ITS 22:18 AND I SHOUOD BE SLEEPING YET INSYEAD I READ THIS AND OH. MY. GOD I DONT TJINK I CAN SLEEP NOW

ITS 22:18 AND I SHOUOD BE SLEEPING YET INSYEAD I READ THIS AND OH. MY. GOD I DONT TJINK I CAN SLEEP NOW 😫😫😫💦💦

GIRLIE THIS WAS SO GOOD YOU HAD ME HOOKED FROM. BEGINNING TO END??????? 😭🙏🙏💞💞💞💕💕💞💓💓

I **LOVED** YOUR WRITNG AND YOUR WRITING WAS ***SO*** GOOD!!!!!! For some reason, it reminds me of all the Russian novels I have been reading lately ☺️💓,, without the sex OBVIOUSLY DJSJAJA 😖✋

-`♡´- Lieutenant's patience.

Pairing: Simon "ghost" Riley/fem!reader

Word count: 3.421k

Warning: Drabble, Praise Kink, Profanity, Oral Sex, Pussy Licking, Jealous Simon, Jealous Sex, Fingering

A/N: I'm ashamed to publish this but…I decided to then lol, sorry in advance for the mistakes in the text, I finished this at 2 am..And I’m still just a beginner writer, so I hope for your help, support and normal criticism If you want something specific, I will be happy to try to make it happen!! 🙌💋

I TRANSLATED MY ALREADY READY FANFIC INTO ENGLISH, SORRY IN ADVANCE FOR THE IMPORTANCES!!

English is not my native language!

Who knew that the lieutenant’s patience was not as iron-clad as it seemed? Who knew that sometimes it’s better to really remain silent and not continue to test someone else’s endurance? Who knew that flirting with recruits at the base is not the best idea, who is your boyfriend, a fucking lieutenant, and stands literally on the other side of the room, perfectly hearing your conversations with another man who has not yet had time to get used to the new territory. On foreign territory. Nobody knew, damn it! You also didn’t think that she would be able to attract the lieutenant’s attention to her person.

The transfer from another unit was so unexpected that you yourself did not expect to move from your old base to a new one in just a week. One good thing is that thanks to your services at the front, the transfer took place quite quickly and without any consequences. Although the reason for the transfer was very funny: the management had changed, and the new captain didn’t really want to know that a woman would fall under his command. Funny, right? To the point of madness, you would say, if not for the fact that you managed to become very attached to those walls and to those people whom you had to leave. But there was no turning back: in such a job you can’t hold on to the past, otherwise it will eat you up, and you won’t even have time to realize that you’re already at the very bottom among your demons and fears.

But, fortunately, you quickly managed to get used to your new place of work. Perhaps the new base was much better than the previous one, and the staff was very nice. Especially when they don’t look at you like you’re a nuclear war. Yes, for men, a girl on a military base is a fucking shock and something new, but at the same time, girls in the army are like treasures, just try and touch them.. But they treated you not only as a military man whose word could be taken into account, but also as a person, and not as a piece of meat that can only be fucked somewhere in a dirty motel on the edge of town. And that made you happy. It truly made you happy.

And, as a rule, you quickly get used to good things. And so it happened: most of the soldiers treated you with respect, despite the opposite sex. Although at first you were confused by your lieutenant, under whose command you fell. The quiet man in the skull mask alone inspired fear. The girl didn’t even notice him right away. Their first acquaintance happened only during training, then she was able to see who he was. It would have been a sin not to hear the stories of other soldiers about their lieutenant, so getting to know him was no longer only a desire, but also a goal. But who said that this man is a damn closet that is two meters long and wide. Perhaps, when you first saw him, you thought that with your height you would be at most up to his chest. And you also didn’t think that literally two months later you would be covering your mouth with a gloved hand when the tongue of your cruel lieutenant would caress your pussy in the back room of his office, behind the door of which there were other people. His hands wrapped around your hips, pressing harder into your crotch, making you roll your eyes, dark with excitement, in pleasure. You didn’t think that in two months you would be in his room, sitting on your knees in front of him with your hands tied behind your back.

