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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Note

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment.

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze.

König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others.

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!”

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect.

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up.

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child.

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru.

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes.

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest.

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!”

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away.

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!” König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture.

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you, König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you.

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt.

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny.

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone.

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge.

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.”

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction.

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl.

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance.

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.”

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!”

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience.

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done.

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling.

Evolve, or die.

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later.

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.”

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants.

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA.

The Lieutenant is one of them.

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead.

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t.

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact.

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself.

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins.

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was.

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding.

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed.

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes.

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide.

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady.

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire.

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock.

Your finger slams into the trigger.

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself.

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König.

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary.

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt.

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch.

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later.

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure.

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König.

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone.

Anyone but you, that is.

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter.

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced.

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down.

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm.

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?”

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment.

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour.

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you.

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence.

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up.

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh.

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest.

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.”

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given.

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly.

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.”

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?”

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?”

He freezes, muscles going taunt.

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?”

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away.

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate.

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit.

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over.

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side.

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air.

König kneeled to you and bared himself.

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this.

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood.

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug.

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning.

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he.

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame.

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears.

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him.

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat.

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English.

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril.

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust.

You find none.

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening.

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words.

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize.

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized.

For you to come back to him. His partner.

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths.

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

NEW TAGLIST SIGN-UP: Here

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n

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darkacademiaarchivist · 3 months ago

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Sometimes i feel that way about old Star Trek episoedes because i see what they were trying to do and i'm sure the execution was groundbreaking at the time but when you look at it now... oh boy what?

The thing you have to keep in mind about Moby Dick is that it’s an explicitly anti-racist text written by a white guy in the 1850s. So you end up with stuff like Ishmael spending an entire paragraph complimenting a Polynesian guy on his skull shape.

#the entire nazi episode is so weird to me as a german person #especially since it didn't air THAT long after ww2??#i'm also 90% sure that it didn't air in germany at the time #simply based on the fact that bones has a different voice the entire episode #so i'm sure the dub happened after the original dub and maybe deforest kelley's original german va quit or passed away?#idk

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hotvintagepoll · 10 days ago

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LAST POLL OF ROUND 4

Danny Kaye (The Court Jester, The Inspector General)—Danny Kaye, idol of my childhood, maker of the weirdest faces! This man SETS HIMSELF ON FIRE and then puts himself out in a bucket in a movie based on a Gogol short story. In the same movie (Inspector General), he flirts by playing a carrot as a musical instrument. In Wonder Man, he's brilliant but struggles with things like riding buses. I have been envious of his fake Italian/French/German/Spanish monologues in The Court Jester for the past three decades. As Walter Mitty, he is SUPREMELY SILLY yet also somehow manages to be a comic foil for none other than Boris Karloff. All this is to say nothing of The William Tell Song (TV, thus not linked, but great.) I adore him.

Donald O'Connor (Singin' in the Rain, Francis, Call Me Madam)— LOOK AT HIM. Those giant blue peepers. Those tappy tappy little feet that don't quit. The ears that stick out like little wings, ready to lift him up to goofy heaven. The way his face contorts into the strangest yet most endearing expressions. His ability to sing and dance alongside the hunk that is Gene Kelly and yet pull all attention away with his big-eyed buffoonery. The way his energy is unmatched in songs like "Make 'em laugh" - bouncing off the walls and tumbling through the air straight into my cold cold heart. Who else but a true scrungly lil guy would sit upon the witness stand and defend a talking mule with all the love and affection in the world - staring out into the court room with his bright wide eyes and eternally mouse-like expression, openly admitting that the mule is his best friend?!??! I see him and I want to pull him from the screen into my hand and just squiiiiiiiiiiiiish with all my might. I want to pinch his cheeks and have him bat those eyes at me. He just makes me go "eeehehehehehe" every time I see him and his silly little self. He is pure chaotic, ridiculous, scrungly perfection!

This is round 4 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Danny Kaye:

He's so stupid. I love him.

youtube

Donald O'Connor:

youtube

My silliest little guy. My funnyman. My horsie. I have watched many a bad movie for this man. The scrungliest fact I know about him is that he was supposed to star as Danny Kaye's role in the iconic White Christmas (1954), as he had known Bing Crosby since he was a child, but couldn't because he caught a mule disease while working on those Francis the Talking Mule films Universal endlessly made him do. I wouldn't exactly recommend those movies, but Don's character getting psychologically tormented by a sardonic mule does make for quite a good movie night, if you know what you're getting into. Are You With It? is another one I don't exactly recommend, but it does open with Donald as a math genius actuary who is about to kill himself over a displaced decimal point before getting taken in by a traveling carny instead. His more well-known and beloved roles have plenty of scrungliness too, in my opinion. This man slapsticked so hard he wound up bedridden for his physical exertion! Rather than submitting Make 'Em Laugh, which the electorate has likely already seen (I hope), I'm submitting an underrated dance number of his, where he explains maths through tap dance. That movie is Not good, but god do I love him in that role.

youtube

I think it's arguably very scrungly to seemingly be a real life cartoon character made out of rubber, as proven by how slapsticky the list of scrunglies is so far. In which case, Donald O'Connor? He scrungles supremely. He even played Buster Keaton in a movie (that apparently can't be recommended, but still).

youtube

#donald o'connor #danny kaye #hotvintagepoll #scrungly 4 #ouch ouch oof ouch #Youtube

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planespottingvids · 2 years ago

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NEUBERG AIR BASE Museum GERMAN Air force Base

youtube

#Neuberg #neuberg air museum #german air base museum #neuberg airbase museum #german air force museum #f4 phantom #german air base #neeuberg #neuberg aviation museum #aviation museum #air museum #aircraft museum #Youtube

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doeidawn · 1 month ago

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doeidawn's kinkmas day eleven ❆ mistletoe

KINKMAS 2024 | PREVIOUS DAY

a misinterpretation has könig a little overzealous with the mistletoe. 1.5k

❆ pairing: könig x fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; google translate german—author apologizes in advance; fingering; piv sex; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it); slight breeding kink; creampie

❆ note: this is entirely based around the tradition of hanging up mistletoe to promote fertility that is supposedly practiced in some European countries. i am absurdly american and have no idea if any of it is true, but let's just pretend for the sake of this scenario

Hanging a small tuft of mistletoe above your bedroom door might’ve been a little cheesy, but any excuse you had to be cheesy with your boyfriend, you were gonna take. It was just something fun to do for the holidays. He rarely had time to spend with you, so you were determined to make the most out of the few days you had him to yourself.

The only problem seemed to be that he was incapable of noticing it. It had been hours since you scrambled on a chair and taped it securely on the doorframe, and he still hadn’t made any comment on it. It was kinda surprising that such a tall guy couldn’t look an inch above him to see the plant. Perhaps it’s because he was so preoccupied with you that he didn’t bother looking anywhere you weren’t at.

So, when he was in the doorway on his way back into the room, you call out for him to stay. A confused, almost worried, look on his face and you scramble over to him. You press yourself against him and point up to the edge of the doorframe.

“Mistletoe,” you say simply. “You know what that means.”

The insinuation hangs heavy in the air. König just stares at you for a moment, and you feel like you can see the gear turning in his head. You wonder if maybe the tradition is lost on him, a cultural difference that he never practiced. But before you can follow that line of thought, his strong arms are wrapping around your body and lifting you off the ground. He carries you over to the bed in a hurried frenzy, like he’s afraid you’ll rescind the offer.

He’s on top of you before you can even process your back hitting the mattress. He’s smothering you in hurried kisses, sticking his tongue down your throat and swallowing your squeaks. You can’t get a word in edgewise, not with his mouth attacking yours. It’s not until he starts to trail his kisses down your neck that you feel like you can breathe again.

“You don’t need a silly plant as an excuse,” he mutters against your collarbone. “I’ll give you this whenever you want it, Engel.”

