Latest Posts by slapmewithacroc - Page 7

📸 fishIuv

Significant

Summary: Din has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means, and get a little more than you bargained for.

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Word Count: ~5.1k

Warnings: pining, absolute FOOLS in love, bit of grumpy x sunshine, lil angsty, possibly incorrect lore, fluff, lots of Mando'a (translations for the Mando'a at the end)

A/N: Happy Mandalorian Eve!! This is based on a short drabble I wrote, which you can find here! It's not necessary to read it first, though of course I recommend it! The reader and Din have been traveling together for a long time, and after removing his armor in front of the reader for the first time began calling them riduur.

“Riduur.” 

It may as well be your name, the way you turn at the sound of that word. 

“Din,” you return, adjusting the child’s little sleeve which had fallen down past his hand.

“Are you ready?” He asks as he tilts his head to the side. 

You smile and turn back to Grogu. “Dad’s impatient today, isn’t he?” The child coos up at you, lifting tiny arms, ready to be picked up. “Yeah, he is.”

“I’m not impatient,” Din grumbles lowly.

You raise a brow at that and lift Grogu into your arms. “You’re always impatient, Mando.” His head jerks to the side at your assessment.

You have to bite back a laugh. In truth, he is incredibly patient. Most of the time, and especially when it came to you and Grogu. The only time you’ve seen him truly lose his temper was with the Jawas, and really, that couldn’t be helped. 

The child reaches for Din when you turn back to him, and the Mandalorian immediately holds out his arms to take him from you. You deposit the little green baby there before grabbing your shawl. “Yes, we’re ready,” you finally answer. 

The baby gets tucked into the pouch at Din’s hip, before he descends the ship’s ramp out into the desert air that awaits you. 

You roll your eyes gently. 

Not impatient, but not entirely patient either. 

You follow, wrapping the light material around your shoulders. 

It’s subtle, but he does wait for you, his pace slower than if he were alone. His right elbow ticks out a fraction, and you smile before cupping your hand there. He would never ask you to take his arm, still the offer is usually there if he can accommodate it. 

He relaxes a little when you fit your hand against his bicep. “Supplies only,” he reminds you, ever practical. 

“Supplies only,” you agree. “Unless I see something for Grogu.” 

“The child is becoming spoiled,” he complains lightly. “We won’t have enough room in the ship soon.” 

You shrug and tighten your grip on his arm. You like the way he says we. So, you return with, “That’s just because our child deserves the best.” 

Din’s spine straightens a fraction and his shoulders tilt back. 

He’s somehow both stoic and incredibly bad at hiding his emotions. You can tell, just by the slope of his shoulders or the exact angle of the helmet or the precise way he stands or walks, exactly what and how he’s feeling. 

Or, maybe you’ve just spent too much time around him. 

Maybe, you just know him too well. 

And right now, he’s swollen with pride. Though you don’t know if it's because you’ve complimented the way he takes care of the child or if it were something else. Something in the way you said our.  

It’s not long before you reach the market, and Din sighs as soon as it comes into view. It’s much larger than the ones you normally frequent, a riot of color and sound that you both know you won’t be able to resist. The town seems to be in the midst of some kind of festival. 

The smell of fried food greets you before you’ve even breached the perimeter of the town, and your mouth waters. Something better than rations awaited you there. 

Din is single minded though, and you know he’ll immediately make for the most boring of the stalls and shops. 

Supplies only, after all, is what you’d come for. 

“Mando,” you remove your hand from his arm and he immediately halts at the loss of your touch and turns to you. “I’m going to go look around.” 

He stares at you, helmet tilting down. He doesn’t like telling you no, and knows it wouldn’t matter if he did anyways. But, he worries and so it takes a moment for him to reply. “Don’t go far,” he advises. “Do you have a comlink?”

“Yes.” 

“A weapon?” 

You pretend to search your person, “Hm, what’s that again?” 

“Riduur,” he reprimands your teasing. 

That word makes the inside of your skin light up pleasantly. Riduur. If only you knew what it meant. 

You’ve started to assume it means something similar to cyare or cyar'ika. But he’d had no problem telling you what those words meant. Darling and sweetheart and beloved. He’d had no problem telling you he was calling you beloved. 

But he no longer calls you cyare or cyar'ika. Since the first time he’d called you riduur, the day he removed his armor in front of you for the first time, he’d solely begun calling you riduur. 

Even your name is becoming a rarity from his lips. 

“Udesii! Yes,” you cross your arms. “You know I took care of myself for a very long time without you and nothing ever happened. I’ll be okay.” 

Din doesn’t answer, just sighs and gives a curt nod and marches off towards a shop selling medical supplies. 

The dramatics of it all makes you giggle. You like teasing him, especially because he thinks he hides how flustered you make him well. 

Although you enjoy traveling with the Mandalorian, alone time has become a complete rarity. You were always with Din, or watching your little green menace.

You eat your way through a couple of different stalls selling food, bundling up second and third servings to keep for Din and Grogu. 

Din wouldn’t think to get anything beyond rations. Both you and the child like a little more variety, where Din treats the act of eating like a maintenance routine. 

You drift past stalls hawking trinkets and jewelry, fending off the sellers as you crunch something sweet and sour you’d picked up at the last food stall, not entirely sure what it is.  

Textiles are next, bolts of cloth you run your fingers over but mourn not being able to afford. Still, it's nice to browse, nice to feel normal. The Mandalorian isn’t hunting someone for once, and you aren’t trapped in the interior of the ship, stale recycled dry air burning your nostrils. 

A little supply stop has become a little welcome relief. It’s giving you the chance to stretch your legs, to explore. 

Still, your mind drifts back to Din, the way he calls you something he would not name to you.

You’ve searched before, in other markets, on other worlds, for the answer to your question. What does that word mean and why won’t Din tell you? 

You’d tried to convince him once or twice, with gentle words whispered in his ear, when the helmet was off and your hands were pressed against his skin, the contours of his face still a mystery to you. 

Once, you’d felt the skin of his cheeks go hot beneath your hands when you told him he used his tongue so prettily, couldn’t he use it to tell you what riduur meant? 

He’d mumbled something else in Mando’a but had not explained himself. 

You can understand most of that he says now, but because he’s the only other speaker, you have to rely on him to tell you what new words and phrases mean.

Because the Mandalorians are such an insular people, you never come across any other speakers you could ask. There are no dictionaries to Basic that you could download and peruse. 

It’s frustrating, especially since the word seems to be laden with something heavy. Din says it with reverence, with a softness that doesn't cut through the rest of his words. His voice is softer when he speaks Mando’a anyways, but that word is held with a reverence on his tongue, like it’s precious. 

The only other time you had heard him use that tone was when he once called Grogu ad’ika, which meant child. 

You’ve almost given up on knowing, resigned to that fact that you may never know and he may never tell you.

Whatever it means, you’re sure it's important. You just don’t know why.

The market is loud, boisterous and colorful. Music floats through the air, shouts and laughter. 

It’s nice, it makes you smile and you wish you’d taken the child with you because you’re sure he’d have much more fun with you than with Din picking out rolls of bandage and rations and pulse rifle cartridges if he can find someone that has some. 

You stop suddenly in your tracks when you hear a conversation in a language you immediately recognize, the familiar syllables cutting through the afternoon chatter. 

You spin and find two men in robes speaking gently to each other in Mando’a. Before you can stop yourself, your feet have already carried you to their table where they sit sipping cups of caf. 