Looking at your lieutenant from the bottom up with hungry eyes, slowly rubbing your cheek against the erect penis in his pants, causing quiet sighs from the man above. You couldn’t even imagine that just three months after the transfer you were able to conquer this cold man who looks at everyone else as if he wants to kill and is ready to bury their bones in his backyard without a drop of regret. A man whose elbows have long been covered in blood treats you as if you were the last plant in this whole world. And, perhaps, you really like it. It's hard to imagine who wouldn't like this, right?

But now you continue to calmly communicate with the recruit. A slight smile from you, and the guy’s cheeks are already all red. And it’s very good that you don’t see what’s happening behind your back: a man in a skull mask aggressively stirs his tea with a spoon, never ceasing to stare at his girlfriend. And he can't let anyone else even look at the object of his adoration, let alone start a normal conversation. Of course, jealousy is not always a good thing in a relationship, but in his defense, Ghost can say that he will not allow himself to interfere until he understands that you are in danger. Then nothing will be able to stop him.

One of your team members, Soap, is sitting next to Simon right now, just grinning, realizing that this guy will most likely suffer the wrath of his lieutenant tomorrow during morning training. She pats the man lightly on the shoulder and leaves the break room. He doesn’t even react to someone else’s touch, continuing to look at you, who is still talking to another guy.

In an instant, Simon stands up so loudly that you even flinch a little, looking at the object of the noise. The man slowly makes his way to the sink to wash his mug. And that guy, whose name you don’t even know, continues to say something about his dog and about his brother, whom he talked about earlier.

All the soldiers on the base knew who your boyfriend was and who they would have to deal with if anyone allowed themselves to offend you. And everyone also knew that the lieutenant’s anger was a truly terrible thing. But the recruits, in principle, would not have time to learn all the so-called "rules" of this place. And some learn these rules from their own mistakes.

—Sergeant, to my office. - Simon stops in the aisle and speaks loudly enough so that not only you can hear his words, but also the guy who froze after the words of his lieutenant. There was already a lump in your throat from the realization of what this man could do to you in his office. And thoughts immediately appeared in my head that tomorrow this poor guy would be smashed during morning training so that he wouldn’t even be able to get out of his bed for several days.

—Now.

—I'll be there in a few minutes, Lieutenant. - after your words, the man only nodded, after which he left the rest room, and you allowed yourself to relax and close your eyes.

—Something happened? Why did he call you into his office so unexpectedly? - the recruit showed curiosity, looking into your no less surprised face and… Oh, if he knew what suffering he doomed himself to at the moment when he decided to talk to you.

—Everything is fine, dont worry. Most likely, he wanted to provide details about the new task. - you are already getting up from the table, heading towards the exit from the rest room, when the recruit also gets up and blocks your path to leaving the room. He was much shorter than Ghost, so you didn’t have to lift your head to look him in the eyes.

—Exactly? Maybe I'd rather go with you? - the guy still did not calm down, continuing to intrude with his questions, which were no longer appropriate at all.

— Better worry about yourself, believe me. - you grin and walk around the guy, almost managing to leave the rest room when that boy grabs your hand, looking questioningly into your eyes.

—You’ll find out everything tomorrow, but now I have to go, excuse me.

You free your hand and leave the break room, hoping that this guy won’t think of following you into the lieutenant’s office. And if he decides to do this, then rest in peace, because he will immediately face an angry man who will force him to scrub the toilets with a toothbrush until the toilets begin to shine so much that you can see your reflection in them.

The anger of a jealous person is truly terrible, and it is especially terrible when this jealous person is your lieutenant. And only God knows what he is capable of.

