Cod Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

Ex-Boyfriend Soap

warnings: p in v sex, afab reader, toxic! soap, mild dubcon (reader is under the influence) a/n: god i love soap i want him so bad neil ellice gimme one chance plssss my brain has rotted down to the stem thinking about him :p MINORS DNI (have your age in your bio or you're getting blocked)

Ex-boyfriend Soap would casually check your Instagram at least twice a week to see if you were still dating the new guy that you left him for. You put up a front on your social media posting yourself on dates at fancy places that Johnny knows were entirely too uppity for your taste. This “boyfriend” of yours was a joke in Johnny’s eyes, but he was just going to watch from afar he wasn't a homewrecker of course. He did his weekly scroll during breakfast one morning and noticed there were a handful of pictures suddenly missing from your page. All the pictures missing were pictures of you and the now ex-boyfriend. He smirked at this and decided to send a short DM just to check up on you. It wouldn’t be too weird anyway the relationship didn’t end that badly and you both text each other a few times a year to stay cordial.

The DM was enough to coax you over to Johnny’s home. You cried while sipping on your favorite wine (he remembered what a gentleman) and Johnny sat there patiently just listening to you rehash the negatives of the relationship and how you regret not seeing the warning signs from earlier before the scumbag cheated on you. He inched closer to you on the couch and gingerly wiped away a stray tear that rolled down the apple of your cheek. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes at the sensation. “You’re too pretty to cry, Hen you deserve better.” You nodded at his words, your mind foggy from the alcohol. His hands caressed your cheek once more and he gradually slid it down till his thumb was pressing against your bottom lip. Your eyes opened and met with his gaze that was filled with mischief. “Just gimme one more chance, Bonnie, you won’t regret it.” His thumb pushed further until it was prodding your tongue to open your mouth further. You nodded at his words agreeing to his proposition not breaking the intense eye contact happening between you two. “I need to hear words or I’m not continuing.” “Yes, I want this. I want you!” Your words were slurred and drool was starting to drip from the corner of your mouth. “That’s what I like to hear hen.”

He was ruthless with the way he pounded into your soaked cunt. Your body was taken over with white-hot pleasure and the amount of orgasms you’ve experienced. Your brain was mush and Johnny was reveling in it. “I love seeing you cock drunk just for me love. Only I could get you this stupid. I bet that muppet of a boyfriend never made you feel this good. All you could let out was a weak ‘mhm’. You bucked up your hips to meet his and feeling him so deep had you cumming so intensely. Johnny only needed a few more strokes till he was spilling his cum into your cunt. His grunts had your walls still fluttering after your orgasm. 

“Don’t ever forget you're mine Bonnie. I’ll always be here for you.” He wrapped himself around you and you sunk into his embrace.

y do I feel like keegan would have either a German Shepard, Husky (in the white mom type way), or a black cat. Ik it sounds so basic but I can j see him having a strong bond w his animals and thinks of them like there his pride and joy. j a thought but yk.

hallo mai sookies! plz follow mai main wattpad @deadb3nt . Be patient tho plz, working on something rn slowly but surely. It will be out soon. ty!

Wattpad

@d3adbent

｡･:* ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⣤⣤⣀⣄⣤⣠⣤⣤⡤⠤⠤⢤⣀⣤⡀⠀⠀⣰⠀⠀ ⢰⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠧⠴⠛⠛⠒⠛⠉⠉⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙ ⢸⣿⣿⠿⠏⠉⠁⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠉⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⣤⣤⣀⣄⣤⣠⣤⣤⡤⠤⠤⢤⣀⣤⡀⠀⠀⣰⠀⠀⢰⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠧⠴⠛⠛⠒⠛⠉⠉⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⢸⣿⣿⠿⠏⠉⠁⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠉⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠙⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

WEDDING DAY , simon “ghost” x fem reader

(suffocating in fluff > <!!)

very rushed, I’m tired and it’s 4hr30am so gn!

WARNINGS: none! happy crying!

↳

R/N rarely cried. Not that she wasn’t sensitive or cold blooded she just learned out to manage her emotions. Today was an important day for both y/n and Simon. Not once did she believe she would be getting married to such a man. A man who was hurting but kept it together, for her. “Love sucks when you’ve got a broken heart” the both of you have been through hell and back, and through some but managed to keep it together throughout the last three years.

R/N’s father had passed away, and when he did she was just little, and not knowing the rest of her brought her to wonder just how this day would play out. No family, an orphan who wasn’t so alone anymore. She didn’t know who would walk her down the isle till Simon somehow brought up the conversation with none other than Price. He knew Price and her had such a bond together that a father and daughter could only understand.

Asking him to do it felt like a challenge for Simon. Everyone knew Simon wanted the best for his Fiancé, and if he had to push himself out of his own boundary for her he would do it without any question.

-

She was beautiful to Simon. Her dress in an off white, sticking perfectly to each and every curve. Everyone was in awe at her beauty. Her arm was now being linked with Prices arm, smiling as he did so.

“Come on love” He said, watching the girl tear up with every peaceful stride down the isle.

R/N smiled when she saw Simon. His tuxedo all black and justifying his muscles subtly. Of course they made their own rules, his balaclava was on at the beginning. He took it off once R/N’a veil was flipped, and there it began.Words were given from the man who would be marrying the couple, till Simon grabbed R/N’s hands into his. His hands were calloused, but none the less felt comforting in the stress and unity of the moment.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from staying out on the bride, and R/N couldn’t help but look into those beautiful eyes of his. It got to the point where staring made everything distorted as if no one else in the room was there except them.

The two were now told to share one another’s vows.

“Simon, if everything I wanted to say about you was put on this piece of paper I’d be reading till my jaw was in pain and till my lungs give out. You had caught me at a bad place three years back and I couldn’t thank you enough for just being there with me. Though neither you or I have truly been happy with our lives and how we chose to live them, just know…you have shaped me to finally become happy with how I live my life and to keep living my life. I’ll always choose you, you’ll never be a second option, you are my second half. Simon, I love you… you are who has shaped me to who I am and who I will keep being. I hope you stay long enough to live this joy out with me till the day I die.”

R/N couldn’t bring herself to look around the room. The sniffling of the congregation, of her and Simon’s friends told the answer. The girl couldn’t even look at Simon till she felt it was necessary. He wasn’t crying, but you could tell the tears in his flooded waterline was sooner or later going to explode.

“R/N, not most people see me to be the kind of guy to do a lot of things because of how I act. I’ve been told how I behave or what kinds of decisions shape who I will and have become. I don’t believe them anymore, being scared simply what others think. This is a decision I made, and it’s one of the best decisions I have made. Where we are today, standing here together is what I believe is confidence, because you motivate me to be that guy who is confident. Our lives aren’t perfect but putting the past in it’s place and creating new memories to override the old ones is a once in a lifetime chance. I wouldn’t give up to make new memories with anyone else but you. I love you, R/N.”

At this point with the copious amount of crying R/N did, her makeup was running. There wasn’t a point in fixing it or trying to because the tears wouldn’t stop. Simon raised a hand to wipe her tears and try and fix R/Ns makeup with a quick wipe under her eyes, but to no avail did the makeup look a little bit better.

Already holding hands, more words were spoken about both of there vows till rings had to be exchanged. His ring was all black and custom made for Simon. You made sure it was military grade and would never bend while doing his job. Simons ring to you was so beautiful almost everyday for the last year you got compliments about its beauty. The diamond wasn’t too big but you liked how dainty it was, held in place by the bands hooks. It really wasn’t how big the diamond is it’s the reason it was picked and the thought of it being on your finger till being parted by death.

“R/N, Do your take Simon Riley to be your husband?” The wedding officiant asked looking at you as you immediately shook your head yes, followed by an “I do”

“Simon, do you take R/N L/N to be your wedded wife?” His smile was so pure, one I didn’t see all too much but today was a day where I knew there truly was love pouring throught both of us.

“I do.”

ⓒzxvak47

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⣶⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⡿⠟⢻⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠛⠉⠙⠛⠋⠀⠈⠉⠀⠈⠉⠁⢸⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉⠀⢀⣾⡿⠉⠀⠈⠸⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣷⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

NEW TO LIFE, john “soap” mactavish x fem reader

a/n: super short! I wound up having covid meaning I’ll have time to write till this wears off. feel free to request anything on my pinned post!

warnings: none!

A thought that never came to mind had coursed through your body. Causing every sensation of pain, but in the end being worth the pain and hard work. A newborn was now laid in your arms by the nurses. Gently swaddled in the hospitals best blanket and eyes shut indicating the pure bliss of your presence. You admired the infant, running your finger around its soft face, and pursed lips as it laid in your embrace.

You were who this kid would look up to, both you and John would be who he would go to in the future.

Johnny sat next to you, watching you admire his son. His hand reached to the baby’s head gently holding it as if the baby was breakable.

“He so beautiful” You mention quietly, just above a whisper not intending to wake him.

“That, I can’t argue” His grabbed one of your hands and intertwined his fingers with yours, placing a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

Eventually you peeled your gaze off the baby and over to Johnny. You could tell he was eager to hold the him, looking at you with soft eyes as you gently moved to hand the baby over to him.

“Go on, he’s not made of glass yeah?” You smiled, sniffling as the last couple tears that remained on your face had stuck to your flesh.

Scooping him up, he had one hand holding the baby’s head, and the other supporting the torso. He looked at his child with intent, knowing that this was made by him and the love of his life. He resorted to holding the baby like how you had him hopping he would fall back asleep in Johnnys arms.

-

Not too much longer Soap noticed the dark circles under each of your eyes, and how your eyes struggled to stay open. He felt back, knowing all the pain you had gone through within the last two hours. Watching you feed him was hard enough, looking as if you would pass out in seconds.

You blinked your eyes back open to see Soap standing up kissing your head softly before speaking.

“Rest R/N, can’t stand to see ya so tired” You didn’t argue with him on that, you were extremely exhausted.

He grabbed the baby out of your arms before taking in some time with his son before deciding to lay the infant back in its basinet. Johnny really didn’t want to let his boy go, but he knew if he was sleeping in a chair for the night, the baby would be better off in the basinet. He kissed his head before lowering him down slowly.

“There ya go…” he smiled down at the baby once more before retreating back to his chair, watching over you for a few minutes as you slept before he also fell asleep.

I feel like I’m slacking atp I promise I have something it’s almost done I’m j being lazy and have no motivation!

“IVE GOT YOU”, simon “ghost” riley x fem reader

word count : 1.4K

summary: fluff/ angsty? while on a stressful mission, you’ve been shot. backup has been called and you’re transported back to base, this all happened because of simon. you couldn’t thank him enough for taking care of you.

warnings : talk of minor gore, blood, injury.