You brace your hands on his shoulders as he starts to tug at your clothing, stripping you of your garments until you’re bare below the waist. You’re too stunned to come up with a response quite yet, wondering why mistletoe sparked such need within him. But you weren’t complaining, especially when his fingers start to run over the inside of your thigh as he guides your legs apart.

König mutters something softly to himself in German before two of those thick fingers run over your cunt to spread you open. You watch him lean in and spit onto your sensitive flesh before gliding his digits through the liquid to spread it around. The stretch as he breeches your entrance makes you keen, nails digging into his arm as you gasp for air. Your slick walls hug his intruding digits, squelching lewdly as he slowly pumps them in and out.

“There we are, just relax for me.” The softness in his voice coaxes you to arch into his touch. His lips brush over the curve of your neck, pressing gentle kisses along the sensitive skin.

This wasn’t exactly what you expected when you decided to hand up mistletoe above your door, but you certainly weren’t going to stop it. His thick fingers filled you up deliciously, pumping deep enough to hit something deep inside that makes your toes curl. His tongue and teeth run over your neck, up to your jaw, overwhelming you in the feel of him. His large frame caged you against the mattress, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He knew how to draw out every bit of pleasure from you, knew exactly where to hit and how hard to press. When he curled his fingers the right way, he knew that you would arch into him and run your nails down his back. It was as addicting for him as it was for you.

“So beautiful,” he mindlessly rumbles. “So pretty underneath me, schatz.” His praise makes you clench around his fingers, earning a groan from deep in his chest. “Scheiße, I can’t wait any longer…”

You whimper at the loss when he slides his fingers out of you. You hadn’t even realized how close you were until the persistent pressure deep inside was taken away. But seeing König impatiently fish his cock out, his face flushed with desire and determination, made the momentary emptiness worth it. He’s scrambling to find the lube in the nightstand, but gathers enough restraint to ensure both of you are slicked up enough before trying to push in.

No matter how many times he did it, that initial stretch was always a lot to handle. It almost didn’t matter how much he prepped you; he was so thick, it was hard to loosen up enough to take him easily. But that meant the sound that left his mouth was always so deliciously pathetic—a cross between a whimper and a groan as your slick walls hugged his cock.

You could tell how much restraint it was taking him to keep his pace slow at first. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, let alone chance hurting you. He knew it was a tight fit that took more out of you than him, but he’d make up for it by running circles over your clit with the pad of his thumb.

“So fucking good…you’re so damn tight, Engel.” His breath hits your lips as he leans over you. “So perfect for me. Can’t wait to fill you up.”

It wasn’t something out of the ordinary when it came to his sex talk, but something about it felt dirtier this time. Your hips jerk into his hand, sliding his cock deeper inside your stretched-out cunt. The initial burn dulls into something much more pleasurable that makes you tighten around him. He can tell, when your strained whimpers turn to soft moans, that he can give you what you need.

König’s free hand pushes a knee to your chest, opening you wider for both of your sakes. His cock hits deeper this way, kissing your cervix on each deep thrust, forcing the air out of your lungs every time.

“You should have told me you wanted this sooner.” The words come out in huffs, growled from deep in his chest. “Don’t need the mistletoe to make sure it takes.”

What the mistletoe had to do with that, you weren’t exactly sure. But you did know that hearing him talk about filling you made your hips cunt throb with need. Growing just as desperate as he was, you were practically whining as your nails dig into his skin just to make sure he stays close. Your cunt flutters around him, tightening with each drive of his hips and tight circle of his thumb.

“That’s what you want, yeah? Want me to fill you, Engel?” The soft “mm-hmm” that vibrates in your chest is all the confidence he needs to turn his movements rougher, pounding into you with a force that makes your eyes roll back. “Gutes Mädchen…I know you want it.”

His hips snap against yours in hard, deep thrusts that feel like they could bruise your cervix. Your thighs start to tense, shaking under his iron grip, nonsensical noise spilling from your lips. Pleas and encouragement and soft whispers of his name—anything to make him keep up that pace. And with just a few more drives of his thick cock, your cunt was clamping around him, coating him in your slick cum. The tight pulses spur on his own release, following quickly behind while he tries to fuck you through the high.

Every twitch of his cock drags against your sensitive walls as he spills. König rocks his hips in shallow thrusts, buried inside you as deep as he could possibly fit, moaning into your mouth between sloppy kisses. It’s not until his hips still that he pulls his lips off of yours for the chance to catch his breath properly.

You look up at him still hovering over your body, watching him move his hand off of your thigh to let it fall against the mattress. “Where…where did all that come from?”

“The mistletoe,” he says matter-of-factly like it’s the obvious answer. “You hung it up, why are you surprised?”

“Well, I mean…that was a little more intense than just a kiss.”

“Of course it was. That is the point, yes?”

Your brows furrow at that. “No? I mean, not saying I didn’t like it—I liked it a lot. But you’re just supposed to kiss someone under mistletoe.”

You swear you can see the thoughts running a mile a minute behind his eyes. “Oh…” He looks down at you, at the spot where the two of you meet. “Well, just a slight misunderstanding, then.”

You arch your back, pushing your hips against his just to feel his cock shift inside you. Both of you groan at the feeling against your sensitive bodies. “At least it was a fun misunderstanding.” You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down until his lips meet yours again.“Yeah,” he sighs between your kisses. “Very fun.”

#doeidawn's kinkmas #clown writes #cod smut #cod x reader #call of duty #cod #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig x reader #cod konig #könig #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig mw2

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outsideratheart · 6 months ago

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We Support Each Other (Aitana Bonmati x reader)

A/N: This could be read as a stand alone but it is also a sequel to Sore Loser. Based off this request.

You could ask anyone that knows you and they would say they have never seen you more determined than they have during this last month. Each game you gave it your all and left the pitch knowing that you couldn’t physically do anymore. It was that attitude that got you where you currently are and that is standing in the tunnel about to walk out to a sold out Wembley stadium for the 2022 Euros final.

As always you are the last player in the line. It was superstition of yours and whilst your team mates loved to tease you about it, they didn’t mess with you today. No, today they let you be.

The first half wasn’t bad but it didn’t go as you had planned. Nothing seemed to work and the German players were beginning to get on your nerves. You knew it was their game plan and you welcomed the extra physicality. It did nothing but drive you to do the thing you failed to do in the first half and that was get the ball in the back of the net.

When Ella scored it gave you a boost of energy which was much needed. The score line being tipped in your favour didn’t last long because Germany equalised just over 15 minutes later.

Injury time came up on the board and the 5 minutes passed without either teams taking the lead.

Then came extra time and the second half of extra time. Both teams were on their last legs and they knew that they needed to score soon because if it went to penalties then it was anybody’s game and all the work they had done would be almost meaningless.

During a Germany corner Mary punched it out and England were on the attack with the Germans hot on their tails. Keira ran down the middle of the pitch and it was as if the ball was stuck to her feet. There was no way she was losing that ball and when you began running along side of her there was no way you were going to mess up this opportunity.

Keira played you the most pin point accurate through ball and you know now was the time. This one shot could make history, it could change everything and when you shot the ball you knew it was going it. That didn’t stop time from standing still as you watched the ball sore through the air.

You don’t know what came over you but you take your shirt off and running towards Keira.

“Bloody Brilliant” you kiss her forehead.

“Y/N!!!” Keira jumps into your arms “You did it”

“We did it”

The rest of your team piles on top of you. When the goal celebrations are over you know that another goal isn’t going to come so your attention goes to running down the clock. You do the thing you hate when other teams do and you take the ball to the corner flag and do everything you can to keep the ball. The clock isn’t in your eye view but the final whistle is definitely heard.

England were Champions of Europe and you had done it at home. That final goal made you top goal scorer of the tournament and all your hard work was rewarded by winning player of the tournament.

You had every right to celebrate yours and the ‘ achievement and whilst you are never one to go mad after winning a game, you do with this one. You celebrate with the entire team, players and staff alike but after an hour or so in the locker room you only want to be with one person and she is upstairs in the bar where all the friends and family were.

