Omg In Love With Impressive Yet Unimpressed! Any Chance For A Continuation Where König Deals With The

Question 🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️

Tulips or Roses?

John Price x reader

In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you. Word Count: 3.6k -> blurb - rose meets tulips

Being a civilian to a soldier was hard enough.

And it was even harder when your husband was a commander for one of the most skillful task force. So it wasn't unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.

So on a random Friday evening, anticipating his arrival in the coming week, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows, you found yourself at the door of John's study, with was decorated with a glass name plate, with the words 'Study' accompanied with a painted heart created from blue and pink fingerprints from you and your husband.

John was never the man to tell you off if you entered his study, instead he encouraged it. He's beckoned you to bring him his evening tea to him, to give him a massage, sometimes when you wanted him, he'd allow you to help him under the desk, if you get what I mean. (speaking from experience ;>)

As you stepped into his room, you noticed the ceilings adorned with sizable white cobwebs, cringing at the apparent neglect of his study. When was the last time someone had even been here?

Sweeping his desk, wiping away the dust, you find a box underneath beside his chair, which prompted you to lifting it up and placing on top of the desk. Man, you underestimated it's weight. You struggled to lift a small but heavy moving box, and it caused a few books and papers to fall out.

You cursed at your clumsiness, picking up the loose sheets, until you fingers caught the spine of a red vintage-like book, which had the word 'diary' written on the front. You didn't take too much notice, skimming through the pages until you caught your name being mentioned a phew times.

You giggle, it's a diary probably with John confessing his love to you numerous time! You know you probably shouldn't look through it, I mean privacy exists, but you just can't help it.

So you look through some of the infrequent entries, the oldest dating back to 10 years back, and the most recent one being nearly 4 years, when you and John had first met.

30th February 2010

Suffering in Afghanistan, the lads and I are stuck in the safe house for a week now. Rose is here too, I should ask her if she's okay.

Ahhh you remember this story. When the Task Force was stuck in the city of Kandahar, in the safe house. You also remember John's team, whom you are well-acquainted with, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Rose?

You skip through the boring entries, most of which are just John documenting his work-out plan and the places him and his team had visited.

5th July 2016

Gaz's going on and on about his lass. Someone tell him to talk to her at least, he doesn't even know her name! I keep bringing it up but he keeps mentioning when I'll talk to Rose.

You chuckled, assuming the chick was Gaz's current wife. But the last part caught your attention, Rose again? You remember John telling you that she'd retired, went back north to settle with her family now, so you don't think much of it, I mean they are team mates.

19th June 2017

Saw a cute kid and her mama, wishing I had kids, without this lifestyle. Rose wants a son but I don't particularly mind. Soap overheard our conversation and spammed me lols on Whatsapp, but I thought lol meant little old lady? I am a man though.

You raise your eyebrow at another mention of Rose, why doesn't he care if Rose wanted a son? You didn't realise how close your husband was to her.

2nd December 2018

Christmas this month with my boys. Rose invited me over for a smoke. Ghost rolls his eyes when I mentioned it to him, says I need to man up and make a move.

You squinted your eyes, rereading the entry, and hesitantly skipping to the next one.

7th April 2019

Drinks with my men (and Rose haha, she doesn't like being part of the men). It's her birthday and she wants to tell us something. She's got her red lips again. I'm excited, Soap kept nudging me the entire ride, that cheeky bugger.

Then immediately below it, an update: She's seeing someone.

You're slowly piecing the puzzle, though you don't want to assume anything.

21st August 2019

She came into my room crying, seems like it's not going well, good for me. I hope she's okay and she realises there's better fish in the sea. She hugged me, she smells like roses, I love floral scents. I tried leaning in, she says I'm like an older brother to her.

Your heart breaks a bit, sniffing at your freshly washed hair, which smelt like ... like roses.

You thought floral scents were YOUR thing.

You continued, to the next entry which was marked the date you remember meeting John for the first time at the pub. You force a smile, hoping the entry would lighten your mood.

30th November 2020

In the pub and bored. Rose brought her lad... they're back together. What does she see in him? Soap urges me to find someone else but my heart is set on someone, for a long time. Won't change. He keeps gesturing to a girl on the other end of the counter, she's pretty, but like a tulip. Not like a rose. Not like my Rose.

You grip at the notebook and you try your hardest not to rip the papers out of the book and set his entire study on fire.

You remember this day, when you were dragged to the pub by your friends after being dumped by your ex for another girl. You sat at one end of the counter, with tears in your eyes but one look at that buff Englishman on the other end and your mood flipped instantaneously, 180 degrees.

"Kelsey, look at that guy, Mr Army over there." You beckon towards John's direction, to your friend., slightly tipsy after a peg of beer.

Your friend looks at you with a raised eyebrow, then turns to the guy whose piqued your interest, "You should go for it." She encourages you.

So you get yourself 2 drinks and approach the guy, more confident that usual due to your alcoholic state. A beer would do.

"Hi, this seat empty?" You smile at him innocently.

All this time you had recalled a look of fondness towards you, when he'd first locked eyes with you. You remember bragging about how it had been love at first sight for the both of you, but thinking back, a feeling of doubt starts bubbling inside you.

"It's reserve- you know what. Take a seat."

You remember sitting next to him, passing him a drink, and telling him your name, "...and you are?" you question, although you see him wincing. At first you thought it was just an army thing, so guarded that even the slightest of movements would make him twitch.

But now you're questioning whether he really wanted to engage into a conversation with you.

The following hours, as you painfully recall, was filled with you talking about yourself and occasionally asking him after his life, though he gives you one word answers and frequent nods.

But that was just because he'd just come home from a mission right?

"...and he just broke up with me out of the blue! Like was my 12,000 followers on TikTok not good enough for you?" You chuckle, attempting to crack a joke. He smiles confused, and you note he's probably too old to understand what TikTok was.

"Sounds like an asshole, love." He replies.

"Hmm, he was...I- I just don't know what he'd leave me for her...like I gave you my everything, I was always with you through thick and thin and what, that wasn't enough for you?" You trail off, the effects of the 2nd beer hitting you.

"I understand dove, you just give 'em everything and they just find someone else. What does he have that I don't?" He spaces out, his eyes falling on his teammates sitting at a different table. You follow his gaze, smiling slightly when you lock eyes with one of his smirking subordinates, whom you know know as Soap.

"Those people, they're your team?" You question.

His eyes aren't on you though as he responds, "That mohawk, that's Soap, Ghost next to him, tough as steel but soft at heart, Gaz on the opposite, funny lad, Roach, good ol' Roach..."