Your legs feel like cotton wool as you stand outside Simon’s office. You, poor thing, can’t even imagine what awaits you there. Simon's anger? Disappointment? Ignore? Together? In this situation, it’s easier not to speculate, but to go inside and find out everything the hard way. From the very beginning of this peculiar relationship, you guessed that Ghost would be a rather jealous person by nature. But after the first instance of his jealousy, you didn’t think that you would be so wrong. Poor co-worker who dared to tell you that your place is in the kitchen, but not on a military base…that same evening that guy looked like a fucking corpse after sparring with Ghost. Not to say that you were scared, but the shock was really quite strong. Shock at what Simon is willing to do for his beloved.

There is a soft knock on the door, to which a soft “come in” is heard behind the door. Entering the room and closing the door behind you, you saw Simon standing in front of the window with his back to it, holding a cigarette in his hands. There was smoke from cigarettes in the office, which had already become so deeply ingrained under your skin that it no longer caused as much discomfort as before, when you were still a civilian. The man doesn’t even turn around when someone comes into his office. He didn't need to guess who it was. He knew. He felt your eyes burning a hole into his back. He always felt when you looked at him or were simply nearby. It was as if he had found his soul mate, the other part of himself. And he really liked to feel your penetrating gaze, hands and feel the warmth of his beloved girl next to him.

With slow steps, you approach Simon’s back, hugging him from behind and fastening your hands on his torso, resting your forehead against the strong muscles, and in response you feel a gloved hand covering your hands. The only sounds in the room are Simon's heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock on the wall. The tension was felt a kilometer away, but there was no fear. You have never felt fear around your man. Only comfort and safety, which you were incredibly happy about.

—Are you mad at me? - your quiet voice breaks the silence between you in the room. The heart makes another somersault, painfully hitting the ribs in the chest, while the stomach twists with excitement. Nobody knows what will come to the lieutenant's mind. Even God probably couldn't read his mind

—At you? Oh no, my dear, I'm not mad at you. - Simon turns around in your arms, forcing you to raise your head to look into his eyes, which are not hidden by the mask. He puts one hand on your chin, forcing you to look even higher, and the other hand on your waist, pulling you closer to him. —I’m angry that this little brat decided to test not only fate, but also my patience, - smiling sweetly at you and continuing to talk about something that you didn’t even ask.

Simon leans over to whisper something in your ear, and your legs are already giving way because the gears are spinning and the puzzle is coming together in your head, anticipating what will happen in this office for the next hour. —And I also know that this fucker probably didn’t listen to you and followed you. —And I guarantee: right now he is standing at the door, eavesdropping on our conversation. - you swallow nervously, and in response you hear only a deep laugh in your ear and Ghost’s hand, which moves to your thigh, gently stroking it.

—So why don’t we brighten up his evening? What do you think, my dear?

He moves away from the girl, taking with him the necessary warmth. He looks down from top to bottom, waiting for an answer to his proposal. Even through his mask you could feel that Simon was smiling now. He looks with superiority from the realization that you are his and only his in front of him in the next hour, and not a single person in this world will allow you to interfere with you now.

He bends down again, first raising the mask to the level of his nose, freeing part of his face from the embrace of the rough fabric. He cups your face with his hands and kisses you with intensity, he pushes the leather chair away from the table with his foot and presses it into it so hard that it hurts. He removes his palms from your face and grabs you by your buttocks, sits you on the table, throws all the papers off it somewhere on the floor.

And he doesn’t care what happens to these reports later: Simon has other things that are important and interesting. His hands are everywhere, every imprint leaves a burn on your body. But these burns are ridiculously good. Few. it's not enough for you. More, more, more. you need more of his touch, you need more of his body. He wants to merge into one, even through his clothes he feels like he’s floating next to him. He drowns himself in it headlong.