“Aita” You bury her head in the crook of her neck.

The last couple of days had been stressful to say the least so when your body feels the safety that Aitana’s arms give you, it relaxes for the first time since you played Sweden.

“Amor meu” Aitana held you tightly knowing that in this moment you will be feeling very overwhelmed.

When you pull away you notice that she is crying and whenever your girlfriend cried, you cried. It didn’t matter if they are happy tears or sad tears.

Both of you stood there in the middle of the room crying without a care in the world.

For the next hour the team stays at the bar in Wembley stadium but after that people start to leave and you are told it is time to go back to the hotel. You knew the tournament rules but technically it was over now so did the rules still apply?

Aitana recognises that look. It was one she was well accustomed to and was often followed by mischief.

“Gaffa!” You shout maybe a little too loudly but you blamed the alcohol for the slight raise in volume.

This term wasn’t something Aitana knew.

“It means boss, baby” you turn back towards your coach who was now coming towards you.

“Wait!” You turn back to Aitana “not boss baby. It means boss and then I was calling you my baby because you are, you’re my baby” you kiss her once, twice, three times.

“Lo se” Aitana giggles. She liked drunk Y/N, she really liked her.

By the time you turn around again, Sarina is right next to you.

“Gaffa!!!” You place your arm around her shoulder.

“Yes, Y/N” Sarina gives Aitana a look as if wishing her luck with you in your intoxicated state.

Your girlfriend watches as you take a couple of seconds to compose yourself. She could have sworn she heard you giving yourself a little pep talk.

“Sarina, we have just won the euros” the Dutch woman shakes her head but then nods her head when she sees your expression change into one of confusion “We did win, look” you hold up your medal “I have been very good and well behaved”

“You snuck out of the team hotel and didn’t return for over two hours” Sarina recalls the night when she came to talk to you only to be told several different reasons why you weren’t with the team.

“That’s because of Aitana” Without realising you throw your own girlfriend under the bus.

“Right so Aitana here is a bad influence on you, I understand”

“She is not!” You say rather protectively “Aitana is the best thing to ever happen to me. I am a much better person because of her. You should have met me before we started dating, I was a handful”

Sarina knew that it was time to leave and whilst she was enjoying seeing you react this way, she also knew that you three were some of the many few left at the bar and that the rest of the team was already on the bus. She had to get to your point quickly.

“Y/N, I have already told Aitana that she is more than welcome to come to the hotel with us”

“You have?” You ask her “She did?” you ask Aitana who at this point could contain her laughter no more.

The coach journey back the hotel was loud and rowdy but not for you and Aitana. The alcohol had began to wear off given you stopped drinking. The two of you sit there, barely talking as you hold hands looking out of the window. Your girlfriend knew you were coming down from the winner’s high.

As you enter the hotel you excuse yourself stating that you wanted some time with Aitana before rejoining the festivities. She finds that a little strange but doesn’t push you. The elevator ride up to your room is silent but once in your room Aitana notices what is happening.

“You deserve this Y/N. I’m here because I want to celebrate with you”

You had already laid your self out on the bed. With no hesitation she curls up into your side.

“We have celebrated. You shouldn’t have to watch us celebrate when we beat you in order to get to the final” You had enjoyed celebrating with the team but it was also important to take your girlfriend’s feelings into consideration.

“Watching you win today will be one of the best days of my life. I am so so proud of you and I don’t want you to stop celebrating your achievements because of me. We were never going to win this tournament. The federation—“

You let out a dramatic sigh.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about what was going on”

“I told you after the game. I am your girlfriend and some of the team are your closest friends, some even family. You wouldn’t have been able to be near Jorge and not say something”

You sat up rather quickly. Quick enough startle Aitana.

“You’re right, I would have said something. You should say something. From what you have told me, things are really bad at the minute and the way to make change is to stand up. If I come face to face with that man or any of his buddies then that is what I will be doing”

“We are going to say something but we are going to do it the right way” Aitana moved down the bed so she is closer to where you are standing.

“I will support you” you stand between her legs, cup her face with your hands and lean down to kiss her softly.

“I know you will” She returns the kiss with the same amount of softness “Right now I want to support you so let’s go celebrate you and your friends”

#Aitana bonmati x reader #Aitana bonmati one shot #Aitana bonmati imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #fcb femeni x reader #fcb femeni one shot #fcb femeni imagine #espwnt x reader #espwnt one shot #espwnt imagine

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writersdrug · 5 months ago

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I Don't Need You

Chapter 13. Each Other

Masterlist

Summary: Ridgeback was right: you and König make a good pair on the battlefield. Though, that doesn't mean the mission still can't go wrong.

Warnings: cursing, German that I'm too lazy to translate (nothing important), violence and blood, reader gets socked

As much as a leader should be, and as much as I hated to admit it, Ridgeback was right about everything he’d said: König and I made a decent team.

The morning after König’s temper tantrum, he was waiting outside of my door before breakfast. He mumbled something about “need to work together”, before turning on his heel and marching towards the mess hall. I stared after him, confused, but quickly grabbed my jacket when he barked at me to keep up with him. He was still grumpy, sure… but he wasn’t grumpy with me. Ridgeback must have given him an earful.

For the rest of the day, it was impossible to shake him. He ran training courses with me as we both got a feel for how the other worked. I figured out that König was truly a tank, in every sense of the word. Any poor “enemy” corporal that stood in his way was either launched to the side or pelted with a minimum of five rubber bullets to the head. And this was just a practice course; I couldn’t imagine what he would look like on the field. I was happy to be his six, his shadow that cleaned up the mess behind him. I made sure any stragglers were swiftly taken out, and that no one could sink a bullet into his back as he maneuvered through the course.

It was flawless. It made Ridgeback smirk as the two of us made our way back to the start of the run. His eyes held a thousand I told you so’s that made König scoff and my eyes roll. Still, it was obvious that we worked well together.

After that, I had a brief period of solitude when I retreated into the shower. As soon as I emerged from my barracks, König was there – leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He followed to the mess, where we ate in silence. In the common area I pulled out a checkers bord and challenged him to a game; König obliged, opting to put his phone down and entertain my request. It was only a few, shameful minutes before he had me beat; He chuckled as I pouted and flipped on the TV, letting some foreign movie drone on and pretending I was invested.

It wasn’t humiliating to have him connected to my hip, nor was it suffocating. It felt good to know I had molded so well to someone in the team; that I could see how useful I was. But König was certainly… unexpectedly clingy. “Forcing himself” wasn’t the correct term, but it wasn’t hard to see that he was straining his limits. There was still something holding him back from accepting that we were a decent pair, even if it was just in combative circumstances. Part of me wanted to call him out on his behavior and tell him to stop being a child – then again, I didn’t want to start an argument. Not with the next mission right around the corner. So I let him be.

In addition to the dynamic between König and I, Ridgeback had been right about the mission: it was a downright bitch. Based in some tiny village on the edge of Narikala, Georgia, backed against a thick, snowy forest. The air was bitterly cold, nipping at my cheeks and seeping in through the fingertips of my gloves. I sat next to König on the heli, absentmindedly letting my knee rest against his thigh to savor any warmth I could get. He bounced his knee anxiously – in excitement or nervousness, I couldn’t tell.

Not five minutes after the heli had touched the ground did all hell break loose. König and I jumped out of our seats and were immediately met with a storm of bullets. Pedestrians had already started panicking when they heard the blades of the helicopter – now, they were screaming, running to take cover in the shabby, concrete structures that lined the streets. It was a miracle that we didn’t get separated then and there – well, not much of a miracle. König had grabbed me by my vest and yanked me to the side, out of the line of fire. He didn’t let me go until we had made it into one of the buildings, dropping me rather unceremoniously onto my feet.

From there, things only got worse – but we were able to manage it. Rose and Horangi weren’t far behind us as we cleared each room for them. It was nothing short of difficult: some of the enemy soldiers were able to land a decent jab to König’s side, despite being killed no less than three seconds later by a bullet to the neck. He seemed… giddy, like a teenage boy playing some first-person-shooter game in an arcade. It was all game to him; throwing punches and firing his assault rifle, occasionally dropping a laugh and scampering off to find his next victim.

