter if she happens to pass him by in the hallway. He's the reason she opens not one but two buttons of her blouse before she starts the day. He's also the reason her underwear is soaked in the middle of a boring shift.

He appears in her break room to borrow coffee. And not once, but twice during the same week.

"You're running low again?"

"Eh… Ja."

He's shit at lying, though. She is relatively sure by now that he's here only because he wants to see her.

"I'll bring it back. I mean–I'll buy you some."

He seems a bit shy, like her, and combined with the fact that he still chooses to seek her out already gives her sleepless nights. It makes her far more confident than she has ever been with people.

His accent, his voice, are pure fire. She feels sinful for thinking about how he would behave in the bedroom, how he would talk – after all, it already sounds like he's breathless and strained, already sounds like he's working her open with whatever monster is hidden in those pants a bit too small for him. He walks with a wide lounge, and she just knows it's because he is so big down there.

"You do that," she gives him a particularly flirty smile and revels in how it makes him even more distraught. It's quite fascinating how the same man can exude barely repressed bloodlust one moment and stupefied silence the next.

He returns the very next day to bring her a package of coffee. The same brand he borrowed twice already is set on the table in front of her with tense shoulders. She has seen the man relaxed only when he’s achieved that alluring flow state with his knives.

"Hier."

"Why thank you."

He simply stands there, switches weight from one foot to the other, and shrugs.

"I'll be going then."

But he doesn’t leave. Not right away. He watches her with that icy, burning stare, and she cocks her head.

“Bye,” she chimes with a soft smile – the guy is simply too cute. His restless twitching stops; he freezes where he stands, blinks – and then turns and walks out the door like a robot.

. . . . .

She's not supposed to be here. Or, she is, but he's not.

No one’s supposed to be here when there's the sign on the door. The men's showers are supposed to be cleared once a week for good scrubbing, and she only has 30 minutes to do that. It's once a week, less than an hour, there's a sign, and still, some jerk has to walk right through it.

No one sees a cleaning lady.

No one appears to even care about the fucking sign.

But then she sees who exactly has disrespected her humble position. It's a shock to see that familiar black hood with two eye holes on it thrown on the bench. Next to that, the khaki-colored cargo pants, a black shirt, and those gloves, all in a heap – this guy is not the most orderly, perhaps.

And she takes a fucking peek inside the showers because the door is, for some unfathomable reason, transparent, see-through glass.

The first thing she sees is muscle. Just wet, powerful cords of muscle slapped on the tallest man she has ever seen or would probably ever see.

He's a vision: godly, almost. Then she notices what he's doing.

Of course he has to be fucking fapping on top of everything.

Her throat is dry and her hands are numb as she watches how he leans on the tiles with one hand and works himself with the other. The body hair on the guy is so pale that he basically looks neatly shaved, save for the short hair on the top of his head – the man's nothing but sleek, dripping muscle through and through.

He sounds weak when he's masturbating; the noise that echoes in the showers consists mainly of frail, high-pitched grunts.

She's wet in no time, and it doesn't help that he looks frantic, almost violent, while jerking off. It's a sloppy frenzy, and the sounds of wet, angry slapping make her heart beat so fast that the rush of blood in her ears nearly drowns the noise.

The man has big hands, but his cock still looks massive inside one. She knows she will copy-paste the image of that long cock, slick with water and soap, in her mind over and over again while releasing some tension herself. Of course it's big because he's big, but the length of it is simply outrageous – she cannot comprehend how he can fit himself in his pants, even when soft.

His whole upper body tenses abruptly, like a huge cord of cable; he throws his head back, his hips jerk forward and he goes catatonic – the cum shot that follows would shoot a meter away if it wasn't stopped by the wall. The spurts of his load are equally as fierce as the fap, and she feels faint.

And why the fuck is she even standing here in the first place?

And then he…

He drops his head, turns a little to the side, like he’s known she has been here the whole time.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

She can only see his eyes from behind the arm still leaning on the wall. That heated glare is not furious, but nor is it benevolent: it's simply pure, manic lust.

She turns and rushes from the locker room like she has just seen a monster.

. . . . .

"Hey."

If he's here for coffee or for her, she doesn't know. Or, perhaps she does, but she's also so unbelievably ashamed and embarrassed that perhaps it's no surprise that he seeks her out in the break room since she has avoided him everywhere else for two days.

"Hi."

Her weak voice is followed by silence, and she doesn't turn, even when she knows he's still behind her. Something in the air, some part of atavistic instinct tells her he's standing right behind her.

"You here for more coffee?"

He still doesn't say anything, and she begins to freak out.

"König… I'm–God, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have–"

"Did you like what you saw?"

Her heart shoots up her throat, and her stomach churns, almost starts to eat itself from the pure terror. But it's nothing compared to what he says next.

"I was thinking of you," the calm voice reaches her ears like a tall wave, making her even more woozy than she was in the men's showers.

"I'm– sorry, what?"

"Your mouth… Breasts. If you're tight."

She finally turns, doesn't even try to conceal her horror tinged with incomprehensible, strange lust.

"Jesus…"

The ice between them is broken, but at what cost – and the anxiety she had mistaken for cuteness reveals something psychotic underneath. He still looks at her with the same stare, even when she tries to make it clear that this approach makes her want to vomit. He doesn't move, only towers over her like a hulking shade, and she darts from the break room, completely soaked and on the verge of tears.

. . . . .

There's a knock on her door the next morning, so early that she wonders who the hell could be up at this hour other than staff. It's like… five-thirty. She's so sleepy that she doesn't quite think it through as she throws only a t-shirt on before strolling to the door.

What the f-

König shoves the flowers almost in her face as she opens the door, and she has to yank her head back. All the sleep is gone in an instant, and she curses in her mind that she's standing here in only a tight t-shirt and a black pair of panties.

"I'm sorry. Please, accept my apology," he says like a poorly rehearsed actor while watching her thighs and what's between them. Her nipples shoot up, and not from cold.

"Uh… sure," she tries to sound neutral while accepting the flowers, if not his apology. He takes a step back after making sure she has truly taken the gift, and she instinctively lowers the bouquet down to shield herself from his searing gaze. She knows she's a hypocrite, having masturbated at the memory of him last night. Twice.

He has his hood on, and wears the eternal black shirt, padded gloves and some cargo pants, but there’s also an overload of gear on him. Pouches and pads and wires and ammo - she even catches a grenade or two. There’s a gun strapped to his thigh, and the shoulder pads make his already broad shoulders look even more wide. He looks so… tactical, so in his element that her instincts tell her it wouldn’t do shit to slam the door in his face and retreat back to the safety of her room. This soldier would just barge through the plywood.

And where did this guy get flowers at this hour of the day? No florist can possibly be open. Then she notices they're not exactly the kind of flowers she has seen at a shop.

Has he picked them from outside…?

"I thought you liked me."

His explanation makes her heart melt a little. He's so straightforward, so utterly without any charades or roles, that it makes her feel like she's the one who has disrespected him with her games. After all, she has done nothing but flirted 24/7 with the poor man for the last week. Of course he only thought she was interested.

"I do. I do like you."

His eyes light up with uncontained hunger. "Can I come in?"

Nope. Big mistake.

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Ok. I'll be going then."

He turns on his heels and is ready to go like nothing ever happened.

“Wha-… König, please, wait.”

He halts on command, turns back, looks at her solemnly. The only thing that gives his confusion away are his eyes, which flicker from her puzzled stare to her mouth, occasionally to the bouquet covering her nether areas.

"Could we just be friends?" She offers him rather desperately.

He merely shrugs.

"Never had any friends."

For some reason, this guy has already started to live rent-free inside her head. She simply can't get him out. And she's intrigued, even when the sanest option would be to stay away from a creepy lunatic like him.

"I can be your friend."

Fuck, what did I just say, what the fuck did I just–

"Sure. Why not," he says immediately. "You just want to be friends?"

She resists the urge to facepalm right then and there in front of him. The guy is not only socially awkward: he's in a state of denial.

Some of his friends – or at least, teammates – pass them by. Kyle, if she remembers correctly, and a Scottish man they call Soap. They both smile at her kindly. It's the first time these men have ever paid her any attention; actually, this is probably the only occasion anyone pays attention to König either. They are both suddenly visible.

"Hey König, don't go harassing our cleaning lady. We got a plane to catch."

König stares somewhere behind her as Soap speaks. His eyes are covered with glass, and she knows that look all too well. The tallest man in the building is dissociating while the two soldiers march by behind him with raised eyebrows and pursed lips: a mocking gesture only she can see.

She watches the scene with an odd pity. It appears they step into existence only when they're together – an unfamiliar setting and an odd couple, the object of ridicule for people who probably claim themselves to be normal.

"I think it would be best, yes," she whispers when the hall is quiet again. She has to start her day soon, and he has a plane to catch - no one else is awake except one hard-working woman and a few operators about to leave on an early mission. She feels the strangest sorrow as she realizes that he wanted to drop by with some flowers and his apology before leaving some place he might never return.

The man gives her a last once-over before taking his leave. He nods slowly, never breaking their gaze: an odd, gentlemanly move.

"Just friends, then."

. . . . .

It is the hottest day yet, and the guy walks around with his black hood even then.

Her new friend.

She's outside, trying to catch some fresh air and sunlight after spending another 8 hours inside a buzzing facility, and somehow, some way, the tall enigma of a man always finds her.

He angles his walk towards her as if he only happened to pass by at the same time she was lounging against the wall and looking at clouds drifting in the sky. In truth, she has an odd, yawning suspicion that she is being stalked nowadays. One of her underwear has gone missing, and she's wretched because her first thought upon finding it gone was the solid assumption that he had stolen them. Which further meant that the man had broken into her room.

But there's also flowers. Every morning when she opens her door, there's a single flower awaiting her. Sometimes, two or three, and not from a store, but from outside, from nature.

He's courting her, and she feels stupidly like a little princess because of those homely yet thoughtful gifts. She doesn't throw them away: they gather on her table, on her window sill, in a little water glass on her bedside table.

She's far too kind, that's what people always say, but she's also neck-deep into this goddamn creep at this point to do anything about it. The building is full of muscled men, men who are decent, and she chooses this… gift-bearing perv to crush on. In her judgment system, she's basically asking for it at this point.

"How are you?"

His accent lingers in the air between them, and she can't help it: it always brings a rush of heat on her cheeks and a rush of wetness down below when she hears him speak.

"I'm good. Just… good. How about you?"

"Sehr gut."

Perhaps the underwear has simply gone missing while washing laundry: it's not unusual when at least 20 people share one washing machine.

And they're only friends. Friends don't steal each other's underwear. Friends ask how they have been, how their day's gone.

"You look nice."

But the summer sun pales in comparison with the heat of that stare. Friends might compliment each other, but they don't look at each other like that.

She feels grungy enough while cleaning, not to mention in the bland, saggy clothes she has to wear every morning, so it can't be a surprise that she likes to put on an effort after the day is done. The citrus-yellow dress she has this afternoon catches his attention like she's a whole circus in town.

"You always look like an angel," he elaborates further, and she has to prevent herself from taking support from the wall upon hearing his compliment.

"Oh.. Thanks," she smiles, and he answers it: the faint creases around narrowing eyes are enough proof of that. "It's so hot… Do you ever take the hood off?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you take it off before bed?"

Oh god.

That sounded weird. She meant to ask if he took it off before sleeping.

Well, 'before bed', 'before sleeping'… What's the difference, really?

Still, he reads into it like a hawk for a seemingly socially graceless case.

"Depends if I'm alone or not," he says. Definitely thinks she's flirting with him again. Talk about sending mixed messages…

Friends, friends. We're just friends.

"Where are you from, by the way? Are you German?"

"No. Austrian."

"Oh. It must be beautiful there at this time of year."

"It is. I would still trade all of Austria for you," he says without any clumsiness, even though the pickup line is awful, one of the worst she has heard – and god, still, those big hands, that fire and ice stare makes her feel high as a kite. The image of him plowing her with the same pace he fucked his hand won't leave her alone.

"König… Just friends," she warns while feeling how another pair of panties is already ruined. She's so wet it's not even funny anymore; it makes her annoyed.

"Ok."

He says ok, but she knows he won't yield. She’s been far too kind for far too long and won't be losing this guy's interest anytime soon.

"How's work?" She tries to patiently show him how to be fricking friends, even if one party is constantly undressing the other with their eyes. As if she's not doing the same…

"You really want to know?"

"Sure."

"Had to scrub intestines from my shoes all night," he says casually. She can only blink and watch how completely distanced and indifferent he seems about something so sick.

"Everything's a mess when you use a knife," he explains further.

"Uh... I'm sure it is."

"Do you regret that you asked?"

"No. Well, perhaps a little."

He crosses his arms over his chest and looks proud; only seems pleased with himself for succeeding in scaring her even more.

"That's why I scrub guts and you scrub floors."

"I guess so," she agrees to his ever-authentic way of saying things how they are. He's a soldier: she can’t change that fact no matter how he or she puts it. Decent guys did the exact same things he did; they just didn't go around telling shy girls about the gory details of their work.

"Do you like knives?"

Nor did they ask things like this. They would ask if she wanted to go see a movie or have a lovely dinner that would end in a kiss and an exchange of phone numbers.

"Um. Yes, I think they're beautiful."

Her response causes a short, deafening silence, a few blinks. The wind catches his mask, but it never rises: she notices he's not only undressing her body, but also her soul with those eyes. Patient, like he knows all her secrets and loves them already.

"What would it take to be more than friends?"

His sudden change of subject is almost as shocking as the devil-may-care account of his work. She is feeling unusually wild; the warm weather and the yellow hues covering the distant horizons make her want to lie down on the grass and pull him on top of her. She thinks of him sliding up the fabric of her cutesy dress, thinks of him opening his pants to get that huge cock out and force it inside.

"Well… You could… Ask me out, for starters?"

"What if you come to my room and I'll show you something," he offers instantly.

As nice and naive as she may be, she's sure the only thing he wants to show her is his cock. Which she has already seen, technically speaking. Which she would like to see again, heaven forbid.

She is slightly breathless and wonders if the heat on her cheeks is visible, if her lips are a bit fuller than usual from her thoughts. Perhaps that's why she resorts to a counteroffer as if she's bargaining here. As if she can't say no.

"Uh.. How about you come and pick me up for dinner this eve–"

"Ok."

He nods with full-blown promise in his eyes and leaves right away, a little too content, and she realizes she has made the worst mistake of her entire life. She will never get a man of his size out of her room if she lets him in and things go awry.

In a hurried decision, she decides she will simply leave him blue-balled at the door. She simply won't go to dinner; she certainly won't let him in. She doesn't have to, even if and when she has to watch him mope for the rest of the year.

She will tell him they're not friends, they're nothing anymore, and that's just it.

She goes, determined and her mind set, to shower, only to notice that she's more soaked than the pool of soap water gathering at her feet. Her body simply betrays her at every turn. Perhaps she should masturbate, just in case, so she won't be weak-willed when he arrives at her door this evening. Yes, that's a brilliant idea, one of the rare good ones she’s had these past few days.

“Jesus–"

By the time she enters her room, wet and throbbing, he's already there.

"How did you get in?"

He shrugs his shoulders like he always does.

"You asked me to visit you."

He doesn't even answer her question about him breaking into her fucking room. He's standing right next to her dresser and a bra she had thrown on one of the open drawers, and she knows right then and there that he's the panty thief.

"Yeah, but… I thought you'd knock or something."

"Sorry."

If you shrug I swear I’m going to…

"Where do you wish to go?"

He's standing there like a contrapposto statue, narrow hips deliciously tilted and with an obvious erection in his pants. He doesn't seem to feel ashamed about it, and it makes her even more wet.

She has a murderous giant in her room, a killer who's visibly turned on by the sight of her underwear, perhaps the lingering scent of her perfume, too… and he's asking where she wishes to go eat tonight so he might have a chance to bang her afterward.

"Do you like Chinese?"

He shrugs as an answer, and she sighs.

"I need to change. Could you turn around?"

The eyes behind the hood regard her with curiosity, but the man does as he is bid. She takes out a floral dress and a more comfortable bra and walks further away to the bed to change. König faces the wall while she gets undressed with trembling hands. She’s sure the man will turn around, march to her, and simply have his way with her before she gets the dress on. Some sick part of her even yearns for it.

But he doesn't. Instead, his head tilts a little to the side, and his hand rises to gently brush the lace of her bra while she's in the most vulnerable position she's ever been with this man. It's an almost equal violation of her privacy as it would've been to turn, but her tongue is tied. And she only now notices he's not wearing gloves.

König is caressing her underwear with no fabric whatsoever between his skin and her chastity, and it makes her breath grow heavy like they're living in the 18th century.

"All set," she says, voice tight, and he lowers his hand and turns as if he has done nothing wrong.

The evening, however, goes far better than she had hoped. Or feared.

He buys them dinner, drinks one beer. They even have a perfectly healthy, civil conversation. She helps herself to a bit of wine to calm her nerves, and they discuss what their dreams used to be before they landed the jobs they currently have.

He reveals he wanted to be a sniper and that he prefers to work alone, but to her question on what went wrong with all that, he merely answers he was 'too clumsy.'

What the man is really trying to say is that he's simply too big. Detectable, loud, and tall.

He hints at being bullied at school and in the army, and she feels even more sorry for him, curses in her mind – if the guy's tactic is to get a girl by being a hot loner with a tragic tale of woe, it sure is working for him.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asks when there's still tension between them, tension that should have melted by now.

"A bit, yeah."

"Is it because of the hood?"

His voice is softer, and she realizes that he's really trying: trying to tone down whatever beast rages inside him, trying his all to be normal instead of some tormented madman.

"No, not exactly," she confesses and feels a sting in her heart when he looks defeated. She almost feels like a bully, too. She wants to take the guy in her arms and shush him to sleep so he would wake up less haunted. But that's not how this goes: she cannot fix him, and even if she could, she has no right to.

He takes her back to the base and stands at her door again. The halls have fallen silent, everyone's asleep at this hour, and her heart is still hammering in her chest.

"Are we still just friends?" He stares at her from the darkness of the hood, shoulders slightly hunched, trying to make himself appear smaller. Less intimidating.

"I…I guess so."

"You think I'm weird, don't you."

His next question is more of a statement. And all she wants to say is no, even if it's a lie. The guy is… not evil; it's just that he certainly isn't sane and sound, either.

"Um… I… Uh-"

"You're the one who watched me in the showers," he points out as if they're keeping score on who's more of a perv.

"Yeah. I guess I'm the weirdo here," she laughs nervously, then almost bites her tongue. He only cocks his head a little to the side and repeats his earlier question.

"Did you like what you saw?"

"Well… yes, ok? I did. Why else would I–"

"It's ok. I understand. I don't mind."

"Well, it was still rude of me to do that." She guides her gaze to the floor, then up at his polar stare that makes her want to swoon in the hopes that he will catch her. "Didn't you notice the sign on the door?"

"I did," he said, and the corners of his eyes slowly gather a few wrinkles. Smiling again.

She shakes her head slowly, scoldingly, and notices how that smile only deepens under the hood. Then his face – or what little can be seen of it – straightens.

"Am I harassing you?"

Wow. Well, at least the poor guy is trying to self-reflect. But something tells her there's more than some new-found awareness of his late behavior at work here.

There's bitterness... Exclusion.

Loneliness.

"No," she tries to comfort him. Another facepalm moment: she is basically telling a stalker she likes being stalked. That this sort of wacko shit was approved of. So this is what it has come to… Years of being invisible apparently did things like this to people.

"Or maybe a bit," she says as a spineless afterthought.

"Do you want me to stop?"

In all honesty, she is drunk on his attention. The obsessive behavior, the relentless wooing, romantic gestures accompanied by a stare that says he wants to plow her until she is a limp heap on a bed stained with tears and cum.

"König… Are you lonely?"

He shrugs, and she wants to grab him. Shake him.

"Are you?" He says with an unusually deep voice.

"...Yes."

Her voice is as fragile as can be, but the hall echoes her confession like it's a loud song. The eyes under the hood look at her softly, longingly: she hasn't even noticed how soft they can sometimes be.