-

Ducking and shooting was all you could do as Ghost lead. Sitting there waiting felt too long, just for a shot to run to avoid more gunfire. Or at least somewhere where they weren't going to be cornered.

"COME ON!" Ghost yelled waving to follow his lead. In that span of time that you two could make a break for it, it was quiet. Trying to stay low and pick up the pace was all part of the pressure, and before you had put your sights off one of there men, you were shot, left side of your lower torso.

"Fuck!" You yelled wincing at the pain, lugging your self up slowly holding back tears. You couldn't sit here and cry the least you could do was fight for yourself. Grabbing your pistol from your belt you pointed it at the man before he could grab you. With one shot to his head, level with his nose you were covered in blood, and the man's body collapsed towards you.

You let out a yell of pain as the mans corpse landed over your body. You couldn't tell what was going on and your vision sifted between blurred and clear before you felt everything go black.

Simon had been watching everything go down as he tried his best to cover you, seeing you finally pass out had his nerves sky rocket.

"Not now." He told himself. In the midst of everything going to hell he managed to make it over to where you were, which wasn't far.

Shooting and killing two more men, he knelt to you trying to wake you, but to no avail. He sighed a shakey breath his voice hoarse as he grabbed your gun, throwing the strap around his arm and picking you up. You were bleeding out and if he didn't get some sort of back up, you would die.

Carrying you to a somewhere safer he laid you down, putting pressure on the wound.

"Someone, i need anyone to meet me down here. R/N's shot..." he paused. Taking a second for himself, he sighed looking to the floor that was now covered in your blood. He blamed himself, he could have kept you closer, and covered you instead, but you insisted to cover him as he lead you to the building he needed to get to.

A voice came back through ; "headed to ya now." Soap replied. Ghost opened his eyes again to realize the two of them had made it. All that was left was to grab the needed cargo and documents.

"We're in the building just off the loading area, stay alert when you get up here" Simon looked for anything to help wrap you up, finding a pen and using what he had for bandage wrap to create some sort of pressure against the gunshot. He looked around for the crate, realizing there was more then one, and half of them were boxes filled with explosives.

Finding one with a lock, he knelt to it, taking a second to think it through. With the information they had the combination had to be some where. Seeing a small office, he grabbed his gun, opening the door and checking the room before he rummaged through a desks paperwork. One of the papers read "EXPLOSIVE CRATES" in bold letters.

Flipping through, and matching the crates named number to the one on the page was easier then expected, finding the combination numbers just beside it.

-

Saying you were shocked was a bit of an understatement in your eyes. The man you ultimately saved your life was sitting up next to you as you laid your head on his lap. His hand tightly holding those bandages to your body. With each bump the the truck endured so did your body. Wincing in pain as your eyes slowly opened. Your breathing hitches as you looked to where Ghosts hand had been.

"Shhh, I've got you" he said, he seemed calm himself but inside he just wanted to see everyone make it out in one piece. You of all people especially. He wouldn't tell you that of course.

As the truck approached base, Price ran to the truck asking what had happened. "Don't worry about it! Help them I'll take her to the medic"

As they heaved you inside, the medic shot up, preparing for Simon to lay you down.

"Will she be okay?" He asked after the medic examined what had happened.

"She's loosing blood, I think I can get the bullet fragments out."

"You think?!" His temper becoming short.

"I can't guarantee what's going to happen!" She yelled back sternly. Usually he wouldn't take shit like that from anyone, but it was for your sake that he behaved himself. R/N awoke once more, panicking with lack of information on her where abouts.

"Where am I?" R/N asked, Simon sighed standing next to her. His stance was cold, but his sympathy towards her wasn't lacking.

“Calm down…” His presence was enough to calm you down, that until you felt the searing pain of the bullet fragments lodged into your lower torso.

You began to cry, it was usually on rare occasions that you cried, let a lot to your friends.

“It hurts so damn bad” you said in frustration. As the anesthesia began to kick in your eyes became heavy. You could barley feel Simons thumb caressing your temple and the beginning of your hair line. With every touch of his hand the quicker you began to fall asleep.

He didn’t have time to think about who would be judging him or who was watching the only thing he cared about was your well being. Now that you were sound asleep the medic turned to Simon.

“I know you care. We all know that…it’s nothing to be ashamed of”

-

The more time he spent sitting in that chair the more he thought of if or how she would remember what he had done before she fell asleep. All he was waiting for was for her to wake up, arms crossed as he waited the rest of the day till the sky became darker. Simon felt his eyes getting heavy, but before he could process it he heard you mumble something.

“Ghost?” You called. The brute man unfolded his arms, approaching your bedside to tend to whatever needs you asked of him. He was there, he would always be there.

Your eyes now fully enhanced, and adjusted to the room you looked up and smiled to the man towering above you. It was startling long at first, but you’ve grown accustomed to his presence.

“You like some sort of Prince Charming now? Saving me?”You taunted him. If you weren’t laying in that bed he might have argued, but he couldn’t have cared less about that right now.

“The opposite” he replied, his eyes peaking with joy, visible even with his mask.

“I’m sorry…” Your words came out of nowhere, he truly wasn’t expecting an apology. Especially from you considering you could have died.

“Don’t.” His answer was vague, ripping him apart watching her reaction to what had spewed from his mouth. Now crying, he shook his head, reaching a hesitant hand over to your hand, entertaining individual fingers with yours.

“You know I’d risk my life for yours.” It just came out, and once it did he couldn’t take it back. He accepted that.

“No, don’t tell me that Ghost.” He paused for a moment, thinking through what he was about to do. Revealing himself to you. Everyone else knew what he looked like and the anticipation was getting the best of you. You couldn’t keep imagining what he looked like. Now that wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

He tugged at the mask from the top of his head, war paint grime around his eyes and a head of blonde - light brown hair, luminous with the overhead light.

Your pupils were blessed, taking in every inch and feature upon his face as if you would never see it again. You were certain you wouldn’t.

“I mean it.” He said, warning you that there was nothing more to argue about. He loved you, that’s what he was trying to say but what he said was enough.

“I love you too, Simon” You reached a hand to touch his face, your eyes feeling heat as you looked into his, feeling both you and him pull closer and closer to one another.

Smurf Cat ( I’m sorry)

Soap the typa guy to chuckle at Smurf cat if you sent it to him. You two send it back and fourth to each other till both of you don’t find it funny anymore.

Ghost would sigh, tell you to focus on “more important” matters. (he secretly thinks its a little funny)

Gaz is a smile and nod typa fella. Doesn’t know what’s wrong with you but accepts your out of pocket ness.

Price stays a confused old man. Doesn’t get it, just total confusion out of him and nothing more.

REALITY OF FEAR, John “Soap” Mactavish

word count: 742

summary: fluff, angst; you two get separated on the riskiest and leathal mission. all you can think about is if johnny is making it out alive.

warnings: violence, fluff, angst, suspense? friends to lovers.

-

Fear; something you were sure you were immune to.

This was the mission. Some of you would make it out alive, some of you wouldn’t. For the first half you wondered who was making it out, who was dead and who was alive. You were separated from Soap according to the plan that way made. You and Price were placed together, and for a reason you weren’t sure. You were a sniper and heavy artillery expert, you should have been with Soap to back him and watch over him.

You waited hours, waiting to hear Soaps voice, but to no avail. You heard everyone but him. Your aim was getting worse the more you thought about it, and the more you told yourself to “pull it together and focus” the worse you became.

You didn’t know Soap was thinking the same about you. You and price finally got ambushed and found from where the two of you were firing shots, leading you two to pick off anyone in your way.

The trigger of your pistol clicked multiple times, emptying the rest of your rounds into someones body.

“Hey-“ Price grabbed your shoulder, making you turn and take a breath.

“I get it, but we need to focus. Your aim is sloppy…what’s wrong?” He asked.

“Soap…”

The two of you were good friends, but not together. You were worried and embarrassed for letting fear over come you.

“I know, and I had a feeling. I wondered myself if they were alive” he paused; “but worrying is gonna kill ya’.”

You nodded taking a deep breath, wiping the blood off your face and picking your sniper back up.

-

For the rest of the mission, you hadn’t heard anything. It would have came in on the radio if he was killed? Why wasn’t anyone saying anything?

The more you questioned the more you let yourself go, till finally it was over.

“Let’s get out of here…see who made it out” Price said sounding a little disappointed.

The ride back was long. It felt longer then it needed to be at least and your mind couldn’t stop thinking about him. If he was dead, how would that effect you? If he was alive how would you handle it? Till you made it back and you felt like the waiting was going on forever. Someone could have told you, why didn’t they? Maybe he was dead and they didn’t know how to say it?

The whirling of a chopper was heard, as you sat outside of base waiting to hear that same whirling noise for the last thirty minutes. Carrying yourself up the stairs you felt like crying. Over 6 hours of not knowing, you would finally have your answer. Did you want to know? Maybe you’d rather let it be unknown.

It didn’t matter now, you were already up to the top of the stairs standing there watching the chopper land. Once landed you seen that Ghost was alive, causing a smile to spread across your face. There was a little bit of hope.

A blooded arm reached for the handle, jumping down and looking at you with a huge smile. His beautiful smile the one you missed seeing for the last six hours. You dropped your weapon to the floor, running to Johnny and attempting to hold back the tears of happiness.

He held your lower back as you swayed back and fourth in that hug. You released your grip a little looking up to him.

“I waited and waited…Johnny I thought you were dead.” You confessed, it was embarrassing, but he didn’t care. He just moved his face closer to yours, placing his lips against the soft flesh of your very own.

“I’m sorry for making you wait lass” he said placing a kiss on your head.

“I’m proud of you,” he said. There was a bit of a pause, not knowing what exactly to say without saying everything.

“Come, let’s get your arm looked at yeah?” You nodded towards him and he followed.

Holding hands walking back down to the medic he confessed, something you weren’t expecting. Not now, not tomorrow, hell maybe not even in the next month. But he told you, and he had his reasons and intentions.

“I love you…you made me realize that today” You were quick to reply, there wasn’t a hesitation in your words, not even a stutter.

“I love you too Johnny.”

MINE ALL MINE, simon “ghost” riley

word count : 775

summary: simon and you were one confusing blend and as time went on the both of you parted ways. little did you know this wasn't the end

warnings: arguing? angst, fluff

song : My Love Mine All Mine, Mitski

So, when I die, which I must do

could it shine down here with you?

1 month earlier

"Simon..." you paused. For the last few weeks nothing was the same with you and Simon. It wasn't that he was gone all the time but just his demeanour wasn't the same. Most days you would come home to Simon in his Ghost balaclava and everyone knew what that meant. He was cold, or hostile then would come back hours later to apologize as Simon. You couldn't keep playing this game and once you offered a hand for help he refused. You were determined to make it work, but he wasn't.