Covering his six was surprisingly a simpler task on the field than in training. König didn’t leave anything but dead bodies in his wake. I spent more time helping him with what was hitting him head on. He used his gun more often as a bludgeoner than an actual rifle, ramming it into the faces and stomachs of anything that crossed his path. I forced myself not to focus on it too much – the idea of him relishing in the massacre of others threatened to shake me from my objective, but I pushed past it and continued to follow him through the buildings.

The stench of iron was strong now; the sounds of gunfire and voices shouting in a foreign language echoed across the various concrete walls, but I was all too attuned to it by now. The two of us reached the building where the hostiles had set up their temporary base, covered by thick walls and satellite dishes on the roof. König took the upper ground, running up the stairs on the side of the building. I pulled up next to the lower entrance and cleared one side – almost instantly, a hostile soldier clocked me on the opposite side, right in my face with the butt of his rifle. My back hit the wall before I realized what was happening, but I didn’t hesitate to fire my gun from where I was propped up on the floor. My pulse thrummed loudly in my ears as I blinked a few times, pulling myself up to my feet with a grunt.

Roze and Horangi entered shortly after; Roze grimaced, placing her gloved hand on my helmet and turning my cheek towards her. “That’s gonna be a shiner. You ok?”

I sniffed and cleared my throat. “I’ve had worse.”

“That’s right.” She replied proudly, tapping my helmet, before running off to one of the monitors. “Horangi! The drive.” She jerked her head in his direction.

He pulled a hard disc from his cargo pants pocket, tossing it across the room; Roze caught it effortlessly and jammed it into the towers of one of the monitors, plugging in a passcode cracker.

“They’re calling in backup.” He said, glancing through one of the windows. “Don’t even care who they’re aiming at, civilians or us.”

“Have you heard from Majka?” I asked, unable to hide the slight worry in my tone. “Exfil?”

“No. Comms are still down.” He said bluntly. Even he was nervous, missing the usual, cocky lilt in his tone. “Last I heard, Fender and O’Connor were still on the west side, clearing the exit. Castillo and Zero are setting up foxhole.”

I nodded. Everyone still seemed to be on track, at least – it was daunting not to have Majka in our ears, keeping us connected with who had what position. König was the only one with a ham radio directly to Majka – it was the only line we had to any sort of commanding voice.

“I’ll find König.” I said, tapping Horangi’s arm. “Castillo and Zero will have your backs on the way out. We’ll guard the entrance.”

He nodded, before swiftly crossing the room to stand next to Roze: still bend over the monitor and typing furiously on the keyboard. I turned on my heel and left through the way I came, clearing the room left and right, then running to the edge of the building where I had last seen König. The air was quiet with the lack of shouts, despite the abundance of guns firing. Would König make a sound if he was being attacked? Would he stay silent? How would I know if he was injured? What if he was already?

Suddenly, a massive figure rounded the corner. For a moment I raised my rifle, aiming at the soldier’s chest – until I realized it was König. Switching teams as often as I had made it a struggle to remember who to shoot and who not to shoot, but it was easy to recognize his lumbering form anywhere.

He didn’t bother with the pleasantries. “Exfil isn’t coming.” He said, maneuvering his body to press flat against the side of the building. He tucked his ham radio back into his tactical vest.

“Huh?!” I snapped, following closely behind him. “The fuck do you mean?”

“You see this?!” he gestured to the chaos around us – it was fairly congested with enemy soldiers. Although we made good headway, we were outnumbered. “They won’t be able to get in here. Majka said we need to get out; he has evac on the way, but it’ll take time.”

I scowled, more at the situation than at König. I knew Roze and Horagni could handle themselves, and they were more than safe with Castillo and Zero on their backs. What got me was the retreat; I’d only ever retreated twice before (ironically, both times falling under Price’s command), and it only did more harm than good.

Before I could give it any more thought, König’s thick fingers were wrapped around my vest again, pulling me behind him. I steeled my nerves as we wound through the buildings, dodging bullet rain and civilians as they sought cover. König appeared to be running us towards the forest, taking us closer to the edge of the village.

“What about the others?” I shouted over the commotion, as he dragged us past the large, stone walls at the entrance of the town. They would essentially be trapped in the center of the gunfire.

“They’re fine.” He said bluntly, dragging me up the hill and towards the tree line, not entertaining the issue I presented. Whether he was truly confident with that statement, or burying his concern for the sake of focusing, was beyond me. I had to trust him; the snow beneath my feet made it difficult to keep my pace with him, but he had yet to let go of my vest, so I had no choice but to stumble after him.

A glance back at the village had my stomach clenching in worry. Would they be able to get out? I looked around at the bodies strewn in the snowy terrain around us, some civilians, some enemies, some of our own. Gunfire continued to echo through the frigid air – Evac wouldn’t be here for a while, I realized, staring at one of the cadaver’s rucksacks – which might not even matter, if we froze to death in the woods. We certainly weren’t prepared to wait out in the freezing cold, however, a native to Georgia might. I dug my heels into the ground and ripped myself from König’s hold, acting on an impulsive survival instinct.

“Was machst du?!” König yelled a babble of German that I ignored. I skidded to a halt by one of the bodies and rolled it over (with difficulty), searching frantically. C’mon, c’mon… I tore open the pockets on his tactical belt and scavenged what I though was useful. König scanned around us – the sound of bullets flying, along with the fact that we were not trying to move away from it, wasn’t sitting well with him.

“We need to go!” he shouted.

“Alright alright!!” I said, finally snatching the backpack off of the body. Hopefully this is enough…

“Komm!!” König finally ran back, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me back towards the trees. I shouldered the backpack and followed closely behind. We ran as fast as we could up the hill – I struggled to match König’s wide stride, but his grip on my wrist forced me to keep up, or risk getting it torn off if I slowed down.

The sound of a rifle firing nearby made us both jump. König must have assumed the battle stayed within the village walls, however, we were sorely mistaken. The bullets landed in the snow beside us, barely missing our backs. I looked over my shoulder and saw two enemy soldiers steadily following us, shooting in our direction as they clamored up the hillside. I mumbled a curse – König kept tugging me upwards as bullets whizzed by our heads.

“Keep moving!” he ordered – though it fell on deaf ears.

I tore my wrist from König’s grasp and ripped my assault rifle from over my shoulder.

“Scheisse – Bonnie!” he shouted angrily, but I ignored him. If I didn’t try to kill them now, they were going to follow us into the woods.

I fell to my stomach, aimed the gun, and fired. The first few bullets took out the closest soldier – the other one ducked low to the ground, and that combined with the angle of the hill made it harder to hit him. He took position and fired again, missing my leg by a few inches. I pressed myself down, steadying my aim, and fired a final, fatal bullet into his back. He jolted from the impact before falling limply against the snow.

König grabbed me by the collar and pulled me up. “Auf mich!” he shouted, ushering me in front of him. I ran ahead while he scanned across the hill one last time, before we both stumbled into the line of trees.

I did my best to steady my breathing as we continued to sprint, despite the adrenaline starting to wear off. My thighs and shoulders were burning as the effects of the fight were finally catching up to me. Branches from the trees whipped against my body as I ran, stinging and scratching against my skin. Eventually, König passed me – lucky bastard with those stupid-ass long legs – and took the lead, running further and further into the dense thicket of trees. He started to slow down, deciding that we had gotten far enough away from the village.

Retreat always left a sour taste on my tongue.

I rested my hands on my knees, gasping desperately for air. My throat felt like it was burning and my entire body was shaking from the post-adrenaline rush. König leaned against a tree, his head lolling back as his chest heaved up and down. We were both spent – at this point, if there was still anyone pursuing us, our best bet would have been to hide – or just surrender.

I straightened up, placing my hands on my hips and tilting my head back. God, this is going to hurt later. König pushed himself away from the tree. His breathing had slowed to a normal pace, although the stress on his body was evident in every other aspect.