"You don't have to be."

There's simply no use in denying it: she wants this guy to fuck her, no matter how creepy or weird he is.

She grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him inside.

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machveil · 2 months ago

Note

Can't believe you're gonna make me simp for this man while I'm at work-

LET ME KISS HIS SCARS BETTER REPEATEDLY DAILY ON THE BED ON THE DESK ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER WHERE NO GOD CAN SEE OR JUDGE I WILL WORSHIP THE MAN WITH WAR WOUNDS THE WAY HE OUGHT TO BE -🐸

Kiss it Better

sometimes a kiss makes things feel better— or a few dozen! headcanons for smoochin’ their scars: Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, König, Sebastian Krueger

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

Simon Riley has been on the receiving end of a lot, he’s used to it - mishaps during training, wounds during deployments, not to mention the occasional bumps and bruises from daily life. what he wasn’t used to receiving was the feeling of your lips on the rough, patchy parts of his skin

”What’chya doin’, love?”, voice warm as he watches you press kisses to his scarred chest. he’d told you about some of them, grazes and nicks, close calls with blades, “Nothing, Si.”. a content hum resonates in his chest, a hand resting on the back of your head as you continue - kissing from scar to scar

he was indifferent towards the scars - a part of his job, but when you littered kisses over them? the warmth that bloomed in his chest was welcomed. lounging in bed with you, the tv idly playing in the background as he combs his fingers through your hair, the domestic moment is pure bliss for Simon

pressing his own kiss to your hairline, he cracks a smile when you chuckle, nipping at his collarbone. “Careful, you’re supposed t’be kissin’ ‘em, lovie.”, he says, tugging your hair a little.

“Could leave a couple new marks for you.”, you mumble, smiling against his skin when he gently scratches your scalp

John “Soap” MacTavish:

for every kiss you place on his scars he’s doubling them and giving them back. Johnny is a sucker for when you kiss his scars - getting them can be horrifying depending on what happened, but when you’re pecking his arms? peppering kisses over his scarred muscles? he’s thinking about banging his knee into your coffee table ‘accidentally’ so you’ll kiss it better

“Wait, go back— missed a spot, mo ghaol.”, Johnny happily says, hand cupping your chin as he smiles at you, guiding you to press a kiss to his shoulder. the scar is barely visible - probably a nick from training or bumping into something, but he’s more than happy to feel your lips against the small mark, “Ya started this, gotta kiss ‘em all.”, he insists

he’s living for the attention, thumb pressed to your cheek as he gently guides you to each scar - some completely visible, others you have to squint at. and he’s gushing, cooing sweetly at you about how nice your lips feel against his skin, how you should do this more often

and he when you’re done? he’s pressing you down against the couch, a hand holding your wrists above your head as he kisses you silly - he’s laughing, dopey smile on his lips as he sloppily pecks you. “Hold still, mo chridhe! You’re squirmin’ too much—“, he chuckles, accent thick between quick kisses

“John! John— let go! It tickles!”, you complain, his stubble rubbing against your neck as he playfully bites at you

König:

it took a while for König to reveal his marred skin to you - scars, freckles, and moles all hidden beneath his uniform and civvies. despite his confidence and cocky nature as a Colonel, behind closed doors König worries. ever since his childhood people had pointed and mocked him, and back then he wasn’t charging into the field receiving wounds

but he trusts you, and when his sniper hood is awkwardly tugged off by large, calloused hands? his icy blue gaze meets yours, his face on display - a small scar over against his eyebrow, a cut across the corner of his lips, a scattering of roughed up skin against his cheek. he doesn’t explain what happened, how he got his scars and wounds, but you don’t pry. instead, when your first instinct is to press a kiss to his long since healed cheek?

he freezes, breath hitching - König was expecting you to be appalled, to leave his apartment with knit eyebrows and disappointment in your eyes. he wasn’t expecting such gentle, careful adoration. and when you move to kiss his crooked nose, the bridge slanted slightly, he feels his chest tighten with relief, heart hammering. “Oh, liebling—“, shaky hands moving to hover above your hips, he swallows, “You don’t have to.”, he murmurs

his stomach flips when you kiss the corner of his lips, right where the nick against them is. he lets his eyes flutter shut when you tell him you want to, the he’s handsome and ever so charming - words he never thought he’d hear

“So pretty—“, you mumble, moving to peck the small scar the splits his eyebrow, “You look perfect, König.”

Sebastian Krueger:

prideful bastard, he’s showing off each and every scar - telling you exactly what happened. it doesn’t matter that his body has a reminder that he was nicked by a blade, “Ja, the man that did this won’t lay a hand me again, meine Herz.”, it’s almost like he’s bragging about them

Krueger cracks jokes about some of his more serious wounds, waving off anything he considers boring. the small scrape on his hip? ignore that he accidentally hip checked the corner of a table, look at this one! it’s the size of your thumb, you want to know where he got it? no? oh, you don’t want to listen to his stories, kleiner Vogel? you’re hurting his feelings, you should kiss his scars to make it up to him

he just wanted to share some stories with you, isn’t it mean that you’re denying him? he’s holding your face, palm to your chin and his thumb slightly digging into your cheek, “Du willst mir nicht zuhören, kleiner Vogel? Fine, how about you give me some attention then, Klingt das gut?”. he grins when you press a kiss to the scar on his chest, humming at the feeling of your lips against his skin, “Schau dich an, isn’t this nice?”

in fact, Krueger likes it so much that he’ll seek you out just to feel you kiss his old wounds - settles you in his lap, crowds you against the kitchen counter. his eyes light up whenever you initiate, chest twisting with excitement as you peck his collarbone, where a nasty little wound had been years ago

softly smiling as you press kisses to the healed, rough bit of skin, you glance up at Krueger, “Tell me about this one?”

I love these silly little guys - I hope you enjoyed these fluffy, domestic interactions with these soldiers🎀✨

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lubrumalis · 5 months ago

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konig headcanons! (realistic)

tw: nsfw

all of these are realistic hc! dont expect a normal konig

hes NOT a shy awkward pushover, just because he has social anxiety??? we can see through his voice lines hes a very cocky person and speaks rather agressively

“lets be honest, its better off in my hands.”

i hc that just because konig has social anxiety, he doesn’t express this through bring soft and shy, he expresses it through his bluntness

konig wanted to be a sniper but did not because he couldn’t stand still, has social anxiety, i hc he has some form of adhd

his very cocky and blunt shouting isn’t because hes mean, but he just doesnt wanna be seen as that bullied kid he once was

hes doesnt have horrible EQ, but the kind of guy to be incredibly unfiltered

also, this guy was literally assigned as a human battering ram, you think hes all soft and sweet???😅😅😅

no he won’t get angry or cry if his mask is taken off. just annoyed.

its not actually canon that konig is a colonel (correct me if im wrong, i couldnt find anything on the official wiki) but lets assume hes one anyway

even if he isnt, gets paid well. really well.

private military companies that deploy soldiers in areas of active conflict can pay up to hundreds of thousands for one soldier

considering konigs age (late 30s at least) and skills, probably 400-500k a year.

chose to join the military because he had an obsession with tanks and guns as a kid

a lot of hc’s say hes 6’10. i disagree, simply based off of chances and the fact thats wayyyy too tall for the military

but he was described as a mountain, so id say his height is around 6’5-6’8

very very intimidating. hes tall big and has the mask of an executioner in the 15th century. who wouldn’t be scared?

definitely will say some random german word in a situation where no one else there knows german. he doesn’t give a damn lol

hates americans (thinks theyre all obese, mannerless, and bad at geography)

brings up the most random topics. again i really think konig has adhd.

konig was not good at school and hated it, mainly due to the anxiety and how he couldn’t pay attention

also why he chose the path of a soldier

drinks lots of beer, high alcohol tolerance, this guys a true european.

loves austrian or german food. loves schnitzel and pies.

konigs breakfast is literally sausages, toast, eggs, and sometimes beer

BIG APPETITE. he could eat for 3 people.

a little insecure about his appearance, not confident in his looks :( also why he hid his face

but as he grew older he uses the mask for actual purposes of concealing his identity, he is a special ops soldier after all

kind of a cheapskate. he chose to hide his face with what, polyester? chose a piece of cloth over everything else.

has very conservative beliefs. not to the point where he hates abortion and votes far right, konig is just a little confused about some things certain liberals believe in

pretty political person lmao

not enough info to conclude whether or not konig was abused as a kid tbh

he was definitely miserable for a period in his life. hes in the military living a monotone life, barely any contact with others, and constantly living in fear he’d die

i dont think hes as traumatized as ghost tho🙂🙂

konig appreciates his dna and how it makes him big and tall, but sometimes gets incredibly annoyed at it

mainly because well, he got bullied for itas a kid

because he specializes in hostage rescue a lot of hostages (especially kids) are scared of him and refuse to leave the area with him

takes a lot of convincing 🥲🥲

has a lot of intrusive thoughts

cannot use social media properly

also texts like an old grandpa. uses 😂 and 🤣 unironically.

“Can we have burgers 🍔 tonight🌃?”

probably uses a blackberry or reallyyyyy old iphone

relationship hcs:

konigs voice actor (jim boeven) stated in a livestream that konigs wife would ideally be a mix between maria pedraza (actress) and rachael from blade runner (character from movie).

both are 170cm ish and brunettes

i can actually see that—konig is massive and he probably prefers someone on the tall side

first thing you did that led to your relationship with him? you tolerated him that is. listened to him ranting😃

i can see him with a civilian or someone whos in the military tbh

finds you pretty at first

enjoys bickering, he needs someone to simulate his mind

you know those stories where his s/o is 5’2, clingy, soft af, and neeeeeeeds konig? haha you won’t be getting that from me.

unlike ghost, who really takes his time to get to know someone and opens up slowly, scared to have his trust broken again

konig charges in like the human battering ram he is😁

if he has a feeling you’re trustworthy you are trustworthy.

horrible at flirting. he doesn’t know how to talk to women smoothly

needs someone equally as weird and funny

s/o needs to be someone with very firm boundaries and can stand their ground, i think konigs a really stubborn person, so for a healthy relationship to work, s/o can’t be the generic bimbo

konig wears the pants in the relationship

doesn’t let you pay. he has a enough money and believes men should always pay

(im sorry to break your delusions) konig does not strike to me as someone who likes a docile homebody. thats ghost (if you remove the word docile).

he doesn’t like extremely dominant partners either

imagine someone who is a listener, accepting yet blunt, shares his quirks, and has a very elegant feel to them

also someone very independent

also gonna get killed for this but konig would realistically not go for a girl in her early twenties. he prefers elegance and sophistication over being cute and jumpy

hates one night stands.

values relationships more than you think. he can come off as strong at first, but hes trying his best

ecstatic when you tell him you wanna learn german (hes not a good teacher)

doesn’t like play fighting, he thinks he’s gonna accidentally hurt you

admires you a lot. he knows hes not the best looking person and doesn’t understand the makeup skincare dress up thing.

isn’t paranoid, but definitely doesn’t say he has an s/o

if you ever get mad at him, konig will tighten all jars in the kitchen so you have to ask him for help :)

extremely unfiltered. he hates your cooking? he will say it. that dress looks better than the other? he will say it.

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #könig #konig #konig x reader #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig x y/n #konig headcanons #konig x you

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bornofsteelblood · 2 months ago

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Revelation: König/Kidnapped!reader

“We didn’t know she was yours!” your abductor wailed, belly writhing on the ground. König's eyes flashed with a sickening delight upon hearing those words. Yes, you were his and he was going to end this nightmare for the both of you.

Warnings: Heavy mentions of blood and gore, mentions of gunfire/weapons, mentions of knives, hostage situations, violence, angst, grief, descriptions of death, Reader insert, Protective!Konig. Big man is going through it.

Four months. You had been taken from him four months ago. Your current coordinates unknown to König. Endless nights of turmoil and guilt kept him up. He should have protected you better. He should have known this was a possibility. This was entirely his fault.

Three weeks. A video of you trembling, beaten and bloodied, had been anonymously sent to König three weeks ago. The Kortac base comm center was decommissioned for over a month due to the havoc wreaked upon it by his blinding rage. Computer screens were smashed into an unrecognizable heap of wires. Chairs and tables were ripped apart as if made of paper. A Glock knife had been stabbed repeatedly through the large monitor that hung on the wall; the same monitor that had showcased your distress.

Two days. The Colonel only needed two days to devise a plan to rescue you. While König was an expert at hostage negotiation, he had no intention to negotiate your release. For the first time since your disappearance, clarity had washed over him in a cold sweep as he recounted his strategy. The answer was simple and barbaric. He’d enter as the hooded executioner. Death and destruction brought upon your captors to splatter blood through their encampment. He’d hang them by their lower intestines from the rafters to admonish an event like this from happening again.

One hour. The helicopter was going to touch down in one hour. One hour until you were safe in his embrace. The few operators König had allowed to accompany him shuffled past to stock themselves with as much ammo as possible. He had taken down entire teams of terrorist on his own, he didn't need their help. They weren’t his comrades anymore; they were witnesses. Spectators to a situation that felt like a never-ending nightmare that involved putting you in harm's way. A harrowing fact that depleted his sanity the longer you were gone.

The parachute deployed swiftly to carry him down to where he believed you were being kept, like a large omen of death sweeping down from the sky. König landed with a heavy thud as he barked orders to the others. “No one leaves alive until I find her.” Nodding their compliance, the operators began a cacophony of gunfire that engulfed the small encampment. König drew his rifle from its holster on his back, his finger itching to pull the trigger. He wanted to be in the middle of the action instead of sniping from hundreds of meters away. Bearing witness to the carnage he was going to inflict on the men who had stolen you.

Rounding an abandoned truck, König crouched to assess the situation. His eyes flicked between his men and the target; a small hideaway that would go unnoticed by most. Bounding up to the door, König had no trouble forcing his way inside. Blinded by rage and vindication, he mowed down anyone who stood in his way of securing your freedom. High from the violence he could effortlessly commit, his malicious laughter rang out triumphantly as the butt of his gun shattered an unknown masked man's nose. He was hoping that you would recognize it and know that he was here to save you.

A single figure stood out amongst the sea of corpses, a familiar face. König recognized him to be the man who had dug the sharp blade of his knife across your cheek and forehead from your hostage video. “Wait..p-please! I’ll show you where she’s-” The camo-clad, smaller man begged for his life but was cut off by a vice grip on his throat. A single hand raised his feet from the floor to be at eye level with the terrifying masked man. The Colonel couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of this lesser being struggling for his life, feet kicking frantically against shin guards. His voice dropped to a dangerous growl “Beg for your life like you made her.”

Loosening his grip, your captor fell to the ground with a sickening snap of bone. “We didn’t know she was yours!” he wailed, belly writhing on the ground. König's eyes flashed with a sickening delight upon hearing those words. Yes, you were his and he was going to end this nightmare for the both of you. Raising the rifle, he fired two rounds into the man's left thigh to prevent him from getting up. “Stell dich deinem Tod, Abschaum.”

With a heavy kick to the shoulder, König planted his entire weight on the front of his clavicle to pin him to the ground. Your captor howled like a rabid dog and König was going to put him down like one. He aimed between the eyes and fired, a spray of blood showered against his mask.

Profuse apologies and reassurances loudly tumbled from the Colonels’ lips, hoping you could hear him and would answer back. His shoulder battered against the door that divided the two of you. It was too silent on your end. König swallowed his panic down and swung his leg back to kick squarely above the doorknob. The wood splintered and burst open under the force. “Stay with me, ja? You’ll be alright!” His blood ran cold as he kneeled over you, realizing you weren’t moving.

Your neck was twisted at a horrid angle and blood that had flowed from your mouth lay dry. Death had found you first. They mutilated your beauty into something unrecognizable. He couldn’t bring you out looking like that, it wasn’t right. It would draw sympathy that König couldn’t handle; their looks of empathy would break him. It would confirm that his worst fear, his endless nightmare, was now a bleak reality.

Had you spent your last moments in agony at the thought of your lover never rescuing you? König couldn’t breathe. His throat constricted so tightly he hoped the revelation of your death would stop his heart. Did you believe that he wasn’t coming to rescue you? You died thinking you weren’t loved.

König draped his mask softly over your face, a death shroud of his own making. He couldn’t bear to look at the destruction inflicted upon you. You’re body lay limp and cold in his arms while his boots trudged through the crimson-stained dirt. The other operators quickly shifted their eyes downward. It felt intrusive to gaze upon the sulking, lumbering god as he marched past. His eyes were distant and glazed over to match his expressionless face. Your body cradled against his chest. The helicopter ride back home was silent and bleak as König refused to put you down.

It became a whispered myth among privates, what the face of the dreadful Austrian resembled. No one from that day dared to recall what he looked like and he had outgrown any ridicule he felt towards his body. He could take the shame of a failed mission but not the emptiness it had brought with it.

After you were laid to rest, König decommissioned his infamous t-shirt mask. He now brought far superior helmets and masks into the field. That particular mask was a relic and the final object that you two had shared. It meant everything to him. He would hold it between his hands and rest his cheek against it to seek comfort during those guilt-ridden nights. Those nights when he swore his ribs were being crushed from the ache in his chest. Those nights filled with guttural sobs that hadn’t wracked his body since he was ostracized in grade school. While the mask was no longer implemented, he used it to gently wipe the sorrow off of his life.

Translation: Face your death, scum. - > Stell dich deinem Tod, Abschaum.

#König x reader #reader insert #König cod #König x you #liv writes #Only “sad” gif i could find of him lmfao #angst #König #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #Updated that shit ass summary

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simp4konig · 7 months ago

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭

𝐊𝐨̈𝐧𝐢𝐠 𝐱 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

*𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7700+

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐁&𝐁. 𝐊𝐨̈𝐧𝐢𝐠, 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧. 𝐀 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐯𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

*𝐀 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨. ☁️😇

*𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐊, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐡.

*𝐊𝐨̈𝐧𝐢𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐲, 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝❤️‍🔥 + 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜��𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐨).

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭„ ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @rustic-guitar-notes ♡ @best-soup ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika ☆ @luci4theminorannoyance ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @nightlyvoids ♡ @skeletalgoats ♡ @aethelwyneleigh27 ☆ @arrozyfrijoles23 ♡ @dobaddo ☆ @the-second-sage ☆ @wil-xyz ☆ @revnatheshadow ☆ @feelya

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

König was tired.

Very tired.

So tired was he of being tired, that it was tiring to be tired. And he was exhausted.

How long he had been on deployment, he had no clue; initially, it was meant to be a month-long mission, but time seemed to be simultaneously zooming in double-speed and moving in slow-motion. A day, then a week, then another week, then three days. Day, night, night, and day — shifting from one to the other in the flick of a switch.

And, before he knew it, it had been over three months: in the barracks afterwards, those three months had felt like three years.

Still, the hours that he could recall were gruelling: hours upon hours — from morning, throughout the day, up until the night, unending — of syncopated staccato gunfire, of cacophonous voices roaring themselves hoarse, of humming helicopter blades as the bass accompaniment to the crashing cymbals of explosions, and of deaths, anticlimactic finales for those that had perished.

Of course, it was no coordinated orchestra: just chaos.

And König was tired.

What he needed was to collapse onto a mattress, face-first, and fall asleep instantly — to be possessed by a near comatose-condition, catharsis, and wake up, not knowing what day it was.

A hand reached weakly to his temple, where an intense migraine had been plaguing him for days, and held it there in vain to numb the pain.

What König needed was sleep. And actual sleep, not the kind of sleep he became accustomed to; laying idly, wide-awake, on the thin, firm barracks mattress on the metal frame, a bed too uncomfortably small and uncomfortable to accommodate for both his disproportionately gigantic size and battered, aching back. While being a Colonel had its perks, clearly the perks did not extend to an agreeable bed.

So, obviously, he was not going to lay on a bedding which, to him, felt like a plank of wood.

Instead of arriving back at the barracks — which was more than 5000 km away — in two days for a briefing he was intended to deliver, he figured that the pilot could make a detour and land somewhere in the UK as it was on his way anyway.