"I'm not going to keep arguing..." you said clearly tired with all the bickering.

"It only took so long for you to give up on me" He argued, intentionally looking to egg you on.

"I'm not giving up Simon I'm just-"

"Your just what?!" You two were so happy before these last two weeks and it only made you wonder what went so wrong. What did you do? What didn't you do?  But not once did you say to yourself that it was just 'Simon being Simon'.

"I am done! I can't stand to not do something about how you've been acting! Just... please go." You said, tears welling into your waterline as he stared coldly into your eyes, his own trying to find some sense into the mistake he was making by leaving you in that living room alone a crying mess.

-

There was no doubt Simon missed you. He wanted to call you back, answer all those voicemails of your soft and trembling voice.

"I know, and I'm sorry for the messages. I'm trying because I miss you... if I didn't try to get ahold of you I think I'd feel pretty bad about myself. Simon... just know that I'm here when you need me. You can come back to me when you need me, whenever you're ready...Goodbye." 

You had sent that message three days ago and he would listen to it when he got the chance to be alone which was more often then usual now that you were gone. It was the same for you. You left voicemails after each call he didn't answer and each time you hoped just a al little bit that he would pick up the phone. He never did but you still hoped and had faith. He loved that about you. How you kept him happy and positive and how you two were one in the same. You can’t give that up, and he realized that now.

The ring if the door bell was heard in the other side of the door as Simons hand fell back to his side. He knew she cared, but what if it was too late for him to come back? How can he just let something, someone like her just leave?

The door opened and he looked up to the girl, removing his balaclava as you gave him a half smile, his eyes looking into yours waiting for you to give in and to which you did. You attached yourself to his torso hugging him in hopes he was really here to stay. He hugged back, resting his head on-top of yours as he gently caressed your back.

You gently let go of him as you held his hand pulling him inside.

You two wound up upstairs, your mouths like magnets. All he wanted was to be with you and vise-versa. He stopped though, letting you take a second to sit back. His hand held yours before he explained his reasoning.

“I don’t want you to think I only came back for the sex…let’s not tonight okay?” He said, his thumb gently gracing over the back of your hand. You smiled at him and kissed him once more.

“Okay” Not even devastated in the slightest, you fell back into his arms as he held you close to his own body. Neither of you needed to converse about what your place was with one another because you both knew it. Simon wanted to keep you safe at all costs, you were his main priority not even himself. You just wanted to make him feel like himself, let him enjoy his life without thinking of his past.

“I’m glad you came home” he looked down at you, swiping his fingers through your hair before pressing a kiss on your head

“Me too.”

I posted Mine all Mine last night before I went to sleep. 86 notes already?! Thank you<3 I seem to get more love for my writing on here then on Wattpad or A03. I live reading on here and A03 but I write on here and on Wattpad. I have something coming for Wattpad ( in my link tree) and yes it is Simon/ Ghost story. TYSM<3

𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ✍️

➔ 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘺 “𝙏𝙖𝙜 𝙇𝙞𝙨𝙩„!

➔ 𝘔𝘺 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥: 𝙪𝙣𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥2_

➔ 𝘔𝘺 𝘟𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘎𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘨: 𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜105927113 (𝘐𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵 𝘸/ 𝘮𝘦 <3)

⭒𝘙𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯*, 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴/𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 “ɪɴʙᴏx„! ⭒

*𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 requests 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦; 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬/𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯/𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶! ♡

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 MAY 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥!‼️

𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 (𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳) 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵:

@simping4konig

(I apologise to ‼️ anon... Deadass dropped the INCORRECT user and I couldn't edit the post. 😱😱)

*𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦/𝘢𝘭𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦 @simping4konig^^^ (𝘍𝘦𝘮-𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 @simp4art.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯.

𝘛𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 👑 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘹𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪-𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴/𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴.

⌦ 𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

𝘍𝘦𝘮! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘈𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘰 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘳𝘢 5/10/2024

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺." — 𝘖𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥! 𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 23/8/2024

𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 30/6/2024

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘉𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘺 𝘉𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 (König) 1/4/2024

𝘡𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘦 𝘈𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘺𝘱𝘴𝘦 𝘈𝘜 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 2/1/2024

👑 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 9/10/2023

👑 𝘙𝘘: "𝘊𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱?" 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘹 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳-𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 16/9/2023

👑 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 31/8/2023

👑 "𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?" 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘟 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳-𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 (𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 2) 27/8/2023

𝘚𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘟 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳-𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 25/8/2023

👑 "𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?" 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘟 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳-𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 20/8/2023

⌦ 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰'𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱* 9/10/2024

𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 2/8/2024

𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 29/5/2024

𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴* 18/5/2024

𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 🎃🍂 30/10/2023

𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴🥺🥺 + 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴🤭 2/10/2023

¹𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢 ²𝘊𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦 (𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴/𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴🥴) both 25/9/2023

𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 24/9/2023

𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 5/9/2023

𝘙𝘘: 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘚/𝘖 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘴 ✨𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯✨ 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 1/9/2023

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝘼𝙨 𝙤𝙛 19/9/2023:

Do not use, sample, or publish any of my fanfictions to any other sites. Plagiarism (the blatant copying of my writing) will NOT be tolerated.

Just because this has been officially disclosed as of 19/9/2023 does NOT give you the right to use, sample, or publish any of my works prior to this date.

© @aking10592_ (Kinga, myself) for all of the fanfictions listed above.

Other people's AUs — as well as any inspiration from other works — are linked respectively in each post, alongside their username and tag, always working with permission explicity given to make use of their ideas. If by chance any creator changes their mind about my take on their original idea, I will rightfully take the fanfiction in question down.

"Call of Duty" Franchise © Infinity Ward, Treyarch, Sledgehammer Games, and Raven Software.

"Call of Duty Modern Warfare (2019/2022)" © Infinity Ward.

None of the characters (König/Ghost/Nikto) belong to me, and are rightfully owned by the respective studio(s).

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Masterlist Updated 5/10/2024

"Can't sleep?" König x Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: 3704

Having flashbacks about the battlefield and unable to fall asleep after an exceptionally draining mission, you go seek the comfort of your Colonel in the middle of the night.

*Slow burn

*ANGST!!💔... dw it gets wholesome at the end i promise ❤️

*Thanj you to Azzy!! (My No.1 Fan...🥹🫂💘) for this request !!!🙋🏼‍♀️💫💞💞✨Love u too🫶💕,, I kind of 🥺slightly🥺 maube a littke bit🥺🥺🥺went off prompt and König isnt affected by the mission per se BUT i have fulfilled the CUDDLING part!!! ☺️☺️pls dont show up to my fhome with pitchforks and torches im sry it just sorta happened ok😱

Also i rhink i have dementia bc I thought someone else rqsted König comfortinf rreader in a storm???😰😰Turns out nobody did so maybe i hallucinated it or smtj idk🤷🏼‍♀️Anyways I thought to merge these two ideas together so lmk what u think abt this lil (by "lil" i mean WAY too long🤪) drabble🙏💕

*Reader is pining for König

*Events loosely take place in the KönigxKing (as in, reader's call-sign is "King" storyline) mini-series. This serves as a slight backstory for King (reader). Again, this is by no means in any chronological order in relation to the series, so this can also be read as stand-alone! :)

*THANK YOU FOR 100+ FOLLOWERS!!!!!! 🥳🎉🎊✨🎇💖I SWEAR ONE IT LITERALLT FEELS LIKE MID-AUGUST WHEN I HAD LIKE 7 WHERE DID U ALL COME FEOM??????😰😰💘 IT MEANS SO MUCH FOR ME LIKE I CANR STRESS THIS ENOIGH BC IM SO HAPPG U GUYS THINK MEWORTHY ENOIGH OF YOUR PRECIOUS FOLLOW AND WANT TO READ MY WACK WORKS!!!!!!🤧🤧💖💖 LIKE??????? 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹THANK U THABK YOU RHABK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🫶🥰🥰💖💖💖❤️💞💞💕💖💕💕💞

                                        ...

You couldn't sleep.

It was raining relentlessly outside, the pitter-patter of water droplets hitting your window. Storm clouds boomed loudly outside, and despite the blinds being pulled tightly shut, lightning occasionally flashed through the cracks, elongated shadows of buildings forming on the walls.

Counting down the seconds until you'd hear the rumbling thunder, it would only be a few kilometres away, and you'd shudder at the sound, shivering.

While tossing and turning in bed, you had kicked off your covers and were staring at the ceiling, still wide awake. Normally, a storm like this would be like a lullaby to your ears, yet now it did nothing in helping lull you to sleep.

Even if you wanted to sleep, how could you when those corpses haunted your nightmares?

Laying in bed, your mind replayed the same scenes like a movie reel, the same screams like a broken record:

Lifeless, unblinking eyes with mouths agape and an expression of fear permanently engraved on their pale faces; flies swarming in hordes to harvest the soft tissues of the irises and tongue, eating the human mush; limbs contorted in unnatural positions, arms and legs crushed by the force of detonated mines, bones broken under the weight.

Rumbling roaring of machine guns and the deafening explosions from hand grenades meant that the high-pitched ringing would drown out everybody's yelling, muffle all noise from your surroundings, and you'd only be pulled out of your daze when you'd find yourself stumbling on unstable ground, on bricks and cheap concrete that had all crumbled.

Bodies would drop so fast it'd take at least seconds for you to register whether it had been an enemy or an ally.

You'd pull the trigger, but seeing a bullet go through someone's forehead and the exaggerated shock stamped on their face — a permanent expression in their final seconds remaining forever in death — left you wondering why you would ever sign up willingly to do this.

Disorientated, you'd struggle to pull yourself together, would enter far too many close calls for a soldier to count, and would only get a grip once you saw a familiar face, a reminder that you weren't alone in the warzone.

Even now, the sonorous sound kept echoing in your head, and, if you listened closely, it resembled hundreds of hoarse shouts, so many people screaming at once in collective agony.

You flinched as a bolt of lightning suddenly struck the sky.

Sparing an absentminded glance at your digital alarm clock, your eyes widened slightly at the time: 1:56am.

Damn... you thought. ...it's that late already?

Drills would begin at 7 o'clock, and you had to have woken up at 6 to brush your teeth, get dressed, eat, and mentally prepare yourself for the day, so you kissed a good night's sleep goodbye, and accepted the telling off from your superiors the following morning for under-performing.

...Still, how could you sleep after what you had experienced? What you experienced and would continue experiencing?

Accepting high-pressure missions and a demanding workload once you had enlisted, you thought that your ability to keep calm under pressure and stay composed would mean that you would have been unaffected by the shooting by now, and be taking everything in your stride. Calm, composed, and unaffected, is what you had thought you'd be. Surely you'd be able capable enough to cope with it all?