“What was that?!” he spat, pointing back towards the field.

A deep, fiery anger quickly began to simmer in my chest. I slowly looked at König, hands still on my hips and my expression furious. “What the fuck was what, colonel?” I said, my tone clear as day: tread lightly.

“That stunt you pulled earlier.” He stood directly in front of me, looking down through his mask with obvious anger. “Fucking posting up on the hill like that, acting like-“

“You mean saving our goddamn lives?!” I stepped forward so that I was right up against him, despite having to crane my neck up to meet his gaze. “Doing my fucking job?”

“We were fine!” he seethed. “They weren’t hitting us, yeah?”

“Yeah – because I fucking killed them, you’re welcome!” I glared at him with an irate look. “They would have pursued!”

“You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“Well guess who’s alive and who’s dead, huh?!”

“You made yourself an easy target by stopping there!”

“Are you fucking blind?! Or deaf? Did you hear anything that I just said, dipshit?!”

“Vorsichtig…” König spat at me, sticking a thick finger in my face.

“I don’t speak dumbass.” I retorted.

König’s eyes widened with fury, and he leaned down so that his face was inches from mine. “Hör mal, du kleiner Mistkerl- “

Suddenly, he stopped. I continued to stare directly into his eyes, adorning my own defiant glare. He was looking back at me, however, he was focused on something else. He glanced over my head, in the direction of the battle. Realizing he spotted something, I froze in place and listened intently. After a few moments, we heard the sound of quick footsteps, distant, yet approaching. An irritated voice was shouting as they ran towards us through the trees.

We both turned and ran. König ducked behind a tree and grabbed my arm (perhaps I wasn’t fast enough for him to tolerate) – he pulled me against him, with an arm around my waist, holding my own against my sides. He pressed himself against the tree, and his hand roughly covered my mouth. I didn’t even say anything…

We waited silently, listening as the soldier drew nearer. König’s hand around my waist grew tighter by the second, and his hand pressed harder against my mouth, as if he thought I might yell out to the assailant. The footsteps grew closer – the person didn’t even try to mask the sounds they made, speaking loudly into their comm. “I lost sight of the runners.” She said.

Dumb bitch, we weren’t that fast.

“Copy.” She replied to the inaudible voice on her comm. She quickly slipped by us without taking notice of our bodies, not even twenty feet from her. Once we were behind her, König expertly maneuvered us to the other side of the tree, his hand never leaving my mouth. I struggled to breathe against it, as his entire hand covered from my chin to my nose. But we waited quietly for the footsteps to fade into the distance, and then some more, until König was satisfied that she was gone.

He released my mouth; I fell to my knees and gasped for air. “Holy shit-“ I wheezed.

“Sorry…” he said wearily; a complete one-eighty from his recent outburst. I waved a hand at him, signaling that it was ok. He waited in silence as I struggled to catch my breath. The tension from moments before had subsided, although not completely. König shuffled awkwardly on his feet, rubbing a hand on the back of his head.

“I didn’t need to say all that…” he finally spoke. “I was just… fick, I don’t even know. It was a close call.”

I got back onto my feet. “Don’t worry about it.” I said, clearing my throat and dusting my pants off. “Just curious, what did you even say? In German?”

König looked at me, unmoving. “Ah…” he rubbed the back of his head. “Use your imagination and you’d probably be right. I’d rather not get into any more trouble today.”

I nodded, choosing to let the topic slide. “I’m sorry too… I shouldn’t have said those things about you… to a fucking colonel, too.” I said with an apologetic chuckle.

König shrugged. “I’ve heard worse. What you said was tame.” He paused a moment, then broke away from my gaze, looking at his surroundings and sighing. He paused in the direction of where the soldier had disappeared into. “I wonder why she would move so far away from the fight…” he said, “that seems reckless.”

I shrugged. “She was following orders.” I replied, rolling my shoulders and cracking my neck from side to side. “But the way she tracks is what’s piss-poor; heard that bitch from a mile away.”

König chuckled. “With a sniper rifle and a good angle, I could shoot her from here.” He held his hands up, positioning his non-existent gun on his shoulders, aiming in her direction. His shoulder blade was soaked in blood; something I hadn’t picked up before. It made me panic momentarily – when did he get that? Was that before or after we fled? – but I soon noticed that it wasn’t that deep. It needed to be patched up, for sure, but he wasn’t suffering from blood loss.

“Right, well“ - I slipped the backpack off of my shoulders and began rifling through it- “before we try chasing her down, you need stitches.”

Arms still in the air, König looked back at the cut. “Eh,” he began, reaching over to touch it. “I think I will be fine, this could be worse.”

I nodded and pulled out a suture kit. “Exactly: we’re gonna fix it before it does get any worse.” I pointed a finger at him. “On the ground, big guy.”

König dropped to his knees (a little too quickly) and stared up at me. I paused, shocked at the immediate obedience, and chuckled to myself. I got down on my knees, and König shifted to fully sit down so that I was at a comfortable level with his shoulder.

“You’re gonna need to take your shirt off.” I said. “I’m not tearing it up when it’s this cold. You’ll need it.”

König faltered, as if he was going to protest, but all that came from him was a sigh. He started with his arm guards, followed by his tactical belt, radio antenna, and his helmet, tossing them into a pile next to him. He pulled the hem of his shirt from his waistband, then paused. “Mask stays on.” He ordered.

I raised my hands defensively. “Fine by me.” I reached a hand under the back of his shirt, snaking it up and through the top of his collar. I could feel the smooth muscle of his back covered by a layer of sweat, despite the cold weather. I grabbed the back of his mask and pulled it back underneath his shirt. “Hold the front end under the shirt and then take it off. I’ll hold it back here.”

His breath hitched in his throat, followed by a very visible shiver. He reached through his shirt to grab the front end of his mask, before pulling the shirt over his head, wincing as it peeled away from his wound, and discarded it with the rest of his gear.

The cut was deep and angry, but thankfully it wasn’t terrible. König definitely needed stitches – luckily, that would be the only thing he needed. I grabbed a bottle of iodine solution from the kit as he watched, and he sighed. He pulled one of his gloves off and folded it between his teeth, preparing for the pain.

“Quick sting-“ I warned, popping the lid off of the bottle and pouring it sparingly over the wound. König inhaled sharply and groaned, barely muffled by the glove. I winced at his pain and mumbled an apology. I started threading a suture through his skin, focusing hard on being as gentle as possible. I could feel each fiber of his muscle tugging against the thread. His back was tense, flexed and unmoving as I worked. I peered at the scars on his back; some small, some long, some were thin lines, and others were wide gashes. Even a few bullet scars here and there. I noticed a dusting of freckles smattered across his upper back, thinning out the further down they traveled. Kinda looks like falling stars…

“Scheisse!” he suddenly growled, bringing me back to the situation at hand. Get it together – bad time to get distracted. I glanced up at him and watched as he breathed forcefully through the pain. He would suck a long breath in, before pushing it out between tightened lips, ending it with a small groan.

I looked back down to the wound and continued working. “Sorry, it shouldn’t be too much longer here.”

“Eh, you’re fine.” He said through clenched teeth. “I’ve done this plenty of times, though it never gets any easier.”

I tied off the last suture and grabbed the peroxide once more. I showed it to him as a heads-up. He chuckled. “Give me your hand for this one, yeah?”

I smirked and offered my hand, which he held tightly. He shoved the glove back into his mouth and faced the opposite direction, as if he was trying to be as far away from the pain as possible. I poured the solution on the stitched cut and he immediately hissed in pain. His hand squeezed mine with an inhuman amount of pressure, popping my knuckles and sending pain through my fingers, and I mumbled my own string of expletives. Remind me to never let him do that again. I quickly covered the wound with a piece of gauze and some tape, my hand still occupied by König’s.

“Sorry…” he said, releasing my hand.

I examined my fingers. “All good. I probably deserved that.”

“For what?” he asked, grabbing his shirt and slipping it back over his body.