“Su cuy'gar,” you greet. They both look surprised, glancing at each other and then back at you. “Sorry to bother you. You speak Mando’a?” 

One smiles, “Yes. Of the few outsiders that do, I think.” 

“Were you foundlings?” It’s the only way, you think, that they could have learned it. 

“Once,” the older of the two says. “This one learned it at a university.” 

You can’t help the curiosity that burns through you, “At a university? Really?” 

“Only the very barest basics. From a woman being courted by a Mandalorian,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “That was a long time ago. Really I learned from him.” He gestures between himself and the other man. 

You shake yourself, “I’ve just never met another aruetii that does.” Let alone two of them, you think dizzily. Two outsiders who spoke Mando’a. 

“And how did you learn?” 

“My…” you trail off. 

Your what? You aren’t sure what exactly Din is to you, or what you are to him. You never have been. He treats you like you’re more precious than beskar, yet everything between you remains undefined. 

“My traveling companion. He’s a Mandalorian.” You swallow, “I wonder if you could tell me if you know what a certain word means? It’s one I’ve been curious about.” You don’t want to tell them that you’re seeking it out because it's something he calls you. That feels too private, too close to the chest. “He said it once and I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since.” 

“Why don’t you ask him?” 

“It would wound my pride. He’s already taught me so much. He overestimates my fluency.” 

They laugh and the man who was once a foundling says, “Yes, ask us then.” 

“Riduur,” you say, carefully pronouncing it so they don’t mistake it for another word. “Riduur,” you repeat with more confidence. 

The men glance at each other, brows raised. “Well, it has several meanings,” the more grizzled of the two says, “But I suppose it's all the same in the end. Spouse would be the most overarching translation. Partner, wife, and husband all work too.” 

For a moment, you can’t breathe, you’re sure your heart has come to a leaping halt in your chest. “Truly? Riduur?” You say it again, just to make sure. They laugh and nod and you decide to have your meltdown away from their table. “Well, thank you for clearing that up. Sorry again to bother you.” 

You turn away from them, a roaring in your ears. Your heart stutters in your chest. Riduur. He’s been calling you his partner, his spouse, for months? That word so softly spoken to you - to tease you, to call for you, whispered to you in the dark, said over and over, more than your own name. It meant partner, spouse, wife, husband?

Something inside you lights up with pride. The shape of it is warm, firm in the clasp of your lungs. Riduur. It’s a living, breathing kind of word, one that takes up space inside you. One you’re proud to bear the weight of, the title of. 

Spouse, you think, doesn’t carry the same gravitas as riduur. There’s something heavier and deeper in the word that a translation couldn’t really carry over into Basic. 

You start back down the road, smiling to yourself, but only make it several paces when Din steps up beside you silently from between two stalls. “Dank farrik,” you gasp, stumbling back. “Where did you come from? You scared me.” 

He doesn’t answer you, doesn’t even tilt his head towards you. You may as well have not spoken at all. 

“Mando?” 

Still, he doesn’t answer you. 

You raise a brow but don’t say anything else as he herds you gently out of the market, desert dust swirling around your calves. Eventually, when you reach the edge of the town, he asks, “Did you find everything you need?” His voice is flat, rough. 

“Yes, I got some food for you and Grogu to try. A little feast for you tonight, since it won’t hold.”

He merely grunts and you frown. “Is something wrong?” You glance over your shoulder. “Did something happen? Are we being followed?”

You glance around his legs at the baby, still securely in the brown canvas bag, who’s peering up at both of you with anxious eyes, big ears drooping. 

“No.” He answers curtly. 

The walk back to the ship is silent, and tense, and you aren’t sure why. 

It’s only when you’re in the safety of the mouth of the ship’s ramp, with the baby in your arms, that your irritation spills over. “Are you upset with me? I didn’t wander. I stayed close and had a weapon and -,” 

Din’s hands go to his hips, helm tilting at an angle as he regards you. His voice is agitated when he finally speaks. You expect him to tell you that you wandered too far, that he commed you and you hadn’t picked it up, that you’d unknowingly wandered into danger. And you expect to have to tell him once again that it's all fine, that you are fine, that you’d traveled without him for years and things always turned out alright. 

Instead, he says, “You should not call yourself an aruetii. That is not what you are.” 

For a moment, it doesn’t register with you what he’s talking about, that he’d clearly overheard your conversation with the Mando’a speakers, likely eavesdropped on it. 

All you are, for a few seconds, is confused. “But…I am an aruetii. I am not a Mandalorian.”

Din’s shoulders go stiff at your words. “That does not make you an outsider. You…you are far from an outsider,” he growls and suddenly spins away from you, his footfalls heavy and loud when he stomps across the hull.

He climbs the ladder to the cockpit and disappears, leaving both you and the baby alone, still standing on the ramp up to the ship. “He’s angry with me,” you say in disbelief, glancing down at the child in your arms, not really understanding why. “We’ll let him cool off,” you decide, bouncing the child against your waist. “Hungry?” 

The baby coos and you smile, worry biting into you as you settle with him in the mouth of the ship. The sun is setting on the sand, the air warm, casting red shadows over the world. There’s nothing around you but sand in any direction you glance, aside from the town from which you’d come on the horizon. 

In the distance, fireworks from the town explode in the sky. You point them out to Grogu, gently feeding him bites of food that you’d gotten at the market. He makes a sound that you suppose is a giggle, big eyes focused on the colors dissipating in the sky. He holds a tiny hand up, like he’d like it to fly to him. 

You curl a hand over his. “None of that,” you say with a laugh. “Those are meant for the stars, not you.” 

He goes back to eating, already distracted. 

A weight settles over your chest.

If Din heard you call yourself aruetii then he knows that you now know what riduur means. 

Maybe that was the true source of his irritation, that you’d gone behind his back to figure out what it meant when he clearly hadn’t wanted you to know.

You rub the tip of Grogu’s ear between your fingers and sigh. 

Any warm feelings you’d had are gone. 

Riduur. 

He’s been calling you that for months. But he hadn’t wanted you to know that he was calling you his partner. For some reason it stings. 

The Mandalorian is not cruel, not the type to play with another’s feelings. But, nonetheless, it feels like he might have been. Teasing you in a way you couldn’t begin to guess at. Or, like he could pretend without actually attaching himself to you, and you’d be none the wiser. 

You shake those thoughts away, listening to the music echoing over the sands. 

When Grogu falls asleep and the sun is just disappearing behind the horizon, you secure the ramp of the ship and carry the baby up into the cockpit. 

Din sits silently in the pilot’s chair, and doesn’t look at you as you tuck the child into the floating pod. 

You fidget with his blanket, not sure what to say. 

“I’m sorry,” he breaks the silence first. “Ni ceta.” 

“Din,” you perch next to him in the co-pilot’s seat. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone poking around where I don’t belong. I’m sorry.” 

His head tilts toward you, the visor impenetrable. You swallow when he doesn’t answer, an inexplicable lump forming in the back of your throat. “Don’t belong?” 

“I shouldn’t have asked them what riduur meant. You didn’t want me to know.” 

Din stands and holds out a hand to you. You take it carefully and let him pull you to your feet. “That is not why I-,” he stops. “Do you really not know?” 

“Know what?” 

“I should have been…honest about the name I’ve given you.” He tilts his head and releases your hands. “I’m upset because-,” the Mandalorian pauses and seems to consider his next words for a long moment. Finally, he sighs and simply repeats, “You’re not an aruetii. By definition you can’t be.”