Yet, you weren't any of those things. Never getting used to the stress that would persist even while on supposedly "low-intensity" extractions. You'd always be on edge, always recoiling at hands that would reach over to tap your back as encouragement or hold your shoulder in reassurance on base.

You believed you could never familiarise yourself with the panic and unpredictability of missions and being hyper-aware of something, anything, everything going wrong, with the adrenaline that would course through your body and take over your senses in times of fight or flight, with the nerves that would keep you on edge hours after landing safely on base.

But, most of all, with the nights you'd lay in bed, unable to fall asleep: nights like these, when every time you closed your eyes, you saw the eyes of dying comrades; when every time you walked along the corridors, imagined yourself diving across the floor and felt shattered shrapnel breaking under your feet; when every time you sat in an empty room, heard ear-piercing blasts and the ricochet of discarded shells just missing your head.

Whereas the other operators seemed to be completed unmoved by any of their deployments and would shrug their shoulders off of the events, the anxiety for you lingered, trauma deep within your soul consuming you whole.

How could you ever get over the fact that you were shooting real people? Losing real soldiers?

...Losing yourself along the way?

All this work took a toll on your psyche, but comparing yourself to the other soldiers made you feel like such a coward, and second-guess ever enlisting in the first place.

...Well, you did so because it had been your only option all things considered, but looking back on it, you thought that maybe it would have been better if you hadn't chosen anything at all.

Accepted the grave nature of your failures in life, the same life that would have had inevitably ended with you pre-maturely in a grave.

After all, you had no job prospects to look forward to, no dreams to strive for, no aspirations to achieve.

Failing your school exams time and time again until you had finally achieved a result that was good enough didn't earn you any security, as you weren't exactly employable with grades you had just barely managed to claw to even pass.

Really, it was hopeless. You were hopeless.

To say your family was disappointed in you would have been an understatement. Out of three children, you were labelled the disappointment child, the underachiever and failure.

Your two siblings worked as a lawyer and an engineer respectively, while you had never even been able to grasp the basics in education, never spoke with your teachers of anything other than the worrying results of your exams, never came home to share a thing with your parents you had accomplished with a smile of pride stretched on your young face like your siblings did.

Never. Because you weren't ever good enough.

At the dinner table, your siblings boasted of promotions and of revolutionary research, of trials and of successes, of their brilliant breakthroughs, as you sat on the side of the table, listening from the sidelines, excluded from all of the grandeur that you couldn't relate to.

Still, it was always better to keep your mouth shut than to make a dent in the conversation, further embarass yourself and prove how lowly you were, than to have so many pairs of pitying eyes talking down on you in patronising tones, of the subtle condolences from your parents and their regret with triumphant smirks and condescending attitude from your siblings.

In a last ditch effort to make your parents proud, you made the decision of joining the military. You were young and impressionable, under the impression that your parents would finally be impressed.

...Of course, they weren't. In fact, your decision made them even more disappointed, shaking their heads sympathetically with strained smiles stretched on their lips.

Maybe that was the reason you couldn't handle the pressure of the military, you thought. You were weak, incompetent. Pathetic.

Although no one told you explicitly or made you feel that way directly, somehow, you always had felt inferior. Somehow, you felt that no matter what you did, how much you did, how well you thought you did, you wouldn't ever come close to the others's level.

That, despite your effort and dedication, you would never be good enough. Would always be inferior no matter what, because you always had been and would always be so.

...Your Colonel never made you feel that way, though, and you never quite understood why.

After all, your interactions were few-far-and-inbetween. It made you wonder what made you feel this way, and what spark ignited the warmth you'd feel when he was around.

Although a man of few words, the words that he did say to you would matter, though. His praise, his acknowledgement, his always being there made you want to keep going and prove your worth to him.

It started off as sporadic encouragement:

Your skin glistening with sweat, an accented voice would say "Gute Arbeit," over your crumpled body on the gym mat.

Offering you a gloved hand, you grasped it gratefully, and he pulled your tired body with ease. "Good job, King."

A lopsided smile from you as you'd wipe the sweat from your forehead and brows after sparring with someone else, limp limbs barely keeping you standing. His eyes were betrayed no emotion under his veil, yet a thin-lipped grin was behind it.

"Thank— you— sir!" You'd manage to breathe out, still panting for breath. "I did— my best, but— I didn't win."

"That does not matter," he'd say, speaking in a tone you couldn't quite recognize. "Very good job. Keep it going. Soon, you'll be able to pin even me down."

You'd laugh weakly at his words, yet would immediately feel a surge of motivation to keep working hard, and would train up to the point of exhaustion behind closed doors. Thinking you'd be alone, you'd punch a dufflebag with grunts of effort, missing the tall silhouette observing you with crossed arms in the corner, satisfied.

Then, those became casual greetings;

"Guten Morgen, soldier. Nice day, ja?"

Turning around, you'd see your Colonel walking towards you, frame visible even from a distance.

You smile broadly, eyes crinkling up in genuine joy, before you caught yourself and coughed. "Y-yeah!"

"Always a nice day whenever you're around, sir," you'd tease, playfully winking at him as he approached you, yet you were yet to master it without blinking both eyes.

He'd chuckle heartily, flattered, then shook his head to hide how his face flushed under his veil, and held up a hand.

"Thank Gott I have you here. My day would have been ruined."

"Have a good day, sir!" You'd call after him brightly, and he'd turn around for a final time with a two-fingered salute. Strange, since he was your superior, not the other way around, but you shrugged this off as a friendly gesture.

Until it developed into a sort of mutual connection.

In your eyes, at least.

You didn't want to assume that you two were friends, as the man was way out of your league. Strong, muscular, and a disciplined soldier — a Colonel, no less — a man of influence.

Besides, he, conversing with the only-recently-recruit-turned-soldier that was the slowest to understand a joke, did not comprehend complicated terms, and was the least bright out of the entire faction was not something you wanted him to be associated as, didn't want to tarnish his reputation.

You reasoned that you didn't want to bring down the Colonel down to your low level, so you kept your relationship as just that; associates. Aquaintances. Nothing more, out of respect for your Colonel.

Little did you know, the Colonel had developed a soft spot for you.

It seemed as though the storm had gotten worse, as the rain was unrelenting, and the tapping on the glass increased with force. Booming thunderclouds made your room shake.

A sigh as you turned to your side again. 2:07am.

Your thoughts moved back to your Colonel, and you started missing him, longing for him. The warmth that radiated off him made you wish he'd take you in his arms, hold you close to his chest, and you suddenly felt so cold. So lonely and cold.

Maybe it was childish of you to be feeling this way — he was your superior, after all, and you had no reason to be so attached — yet your daily encounters made you gain feelings for the man. Made you feel things when he was around.

Somehow, he brought you security. Made you feel protected. Safe. Like you could always count on him for having your back.

Made you forget that you were so useless, and was the reason for the fuzzyness within your chest, the buzzing feeling you'd feel as you'd be grinning from ear to ear after speaking to him.

Made you feel like you weren't pathetic. Weren't a wasted wishing star. Instead, you were appreciated, seen, even.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to be with him.

...Would he want you, though?

No. Of course he wouldn't. You weren't good enough.

A deep sigh. 2:15, the digital alarm clock displayed.

...What if he actually did want you? Not even as a partner, but just to be around him? Breathe the same air as him? You thought you weren't worthy of his time, but maybe, just maybe he wouldn't see it as such a waste.

Another crash of lightning brought you to your senses.

Finally making up your mind, you huffed in exertion as you pushed yourself off your stiff mattress, not bothering to organize the mess of blankets on the floor.

Walking with certainty, before you realised it, you were at König's bedroom door. Standing behind the door, hand hesitatingly reaching for the handle, you bit your lip, confidence wavering.

Should you really go through with this right now? What if he was asleep at that moment and all you'd do is disrupt his slumber? It wouldn't be fair of you to disturb him so late in the night, especially when he had so many responsibilities.

Still, you inhaled deeply, and, as quietly as you could, knocked twice.

You almost jumped out of your skin at the familiar accented voice of your Colonel.

"Come in," he said hoarsely. His tone was almost warm, inviting, yet you shook your head at the idea, and pulled the handle.

Entering inside, you slowly closed the door behind you. When you turned around, König was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, seemingly deep in thought. Wearing a tank top and cargo pants, his head was hung low, his veil hanging loosely over his head.

The blinds were drawn open to reveal the sky dominated by darkness, the grey curtain of monochrome on the nearest buildings cast down by the clouds, the raindrops that remained on the windows and the rhythmic echoes against the pavement as they dropped in syncopation.

The sight, his presence, were both so... relaxing. In a way, your anxiety was relieved by the tranquility of the scene, and it made you forget the internal turnoil you had been going through for the past few hours, made the tension in your body fade.

"Ah, King," his arms dropped to his sides and he raised his head to meet your eyes in the dark. "I had a feeling that it would be you."

You fidgeted nervously, not knowing what to do.

"Bitte, schön," he said, patting the empty space beside him on the mattress. "Please, sit down. I insist."

Slowly lowering yourself to his side, you sat at a reasonable distance away from him. With the both of you sat down, the size difference was still very noticable. His height made him hunch over you, and one of his thighs was like the two of yours combined.

So nervous, you didn't even notice how his back slumped so you'd be both at a similar level.

He cleared his throat. "What brings you here so late in the night?"

An awkward tug of your t-shirt collar.

"Can't sleep," you stated simply.

"I see." He was quiet for a few moments. Then: "And you decided that my room was the place to go?"

Your face heated up, and you averted your gaze. "Well, sir, it's j-ju—"

"—Nein," he cut you off, holding up a hand to stop you. "I have told you so many times not to call me that. Call me König."

"But— but you're my superior," you gasped, mouth agape. "You deserve to be addressed with respect! I couldn't possibly—"

The protest died on your lips again as the man shook his head, the loose material of his veil following his movements. "Nein. None of that matters. I want you to call me by my first name."

A heavy silence lingered over the two of you, words left unsaid by you both.

"So," König prompted, "what brings you here, King?"

Pausing to think over a pretence, the best you could come up with was: "The storm scared me."

"Ja?" Even with the fabric covering his face, you could almost see the skeptical smirk on his lips.

"A soldier like you afraid of loud clouds? Some rain?" He chuckled.

"Really, I'd have thought you better than that, King." If you didn't know him well enough, you'd have thought he was mocking you, yet despite the sarcasm his eyes held a genuine concern for you.

An bashful laugh escaped you as you rubbed your arm, nails slightly digging into your skin.

"Okay, tell me the truth, King," Leaning forward, his tone became serious. "I know for certain you aren't scared."