“I dunno…” I said, leaning back on my heels as he turned to look at me. “I got you distracted on the field.”

“Anything could have distracted me. I’m glad it was just you…” He sat back against the tree. “… and nothing more dangerous.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “You don’t think I’m dangerous?” I quipped.

König laughed and shook his head. “At least not to me. The only thing I fear in you is your attitude. It’s quite sour.”

I scrunched my nose at his comment, followed by a playful jab to his shoulder. He inhaled sharply in pain and I winced, realizing that I had struck his wound. “Sorry!”

Night had fallen (quicker than we expected), and the forest was now freezing. We decided against making a fire, in case the enemy was still clearing out the field. I had been hoping and praying that the rest of them were alright: that Roze, Horangi, and everyone else had made it out of the village and into the woods somewhere, or at least managed to find evac, once they had gotten there. I would let myself freeze to death in the forest if I knew thy had died there. Still, the not knowing was almost worse.

König was pressing his back against a tree with his arms folded over his chest – surprisingly, he wasn’t shivering, but he still looked irritated with the current weather. He occasionally paced around our hiding spot, scanning the woods for any sign of… anything, really. But the world remained quiet, save the crunching of the ground under König’s heavy steps and my teeth clacking together.

I was frigid. I had crouched against the base of a tree, knees tightly scrunched to my chest with my arms tucked in between them. I was blowing warm breaths over my fingers – the fingertips of my gloves were cut off long ago to help have a better grip on things, and the current situation made me regret making that choice. My muscles twitched and shivered as my body tried to generate what little heat it could, which wasn’t much. My fingers and toes began to sting from the cold. Never thought I’d die from hypothermia… first time for everything, I guess.

König rubbed the sides of his arms, clearly not as cold as I was. He stopped pacing, watching me as the sound of my chattering echoed through the small patch of woods we were in. “You alright there?”

I nodded, never meeting his gaze. “P-eachy.” I said, my shivering taking over my voice.

“You won’t make like this before evac gets here.” He scanned the woods again, as if our rescue was about to come running through the trees any second now. Wishful thinking.

“Hopefully it d-oesn’t take that l-long for me t-o pass.” I joked. Neither König nor I found it funny.

König sighed. He dropped himself at the base of a tree and leaned back, spreading his legs in front of him. He looked at me and patted the ground in between them expectantly.

For a moment, I was taken aback enough to stop shivering. “Huh?”

“Come here.” He said, frustrated. “I’m trying to warm you up, blödmann. I’d rather not have you die right next to me.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. I knew whatever he called me was an insult. “No thanks, I’ll be f-fine.” I turned my head back down, exhaling warmth over my fingers. The thought of sitting in König’s lap like that was embarrassing, and something I was absolutely not about to do. Ever.

He stared at me, his eyes blank. I could feel the irritation radiating off of him, but I didn’t care. He couldn’t force me to do anything, and I know he wouldn’t try.

“It’s an order.” He stated firmly, his voice slightly deeper than before.

I looked at him with surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Are you forgetting that I’m a colonel?” he questioned, cocking his head to the side.

I scoffed. “Sometimes you forget- “

“I’m not going to repeat myself, sergeant.” He warned.

And there it was. That feeling. That electric zap in my lower abdomen. That stupid sensation that had got me in trouble with Ghost over a year ago. All from a single order from my superior. I stared at König, hoping my arousal wasn’t obvious, as I attempted to shank every single butterfly in my stomach. Christ, get it together you slut…

I sighed, standing up and moving towards König, who chuckled smugly. Rather than sit in between his legs, I planted myself next to him, our shoulders and hips touching. I brought my knees to my chest again while his remained splayed out in front of him. The excitement I felt earlier was gone, now replaced with an awkwardness. I couldn’t stop the small frown that settled on my face.

König froze at our touch, seeming to feel the awkwardness too. It was a bit amusing, seeing him flop between being cocky and sheepish. Eventually, he relaxed, ever so slightly leaning into my side. Soon, he gained enough courage to wrap an arm around my shoulders.

Reflexively, I tensed and pulled away a bit. “You don’t need – “

“I don’t want to hear it, Bonnie.” He said, pulling me back in. His words expressed superiority, yet his voice sounded anxious. “I’m keeping my teammate warm. I don’t want you to freeze to death out here. We’re benefitting each other, you know.”

I hesitated to give in; in all honesty, König was very warm… even his fingers. They gently rubbed the side of my arm through my sleeve, sending pins and needles through my skin as the feeling began to come back. My head fit easily against the side of his chest, and I felt good too… not even aroused, just safe. The stress from the mission and worrying about my team – it all was catching up to me, but now it was being absorbed into the warmth of König’s form.

I sighed, leaning against his body as a shiver ran up my spine. Under the smell of sweat and gunpowder, there was a hint of musk. I hated how it comforted me.

He felt my movement and chuckled. “Not so bad, huh?”

“Stuff it.” I replied curtly.

König laughed, charmed by my stubbornness, I assumed. “Here, give me your hands.” He opened his free hand and offered it to me. I reluctantly obliged, my sense of reason now being controlled by my dropping temperature. He was able to close his hand around both of mine, gently kneading my fingertips between his. The blood rushing back to my hands was painful, but the accompanied warmth was welcomed. I stared at his large hand massaging mine with half-lidded eyes; now that I felt safe, I realized how tired I had been for the past several hours.

“Thanks.” I mumbled. Even though I was feeling better, the situation was still embarrassing. I tried not to rely on people if I could help it.

“Go to sleep.” He said, ignoring my comment and letting go of my hands. “I’ll keep first watch. It’ll give you a few hours of rest.” He kept his gaze forward, aligned with the trees with an iron stare.

I huffed, tucking my hands into my sides and leaning into him further. I could sense he was just as apprehensive about our unfortunate situation, unwilling to acknowledge the tension between us – which was probably for the better. If we could hold off until evac reached us, we could pretend this had never happened. I let my eyes close, bristling against the contrast of the frigid air and König’s warm muscle, choosing to be thankful that I wasn’t out here alone – and that neither was he.

Right before sleep blanketed over my senses, gently pulling me down from awareness, I felt his arm shifting back around me to hold me closer. I smiled.

I startled awake from a dreamless sleep – pain shot through my fingers and toes when they tensed up. The freezing bite of the wind nipped at them, and they burned as my blood began to flow throughout my limbs.

I looked up at König, at poor, poor König…

He was still sitting upright, his one arm draped limply over my body. His eyes were fixed forwards on the tree line – they were narrowed against the chill of the wind, and dark bags had formed underneath them. His posture was slouched, and occasionally he would drift forwards, only to jerk himself back against the tree. He blinked slowly as he fought away the sleep.

“König?!” I pushed myself upright, staring at him with concern. “Oh my god, are you ok?!”

“Bitte,” he said, still looking at the trees ahead. “Ich muss schlafen…”

“What?”

“I need to sleep.”

“Shit, why didn’t you say something?” I asked, sitting up against the tree.

“I tried. You wouldn’t wake up.” His voice was gravelly from his lack of sleep. “You snored.”

“I- what?” I pulled my head back, looking up at him with an offended expression. “I snored?”

“Like a horse. May I please lie down?”

I scowled. That doesn’t even make any sense… I pressed myself against the tree trunk, ushering him to lean against me. “Yeah, you sleep, Colonel. I’ll keep a lookout.”

Instead of resting against my side, König completely flopped down into my lap. I let out an oof as he landed – it felt like a tree had just fallen on my legs. He let out a long, tired groan, his eyes finally closing for the night. He wrapped his arms around my thighs and hugged them close – his fingers were freezing, making me inhale sharply as he tucked them between my thighs for warmth. I didn’t even have the mental capacity to react to the gesture due to the frigidity.

“König-“ I began to protest.

“Es ist so kalt.”

“… huh?”

“It’s cold.” He mumbled.

I hovered my hands above his body, unsure of where to put them. I glanced around the dark woods, only being able to decipher one tree from the next by the light of the moon. Why am I nervous? There’s no one here but us.