You look at the woman to the right of 'Roach', taking in her beauty. Though she's sitting down, you can tell she's taller that you by least 4 inches, with a blonde pixie haircut and painted with a dark smokey eye. A deep smirk is plastered onto her plump ruby red lips as she looks at John Price finally talking to a woman that isn't her. She raises a hand, waving to the both of you, which is almost instantaneously reciprocated by John.

"And her?" You ask, head nudging towards the woman.

"Her...That's Rose. You should meet her, you would like her, but who doesn't..." His chuckle fades out and you at how his attention was fully directed to her. A sinking feeling told you that you should have backed off from the married man, but it disappeared when John pointed out her partner, with gritted teeth.

Your hands are gripping the pages at this point, as you recall memories from the diary from his point of view.

You turn the page to the next entry, dreading the words.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub, I'm once again unfamiliar with the lingo, I'm not Simon?? She's nice but, not sure I see anything further than a friendship. Gaz and him are picking out an outfit for me, she wants to meet up for bowling apparently. I just want to be with Rose...

Clenching your fist, you shut the diary and toss it aside, feeling all kinds of emotions. Upset that John had never truly looked at you the way you'd looked at him. The way he never wanted you, like you wanted him.

Every time you'd seen him online on Whatsapp, but still hadn't opened your messages, he was ghosting you? Sure after a while of being friends, his behaviour gradually changed, accompanied with rapid texts, but you felt like this relationship was built on lies.

Did he even want to go bowling with you that day? Did you win because he purposely let you, because he was bored and wanted to go home, be with Rose instead? When he asked you to be his girlfriend, did he ask you with Rose in mind?

The ding of the oven stopped your trail of thoughts, so many questions swirling around your head. You walk out of the study, slamming the door behind you, the combined mess of dust and cobwebs remaining untouched.

The glass name plate falls to the ground, the edge shattering, with shards of clear glass laying dangerously on the wooden floor.

A couple of hours go by and the doorknob rattles at 8:45 P.M. on the dot. John was never late when he had to come home to you.

He reaches base at 7:30, drives exacting an hour to your shared home, after making a quick pit stop at the florists within 10 minutes to give you a freshly scented bouquet of red roses.

Roses. So that's why he'd give them you every time...

He makes sure to leave him 5 minutes of spare time, which was designated to flipping open a small metal notebook you'd gifted him, and writing his thoughts down. And once those 5 minutes were up, he places the notepad back into his jacket pocket and practically runs towards the front door.

"Dove, I'm home!" He exclaimed, gently placing his belonging on the floor, before walking into the living floor, where you sat on the sofa with your legs and arms crossed. (MY BITCH POSE IS NASTY)

"Sweetheart, you didn't run up to me at the door, you alright love?" He sits next to you, his calloused and freshly bruised arms rubbing your knee.

The silence was deafening and you couldn't find it in yourself to look at him after all you've read.

He takes it as a cue to continue, "I got you some roses, baby. Your favourite-"

"When did I say they were my favourite?"

John blinks at the interruption, "I mean, you don't like them? It's tradition to bring the same red roses for you every time I'm back..."

"And when did I say I liked them? Are they my favourite? Or are they her favourite?" You shift towards him, anger evident in your voice.

"Her? Who? Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I mean, come on man, you like floral shit that much that now you're making me wear it?"

"You...don't like floral scents? Did you want tulips instead, baby?"

Your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance by his confusion.

"It doesn't matter if I wanted tulips, John, it's the fact that YOU like roses. In fact you've like Roses this entire time! Don't act like you like tulips 'cos you don't- to be honest I don't think you ever have!" You rant, handing running through your hair.

"I mean I like both honey, roses are just, um, prettier?" He sounds like he's asking you rather than telling you.

"Of course roses are prettier to you- that's all that you're fucking used to you. It's always roses, roses, roses. You're so obsessed with fucking roses, you never gave tulips a bloody chance!"

"Are we still talking about flowers-"

"And when you do give tulips a chance, you're still thinking about roses- how red they are, how pretty they are, how they need to be watered every 5 fucking minutes, even then there's already someone to water those damn. Red. Roses."

"I- I mean I like tulips too, baby-"

"No. You don't. No, you don't. Tulips are just the safest options for you, cos someone already plucked out those fucking roses. Cos roses don't want you."

You're standing up now, and John's attempts to speak are futile with every sentence you shout.

"No. In fact, roses has never wanted you, roses look better with someone else, and ol' poor John has no more roses, so he goes and waters some unwanted tulips instead!"

John stands up, towering over your shaking frame, his hands come up to stroke your biceps, but he's pushed away.

"I mean, did John ever even like tulips? Or was he faking it cos he never got roses? Was tulips just the safe option? Does John still want roses after all the years tulips have been there for him?"

You left out a pained cry, you didn't even notice the tears leaking out of your eyes.

"Does John even like tulips? Does John even love tulips?"

His hands wipe your tears away, and he brings you into his chest, and you don't attempt to push him away this time.

"Does you even love me, John?" You break down into his arms, letting him carrying you into the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed, while you hiccup through your uneven sobs. He smells the stench of wine through your shaking breath, whilst stroking your hair, and you slowly fall into a deep slumber with your head pressed against his still uniform-clad chest.

The clock hits midnight and John gets up, trying not to wake you up, grabbing his sweats from the drawer and walking to the bathroom across the hall, in order to not wake you up, from what looked like a well-needed rest.

As he trudges out of the bedroom and through the corridor, the reflection of the broken glass catches his eyes and he squints in the darkness, squatting down to pick a small shard. As he lifts the remains of the nameplate, hooking it back to the door, he steps over the mess into the study to retrieve a dust pan and brush.

Flicking the lights on, he's met with what looks like a scene from the reality TV show - Hoarders. So starts cleaning quickly, picking up the duster and bunching up the paperwork from the floor, the pot of pens that had seemed to be knocked down, the diary he'd used to write in...hold on-

Picking up the diary, John flicks through the entries, the book naturally opening to the last open slide.

He begins reading the last entry.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub....

"Oh...my tulip, I've never loved roses as much as I loved you." He mumbles to himself, whilst simultaneously cringing at his previously written words, immediately throwing the book back on the floor.

It's past breakfast when you wake up, throat and eyes painfully dry from last night's crying session, forcing yourself to drag yourself to the bathroom. You've forgotten that John had come home last night, as your met with a familiar empty bed.

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs, being face to face with the naked back of Captain John Price.

The smell of chocolate pancakes waft towards your nose, as you look around the kitchen, the room garnished with a variety of different flowered bouquets, with so many variations of plants.

Bundles of dahlias and lotuses, orchids and lilies, carnations and irises, roses and tulips.