Besides, he could always insist that they had experienced heavy turbulence and had to land as a safety precaution. A day later than scheduled would not be a disaster — charm offensive tended to work, yet if few were charmed, he could just as easily go on the offensive and assert his authority as Colonel.

By now, it was far closer to the next day than it was today. Or was it early morning, and the day had already passed? 0500 read his watch, but whether it was dark due to the winter still lingering and prematurely enveloping the sky like a black, starless blanket, or dawn in a few hours, wouldn't have made any difference.

The pilot had landed fuck knew where, König thought, but all he knew was that the town was quite quiet: aside from the occasional drunkards at a pub or a single customer at a convenience store buying cigarettes, the town was asleep. König ought to have been too, but the thought that he would be soon was comforting.

König was too tired to research either hotels or motels nearest him as he usually would, as he was struggling to keep his eyes open as was. He just needed a bed, to rest, and that was it… perhaps some breakfast, too. But that wasn't the main objective.

König continued to trudge at a begrudging pace, back slumped over under the mass of his rucksack, his legs difficult to lift as if they each weighed a tonne.

At this point, a sofa would do, as long as he could stretch his sore legs on it.

As he turned the corner, he rubbed his puffy pink eyes, eyelids sagging. That's when the fancy, elegant letters of the “ʀᴏʏᴀʟ ʙᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋғᴀsᴛ”, caught by his closing eyes.

At last — salvation had come!

“No vacancies — sorry!” said the sign in front, but König, choosing to ignore it, opened the door.

Given the hour, it was pitch-black. Aside from the weak fluorescent glow of a crescent moon casting a silver luminescence across the walls, a faint sliver of pale light was visible through the crack beneath the door. A shadow.

Running of water and the soft clinking of plates — the washing of dishes, as quiet as one can be. König wasn't going to consider why anyone sane would choose to wash the dishes at whatever hour this was. Frankly, he couldn't care less. What he cared about most was rest.

A dulcet humming slid smoothly under the door; faint, yet audible, and soothing. Whether it was the melody of a song or an improvised tune, it sounded pleasant.

Drawn towards it like a moth to a flame, König chucked the rucksack into the darkness, alleviating the pain of his shoulders after carrying such baggage.

Realising that it would give the person behind the door a fright to see an uninvited guest — to them, an intruder — on their doorstep so late in the night, it would be wise to pose as little of a threat as possible. Starting with louder footsteps to alert them beforehand, and a gentle greeting as he opened the door:

“Hallo.”

Almost dropping the plate that you were washing onto the floor, you shrieked in surprise nonetheless. Turned off the tap, having heart palpitations.

At the sight of the intruder in front of you, you stifled another shriek, a hand shooting up to grasp the fabric of your tee tightly, almost collapsing onto the floor had not your left hand held onto the countertop for support.

The plate, dropped in your secondary shock, shattered, loudly clattering as porcelain pieces still foaming with the dish-soap bubbles scattered across the floor.

“Fuck!” you cursed, but before you could lean in to tidy the mess, the stranger was crouching down and scooping it all in his gloved hands — quite agile for someone his build.

Then König's back was protesting in pain, joints cracking embarrassingly loud.

“Nicht,” he hushed, accented voice hoarse from barking orders and yelling at the top of his dust-lined lungs. Not like you knew — to you, he sounded like he was a chainsmoker, croaking his final breath before his lungs collapsed. “Bitte. Allow me.”

This was… unusual. Unusual was an understatement, however — just what the fuck has happened in the last ten seconds?

The moment you saw him, head almost reaching the ceiling, hovering ominously in the darkness, your first thought was that this man had come to murder you.

Big, bulky, and brawny, as tall as he was wide — fuck, taller — heavy military gear, combat boots and all…

And if his appearance at a first glance hadn't made you faint, his veil was the cherry on the cake: even with the cutouts for eyes, his eyes were camouflaged by the cover of darkness, so that the holes were eerily resembling two empty caves; or even ravines, emptier, deeper, as an abyss.

Oh God, you thought. Maybe that's how and where he would dispose of your body; just dump it in a cave to be forgotten and fossilised, or into a pit, plummeting to the ground; unrecoverable.

Either way, the veil made the entity appear uncannily similar to an executioner…

Should you have called for help? Fuck, get it together, you fucking idiot, of course you should have! The man had murderous intentions! He had come here to murder you, he had! Why else would he be here at this ungodly hour? And— oh God— was that a pistol in the holster?!

In your head, you were calculating the seconds needed to stall for time after loudly shouting for help before your experienced guests would come running from the corridor and tumbling down the stairs from the second floor. Not only were there four of them, but they were soldiers, too — good men, and good soldiers.

So, your boys would definitely overpower this guy, outnumbering him and tackling each one of his limbs to the ground long enough for the Police to arrive, and…

…no. That's ridiculous. What were you thinking? This man has not given you any reason to think this way. Sure, his appearance left a lot to be desired, but aside from that, he was... docile. Polite.

Awkwardly hovering over him, quite literally twiddling with your thumbs and unsure of what to do — ...call for help regardless? — you hesitated when asking: “So, uh— what, um, brought you here then, sir?”

He grunted in acknowledgement, and, having scooped up the remnants of the plate, it all dwarfed in the palm of his hand. You gulped audibly as he stood up to his full height, and you didn't do a good job at concealing the way that you flinched when he leaned close to dispose of the ceramic pieces into the bin beside you.

As he took two steps back, he drew out a weary sigh, head sinking a little.

“I'm tired,” he said. “I need a room.”

Oh.

In your panic, your anxiety… you had totally forgotten that you ran a B&B. That this man was perhaps here because, you know, your business, your current career, was in hospitality and catering.

Yeah… You totally had overlooked that…

…But it's fine. It's totally not like you forgot that you were in the building that housed your guests or anything. Rather than realise that the people you were housing were your guests, your first instinct was to bring their profession into this.

Self-preservation had never been so selfish until this point. Yikes.

God. Had you been less afraid at the start, you could have spared a laugh at the absurdity of the situation and your irrational thought process, but as things stood, you were still pissing yourself from terror, intimidated by this unit of a man.

Now you were just standing there, expression stony and as still as a statue. The veil hovered over you, scrutinising you with squinted eyes in curiosity.

Your expression softened slightly at the sight of him; so pitiable and pitiful, evident exhaustion weighing him down.

Frowning, you were sympathetic. “I'm… sorry, sir, but there are no vacancies available. You must have missed the sign outside? I'm so sorry—”

“I didn't miss it,” he stated, rasping in the same assertiveness of a German (that's what you gathered his nationality was, anyways — what, with his accent). “I still need a room.”

Sighing in exasperation, you were less sympathetic: still, you were going to continue being polite. Just in case he took anything the wrong way. You prayed that he'd prefer his pistol over his hands.

“Sir, you— you must understand that I cannot possibly accommodate you. You— you do understand, right?”

The man's shoulders drooped, and light finally reflected off his eyeballs as his head dropped, too heavy to keep straight: his eyes were sagging, both in sadness and tiredness. Scleras were nearing crimson, and heavy bags under his eyes were burdened by dark half-circles. Some warpaint that hadn't been washed off well enough outlined his eyes, giving the impression that his eyes were sunken into his skull.

You looked away, overwhelmed by guilt and pity.

“Um…”

Biting your lip in consideration, your eyebrows furrowed.

Yet there was little to consider — this was a man desperate for some rest, and given his assumed soldier status, he was evidently deserving of some sleep. Besides, what sort of a person would you be if you refused to house a guest? The decision would remain in your conscience, reminding you of how heartless and inhumane you were.

Or it wouldn't, when you'd be murdered in your sleep and all of your meagre belongings and material possessions would be stolen, while your four other guests had their throats slit.

Because despite their similar profession, it seemed that this man was not in their faction. Your gut churned at the thought that you could be unknowingly housing two rival contracts.

As you swallowed thickly, you looked back at him, your unease easing by degrees the longer you listened to his slow breathing, yet persisting nonetheless.

“Well—” you hesitated. “—I do have a room—”

The light in his eyes became brighter, as his eyelids could barely remain open. “Ah, you do, do you?” he said, eyes crinkling in a small smile.

“Yes, sir,” you sighed, then offered a small smile of your own. “It's upstairs, though. Is that okay with you?”

“Ja,” he affirmed. “Lead the way.”

Wordlessly, he followed you up the stairs, the thump—thump—thump of his heavy boots following close behind, that would have otherwise thud—thud—thud’ded had they not been muffled by the fluffy carpet. You mourned the way that it would never be as fluffy again. The dirty dirt marks left behind with each footstep made you grimace, so unlike the ones left by the others. Did this guy even shower before coming here?

Finally at the door, a little awkwardly, you unlocked it, and ushered him inside, flicking on the light switch.

“Uhm, it's a little small… “ you murmured apologetically, voice trailing off. “I mean, it's a double, but it might not be big enough…”

König surveyed the size of the bed, taking long, thoughtful strides… then flung himself face-first on top of it, sinking into it.

Your eyebrows disappeared into your hairline, jaw dropping to the floor in amazement. His feet stuck out, but he didn't seem about to complain.

“Are— are you okay?”

“Perfekt. I have needed this.”

You crossed your arms, dumbstruck and rendered dumb by this… display.

“O—kaaayyy... I’ll—I'll leave you be then, sir.”

“Ja,” he yawned, not bothering to take off his shoes. You sighed, shaking your head sternly, but decided to hold your tongue.

As you were heading out, you glanced into the room, hovering in the doorframe. “Sleep well, soldier,” you whispered, flipping the light switch. The darkness enveloped the man like a blanket.

…

For four straight days he slept like a log. Literally, because he was like one in length and diameter, but mostly in the figurative sense. Of course, König didn't know that. Yet.

When he awoke, König felt reinvigorated, rejuvenated, revived… all synonyms of said words (he couldn't think of any more — funnily enough, he would use none of these when speaking to you).

The first thing that he noticed when he awoke was that the duvet was tucked in neatly into the covers around him, and that his boots were off.

He noticed that his rucksack was next to his boots second. Even if you were someone strong for your size, he doubted that your strength really could make up for your height — the footage of you struggling to lug his bag up the stairs brought humour to him. Or, maybe he was underestimating your strength, and you were stronger than you looked. Still, he found humour in the idea regardless.

Thirdly, the curtains were drawn tightly closed, but daylight penetrated unrelentingly through the material regardless, giving the impression that the room was feebly glowing with white. Heavenly.

Was this heaven? It sure felt like it. Surely, a few more moments of blissful shuteye would—

Wait. What day was it?

Springing out of bed, sprinting downstairs, he was about to rush outside…

…when he halted in his tracks halfway.

What the fuck was he doing? He was a fucking Colonel. Who fucking cares what fucking day it is. The idiots on base should be glad that he's even there, regardless of how belated his entrance is. Honestly, at this point, he's considering this his own vacation in the semi-countryside. He deserves it, after three months of doing his utmost not to let himself or his comrades die.

Walking down the steps, he overhead a familiar sound: the running of water, and humming. Humming a different tune this time.

Having woken up alert, not groggy like he had been that late night/early morning, he could appreciate the sound now.

In all actuality, that hummed tune was nothing extraordinary — quite frankly, it was one of the most ordinary songs he could have heard.

Clearly, you must not be a good singer; otherwise, your breath would not have hitched in your throat with every high note you'd have to reach. Your song was syncopated, despite you likely not having meant it to be.

Occasionally, you'd sing the words that you'd know — voice off-key and clumsy — then revert to humming once more, stealing quick breaths every once so often.

Then he saw you, and he could put a face to that clumsy voice. It was his breath that hitched in his throat.

There was nothing particularly pretty or handsome about you, either. From the profile, you were decently average — or annoyingly average — neither exceptionally beautiful nor exceedingly ugly. You were just… you.

And, yet, the sight of you washing the pyramid of dishes precariously balancing on top of each other, singing softly a song so out of tune, so out of sync, was… concerningly domestic.

Just for a split-second, König visualised you as his partner, waiting patiently for him as he was on deployment, and this being the morning after his return, this being one of those precious mornings you two could share. It would be nice to have something to cherish so much.

And as soon as that vision materialised, it disappeared just as soon. Too soon.

A little flustered by what he had imagined, he shook his head, shaking off the remaining pixels of that screenshot until they completely dissipated, disappeared. Now was not the time.

This time, he wasn't going to frighten you, Gott forbid all of those plates would come crashing down like an avalanche of porcelain; it would save breaking his back, secondarily, but primarily, he didn't want you to snap out of your trance, so innocently focused at the task at hand, only to react so strongly like you did the last time.

So he contented himself with waiting, despite hovering a little too awkwardly in the doorframe, unsure of what to do with himself.

After turning off the tap, you sighed — an anticlimactic conclusion to your encore — before drying your hands with a teatowel. Now was the time to introduce his presence.

Coughing quietly to draw your attention, König announced: “Guten tag.”

Whipping your head so quickly towards the source of the voice your neck nearly had whiplash, your eyes widened.

Sighing a sigh of relief after recovering from your surprise, you smiled politely.

“You're awake! Thank God. I was beginning to think that you had died or something. How are you? Do you feel better?”

It's been a while since anyone had asked him that.

“Oh— ah, Gut. Thanks.”

There was something so appealing about your face that König couldn't place; so easy on the eye.

Awkwardly adding: “I slept… well. Very well. The bed was the most comfortable I've ever slept on in ages.”

“I mean, I figured — what, with you there for so long!”

You laughed, and he swore he was floating. “I swear, you must have been hibernating or something. I was hoping that there wouldn't be a corpse I'd have to dispose of. But, you are okay, right?”

His hoarse voice had a hint of a morning rasp in it, as he whispered a quiet: “What… what day is it?”

“Day?” You looked to the side, thinking. “Uhhh, let me think— Tuesday, right? I think it is, anyways? Well, you arrived on Friday, so nearly four days a—”

“Scheisse.” König's voice was monotone. “I was supposed to brief subordinates. They were meant to commence training on Monday.”

You gasped. “Then why are you still here?! Go! Look, it's only two days—”

“Nein. If I am going to be late, I might as well be fashionably late. I hate it there. I am treated like I am elderly and coaxed to do paperwork when I am in my prime age for fighting. I hate it.”

“You sure do hate your job, it seems,” you mused. “How come?”

“I do not. I hate the people. I am a soldier for that precise reason, and I always get reprimanded for my brutality, when it is a thrill to me. Did I say I hate it?”

“...Oh. O-okay...”

You shifted from leg to leg, twirling your foot into the floor awkwardly, not knowing what to do with this information.

“...Well, how about some breakfast?”

He blinked. “Breakfast?”

You laughed. “Don't you know how a B&B works? Breakfast is included, you know.”

“Oh.” He blinked again, enlightened. “OK. I won't be long.”

“Please, take as long as possible.”

“How thoughtful of you,” he said, pleased.

“I mean— it gives me more time to prepare the food — which, by the way, what would you like? Any preferences? Allergies? I tend to hand out a menu, and offer a full English, but this situation is a bit—”

“Everything,” he interrupted, assertive. “And anything.”

“Mmmkay,” you mumbled. “I'll do what I can.”

“Thank you. Will be seeing you.”

The “will be seeing you” sounded a little too ominous for your liking, despite seeming to have no ill intentions. Goosebumps formed on your arms, but you skillfully hid your trepidation with a warm smile.

König walked up the stairs, leaving you behind to mournfully look into the fridge, praying that there was food enough to feed this guy.

(...This giant. Mutant, perhaps. It was hard to believe that this unit was even human.)

You were thankful for the fact there seemed to be enough food. What you were not thankful for was that it'd only be enough for one meal, or two if you scavenged for some more ingredients out of the cupboards.

A carton of 16 eggs, a jug of milk, two hams, a loaf of bread, some fruit, some vegetables, some leftover pastries… all fine and dandy; alas, this guy was probably going to chug the milk straight out of the jug and likely had some weird fixation with eating the raw egg yolk, as if it's the ultimate forbidden protein source, or something. Maybe you were prejudiced, based on your current experience with three out of four of the other soldiers not knowing how to make pancakes. The clean-up afterwards made you seriously consider abandoning your B&B and hiking to the next country by foot.

König on the other hand? He had already decided that he would never abandon this B&B. Your B&B.

He was making himself quite at home. Everything in this bedroom was so homely, and, come to think of it, it was exactly what König needed; a change of scenery. To be home. It was just a shame that he had not a place to call that — for now, at least.

Feeling refreshed and looking fresh out of the shower, he half-heartedly dried the mop of hair on his head. Slipping on some shirt he dug out of his bag, he cursed when he wore it back-to-front, and slipped it on again.

Finally dressed with no further discrepancies, he stole a glance of his profile in the reflection; grimaced; then quickly slipped his signature veil over his head. The thing was falling apart at the seams. He would fix the stitching when the night came.

As soon as he opened the door, an intense aroma — aromas — overwhelmed his olfactories. His stomach growled, and König remembered that it must have been almost 6 days since he had eaten.

Approaching footsteps drew your attention to the masked man advancing, so you turned off the running water, and dried off your wet hands, to pull out a chair for him. At least the largest load of the dishes was tackled; the rest could be put on pause. You didn't exactly find the prospect of more washing up promising.

“Hey, welcome back. I hope your shower was good!” you chimed, a cordial smile gracing your face.

The smile became lopsided as you followed the man's unspeaking gaze towards the food you prepared for him.

“O-oh, yeah— well, uhm, I didn't know what you'd like, so I put together all the scraps and then some to make you breakfast,” you said, rubbing your nape. “Come to think of it, is this even breakfast at this point? Is it lunch? Brunch sounds better, but it's past noon to call it that…”

König had tuned out your ramblings — not because the sound was like white noise; because he was mesmerised by the platter of food:

An omelette, colourful with diced peppers, tomatoes, and sautéed mushrooms, cheese melted on top of it, and presumably mashed together with mashed potatoes; a poached egg (which, by the looks of it, went wrong — but was still appetising nonetheless) on top of an avocado, tomato, onion corn, cucumber, and rocket salad; a fried egg in a bacon barm, with a toothpick through it and, also melting with cheese; two sausages, sprinkled with crispy onions, more mushrooms, with a ramekins of beam on the side. If that wasn't enough to whet his appetite already, the sight of two croissants and two muffins — warm, and fresh out of the oven — buttered and smeared with jam, and the fresh bowl of fruit, then he was surely salivating.

He was salivating. Coughing into his hand, he discreetly rubbed the drool off his chin with the hem of his mask.

“Mein Gott— this is—”

Amazed, he sat down in the chair that you pulled for him, in a daze.

“Scheisse.” His throat was dry. “Are you an angel, by any chance? Is there something that you've not told me?”

Laughing bashfully, you waved a dismissive hand, swatting the blush away from your cheeks.

“Aw, you're so sweet! I'm flattered.”

“No, really,” he insisted, the eye contact he was making with you intense. “If that's the case, maybe I should make you my own personal maid turned housewife. You'd fit in my suitcase, nicht?”

Your laughter became awkward and strained, yet you forced yourself to keep your eyes trained on his. “Ahhh, nah, ha ha… I'm not flexible like that. Such a shame, ha ha ha…”

His eyes crinkled in a smirk, and with the way that they did you instantly knew that he was taking the piss. “I'm joking. You can relax. I am sincere when I say I have no such ill intentions.”

“Wait— your… mask.” You gestured to the veil. “Would you, uh… rather I look away as you eat?”

Surprisingly — surprising himself more than he did you — König shook his head instinctively, decisively.

“No. I do not mind. I will only mind if you try to look under it.”

Holding up two placating hands, you reassured him that you wouldn't, and that seemed to please him.

After that, aside from the clinking of cutlery on plates chewing on crispy, crunchy food, it was silent.

The man appeared comfortable in your presence, and was too focused on his food. Still, out of consideration for keeping his identity private, you stared at the chipped paint on the wall that you hoped he hadn't noticed. You would paint over it at some point.

Antsy as you anticipated his answer, you were nervously strumming your fingers against your knee. “...How is your breakfast?”

He was chewing the food slowly, eyes closed, enjoying the tastes. Swallowing even slower, he finally whispered a shaky: “Fantastich.”

Your face lit up, and you couldn't contain your excitement.