You stare at him for a long moment, before shaking your head. “I don’t understand.” 

He huffs, helm ticking to the side again. “Would you call Grogu an outsider?” 

“Of course not,” you answer, horrified. “No.” 

“And why is that? He’s not a Mandalorian either.” 

You don’t have to think about it, shaking your head before he’s even finished speaking. “He’s your child.” 

Din steps forward, close to you, but doesn’t say anything. “Our child,” he corrects eventually. “I am upset because you don’t seem to know you are a part of our clan. Even after knowing what I’ve been calling you. Riduur, ner riduur, for months. You still don’t know.”

Oh. Oh. 

“Osi'kyr,” you murmur softly. “How could I know that, Din?” 

He stands silent and still before you, so still you aren’t sure he’s breathing. “I thought it was clear,” he says stiffly. “I thought it was clear I was courting you.”

Something pleasantly warm settles in among your heart and lungs. “Maybe you should explain your customs to me more thoroughly,” you joke lightly. 

He doesn’t laugh, shoulders tense, hands curled in anxious fists. 

“So why not tell me what the word means?” It seems a bit past courting to you, to call someone riduur. It seems to you he’s already chosen you. 

He shifts from foot to foot, the movement somehow laden with vulnerability and worry. “If you did not…want the same - I’m not sure I could bear that.” 

You stare at him, not entirely sure what to say to that. “So, what,” you start, “you expected me to one day just realize you considered me your-,”

“I would have told you,” he interrupts quickly. “One day.” 

“Told me-,” 

“What riduur means,” he corrects. “And asked if you’d like to be that.” Din takes your hands again, “Just know that you are part of this clan, whatever your answer is.” His voice is so sincere, it breaks your heart a little. “Whether you want to be attached to me or not, you have a place in this clan. You are not an aruetii.”

You tilt your head at the same time he does, the nonverbal cues you both habit in reflecting between you. “I’m just a bit confused. Was that your idea of a proposal?” You smile so he knows you’re teasing him. 

Din gives a long suffering sigh. “Mandalorians do not propose.” 

“Oh. So what do you do then?” You lift a brow, sliding your hands to his wrists so you can work on tugging one glove off at a time. 

“We make an agreement,” he says, not trying to stop you. His voice is hoarse. “We make vows.”

You don’t look up, tucking the gloves in your belt before tracing your fingers along the veins in his wrists, the lines of his palms. “Oh. And did you make vows to me that I wasn’t aware of?” 

You’re still joking, but Din takes your words to heart. He shakes one hand loose from yours and presses it beneath your jaw, tipping your head gently back. “I did. I make vows to you everyday.” 

All the air seems to get sucked out of the ship. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out as you struggle to find words. He chuckles, low and breathy beneath the helmet. You imagine he must be smiling. “Now you see how you make me feel. Like I can’t breathe.”

You finally manage to take a breath, lifting your chin away from his fingers, threads of embarrassment beating under your skin at his teasing. “You could have told me, you know.” 

“It was too large a risk. I wouldn’t risk you.”

Maybe you should hesitate in your next words. 

But you don’t. 

You’ve never been surer in something. 

“Din,” you step close to him. “I would take those vows.” 

“They…they are heavy vows. Not meant to be taken lightly. They’re bonding vows.”

He thinks you don’t get it, that you still don’t understand. “I understand what kind of vows they are. What are the vows?” You step even closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours. 

He smells like sun, like spices from the market and oil on beskar. It makes you dizzy, the usual scent of him is much cooler. Evergreen and pine. 

The cockpit is dark, the very last dregs of light on the horizon gone. The contours of the helm are shadowed, the flicker of lights from the control panels reflecting in blinking lights over the visor. 

There is no hesitation in his voice when he finally speaks. 

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” 

You mouth the words, doing your best to translate them. 

But he’s spoken too quickly, and you only understand part of it. He waits for you to ask for him to translate, giving you a moment to attempt it instead of immediately telling you. 

“I only understand part…We are one together and-,”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors,” he says easily. “We are - we are all of those things already. I have kept the promise I made.” 

Your throat is dry, and you can’t think about how that’s true. “We’re raising warriors?” You attempt a joke. 

“Would you not call the child a warrior?”

“I would,” you agree. “I would also still take those vows, now knowing their meaning.”

There’s a long pause in which you can feel the Mandalorian’s stare. His gaze is intense, assessing, hot against your skin. You patiently look back, waiting. “You don’t have to.”

“You think I don’t want to.” 

He huffs, “I…don’t want you to believe you have to make vows to me. You are a part of our clan no matter what.” 

“Would you still call me riduur?”

“If you allowed it,” he takes a breath. “Yes.” 

The lip of the helm drifts up and you can sense he’s no longer looking at you, embarrassed. “Din.” His head snaps back down. “I know I am not an outsider.” You wait for him to digest those words. “I know this is my clan now. I still would like to make these vows to you.” 

He reaches up and presses his palms to either side of your jaw, the crown of the helmet pressing softly against your forehead for just a moment when he dips his head. “If you’re sure, repeat after me. We’ll say them together.” 

“Elek,” you agree. 

“Mhi solus tome,” he starts, reverence and disbelief lodged in his voice. 

In the distance, more fireworks explode in the sky. The colors reflect in the glass of the ship’s front window, sparking over the reflective helmet. “Mhi solus tome,” you say slowly, careful to pronounce each word exactly right. 

You’d never imagined yourself as someone who would get married, and certainly not like this. 

But that was before you knew Din. And all this feels to you is right. It’s both sudden and not. 

This was meant to happen. All your years with the Mandalorian lead towards this. 

You repeat the rest of the vows after him, slow and deliberate. 

When the final syllable rolls off your tongue, a muted kind of joy overcomes you. You’ve been a part of it for a long time, but you feel it now, the belonging to a clan and people. 

Din releases you and leans back. His chest rises and falls quickly. 

You close your eyes and reach for the edge of his helmet. 

You want to kiss him at the very least. 

But when your fingers skim over the release, he captures your wrists in one hand. You let go and Din reaches up with his opposite hand to take it off himself. 

You expect him to kiss you right away, but he doesn’t. You can only feel the lingering touch of his gaze. 

“Open your eyes.” 

“What? No-,” you begin to protest. 

“Yes. You can now, riduur.” The word rumbles out of him proudly, heavy in his mouth. 

You tilt your head and frown. “Are you-,” 

“This is the Way.” His voice warbles, just a little. 

“Are you sure?” You get the entire question out this time. 

Now it’s his turn to tease you. “No,” he says dryly. “I’ll change my mind after you open your eyes.” 

“Ha ha,” you deadpan. “You’re very funny.” 

“Open them.” 

You think you might be more nervous than him to see his face. You honestly never thought you would get to, and you had long ago made peace with that. It didn’t matter to you what he looked like, you knew his heart and that was more than enough. 

You’ve tried to picture him before, from tracing your fingers over his face, but the image is only half formed and without detail. It felt wrong, somehow, too, to try to picture the face of someone who deliberately hid it. 

 Slowly, you peek your eyes open at him. Whatever you had pictured is nothing compared to the man you find yourself gazing at. 

A sense of vertigo sweeps through you, because it's almost like looking at a stranger. 

You have to resist the urge, for just a moment, to tear yourself away from him. 