John turns to your footsteps, smiling at his perfect woman.

"Baby, good mornin'" He greets you, placing a single rose into your hair, and pecking your forehead warmly.

"John, listen about last night-"

"It was the old diary, wasn't it?" he asks.

You nod, ashamed for your abrupt behaviour yesterday. John lifts your chin up, resting his forehead against yours.

"Rose never taught me how to love like you did."

"John, you don-" His pointer finger is pressed against your lips.

"Reading those words from the past, I can see how it may have painted a different picture of my feelings. But let me assure you, my love, that you are the one I adore with all my heart."

Your stroke his face, heart warming to his words.

"Every rose I brought home was a symbol of my love for you, not because it was her favorite, but because it reminded me of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. And those tulips, they represent the new beginnings and the fresh start that we share together.

My love for you is unwavering and unconditional. You are my tulip, my true love, and I vow to cherish and adore you for all eternity. Please forgive me for any pain or doubt my past words may have caused."

"John..."

He hands you his notepad from from his back pocket, beckoning you to open it.

You look at the first entry.

19th February 2021

I mentioned how I journal sometimes to her, and she bought me a new notepad, it's cute how she calls it a diary. Things are looking good. Bowling's our thing, I let her win because seeing her smile means I've won too. I'm asking her out tonight, Soap cried real tears when I told him.

You turn the page.

20th July 2021

Our 6 month anniversary. Took her to a field of roses and tulips, though nothing compares to her beauty.

The next one.

17th September 2021

I seldom think of Rose, I have my tulip on my mind now. Rose retired, and the team celebrated last night. She hugged me and thanked me for being a good captain. She also acknowledged my previous feelings for her. Man that was uncomfortable, but I reassured her I'm with my tulip now. I love my tulip.

I've always preferred tulips anyway.

And the next.

5th July 2022

Our 500 day anniversary. I want to propose.

17th September 2022

She said yes!! She may be my fiance, but I've already started calling her my wife, not legally yet at least...illegally?

28rd December 2023

We married 30th November. The day we met. Xmas was amazing, I can't see myself with anyone but her. I'm getting deployed tomorrow though.

You look at the most recent entry, dated last night.

16th February 2024

Missed the valentines day with my missus. Hope these roses are enough, though I wanted to get something better. Tulips for my tulip. They ran out haha. Missed my girl, missed her like I've never missed someone before. Soap's right, deployment suck.

Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain or doubt this time, but from overwhelming joy and love for the man standing before you.

"I'm sorry, John," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to doubt your love."

He smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, pulling you into a warm embrace. "No need for apologies, my tulip. Thank you for teaching me how to love."

And in that moment, amidst the scent of chocolate pancakes and fresh flowers, it felt like you love story was just beginning, filled with trust, forgiveness, and a deep, unwavering love for each other.

That should not have taken me 2 days to complete what in the world. Also if i was tulip, that old diary is going straight into a fire! Barbecue anyone? <3 Quick Notes: I head-cannoned Rose to look like Sergeant Calhoun from Fix-it-Felix lolololol woman crush fr i get u john boy I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

Just a memory [Simon 'Ghost' Riley]

You are reading: [Part 1] Read [Part 2] here! Word Count: 1.4k You viewed Simon as your friend, but clearly he didn't feel the same.

Being friends with Simon was not something you'd expected to happen, even though you'd known him since secondary school. You recall a young boy entering the classroom, your teacher introducing the new kid from Manchester as Simon Riley. The small chain of snickers erupts from the classroom, you weren't able to tell why then, only learning after that he was teased and picked on due to his ragged appearance, mainly the dark eye bags and the bruising plastered on his arms. But that didn't stop you.

You found your edging towards his presence, talking to him in between classes, sitting on his table and admiring him from afar, but your attempts to befriend him were futile. He just never reciprocated it.

You never shared the same classes, to your dismay. Though you were in the same year group, you were distinctly cleverer than him, that was a fact, excelling in your A-Level subjects, considering your high ambitions of applying to the best universities in the UK. Simon, on the other hand, always found himself at the centre of trouble, getting detention after detention for insignificant reasons such as failing to get his planner signed by his parents, or talking back to teachers, even when they had asked him questions.

Once you finished your after-school extra classes, only for students that had been handpicked from the year group, you'd purposely walk the longer route through the now empty school just to look through the doors of the detention room, to see Simon carelessly slouching on his chair, whilst graffiting the school furniture. How the teacher never caught him, you'd never know. But you could tell who the culprit was, you'd sit down in classes where the table was littered in small skull faces carved by biro.

Sometimes, he make eye contact with you through the door, when you'd walk past, the constant snarl on his face slightly faltering when you'd flash a gentle smile his way. Of course, the smile was never mutual. In fact, you often find yourself thinking of the last time you'd seen his smile, flicking through the yearbook and class photos, only to find that he was in neither.

Ah, you remember that. The end of school was approaching. The last year you'd see your fellow classmates, the ones you've grown around for almost 7 long years.

Simon Riley entered form time late. It was the last first day of secondary school. The first day of Year 13. He strolls in, the tie around his neck still sloppily wrapped around his white shirt collar. You remember that fondly as, the moment he looks up to you, you point towards the collar of your blouse, hinting to him that the teacher was going to cause another scene at his attire that week. He raises his eyebrows at your gesture, blushing furiously as he rips the tie off, the teacher beginning to raise his voice at Simon.

In your mind, Simon's blushes at you, after seeing you for the first time since summer holidays had started. But that thought is pushed away, when your friend asks you if Simon had replied to your texts. He had not, for your information, they had been left on delivered.

But you don't fail to notice the change of appearance from Simon, in fact most of your classmates open your jaw in shock, the once scrawny boy had seem to hit a growth spurt, his body almost doubling in size.

"Simon mate, hitting the gym?" A boy asks, when Simon walks past to sit in his seat at the back of the class. His attempts of a conversation are unanswered, and a small part of you is happy to see that he treats everyone harshly, not just you.

Trying to talk to him in the lunch line was also so much harder, now that he was surrounded by a bunch of popular kids, the girls squeezing at his bulging arms, and the guys patting his shoulder, conversing with him as if they hadn't ignored him for the previous years of school. He'd catch your eye once in a while, and sometimes you'd find a look of desperation within them, help me, like he called out for you.

All in all, the last 10 minutes of lunch always consisted of you sitting at your desk, ready for the next class, with Simon sitting rather close to you, even though his designated seat was rows behind yours.

"Maths was boring today, I know we're not in the same set, but when you finally get to the same topic, I beg you'd start cryin'." You'd mention, not turning to look at him, but he knows you're talking to him.