“I'm so glad! I hope it's enough. I-I mean– you know what I mean! For a big guy like you, this must be a snack. If this hadn't been so short notice, I would have prepared something more.”

He hummed appreciatively, appreciating every bite of food and devoting more time than he usually did to eating: usually, he was the type to shovel food by the mouthfuls and set his plate aside with his mouth still full; but, to König, it would be disrespectful to do that. He was holding your culinary skills in far too high of a regard to do that.

After he had finished, he pushed the plates aside, satisfied. “Gott. That was delicious. Maybe I will smuggle you inside my suitcase after all.”

He laughed, and dismissed your concern with a shake of the head. You furrowed your brows sternly, unamused, and collected the dishes, eyes widening; the plates were totally clean, not a crumb of food left.

You were beyond pleased. To describe your joy would have been impossible…

Yet, you had to wash all of those dishes. Again. Maybe you should seriously consider getting a dishwasher, but it was… oddly satisfying, to say the least. It was quite calming: the running water; the rubbing of the porcelain; the bubbles. And it was most satisfying seeing the plates in the rack stacked nicely.

“Every time I see you, you are washing dishes,” König pointed out, observing you from the few feet he was away.

You laughed at that. “Well, that's just how it is when you've got four adult men eating at your place, plus other guests. Trust me, this load isn't even half of what I wash most of the time.”

“Where are they now? The men, I mean.” he inquired, inquisitive.

“Gone,” you shrugged, elusive. “They always make a short stay anyways; they have places to be.”

“I see. Who are they?”

You bit your lip, wavering in your hesitation. “I'm… not in the position to divulge.”

“I don't see.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “They're soldiers. Just like you. They returned from deployment not too long ago, and are regular guests at my B&B, I guess. Not much to it.”

König let out a snort. “Regulars?”

“I don't know how else to put it!” You groaned, holding up your hands in exasperation. “Anyways, long story short, they returned from deployment, landed here, and seem to keep landing here, even though their barracks are miles away and this place is nowhere near any of their stops. Sure do wonder why.”

“I do not wonder; it's because your bed and breakfast are excellent, and you are an excellent host.”

Not knowing how to respond in your bashfulness, you contented yourself with washing the dishes, prolonging the process for as long as possible.

Time decided to defy you, and you were done in a matter of minutes.

“Well then. I better give you the payment, yes?”

The man pushed his chair aside, and sluggishly rose to his feet. “How much do I owe you?”

Cheeks still rosy, you considered for a moment. “Well… for four nights, it'd be £355.96, but given that you took my bedroom — by far the premium room — I gotta slap onto that an additional £50.”

“Still, since you were basically hibernating for three of those days, why not make it a nice and round £400?” You winked, smirking mischievously.

It took you a few seconds of him staring at you in order for it to register that he seemed to catch on to this revelation, and was appalled.

“Wh— what are you looking at me like that for?”

“I am… sleeping in your bedroom?”

“...Yeah? Look, it's not even a big deal. I don't mind, really! I'm happy to accommodate to your stay—”

“Scheisse! You should have said something, verdammt!”

“Like what? Tell you to shoo in the middle of the night and have you wandering around, only to end up sleeping on some bench? No! Besides, I've made the basement quite cosy, so no one is losing.”

Grumbling angrily in German, out from his wallet, he pulled out a crisp, crumpled — yet fat — stack of a wide array of notes, foreign currency from more than one country. “And I am in debt to you by how much again? Four hundred of those pounds?”

You nodded, smiling sweetly. “Y-yeah!”

“I have not the correct currency for this country, unfortunately.” He was apologetic, rifling through the stack and skimming through it. “Will this suffice?”

Your smirk flickered, yet remained flashing. It seemed a lot, but maybe other currencies didn't equate to as much as the Pound Sterling. God, what a chore it will be counting all this…

“Hold on… I can just Google the conversions, and add them. Good thing I've got a calculator on hand for these exchanges!”

After calculating the sums of all the equations, your jaw dropped.

It was over quadruple what you charged him, so you thought you had hallucinated and calculated the sums incorrectly. Maybe your maths wasn't as good as it used to be…

Inputting the numbers into the conversion rates in a different order gave you the same result, however. You were puzzled…

Unless…

“You— you've given me too much? Fuck, hold on another moment, please— I'm struggling to calculate, and I think I'm doing something wrong—”

“How much did it come out as?

“...£1417.”

“That little, it did? I thought it was over 1500. I guess I overestimated. Shame.”

If your jaw hadn't dropped, it was on the floor by now.

“I— what?” You contained your bulging eyes before they popped out. “Okay, u-uhm, you're not making it easy for me to give you back change, are you? I need a few more minutes to—”

“No. That is my payment.”

You couldn't believe in what you were hearing.

“What?! N-no, wait— it's too much! I can't accept this! Look, I—”

“Then I'll be staying for the rest of the week.” He stated, direct. “Consider that the payment upfront.”

Nearing hysterics, you insisted: “But it's still too much! P-please, let me give back the change—”

“Nein. Then I want you to consider the overpayment the tip, yes? For good service. Please.”

Tears brimming in your eyes, your lip quivered a little.

Despite denying him out of principle, the truth was that these sorts of gestures were too generous, and you couldn't handle such kindness. Even with the other four regulars that would slip in extra bills into your purse, this? It was all just—

And the fact that this man was so adamant made you tear up.

“I— o-okay… Thank you…”

“It is my pleasure.”

The fabric of his veil crumpled as his eyes crinkled and cheeks were made visible in a smile.

“I will go to your room and sleep some more, if that is okay with you?”

“Sleep? Haven't you hibernated enough for two consecutive winters?” You joked weakly, still overwhelmed by his generosity.

“True. But I need this,” he said, back hunched over and shoulders slumping. “I will be as fit as a young boy tomorrow, and will resume my workouts! I will be going jogging for most of the noon.”

“You— don't look so old,” you stammered, a bit bashful. “But I won't disagree with you. You deserve the rest, Colonel.”

The nickname amused him. “Don't call me that. At the barracks, yes, but I would prefer it if you would refer to me as König.”

“Okay then, Colonel König,” you repeated, a mischievous smirk on your face.

“You are a devious little thing, aren't you? How cute.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you groaned exaggeratedly, playfully pouting.

“Seriously though,” you began, eyes earnest. “I hope you enjoy your stay. And if you wanna sleep in all day today? Go ahead!”

“Thank you,” he said, relieved. “And you are sure that this is no trouble?”

“None! This is my business, after all. I'm happy to be here, and I'm happy that you're happy too.”

“Well, I will be seeing you. Bis morgen, Süße.”

Offering him another warm smile, König walked upstairs.

The rest of the day went without a hitch. Two guests filled the empty rooms of the previous four, and you booked them in. It was quite quiet, and when night came, the two guests tucked in their beds with a cordial “Goodnight”.

A sigh left you, satisfied that everything was in order, everywhere was tidy, and all countertops were spotless. Checkup done, you were pleased with yourself and your effort for the day.

The bed in the basement was still big; a small single — plenty of space to sprawl all your limbs and sink face-first into a pillow.

That night, however, the bed was strangely bigger than usual.

…

Rubbing your eyes with your yawn as you walked up the stairs to prepare breakfast for your guests the next day, you halted in your tracks.

“Guten morgen.”

The sight of him wearing an apron — your apron — so comically small, was hilarious. If it wasn't so hilarious, you would have been furious at the fact that your favourite apron was splitting at the seams, but as things stood, you were splitting your sides with laughter.

“I… what?”

“Good morning.”

“N-no, I mean— what are you doing?”

“Well.” He pondered for a moment, then turned to you, expression blank in its confusion. “Breakfast. What does it look like, little one?”

“That's…” You were at a loss for words. “...my job?”

“Ja, I learned. But I wanted to return the various favours you made to me.”

You were perplexed. “I didn't make you any favours?”

He chuckled. “Forfeiting a bed is one of the strongest favours, no? It's the easiest way to bring someone closer — letting them into your bed.”

“Oh my God, will you shut UP about that, PLEASE,” you groaned, embarrassed by his teasing. “And stop wording it like that. You're making it seem as if I brought you into my bed to have sex. So gross.”

“What is gross? Sex, or sex with me?”

“I— oh my God…”

“...Sooo, ha ha… h-how did you sleep?” you innocently asked, desperate to divert conversation onto another topic.

“Well.” König said, thoughtful. “I would have slept better if I had you to cuddle, of course.”

“You'll sleep even better when I suffocate you with a pillow. Then you'll never wake up.”

“Just admit it: you like me,” König asserted smugly. “Don't be shy, schatz.”

“I'm not shy,” you lied. “You're just wrong. I barely know you.”

At this, König cackled loudly, yet not mockingly — just obnoxiously.

“I know you well enough to say that I like you; why not say the same, hm?”

Laughter dying down, König was about to pull out a chair for you when you pulled it out for yourself and sat down without a second thought. A scowl was under his veil, but he didn't point it out.

“I still don't get why you're making me breakfast.”

Balancing two plates on his forearm as he placed a third in front of you, he said: “Hush. Genieße dein Essen, schatzen.”

Pretending you knew what any of that meant, you nodded eagerly, as you had a kid-like grin on your face at the sight of such food, especially being prepared by a hunk as handsome as he.

“König!”

So, why not impress him with your language skills?

“Gracias— fuck! Wait, no… uh—”

“Ah, it is me who was mistaken,” he teased. "Bon appétit.”

Why not? For that reason, you learned…

Rather than there being an awkward silence, König chuckled, and lovingly stroked your hair, careful in his way not to tangle it. Meanwhile, you were redder than the chopped tomatoes on your plate, and to you, this wasn't remotely funny. You just got nervous!

“You are so sweet, schatz. Such a treasure. Never change, ja? Now eat your food before it is cold.”

You huffed, then stabbed a fried egg with a fork, uneasy, and feeling queasy, your mind drifting back to that morning where those other four soldiers absolutely desecrated the pancakes they made and cooked an unholy concoction of raw egg and half-cooked batter. With chocolate chips on top.

Gulping, you opened your mouth, and took a tentative bite.

Eating it… it tasted quite good. Great, actually.

“See? I am a good cook. You would like an extra pair of hands to make your workload more… enjoyable?”

You choked on the egg. “An— extra what?”

“Help, of course.”

“You— you knew what you were doing when you said that.”

“Knew what, little one?”

“Nevermind,” you scoffed. Scarfing down the food was enjoyable indeed. Having had breakfast prepared for you was pleasant, for a change.

His breakfast gave you a run for your money, and you were silently seething.

Admittedly, his breakfast was a “man's” breakfast — hearty, full of food, and abominable presentation, cobbled together. The taste was phenomenal, though — nothing to fault there.

“Finished? Wunderbar. I can cook for the remainder of my stay—”

“Wooaah, there, big guy. Hold your horses. Are you replacing me at my own job?”

You smirked, touched. “I think it's sweet, really, but let this be a one-off, okay?”

König frowned, and even with you not being able to see it, you could sense his disappointment.

“It's not like I didn't appreciate this… but, König, c’mon. This is my job, you know.”

“OK…”

You sucked in a breath. “Another time, okay? When I have no guests. I'll reserve the establishment for you.”

He perked up at this. “OK!”

…

“Why is your Breakfast in Bed named “Royal”?”

You let out a snort. “Bed and Breakfast, König. And why? Well… to be honest… the only reason I did was to appeal to the Brits.”

“...Oh. That is the only reason?”

Contemplating it for a moment, you realised: “Yeah… don't get me wrong, I don't worship the Royal family — between you and me, I don't give two flying fucks about the King — but if I'm here, oughtn’t I cater to my target demographic?”

The mug of coffee — with a Union Jack flag and the text “ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴄᴀʟᴍ, ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ᴏɴ ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ��ᴇᴀ” printed on it — that he was about to take a sip out of, froze mid-air.

“...King? Not the Queen?”

“She's dead, König. I know that much.”

“...Oh.”

“I… figure you didn't know that much?”

“...No.”

You couldn't hold back a laugh, and burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Doubled over and splitting your side as you wiped a tear, you exclaimed: “Ain't it— funny!? How— how nice of a coincidence it is that— that you, a King, landed at the ʀᴏʏᴀʟ ʙ&ʙ?!”

Yeah, you had Googled what his name meant. Simply out of curiosity, nothing more.

“It must be fate,” König said dreamily, which went unnoticed as you giggled a little longer.

“Ye—ah! Oh my God, HELP— I-I can't breathe... fuck. Who knows? Maybe. Fuck.”

…

Before you knew it, the week had passed.

You took the liberty of doing König’s laundry and dry-cleaning folding the day before, his clothes folded neatly. Rather than wasting time going to the laundrette, you said, you would be more than happy to do it for him.

While awake, you wanted to bake him some pastries and prepare a few plastic containers of food — “...So you won't be hungry. Or go hungry, for at least 2 days or so.”

“At most. Your food is so irresistible that I will not be able to resist eating everything in one sitting.”

“Hey, be my guest! Not telling you how to live your life. 2 hours it is, then.”

König was no longer tired; and, although you were, you woke up earlier than usual nonetheless in order to ensure that he wasn't missing anything. What, with his meagre possessions, most likely wasn't, but the both of you refused to acknowledge anything.

“God — you're, like, almost a week past schedule. What are your superiors going to say about going AWOL?”

“They are not going say anything,” he proclaimed, confident “No one is superior to me, anyways. They will not say anything.”

“You're as full as yourself as the first day we officially became acquainted.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” he said drily. “Did I say I like you?”

“You sure did. Like, a hundred times by now.”

…A hundred times, and he hasn't said “I love you” once. How humiliating it was for König. It didn't seem as if you caught on to his feelings, but that was for the better, he gathered.

“It will be two hundred when I return.”

“Sooo…” A little awkwardly: “Are you going to be a regular guest at my B&B? Asking for future reference, so I know when to reserve a bed for you.”

“Of course. There's no other bed I would like to sleep in than yours, meine liebe.”

Blush erupted on your cheeks like a volcano.

“It would be nice for you to sleep in it and join me, nicht? It is your bed, after all. Maybe you would like the company, and a helping hand—”

“Are you leaving already? Begone with you!” you hissed.

Hopeful:. “...But will you write to me? Send me letters, or a pigeon, or something!”

“I… cannot guarantee it,” he said sternly. “But rest assured, this will not be the last you will be seeing of me.”

“I hope so…” You sniffed. “When will you be back?"

“Soon.”

You gazed in each other's eyes for a few agonisingly short moments — the time was agonising short, this moment was too short. There was more that you wanted to say, more than you wanted to hear from him.

“Well, König… goodbye.”

König snorted, laughing his signature cackle, and you were confused.

“What is the reason for this “goodbye” or these “farewells”? Say “see you”. Or, in German: Ich werde auf dich warten, mein König. That will make me happy.”

“I… am not even going to attempt that. Thanks, but no thanks..”

König patted your shoulder, but he had to lean down in order to do it, and you pouted whenever he patronised you so.

“See you,” you said, eyes earnest. “And I will see you, you fucking bastard; you're so big that I wouldn't exactly be able to miss the mountain on the horizon.”

“Ja, ja, liebe. I will be seeing you. Wait for me.”

…

König was full of energy — dreading the barracks, yes, but rejuvenated by an intense vigour and excitement. Excited for the next mission.

Now, even on deployment, no matter how many of those months would be gruelling and no matter what that he will be eating the worst canned gruel imaginable, he would have some place to look forward to returning — “ʀᴏʏᴀʟ ʙᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋғᴀsᴛ” — and food, homemade. That was a bonus.

Yet, most of all, to look forward to a familiar face; yours.

If what people say about long distances making the heart grow fonder, then by the time his return rolled around, his heart would be yours to keep.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/n — Been resurrected like Jesus Christ to bring this fanfiction to you after 3 months days. How fitting. 😊

This idea only came to fruition because I was Four In A Bed, which is a British TV show showcasing Bed and Breakfasts. 💀,, It could have been literally ANYTHING else, but it's fitting?? 🤨, so, i made i work 😩

I'll be honest, I was kind of unmotivated and have been REALLY struggling to write these past months, but this person somehow singlehandedly gave me all the motivation I've been needing to think of and finish a fic 🥹💓.

Because, like,,, THIS?????? 😭😭😭😭😭

It was such a surprise to wake up to in the morning — especially knowing that I would have to sit an WACK maths exam that day 😩 — and it honestly made my entire week! 🥲💘

I've never had anyone dive SO deep into all the little ins and outs of my fanfiction that I thought no one would consider memorable to bother commenting on. 😭🫶💞💞✨✨💖💓💞✨💕💕

(Sorry to call you out publicly like this LOL 🤖. Wass too shy to msg you, qnd I thought it would be better if i kept this quiet in case u didn't wanna be tagged haha)

Also thank you to this anon for this sweet message. After you sent this in, i was motivated to work HARDER !!!!!! (writing three sentences a day instead of two 😍😍). Seriously though, thank you 🥹🥹💓

////Also, totally irrelevant, but i got the platinum trophy for Ghostrunner 2 !!!!!! 😸😸🎉🎊.. (. 🥲🔫)

////Last trophy to get was the "Godrunner" and i wanted to kms 👍😁

////Beating the Dismantler without dying was the BANE of my existence 🧍🏼‍♀️, and it didnt help that I KEPT DYING UNFAIRLY IN "I Won't Be Back Today" level like BRUHHH 😭😭😭😭, I WOULD KILL ALL OF THE CREEPS I NTHE SECOND PHASE AND YET ID STILL EXPLODE????? AND THEN DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE SEQUENCE AT THE VERY END ,,, THE AMOUNT OF TIMES I DIED TO THOSE FUCKING LASERS AND TJOSE CREEPS ON THE CEILING IS TOO EMBARRASSING TO NUMBER) 😡😡🤬😡😓😟😭😭😭😭,

////, Its ok tho bc i have the bragging rights now — i have the platinum trophies for Ghostrunner 1/2, and hopefully 3 (if it ever is announced 😼) 🤧

//// NOO BC I LOVE THESE GAMES SO MUCH AND ESPECIALLY THE OST BUT THE STORY????? THE GAME PLAY??!!!!! THEFUCKING MECHANICS???!???!?!?!?!?!!!!!!! THE CHARACTERS AND THEIR INTERACTIONS ON THE COMMS??????????!???!!!!!??? JACK HIMSELF????! !!?????!!?!?!??????????... ... And THERES LITERALLY NO ONE THAT PLAYS IT SO IM LEFT DUMPING THIS INFORMATION ONTO MT FRIENDS WHEN THEY LITERWLLY DIDNT ASK LMAO 🤡 — So. I'm dumping it onto you guys instead. 🤯 Srry💔😭 not srry❤️🥵 but i adore Ghostrunner 👾

...

Anyways, I'll go back into hibernation after dropping one (1) fanfiction. I SO deserve it guys... 🥵🥵

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abs-2020 · 2 years ago

Text

=Monster=

(Avatar)Colonel Miles Quaritch x Na’vi Reader

This is probably gonna have multiple parts guys

Warnings: SMUT/18+/violence/choking/pinning/overstimulation/heavy topics/Dirty talk/Virginity Loss/knife play maybe/size kink/FUTURE SMUT/Stockholm Syndrome/

P.S. uuuh stuff spoken in Na’vi is Italic and stuff readers thinking is blue

Summary: This takes place in ATWOW

Aaand you’re neytiris older sister, and you get captured in order to save jakes children and spider. <3

Authors note: This was a dream I had so y’all lucky I’m sharin 😮‍💨🤚🏻

———————————————————————————

It all went by so fast..

Lo’ak’s call for help saying that there was dreamwalkers in a place he shouldn’t be, Netyiris panic and concern, jake and his orders for you to stay put, And the gushes of wind left by the ikran’s and their mighty wings.

But all you could think in that moment was ‘Fuck No’ and your body moved before your mind could process what you had just done as you jumped onto your Ikran ‘Pepe’ and rushed to save your nieces and nephews.