He searched for your eyes, yet you avoided his gaze.

"Something is troubling you. Is that it?" He cocked his head to the side, fabric falling loosely over his shoulder. "You can tell me, King. I am your superior, you know. You should tell me these things."

"Well... it's j-just—"

You bit your lip, willing the tears to stay in your eyes.

Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.

König watched you, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, vulnerability showing in your eyes. "—This recent mission, it was— it was really, really difficult. And I just..."

König shuffled towards you until your knees were almost touching, watching you intently. As your body trembled, a hand hovered in uncertainty by your shoulder.

Sniffling, you wiped the wetness on your face with your arm, voice breaking.

"I-I just think that I'm not strong. That I'm... weak. Not— not good enough to be working with people that are so much better. So much stronger—"

Your breath hitched in your throat, voice coming out in a broken sob. "—I-I mean— I'm so pathetic. I shouldn't be so... weak. I should — I should be better. Wh-why—"

Tears flowed freely down your face. "—Why can't I be better, König? Why am I so— so useless?"

Without saying anything, König wrapped his strong arms around your body and pulled you against his chest, pulled you close so you could let it all out. For a few moments, he let you cry, ever-so-gently stroking the back of your head, fingers running through your hair. Weeping into his chest, his steady breathing soothed you.

Once you recovered enough from your emotions, you pulled away, downcast. Face red and blotchy with tears, eyes puffy and pink from crying, lips quivering and voice hoarse, you felt so pathetic. So, so pathetic.

"F-fuck, s-si— König—" Trembling. "I'm so so sorry. I'm too emotional, please, I'm sor—"

"Nein." His tone was soft, yet firm. Definitive. "You have nothing to apologise for, King."

Both hands cupped the sides of your face, tentatively tilting your face upwards. His expression was forlorn, and you felt tears brimming in your eyelids again.

"...You're not weak. You're not pathetic. You're not useless. I see you always trying so hard, King, always giving it your all..."

He paused for a few moments, deliberating over how best to put his thoughts into words. "...Maybe... maybe your best isn't the best out of anyone's bests, but it's the effort that counts." He rubbed the back of his neck, then let out a mono-syllabic laugh. "Scheiße, did that make sense? Sorry— I'm not good with words—"

You glanced away. "—Hey," his hand reached to hold to side of your face. "Look at me, King."

"You're not weak, not pathetic, not useless," he repeated, voice wavering.

"You're none of those. You're better than you think you are. Your inner strength," a finger pointed at your chest, "your heart, it's so full of goodness. So full of so many good things that don't define you, but instead changed you for the better."

"Maybe... maybe you aren't the aren't the best, haven't been the best, or never will be the best, but it's not your fault. You try so hard, and the odds... the odds are stacked against you. And, sometimes... sometimes it's okay to not be the best. You don't have to be fearless, the strongest, perfect. You can just be... you."

His eyes were pleading in the dark. "Please don't doubt yourself. You're so— so much better than you imagine."

A shaky breath. "So much stronger than you tell yourself. I can promise you, you are your own person. Other people's successes don't define you."

König turned around to glance at his alarm. 2:36.

When he turned back, your face had slowly regained the colour on your cheeks, eyes sparkled, chest rose and fall at a steady pace. You said nothing, yet König knew you listened to every one of his words.

"Looks like it's too late for you to fall asleep in your own room," he whispered, gently caressing your face. "Stay here with me, King."

Eyes immediately widening in surprise, you were about to protest. "B-but— I couldn't possibly, König—"

That protest died on your lips as König's arms engulfed you again, and brought you down against his mattress so you were laying on his chest. Cocooned like a protective blanket over you, you didn't need him to say anything more. You felt so... safe. Loved.

The storm outside seemed to calm down, and lightning no longer crashed against the window. Rain faltered, and some clouds were separating in the darkness of the sky.

Before you knew it, your eyelids became heavy with drowsiness, feeling a wave of calm wash over you, cleansing away your sorrows.

Just before you fell asleep, you heard König say something in German, barely above a whisper, but you did not understand:

"Schlaf gut Schatz. Ich liebe dich."

...

I don't know who needed to hear that, or if anyone even did, but I stand by the words I wrote. Although you are reading this, and are likely a stranger, and I'll never face you in real life, I want you to know that you *are* good enough. And if it takes a person on the internet using a fictional character to tell you so, then so be it. You are still valid. 🫂

...

Note: i rhink some of the ppl that read my previous fics will be able to tell that i went tryhard mode on this one 💀💀

Its mostly bc im back in school and were going over all the stupid fancy shmancy literative devices and figurstive language (god why cant u call it literallt anything else i swear why does it have ro be so unnecessarily overcomplicated just call it sentence structures or writing techniques istg.man😭)so i unconsciously chanelled all of thise boring technicalities into this 😬

With me writing as a hobby you'd think I'd have the highest grades in English? No💔I wish LMAO

I NOW HAVE 130+ FOLLOWERS!!! Which is unbelievable if u wsk me bc etf why wre eo mwnt people following me i don't deserve this qt ALL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 THANK YOU ALL 🥹🥹🥹🫶🫶🫶💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

I still remember when @puff0o0⭐ began their self-aware au with König and Ghost qnd ive qlways veen cheerint for her from the sidelines ☺️☺️come to find out shes been mentioning ME in THEIR podts and writing on their blofs thwt my CoD blog is good and i.????😭😭😭cant????????😭😭😭😭😭 Literally -99999 damage and an ARROW 🏹 STRAIGHT thru the HEART 💘🥹 I LOVE U B (platonically ofc dw)😽💕💓💓❤️💞💞💕💞💕💞💞💞💕

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭

𝐊𝐨̈𝐧𝐢𝐠 𝐱 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

*𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7700+

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

*𝐀 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨. ☁️😇

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

König was tired.

Very tired.

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

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

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

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

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

And König was tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At last — salvation had come!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hallo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

Yeah… You totally had overlooked that…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked away, overwhelmed by guilt and pity.

“Um…”

Biting your lip in consideration, your eyebrows furrowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ja,” he affirmed. “Lead the way.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are— are you okay?”

“Perfekt. I have needed this.”

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. What day was it?

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

…when he halted in his tracks halfway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh— ah, Gut. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Oh. O-okay...”

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

“...Well, how about some breakfast?”

He blinked. “Breakfast?”

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

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

“Please, take as long as possible.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you. Will be seeing you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mein Gott— this is—”

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

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

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

“Aw, you're so sweet! I'm flattered.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see. Who are they?”

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

“I don't see.”

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

König let out a snort. “Regulars?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am… sleeping in your bedroom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless…

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

“How much did it come out as?

“...£1417.”

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

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

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

“No. That is my payment.”

You couldn't believe in what you were hearing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— o-okay… Thank you…”

“It is my pleasure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Offering him another warm smile, König walked upstairs.

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

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

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

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

…

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

“Guten morgen.”

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

“I… what?”

“Good morning.”

“N-no, I mean— what are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is gross? Sex, or sex with me?”

“I— oh my God…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“König!”

So, why not impress him with your language skills?

“Gracias— fuck! Wait, no… uh—”

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

Why not? For that reason, you learned…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Help, of course.”

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

“Knew what, little one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“OK…”

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

He perked up at this. “OK!”

…

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

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

“...Oh. That is the only reason?”

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

The mug of coffee — with a Union Jack flag and the text “ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴄᴀʟᴍ, ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ᴏɴ ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ 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... 🥵🥵

Nikto x Reader Angst Drabble

You love Nikto. But Nikto does not love anybody.

Word count: 829

Allusions to smut! Readers are warned for mentions of NSFW.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I do not love you."

You're bent over, hands clutching the bedsheets, fingers bunching up the fabric in a shaky, white-knuckle grip.

Nikto, who had been thrusting into you, was still, as still as a statue, and, although you cannot see his eyes, you imagine them to be stony, the expression under the metal mesh plate of a mask stoic, unresponsive. Disgusted.

Five words. Just five single syllables, whispered in a voice that is hoarse from groaning, gravelly and rough like always. A voice which belongs to Nikto, the voice that you had hopelessly fallen in love with, despite how reckless of you it was for you to grow accustomed to it, to be comforted by it. To find solace in it.

You hadn't meant to let it slip. You really hadn't. It was in the heat of the moment, even though those feelings were anything but. Those feelings were a fire, and Nikto the fuel, a finite source that you should have known better than to extract from.

He would be gone for weeks, for nights, months at a time, deployed on missions with intel classified to you. You never knew what would happen, what was the goal, where, and why. What you would know is that Nikto survived each time.

And what you do know is that you're a toy for him to be used, abused, and reused, dumping weeks' worth of semen into you.

You enjoyed it. Nikto enjoyed it. Really, it was meant to be no strings attached — just a case of arriving at your apartment when least expected, the intensity of his gaze enough for you to realise his intentions, and you'd be bent over the nearest surface before you could do so much as blink, clothes discarded haphazardly on the floor and half-naked.

Nikto did not exert warmth. Not comfort, nor love. Stoic and stone-cold, his heart a hard rock incapable of oozing love for anything, his mind irreversibly damaged and traumatised, he was incapable of emotion, of feelings. Incapable of reciprocating your feelings.

Aftercare was nonexistent. Every careful caress of his scarred skin, every tentative touch on an area that is sensitive, even the merest of kisses that appeared too intimate, too affectionate, too full of care, were swatted, spat on, and chastised. Nikto's nose scrunched in utter disgust at the prospect of intimacy, and he positively felt sick to his stomach whenever you mistakenly kissed him, too lost in the moment for the consequences of such a mindless action to register.

You were meant to be a toy. And that's all you are. That's all you are, you repeated, was reiterated, was reinforced.

Yet, you longed for more. How fucking pathetic of you to think that Nikto could offer you more.

"I..."

Licking your dry lips, you swallow the build-up of saliva in your mouth, throat bobbing up and down as you do so. Although drool had collected at the corner of your mouth in pleasure, saliva built up from guilt, from shame, from humiliation.

You lie through the skin of your teeth, thankful that your facial expression isn't visible to Nikto from this position: "I— I-I didn't mean it in... in that way. You— you know that, Nikto."

Tears collect in your eyes. Why couldn't you have contented yourself with the sex? His presence? His existence? Why did you have to fall in love with a man who would never, ever love you?

"I meant— I meant I love what you're doing. W-what you're doing to me. J-just— it feels so, so good."

He grunts in acknowledgement, and you gulp a little too audibly for your liking, blinking profusely in the hope that you convinced him enough.

His callous fingers tangle themselves in your hair, fingertips scratching your scalp — not fingernails, because some are missing. It never warranted an explanation because you didn't deserve one.