He hums, listening, "Speakin' from experience, huh?" He'd always refer to you by your surname, his manny accent seeping through his words.

You'd chuckle in response, jolting suddenly when the bell rings signally the end of lunch and he gets up and walks to the back row, even though it was still just you and him in the room. Perhaps he was embarrassed to been seen by you, given his new-found popularity, or perhaps he thought you didn't want to see with him. Who knows.

Many months pass by, and as exams had finally come to a finish, the schools opened the hall for a get-together for the final year students. Many had turned up with pens and markers to sign their fellow classmates school uniform, as memoir before heading off into university. Others had their yearbooks open, asking (or begging) people to sign them. You sat down, watching your friends mingling with others, a hot pink sharpie in your hand, knee bouncing as your eyes skimmed the loud room for a tall muscular guy.

Hours had gone by, your shirt only consisted of 7 signatures from your friends and one janitor that you'd been acquainted with, yet no sign of Simon. And when the clock hit 5 P.M., you were one of 5 people in the hall, the rest leaving to head home for the holidays.

"He's not coming, dude. C'mon, ice cream on the way home?" Your friend would suggest.

"But...but it's the last day of school...I mean there weren't any classes, why wouldn't he show up, I don't understand..." You frown, admitting defeat as you start zipping your bag up ready to leave.

"Did anyone truly understand him?" You friend states, rather than questions, locking arms with you and she drags you towards the exit, ranting about her holidays plans.

15 minutes later, the room was nearly cleared out, with just your form room teacher tidying away the paper cups and plates.

"These bloody kids, why am I even a teacher, I would have been on Broadway if it weren't for puberty messing up my lovely voic-" His mumbling is interrupted by the doors slamming open and a teenage boy with a black balaclava mask running towards him.

"AAAAH- This is a school- This is a school in the afternoon, who in earth wants to rob a school past 5 PM, what you even in here for? Gonna steal some pens and pencils, yeah I'd like to see you try, I'm a white belt in Karat- Riley, you? Mate, you're like 6 hours late."

Simon pants in exhaustion, his mask now in his hands, "Sir, -huff- is she here? Am -huff- I too late?"

The teacher huffs in annoyance, "You're not the protagonist of a romance film, Riley, go home. We finished at 4:30. It's 5:15, don't you boys haven't nothing better to do?"

Simon rolls his neck, "Ta...cheers for the wise words." He makes his way towards the exit.

"Happy to help," your teacher groans turning away from him, "Had you been here 15 minutes earlier...maybe you would have caught her...."

Simon pauses in his steps, cursing loudly. Maybe he shouldn't have signed up for the military that day.

He walks home that dark afternoon, forgetting his card for public transport. He checks his phones for notifications, clicking the text messages that he'd marked a spam. It was from you.

He knows he should have called you, at least even texted you. But he was too much of a pussy. It would be weird to hear your voice over the phone, not like hearing it as he sat by you at lunch hearing you ramble.

It's not like you meant something to him, you're...you. Replaceable.

Like every other person he's met.

You don't mean anything to him.

And just like that, 5 years go by just like that.

Okay, so I got this idea in bed, let's see how it goes on paper :P or on my laptop should I say...part 2 in the making hehe

tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @chessecakelover , @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyysho3es

impressive yet unimpressed left me SHOCKED i am re-reading it and it leaves me jaw dropped every time

what if tho🌚

like what if once reader recovers from the injury könig finally goes back to wanting a family and a house with them on the austrian countryside and reader is just pissed like FUMING like they don't even want to be in the same team as könig anymore and idk i just wanna see könig suffer now🧍🏾‍♀️

your writing is amazing tho like 😻

Thank you so much AHHHH ‼️‼️‼️

No but you're right, if I was reader I'd defo be fuming too - but I'm thinking should I let them continue to be together, or should I break them apart HEHEHEH

AND YES HE WILL BE SUFFERING (lol should i make him homeless in the austrian countryside) 😜

heyyo where have you been? are you okay?

IM ALIVE IM OKAY 😭😭😭

I've just been so stressed with uni and work 😭 lemme make a comeback over the holidays yall 😔

Silent Smoker

John Price x You

nay's missing john price, so here's some fluff (?) anyone here comforted by smoking/someone else smoking? i'm not :/ - icl the smell is so repulsive to me, but i'm on my hands and knees for anything price does-

John knew you didn't like when he smoked. So, he avoided smoking.

Around you, that is.

He still frequently pulled out his cigars, lit them, and smoked them at the base, but when he came home he made sure to kiss your lips with his strawberry flavoured gum in his mouth, aware of your dislike it.

You hug him tightly, heart full of content now that your man's home, but you can't help but notice the slight scent of nicotine and whiskey coating his frame when you press up against him.

But you ignore it, you're both so tired, you from your regular 9-5 job, and Price, as a well-respected captain.

Price was aware you didn't like smoking. It reminded you of your neglectful parents, who you'd find preferred smoking over cuddling with their child. Or you're ex partners who'd just be smoking the day away as you struggled your way through university life.

So it came to his surprise when he found his half-used cigars lying around, on the bathroom sink, the ash tray, the balcony.

He knew the culprit would be you, I mean unless someone decided to break into your home, steal absolutely nothing, smoke his cigars, then leave, but he was confused on why and when you started.

Were you stressed? Were you bored? Were you curious?

Questions circulated John's head as he entered your bedroom after one busy day, 11 p.m. rolling by quickly.

"Love," he pressed his chaste kiss against your forehead before climbing into your bed, smile pressed against your head as your cuddle against his chest.

"John..." you mumble.

Yeah, you're the culprit. He can recognise that post-cigar smell from anywhere once your breath wafted towards his direction.

He pauses for a second, and sits up, causing you to look up at him, too tired to move. You tilt your head at him in confusion, and he swears his heart melts a bit.

"Sweetheart, you know you can talk to me about anything right?"

Your face bares a confused expression.

"The cigars-" he starts.

"Are you mad?" His heart breaks a little at your question.

"No! Of course not! I'm- I'm just a little confused. You always mentioned how you hated when I smoked, but you're doing it too- and that's okay!" he rambles, "But are you okay, I know we haven't talked much, we're both busy and stressed, and if there's anything I can do, I'd appreciate you telling me, I wan' to supp-"

You muffle his words with a kiss, smiling against his lips.

Oh John.

He sighs against you, sleep evading his eyes.

"Just a big stressed, no biggie, not a consistent thing." You mutter, pulling him back to laying next to you.

He wraps his arms against you, gently stroking your head, "You know you can always talk to me..." he mumbled against your forehead.

You smile at his kind words. Even when he's going through the most, he never fails to be by your side.