Everything in those moments were one big blur as you jumped down from the tree dagger in hand ready to kill as you landed on top of the Dreamwalker in charge of the group that was holding your family member hostage. This caused him to let go of Lo’ak letting you pin the alien onto his stomach pushing his face into the dirt. Loudly you yelled in Na’vi for Neytiri and Jake to get their children out of here as you pinned the Alien to the floor a grunt escaping his throat.

Quickly you’d grab his hair pulling his head back only to lay your dagger to his throat, proceeding to hiss at the Dreamwalkers pointing their guns to you. Harshly you’d pull the Aliens head back farther than before showing no care or mercy for the pain or damage you caused him or his queue. Pushing your dagger deeper to his throat hissing again.

“(Y/N) I told you to stay back!!” Jake yelled panick lacing his voice.

“Lo’ak! Neteyam! Tuk! Kiri!” Netyiri would yell from above. Her voice was full of relief. Quickly you’d look around to find that your sisters kids had escaped. You’d sign in relief thanking yourself and the great Ewya for saving them and your sisters heart. “Thank you sister!”

“NOW GO! GO!” You’d yell teeth chattering. As your tail wagged frantically hitting the floor occasionally your ears lowering. “GET OUT OF HERE SISTER! I’LL BE OKAY!”

You lied and netyiri and Jake both knew you did. But they didn’t have any other option. Why would they Risk their kids getting captured again Or killed? And with that they left, you felt them leave your gut sinking was enough of a signal for you to know they were gone. Then everything sank in. Where you were, what you had just done, the aliens that surrounded you and their weapons. And then you thought to yourself ‘one is better than none. I might as well kill one before they all kill me’ pressing your dagger harsher against aliens throat your dagger piercing his skin causing him to hiss. with a hiss of your own you’d lower your face to the aliens ear that you had pushed into the dirt so roughly only moments ago venom and hatred radiating from your body.

“What’s the word boss?” A female alien would yell as she pointed her gun to you.

A sound of annoyance would leave your body as you looked at the dreamwalkers around you. They all looked so scared and that didn’t make sense to you. Why were they scared? They didn’t have the knife to their throats. This alien beneath you did, and he didn’t seem to budge not one bit. Your tail stilled but your ears remained back. You had a murderous look in your eyes as you stared the female alien down.

“SHOOT HER!” Another alien would yell this one wearing something black that covered his eyes.

“do NOT shoot ‘em!” The alien underneath you would yell.

Your head would shoot down to the alien and quickly you’d take your blade from his throat raising your arm ready to rid your planet of its nuisance only to have your hand grabbed and with a loud manly grunt have yourself get thrown onto your back and a knee brought to your gut. Before you could process anything your wrists would get pinned to the floor as a weight you have never felt before held you down.

“Well we’ll, what do we have here? A pretty little princess just for me.” The Alien from above would coo a smirk crossing his face while it’s fingers tickled your cheek.

With a click of your tung you’d turn your head to his fingers in an attempt to bite them off, only he was too quick. A chuckle would leave the aliens throat as he took his hand away from your face. With that you’d look away from the monster only to have a slap land across your cheek and a echo heard through the forest.

“Look at me bitch”

rough and forceful fingers would grab at your chin and force your face and eyes to meet those of the alien above you and in that moment everything slowed. ‘beautiful’ was the only word that would process through your mind as your eyes met the aliens. A zing would flow through your body as you stared into his yellow eyes and your body would stiffen. He was so beautiful, his eyes, his lips, his hair, but his eyes…No man had ever made you feel so strange and safe. But you weren’t safe and your body reminded you of that. You’d aggressively furrow your brows at the thought and spit in the aliens face and hiss.

The alien above would chuckle and lick his Canine digging his knee to your gut and foot into your wrist. His hand would go to your throat wrapping around the entirety of it. Your eyes falling to his forearms the sight of them making you feel uneasy and strange. an unwanted feeling pooled at your gut and heart as you stared at the veins traveling up his strong arms. Your thoughts were interrupted by his blood, the blood from the cut you left on his neck dripping onto your cheek causing a feeling of accomplishment to sit in your gut. The alien would watch his blood drip onto your cheeks its trail beginning to thump the floor and your legs trapped underneath its frame. The alien would smile again and bare his teeth as he leaned down to your face its hand squeezing your neck.

“Now princess that’s not very ladylike of you. But what you did back there was very noble I’ll give you that.” The monsters grip on your neck would tighten. your poker face never faltering. “But very stupid” the monsters words were filled with hatred.

You’d stay silent. You weren’t gonna talk. Why would you? This alien would have to kill you to get a word out of you. you’d gladly die than speak to such a disgusting creature. They killed your father and many family members. They killed Tsu’tey your bound to be mate. You didnt love Tsu’tey in a mate or romantic way, but you did love him and they killed him. His death left you alone and angry for the longest time. Your eyes would lock with the aliens once again and your eyes were filled with a fire ‘if only looks could kill’

“So you’re just not gonna talk? I know you understand me, I heard Jake speak English to ya. I ain’t stupid sweetheart” the monster would say as he flicked your spit from his face and slammed his hand onto the ground.

‘It’s intimidation tactics are pathetic’ you’d think to yourself. ‘It should’ve just killed me already’ and as if Ewya had answered your prayers the alien would grab your dagger the dagger your father gave you, the dagger your tried to kill him with moments ago. With a huff you’d close your eyes accepting your fate.

The alien above you would laugh, this had your eyes shooting wide open only to be met with the laughter of all the other dreamwalkers.

“You think I’d just kill you? No princess that would be way to easy. You’re my new tool” the monster above you would laugh as he strapped your wrists together.

‘Tool’ you’d think to yourself ‘the sky people are gonna try and use me? That’s just pathetic.’ “Naaaah!” You’d yell in annoyance at his words your ears going back as you shook your head like an annoyed child.

The alien would step off of you and stand picking you up by your wrists and throwing you over his shoulder in a swift motion. The alien would say something about moving out but your mind was to foggy to really catch what it was saying. As he carried your through the forest like a rag doll you’d take in all the scenery you could memories of you and netyiri flashing through your mind. Grace and her school. The war. Jake becoming the clan leader despite you being the oldest. Netayum being born. All the talks you had with Kiri and spider. Then your thoughts were stopped when a gush of wind and a loud mechanical noise filed your ears causing you to hiss and whine.

“Don’t like that now do ya kitty?” The alien would tease. Your glare at the alien below you. ‘I’m screwed’

——————————————Time Skip————

Your eyes would squeeze shut and your teeth would clap down onto your bottom lip causing blood to pour from the puncture. Your nails would dig into your palms and turn white as your tail whipped around.

“WHERE IS JAKE SULLY!!” A short human would yell at you. “JUST GIVE US ONE GOOD IMAGE AND THIS WILL END!” She’d yell again

Your eyes would water whilst being shut blood running from your nose and lip. The foreign machine you were strapped to making a terrible noise while it shocked your brain. This had been going on for 10 minutes. You hadn’t said a word and the pain had only increased as time went on.

~~~~(Miles POV)~~~~~

Miles had sat in the other room while they did their thing to you. He could care less about what they did to you, a nasty savage is all she he thought. Jake silly’s sister in law. Ms. Silly’s older sister. He wondered if killing you infront or her would bring her unbearable pain. But he was curious, you hadn’t said a single word to him. He wanted to see if you’d said anything to the humans. I’d they broke you. With that thought in mind he’d made his way to you. And what he saw caused his toes to curl and stomach to turn. You were sitting there strapped to that machine. Blue skin pale, fists white, sweat dripping from every pore in your body and blood. ‘BLOOD’ his mind would shout at him and as if his Body moved on its own rushing to stop the machine and it’s torture only to stop himself before his body did so. Shocked and embarrassed he’d swallow a dry lump in his throat and look around.

“Has she said anything?” He asked the colonel only for her to shake her head.

“She won’t spill” she said in annoyance as she looked at you not caring for the pain you were in. “ONE THOUGHT OF WHERE JAKE SULLY IS AND YOU’LL BE FREE! JUST ONE THOUGHT!”

“That’s surpris-“ miles ears would shoot back as his head turned to look at you sharply

~~~~~~(End of Miles POV)~~~~~

It had become too much. Way too much. The pain. the yelling from the random human. The noise of the machine. The straps holding you down. The pain from your lip. All of it. All of it too much. The only words of the human yelling at you that you caught was “one thought”. And like a rope snapping A blood curtailing scream would escape your lips and fill the room as your mind went to one thought.. the aliens eyes and his hands around your throat. But the pain would continue until it didn’t your head would fall to the side as your chest rised and fell your breaths ragged and short. Your eyes would open only to see the alien from before walking towards you before you passed out.

———————————————————————

Your tail would flick nervously as you sat in the corner of a white room a small silver table sitting in the middle, ‘way to small’ your head rested between your knees as you tried to calm yourself. These machines, the strange rock, the wall, the grey white and plainness of the sky peoples homes, it all frustrated you. In the midst of your panic you began to sing a song to yourself in Na’vi, one that your mother had sang to you multiple times when you were a child before netyiri was born.

“That’s a beautiful song princess” your eyes would widen and head would shoot up as you tried to jump back only to be stopped by the wall. Your hands would shove the alien in front of you away as you darted to the other side of the room only to be grabbed and thrown onto the small table the alien placing himself between your legs. the sight caused your stomach to turn in an unfamiliar way just like earlier. his hands resting on your shoulders causing goosebumps to rise “Whoa whoa, calm down there sweetheart. I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Just here to talk.” Your eyes would lock with his and you’d try to tell yourself he was disgusting, but you couldn’t help but think he was beautif. ‘It! IT! It does not deserve to be anything other than an Alien and an It!’you’d tell yourself trying to change your thinking.

The alien would chuckle nervously. “Now are ya gonna talk or what? Cause if not I’m gonna have to let them strap you back down onto that machine” the aliens fingers would rub your arms causing your body to stiffen and your teeth to bare. “And we wouldn’t want that now would we princess?” The alien would smirk and take his hand off of you.

You’d take this opportunity to heart taking your legs to his chest and kicking as hard as you could causing you, the table and the alien to fly across opposite sides of the room. With a thud you’d hit the wall table slamming into your stomach trapping you against the wall. You’d shake your head pushing the table from your body a loud ‘FUCK’ filling your ears as you laid your eyes onto the monster before you. The alien would face you fists clenched and nostrils flaring.

“You wanna play?”The alien would tilt his head as his tails wagged ears going back as he bared his teeth and hissed. Raising his fists.

You’d Hiss back getting in a stance ready to fight. Your eyes would lock with his and you’d yell in annoyance as you leapt at him landing a blow to his face quickly he’d grab your wrist and turn it in n painful manner causing you to bite the hand that held your wrist and have him let go and yell

“You fucking savage! You keep this up I’ll put a bullet in your brain and make sure every inch of this planet is burned to the ground!” The monster would grab your hair and drag you back to the table flipping it upside right “now you’re gonna talk it I’m gonna cut this ducking thing!” The Alien would bark baring his teeth to you grabbing your Queue and holding a knife dagger to it.

“NO! You do not cut tsaheylu! YOU MONSTER!” You’d yell grabbing the aliens wrist in an attempt to keep his knife away. But you knew if he wanted to his arm could overpower your whole body. Has your hand gripped his wrist like a vice your eyes would lock onto his forearm. The memory of his hand around your neck causing your tail to whip. ‘I should not feel like this, this alien should not make me feel like this’

“Oh, you like my forearms princess?” He’d snicker “we all saw that little thought of yours earlier” slowly he’d place the knife back into its strap. Only to put his hand back around your throat. “Or is it maybe your a dirty little savage that likes to be chocked?” Your ears would go back as he slammed his hand onto the table between your legs. Someone’s hands being so close to your sacred place causing you to squirm and close your legs. The alien would take note of this a Laugh to himself. ‘Calm, calm, calm’

“Do not- I am not a savage! YOU PEOPLE ARE SAVAGES! Destroying the forest! Killing women and children! Taking so many lives, for what?? something you think is your to take in the ground?!” You’d yell as best you could his hand still around your throat.

“Well I’ll be damned princess, you speak a whole lot better than I thought you would. I wonder what else that mouth is good for.” The alien would say to himself for than to you. Your face would contort into confusion and disgust at his words. “So, you’re Sullys Sister-in law, aren’t you?” He’d ask

With a glare you’d respond nodding your head.

“Words princess.” The alien would say in a demanding tone.

“yes, you idiot” you’d bark only to have the aliens hand leave your throat and go to your cheeks squishing them together causing your lips to pucker.

“You WILL speak in English or Ill rip that tung of yours right out!” The alien would say in a threatening tone.

“Yes..” you’d say to the best of your ability your cheeks still being squeezed together.

“Good girl” the alien would bring his face closer to yours and patt your cheek finally letting go of your cheeks. “What’s your name sweet thing?” He’d say that stomach turning grin creeping onto his face again.

“(Y/N) (L/N)” you’d say looking to the floor again. Ears back and tail still.

The alien would wait a couple minutes and click his tung. “Tsk tsk, Aren’t you gonna ask me what my name is?” He’d say in a mocking tone pouting his lip. “Ask me my name” he’d demand his words like venom his spit landing onto your cheek.

A look of protest would cross your face, your mother would be ashamed of you right now. You’d bite your lip back not wanting to speak. The alien would stomp his foot and tilt his head in annoyance licking his lips.

“W-what is your name?” You’d ask barley above a whisper your eyes going to the floor shamefully. You’ve been made a fool. So compliant. Death would’ve been easier on you than anything else.

“Miles, Miles Quaritch.”

———————————/////—

Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

Authors note: Welp there’s the end of chapter one?? If y’all like it. If not this is just gonna sit here forever. Uuuh feedback would be nice and cool lol. And I dunno. Yeah. Hole hell liked it. I love Miles.

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sexydoffyman · 9 months ago

Text

OBSESSIVE p.2

navigation

genre: smut bit of fluff at the end (Yandere vibes)

characters: König

A/N: Taglist: @water-color-duck @woomiethehyperactivething @le0thely0n @hazelnutbitch @apotatoishereee @mindscape123

König has been frustrated for a long time. He doesn't fucking know what to do anymore. You were on a mission together, and all he could think about was you. When you rested on the cold concrete, he caressed your cheek, wishing that you'd want him as bad as he wanted you.

Due to complications that happened during the mission, you had to travel about 40 kilometres on foot while avoiding enemy soldiers. Because you had the order to not engage and to avoid contact, you had to lengthen your trip by a lot. You had to hide from enemies for hours without moving an inch.

While you were annoyed because you couldn't fight your way out of certain situations and had to waste time, König was more than pleased. Being in a constricted space with you for hours, what more could he ask for.

He also always got to have you on his lap due to the size difference. You did feel his hard-on, but you viewed it as a normal reaction to friction.

It has been three days since you started your journey, and you just passed the 40-kilometre line, but still, you had a long way to go. He was also growing annoyed because he never got to release himself.

You were walking through a darker forest. It was hit with a drought recently, but the night covered the yellow colour of grass blades that grew there. You were walking slowly, making sure to pay attention to where you were stepping.

When suddenly "WHACK", you slammed into the ground. König laid on your body and stared straight into your eyes. You thought there was an enemy, and that was why he put you to the ground so quickly. That was when he put his hand on your thigh. He pushed your body to the ground. He needed you. He needed your touch.

You rolled your eyes and whispered, "Did you make sure no one's around?" You were met with him kissing your neck and with, "Of course I did. Wouldn't put your life in danger." He said it in such a soft voice.

You hugged him with your hands on his back, "Just hurry it up." At that, he immediately started unbuckling his and your pants. His mouth kept on kissing your neck. He aligned his dick with your entrance and slowly pushed in. You tilted your head back just from the sheer stretch.

Small cries escaped your mouth, to which he soothingly kissed you. "You're so beautiful, Shatz" He reassured you. How good you were at taking him. His thrusts were slow and soft. He couldn't really rail you without risking your life. The dried-up grass and leaves cracking under you.

He finished inside of you after a very short while. He kept on holding your body firmly. "Let's rest for the night." You recommended. "Colonel", You added. "Don't call me that. You know how you make me feel every time you call me that."

You smirked as you put your pants back on. You got on the ground and rested. You heard him fix his pants, too. After a while, you felt his arms creep up around your body, making you feel warm and safe.

making you feel his.

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vellichor-of-the-solivagant · 24 days ago

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How to Plant Snapdragons | 11

Task Force 141, Keegan & Konig x Female Criminal!Reader

Previous Chapter / Extra Chapter / Masterlist

“So—”

“No.” Ghost replied at once before you could even finish your complaint.

You clicked your tongue and bashed the head of the cartel man before you with a gun you picked up on the way. Blood splattered on the ground as he fell, yet still had the strength to hold onto your foot. You felt a twitch underneath your eye and raised your gun, then sighed. You tossed the gun away, useless without any ammunition, and shook off the man’s hand.

You coughed and wheezed, then massaged your scratchy throat. “Fuck, I'm thirsty.”

“Told ya to drink earlier from the ri—”

“Shut the fuck up, Lt!” you shouted at Simon, who you knew—even though his face, expressions, everything was hidden underneath fabrics—definitely looked proud at the moment as your irritation (instead) started to brew.

“Poor guy breathed his last breath with a living and walking broken record screeching in his poor ears,” Soap commented, shaking his head as he picked up a magazine to examine it to see if there was anything left, but to no avail.

You pitched a pistol at him. Purposely aimed at his face but he was fast enough to catch it. “Asshole,” you mouthed at him, which he merely smirked at.

Then, an explosion echoed from a distance, shaking the ground and air around you. You gazed up above and spotted Graves’ plane circling around the vicinity, aiding you and the group in handling the men of the Las Almas Cartel and your goal: to capture Hassan.

The explosion continued in a series, like an orchestra of death and destruction before you. You would have liked to watch it happening from above, but the circumstances forbid it and so, you had to settle for bashing heads with a gun.

And when your gun had run out of ammunition, you used your blades. The moment your blade had become dull against the skin of humans, you used your hands.

Blood seeped through the fabric protecting your hands, mixing with the sweat within. You let the dirt of people enshroud the own filth of your hands, and you let yourself be the unwanted Iudex of their crimes.

“Hey, hey!” Ghost shouted at you which made you stop breaking the man’s face underneath you with your fists. “That's enough, we have Hassan,” he claimed.

You shrugged your shoulders and patted off the dust from your clothes. “Just making sure he's not going to get back up, y’know?”

“Well, I think he's not getting back up anytime from the hell ya made,” Soap commented, staring down at the man on your feet, and nudged the poor guy. “I also think not any kind of plastic surgery would fix his face if he managed to get back up.”

You cackled, slapping his arm in amusement. “Hey, that's not nice!”

He made a face. “But breaking his face isn't?”

“Never said it wasn't.”

He shot a glance up and shrugged. “Good point.”

“Heh.”

“Are you two done?” Ghost grumbled, walking away with Alejandro. With that, you both followed him down the building and jumped into the helicopter awaiting at the bottom.

You scanned the people of the group, counting the members that arrived with you at the Cartel’s land, and sighed when the number remained the same, except for the ones who the group had lost in the mountains.

You sat on the flooring of the halo, and leaned on its wall, shaking off your balaclava and gloves. You swiped the sweat running down your face, smearing the blood left both on your cheek and fingers, painting your face in dark red.

With all honesty, it felt and smelled disgusting, even though you had gotten used to it.

“Colonel, sir,” you called on Alejandro. “You have a shower in your base?” you questioned, although your words were drowned in the noise of the chopper.

He raised his brows and yelled, “What?!”

“I'm asking if you have a shower in your base!” you shouted back as loud as you could and coughed. Your hand flew to your throat and with a grimace, you massaged it. You had been speaking too much and it showed, making your throat have this annoying, scratchy, and itchy feeling. Punishment for irritating the shit out of everyone, perhaps.

“We do!” Alejandro answered in an equally booming voice.

Not wanting to force your throat anymore, you gave him a thumb-up instead, making him frown and look away in confusion.

By the time the Los Vaqueros, the Shadow Company, along with you, Soap, and Ghost touched down at Alejandro’s base, the sun had already set. But with everything going on, you didn’t have the time to slip past the soldiers’ eyes to take a quick shower to clean yourself. You were dragged down to another vehicle and drove down the road once again.