His hair is darker in color than you thought it would be, but just as feathery and lightly curled as you imagined. Din’s eyes are dark, a deep brown that you’d like to spend lifetimes memorizing, falling inside. You were right too, from your explorations of his face with your hands, about the shape of his nose, his mustache, the patchy beard. You’d pictured his eyes all wrong, the shape of jaw.

One thing you couldn’t have guessed at is the naked expressiveness in his eyes. 

It makes sense though, he’s spent a lifetime without the need to school his features into anything other than exactly what he was feeling. 

You wonder how many times he’s looked at you with such longing, and you never knew. 

He says your name, a question mark tagged onto the end of it, his voice wrecked and strange without the modulator muffling his voice. 

The sound of his voice rips the upside down feeling away. It’s his voice, it’s him. Not some handsome stranger. 

Your eyes flit up from where your gaze had lingered on his lips, the pink shape of his mouth against golden skin. “I was right.” 

He frowns, eyes soft and worried. It shocks you again, just how open his emotions read in his eyes. “About what?” 

“I knew you were pretty. You are pretty,” you tease, pressing yourself against him, the hard contours of him biting into you. You fist your hands into the fabric at his sides. “Mesh’la.” 

Din frowns at you. “I told you that means beautiful, didn’t I?” His voice is playful and doesn’t match his expression. 

You nod and don’t answer, reaching up to cup your hand against his cheek. Din’s arm settles easily around your waist, dragging you closer, the weight of his helm in his hand heavy against your hip. Normally, you’d let him close the distance between you but you can’t quite manage to let him now, gazing instead at the planes of his face. “Mesh’la,” you tell him. “Ner riduur.” 

“That’s my line.” 

“Not anymore,” you tease. “Husband.”

You tip your chin into his and wait for him to meet you there. 

He gives a slight smile before leaning into you. “Not husband. Riduur.” 

“Right,” you agree, because really, it isn’t quite the same. It can’t be. “Ner riduur.” 

The kiss lingers long on your lips. He’s savoring you, a warm passion that doesn’t quite extend into heat. Din’s tongue meets yours briefly, the groan it tugs from his mouth sending flashes of lightning all the way down to your toes. 

The fireworks outside are no rival for the feelings clawing up the back of your throat. 

You want to tell him you love him, but you think he already knows. 

He breaks away to set his helmet down. When he turns back to you, his hands roam over you, free in their movement, tugging at the band of your trousers. 

You can’t stop staring at him, suddenly overwhelmed, drinking in the sight of him, the naked expression of him, everything he’s thinking spread over his face like a well loved language. 

All you’d wanted was to know the name he gifted you, instead - this. 

You map your hand over his face, tracing the divot between his brows, the curve of one sharp cheekbone. “I never thought I would see your face,” you whisper. 

Those soft, vulnerable eyes meet yours, arm wrapping around you again, as his bare forehead presses to yours, “And I always knew you would.” 

Thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts!

Translations:

Riduur - spouse, partner, wife, husband

Ner riduur - my spouse, partner, wife, husband

Cyare - beloved

Cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart

Udesii - Relax, take it easy

Ad’ika - little one, baby

Su cuy'gar - Hello

Aruetii - outsider, foreigner, traitor

Ni ceta - an apology, rare

Osi'kyr - exclamation of surprise

Elek - yes

Mesh’la - beautiful

Charming Killer: 3

┍━━━━━»•» 🌺 «•«━┑

Pairing: Neteyam x reader

PART ONE PART TWO PART FOUR

Summary: Neteyam comes back for you bearing gifts. He then asks you to come outside with him so he can show you around as a guide. You two end up in a clearing and can’t keep your hands off each other. Then you get interrupted…

Warnings: Thigh riding, mention of dick, dirty talk, use of good girl, soft!dom Neteyam which is not OOC

Word Count: 4.0k

A/N: Girl I have no idea what happened, one minute I was going ‘ah Neteyam 🥰” then next thing I knew I was going “ah Neteyam 😏!” I honestly wasn’t planning on writing smut this early but I guess it’s the way it’s gone. IM SO SORRY IF YOU CANT READ NSFW BUT NEXT BIT WON’T BE <3

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Charming Killer: 2

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Pairing: Neteyam x reader

PART ONE PART THREE

Summary: Neteyam confronts his fears of the scientists compound in his attempts to reach you. He’s all over you the second he see’s you and while you don’t really know what he’s saying it doesn’t fail to have an effect on you.

Warnings: I basically turned him into a cat unintentionally. 

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I did not proof read this very well cause I was working on multiple fics then realised I had nothing to post! She’s as good as it gets rn kids sorry.

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Soap: 🥺🥺

Ghost: The fuck is 🥺? Use your words, I don't speak bottom

i hate u [abby anderson]

pairing; abby x afab!reader

word count; 3.8k how tf did that happen

cw; language, mentions of death, angst (like, so much angst), enemies to lovers, eventual smut

summary; abby has always had it out for you. the feeling was mutual.

until it wasn't.

an; hiiii, it's me, providing you with the abby content i'm devoid of. i love this buff lesbian woman so fucking much.

alsooooo, this got wayyyy longer than i thought so there will be a pt. 2, and pt. 2 will contain a filthy, ridiculous, unholy amount of smut, so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT OR I'LL CRY (and as always read it on AO3 here <3)

there were much more productive ways you could be spending your time. you could be, i don’t know—literally doing anything else other than being forced to clean these goddamned bathrooms. 

it’s not that you didn’t mind cleaning, no. in fact, under ideal circumstances, cleaning could actually be fun for you. there was just a big problem with who it forced you into a room with this time. with her stupid long french braid, and her absurdly large muscles—like seriously, what the fuck was she showing off for? we’re killing scars, not for training for the fucking rapture.

“you know, if you move the mop in a back-and-forth motion, it would actually clean the floors.” 

to put it quite plainly, abby doesn’t like you. you said left, she had to say right; you say go, she had to say stop—the mutual loathing was just routine at this point, it came almost as natural as breathing. surely it didn’t help that the two of you were typically sent on assignments that involved being together for far too many hours at a time. rarely was it made only slightly better by the presence of someone else, another body to diffuse even an ounce of the tension that hung between the two of you like a rope. 

you scoffed at her juvenile insolence, though you started mopping again nonetheless. “trust me, i don’t want to be here any longer than i have to. i have shit to do,” you jeered, making it a point to look down at the ground, watching the soapy water spread across the tile. not at the way her muscles—have you mentioned they’re absurdly large?—flexed as she wiped down the counter with bleach. 

“oh, i’m sorry, i didn’t realize i was keeping you from something!” abby exclaimed, feigning ignorance. “by all means, you run off and do whatever it is you have to do, and i’ll just finish this little punishment all by myself.” 

you had to bite back a bitter laugh, instead choosing to shake your head at the ground, your mopping becoming just a little bit more aggressive with each stroke. you chose to ignore it. you almost had her completely tuned out of your mind, until you didn’t.

“it’s not like i was the one who just let that scar go.” that stopped you dead in your tracks. 

abby has said a lot of things to you. a lot of untrue things. a lot of hurtful things, even. and again, it was entirely possible you could have even ignored that. but then you looked up—and you saw her stupid, imprudent fucking smirk, and it was over. “you know what abby?” you started, throwing your mop. you didn’t even have the energy to smile at the way she flinched when the wooden handle hit the ground with a loud bang. she played it off quickly, though, raising an eyebrow and leaning back against the counter. you didn’t expect the sudden lump in your throat. 