"I know, love, I know."

You both drift into a well deserved sleep, wrapped with the warmth of John's arms, and the faint scent of his cigars lingering around, knowing that this was a conversation for tomorrow.

JOHN COME HOME THE KIDS MISS YOU.

[Part 2] Unimpressive yet Impressed.

König and gn!Reader

Part 2 to Impressive yet unimpressed! In which König attempts to reconcile with you after his attack. TOOK 4EVER but part 2 is here teehee fuck midterms Word count: 4.3k; translations in purple, shout out google translate.

König sat on the cold plastic chair beside your hospital bed in the infirmary, for what felt like months. 2 to be exact.

The room was empty at 2 A.M on a grey Sunday. Of course it was, it was 6 hours past visiting hours ended, but König couldn't help but enter through the infirmary's window, tiptoe past all the injured, asleep soldiers, and rest on the chair, watching your chest painfully heave up and down, with ragged breathes.

His first sane thought was to break into the respected infirmary, where he remembers laying after broken bones, with you besides him. It makes sense for him to return the favour.

I mean...he's the reason you're in a coma in the first place...

After attempting to check up on you, he'd overheard the doctors' order: You see a poorly dressed mammoth of a man, you tell security immediately. The poor girl's distressed enough, mentioned the Colonel's name and her heart rates quicken to an alarming rate.

That broke his heart. He loved having such an affect on you, yes! But in a 'cutesy-butterflies-in-my-stomach' way, not a 'panic-attack-about-to-die-omfg-scary-man-alert' way!

So he sits here, patiently waiting for the sun to rise, so he can exit the infirmary as quietly as possible, and sneak into, yet again, another room. Yours. Where he lays in your bed. Using your expensive floral soaps. Ate your food. Anything to feel like you were with him again.

He swears he sees your fingers shift, closed eyes twitching ever so gently, but according to your files (which he stole), stated that you 'were in a worse state that before, slowly recovering although there's limited hope,' and ah 'one of the worst non-mission on-base injuries seen'.

His actions caused great harm, I mean look at you. But one would say his plan worked.

News spread like wildfire, with almost everyone talking about the combat room incident. Soldiers murmured everywhere he walked.

König means King you know, bro lives up to the name.

He's a fucking beast, beating her up like that, mans got no emotion i swear.

Heard he's getting promoted for that stunt he pulled...

And indeed he was getting more recognised. His once slow forgotten image was roaring in popularity, with his higher-ups signing him up for more missions than one should be given.

"It's a great opportunity Colonel. I mean you've improved this month! Like you're on steroids or sum'" König finds himself being cornered in the hallway of the barracks by his superior, cheeks wet and reddening under this mask, after sneaking out of your room one morning.

His superior's eyes glisten cunningly, "And uh...those moves, yeah. Impressive." His head nods, gesturing towards your room.

König squints his eyes, glaring so hard in pure shame, he swear he feels his eyeballs vibrate. But instead he walks off, vowing to abstain himself from anymore violence. He's learnt his lesson.

'Unimpressive...' he mumbles, physically shivering as his mind is forced to recall that fateful day again.

Minutes feel like days and days feel like months, and all those hospital visits from your teammates gradually decrease, some unable to see you resting corpse-like with jagged scars painting your skin, some purposely avoiding the whole situation, with paperwork as their main excuse.

But König finds solace staring at your almost dead but resting state. Yes, he cringes at the slightly bent nose, the busted lip, and the countless stitches on your scalp, but overall he notes you seem peaceful on the bed.

Not like that fearful expression you pulled before he...you remember.

Though he'd rejected the numerous proposals to lead missions, he finds himself persuaded into changing into his musky, unwashed uniform, adjusting his mask whilst attempting to silence his growing headache. One more König, one more mission. Think about who you're doing this for. Think about your future. Think about that cottage. Think about that Austrian countryside.

So he gears up, attempting to push you away from his thoughts, though he can't. He curses himself for using your floral scented soaps, his senses being heightened and hyper-focusing on it the entire ride in that aircraft. It smells like you. Not like that dreaded dull stench of the hospital.

His train of thoughts halt as his superior yells strings of commands towards his team, and his priority shifts to stays alive for you.

After exiting the aircraft he takes a good look of his surrounding, as his team gather round in group, and his face drops. It looks like just Alpbach, the countryside he wanted to settle down in with you.

His eyes catch the small row of houses and buildings kilometres away.

That was meant to be the cottage you two grow old in...

"König! Where's your mind at?"

His eyes clench.

No time for mistakes.

2000 kilometres away, lay you. Eyes indeed twitching rapidly. You were most definitely not conscious yesterday, but the memory of a German bedtime story being read to you early morning comes to you frequently, must be deja vu.

Today though, you open your eyes, lazily making eye-contact with the medical intern who'd been studying you for research purposes.

"Hey, hope you don't mind m- OH MY GOD. UM- OH. MY GOD. ¿QUÉ DEMONIOS ESTÁ PASANDO? EH, ¿POR QUÉ ESTÁ DESPIERTA? VUELVE A DORMIR." What the fuck is happening. Um, why is she awake, go back to sleep!

And a week passes by, and your movements are restricted to sitting up and switching the TV channel. But you're better. Your closest 2 teammates visit you daily now, adorning you with gifts, like your luxurious chocolates.

But no one dares mention his name. Not even you. You don't care about the lack of flowers or medals by your bed like your last hospital visit.

"But you should have seen her face-" One of your teammates chokes on his laugh, caught up on a story you'd missed, "bitch tried to tackle me-" he stifles a laugh, "ever seen a mouse try to fight a lion-"

"How are you still on that, it was 2 weeks ago!"

You turn to your other friend, stationed at the other side of your bed.

"Wow, sounds like I'm stronger than you, and I'm in hospital." You tease her, cheeks aching from smiling too hard, a painful feeling you've missed.

"Dude, I tried to tackle him, König styl- I mean. I- um. Sorry-"

Oh.

Your face flashes a pained look, before your eyebrows furrow in anger, fixating on your clenched fingers.

"She, um, she didn't mean that. It's just-" your friend tries to defend her.

"So what's that fucker up to, huh?" You ask, though it comes out more like a command than a question.

"Um...he's on a mission, like in Austria or something, I don't know.-"

You scoff, "Good, hope that asshole dies there."

Another month and another successful mission from König's team go by, and your higher ups have talked you into being stuck at an office desk, buried in paperwork. It's long and monotonous, and although you want to be focus on improving your overall physical ability, your grateful you don't see as many soldiers on the base as usual, given the amount of pitied looks you've gotten after being discharged.