You kept your mouth shut the whole time, much to the boys’ delight, and maintained your eyes on the road. However, almost everything was dark, even with the headlights of the vehicle, and it made it hard to remember your surroundings. You started counting on your head by from one to sixty and until the third lap, the transport made a stop.

Alejandro, who was in the same one as you and the 141 duo, stepped out first, followed by Graves who was in another with a couple of his Shadows, dragging Hassan out of the vehicle. Soap and Ghost jumped out as well, helping with hauling the guy out and leaving you alone in the car.

You sighed and slumped on the seat, enjoying the darkness and chill of your surroundings, but someone opened the vehicle door. You rolled your eyes and turned to Phillip, who had his hand resting on the roof, raising a brow at you. “You know what?” you started, narrowing your eyes at him, “You look like that meme of the guy with exaggeratedly arched brow, lip fillers, and—”

“Get out.” He snatched one of the straps on your vest, forcefully tugged you out of the vehicle with a grunt, and pulled you in front of the laptop Ghost had set up. “She’s here.”

You grimaced at the sight of Shepherd, looking lax as he had always been. “Sup,” you spat out, but before he could speak, you continued, “What do you need me for in front of the camera when you already have me monitored? It’s not like I can even run away in this . . .” you looked around and cringed at the sound of a howl in the distance. “Where the hell even are we?”

“That is none of your busi—”

“That is none of your business,” you finished, waving your hand around as though you had a puppet in hand. “Goodness gracious, ameliorate your vocabulary, why don’t you? You’re a General. Aren’t you supposed to have a broad lexicon in reserve for?”

Ghost and Alejandro snapped their heads at your way in sync, then glanced back at each other with questioning looks, before their eyes settled on you. Meanwhile, the Shadows stepped back into the darkness of the night, hitting each other to stop themselves from laughing. On the other hand, Soap turned to his back and hid behind the Lieutenant, pursing his lips to not let out a chortle.

Annoyed, Shepherd frowned and brought his face closer to the camera. “Get her out of my—”

“You're the personification of an egg. A rotten—” Phillip’s hand landed on your mouth and heaved you away from the device. You did not bother to struggle from his grip and simply let him bring you to the 141.

“Keep your mouth shut.” He pointed a finger at you and strode away.

A hand patted your shoulder and you turned to Soap and Ghost.

“What was that?” Soap whispered with a grin playing on his lips.

“Roasted egg,” you replied without a blink.

He snorted, brought his head down to hide his smile, and gripped your shoulder. Whilst, Ghost stepped forward to hide the Sergeant from the camera.

“Hah!” Hassan scoffed loudly, bringing everyone’s attention to him. “To think there would be someone to talk to Shepherd like that.” He shifted his gaze from the laptop to you. “You amuse me, woman. But I don’t know if you’re insane or dumb.”

“The quantity of fuck that I’m giving right now is as much as the sum of the strands of your hair and Shepherd’s,” you remarked, making Soap cough, Ghost elbowed him in a heartbeat, and Alejandro’s mouth dropped open. At the same time, the Shadows turned away and both received knocks on their heads from their leader.

Roast? No. This was fucking furnace.

“Alright, people,” the Coffin clapped his hands and stood before the enemy, “Let's get down to business.”

“To defeat the Huns?” You croaked with a straight face.

Graves could only roll his eyes and mutter, “Lord, give me strength,” Then looked back down on Hassan.

“You speak Arabic? Farsi?” Hassan questioned, to which Graves merely responded with a couple of ‘No’s. Hassan scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips. “Of course not. Then, I shall speak to your lowly, bastardized medieval English, cause you are all uneducated street dogs.”

“He sprecþ swilce he wite þa word of þam Ængliscum Seaxe mid fægere,” you crossed your arms and arched your brow. Once again, attention turned to you and you huffed as you saw Hassan's frown. You stepped forward. “See? You dare utter medieval English in spite of the fact that you couldn't even fathom what I've said.”

(He spoke as though he knew the words of Anglo-Saxon with fluency).

“You are speaking to a Quds Force Officer.” Hassan returned the glare equally. “Watch your mouth, wench.”

You strode towards him and glared down at the man. “You call us ill-educated alley vermins when you are inferior to maggots.” Then, you put a hand on the jut of your hip. “Be grateful I haven't squashed you under my foot.”

“What's your target, Major?” Graves joined back in and you stepped to the side, to let him stand in front of the Iranian.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he spat. “What was your target when you sent missiles to my land, huh?”

The Shadow painted a smile on his face. “To burn your asses.”

You cringed at his words. “Do a better line, jeez.”

He shot a glare at you. “You’re not helping.”

“Only three things are stopping me from speaking to him fully in his language: Laziness, keeping your fragile pride intact for not knowing how to speak other languages, and so we can all talk at the same pace.” You showed him three fingers, pulled a face, and brought down your arm. “I could talk to him in Arabic or Farsi, mistranslate it intentionally, and fail this mission.”

You gave him the nicest smile you could force onto yourself. “Well, what's your verdict?”

“Just step aside and let the pros finish this.”

“Okay.” You walked back to Soap and Ghost. “Don't come crying at me if he starts talking in Arabic.”

Just as you said that, standing between the duo of the 141, Hassan Zyani began to speak in Persian, bringing Graves' eyes to you.

The group, under Shepherd's command and Laswell’s guidance, was forced to let Hassan go, after obtaining information from his phone. Unfortunately, you couldn't put a hand on Hassan physically, and you couldn't bring yourself to show the others, especially the Lt. and the Sergeant, how exactly you would like to extract intel from people.

You almost burst out laughing when Hassan went along with your humor and made it hard for the Shadow. Nevertheless, you translated for them and talked with the hostage on their behalf, while having to deal with the stare of suspicions at every word you said, which later turned out to be true with Laswell's information.

Now, you stood on top of a building, taking in the sight of El sin Nombre’s Casa, with Ghost, Soap, Graves, and the Colonel.

“My intel told me all the VIPs of Las Almas will be there tonight.” Colonel Vargas stopped for a moment and pondered over his words, making you face him, watching his reaction. “Some are invited, some . . .”

“Voluntold?” Graves guessed, in which the Mexican nodded in agreement.

“Not surprising,” you butt in. “Gatherings like this always have some unwanted rodents. Most to gather intelligence, make amends, make friends, and make enemies. An endless cycle.”

“And why do you know that?” Alejandro questioned within a blink.

“I was raised in a household where such things are quotidian.”

“Are you perhaps a part of an international cartel or mafia?” He asked, extending a hand to the side as if he was making a point.

“No.” You shook your head. “Not really. My father is a rich man, he hosts parties a lot, and people from different places show up every time. Scheming is a part of their daily palette.”

They all eyed you with suspicions, but among them, you knew Graves who wore a straight face but narrowed eyes, knew of your true upbringing.

“Well, we'll be party poopers then,” Graves shattered the silence. “I got enough shadows to make a whole new party.”

“I prefer if you don't, Hermano,” Alejandro disagreed, stepping a bit closer to the Shadow.

He shrugged. “I'm just saying, a house is easy enough.”

“Even a mansion is easy enough,” you commented, making Graves roll his eyes.

“We are not burning it down, lass,” Phillip replied and stopped for a second before he put a hand on your shoulder, which you inched away from, but kept his grip tight. “The key to opening El Sin Nombre’s doors is you.”

You stared at the hand on your shoulder and a grimace crawled its way on your face. “Ew—”

“No, she's not doing it,” Soap argued, pulling you away from Graves' hold. “I can do it.”

“If you get in there, Hermano, they'll kill you,” said Alejandro with concern on his voice, yet at the same time a warning.

You gave the Colonel a side-eye, offended by his words. He did not disagree to Phillip’s suggestions about you infiltrating the Cartel with the possibility of dying yet immediately spoke when Soap volunteered? Well, you get it, Soap was trustworthy, being a known soldier after all. Then, there was you, a criminal and what, an annoying yapper?

Still, how could he disregard your life after you fought along side him and saved some of his men? The audacity!

Soap was a real sweetheart, though. And to uphold your deal with Price, the best course of action was to walk in the lion’s den on your own.

You patted Soap’s hand on your arm. “I'll do it, Sergeant.”

“But—”

“Intelligence is what they need, no?” You waved a hand to the side. “Then, let me serve them what they want. If their leader is inside and I've confirmed they took a bite, I'll spread the poison as quickly as I can, and get you back better meal.”

Silence once again veiled over the group, their brows knitting in confusion, and Ghost decided to rip it off.

“Speak English,” he commanded.

You sighed and rested a hand on the crook of your hip. “I infiltrate, give them info, if the leader is confirmed, we pounce, and get back more info, clear?”

“Could have said it from the start,” the Lieutenant fired back.

“I did!”

Next Chapter / Extra Chapter / Archive of Our Own

Taglist: @yyiikes , @the-faceless-bride , @cassiecasluciluce , @annoyingstrawberryballoon @unicorngirly1, @thriving-n-jiving, @squidalapobre, @tallicaside @eustassh

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 7 months ago

Note

I really liked the brennan x witch reader idea, can you also write with xaden? Where he saves the reader?

warning: blood, injuries, knifes, fun stuff.

Save you

They didn’t get mixed up in situations that didn’t involve them. Especially not when they were flying back from the Riorson house. Not after unloading the shipment. But it was the pained screeching that had Xaden glancing at Garrick who had simply nodded before reaching for his daggers.

The forest was thick and lushes down below, cutting out the view of what was happening. No chance of knowing what was truly waiting down there. Not worth it Sgaeyl muttered but Xaden was already jumping off her. Using the covers of the trees as he inched closer. The place had a strange form of pulsing around it. Vibrating. A glow eliminated the gaps between the branches. And then that same pained cry split the silence and Xaden felt his pace picking up. “Xaden”, Garrick called out, the last thing they needed was to break their cover. But the sound gutted him. He could feel the agony.

And then the clearance came into view. Garrick cursed from behind. This was the last thing on his mind. Not that he knew much of what he was seeing. A white circle. A humming of energy. A red thin thread of blood being dragged from the cuts made deep in your hands. Don’t you dare but Sgaeyl doesn’t get to finish before Xaden is running into an open field. His shadows trying to seep through the glow. Hitting against it with their full force.

That’s when your eyes meet his too. Tired. Xaden is not even sure how you’re standing. His hands come in touch with the glowing light but it shoves him away. Burning his skin. He hisses. “We need to break this, get her out of here”, Xaden shouts , looking over his shoulder. “How do you imagine we do that?”, Garrick huffs rounding the sacrifice stones.

But then Xaden catches your eyes, glancing at his dagger. He quickly pulls it out lifting it higher. Your eyes stay on it before dropping down to your hands. His gut drops for yet another time tonight. But he’s clenching his jaw, tightening, stepping back… “Xaden, what are you…”, Garrick barely lifts his hand before the blade flies through the air. Cutting through the bubble and sinking deep into your flesh. The scream that slips through your lips makes Xaden nearly turn around to vomit. But he’s stumbling forward, knees hitting the stone, as he presses his palm deeper into your flesh.

“I’m sorry”, he mutters, watching as your body twitches. Glassy eyes watching him. “Don’t pull it out”, Garrick cuts in, reaching out to wrap a strap of his leather around the dagger. Securing it in place. The bleeding. You would probably bleed out… “Come on we need to go. Get her to Colonel”, Garrick is already glancing at the sky. Xaden feels fuzzy. He doesn’t usually care. He’s seen worse shit. Worse torture. But there is something about you. The way your ashy skin and that drained gaze cut right through him. He scoops you up, mindful of your arm. Hissing at the feeling of your ice-cold skin pressing against his warmth. He catches you glancing at him. Lips trembling in anticipation of something that might slip past him. But then your body sags, head lulling back and a part of him ignites.

You’re not sure what parts of your mind were made up and what was actually real. There are muffled voices. Many. Then just a couple. Then just one. The place your body is placed in feels warm. Had they already brought you out for burning? That thought alone makes your body seize and whoever is there on the other side places a soft cold towel on your head. A hand runs up and down your upper arm. Fingers brushing away the hair from your face. A low shushing. You want to open your eyes. Want to see but the eyelids are too heavy. And darkness claims your body once more.

Xaden runs a hand over a slight stubble that he had let on. He’s been flying back and forth every day. “You can’t brood her into waking up”, Brennon’s voice fills the room, making Xaden snap his head to the side. They had found even more of your kind. Witches. Hunted and used. They had missed this. Missed that someone was using innocent people. “None of this is your fault”, Brennon says, even when both of their eyes fall to the bandaged hand, “You saved her with that and the wound will not scar. I will make sure of that”. He clasps Xaden’s shoulders right as a deep inhale fills the room. Xaden leaps out of his chair.

Your head falls back to the pillow but your eyes stay open, scanning the place. “Hey”, he breathes barely audibly, afraid to scare you even more. Your gaze only softens at the sight of him, your whole body easing. “You’re safe, no one will harm you here”, he continues, “I’m sorry for the knife”. But you shake your head. Silence falls.

“Yn”, you mutter, not dropping the gaze. It takes a moment for Xaden to realize that you have rasped out your name before he presses his palm to his chest, “Xaden”. You nod. He stares. He just stands there and stares because even now. Even all pale and weak you strike him as the most beautiful female he had ever seen. He quickly clears his throat, “I should go, let you rest. There will be people who will…”, “Stay”, you mutter back. A weak hand reaches out to him and his hand reaches back on its own. “If you can… stay”, you breathe out and Xaden finds himself nodding as he reaches for the chair, pulling it closer and taking your much smaller palm into his.

#xaden riorson #xaden x reader #fourth wing xaden #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson imagine #xaden riorson x oc #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #iron flame x reader #iron flame imagine

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neteyamslovrr · 2 years ago

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KXANI - FINAL

summary: you have never fit in with the scientists, but on the night jake was lost in the forest so were you. staying with the people was your one true dream, yet when you are anything but welcome and jake get's to experience the people. you find yourself seeking comfort in tsu'tey

contents: 7.7k words, fem! reader, blood, war, violence, gore, death, gun violence, suggestive scenes (no smut), angst, fluff, avatar 2009

authors note: i cannot even begin to say how thankful i am for everyone reading this. truly the support and love i have been given because of this story i am so grateful. i mean look at that huge fucking taglist. i'm so happy you all have enjoyed the story so far as much I have enjoyed writing it. (btw formatting is a bit different just because it's so long)

all parts

The cell you were locked in was quiet. No one spoke, all too deep set in their grief to conjure any words. The white lights were close to blinding as you sat up against the wall, staring at the roof as all of your senses started to blend together.

Grace looked to you with a sigh, as she looked at all of her other colleagues. She was full of grief, she was mourning with the people even as she sat locked away from them. Jake was as well, his mind full of Neytiri’s screams, the screams that were directed at him.

The faint sound of the roll of a food cart could be heard in the distance. Was it already lunch? Had the days blurred as all of you rotted in this tedium room?

“What’s going on brother? Long time no see.” The sound of Trudy’s voice was like a weight lifted off all of your shoulders. You could see in Norm’s eyes as they lit up to the sound of her. She pushed in the cart, the solider guarding your cell getting up to inspect it. “Personally I don’t feel these tree hugging traitors deserve steak.”

“They get steak? Bullshit. Lemme see that.” Trudy chuckled as she grabbed the gun out of her belt, pressing it against the man’s skull as his body froze.

“Yeah y’know what that is. Down. All the way down.” Trudy held the man until he reached the ground. Her arm swung back as she hit the man’s head with a loud thud, his unconscious body hitting the ground.

“Trudy!” Norm yelled out to her, relieved to finally see her again. He was already standing at the glass door along with Grace. A wide smile on his face.

“Max!” The gangly scientist came running in. His fingers clumsily fidgeting with the techy key stuck in his pocket. The beep of the door was a signal for you all to start running, making your way through the corridors of the RDA base.

You all burst through each door, feet moving fast as you all made you way towards the ships. “Trudy! Go fire the ships!” Jake called out as Norm ran up to her, grabbing a hold of the pistol Trudy held out for him.

You ran beside Grace, Max lagging behind slightly. Jake had his gun out in a ready position as he moved ahead of the three of you.

“Here!” You grabbed the oxygen masks, handing on to Grace, then to Jake. Before putting one on yourself. You turned to Max who was watching the door closely. “Thankyou.” You patted his back before running off to catch up to Grace and Jake who were heading towards the ship.

Grace and Norm pulled Jake onto the ship, you held his chair in your hands readily to put it onto the aircraft. “C’mon!” Trudy yelled from her seat, the sounds of the blades chopping the air making it hard to here. But not loud enough to cover the noise of gas hissing out of the building above you. With the colonel standing on the deck firing at the group below. “I’m taking fire! Let’s go!”

You threw the chair into Norm’s arm as you climbed up into the body of the ship. Bullets racketeering off of the metal. Machinery whirling as Norm steadied you into the ship.

That’s when you felt it. This blinding pain that made you stumble into the ship. You couldn’t even fathom a word only tiny whimpers of pain as you gripped onto your side. The warm liquid pooling in your hands, as the sounds of your crew cheering was fading into nothing.

Your entire abdomen felt hot. It was burning as your body started to stain red. It was like your abdomen was sinking from the pressure of the pain. Like it was separating from your body as you clung onto the wound for the tiniest bit of relief.

“Norm you good? Grace? Shit.” Jake turned to you, his sudden changed in emotion making Grace and Norm both turn their heads towards you immediately.

You could only give him a faint smile as your bloody hands shook. “Y/N is hit!”

“What?”

“Norm get the trauma kit!” Grace yelled as Jake studied your injured physique. Norm ran to where the trauma kit was stored, fumbling to get the kit back to you.

“Just keep pressure on. You’re okay.” Jake was shocked, he had no idea what to do. You were in an incredulous amount of pain, but you refused to feed into it. You weren’t going to let this get you.

“I- I’m fine. I’m g-good.” You could barely make words as Grace ushered Jake to moved, immediately tending to your wounds.

Grace and Norm helped move you into the pod. Every movement sent a shockwave of pain into the rest of your body. Jake knew the pain, he knew it was debilitating so any ounce of dislike he had towards you shrivelled away. He couldn’t have you die, not when he knew there was a way to help you.

Grace pushed a needle into your arm as you hissed in pain. “Oh you big baby. You’ll be alright, you’ll be just fine.”

“Tsu’tey I want to see him.” Grace smiled down at you sadly, pushing the hair out of your face.

“Just focus on not dying okay?” Your lip quivered and Grace caught on, she saw your despair. Her heart hung heavy looking at the one she had treated poorly dying in front of her.

“Grace!” Jake whispered, calling her over to where he had sat himself in solitude, thinking of something to get back to the people, to get you back to Tsu’tey. He imagined if he were in your shoes. He’d be wanting nothing more to go to Neytiri, he understood you fully.

Grace walked over, twisting her brows in confusion waiting for him to say something. “I can get her help. The people. The people can help.” She scoffed at him in disbelief.

“Why would they help us?” Jake’s stare hardened, he knew she was right. But deep down he ached to be with the people again, to bring you to them. To help them, to help you.

Tsu’tey sat at the front of the clan now as Olo’eyktan, as they all sung to Eywa. Praying for refuge, praying for help. Every few seconds he would glance at you. Well, your body and his heart would ache, like he had been shot with an arrow straight through him. He wondered if the fall of Hometree was the last time he would ever get to see you.

He wondered if you embracing him after the destruction was the only time he got to truly hold you. In a time of sorrow and a time of death. He wondered if that was the last time you ever would talk to him.

If he would never be able to fully apologise for his action. That he would never truly be able to convey just how much he yearns for you, how much it pained him to push you away. How much he regrets it all, that it was only for his promise. His promise to Neytiri that he shattered your heart.

He wished that he could mend it back together. He wished that you would come back to him so that the times you spend with him, the time when he did not hold back his affections. That they would not be in times of war. He wanted those times to be joyous.

He was broken out of his depressing thoughts as the light suddenly vanished and the sound of large gusts of wind filled his ears. Dust erupted from off of the ground as the loud screech of Toruk was heard.