“fuck you.” 

the words didn’t come out exactly like you’d hoped. maybe there was a slight hesitation, the faintest crack between the syllables, a single tear threatening to spill down your cheek—but you meant it, wholeheartedly. 

fuck abigail anderson.

you couldn't bother to give her even a second thought as you turned on your heel, ignoring her calls of your name from behind you. perhaps a bit childish, but you slammed the door extra hard on your way out. 

let that scar go? is she fucking for real? 

you were so tired of having to prove your place here to her. isaac sent you both on the same assignments, he trusts you just as much as her to do his most important jobs, but it never seems to be good enough. whether it was jealousy or stubbornness, you could never be quite sure. 

time and time again you’ve tried to make nice with abby; you had actually wanted to be friends with her—the jaunty girl who never seemed to let her past slow her down, taking every opportunity to crack a sarcastic joke and practically jumping in front of bullets for the people she loved—you’d tried to spark friendly conversation, volunteered to take some of her extra assignments, even offered her a book you’d overheard her mentioning she wanted to read that you just happened to have on your bookshelf, but it was all futile. she wanted nothing to do with you, like your presence alone was a personal inconvenience. so, naturally, you stopped trying—yet, the two of you almost always somehow ended up in the same room together, whether it was a drunken night in leah and nora’s room, or cleaning bathrooms as a stupid punishment. 

but one, one little slip up and that’s all it took. you took your eyes off that scar for a split fucking second, and now she’ll never let you live it down. you were furious, angry tears clouding your vision as you stormed away, down the hallway and practically sprinting up the stairs to your room. 

she can clean that bathroom all by herself, you thought as you fumbled to get your keys out of your pocket, dropping them on the ground in your haste. “fuck!” you exclaimed, bending down to pick them up, searching for the small silver key on the ring. 

“there you are,” a sudden voice from behind startles you enough that you flinch, dropping your keys again. of fucking course. 

“go away abby,” you practically snarl, wiping away the wetness on your cheeks with your palm before she could see. despite your weak protest, you could hear her heavy footsteps getting closer as you finally unlocked the door, pushing it open and slipping inside. 

“oh, come on,” abby was right on your heels, pressing a hand against the door and preventing it from fully closing behind you. your eyes felt like they might roll into the back of your head. 

“i’m sorry, what part of ‘go away’ was unclear to you?” you snapped, turning around to glower at her through the small crack in the doorway. her arm strength was incredible, she was barely leaning against the door as you pushed with an embarrassing amount of effort to try and close it on her. what you lacked in brawn, you pride yourself in making up for with brains—yet another reason it was already embarrassing enough that you fucked up, now she was practically rubbing it in your face. 

abby’s eyes held a look you couldn’t quite understand. no way she was apologetic, but her face held a certain softness to it you’d never quite seen before. usually her face was all rigid lines and sharp angles, clenched jaw and guarded eyes, especially with you. it was rare for her to smile around you, now that you thought about it.

“can we talk?” abby asked, and her voice was almost…pitiable. her eyes were low and her pink lips parted slightly. it was unnerving. she never asked you for anything, let alone to talk. your eyes flickered across her face, trying to make sense of what she was really trying to say, beneath the surface. 

but there was really nothing to say to that. no, you wanted to scream, no we can’t fucking talk, fuck you, and i never want to talk to you again. but you said nothing, instead shaking your head and turning away, letting the door swing open against the pressure of her hand. 

“why do you hate me so much?” your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up, arms crossing defensively over your chest, though you were no longer facing her. 

“why do i hate you?” she scoffed, and you heard the door closing softly. 

“yes, why?” you spun around to face her now—she still stood near the door, that same indecipherable expression painted on her face. you avoided her eyes, but noted the way her nose twitched ever so slightly. “ever since i stepped foot in this stadium you’ve had it out for me, and no matter how hard i try, i can’t understand why,” oh fuck, the anger was coming back up, rising in your throat like bile, “is it because i don’t put up with your shit anymore?” 

“no,” abby gritted out, taking a step toward you. “listen, i—”

“because i see right through your little act?” you cut her off and wow, she was fuming now, chest rising and falling heavily as she clenched her fists together. “stop it, i’m trying to—” 

but you couldn’t stop, even if you didn’t mean it, “‘ooh poor me, my dad died and now i’m stronger because of it, and everybody loves me,’” the words stung in your mouth, and in your eyes, “‘i’m isaac’s top scar killer but i have a heart of gold,’” tears falling as you stomped toward her, “well good for fucking you abby. i’ve lost a lot of people too but you don’t see me acting like i’m better than everyone.” 

you couldn’t help it, you were pushing her before you knew it, right in the chest with as much strength as you could muster, and she wasn’t expecting it because she stumbled backwards into your bookshelf, a picture frame falling and shattering on the ground before she caught her footing. 

you looked her right in the eyes for the first time since she had entered your room, uninvited, and all you saw was flames, burning through her blue irises like wildfire. you stepped back, wide-eyed and disoriented, her figure nothing more than a blurry silhouette in front of you. her heavy breathing was all that you could hear, it consumed you, made you dizzy as you staggered backwards, that ineffable sadness reaching into your chest and squeezing around your heart, fuck, how does she do this to you? 

“for fucks sake, would you just listen?” abby’s asked suddenly. her voice was rough around the edges, chipped away by your words—you couldn’t look at her, it was too much, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it. why did you say that to her? she was reaching toward you before you could say another word, you half expected her to hit you, to strangle you, to say fuck you and never speak to you again, but then her calloused fingers were gripping your forearm. 

“abby,” your voice was pathetic, broken and whiny, god, you were completely out of control. you let your arm go limp, watching as her hand practically burned an impression into your skin as she pulled you into her chest. you were overwhelmed by her scent, that fucking pine soap she always hoarded and faintest hint of bleach that burned your nose, reminding you of what started this in the first place. 

no, this couldn’t be real life, there was no way you were crying in front of abby, your biggest vulnerabilities tumbling from your lips like an avalanche, but her arms were there, wrapping around your shoulders like a blanket as her head fell into the crook of your neck. you couldn’t tell whose heart was beating faster, her pulse pounding against your ear as your arms hung limp by your side. your brain was absolutely spinning trying to figure out what to make of this, a few loose strands of her braid hair tickling the side of your cheek as you shifted your head.

“i’m sorry,” her strained voice bled down your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, her breath hot against your shoulder as she tightened her grip. instinctively, you wrapped your arms around her waist, giving in to her touch, her apology washing over you like a humid rain in the summer—you’d waited so long just to hear those two little words, but it felt wrong somehow. “i’m sorry,” she repeated, quieter now, though you were probably the one who should be saying that.

“abby,” you found yourself saying again, squeezing your eyes shut as you leaned into her, feeling the tightness of her back muscles flex as you flattened your hands against her back, oh god, what the fuck is happening right now? “i didn’t mean that,” you whispered, muffled slightly against her shirt. the words i’m sorry usually came easy to you, often apologizing for things that didn’t warrant one in the first place, but the words were harder to get out somehow in this moment, pressed against the fabric of her shirt. 

her grip on you loosened, her arms sliding down your back and she was gone in an instant, turning away, clasping her fingers together and bringing them to the back of her neck. 

“i don’t hate you,” but she couldn’t face you, dropping her arms to her hips as she looked at the ground. you watched the anxious tapping of her foot and it felt like you couldn’t breathe—isn't this what you wanted? to be friends, or at the very least, for her to not hate you? maybe then, but not now. “i’m intimidated.” she was quiet, turning to face you. the orange glow of the lamp cascaded over her face, painting her in the softest form you’d ever seen her in.