He breaks away from your lips and looks with hunger. It's not enough for him either. And he kisses again, this time stronger. He unfastens the belt on your army trousers and pulls them down, after which he throws the fabric somewhere to the side. And he puts his hand into your underwear, immediately pressing against your pubis. He didn’t even take off his gloves, which is why the touches feel unusual and strange. He takes a few steps back from you, looking at you: half naked, with swollen lips, but his. And the most important thing is that it is his. Nothing more is needed.

He comes closer and kneels in front of you to look up to you. Oh gods, how she loves seeing her man in this position. With swollen lips, a twinkle in his eyes and trembling hands. You feel loved next to him. Feels like he needs her. That it’s not just that it’s next to him, but that it’s really necessary, like oxygen.

—Come on, my girl, help me. - He kisses the inner thigh and pats the sides with his hand. There is an uncertain nod from the girl, after which she rises a little on the table, helping the man pull off her underwear and throw it somewhere to the side. He’s not even going to take off his mask, which makes his insides clench even more. But you even like to see him like this.

Yes, you naturally saw him without fabric on his face, but right now she gives some special charm to the man who kneels in front of her and looks with such admiration that his eyes roll back.

—Atta girl.

He bites the inside of his thigh, and then kisses that place, as if apologizing for his bite. But he really wants, even wants, that after your night together, your whole body will be covered with his marks: bites, hickeys, bruises - it doesn’t matter at all, the main thing is that he was the one who left them last night. He wants everyone else at the base to see them, to know that this girl already belongs to someone else and not even dare to approach her, much less flirt with her. Yes, Simon was definitely a fucking owner, but on the one hand you even liked it.

You liked that there was a man in the world who wanted to show everyone else that this girl was already taken. Yes, you love it like crazy.

He Literally digs his mouth into your crotch, causing you to moan softly. You throw your head back as Ghost swirls his tongue around your clit, making you arch your back. No matter how much Simon plays the role of that man in a relationship, he is really happy to do something stupid to make you happy. And he really loves making you cum from his tongue. To end in such a way that your consciousness will balance between sleep and reality. End up in such a way that your screams will be heard not only at your own base, but also on another continent in principle.

He penetrates the vagina with his tongue, causing the girl to fall with her back on the surface of the table, finally throwing off the remnants of things from it. With your vaginal walls you feel how the tip of her tongue presses on some sensitive point, causing a too loud moan to escape from your chest. you immediately press your hand to your mouth, trying to suppress your own pleasure. Simon pulls away from her and stands up, looking into her eyes.

—If you try to drown yourself out again, I’ll fuck you for so long and so hard that you won’t even be able to get out of bed for several weeks. Understood me? - leans towards you so that his lips almost touch yours. He is waiting for at least some sign from the girl under him, while stroking with his fingers your clit in gloves, causing pleasant sensations throughout your body.

And you nod, removing your hand from your mouth, after which his lips are pressed into yours again, gently crushing them. One hand strokes your waist through your army T-shirt, and with the other hand he reaches inside. Two fingers at once pleasantly stretch the walls, causing another moan, which comes out rather quiet, because the mouth is completely occupied with something else.

Simon pulls away from your lips, and between them there remains a thin string of saliva that still connects the two people. He continues to move his fingers inside, watching your unhappy face. Analyzes you, chooses how it will be better for you, learns from your mistakes so that you get maximum pleasure not only from his penis, but also from tongues and fingers.

—Good girl. Show others how much you like my fingers. Let others hear how good you feel with me. Let this little fucker understand that he can't even stand next to you. - he smiles when his movements inside the girl’s eyes roll back in pleasure. It doesn’t matter to him whether he gets pleasure himself, the main thing is that you achieve the long-awaited orgasm from his actions.

—Don’t hold back, I want to hear you. - and he kneels again, beginning to draw peculiar patterns around the clitoris. He continues to move inside, licks, pulls into himself, sucks: he does everything so that you get a release. He feels a woman’s hand pull off his mask and throw it somewhere, after which she digs her fingers into his blond hair and pulls him closer. She pulls so hard that it seems like she will rip a clump of hair from his head. But he's ready to get over it.