Tsu’tey stood up, his eyes wide and pupils blown in astonishment. He had to blink a few times to even realise that he was not dreaming. The Jakesully was Toruk Makto. The alien that led them to the destruction of Hometree was Toruk Makto.

He watched as Jake made his way towards Neytiri. Parting through the people as they stood in awe. The laid their hands on each other as they shared a moment. It made his heart twinge. If Jake was back, why weren’t you?

“Tsu’tey, son of Ateyo. I stand before you, ready to serve the Omaticaya people.” Jake spoke in his language, showing his dedication to the people he was here to serve. Tsu’tey could only stare, his body frozen as his lips twitched. He was standing above the Toruk Makto, Toruk Makto was standing before him. “You are Olo’eyktan, you are a great warrior, I know I have hurt you and your people, your love, but I can’t do this without you.”

The sound of the giant screech behind him made Tsu’tey’s gaze switch from the rider to the animal. His ears perked up as he was still frozen, not knowing how to handle this.

“Toruk Makto…” He put a hand on Jake’s heart. Symbolizing their union. “I will fly with you.” Jake’s strong expression weakened just for a split second before he looked away from the leader back to his mate and Tsa’hik, only to look back at Tsu’tey.

“She is dying. Y/N is dying.” Tsu’tey felt his entire body shut down, his mind swirling into a pool of nothingness, he felt numb. Nothing was concerning him more than your safety. His light touch on Jake’s chest turned into him grabbing tightly onto the shoulder of Toruk Makto as he concentrated on not breaking down in front of his people. It was as if the air was kicked out of him he gasped for air, looking at Mo’at and Neytiri. They’re faces were dripping in concern at Tsu’tey’s expression.

He was pale, eyes watery, mouth parted as if he was trying to scream but nothing was coming out. He looked at your Na’vi body, that was laying safely in a carrier. But it no longer felt as if he was looking at your body but rather your corpse. “Bring her here. NOW!” Tsu’tey yelled out, mostly at Jake. He needed to know you were alright, he needed to see you, even if it was the last time.

Jake held your injured body in his arms, Tsu’tey was crouched over your avatar, gazing at its sleeping form as he laid it carefully, making sure your hair was out of your face. But as soon as your fragile body was in his line of sight he jumped up scampering over to Jake. He held his hands out, begging to take you from Jake.

This was the first time he had seen your true form. You were so fragile, so small, so weak. He carefully took a hold of you, emotions clambering up his throat as he tried so hard not to cry. He never wanted to see you like this, dying. He never wanted to hold your dying body in his arms, but yet here he was.

You looked so different yet the same. Your eyes had that same sparkle, your eyebrows furrowed in the same way. You were still the alien that he loved even in a different body.

“Baby demon? Please.” His voice was soft, lulling you to wake. He watched as your eyes fluttered open, he had never watched someone more intensely. You slowly brought your hand up to his face, it barely was the size of the space between his mouth and chin.

“Tsu’tey?” He nodded biting his lip to stop his sobs from coming out. “I’m so sorry.” Tsu’tey shook his head as he placed you down onto the mossy ground.

“I am sorry, I- I am sorry for everything I have said to you baby demon.” You shook your head, grabbing onto his fingers. Your eyes slowly started to close as Tsu’tey crouched beside you, watching as the white tendrils latched onto your body.

“The great mother may choose to save all that she is, in this body.” Mo’at explained to Jake as Grace and Norm listened carefully. Tsu’tey was not hearing her words nor listening to them. He only focused on you. He watched the way your small breathes started to not come as regularly, and the tendrils started to cover the entirety of you. He prayed to Eywa that you would not leave him, that you would come back to him so he could have this second chance with you. So he could cherish you the way you deserved.

“Is that possible?”

“She must pass through the eye of Eywa and return. But Jakesully, she is very weak.” Tsu’tey winced at her words, a sharp pain in his heart burning as he turned to look at Mo’at.

“She will pass, she is strong.” Tsu’tey rested his hands on your body softly, feeling the warmth of your body slowly slip out. He sat down placing his kuru in the ground to join the ritual. He was going to do everything to make sure that you stayed with him, he cannot lose anything else, anymore.

Mo’at chanted and the clan followed. The chants and her sounds filled the area as you felt your mind start to fade out, it felt like it was running from you and all you could do was chase after it.

The bright lights of the Tree of Souls lit up the ground as the chants grew louder. You felt yourself slipping from your consciousness, but it was welcomed. You felt safe as if you knew where you were headed and the journey there was set out for you.

Mo’at hushed the clan as she looked over to your still body, your eyes moved hastily under your shut eyelids. It was quiet, the suspense was driving Tsu’tey to insanity.

Then the brightness disappeared. Your eyes stopped moving and your small breaths became none. Tsu’tey shot up looking over at your two bodies with concern. “Has it worked?” His voice was quiet as if he was too scared to face an answer she did not want to here.

Mo’at looked over at him and stood over your avatar body. Her eyes widened. Your eyes were now moving rapidly under the blue eyelids, taking deep breathes as your mouth slowly parted. Mo’at gave Tsu’tey a knowing look as she looked down at your body slowly waking up.

“Y/N!” He jumped over to you holding your cold face in his hands. Your eyes fluttered open, looking at the tear-struck man above you.

“Tsu’tey?” Your voice was weak, as if you were using it for the first time. Your hands came up to his cheeks holding them.

“Yes. Yes. It’s me.” He put his hands on your head lifting you up slowly. “Are you alright?” His eyes were studying you for any sign of illness, but you just nodded.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” He smiled before helping you up onto your feet again. Mo’at smiled at the two as she stood in front of her clan.

“She has passed through the eye of Eywa! She is Omaticaya!” The sounds of the people erupted, cries and chants of celebration as Tsu’tey simply held onto you, he was so grateful that he got to have a second chance with you, that now he could finally court you. Because you weren’t a demon or an alien. You were Omaticaya, one of the people forever.

The other clans were coming in at a rapid pace. Every minute there was another ikran flying in or direhorse trotting to the Tree of Souls.

You couldn’t deny it, but it was odd. Living in your avatar, well it wasn’t an avatar any longer. This was you. You felt as if you were torn between two places but the other place, your human body, no longer existed for you.

You weren’t to ever wake up from a link again, instead you simply slept in your body and woke up in the same one. You never had to log anything ever again, and you never were to experience anything human. It was odd, it was as if the bullet did not take away your life but just your human one.

Though you and Tsu’tey had come closer, realising your affections towards the others. The calm before the storm gave you time to sit with the weight of his previous words. You knew he did not mean them, but they still hung on your heart.

You wished to talk to him about it, but he was busy. So incredulously busy being a leader. You knew he pushed you away because of duties once. So you refused to get in the way of his duties again.

Tsu’tey could sense something was wrong though. He could see it in the way you would longingly stare at him with a sorrowful look. Or you would go to talk to him, only to cower out when another Na’vi approached him. Though he was glad to finally see you be one of his people, to finally see you interact and talk with the people in the clan as if they were your friends. He knew that he needed time to have you alone, to finally set things out between you two.

So as nightfall came he made his way towards you. He saw you sitting with some of the Na’vi children as the braided tiny bits of your hair. It warmed his heart seeing you with children, thinking of maybe having his own.

“Y/N?” His voice made all of them look up, surprised to see their Olo’eyktan. You smiled up at him. “Would you like to walk with me.” You nodded, standing up thanking the girls for your braids.

“Yeah of course.” He smiled back at you, taking your hand in his. Something that still felt foreign to you, him welcoming your touch so easily. He lead you away from the large crowd on Na’vi back towards the river. Where he cleaned the medicine off your knee.

“I can sense something is wrong. I do not want to go to war again with a dispute between us. I cannot live with the guilt.” Tsu’tey poured his concerns out to you as you gave him a sad smile.

“Sit with me.” You sat on the ground, right next to the river-bed, tugging Tsu’tey’s hand to make him sit in front of you. He sat down with a thud as you pulled him a little too hard, to then stare at you. Waiting for some kind of answer to his queries.

With a loud sigh you started to express your worries. “I know that times have changed, and that there is no longer a promise to be made with Neytiri. But I can’t help but think that the times we spent together, and the words you said about them. I can’t help but think that the words you said are still true to your thoughts.” You let out a shaky sigh before continuing. “I don’t want to be a parasite, or a mistake to you. I don’t want you to be ashamed of loving me but I am afraid that you do.”

Tsu’tey was gutted. He never wanted his words to cut you so deep that they never healed. He knew his words were hurtful and if he could go back in time and stop himself he would. He scooted towards you so he could rest a hand on your cheek, stroking it softly.

“Every word I said was because I was a skxwang. I was frightened for my people, for my place in the clan. I had made promises…and I am so sorry for not being brave enough to break them. I was scared of loving you yawne, but…I see you.” He was looking at you with pure love, not a single fibre in his body was not overwhelmed with the love he felt for you that he was pouring out.

You brought your hands up to his face, tucking the long braid that had slipped from it’s tie out of his face. “I see you Tsu’tey.” It was as if a weight was lifted off of both of your chests as Tsu’tey pressed your foreheads together.

He pressed your bodies together, longing for contact that he had been depriving himself of for the longest time. He wanted to hold you with no impending doom. He wanted to hold you just because he can, not because you were dying.

His embrace was tight, as he rested his head in the crevice between your head and shoulder. You hugged him back tightly, turning your head to giving him a kiss on the top of his forehead. Tsu’tey looked up at you, a new sense of want in his eyes.

He sat up, resting on his heels as he delicately held your chin. You saw his gaze fall to your lips and back to your eyes then back to your lips. He so desperately wanted to kiss you, to finally taste your sweet love. All he needed was a look, so when he looked back up to your pretty eyes to see them fixated on his lips, he didn’t hold back any longer.

His face etched closer and closer to yours, teetering towards your parted mouth as you stared up at him with a love-struck expression. His face was so close you could feel his breath, you could smell his desperation. All he needed was to look back to you again, to see you also moving closer, to see you edging closer to his lips that he finally connected you both together.

It was as if you were dropped into a pool of sweet bliss. His hands moved down to the small of your back, holding you close as you slowly moved into his lap. Tsu’tey felt as if his heart had exploded and mended itself. He was hungry, moving his hands all over your body as he feverishly kissed you.

Your eyes were squeezed tight, hands gracefully placed on Tsu’tey’s cheeks as you returned the kiss with the same vigour that he kissed you. He broke from your lips, gasping as he stared at you with his pupils blown. He couldn’t believe you were so close to him, that you were both sharing this beautiful moment together, when only a couple days ago you laid in his arms dying.

“What is it?” You asked him, your voice slightly hoarse as you deeply gazed into his eyes. He looked at you, and he felt it in his stomach, so deep within himself.

“I cannot go another minute without you knowing that I want you by my side. I want to be your mate, I want to fulfill my duties and I want you to stand next to me. I cannot go on without knowing if you reciprocate my desires Y/N.”

You felt like you were going to cry. This is what you spent your days dreaming about, you longed every day to be by his side, you yearned for him to one day ask for your hand. It was surreal and all you could do was give him a teary eyed nod.

Tsu’tey turned slightly to pick up him kuru, gazing at you, waiting for you to follow. “We will be mated for life, I do not want you to regret your decisions.” He didn’t want you to say no, he would crumble if you did. But he needed you to know what he was asking of you.

But you knew exactly what he meant, and exactly what you wanted. “Tsu’tey, how could I ever regret being with you?” You spoke to him softly, grabbing your kuru. There was no way you could deny your anxiousness, but the thought of finally being with Tsu’tey, connecting with the one you so dearly covet for. That beat any sense of insecurity you had at that moment.

Tsu’tey held his kuru tightly, watching the tendrils open as yours did the same. He looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of second thoughts but he was left empty-handed. You inched your queue towards him until the tendrils spiralled together.

Your pupils were blown and so were Tsu’tey’s. The feeling was overwhelming, you could feel everything he was feeling. You could feel his emotions, his desires, his thoughts. Everything. You were one.

Tsu’tey felt it all too. Overwhelmed in the feeling he breathed in slowly, gazing at you. He could feel all of your wants and fears. Your desires and wishes. But the one that plagued both for your minds was the desire for touch. So you both fed into it. He readjusted you in his grasp kissing you softly as he ran his hands up your body.

You ran your hands up his flexing abdomen as you started to lay back. “I love you.” You whispered to him, as he started to rest above you.

“I love you more.” He spoke as he felt your warm body beneath him invite him into you, invite him into your heart, your mind, your soul, and your body.

Unfortunately, you can’t live in newly-mated bliss forever. And it didn’t last long, barely a week. Jake broke the news to Tsu’tey as soon as he heard.

0600, 6:00am tomorrow Quaritch was rolling out every gun, man, ship, and missile towards the Tree of Souls. This was war. The clan however was no longer frightened, there were over 2000 warriors ready to fight back for their land, their home and they were no longer afraid.

But you were. You were terrified. Not only could many people die, Tsu’tey could. He was Olo’eyktan, his was going to be in the front lines of this fight. You knew he was a great warrior but it didn’t settle your nerves, not at all.

So as Tsu’tey finally returned to where you both had made camp for yourself he could sense your fear. “what troubles you?” He asked a light hand on your shoulder as he turned you to face him.

“I am scared Tsu’tey.” You looked up at him, the radiant glow of the forest reflecting off of him to make him glimmer in the night.

“Mawey, there is nothing to be afraid of. We will win, and I will return to you.” Your lip quivered, the reality of him never coming back to you settling in as he made that promise.

“Promise?” He nodded taking both of your hands in his, kissing your knuckles.

“Promise.” He kissed your hands once more, looking up to your teary eyed expression. “Please do not cry, I will cry too.” You giggled at him pulling him into a tight embrace. He squeezed you back tightly resting his head on top of yours.

It was currently 4:00am, and the warriors were all preparing. Sharpening their knives, stocking their arrows, painting their war stripes. It was all starting so fast.

You had Tsu’tey in front of you along with bowls of paint laid neatly beside you. You dipped your fingers in the thick liquid, flicking them to get the excess off before drawing on Tsu’tey’s stripes.

He sat there quietly, nose flaring as he exhaled whenever your fingers grazed his skin. You were making sure every stripe was perfect as you slowly drew the bigger ones down his arms and chest.

“You can go quicker, I must paint you as well.”

“Do not rush me, you will be the best painted warrior out there.” Tsu’tey mumbled under his breath as you arched your brow at him. He gave you a smile before taking the bowls from beside you and moving them closer to him.

He dipped his hand in the yellow paint, the same colour he had and drew a matching triangle on your face. He then did the same on your chin, using his thumb to draw a line, not forgetting to slightly graze your lips in the process.

He followed the triangles down your chest and up your arms. He was soft with you, only slightly grazing his fingers against your skin as if you could break any minute.

“There. You are ready.” The paint was sticky on your skin, but nothing you couldn’t get used to.

Time was ticking, and every moment you felt as if Tsu’tey was about to leave your grasp. His hands still lingered on your body as he pulled you closer to him. So that he could sit on the ground with you sitting in between his legs, fiddling with the beads on his necklace, as he braided small parts of your hair.

“I must go soon, Jake and I will lead the warriors. We must get there before the demons.” You nodded knowing your time with him was fleeting.

“I want to help, I want fight with you.” Tsu’tey tilted your chin up so you would look straight into his serious gaze.

“I need you here safe, we need you safe.” He put his hand carefully on your stomach, caressing the skin as he gave your lips a soft peck.

“What if you get hurt and I can’t help you?” Tsu’tey sighed at your concerns. Shit he had concerns too, but he refused to let up. He was to be brave, he will protect his people and his family.

“I won’t get hurt my love.” The sound of Jake ushering the warriors interrupted sweet moment the both of you were sharing. Both you and Tsu’tey’s ears perked up, your expression falling as you realized it was time. “I must go now. Be safe. Promise?”

You nodded, pressing your foreheads together, leaving a soft kiss on his lips. “Promise.”

It was full blown out war. Explosions erupted in the air and on the ground. You could hear the grunts of dying warriors from miles away. Tsu’tey made sure you were to stay with Mo’at at the tree of souls. He needed to know that you were safe, it gave him peace of mind.

The anxiety brewing in your stomach was growing out of control. Your heart was thumping, ears buzzing. Every moment all you could do was pray that he was safe.

Tsu’tey was soaring in the sky, adrenaline was pulsing through him like a strong current. The wind blew his braids in the air as he had his bow and arrow armed, ready to fire at any moment. The ships were strong, their foreign weapons stronger than any arrow.

But he had agility, he had skill. He would fight for his people so he could live peacefully with you. Maybe that is why he choose to abandon his ikran, jumping onto the open bottom of a demon ship. Slaughtering the sky-people as if they were flies.

He took his bow and arrow, shooting it through the body of one. Only to then use his large bow, as a weapon in itself as he whacked it on top of a pitiful sky-demon, that he flung out of air-craft with a shriek. He heard the click of a gun, ears perking up and fangs baring as he picked up the gun and the man with it, smashing it on the ground.

He couldn’t hear his own thoughts, over-ruled by the thirst for blood and revenge. His bow was like a hammer ploughing through the skulls of the humans in front of him. His eyes were wide, his eye brows furrowed as he continued to pluck each one off the ground, violently throwing them without a single bit of remorse cursing through his body. Another hard hit to a demons face, as they plummeted to the ground revealed a frightened sky-person.

He bared his gun, Tsu’tey felt his heart stop, his mind flicker with fear as he saw it. He used his bow once more hitting the gunman. But it wasn’t enough. Sharp debilitating pain filtrated through his lower body as he stumbled off of the ship.

He couldn’t even hold onto the vessel. He lost balance, his legs turning to jelly as his body slipped. The fall was long, the force of his body falling made the wind sound like it was assaulting him.

The pain was all down his leg, he couldn’t get himself to look as he tried desperately to find some foliage to plummet into. Breaking his fall.

No amount of leaves could make the thump onto the ground any less painful. It felt as if someone had taken a million punches to his entire body. The sticks left light scratches all across him, his face bleeding as a sharp stick had sliced his cheek.

He tried to move from his spot on the ground but he couldn’t. He sat up with an immense struggle. Looking down to see his leg bleeding profusely. It made him sick, as if his stomach would escape him. Three holes were sat in his thigh as he desperately tried to stay conscious. They weren’t fatal, he knew that but his mind was fleeting him as the pain overtook all of his senses.

Every time his leg twitched he would groan in immense pain. He was stuck, he couldn’t go anywhere. He needed help desperately. He needed to see you. Using one arm to prop himself up he pressed onto the mic on his neck.

“Y/N? Y/N can you hear me?” His voice was weak and desperate. It was fleeting every word was met with a hiss of pain.

The second you heard Tsu’tey’s pained voice in your ear you felt as if you were going to hurl. You brought your shaky hand up to your mic. “Yes- yes I can. Where are you?” You were close to hysterics, you needed to know he was safe, and you were certain he wasn’t.

“I am shot. I fell. Yawne- I- I cannot move please-” His words were cut short but you wasted no time. Mo’at looked over at you, her eyes telling you to run. You had no animal to ride, nothing to travel so you sprinted. Only holding a knife in your belt but you needed to find him.

“I’m coming, just hold on. Okay?” You slowed down so you could speak in your mic. Only to take off again. You didn’t know where your feet were taking you but you trusted your instincts. Those instincts that were buzzing from within you. They grew stronger every time the rough pads of your feet hit the ground.

You thought you may have been hearing things because of your stress. But the more you focused on the loud shouting of a Na’vi you realised it was your mate. It was your mate yelling in anguish.

You didn’t think your body could go faster but it could. It was as if your legs were going on their own. His yells turned in hisses and his hisses turned into cries. You weren’t sure what was happening but the image you saw in front of you was one that would never leave you mind again.

Wainfleet, a man you had recognised from your time in the RDA was in his mechanical suit. Holding Tsu’tey above the air from him queue. Dangling him as he cried. Tsu’tey was in unbearable pain, his leg covered in blood as he gripped tightly onto his queue for the slightest amount of relief from the searing pain on the back of his skull.