“intimidated?” you were taken aback, furrowing your brow. “by me?” you shook your head, incredulous at her sudden confession. what could she possibly be intimidated by? “abby, you’re-” you gestured at her, unsure of what to say. “-you could probably snap me in half if you wanted to, i-i don’t understand-”

“oh trust me, i know,” abby cut you off, scoffing, and fuck, she just couldn’t help herself could she? you were mortified she’d caught you in a moment of weakness, you were angry, you were so fucking confused. your pity quickly soured, tears dried up in an instant, the disdain seeping back into your skin like a parasite—no matter how many times the two of you got close to reconciling, it always went wrong somehow. it had felt different this time, but maybe you were wrong. 

“abby, i swear to god i-”

“okay, okay, i’m sorry,” she softened again, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “old habits die hard, am i right?” 

you squinted at her, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “does this really seem like the time to be making a fucking joke? because the door is right there,” you made a show of pointing at the door before turning to sit on the chair behind you, bending over to take off your boots. anything to avoid looking her in the eye. 

“fuck, i’m sorry, i don’t know how to talk to you about this,” she was walking towards you now, and you didn’t bother to look up. she sat opposite you in the mismatched chair, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. you looked up at her through wet lashes as you pulled your boots off, tossing them haphazardly to the side. she looked just as confused as you felt, brows furrowed in frustration—nothing about this felt normal, or okay. 

“what i’m trying to say is that i’m sorry,” she started, dropping her head to look at the ground. 

“you said that already,” you noted dryly, scooting back in the chair and pulling your knees to your chest protectively. she laughed, but it didn’t sound bitter. 

“i’m sorry, for everything,” abby looked at you now, and your breath hitched. “for how i’ve acted around you. for the way i’ve treated you, the things i’ve said. all of it,” her eyes were full of sorrow, and it made her look a way you’d never seen before—vulnerable, fragile, empty. “right after you moved onto the base, leah told me about what you’ve been through, losing your parents and your brother, being forced into that military school, and still fighting to get here all the way from boston. if i’m being honest, i was jealous that you could take it all in stride.”

you could do nothing but stare at her, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. 

“from the minute you got here, you were so calm and collected, ready to help anyone who needed it. you were constantly volunteering for extra assignments, helping out in the classrooms, doing all the work that no one else wanted to do with a smile on your face…i know we all have a past but i never could’ve guessed yours,” she let her head fall again, clasping her hands together and taking a deep breath, “and god, you’re so fucking smart, like there’s no way you learned all the shit you know about history at that dumb military school.”

your mouth fell open slightly, trying to process her words. first, an apology, and then a compliment? no smart-ass comments, no snarky look, no just kidding. you’d never even talked with her about your love of history that much, let alone your family.

“abby,” you started, pulling your knees tighter to your chest. your brain and your mouth were fighting over what to say, the years of dissention between the two of you threatening to surface—but she seemed genuine. bouncing her leg up and down, abby continued to avoid your gaze as she picked at her cuticles. 

“when i first got here, i was a mess.” she cut you off.  “i could barely eat or sleep, i hid in my room whenever i wasn’t out on an assignment, and i didn’t care about anyone or anything. it took me months to get past it all and then you came along, so open and easygoing, even after everything you’ve been through…i was embarrassed.”

“everybody handles grief differently,” you said quietly, putting your feet back on the ground. she looked up at you, and her cheeks were wet. you swallowed thickly. “i wasn’t always that happy behind closed doors.”

abby frowned slightly. she was quiet now, pensive as she held your gaze. your cheeks burned under the scrutiny, and you wanted to shrink into the chair. less than an hour ago you had all the intention in the world of never speaking to abby again, and now she was sat, taking up space in your room, and your mind, fuck, how was she always on your mind?

“that still doesn’t explain why you were so mean to me,” you broke the silence after taking another second to process her words, and tears were clouding your vision again.

“yeah, if i’m still being honest, i don’t really have an explanation for that either. or, not a good one, at least,” she at least had the decency to look sheepish, leaning back and scratching her neck lightly. “i guess because i was so intimidated by the way you handled yourself, i just defaulted to…jealous rage?” she sounded unsure, and you scoffed. 

“wow,” you said. “you’re right, that is a terrible explanation,” you shook your head, leaning back to match her pose. she laughed again, looking up to the ceiling, and it sounded foreign. 

“i’m not the best with words,” she smiled weakly, a blush creeping up her neck.

“trust me, i could tell by all your elementary insults.”

“hey, didn’t i just say i was sorry?” 

you smiled back at her now, against your better judgment. the two of you had spent the past three years practically at each other’s throats, and a simple i’m sorry i was mean to you because i don’t know how to handle my emotions was supposed to fix it all?

“i meant it though,” abby said softly now, eyes boring into yours. “i’m sorry. for everything.” 

you held her gaze a moment longer, but had to look away. you had to, before she could see that you were caving, that all you’ve ever wanted to hear was that—that you wanted to just talk to her without always being on guard, that you wanted to know her favorite music and what she really thought about all of manny’s sexcapades and if she ever took her hair down from that goddamn french braid and— “you don’t have to forgive me. not right now, anyways. i just hope that one day you can.”

and then she was standing up, your eyes followed up her torso as she stood, smoothing her shirt down before giving you another weak smile and heading for the door. oh god, fuck, fuck all of this, “abby, wait,” you were up and after her in a heartbeat, grabbing her forearm just as she had yours earlier, forcing her to turn around. she looked surprisedly, first at your face, then down at your grip on her forearm, which you quickly dropped when you felt your heart skipping a beat. her eyes were wild, tired and full of anguish. 

before you could talk yourself out of it, you were practically throwing yourself at her, arms wrapping around her torso as you pressed your cheek into her chest. she stumbled only briefly, before you felt her arms envelope your shoulders once more. this time, it didn’t feel wrong. 

it felt like coming home. 

“i really shouldn’t have said that thing about your dad,” you said, but it was muffled in her shirt. 

you felt her laugh rumble in her chest before she squeezed you tighter, her head lowering into your neck so that you felt her lips on your shoulder as she spoke. “yeah, that was pretty fucked up.” 

you smiled into her, and god, this was all fucked up. the world was fucked up, and out of it was born you and abby—two fucked up people making fucked up choices that lead to some pretty fucked up consequences. 

she pulled back from you, but kept her hands on your shoulders. you took a fistful of her shirt, looking down to avoid her eyes. your stomach was flipping, the heat radiating from her body overwhelming you and making you feel dizzy. “can you forgive me?” 

and yeah, that was maybe your fucked up, roundabout way of telling abby, i do forgive you, but she seemed to understand. when you dared to look back up, she dropped a hand, and the other came to softly caress your cheek. she looked at you tenderly, the rough pad of her thumb wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed. 

“of course i can.”

and then there was only the sound of your heart thrumming in your ears, her quickened breath as she looked at you in a way you’d never seen before. you gripped her shirt tighter, lips parting slightly as you felt the weight of her hand against your cheek. you leaned into it, eyes slipping closed for a moment. 

“abby,” you whispered, your free hand coming up to hold hers in place against your cheek. 

“shh,” she shushed you softly, and you could sense her getting closer. you didn’t dare open your eyes, heat pooling in your stomach as you felt her breath fanning across your face. 

“don’t speak.”

her lips pressed against yours so softly that for a moment, you wondered if you were dreaming.