And he succeeds.

You let out a loud moan, and your body trembles. And Simon doesn’t stop even after your wet thighs squeeze his head. He feels your vagina pulsating, but he continues to move his fingers. He doesn’t stop for a second, but continues at an accelerated pace. He hears your heavy breathing and humbly waits for you to release him from his peculiar captivity.

—I hope you understand that it’s better not to anger me, honey? -Ghost gets up from his knees and places his arms around her body, leaning against the table.

—If you’re going to be that angry, I’m ready to act like a total bitch every day.

tags- @simp4konig I COULD NOT RESIST SORRY DON'T SCORE😭😭✋

Thabks for the tag pookie .. 🥹💓

@dobaddo 🌸 + anyone else that wants to join !! <3

tag game for my pookies; look up “flowers”, “plushy”, “aesthetic outfit” & “your own name” and pick the first one that comes up to get your vibe 🩷🎀

no pressure tags: @joelsgeetar, @littlemissclandestine, @konigceo, @honestlyhiswife, @konigsblog, @ehlle 🎀🩷

you can also play if you’re not a mutual as well :3

PSLSLS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 YOUR WRITI GN SI SO GOOD AND I JUST WANNA 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

THANK YOUR FOR BLESSING MY EUES BEFORE I GO TO SLEEP (lay in bed browing on my phone and doing anhrhing BUT sleeping 👁️👁️)

YOUR WIRTING BRIMGS ME. JOY 🥹🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

Also, ermm,, HELLO???!! TAG ME IN ALL OF YOUR POSTS YOU SWINE ❗❗‼️🤬🤬😡 GRRRRHAHAHAHHH👺👺❣️❣️❣️❣️

Tags: @simp4konig @shoukiko

Cw: You may cry happy tears, it's sad fluff

Ghost was never a man who adored being touched.

The PTSD of his past, the trauma on the field, the fear of letting people get too close.

It prevented him from being friendly with strangers and even friends. Recruits never ever got to touch him, a simple brush can make him look at you weird, even if he doesn't mean to.

He scans everything, focused on his surroundings and making sure danger is not where near him or the other soldiers at base

To touch the lieutenant with even a pat, you had to be in his inner circle like the 141 was or like how you were.

But now he was at home, fresh out of deployment and straight into your arms as you noticed a couple new scars on his arms and you couldn't help but frown.

You knew this was war and that it was just how war worked, soldiers would get injured, but it didn't mean your heart didn't feel heavy at the thought that he was in pain

Your hands running through his hair created a feeling he hadn't felt from anyone in a very very long time. He lowered his head so you could get a better angle as you poured the shampoo into your hands, rubbing it together before applying it to his head.

Your soft hands being gentle as you massaged his scalp slightly and played with his hair a little, a comfortable silence between the both of you in the shower as all that could be heard was the water hitting the floors of the tub.

He allowed you to wash his hair, his walls being down and allowing you in for just this moment before they raised again and kept you out.

You made him smile, you made him trust you, you made him feel love.

Just one look at your smile and it's as if waves washed over his problems and took them to the bottom where he could forget about them for just a moment. Your jokes and sarcastic remarks to him were some of his favorite things, you matched his energy almost always and he adored it.

There was nothing to hate about you.

His hazel eyes looked to yours, maintaining eye contact as he saw how focused you were. His eyes softened without him realizing, your brows furrowed in concentration and your lips pursed in focus.

You looked so beautiful.

You cared for him so much and he had no idea what to think of it.

He wasn't used to this kind of care, most of the care he got was friendship, never true love. He only ever knew toxic love, seeing how his father would treat his mother was all he ever thought of when it came to love and yet you managed to shed a whole new light to it

Your eyes reminded him of someone for just a moment.

Fuck, who?

Ah, his mother's eyes.