You were no warrior no fighter, but the aggression that surged through your veins was one you had never felt before. Maybe it was because you were angry at the sky-people, because your Na’vi body created a connection like no other to Tsu’tey, but the love you had for the struggling man in front of you blinded you with rage.

Your body took over itself, running straight towards the manic demon, that delighted in the pain of others. You jumped onto the back of the machine, making a great deal of noise in the progress. On your way up you grabbed a large piece of abandoned metal, large enough to be a Na’vi sized machete. Tsu’tey saw you and your manic looking expression as your body clambered on top of the suit.

Wainfleet dropped Tsu’tey, leaving him to hit the ground abruptly with a loud groan of pain once more. “Y/N! Stop!” Tsu’tey called out for you, but you couldn’t hear him through your clouded mind.

You took the metal from your hands and continued to stab it into the glass shield of the metal junk, shattering it as shards fell into the soldiers faces, toxic gas hissing into his chamber. Once he realised there was another Na’vi on top of him his robotic hands reached up to only smash you back onto the ground with a loud crack. Tsu’tey tried to run back to you but he was stuck, useless as he watched you writhe in pain as Wainfleet came closer to your body.

You hissed as you readjusted, stumbling as you got up. Spots of white in your vision but it didn’t stop you. This man was going to die. And your hands would carry that blood. Wainfleet chuckled as you hissed at him.

He didn’t waste his time, trying to shoot your stumbling body only to realise it was out of bullets. He groaned in annoyance taking a large knife out of the leg of the suit, swinging it with no real direction, as the shattered glass clouded his vision.

Tsu’tey called out for you, begging you to run. But you didn’t all you did was jump away from the blade, your eyes blown with rage as you had jumped onto the top of the suit once again. You took the metal out of the glass, twisting it as the whole shield shattered, crumbling to pieces letting his human body reveal itself to the harsh air of Pandora.

The crazed sky-demon discarded his robotic arm for just a moment to put on his face mask, to let the air back into his system. But you were having none of it. Your arms moved before your brain could even comprehend what you were doing. But the large piece of metal that you had taken out of the glass was now in your hands. It was deadly in your blind-struck rage.

Screaming you plummeted it through his chest, only to rip it out of his body to stab it right back in. Blood was spattering everywhere as you continued to stab into the human, screaming manically as your chest heaved, spitting out the blood that had been caught in your mouth. The force of your assault had almost severed the man in half as the machine collapsed below you. The blood splattered all over you, drenching you in the evidence of your murder.

The machine clanked as it hit the ground. You jumped back onto the ground shaking looking at the mess you created. It was horrific. He barely looked human, his blood drowned him in the suits chamber as you stumbled away.

Tsu’tey was frozen in shock. He had never seen this side of you. A side that was so blood thirsty and vengeful. He saw the way you stared down at your blood soaked hands as you shook. “Yawne” He croaked out trying to get your attention.

You immediately turned to your groaning mate who still couldn’t move. “Tsu’tey!” You scrambled to the ground where he had sat himself up against a rock, still clenching onto his leg as the pain surged through him. “You’re okay, we’ll get you back home soon okay?” Tsu’tey nodded with his eyes clenched shut.

You crouched down to look at his ruptured leg. The blood was no longer pooling out as the wounds were raw and sore. Putting your hands back onto the mic you called for help that you desperately needed.

“Jake, do you read me?”

“What is it?” His voice was gruff, worn out from the fighting.

“I- I need help, Tsu’tey is injured we needed to get him back to Mo’at. I can’t move him.”

“We’re on our way.” You let out a sigh of relief as you looked at Tsu’tey. His pained expression hurt you, but you took his hand in yours.

“You hear that baby? We’re getting you help. You’ll be alright.” Tsu’tey clenched onto your hands as his leg twitched again.

“Are you hurt yawne?” His voice was rough as his eyes studied your bloodied body for any wounds. You shook your head, even though it was a lie. The smash onto the ground you took was causing a resounding amount of pain in your body, but you could handle it.

“I am fine, focus on you. Please.” He nodded as you caressed his knuckles, waiting for help to come. You both sat in silence, the only sounds between the two was a grunt of pain from Tsu’tey followed by your soothing hushes. It lasted awhile until the large gusts of wind, signature to the arrival of Toruk Makto resounded in your ears. “Their here baby.”

Jake and Neytiri rushed over shocked at the state both of you were in. Jake walked closer, shocked to see the gory image of Wainfleet’s body discarded from the mated pair. Seeing his former colleagues drenched in blood he could only assume wasn’t hers was a sight that he never thought he’d see. But he never though he’d see you cradling an injured Tsu’tey either.

Neytiri was immediately tending to Tsu’tey, helping to readjust him so he could be placed onto Toruk. “Ma Jake, help us.” She sneered as he rushed over as they all picked up the warriors body. Tsu’tey cursed loudly clenching onto your hands as the three of you shuffled towards the screeching beast.

With a collective grunt Tsu’tey was placed onto the back of Toruk. He used both of his hands to keep him up, his leg hanging unable to be moved. Jake hopped onto the ikran twisting the reigns around his forearms. “You both should be on the back, hold him up so he does not fall.” You and Neytiri nodded hopping on the back of Toruk’s neck. You held him from the back, your core tight as the large animals started to flap its wings. Neytiri sat herself on the back. Looking towards the both of you, watching closely to make sure neither of your injured bodies fell.

After the flight Tsu’tey was immediately taken to the healers. They worked tirelessly for days to recover him from his injuries.

You were by his side the entire time, holding onto him as he squeezed you in pain as they dug for the bullets in his flesh. Soothing him as the medicines stung and the stitches stabbed. The process was close to unbearable. But you calmed him, he wasn’t sure what he would ever do without you.

Days passed and days turned into weeks as Tsu’tey recovered. He itched to be back to leading, he wanted to stand before his people, but his muscles were weak. Mo’at told him that his recovery would be long. But he was impatient.

His days were filled with bedrest and little limps. He wanted to stride again, to be a hunter. This was no way to be a leader.

Eventually, his limps turned into stumbles and his stumbles turned into steps. Steps that made him feel like a man again, like a leader. He was just upset it took him three agonizingly long months to do so.

But those months were crucial for him. Crucial for him to step up, to help be a better mate, better leader and to become an amazing father….

A couple months later

You were swollen, from head to toe your body ached. You writhed in the soft leaves, hating the thought of waking up to do your tasks. Tsu’tey was cradled next to you, his large hand protectively placed over your large belly.

Tsu’tey had his head nestled in your shoulder. “Good morning my mate.” His voice was still adjusting to the day as his voice vibrated in your ears making them prick up in excitement.

“Morning.” You were tired, the baby had been kicking all night, you barely got any rest only to be woken up by Eywa’s light.

“What is wrong?” He shuffled up, placing his head on his hand as he looked over at you. Growing concerned when you didn’t immediately reply. “Yawne? What is it?”

“This child has not stopped moving.” Tsu’tey couldn’t help but let a smile out as you mentioned his growing family.

“She is excited to meet you, that is all.” Tsu’tey rubbed your belly, giving your temple a soft kiss.

“Sure. Also you must stop talking as if you know it will be a daughter. You should not get your hopes up for one outcome.” You fiddled with his fingers that were on your belly.

He sat up now so he could use his other hand to guide your chin so you would face him. “I am certain this is a girl, I am also certain we will have enough sons. Trust me.”

“Tsu’tey! You’re disgusting!” You gave him a playful shove sitting up to face him. He let out a hearty laugh, his features glimmering in the morning light. You watched as his playful gaze turned into one more sincere, “What are you thinking?”

His heart was full of love. He was so happy that you came to him. That you were kind enough to love him and forgive him. He felt truly blessed. To think the one he called baby-demon was now his mate and was giving him a baby of his own. He felt proud. He was proud of himself for letting himself love you, he was proud of his people for accepting his love and he was so zealously proud of you, the way you protected him, loved him, and cherish him. He would never be able to live a day without you by his side again.

“I love you.” He whispered out, letting his hand cradle your cheek. You smiled into his hand.

“I love you more.”

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@dangerouslittlefairy @chaos-in-person @rebeccao03 @adaydreamaway08 @jellybeanstacey0519 @graykageyama @aracelikara @live-laugh-neteyam @sam-chwan @netherklutz @pajerita19 @ducks118 @glacticrose @kadu-5607 @rainbowsocks @star-dusst @cries-maria@mollygetssherlockcoffee @julielightwood @cleverzonkwombatsludge @sullyslover @midnightliacr @clara-geekhime @innercreationflower @zoetrope1997 @dreamsholdpowers @sovereignsylvia @anxietydrogz @ghostslittlegf @slutforsmut4ever @daeneeryss @yzulu @b-tchymoon @itscheybaby

reblogs and replies super duper appreciated, id love to hear what u thought (i tried rlly hard LMAO) thankyou so much for reading

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karmaisakhaleesi · 2 years ago

Text

Ocean Eyes~ Neteyam Sully x fem! older sister of Tsireya! reader

masterlist~

summary~ You are the older sister of Tsireya, and have been ostracised by both your family and Clan from birth. But everyting changes when the family of Toruk Makto seeks uturu with the Metkayina.

sorry i suck at summaries!

warnings~ use of y/n, Ao'nung is a jerk, language, violence, death mentioned, characters aged up to 20's, please lmk if i missed any!

italics are in the future in this chapter and italic dialogue is in Na'vi

wordcount~ 2.3K+

I've been watchin' you for some time, Can't stop starin' at those ocean eyes...

Your hands grasped at the cool metal surface of the now sinking ship, but to no avail. It was slick as oil as you felt an arm yank you up. Nails dug into your skin so deeply you could feel the warmth of blood spreading down your arm.

"Let go of me!" you hiss before being cuffed to a rail.

The man laughed and then tossed Kiri down next to you, her face crestfallen when your eyes met.

"Talk to me, Corporal. This ship's goin' down and your girls with it. Your boy didn't have to die."

You flinch at that, feeling a chill run down your spine. Neteyam was-

An arrow flew by interrupting your thoughts before you were uncuffed and felt a sharp sting on your neck.

Hissing you struggle against the arm holding you down, but it only made the knife dig deeper into your throat.

"Runnin' out of time here Corporal," Quaritch said, his grip tightening.

"You already lost one kid today. You really wanna lose another?"

Jake grunted as he moved forward, his knife held out.

"Do not test me," Quaritch seethed, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"Just kill him, dad!" Kiri shouts, as you flinch.

He moves the knife closer to her throat, "Weapons down."

Hesitating Jake tosses the hatchet and knife to the ground as Kiri shouts, "Don't!"

You barely register the next words out of the man's mouth when a boy comes out from behind a pillar.

"No! No, don't hurt her!" he shouts as rushes in front of him.

"Stand there! Don't move," Quaritch shouts, his voice filled with anger as he takes the knife away from your throat.

You can already feel a warm and steady trickle flowing down your throat as Kiri looks at you and gasps, "Your nec-"

But she is interrupted as Neytiri leaps forward and grabs the boy, holding her knife to his throat.

Quaritch flinches as she speaks, "Release. Or I cut."

"What you think I care about some kid?" he laughs.

"He's not mine, we're not even the same species."

"Jus- please don't! Don't hurt her!" the boy sputters as Kiri pleads for her mother not to kill him.

Your eyes fall to the knife on your thigh, so carefully concealed they hadn't even noticed it when cuffing you. Taking advantage of the Colonel's distraction you reach down and grab it, hand shaking on the hilt.

"A son for a son," Neytiri hisses as you unsheathe the blade, the shell hilt cool in your palm.

She cuts his chest, "I cut," and you strike. Slashing upward you cut the Colonel's face.

And that's when you feel it, the cold metal of the Colonel's blade in your chest, the warm liquid sprouting forward and Kiri's hand on your arm as you fall backward.

Neteyam watched as the Metkayina emerged from the ocean, her long hair dripping wet and her eyes sparkling in the sunlight. He couldn't help but feel his heart skip a beat as she smiled nervously in his direction. Giving a small wave he took a step toward her as he waited for Tsireya and the others to join him.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before," he said as he approached her, stopping a few steps in front of her in the sand.

A look of melancholy washed over her as she smiled sadly, "I-"

Before she could answer the sound of a throat clearing interrupted him, "What are you doing here?"

Turning back, he could see Ao'nung and Tsireya standing behind him. Ao'nung's voice was cold as ice, his expression angry, while Tsireya's was twisted in a mix of confusion and concern as she reached out to the girl.

Her expression shifted to one of discomfort as she glanced at Ao'nung before turning her gaze back to Neteyam. "I was just taking a swim," she replied, her voice soft and subdued.

Neteyam could sense the tension between Ao'nung and y/n, and he felt a protective instinct kick in. "Is there a problem?" he asked, his voice firm.

Ao'nung snorted dismissively. "No problem. We were just wondering what a sänui is doing here," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

She tensed beside Neteyam, but before she could respond, Tsireya stepped forward, placing a hand on Ao'nung's shoulder. "That's enough, Ao'nung. Let's go we have lessons to teach," she said firmly, her gaze flickering between Neteyam and the girl.

"Neteyam," Tsireya said, her voice strained as she walked into the waves, "Come, join us, you will learn nothing if you stay on the shore," her hand gestured for him to follow.

Glancing back in the girl's direction he gave a quick wave and leapt in with the others.

As he swam alongside Tsireya and Ao'nung, Neteyam couldn't help but wonder about the girl he had just met. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something different about her, especially with the way Ao'nung and Tsireya had treated her. And the words Ao'nung had thrown at her stumped him too, he had called her a sänui, a failure. They seemed close, yet distant at the same time, as if they were holding her at arm's length for some reason.

The lessons that day were intense, what with it being their first day in the ocean. His arms felt sore as he followed his siblings back to their mauri.

Your hands rang the water from your hair as you stepped into your family's mauri, the room tense as your Mother set down a basket and grabbed an herb from your sister.

"Tsireya tells me that Toruk Makto's children have seen you," her voice is harsh and cold, but her gaze never meets yours as you stand in the entryway.

You feel a pang of guilt as your mother's words hit you. You knew that you shouldn't have been seen with Neteyam, or any of Toruk Makto's family, but you couldn't help it. You were curious and there was something about him in particular that drew you in, something that made you feel alive.

"I- I'm sorry, Mother," you stammer, looking down at your feet. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

Your mother snorts, turning to face you with a scowl on her face. "You never mean to cause trouble, but trouble always seems to find you," she says bitterly her hands now holding a mixing bowl.

You feel the weight of her words, the same words she's said to you countless times before. You know why there is malice in her voice, and her eyes every time she sees you, and it cuts your soul. Honestly, it wouldn't be half bad if she would pretend you didn't exist, but your Father put a stop to that.

"I'll be more careful in the future," you say softly, hoping to diffuse the tension in the room.

Your mother nods, but her expression remains stern. "You're getting older now, y/n, and it's time for you to start thinking about your future. You can't keep running around the clan, you need to stay out of sight, and the way. It is what Eywa has willed."

You feel a lump form in your throat at her words, knowing that she's right, but don't want to give up the feeling that deep down she's wrong. That Eywa would never will such a thing, that she would never will your Mother to cast you aside the moment you took your first breath, that there was some reason you were the way you were.

"I understand Mother," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

She gives you a curt nod before turning back to her work, signaling that the conversation is over. You take one last look around the mauri before silently slipping out, feeling the weight of your mother's gaze as you walk.

But before you can fully exit the mauri, you bump into someone who exhales deeply. Flinching you glance up to meet your Father's eyes, full of melancholy as he gives you a tight smile, "My daughter," his hand lands on your shoulder.

Biting your lip you greet him, "Father," his eyes look down at the small basket in your hands, and they grow concerned.

"Where are you going so late?"

His eyes search yours for an explanation while you try not to frown, "Just for a swim."

He sighs in relief, "Be back before eclipse," and with that he heads inside, calling out to your mother, "Ronal," his voice trails off as you walk to the shore.

As you make your way toward the shore, you can't help but feel a sense of unease. Your mother's words still linger in your mind, and you know that she's right. You can't keep running around the clan, it's time for you to start thinking about your future. But the idea of conforming to the clan's and Eywa's expectations feels suffocating, and you can't help but wonder if there's more to life than just following the will of Eywa and listening to the people gossip in hushed tones when you pass them by.

Shaking your head you reach the shore and take a deep breath, feeling the cool breeze on your face. You can taste the salt in the air and the water is calm, as you wade in slowly, feeling the gentle waves lap against your ankles. You close your eyes and let out a sigh, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. Hearing a snap you turn to see one of the Sully children standing not too far behind you on the shore. You freeze as he waves and takes a step closer.

"Hey," he whispers as the waves pick up in pace.

Feeling a chill run down your spine you quickly dive forward, the cool water engulfing you, the taste of salt on your tongue. As you swim further out, you can hear the distant chatter of the clan behind you, but you feel a sense of freedom being out here on your own. The water is your sanctuary, your escape from your troubles, and yourself. You dive deeper, feeling the pressure in your ears as you go. You know you should surface soon, but you can't help but stay down, enjoying the weightlessness of being underwater. Suddenly, you feel something brush against your leg, and you startle, quickly kicking back up to the surface.

Gasping for air, you look around, but there's no one there. You try to shake off the feeling of being watched, but it lingers, and you can't help but feel uneasy.

Neteyam stands dumbfounded on the beach after your curls disappear in the waves, the inky blackness of the waves obscuring the fact that you had ever been there in the first place as he turns to leave. Walking through the sand he wonders what you were doing out so late, and then he stops in his tracks.

In front of him stands the Tsahìk, her eyes foreboding and cold as she steps past him and towards the sea. Greeting her he quickly heads back to his family's mauri and lays down on his bed, his head swimming with thoughts of the strange girl.

The next morning he woke early to begin lessons with the ilu. Ao'nung took the lead on lessons while Tsireya demonstrated how to make Tsaheylu with them. It was just as Neteyam was about to take off with his ilu when he saw you. Your hair was now adorned with a scattering of orange and blue seashells, matching your top, and your eyes pointedly looked at the water as you called for an ilu.

As the ilu came forward you tossed it a fish, and patted its neck gently, smiling he urged his ilu to slowly move toward you. When he was mere inches from her he opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Ao'nung,

"Again today," he seethed as he swam forward on his ilu.

She jumped back startled at his approach, falling over her feet and taking in a mouth of seawater as she fell. Neteyam's hand shot out and pulled her up as she rubbed her eyes.

"What are you doing here again?" Ao'nung asked, his voice harsh as he regarded her.

"I-," she paused as she looked down in thought, her eyes clouding with tears.

Stepping in between the two Neteyam sent a glare at Ao'nung, "Why can't she be here?" he hissed as he helped you gather the scattered contents of your bag.

"And who is she to you any way that you care so much she's here," his voice is stern as he looks to Ao'nung for an answer.

Your face pales as your younger brother's eyes lock on you and he laughs, "Tsmuke is just as useless as you all are."

Neteyam looks at him warily, "What do you mean? Why insult your own sister?" his voice is heated and a wave of confusion washes over him as he steps towards him.

You were their sister? It didn't make any sense to him, why treat you so coldly and call you a sänui, and worthless. Ao'nung feigns surprise, "You don't know?"

Biting back a laugh, he continues, "Oh, of course, you wouldn't, you're from the forest, so it might be difficult to understand," his finger points at you in accusation, "She has no spirit sister. No Tsaheylu. No connection to Eywa. She is worthless."

Neteyam's eyes shot to you, his eyes concerned as you stumbled back in the waves, "Your sister?"

He could feel his blood boiling as Ao'nung laughed and Tsireya turned away, her eyes locked on the sand.

He couldn't believe that anyone, let alone her own brother, could treat her so cruelly just because she didn't have a Tsaheylu. He could see the hurt and pain in your eyes as Ao'nung's words sunk in.

Turning to face Ao'nung, he spoke firmly, "That doesn't give you the right to treat her that way. She's still your sister-"

He's cut off by your shout, "No, he's right," a sad look washes over your face as you mount the ilu, and dive forward, disappearing underneath the waves.

Feeling his anger rise his hand clenches into a fist as he turns to Ao'nung and punches him.

sänui [sæ.ˈnu.i] n. failure (particular instance of failure)

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