That’s exactly why I was nervous.

I sighed, rubbing my hands roughly over König’s arms to warm him up. He grunted something in appreciation, squeezing my legs tighter. I bit my lip and prayed that he wouldn’t crush me. Despite his appendages being cold, his torso was relatively warm, still. As much as I hated to think about it, his current position over my body did a much better job at fighting the cold than how we had sat before.

“You gonna be alright?” I asked.

Silence. Then, a long, grating snore, akin to a chainsaw cutting through a tree trunk.

I huffed, patting his shoulder (the uninjured one). I leaned my head back against the tree trunk, fixing my gaze to the trees ahead of us. The forest was utterly silent, save for the occasional whisper of wind rustling through the leaves. Thankfully, the ground was spared from snow due to the thick coverage of the trees. My breath froze in the air, puffs of icy clouds wilting away before me. I looked back down at König: he was out like a light, face pressed into my hip and fingers clenching between my thighs.

Wish I had a camera.

Next ->

Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix @v3lv3tvampir3 @theoneandonlykymberlee @luvvnightingalee @dillybuggg @sun-joo @perfectus-in-morte @evilive @satakingslime @comfortless @a-sadmilky @pinkslaystation @mocha-mooni @thatonetime01 @squidsal @yawning-grave81 @crazy-phan-girl13 @keepghostly @ghostslittlegf @rl800 @ellabellabunny123 @kneelforloki @jolie989 @crystalvape @spookyqueenduck @ceceher @venting402 @atticusdreams

#mega chapter for you guys #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #konig #konig x reader #konig x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riely x you #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #konig cod #simon riley cod #cod #call of duty #cod x reader

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leclucklerc · 1 year ago

Text

Hard Carry CL16 - 00.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: When you're talking about one of the greats in Formula One, y/n is up there.

Word Count: 1.3K

Masterlist Next

Drive to Survive, Season 1 Episode 3

It's all about Porsche

"There's just something about Porsche that attracts you."

The scene cuts into Porsche's jet black F1 car zooming pass the screen in a top speed. The sound of the loud roar from the engine, as well as the checkered flag that was being waved as the car glide through the finish line is a sight to behold.

"Their team is new in Formula one," said Will Buxton as he leaned back on his seat. The pitch black backdrop is almost poetic considering which team they're discussing right now. "They debuted in 2012, and never looked back ever since."

At this, the scene cuts into a compilation of Formula one announcer announcing many of Porsche's achievements. From the constructor championships, to the world driver championships. An intimidating music can be heard playing in the background before it switches back into the interviewer room. Though, this time, it's not Will Buxton who sat there.

A man with greying hair and pitch black shirt could be seen. There's a small logo of Porsche on his breast pocket. Besides that, the shirt is void from any decoration. Just like how the man expression is void from any emotions.

"Hello," started the man, eyes zeroing straight towards the camera. "I'm Herman Muller, the team principal for the Porsche Royale Formula 1 team."

The scene changed into Porsche's Formula One garage. The pitch black theme with golden accent could be seen everywhere as the mechanics and engineers huddled along the car that they had created for the past year.

"We are a German based team," said Herman as many compilations appeared on the scene. Many of those, are the team celebrating their wins. "A fairly new player in the game, but a tough one, certainly." His English is loaded with German accent, though it only made him seems a bit intimidating.

Constructor championship.

Driver championship.

Many trophies could be seen lining the wall of their factory back in Leipzig. Pictures of their Formula One cars too could be seen littered around the wall.

"When Porsche came, it brought a lot of excitement," said Will as he gripped his hands together. There's excitement evident on his eyes as he began the tale. "There are a lot of buzz here and there about the team. After all, it was the first time FIA had decided to expand the sport." As he said this, clips of articles and old interviews from back in 2012 can be seen playing.

The decision that FIA made to add one more team in the sport after decades. It's for the fans, they had said. To add more excitement and enjoyment for the sport.

"I think our team motto is the reason why we can become like this," said Herman as the camera switched back to him. "Complete domination."

Sounds of machine whirring could be heard as a clip from recent grand prix could be seen. It's a fight between Porsche and Red Bull. A fight, that the pitch black car wins easily.

"Porsche managed to become one of F1 top team during their debut year, and they only ever skyrocketed ever since then," continue Will, he sounds every bit amazed at that. "Every year, without fail, they will always become a favorite to win the championship."

"It's a rocket ship," said Herman as the scene changed towards mechanics and engineers did their adjustment towards their car in the garage. There's a serious air around them as they continue their job. "I like to think that we're building a rocket ship, and not cars."

A compilation of the pitch black car zooming in front of the camera could be seen.

"Besides the complete monstrosity that they call car," said Will, eyes full of amusement. "Their driver lineup is, is simply incredible."

Two people could be seen walking through the grid in a dramatic slow motion. Only their bottom half could be seen, both wearing dark colored pants and sneakers.

"We have the most amazing driver lineup in the grid," mused out Herman as the scene changed back to him, letting out a small laugh. His previous lack of emotions has changed as a clear mirth could be seen shining through hid eyes. "A really unique one."

Well, unique is an understatement.

Will laughed, head nodding. "Their number one driver is probably the favorite driver is most definitely the favorite driver on the track-"

The scene changed into many race compilations, as a pitch black car with the number 1 could be seen overtaking Ferrari's familiar deep red car as well as Mercedes's during their highest height. Checkered flag could be seen waving around as the car zoomed past it, as it was announced as the winner of the race.

"And the favorite off the track."

Kring! Kring!

At the familiar sound of a bicycle bell, many turned their gazes towards the source of it. Almost immediately, their faces broke into smile as they laid their eyes on the person riding the vehicle. The camera is positioned at the back, showcasing long hair with dark Porsche hat on top of it.

As she made her way, many people greeted the woman in a friendly greetings. Some drivers like Daniel Ricciardo or Lewis Hamilton too could be seen waving or trying to make small talk with the rider of the bicycle. With those small interactions, it's clear that she's a popular face here in the grid.

The scene changed towards the interview room where a woman could be seen sitting on the chair. She looks oddly comfortable. As if there's no whole production crew staring at her just beyond the camera.

"Can I start?" she asked, voice soft. Long hair styled perfectly and bright eyes could be seen staring straight towards the camera.

"Yes, yes, start when you feel ready," voiced out the producer.

Said woman laughed, eyes crinkling and cheek rosy. "Well, hello, everyone, Netflix, and new Formula One fans, hopefully," grinned the woman as a round of small laughter rang through the room. Pearly white teeth could be seen under the painted lips. "I'm y/n l/n and I drive for Porsche Formula One team."

"Please say the full team name," said the producer.

Y/n blinked, before the grin on her face widened. "Ah, I completely forgot what it is. Better call Herman, no?"

After that introduction, a camera that was being placed on top of Porsche's garage as the car did a pitstop could be seen showcasing the Drive to Survive opening.

The scene cuts back towards the dark colored interview room. The name y/n l/n now could be seen besides the female as the title as Porsche's driver could be seen underneath it. Besides that, another addition also can be seen.

Three times world champion.

It's a title that many would salivate at the mere thought of. The very dream of every driver that ever graced Formula One.

Various news outlet appeared at this. News anchor announcing y/n's debut back in 2012. Of her, being the first female formula one driver in decades. Of her, as the youngest person to actually managed to snagged one of the most coveted seats in motorsport. Of her, breaking many unseen boundaries and limitations that the sport had put.

A photo of her on the cover of Times Magazine could be seen. Posing comfortably in front of her Formula One car as she holds her helmet.

"Y/n is probably the biggest star that F1 has ever produced," said Will as the screen shows Y/n's instagram page with a whooping 50 million followers. And counting. "She's completely charismatic woman-"

A scene where y/n is mingling with people in the paddock was seen. Laughters could be heard as a response to whatever she said. They seems magically charmed and completely fixated on the woman.

"- a fashion icon-"

Y/n now can be seen in Paris Fashion Week, sitting front row with various celebrities near her.