They held the same gentle gaze and love that his mother showed him and his brother, the only parent in his childhood that cared for him and was there for him in even the darkest of times.

Seeing that reflection of her is your eyes made him feel something, something that overwhelmed him to the point where he frowned slightly.

He missed her.

FORNFUCKS SAKE ITS NEARLY 11PM BUT IM HERW READING THESE INSTEAD 🤡🤡

Fuck YOU🖕🖕 ANA FOR BEING AN AMAZING WRITER I HATE YOU SO MUCH❗❗❗❗❗(just kidding, THANK YOU for blessing my EYES 🤩🤩💞🌠✨✨💕)

ANYWAYS SPOILER ALERT BUT LIKE

AND AND AND AND THE ENDING????????

OH MT GOD IM IN LOVE HELP HELP HELP 😣😣😣💓💓 IN LOVE WITH SIMON **AND** YOUR WRITING :(((

-`♡´- More than just words

Pairing: Simon "ghost" Riley/fem!reader

Word count: 992

Warning: indecisive Simon, slight denial of feelings, and non-detailed description of sex

A/N: I’m still just a beginning writer, so I hope for your help, support and healthy criticism..If you want something specific, I will be happy to try to make it happen.I was hoping to write a little more, but… I'm too lazy an ass

I TRANSLATED MY ALREADY READY FANFIC INTO ENGLISH, SORRY IN ADVANCE FOR THE IMPORTANCES!!

English is not my native language!!

The feeling of the bed sagging under the weight next to you breaks you out of the trance you were in, turning your head away from such an interesting ceiling and meeting Simon's tired eyes. As always, his sleepwear is nothing more than underwear. Much to his disappointment, you had the decency to pull his oversized t-shirt over your practically naked body. His half-dried hair touches your skin as he slides into your tender embrace.

—How do you feel? - You mumble, running your hand gently down his back as his head finds support on your chest and you don’t mind at all that Ghost doesn’t respond, already feeling like today may have been a particularly hard day for him. You remove the large blanket from his body before he starts grumbling about how hot it is, considering that the dear lieutenant remembered to turn the fan on high. Simon presses himself even closer to your warm body. "She reads me like an open book," he thinks.

Your humble persona is patient with him. You take care of all his needs when he can't, even the little things. You put ketchup on his fries just the way he likes them. He always says he needs a little more even though it's the perfect amount. And you smile, playfully making fun of him and submitting to his desires. He might say that kissing "isn’t enough" even though you showered his face with caresses for 15 minutes. And you would obey without hesitation.

Sometimes he thinks you're doing it just to please him or because you don't want to lose him. And yet he was wrong every time, just like now, when he looks at you and sees the warmth of love in your eyes. He's all hunched over and squinting when you notice the bruise on his shoulder, but you don't question it. Although Mr. Riley knows that in the morning you will spend an extra 5 minutes with him to carefully put a cute bandage on him and give him an extra kiss. Oh gods, how he loves it.

—I love you. - Simon mutters, his voice hoarse with fatigue, but still there is genuine tenderness in it. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, kissing the back of your hand, and even goes further, leaving a row of kisses on each finger. Your ring finger gets extra kisses to make up for the silver ring he still hides in the small safe in his office at the base. "I'm almost done planning." - he thinks every day when he wakes up next to you. Every thought about you comes down to immeasurable love.

This is what he lives and breathes. So he gets annoyed every time he checks the calendar on his phone, counting the number of days until your planned trip. He's already struggling not to get down on his knees and propose without a ring, or to do it while his mouth is full of toothpaste and you're wiping the corners of his lips or while you're washing his hair. Fucking hell. Whenever you just commit an act of love, he can't help but feel his throat bubble with the desperation to let it all out and just confess everything he loves about you.

—I love you very much, Si. . .