But hey! The good news in that you're not doing it all on your own. You occupy a small office with a lower ranked soldier, and though you both work under different positions, you both share a similarity. Both victims of König. The soldier you'd seen on the floor, who'd looked like he'd left bleeding to death, also recovered moderately well, and he sits across your desk, cheeks always looking flushed. As if he's still sick.

"You have another pen? Um, this one's ran out."

He's got a gentle voice, like König, but his don't make you pause in fear. He's definitely not as bulky as König rather, he's on the other end of the spectrum. Shorter, leaner, less muscular. But his differences to König make you appreciate him more.

"Huh- yeah, here." You toss a pen towards him and he clumsily misses it, apologising before crouching to pick it up, and you don't fail to catch his bruised knuckles and wrists.

"Thanks..." he mumbles shyly, pulling his sleeves down after realising what your gaze on.

You both haven't discussed it, but have mentally agreed not to talk about that night in the combat room.

"Team's coming back from an assignment today. Or so I heard." He strikes up a conversation, blushing and still avoiding eye contact.

You smile at him, humming as your fingers type away at the keyboard, "Hmm, when do they get back?"

"Couple of hours from now...it's been a month I think."

You nod in response, "They wish they were doing paperwork right now."

He snorts, before coughing it away from embarrassment, but you smirk at his reaction.

"Adorable." You mumble.

"What?" His eyebrows raise.

"Huh?" You mock teasingly.

The evening of paperwork and back and forth banter goes by, and you find yourself with him - who you've now nicknamed 'Paperwork' - at the canteen, sitting and eating alone, isolating yourselves from the obvious glances and murmurs from the other soldiers, yet neither of you want to mention the obvious unspoken tension.

"All my soap's gone, Paperwork!" You look at the obvious peaking black eye that he failed to cover fully with the wrong shade of foundation.

He looks at you curiously, amused at the new found nickname.

"Like, it's gone, and my bed's all messy." There's a cut on his plump lips.

He nods awkwardly.

"Food's nice." You state, receiving a hum from him, but you focus on his swollen wrists, gently reaching to touch them.

He flinches, dropping the steel cutlery on the floor, earning more stares than before, if that was possible, squeaking an apology and continuing to eat like nothing happened.

He's cute. You smile. He's nothing like him.

You continue munching on your food, unaware of the stares you receive. Of the stare you receive.

The 6'10 colonel stands metres away from you at the entrance of the canteen, your back turned to him, as his fists clench and squeeze at the first bouquet of hand-picked Austrian flowers out of envy, as he studies your new found friendship. Considering it's the evening, he's happy he's standing in the dimly lit corridor by the mess hall doors, so he's aware that you cannot see him.

But König can see you.

Most importantly, König can see you, with him.

Was zum Teufel macht er mit ihr? He curses. What the fuck is he doing with her?

"The food's shit mate-" He's interrupted by lower ranked soldiers, and he skillfully moves out of the way to hide behind the door, as they enter the mess hall, and he swears you turn back to look at him.

He wants to walk up to you. He wants to look at you straight in the face and apologise, but he deep down knows that no matter what he says to you, what he gifts you, what he promises you- you will never forgive you for his abuse. For the way he neglected you and your feelings, for putting his greed before you.

And he knows deep down, you'd be happier with...with him. That puny guy. Aren't soldiers meant to be strong and muscular? This guys looks the same weight as König's left calf, no wonder he beat him up to a pulp.

He scoffs, ignoring the sinking feeling in his heart, hearing your laugh at whatever this guy says to you. Deep down he knows he lost you. Deep down he knows he's no longer yours.

"Hey, I'm gonna get my phone, I think I left it in my room, see you in a bit?" You ask the soldier, and after he nods, you find yourself walking towards the entrance of the mess hall.

König watches as you walk towards the door and he swears his mind pauses.

You're walking towards him? Right now? What is he meant to say to you? Are the flowers okay? Would you like them? Would you even talk to him?

He finds his anxiety catching up to him all of a sudden, head feeling light and palms beginning to sweat. Though he feels a rise of panic, he doesn't find the strength to move, not even a muscle. He wishes you were by his side, stroking his biceps.

But you're not by his side. Yet, that is.

You open the semi-transparent door, yawning inaudibly, closing your eyes in the process.

And you walk straight into a brick wall-

"Holy shit, you scared me..." You look up at him, halting immediately after you realise who you bumped into.

König looks down at you, and like his brain, his heart stops and skips a beat.

"Liebling- what- who- why are you talking to him? Are you over me that quickly?" darling-

You glare up and him angrily. Over 2 months without König and no apology? And instead he dares question your relationships with other soldiers.

"Listen mein baby, I'm tired, can we just go back to our room-" my baby

"Our room?" The first words you've uttered to König before the incident.

"Our. Room?"

König looks away in embarrassment. "Liebling, can we talk in our-your room, I don't feel comfortable being here-"

"You don't feel comfortable? You don't feel comfortable? Oh what, now I'm supposed to care about YOUR feelings like you care about MINE? Are you fucking kidding me right now?" You point your finger at his chest as you feel your emotions pouring out.

"I-"

"You don't get the fucking right to tell me what I fucking do, you insolent freak. Yeah no wonder you were abused as kid, maybe domestic violence runs in your fucking blood." König widens his eyes at that last dig, knowing you said it only to hurt him, which it did.

He watches you walk away angrily, stomping down the dark corridor, slowing fading out of his vision and into the dark.

He knows he lost you.

He knows, but he'll try again.

The next 2 weeks you receive letter upon letter, all written in various languages, some in English, some in German, some in your mother-tongue, which were definitely google translated.

And every single one, you burnt. You wake up with them under the door of your room, and every single time you take your lighter and burn the bottom right corner without even bothering to read the entire letter. König could write a fucking novel for you, but nothing would fix the evident hatred you felt for the Colonel.

"And he just sends so many damn letter, like enough Shakespeare." You groan to your paperwork partner.

Over the weeks you've definitely bonded with him more, eating together more often, roaming the grounds more often, hell, one night he even slept on the couch in your room! You're grateful to have him by your side, if he weren't there, you would be spiraling down a hole of indefinite depression. Though, you question whether you could say the same to him, and you swear he ever so silently shifts away from you.

"You shouldn't get back with him." He warns you.

You smirk, "Paperwork, you jealous?" and he coughs aggressively in response.

Your smile thins, "But for real, I would never. What he did to me, what he did to you- it's unforgivable. I promise."

He nods wincing at the thought of seeing you with König, a smile ever so gently etching on his flushed face.

"You wanna go take a walk around?"