Ipseity (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Summary: When the 141 has to make a choice between saving you or a fellow sniper, you know that your time has come to an end.

A/N: This was meant to be a short filler and now it's like 4.5k long. Hope you're all happy.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Graphic Language | Graphic Violence | Gun Violence | Graphic Description of Injury

The ringing in your ears woke you up. 

It was a high-pitched squeal that scrambled your thoughts and made your head pound. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't get past the overwhelming dizziness whenever you tried to raise your chin.

Blood stung your eyes. Your chest burned. You hadn’t been in this much pain in years, every pinch of your nerves prodded at long-forgotten childhood memories. They were things that had been left behind from before you enlisted, things that no longer mattered. What mattered was that you were tied to a chair and barely breathing. 

You were going to die here. 

And nobody was coming to save you. 

"Oh,” someone crooned from behind your seat. You didn’t have the strength to turn your neck and you thanked whatever cruel deity was listening that you hadn’t flinched. The least you could do was fake some courage for what was to come. 

“Come back for more?” Your mouth was dry, wretchedly so. You wanted to gag and spit, but there was no moisture in your mouth- it was like sandpaper. 

“There’s not much left in you for me to take, Sol,” Valeria said, her fingers trailing the length of your shoulder. Your body shivered beneath her touch as she slowly circled your chair, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

“Oh, I’ve always got something left for you, gorgeous,” you chuckled, flashing the drug lord a weak grin. 

She snorted, the harsh light of the overhead lamp illuminating the edges of her features. She was a sharp woman, Valeria, somebody that you secretly admired. Not for her deeds or the atrocities she’d committed, but for her tenacity and her ambition- there was no stopping her. 

“You’ve always been my favourite sniper, you know,” Valeria mused, pulling her hand from your skin to inspect it. Your blood stained her fingers, thick and warm from where it had oozed from your wounds.

“You usually kill your favourite snipers?” You tried to raise your eyebrow but sharp pain ripped through your face, you realized dimly that the skin of your forehead had been split.

“Only when they steal things that belong to me, Luz,” Valeria whispered, pressing her hands against the armrests and leaning in. “Then, I kill them.” 

“We didn’t do it,” you met her gaze evenly, the false claim falling easily from your lips. 

“You’d die a liar to protect your friends,” she nodded thoughtfully. “It’s unfortunate that they have chosen not to give you the same courtesy.” 

You frowned, taken aback by the statement. You suspected that the 141 wouldn’t be there in time, you’d come to terms with the fact that your journey might end here. But, the way she’d said it… it was as if you were missing something. 

Valeria’s brows raised, eyes wide as she mocked your surprise with a gasp. “Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it earlier.” 

“Mention what?” You ground out through your teeth. 

The drug lord huffed a laugh, pushing off from your seat and standing upright. Sweat began to form in a thin sheen across your skin, anxiety running rampant through your system. 

Valeria’s eyes hardened as she tutted under her breath, pulling the blade on her thigh from its sheath. When her attention turned back to you, the malice in her gaze made your spine straighten. 

What did she mean? 

“What you stole from me,” she began, pointing the knife towards your face, “got someone very close to me killed.” 

You swallowed thickly, your throat like gravel and your tongue like concrete. 

The woman was seething now, the cool facade that she’d worn had melted into pure vitriol and hatred. It was an expression you’d never seen on her but on so many others throughout the years, it was the stare of someone who blamed you for their loss. 

“So, as penance,” Valeria pressed the tip of the blade to rest against your chest, “your Task Force will have to lose one of their own- even after they bring me the information.” 

“What-” 

“We have the other sniper,” the drug lord shrugged. “The little broken one.” 

Your heart stalled in your chest, fear dousing your body like a bucket of ice water. Blood rushed through your ears, loud and roaring and all-consuming with the sound. You couldn’t think straight, the image of your colleague being tortured flashed across your vision like a spotlight. 

“Birdy.” You whispered the name but it sounded like a plea rather than a statement. Valeria must have heard the begging in your voice because she only smiled. 

“Birdy,” she confirmed, with a smug tilt of her head. 

God, please no. 

“Let them go!” You lurched against your restraints. 

The latina's eyes were like stone, hard and unyielding. She was in pain, she was hurting and now it was her chance to hurt you all for what you’d done.

“I will,” she nodded her head soothingly, fingers coming to trace your trembling jaw. You snatched your face from her touch and she raised a brow. When she leaned back with a sigh, you knew what was coming. 

Valeria struck you hard. 

The wounds on your face screamed and it felt like someone was making you gargle molten lava. Your eyes watered but you made no sound, you gave her nothing to indicate that she’d hurt you. 

“The 141 will bring me what they stole,” Valeria sucked in a breath, watching you from beneath her lashes. “But they can only save one of you.” 

Your eyes widened. 

They can only save one of you. 

You knew then that you were going to die here. 

“What’s the matter, pequeño sol?” Valeria spoke with a mocking lilt. Your body trembled. “You don’t think they will come for you?” 

“No.” 

The word was soft and broken and you wondered if the drug lord had even heard it. The way that her smile wavered implied that she did. 

“No,” she nodded, standing straight. “Neither do I.”

If you hadn’t been so shattered, you would have seen the glimmer of pity pass over her features. 

You took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself, "will you keep your word?"

"What?" 

"Will you keep your word?" You repeated firmly. No one was stupid enough to trust the word of a drug lord but right there and then you would take it as law. If you were going to die you needed to know that Birdy would be safe. 

Your eyes bore into hers. Valeria swallowed and you could see her hesitation, the desire to spit on the dying flame in your chest and put it out. 

Instead, the woman only nodded. 

"I will." 

Instantly, you relaxed in your seat and leaned your head back with a sigh. You closed your eyes, fighting the tears that had gathered along your lashes. 

This was it. 

This was the end of it. 

You weren't stupid enough to expect anyone to come save you, not when Birdy's life hung in the balance. There was never a doubt about who was more valued on the team, despite your skills you'd never be able to contend with Birdy's spot on the team. 

It wasn't about who was better, it was about who was loved. 

And nobody in the 141 loved you more than they loved Birdy. 

No one. 

Your lips trembled and you fury rose like a volcanic eruption from within your chest. You would not die crying. You would not die without dignity. 

"I'll be leaving to retrieve my package," Valeria sighed, sheathing her knife. "Once the handover is made, my men will put you down."

You grinned.

"After all we've been through," you feigned hurt. "I thought you'd want to do the honors, gorgeous." 

But Valeria didn't bite. She didn't laugh nor did she retaliate, the woman only watched you with an unreadable expression. 

"We are the same, me and you, Sunshine." The drug lord stood tall, "Deberías haber sido valorado. Morir con orgullo."

You blinked dumbly.  "I don't know what the fuck you said but I'm going to assume you think I'm hot and that you regret not sleeping with me before I die." 

Valeria rolled her eyes and turned away. 

"You act tough, Sol. Don't die thinking this is anything but a betrayal."

Betrayal. 

You offered nothing but a snort, laughing the chill of her words off your spine.

The woman left the room and immediately the silence was overwhelming. There was no one to lie to now, no one to throw your facade at. You found yourself almost asking her to stay as she closed the door behind her, biting your tongue to reserve your dignity. But, you didn't want to be alone, not when the end was approaching so quickly.

 Though, you guess you'd done this to yourself. 

Always good, but never enough. König was your best friend, but you knew he'd leave you in a heartbeat to save the sniper he truly loved- you couldn't ask any differently from him. 