—No. . .You do not understand. - Simon interrupts you with a sigh, sits up and before you can even comprehend his movements, with inherent confidence he spreads your thighs, taking his rightful place between them. Nevertheless, you realize where everything is going and you know that the man you love is very uncompromising. —Then help me understand.Show me Simon.. - You whisper softly, feeling his erection press against your thigh as he towers over you.

Large hands grip your head, and his night-dark eyes look down with a determination that makes your core pulsate. He looks so hot, his years-honed physique enveloping your entire body. The way he casually lifts one of your legs is always a reminder of how easily he could handle you, putting your body in positions you never thought possible.

—Oh, I'll show you, my dear. I'm the only thing you'll think about tonight. - Simon is not only an uncompromising person, but also a person who keeps his word.

—You are my everything and I love you so much. - His voice breaks with emotion you can’t understand, but he moves until he has both of your hands on the sheets.

Your legs stretch to accommodate, and you almost gasp as he pushes forward.he moves his hand between your legs and rubs gently. Slow movements make you mumble his name.

You sniffle, trying to catch your breath, but he picks up on all your feelings. The scent of his shower gel fills your lungs as he leans in to kiss you. —You're so good to me, baby. Always taking care of me. You fucking deserve everything in this damn world. - The lieutenant can’t help himself, he only thinks about you. This is especially difficult to deal with on long missions.

—B-but. . . - you can barely answer, you can only moan into his chest and let him take you. The brain wasn't even able to process how the body was reacting to everything. It felt right. Your heart becomes heavier and filled with love, which overflows into the little kisses you try to give him. —You make me so happy. So weak next to you.

Simon finds himself pouring out his heart. Of course, these are not the words he would actually say, but such an instant realization makes you both become even closer to each other. It seems to him that if he continues, he will be pricked with tears from emotions that he cannot express in words. It is to you that he hopes to return home with a box in his jacket pocket early the next morning, wondering if he should just give up on everything and finally ask his long-awaited question.

tags- @simp4konig

The be lookin snazzy

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭

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*𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7700+

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

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

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*𝐀 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨. ☁️😇

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

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

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

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König was tired.

Very tired.

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

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

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

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

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

And König was tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At last — salvation had come!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hallo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

Yeah… You totally had overlooked that…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked away, overwhelmed by guilt and pity.

“Um…”

Biting your lip in consideration, your eyebrows furrowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ja,” he affirmed. “Lead the way.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are— are you okay?”

“Perfekt. I have needed this.”

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. What day was it?

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

…when he halted in his tracks halfway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh— ah, Gut. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Oh. O-okay...”

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

“...Well, how about some breakfast?”

He blinked. “Breakfast?”

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

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

“Please, take as long as possible.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you. Will be seeing you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mein Gott— this is—”

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

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

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

“Aw, you're so sweet! I'm flattered.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see. Who are they?”

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

“I don't see.”

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

König let out a snort. “Regulars?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am… sleeping in your bedroom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless…

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

“How much did it come out as?

“...£1417.”

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

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

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

“No. That is my payment.”

You couldn't believe in what you were hearing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— o-okay… Thank you…”

“It is my pleasure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Offering him another warm smile, König walked upstairs.

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

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

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

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

…

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

“Guten morgen.”

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

“I… what?”

“Good morning.”

“N-no, I mean— what are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is gross? Sex, or sex with me?”

“I— oh my God…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“König!”

So, why not impress him with your language skills?

“Gracias— fuck! Wait, no… uh—”

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

Why not? For that reason, you learned…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Help, of course.”

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

“Knew what, little one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“OK…”

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

He perked up at this. “OK!”

…

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

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

“...Oh. That is the only reason?”

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

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

“...King? Not the Queen?”

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

“...Oh.”

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

“...No.”

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

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

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

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

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

…

Before you knew it, the week had passed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It will be two hundred when I return.”

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

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

Blush erupted on your cheeks like a volcano.

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon.”

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

“Well, König… goodbye.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

Because, like,,, THIS?????? 😭😭😭😭😭

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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