The silence is deafening. For those seconds, you don't dare breathe. Your eyes are wide, panic-stricken, and you're mentally praying for any salvation, for any mercy — anything.

Finally, Nikto's grip on your scalp loosens, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and he resumes his thrusts, grunting into your ear again.

A quiet moan escapes your lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears to go away.

"Good," he laughs, laughing a cruel, callous laugh, apathetic. "And I love it when you keep that mouth shut. So keep it shut, or I'll cut that tongue out if you keep letting such shit leave that goddamn mouth."

You feel so pathetic. So ashamed. So humiliated.

And you are. You really are.

But you can savour his touch for a few moments more, lose yourself in the pleasure for a some more thrusts, orgasm some more, until Nikto decides that he is satisfied, and abandons your apartment to return to the barracks.

And who knows? Maybe this is the last time he will ever come back to you — abandon your apartment forever without a word of goodbye.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Haven't written in a while, but this came to me as I was on c.ai, and the inspiration was so strong that I wrote this all in one sitting lolol 😝

Still obsessed w Nikto behind the scenes. I am on my KNEES 🛐, PLEASE GIVE ME MORE NIKTO CONTENT I AM IN NEED 😭🙏😭🙏😭🙏 IDC IF YOU DO NOT FOLLOW ME OR KNOW ME TAG ME IN ANYTHING I NEED IT SO BAD 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

Anyways although this isn't my headcanon, it suits Nikto's character, and as tragic it is for me to imagine this, it's pretty accurate (I would say)... 🥲💔

"You drive me crazy."

Obsessed! Nikto x Reader

Word count: 2472

Nikto's POV! Sporadic uses of "Y/N" — otherwise, reader is referred as "You".

To say that Nikto is obsessed with you would be an understatement 😵‍💫...

Nikto's psychological state gradually deteriorates as you read!

Google Translate Russian lmao 💀,, please forgive any errors! 😟

Edit: Realising that this fic is darker than my usual works. Warning my readers for darker content!

Edit 2: Added the appropriate "dark content" tags. <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

I've lost my mind long ago. We're losing it as we speak. I've lost myself long ago and I have not known what to do with ourselves.

Of course, not all was lost. I was cleared for service. I can approach situations without hesitation or uncertainty — but most importantly, kill methodically.

All I need are targets. Just give me targets. Nothing else matters. Nobody.

But I found you. I found you. And you found us. Although there was nothing to find, you found us.

How? It's a mystery. An enigma. An unsolvable puzzle.

My name is Igor. Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich.

Игорь. Igor. I—gor. Two syllables. Four letters, in English. A not so common name in Russia, according to the statistics: in 1991 — the year of my birth — approximately 37 baby boys born were named as such. In 2021, only 17 baby boys born were named Igor. I would assume the number declines each year — maybe less than a dozen Igors were christened this year. Or a single digit. Nine. Eight. Seven. Or even less than five.

October 13, 1991 was my exact date of birth. I was born in Novgorod, when Russia was still the Soviet Union. I had parents. A sister…

…Yet that means nothing to me.

Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich? That is foreign. That is not anyone that I know of. I am Nikto. I am no one. Nobody to know, yet somebody that I know of. Not this… Igor. I am nobody. Никто.

When the voices are quiet, that's when I can silently mourn the man that I once was.

Though, can you mourn someone whom you don't know? Can you mourn the faceless person in the casket, whose face is unrecognisable? Can you mourn at a funeral that no one attended, and hadn't taken process?

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to repeat it, yes?

I knew it. We knew it. Everyone else knew it.

But you didn't. You. You.

You… remind me of someone.

They're dead now.

They were just a target. Too bad I can't remember who they were.

But you're not. You're more than a target.

You treated me with kindness when everyone avoided me like the bubonic plague. A Black Death following the death of the former Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich and the black, black blackness lingering — a reminder. But not anything that allows us to remember, or reminds us of who we once were.

I don't remember anything. I don't remember anyone. Photographs of my family before the torture are irrelevant. Documents stamping my existence could just as easily make us inexistent. Nobody exists any more aside from Nikto.

A cacophony of voices has infiltrated my brain. Our brain. We will never be me anymore. We are who we are now.

I am a broken man. I hear the voices of many men, who won't let me sleep, won't leave me be, won't give me peace. I was one of those men. Maybe all of the men are me?

But if all of them are me, and I am all of them, then who are we? What are we?

Then again… who I am is nothing. What I are is everything. What we are — crazy.

The pieces of the puzzle aren't fully there. Surely you must have been aware, my treasure?

You were doing your due diligence to arrange the puzzle pieces, so meticulously and with dedication, devoting hours of your time and wishing for the finished product to be cohesive, but you won't find that within us. How unfortunate.

Some of the pieces are missing. Some of them don't even fit. What you're left with is an incomplete picture — one which will never be completed.

No matter. You can be the missing puzzle piece, yes?

My fellow operatives named me Никто — “Nikto”, meaning “Nobody” or “No-one” in Russian — for… what did they say? My “uncanny ability to replicate other people and hide [my] true identity”? Ironic — seeing as replicating an identity is not the same as claiming your own, and being an individual. Having an actual identity, as opposed to being forced to think that being nobody can suffice.

Funny. I was apparently religious before all of this.

Have you heard of Orthodox Christianity? It's a branch of Christianity most often practised in Eastern Europe, in case you weren't aware. Orthodox Christians believe that Jesus redeemed humanity by sacrificing himself through crucifixion — unlike Catholics, who believe that Jesus sacrificing himself through crucifixion was all in an effort to redeem humanity.

Perhaps I was an altar boy in my childhood. Or wore a cross around my neck. Maybe I was devoted, and prayed in the morning, before a meal for grace, in the night, before a mission for mercy, during a mission out of desperation, and after a mission as gratitude.

Such bullshit.

Obviously, God doesn't exist — not in the ethereal, omniscient sense.

Oh no.

The God is You. You are my God.

Just like with Orthodox Christianity, and the salvation of humanity after the sacrifice of Jesus, your presence, your mere existence, was salvation. You brought redemption unto us.

Of course, following my torture, God became an abstract concept. How could the Holy Father abandon me? How could my prayers after the tortue be so wilfully ignored? Why would he actively play a passive role in my damnation, as I'm burned, as I'm beaten, as I'm bruised, abused, cut, and mutilated?

No one was born a sinner. Not even me, this nobody. So what kind of retribution was this — a disfigured face, ruined body, and voices which infiltrated my psyche, words equivalent to the evil of the Antichrist?

But You? You made it worthwhile. Your kindness. Compassion. Charity. It was all worthwhile. Even to gaze at You from afar.

Well.

For the most part.

We have repented for our sins: stealing Your dirty laundry, Your hairbrush, Your t-shirts, and other trinkets which we deem Holy Relics; using Your lip balm without permission, You none the wiser; committing sinful acts in the comfort of your own bedroom, only for You to return, oblivious. We apologise for that nagging paranoia, demanding You to turn around, to catch a glimpse of the eyes staring at You, but You not noticing us when we were camouflaged in the shadows. For stalking You and learning Your schedule. For hacking into all of Your devices and acquiring every little piece of information available from Your digital footprints.

But, You forgive us, yes?

Don't look so horrified, dushka. We left no trace, yes? No evidence. You said You have forgiven all of our transgressions. Think of this as a confession, nothing more. Besides, we never tampered with You belongings. They're all still with us. Just like you will.

You are our oxygen. Without You, we can't breathe. Our lungs suffocate without Your natural scent to fill them, to keep us alive. Our eyes go blind with time without the sight of Your face, Your body. We can't hear anything other than Your voice — our ears tune out any frequencies and wavelengths that don't leave those pretty little lips, yet wage civil war amongst ourselves, spitting curses that cut like knives and pierce like bullets. And Your lips. And Your eyes. And Your eyebrows, hair, hands, neck, God — everything.

You won't abandon us, yes? You wouldn't abandon us, would you, мое сокровище? You are our treasure. I treasure you — all of us do: your pretty little lips, that speak in the softest of tones to us; those eyes that stare in slight fright, yet crinkle in as genuine of a smile as you can manage; those eyebrows that furrow over your bright eyes in the subtlest of frowns, in sorrow or frustration, maybe vexation — and that's just your face. What about your hair? Your hands? Your neck? Your body? What is there not to treasure?

Боже мой, Bozhe moy, my God. Oh God, it's as if an angel has descended and granted us salvation, a merciful deity absolving us of our sins and cleansing our soul. And both the angel and deity are You — working in perfect sync, so benevolent and forgiving, taking pity on a creature so pitiful, so ruined, so unfixable.

We can't remember what some of those was.

Those puzzle pieces, of course.

Zakhaev’s torture stole some of the pieces to the jigsaw, and the puzzle won't ever be solved. We ourselves interrogate, torture, eliminate, kill. Sometimes we dissociate. Other times I am completely in control. Yet all the time, we are committing sins, sins, sins.

And You forgive them. Forgive us.

Every prayer is us praying for you, to you, about you. And each one concludes with your sacred name, whispered in hushed tones as the syllables are too precious to utter out loud.

Poor, poor thing. You probably didn't even know what you were signing up for, did you? You probably intended to be charitable. Sympathetic. And you were, sweet one.

But you were naive to have assumed that we wouldn't become possessive of you like an unwanted stay mutt of its only bone. So innocent — perhaps stupid — but we like to think that you were misguided in your intentions, yet guided by some God.

An ignorant God? If You're the God to worship, then are You an ignorant one? An innocent, naive, and unconditionally loving one? Yet, one that, despite Their obliviousness, can knowingly soothe with a simple string of words? With a caress?

What an oxymoron. It suits You. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aw. Are those tears, dushka? Let's wipe them, hmm? Kiss it better, yes? You will like our lips on you.

Don't scream. Don't hurt those vocal cords. We like the sound of your voice. We want you to talk.

There there, little one. You look beautiful when you cry, but you look most beautiful when you're smiling. Smile, hm? Do it for us. Your Nikto.

You don't have to be afraid, you know. Don't be afraid, krasotka. We love you.

Here, put your hand on our chest. Feel how our heart is beating? It beats only for you.

Our abdomen, our stomach. You feel how toned that is, yes? You feel the muscle?

What about our biceps? The strength in our forearms? They're all for you. We're all yours, yours yours yours.

Our blood looks good on you, dushka. The blood really accentuates your nails. But please, stop. Stop.

You don't have to scratch us, or scream. You know that none of that will change anything. You know that we will love you, even if you tell us you hate us. It's too late.

Get used to touching us, yes? What's left of us, anyways. Yes, our body won't be the most appealing, or the handsomest, but it's all for you. Every inch. All for you — just like how you are all ours.