So you both tour around the base, past the barracks, past the canteen, past that damn combat room, through the gardens, until you find yourselves sitting on the benches by the empty concrete grounds, a comfortable silence filling the air.

The sunny yet cold weather breezes past you, your pony-tailed hair gently swaying towards the direction of the wind as you stare at both your shadows in front of you.

"Weather's nic- are you fucking for real?!" You grip the bench, gritting your teeth as you see a taller third shadow rising beside the original two shadows. Paperwork, looking behind him, jumps out of the bench after realising it was his superior.

"Colonel, sir", he salutes towards König, "sir- I-."

You interrupt him instantly, "Paperwork, I love you, but shut the fuck up."

"2 weeks and we're confessing our feelings already huh?" König stares down at the two of you.

"The only person that should be confessing their feelings should be you, Colonel. To a fucking therapist." You scoff.

"Schatz, listen-"

"Nothing you say will change my mind König. I don't want to see you anymore. Can't you get that through your thick skull or is that shitty cloth on your big head getting in the way?"

König feels his eyes shut involuntarily, being bombarded with all these insults, "Can I not apologise? Did you not read my letters?"

You laugh sarcastically, "König, you're a better clown than a Colonel, cos you're a fucking joke. Now leave me the hell alone." You brisk-walk away, yanking Paperwork behind you, who shoots an apologetic look towards König.

"Scheisse...." König mumbles. Shit....

König's relentless attempts of begging for your forgiveness were all fruitless. He attempting breaking into your room to leave flowers on your bed, but he didn't realise that he'd see you and Paperwork hanging out in the living room.

"Didn't realise there was a fucking rat infestation in this fucking building." You groaned, before slamming the window shut on König's fingers, as he jumped at the pain before falling 2 stories down onto the hard ground.

And there was a time he even had the audacity to sit next to Paperwork, across from you on the dinner table in the canteen.

"Hallo-" But he was rudely ignored by you throwing your scorching hot coffee straight onto his uncovered forearms.

"NEIN, MEINE ARME, ICH WERDE STERBEN, MAMA, HILFE!" NOOOO MY ARMS I'M GONNA DIE MAMA HELP

His useless attempts to woo you remained ... well, useless. You'd never spare a second for him, unless you inflicted pain onto him, like when you knocked down the weights at the gym on top of his feet, or when you 'accidentally' kicked his crotch as he snuck up from behind you. Although you found it funny, going back to your dorm to tell Paperwork about the new event, you just couldn't scratch the burning feeling in your chest. Like you only hit him, burnt him, kicked him out of spite, out of anger, out of revenge from that pain he caused onto you. You may be angry at him for his actions, but you knew hurting him just wasn't what you wanted. You wanted to be the bigger person, and cut him out of your life once and for all.

If only he got the hint.

When you found yourself forcing yourself to knock on his door, cringing at the awkward silence, you had learned from Paperwork that König had be assigned for another mission, which was listed for 2 months.

Ahhhh, 2 months without König. What a dream.

But oh how quickly those months have gone by. One month in, and you and Paperwork were back on the field. The doctor gave you both the signal that physical activity was okay, if done carefully, so now your evenings before dinner, you two would be found dead lifting at the gym.

And damn, did Paperwork look good in a black compression shirt.

"3, come on, 2 let's go Paperboy, 1 more 1 more come on, okaayyy and you're done, well done!" You patted him on his back.

"You're getting better, boy!" You toss him your water bottle, which he takes graciously.

Out of breath but smiling, he nods contently, sitting down on the mat, gesturing you to sit beside him.

"I need to tell you something." He starts, and you look at him narrowing your eyes.

"Don't tell me you have a wife and 3 kids and home..." You snort at him, quickly silencing yourself after he doesn't return a laugh.

"Listen, I was thinking..." He looks away from you.

"This isn't for me anymore-"

You furrow your eyebrows, "This friendship, did I make you uncomfortable, did König tell you I like you?" You ramble on.

"You like me?" He tilts his head, ignoring everything else you've said.

"Huh?"

"hUh? No! No. No, I've been thinking about my career in the army, and I've done it for like 2 years now, which you know, isn't a lot, but the paperwork we did together...it changed me."

You're the confused one now.

"Maybe I'm destined for an office job, maybe this, this just isn't me..." He trails off, finally meeting your eyes, looking for an answer.

You nod, and this time you look away, "No, that makes sense."

There's a pause in the conversation, and for a while, the both of you just stare at the other gym-goers in the vicinity.

You sigh, "I've been doing some of my own thinking you know..."

"You have?"

"Yeah, I talked to the boss and I asked for a tr-"

Suddenly the door, bursts open, and your friends run towards you, huffing, "König-" huff, "He's-" huff, "oh my days, I am so out of breath, I've come to the right place, the gym!"

"Get to the damn point, woman! König in the hospital, he's been shot-"

That was enough to get you up and running.

A 4 hour surgery later, and you and Paperwork sat outside of the hospital door, the same one where you were admitted to, and the same one König lay behind. Paperwork swears he felt his eyes strain, watching you walk up and down the corridor, and he questions whether there was still some unspoken, remaining feelings you had for his superior.

The doctors, leave the room, with a solemn look to their faces, greeted with you running up to you immediately.

"So? Is he finally dead?"

"Ma'am, what- no. He's good, he's recovering rapidly. He's also asking for you." A doctor states, pointing towards, leading both you and Paperwork towards the room.

The hospital rooms still sends shivers down your back, memories of the previous few months rushing back to you all of a sudden, but you're calmed down by the soft rub on the small of your back by Paperwork, who's already looking at you with a soft smile.

You walk towards the bed, with Paperwork standing behind you.

"König. And you're still here."

You look down at you and you wince.

There König lie, bloodied and bruised worse than ever. If your state when you were admitted was described as the worse, you wondered what the doctors were to say when they saw him.

"Schnucki...bist du das?" Sweetie-pie...is that you?

"König honey, what happened?" You gently rub the tears of his swollen face.

"Feind…habe es nicht gesehen…es tut mir alles leid..." Enemy…didn't see…i'm sorry for everything

You hum stroking his bare face, and you look back to Paperwork, knowing it's probably his first time seeing the Colonel maskless.

"Papierkram, es tut mir alles leid...Ich bin ein beschissener Mann mit noch beschisseneren Taten, aber du kannst es in dir finden, mir zu vergeben...." Paperwork, i'm sorry for everything. I'm a shitty man with shittier actions, but you can find it in yourself to forgive me.

Paperwork smiles, nodding as he understood what the fuck the Colonel just said to him in the foreign language, "Sì, non preoccuparti, amico." yeah dont you worry mate (italian)

"Glaubt dieser Idiot, dass ich Italiener bin?" Does this idiot think I'm italian, König warily asks looking at you.