"- life of the party -"

A ecstatic y/n could be seen spraying champagne to other fellow drivers. The atmosphere is light and full of teasing and banters.

"- And of course, a damn good driver."

The scene changed into a dramatic turn that the woman made in one of the corners. The screeching sound of tires meeting gravel could be heard as she propelled into full speed, easily overtaking cars that stood in front of her. A scene where she was crowned as that year world champion also can be seen as she celebrated with the team.

It changed back to the interview room, where the woman could be seen completely relaxed as she smiled.

"Do you think you're a good driver?" asked the producer.

Y/n tilted her head before various clips appeared.

"AND Y/N L/N IS THIS YEAR WORLD CHAMPIOOON-!" She could be seen spraying champagne.

"TWO YEARS IN A ROW! Y/N L/N IS A WORLD CHAMPIOON-!" A clip of her spraying champagne once again was shown.

"AND YET, SHE MANAGED TO TAKE BACK HER CROWN AS A WORLD CHAMPION!" And another clip of her spraying champagne towards other fellow drivers could be seen.

The loud scene full of euphoria and loud yells are cut as y/n appeared back in the interview room, a small smile on her face. The sudden change into a tense silence is a bit shocking.

"Well," she started, laughing. "I guess I'm a pretty good driver?" y/n stopped a bit. "Can definitely become an Uber as a side hustle."

#formula 1 #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #f1 fic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #Charles Leclerc x reader #formula one x y/n #charles leclerc x you

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mydear-corinthian · 7 months ago

Text

my rockstar boyfriend

synopsis: neil explaining the meaning of his favorite song in an interesting way

pairing: neil lewis x reader

warnings: SMUT +18, rough sex, fingering, squirting, creampie, breeding kink, p in v

notes: RUSHED and writers block.. based from my 2nd fav rock band and their song, divider by cafekitsune

main masterlist | cillian masterlist

The sound of Neil's guitar and his vocals made you shocked as you arrived at your house after coming back from a long day at work. The garden was filled with empty chairs, a big sound system and a small stage.

You laugh at the sight of the decorations, and you know how your boyfriend puts effort into every surprise that he does to you. Neil's black tank top and his black sunglasses definitely made him hotter as he played the riff from the song Rein Raus by Rammstein. Neil sang with all of his heart, excelling the song's solo as he smashed his notes on his Les Paul guitar. As the song ended, you clapped loudly, cheering for him.

Neil removed his guitar, gently placing it on the guitar stand before dropping off the stage to run towards your direction. His hands found their way to your waist and lifted you up, hugging you tightly.

"You like the surprise?" Neil asked, giving you a kiss on your lips.

"Fucking hot," you answered, chuckling.

You returned the kiss, you gripped his hair as you began to savoured the kiss more.

You know that your boyfriend is talented, and he has a lot of skills, since he watch a lot of movies but him playing the guitar? It was fucking hot. Just him playing a riff makes you feel warm and wild.

"What song did you play?" you asked, breaking the kiss.

"Oh it's a song by this German rock band: Rammstein. Rein Raus. Great song."

"Rein Raus?" you tilted your head in confusion. "What does that mean?"

He laughed at your question. The song for him is definitely a banger, but what's more interesting is the song behind it. Neil began to guide you inside your house, opening the front door and then locking it before his lips met yours again.

You dropped your bag at the sudden action, but you kissed him back again. Both of your lips were too desperate for each other's taste as his tongue began to meet yours. He carried you suddenly and tossed you on the sofa.

"You really want to know?" he asked.

You nodded in response, getting wetter and wetter after the steamy making-out session.

Sex

"Maybe it'll be better if.. I demonstrate it, hm?" he teased.

Neil's kisses trailed down from your lips to your neck, sucking it and marking you as his. You moaned at the pleasure once he sucked that sweet spot of yours.

"Fuck— yes, Neil,"

His lips found its way to your thighs, kissing passionately until he reached near your clothed panties. "So wet now, hm?"

"Please, Neil.. I need you," you let out a small whimper when you felt his hot breath on your panties.

"Let me give you a show, honey."

Neil undressed your soaking wet white lace panties, tossing them somewhere on the floor. The cold air touching your wet cunt made you gasp.

"What a pretty sight," his index finger toying around your clit. "So wet for me."

While his finger toyed with your clit, the rest of two of his fingers entered your pussy, fingering you deep and quickly. The sound of your wet juices echoed all over the living room. Every single movement of his finger inside touches your sensitive spot, making you spread your legs wider and moan.

"Ah! Yes, yes, yes!"

"Cumming, princess? Yeah, go on, cum for me."

Feeling a wave of pleasure and a knot in your stomach, you moaned loudly. Your legs started to shake violently, your mouth hanged open, feeling your orgasm come sooner.

"I'm so close, Neil— I- ahh!"

Your orgasm finally came as you let out a last loud moan. Neil's fingers stopped pumping inside you as he saw how his fingers were now coated with your white juices. He gently took out his fingers then licking it clean, tasting you.

"Taste so fucking sweet."

"Now—" his hands started to unbuckle his belt. "Here is the meaning."

Neil removed his pants after he unbuckled his black punk-like belt. His boner was seen clearly on his Calvin Klein boxers. On the other hand, you unbuttoned your long white work shirt and then your bra, tossing it on the floor too. Neil, now removed his boxers, his hard cock sprung free.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay?" he genuinely showed concern as he asked you.

"Mhm, okay," you nodded. No matter what the situation is, Neil never fails to be gentle to you and make you feel comfortable, and you're happy with that. His gentleness makes you love him more.

His palms stroked his member a few times before he slowly entered you. The feeling of his fat cock made you gasp out loud.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he murmured. "I can do this forever."

"Oh my god! F-feels so good—" you moaned, your hand gripping the headboard of the sofa.

Slowly, he started to thrust. Your head rolled upwards as he hit that sensitive spot inside your fucked pussy. The long sofa chair creaked at each thrust Neil made. As his pace was going faster and faster, your moans became louder. Neil lifted your legs and placed them on top of his shoulders, allowing him to penetrate deeper into you, in and out.

Suddenly, Neil pulled out, making you confused. He grabbed your body and immediately placed you on top of his lap.

"Ride me." he said.

You nodded feverishly. Both of your hands gripped his shoulders as you aligned your needy cunt to his massive dick. You slowly pushed down, but Neil pushed your hips down harshly and with no warning, allowing you to let out a loud moan. You started to ride him slowly but sensual, making sure that his dick hit all the sensitive spots there and yes, he did. His hands gripped on your hips, supporting each thrust he made.

"Yes, baby, that's it—fuck! Good girl. Keep riding me like that."

The way he praises you and calls you nicknames made a tint of pink appear in your cheeks. His head rolled backwards, his eyes shutting closed while he savored the pleasure.

"Deeper, please.. Neil, deeper," you cried out.

"Mhm just like song, yeah? Good girl, you're learning. Fuck, you're so pretty when you ride me— Jesus lady!"

Neil slammed your hips harder and deeper into him. Both of your breaths quickened as he pounded while you rode him. You let out a series of pornography moans at the feeling of bliss which made you feel nothing but euphoria and makes bright stars.

"Gonna c-cum again, Neil.." you panted, continuing to ride him as you try to reach your peak.

"Me too, baby. Fuck— I'm gonna cum inside you, yeah? Take it, baby, take it."

After a few more thrusts, you finally came and squirted all over his dick with a mixture of your own cum. The cushion in your sofa was soaked, leaving wet marks all over it.

"Ah! Neil—" you moaned.

Neil plunged your hips deep, his orgasm reached, spurting his warm cum all over your walls. His cock throbbed as he felt you clench before pulling it out. A mixture of yours and his cum dripped into your fucked hole.

"That was amazing," Neil said, trying to catch his breath as his chest heaved up and down heavily.

Your body rested on his chest, tired from the heated sex. Your cushion was now stained with your juices and Neil's cum.

"You should probably introduce me to more sex songs," you said.

"I really should," he laughed before giving you a short but passionate kiss.

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