You're ours, just as much as we belong to you. You could stab us with a knife and we'd smile. You could shoot us with a gun point-blank in the head and we'd thank you. What an honour it would be to live with you by your side, or die by your side. We're a dead man either way. Your dead man. Your Nikto.

You underestimated my capacity for violence. Or were perhaps too naive to understand it.

That's okay. Put your hand on my face. Just like that. See? Nothing to fear. It's just us. Your Nikto.

I can feel it shaking. Why do you shake so much, hm? Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You should know there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were fearless when it came to speaking to me, and weren't afraid to reach out to us. Surely you don't want to abandon us now?

That's too bad. You won't abandon us. We won't let you.

I'm crazy: I don't think I need to repeat it, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy.

I am already crazy yes but it is You who drives me to insanity do You know that? Why do You deny? Do not deny us this yes? Yes You do know that it is You who makes me mad beyond return of course You do You've always known it and You know it now little one You're just pretending feigning ignorance with surprise in Your eyes. Why pretend that it was all a pretense? Your kindness? Your sympathy? Your company? It was not pretense to us no it was everything. Everything we could have hoped for prayed for and lived for.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy, baby.

Craaazyyy. Crazy crazy crazy!

You have made us the craziest we have ever been from the moment we met Your eyes and will be forever driven crazier with Your around from the day You die. And that won't be anytime now, my treasure. We will treasure You, take care of You, keep You safe. You will want for nothing, we can assure You — nothing, nobody, no one. Only Nikto. Nobody will ever look at You, as their eyeballs will be gouged out for having the audacity to spare a glance at the pinnacle of perfection. And nobody will ever want You, nobody will taint that precious skin with unworthy fingers, as anyone who tries will have them broken have their bones crushed to dust their skin muscles and tendons ripped to ribbons until there is no body left.

Nobody will ever look at You. Only Nikto. Us. Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever we will have our eyes on You until our retinas dissolve and our pupils can no longer absorb light and we become blind and crippled, crying, crying crying crying for You, crying only for You. You crying out for us until Your voice is hoarse from moaning, until our name becomes a prayer just as much as Yours is to us.

We love You. Think of nobody. Only Nikto. Only of Nikto. Only for and against Nikto. We will live for You. We do already, do you understand? We're yours. Yours. Yours yours yours yours yours yours to have yours to hit yours to scratch with those nails yours to scream at yours yours yours yours yours. Yours. Yours! Yours!

Yours!

Y/N.

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it. You should have known it.

And if you didn't know it, then You will know it.

Because You drive me crazy.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/Ns

Really really really Really REALLY had doubts about posting this and thought that no one would like it. I felt inspired and happy and proud of myself when I was almost finished but it took me days to conclude the work since I was second-guessing whether or not I should post this after all. Kind of embarrassed, in all honesty, but I decided to post it in the end since I quite like it. :'>

I just wanted to highlight your, @//connorsui, lovely, lovely words when you reblogged my last Nikto post 😭😭😭💘💘💘. To receive not only some compliments, but your thoughts on my headcanons AND analysis *AND* your evaluation of my post was so, SO heartwarming to wake up to in the morning 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓, especially when it was so long!!! Like, what?!! 😢😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😿😿😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you so so so SO much for your positive feedback !!! I've read it over four times by now. O really appreciated and still appreciate it. ☺️💞🫶💖✨✨💕💕

(I also want to kiss Nikto's scarred face ☹️☹️☹️ just wordless acts of intimacy where words aren't necessary and just to show the man some affection, regardless of how he looks 😟💝 need that ugly traumatised Russian man SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Inspiration for this gained from:

thisvvv song!!! and Chapter 7 in Metro 2035 lol,, when Artyom was drunk and disorientated I thought it was written really REALLY well and I wanted to incorporate his meaningless drivel into this.

Nikto's voicelines and his various voices/sporadic changes in character

the Fandom Wiki

my own headcanons lol 😋

From fluff this whatever the fuck this is!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed 💗💗

God... I absolutely adore this fanfiction. My words won't do it justice. Please, please, PLEASE read it!!!!!!!!!!! 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 💞💓💞💓💞💜💜💝💜💞💕🛐🛐🛐

OP this BEGINNING??? HELLO??? I knew as soon as I finished the first paragraph that this work would be a masterpiece. 🥹💖

Calling Nikto's alters "demons" which are "neatly packaged inside of a human body" as if it's convenient for something so supposedly monstrous to take human form is AN AMAZING METAPHOR OMG because it suggests that Nikto became possessed — he is a Nobody because his soul was stolen by Zakhaev, and is No-one as the alters wage war amongst themselves. But it's clear that despite the voices which terrorise and haunt him, he has retained some self-awareness and humanity, since he is able to recognise that although his voices are uncontrollable, he's still the one in control, and can resist them. For Reader's sake.

And MAAAN LET ME TELL YOU AAAHEUHDSAAAAAHDJDSAAAASBDHSBSAASAAAADHHDSJAJSJSJDHDHDHDJSJAISNEISNSHSHDHDHDHDIDJDIDJSKAOSKDKD

That's it. That's what I'm telling you. 😊💞

NAH BUT HOLY FUCKING SHIT NOT EVEN ¼ IN AND THIS IS MAGNIFICENT!!! A MASTERPIECE!!! A WORK OF ART!!! A BLESSING TO THE EYES!!! AND IT ONLY KEEPS GETTING BETTER??? 1?1?@??#???😭😭😭💞💞💞💞💞

LIKE, THE PARAGRAPH WHERE READER IS "CHATTING" TO NIKTO AND IT EVENTUALLY CONCLUDES WITH A RUSHED, EMBARRASSED GOODBYE? THE EXTENDED METAPHOR FOR DEMONS AND CERBERUS?? READER'S INITIAL OBLIVIOUSNESS???

And then the abrupt POV change. I was eating Nikto's perspective UP!!!!!

"Wants you for himself, to himself. None of this we."

"None of this sharing. They didn't want to share, so why should he."

"But which Nikto? Which we?"

+ This entire paragraph had me like:

NIKTO GENUINELY UNDERSTANDS THAT HE IS NO GOOD TO READER AND HE DISTANCES HIMSELF FOR THEIR SAKE. IT'S SUCH A CLASSIC TROPE OF "I'M STAYING AWAY TO KEEP YOU SAFE" BUT IT WORKS SO SO SO WELL HERE!!!

AND THE IMPLIED CONTRAST BETWEEN READER AS THIS BEAUTIFUL ANGELIC BEING VS. NIKTO AND HIS DEMONS OMFGFHDHSJDHDDFSJS IM GONMA GO FWRAL 😭😭😭

"Because he wants you. And he's going to have you. And they all agree, and for the first time, everything feels like it's in unison."

I ASCENDED AND WENT TO HEAVEN

Everything about this is just so poetic: Nikto's violence and how both cathartic and euphoric it is; "Ghost becoming a ghost", and becoming the no-one that Nikto had become — with the exception of having no body, which has become mutilated in Nikto's hot white rage; Nikto taking Ghost's mask to wound the TF141 for daring to capture Reader and abuse them in such a way, which is a heinous crime in Nikto's eyes.

"[Nikto] stuffs the cracked skull mask into his pocket, an insult to the rest of the other man's comrades more than keeping a war trophy..." AND IT IS!!! AND THIS ENTIRE SCENE IS HORRIFIC. HORRIFIC. SIMON RILEY HAS SUFFERED, AND GHOST HAS SUFFERED TWICE AS MUCH, UNTIL HE WAS BRUTALLY MURDERED BY NIKTO HERE. I CAN EMPHASISE WITH TF141 BECAUSE THEY WOULD BE DEVASTATED. COMPLETELY DEVASTATED. 😭😭😭💔💔💔

...Yet from Nikto's POV, Ghost's brutal murder is justifiable??? It's horrific, but to Nikto, it's so euphoric, so satisfying, that as the reader, you almost feel that same sick sense of satisfaction to rip and tear Ghost to pieces.

Again, this is horrific. But I LOVE IT. I LOVE YOUR DEPICTION OF IT.

"And when he finally slides home, they slide into you, too. They slam their hips into you greedily, and you welcome it all."

"One and the same. Nikto. A saint, his halo casting crowns around him when the sunlight filters through the crooked blinds, highlighting the crooked nose and smile and the beauty of him all, inside and out. You wish he could go on forever."

"And when he finally slides home" I CAN'T MAN OP THIS IS TOO MUCH 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

PLEASW THE CYCLICAL STRUCTURE ONLY INSTEAD OF REFERRING TO NIKTO AS POSSESSED BY RELENTLESS DEMONS AND MONSTER HE IS READER'S SAVIOUR AND AN ANGEL AND I JUST AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL THIS IS ABSOLUTELY THE PINNACLE OF BEAUTY THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTRIBUTION BECAUSE IT IS LIKE A BLESSING FROM THE HEAVENS 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐💜💜💜💜💜💓💓💓💓💓💝💝💝💝💝💞💓💞💓💓💓💓💓💓💕💕💞💞💞💞💞💓💞💓💞💓💕💓💕💕💕💓💓💓💓💓💜💕💜💕💝💓💝💕💕💞💕💜💓💜💓💜💕💜💕💞💞💕💝💕💝💕💕💞💕💝💕💝💕💞💞🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐

все: Nikto x Female Reader

They want you. Would you want them as much as him?

TW// minors dni, sexual content, violence/combat gore, crass language, Nikto's acute dissociative disorder, female reader being delulu, "female reader gets injured and Nikto snaps" trope, RIP Ghost my dude got killed here

oOo

They say KorTac keeps a live demon in its cage.

Well, multiple demons. Live ones. But they're all packaged neatly inside a physical body that apparently belongs to a human male. Its name, his name, is Nikto.

Nobody. Must just be his callsign, albeit an interesting one, because how can someone be called a nobody, to be okay with being considered a nobody. Your mama's not really keen on you being in some private militia, but you grew up with her putting stickers on your chore chart and telling you that she loved you, that you mattered, to make sure you ate three meals a day and went to bed on time. Daddy helped you move into your dorm, fixed your car, did dad-daughter hangout sessions. You had your friends, your pets. With how fucked up everyone was in KorTac, you're still sure that through all of the psychological messes and broken bones, they still had people, things, that they cared about, and were cared for in turn. Even the unbearable Konig is called Kilgore by Horangi, Zeus is ever the gentleman with everyone, and grumpy Mr. Oz is rubbing off on you.

But the demon seems to be okay with it. A nobody. But also a host to an open maw to hell, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake, with each of its faces chittering in hunger and fascination at their carnage. Many stay away as the default option. Dokkaebi says not to bother him. But your worst and best trait is your unending curiosity, and that childlike need to understand the good in everyone, so maybe that's why you ended up as a medic, and a damned good one at that. Even carried colorful animal bandages and candy to cheer someone up. Cerberus was a three-headed demon, but it was still three cute dogs, at the end of the day, right?