Stroking your cheek, you giggle.

"König, listen. What you did, was...unforgivable."

König sits up slowly with your help, listening intently.

"But as much as I want to strangle you and throw you as you did to me...it's not going to solve any issues."

König tears up.

"I'll never forgive the memories we made together König. I really did love you. But-"

"But?" he squeaks.

"But we're done. I want to be someone's priority always. And König, let's be real, you need to talk to someone about all these pent up emotions."

König nods, tears now streaming down his face.

You wipe his tears, "Hey, hey, don't cry okay, listen. I know it's hard, but it's for the best. We both need to heal and grow separately. Maybe someday we can be friends again, but we need space."

König nods again, sniffling as he tries to compose himself. "I understand. I'll seek help, I promise."

You smile softly, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. "That's all I ask. Take care of yourself, König."

He nods once more, and you lean in to give him a gentle hug before standing up. As you start to stand up, you hear him whisper, "Danke für alles." Thank you, for everything.

Paperwork walks towards you, his arm wrapped your waist.

"Pass auf sie auf, ja?" Look after her, will you?

Paperwork nods, "Sì, signore, lo farò." Yes sir i will. (italian)

"Boy if you don't- listen. I wanted to tell you both something.

The two men look at you intensely.

"What I wanted to say at the gym...and to you König...I've been thinking, for a few months now."

The two men look at each other.

"I've talked to the superiors about this, but I requested a transfer. To England. And...it was approved this morning." You mutter.

König and Paperwork widen their eyes.

"Liebling, that's amazing! I mean I'm sad to see you go as a friend and a team mate, offensichtlich, but I'm happy. Truly impressed soldier." Darling, offensichtlich - obviously.

Paperwork smiles by your side, squeezing your arm gently, "England here I come," and you chuckle to the thought with him by your side.

"Where are you being transferred to you?" König asks.

"Oh, um, Task Force One-Four-One."

Why choose between Paperwork and König when you can have both, YALL GET ME?! Also this should've have taken me so long, my God, but i'm glad it's done fr, sorry for the wait :D also not proofread, so if you see any mistakes, treat it like a middle child and ignore it &lt;3 I have a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

TOO GOOD

You always joked about how you'd find out what's beneath his mask someday. Literally and figuratively.

He'd scoff at your attempts, or suggestions to lift up his sniper mask. Some of them caught him off guard, to the point he almost did it if not for his logical mind. But some of them were downright ridiculous, that he couldn't help but snort.

Maybe you already accepted it from the start, that he would never give in, but it had become a harmless jest at this point, so you might as well keep it going.

Until he gives you permission.

The thing is, it doesn't make you happy—it scares you to death instead. He once bit off someone's finger when they poked it in the place they shouldn't have touched. So what's behind the mask couldn't be worth the pain.

At first, you thought of it as a warning. Yet he wasn't showing any signs of threat. He even pulled you closer, so you'd get a better view of him.

His mask stays on, but he lets you touch his face. Your hands hover an inch away from his veiled visage, before you test the water with a touch.

He doesn't flinch away, or charge at you like a venomous snake. He stays still, letting your hands cup his cheeks.

"Didn't you say you wanna feel my face?" He said as he brought you closer, causing a shiver down on your spine.

"I did," Your lips trembled slightly, "I'm doing it."

"You're not doing it right." He tugged your paralyzed hands onto his chest.

You're confused when he firmly grips both of your hands, before slowly sliding them under the hem of his hood.

"Inside, maus." He commanded you, "Tell me what you feel."

And so, you complied.

You reach into his mask, and touch his neck tentatively. For a brief moment, his muscles tense under your fingertips, before they come down relaxed.

"Oh." You murmured as you pressed your palm onto his nape, "You can certainly survive the fighter jet ride."

He doesn't give you any response, so you take it as a cue to continue.

Your hands creep up higher, until your fingers reach the soft bones of his ears. They seem small in your grasp, smaller than they should, for a man of his height. A quiet smile spreads in your lips, as you imagine the tiny shells that frame both sides of his face.

"I'm surprised you have clear skin." You commented when you caressed his cheek, feeling the texture of his skin, "I thought you'd have a problem with it since you always wore a mask."

"Not always." He replied, nudging you to roam further, "I took it off whenever I'm alone."

"Did you take care of it?"

"No."

"How unfair." You chuckled, "I want to have your skin."

He keeps his eyes on you, and you feel the need to clear your throat, before you trace the lines on his face.

"You have a big nose." You mused as you ran your finger down from the bridge of his nose, "It's crooked."

He hums, while his eyes follow your uncertain gaze.

"Why you stopped?" He called you out, and you jumped upon hearing them, "There's one place you haven't touched."

You bit your lips, trembling, as you lowered your hand, until you felt the soft lumps on your fingertips.

They form a thin line, before they split open, inviting your finger inside. Your breathing becomes labored, as he takes a hold on your hand, guiding your thumb into his mouth.

He doesn't break eye contact the whole time, and you're too paralyzed to look away. You feel the sharpness of his teeth as his lips are closing around your digit. You have anticipated the guillotine falling on the head of your thumb, yet what comes after is a soft brush of his tongue.

It was rough, and drenched with his saliva, that it formed a string at the time your thumb left his mouth.

"König—" You gasped when he dragged his lips down to your palm, before stopping on your wrist. Pressing his tongue on your pulse point, where the skin barrier is so thin, that it feels as if he's tasting your flesh.

"Scared, maus?" He muttered, his teeth scraped against your skin, "Are you scared of me?"

You stare at him, as your instinct screams at you to nod. But you shake your head, despite the tremble in your hands.

"Then you'll do as I say." He wraps his arm around your waist, leaving no room for you to run, "Take off my mask."

Your eyes widened, not believing what you just heard from his mouth. Alas, his glare is enough to confirm the truth.

He guides your hands to his mask, pushing it up in a manner that's close to unveiling a white cover. And once the mask is lifted, you have no time to admire him as he slams his lips against yours.

Your cry of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, as he pushes his tongue between your lips. You can't do anything but cling to him, as he presses your body down with his, until your back is flush against the cushion.

When you open your eyes, what greets you is a pair of eclipses. Gone was the cruel Colonel, as he's replaced by a voracious brute.

The moment he opens his mouth, you know you'll be devoured by him.

i could totally carry them

Omg I love your fics, your writing is so good! When are you going to update the "If I meant something to you?" Simon Riley fanfic?

Thank you!!!!

I'm currently writing the 3rd and final part but icl I'm going through writer's block and I've literally only written one sentence, but dww it's cominggg, thank you for being patient 😄