And that's why you do the exact opposite. You jog up to him the times he's spotted on base. Ask him how was dinner? Introduce yourself, blab about why you joined and your favorite ice cream flavors, the weather, and if he had a good day today. Did you know that Phillip Graves can't even microwave leftover pizza and got the hot explosion all over Darnell, and how boring it was sometimes when you weren't aligned to a squad? That you liked his flight suit and his helmet and heywhereareyougoingohuhhaveaniceday!

Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, because you were a sucker for love. A real sucker, a loser, falling for a man who looked at you through the slits of his mask as if you were a bug at the bottom of his shoe. Real smart of you. Couldn't heed any of the warnings about how the horde of demons in the fleshsuit wanted to be left alone, that they conversed with themselves only, and would rip and tear if anyone got too close. Eat away at your soft flesh and your bright eyes and your unnerving habit to smile and wave each time. That you became the hound, as if you wanted to be Cerberus' fourth head. Couldn't go anywhere without making sure you saw him at least once, begging for a glance back. Out here picking at petals like doeshelovemehedoesn'tlovemedoeshelovemehedoesn'tlovemeohhelovesmehelovesmetooforsure!!!; mad delusional just because you keep a notepad decorated with motivational sayings, and Nikto never swatted you away when you trailed behind on his heels.

You're weird; a freak. But you're happy. You hope maybe he he likes you, too, somewhat. Time passes, and he spares you five more minutes to swing your feet around at the latest gossip. Tucks one of your lollipops in his pocket, even. Strides past you into the helo, still, when he's signed to a new deal, but it's a work in progress.

Maybe?

You hope he never finds the framed picture of you smiling and Mr. Friendly photoshopped in next to you.

Hey, a girl can dream.

oOo

They like you.

We want her. We wantherwewanther.

And that was the issue.

Bring her to us. Yes, bring her. Bring her and don't let her out.

They don't want to let you out. And the bigger issue is, he doesn't want to let you out. They want you to themselves, but the Nikto that he considers to be his true self, wants you first. Wants you more. Wants you all to himself, with no crumbs left to spare, like a greedy child hiding his gift in the dirt. All for himself, because since the incident, when the fuck did he have his own mind for himself, haunted by all of him or the fractured bits of him that took on their own compartments in his head. They hunger, just like him, feel pain, fester, kill like him, speak like him, tell him he's diseased but not; some laugh, some cower, some want blood and flesh and bone, and some want to help. They laugh, and he laughs; they don't laugh, he laughs, and when he can't muster a bark, they laugh and scamper around his skull like echoes offering sinister judgement. But all the same, they remain trapped with him in this body, and sometimes, he realizes that it's just him, but when dawn comes, it's back to thousands of souls tearing at him to go hunt.

Killkillkillkillkillwehunger.

She looked lovely today, and you didn't tell her hello, you coward. Don't mess this up.

We need to sleep. We are tired.

Wants you for himself, to himself. None of this we. None of this sharing. They didn't want to share, so why should he. But which Nikto? Which we? Garbled, confused, hungry, fevered; don't ever let you catch him slip a candid picture of you out of his wallet before he goes to kill, to look upon it and let his eyes droop and his body soften. They dance in his mind; they croon at your face and form enclosed in laminate, because he didn't want the photo to ever be marred, as if a single fleck of dirt would render you dirty. The softness of your neatly tucked hair; the uniform did your body no justice, each curve and dip he soldered into his, no, their, memories; the face that invariably was ready to sport a cheeky smile. Different than them. A misfit. Beautiful.

Not like him. Not like them. We. Greedy, selfish, scarred, ugly inside and out. His mind was fractured, but the electricity and the taunting actions of man marring his flesh both didn't detract from his sins before and after.

He wanted you, and that was why he couldn't have you. Couldn't let them have you. Because once he gave in, once he let the floodgates open, to unleash ever single facet upon your form, you'd hate him. Really hate him, so he had to hate you first. Pushed you away starting from that day; no more animal bandages and your sweet candies. No more listening to your voice that he'd spill blood for to hear for a second. No more cheery hellos. The curve of your lips that beckoned him to give it all up, to grab your hand and run off together like some delusional fairy tale his babushka used to read him. Hurt eyes, downtrodden, kicking him in the gut. He ground hard at his teeth, enough to draw blood, at your muted stare that'd cast away from him. It was better this way. Better. But for who? No, it had to be better for you. You had to get away from him.

You had to get away from them.

But things don't work out the way they do. They don't, because he's the stupid one. An utter idiot, because he couldn't see how bleak the sky was with him ignoring you. How your ice cream didn't taste the same, and no amount of faking it was going to diminish how you didn't care anymore and started taking on riskier missions. Just like him, but he deemed that he could handle it, and you weren't the type to intentionally draw blood. But you took the risk, an absolute suicide of a mission, where the 141 was definitely on the prowl to lock down a rogue operation. Where they operated behind a two-faced mask of Western propriety, and there was no true capture-or-kill. Only kill once they captured, after they tortured the mind and body beyond repair to get broken bits of information. And they got their hands on you. Trapped you like a rabbit in a snare, and once he, once they, heard the last of your sharp warning to get the others out of there, selfless as usual, he lost it.

THEYHAVEHERTHEYGOTHERWEMUSTGOWEMUSTGOFASTERWEMUSTGETHER!!!!!

Blood pumping, eyes red, he swiftly dispatches his current missive and hightails it to you. Fool. He promised to ignore you, to treat you as if you never existed, but he just couldn't help but tap into the comm lines for every one of your missions. Couldn't stay away physically, so he soothes himself with your voice. Soothes them. Voice like honey, music to his ears. But they took you. And the music barked out sharp orders to stay away from those coordinates, to run and not come back for you, that you wouldn't talk. He doesn't listen, and he guns it with a stolen helo, to give in to the voices.

Because he wants you. And he's going to have you. And they all agree, and for the first time, everything feels like it's in unison. Tearing through each of the operatives like butter. The harsh bite of bullets shoot his nerves afire, and he grins, an utter madman, as he spills blood everywhere in his wake. Rushing closer and closer. Death, euphoria. And when he bursts in the final door, when he sees you broken and bloody, an arm bent at an odd angle, and your face kissing the concrete floor, he gives in again.

NO ONE MESSES WITH OUR FRIENDS AND OUR LIVES.

The crunch and bite of bone. Eyes just lovely to be gouged out. He bites out chunks of flesh off of the man rendering you near death. and it feels amazing; he feels as if he's rising to sainthood tearing the skull balaclava off of the head, doing the man a favor. Ghost becoming a ghost, taking on his name, a nobody. Ripping and tearing, flesh torn and bloody until he tramples the beating heart until he hears the sick crack of the ribs shooting into flesh. Glorious.

The voices jeer. Moremoremore. But he sees you, eyes wide, unmoving, mouth open, an unfortunate witness to the lengths of his depravity, and he moves. Stuffs the cracked skull mask into his pocket, an insult to the rest of the other man's comrades more than keeping a war trophy, and he lifts you up as if you weighed nothing and left a second wake of carnage behind to get you into the helo.

And once he had you. And once you were safe and tucked into one of his safehouses. And once he had you, not doing the right thing in taking you back to base, but keeping you. Away from others. Away, away, away from the rest of the world. Just you and him. Him and you, and the voices. Bits of him that were him. And once he had you, cleaned and bandaged, muttering softly as he set your arm back into place, you had him. You had him, hook, line, and sinker with one look, one call of his name, a hand reaching for him, to not ever leave you. A thank you hushed out from those lips, to come back.

You had better had no regrets. Because he gives in, not to the voices, but to you, his greed, to expose his ugliness. Tears off his mask without a word and slants his lips over yours. And you relish it. Kick off the covers and open the junction of your legs to welcome him in between them. Scars and all, ridges dancing along his face and body, criss-crossing down into the apex of his thighs. He's beautiful, and you preen yourself, as if two hands roughly shoving down your hair will do much, to better whatever presentation you had. He deserves better than this. What a beautiful man, and the scars only highlight the areas that you want to touch the most. Lips worshipping down the expanse of his throat, and you praise him. Hands wander. Up and down, round and around, mimicking the way you grind against him with wild abandon.

NiktoNikto. Oh, Nikto. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouloveyou-

Please let him know. Let them know. And you know about them, accept them in the way they are him, live in him, gnaw at his bones, because they make up the man that lingers after the remnants of your smile. Reveres you in silence, when he thinks that you're not looking. Couldn't throw or use any of the cat bandages or bear to taste the sweetness of the candies. So he hungrily devours the taste of your mouth endlessly, massaging the softness of your breasts, groaning when you paw at the zipper of his suit. Begging. Whispering the things you think of him, would do to him, if you would let him, everywhere in and out of his ears, playing with the broad expanse of his back as he flexes off his clothing. And off with yours quickly. Bodies meshing, touching, tasting, wanting. Devouring your breasts, pressed into the junction of your neck. Kissing down your stomach, and you keen when he latches onto your clit. Opening up your pussy. Your injuries feel like nothing when he decides to feast and feast and feast. Drinking from you as if he was afraid that this would be the last.

And when he finally slides home, they slide into you, too. They slam their hips into you greedily, and you welcome it all. Equally as hungry, as ravenous, embracing him and them in entirety. One and the same. Nikto. A saint, his halo casting crowns around him when the sunlight filters through the crooked blinds, highlighting the crooked nose and smile and the beauty of him all, inside and out. You wish he could go on forever. You wish you could kiss him forever, love him forever, love them over and over until one last stutter of his hips, and you both lose yourselves in each other.

oOo

They say a person in KorTac keeps a demon in her cage.

Training for Two

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: Simon's desperate to find Riley a pet sitter after she suffers an injury in the field and can no longer work alongside him. Despite being desperate, he's also picky. He wants someone professional, organized, and perfect for the position. You show up for an interview - and while you may not be his idea of the perfect candidate, you're the perfect fit for what Riley needs. Unfortunately for Simon, you flip his world upside-down and melt his icy walls of stubbornness and anger, making him crave you like the heat of the sun. The worst part? You don't even know it.

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, brief mentions of animal injury (not detailed), pining, angst, possessiveness, jealousy, slow burn (?), cheating, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex

Chapter 1. Interview

Chapter 2. Rules

Chapter 3. New Trails

Chapter 4. New Tricks

Chapter 5. Back to Square One

Chapter 6. Pup Cup

Taglist is CLOSED - thank you to everyone who requested to be tagged in this story!