After all, if it had been between him and Ghost, you were sure you'd make the same decision. 

A pathetic tragedy in itself considering the feeling wasn't mutual.

Simon Riley loved Birdy, just as the rest of them did.

You would never compare, you'd never come close, not with your ambitious demeanor- not with your shitty attitude. You'd never allowed yourself to view them as family and when they'd tried to include you, you hadn't let them in. 

If your own family had wronged you, your own flesh and blood, what would the 141 do any differently?

By the looks of the situation: nothing. 

No one was coming to save you. 

The burning beneath your lids became so aggressive you wanted to tear the skin from your face. You wanted to gouge out your eyes, just so that the only thing dripping would be blood- not tears. 

Never tears. 

You were not Birdy, you did not cry. 

You were not Birdy. 

You'd never be Birdy. 

The pressure in your chest grew and swelled and suffocated, extinguishing the fire you'd kept burning for years. Through everything, you'd held strong. Through hellfire and brimstone, you'd crawled your way across death and misfortune to emerge from the ashes stronger. 

You did not break. Not until now. 

A scream ripped from your chest, unrecognizable. It wasn't you who wailed, it was the child inside who mourned their life. It was the adult who'd never been loved the way they'd prayed for in the dead of the night.

Never enough.

Never enough for König, the man who always found himself by Birdy's side, chasing for the crumbs of their attention.

Never enough for Simon Riley, who'd taken your heart and crushed it every time he watched you with distaste- with disappointment.   

You were never the priority. 

Never his priority. 

You'd never be anything to Ghost, not the way Birdy was.

But you were not Birdy and you'd not die wishing that you were. 

You pulled at your restraints, thrashing in your chair with renewed energy. While you knew it was unlikely you'd escape, at least you'd be put down fighting. 

"Hey!" One of Valeria's henchmen shouted. 

You struggled harder, the skin of your wrists ripping from beneath the ties. Fresh blood trailed down your fingers and you smeared it wherever you could reach, wetting the braided rope until it was slick with crimson rage.

Your heart jumped as your hands slipped through the restraints, the gory lubrication helping you pull your crumpled fingers free. 

"Stop!" The cool metal of a barrel pressed against your forehead, putting an instant halt on your plans. 

You glared up at the man before you, his eyes were hard but his hand trembled, the weapon jittering against your skull. 

"I will fucking paint this room with your brains," he hissed, the cigarette in his mouth jolting with each word. "Try me, I dare you." 

"If the 141 comes with the package and I'm dead, Valeria will butcher your entire family, cabrón." You were careful as you spoke, enunciating each word as clearly as you could muster. 

The butt of his weapon struck your cheek hard enough to send stars skittering across your vision. 

"I speak," the man hissed, "not you."

"I'm trying to warn you-" 

He hit you again, this time harder. You felt your teeth dislodge from in your mouth and panic gripped your heart as they slid down your throat. 

"I said don't speak!" He shouted, the words warbled as your vision spun. Your head lolled to the side, gagging as you choked on your own bones. Bile speared through your chest as a combination of blood and stomach acid hit the floor weakly. Your teeth clattered across the ground, like dice rolling across the board. 

"Ricky!" The man called over his shoulder. "Alguna palabra sobre el paquete?

"Aún nada, hermano."

"Mierda! ¿Por qué tarda tanto?"

The conversation fell on deaf ears as you fought to keep yourself conscious. Your hands were freed but now the element of surprise was lost and there was a barrel pressed against your face. 

"I should kill you right now," the man spat in English. "You fucking murdered my brothers like a coward."

"They should learn to duck," you shrugged weakly. 

This time when he hit you, it threw your seat backward. You hadn't been able to move your hands in time before the weight of your body and the steel spines of the chair slammed against your forearms. 

A sickening crunch reverberated through the room, echoing like the toll of a church bell and while that was loud, your scream was deafening. 

"Let's be honest with ourselves, Sunshine," the man laughed, watching you as you writhed and sobbed. "Nobody is coming to save you." 

He cocked the weapon slowly, leaning down to press the barrel against your forehead once again. You couldn't even keep your eyes open as you struggled for breath, choking on your own spit and blood as you shrieked. You wanted to watch him, you wanted to go down with defiance- but fear gripped your throat so tightly you were choking on it.

You weren't going to die fighting. 

You were going to die suffering. 

When the gunshot came, your body recoiled so hard that your head smashed the concrete beneath you. In that horrible moment of silence that followed, you wondered if there was no peace even in death. Agony ripped through your nervous system, every inch of your body screamed for relief. 

If this was death, then you were in hell. 

"Think again, cunt."

The distinct cockney accent had your spine straightening and your eyes snapping open. 

The gun clattered beside your head, unfired. 

You weren't dead. 

"Sunshine!"

You were being saved. 

"Talk to me, Sunshine!" 

The voice was so far away, he was too far away, he wasn't going to make it. You weren't going to make it. The man on the floor next to you must have sat back up because you could feel his hands gripping your shoulders, the gun rattling in your ears. 

Fingers gripped your face, jostling you from your semi-conscious state. Your vision was blurred by your own blood and tears, the figure before you a mess of shadows. You screamed, trying to pull your broken arms from beneath the chair to defend yourself until help got to you. 

Searing hot pain ran up the lengths of your arms and stabbed into your neck. You gagged, a low bellow wrenching from your throat as you heaved. 

"Stop! Stop! Don't move!" 

"Get away from me!" You wailed, voice shrill and unhinged. You tugged again and this time his hands came down on your shoulders. 

"SUNSHINE!"

The roar of your name made your entire body freeze, clutching you by the throat with the desperation behind the callsign. You closed your eyes, a whimper falling from your lips to taint your dignity. 

"Jesus." He sounded like Ghost. It couldn't have been him but, God, you wished it was. "Come on, Sweetheart. Look at me." 

"I can't see," you wept. 

His thumbs swept over your face, gloves wiping the blood from where it had settled on your lids and lashes. You tried again, blinking the crimson liquid from your eyes as best you could. You imagined that you looked a sight, the whites of your eyes a deep red, stained with evidence of your injuries. Finally, your vision settled. 

Simon stared back at you, eyes wide. 

You gasped. 

"Simon?" You slurred, his name broken on your lips. 

"Yeah, Sunshine. S'me." He murmured distractedly. His fingers were twitching on your neck, scanning the rest of your body for injuries.

Your heart was beating against your ribs, sudden anxiety flooding your being.  If he was here it meant that they'd brought the package to you rather than to Birdy. 

That meant… 

"No, no, no," you whispered as the Lieutenant lifted the chair with one hand, pulling your broken hands from behind your back. "No, no, Simon, what're you doing here?" 

Ghost recoiled slightly, a frown overtaking his features. "The fuck do you mean?" 

"Birdy," you rasped, a sob building in your chest. "You need to get Birdy. What about Birdy?" 

"Birdy's-" 

You fought to stand up, pushing him out of the way as you stumbled to your feet. Your body swayed side to side as your vision swam, but you weren't going down- not again. 

"Need a gat. Need Birdy- we can't lose Birdy. Everybody needs Birdy-" 

"Sunshine." 

"I can't lose Birdy!" You snapped, reeling on your superior with a broken gaze. 

For a moment, he stood frozen, speechless. You'd never recover if they killed the other sniper, no one would. Everyone would blame you, it'd be your fault.

"König's got Birdy," Ghost said slowly, straightening to stand to his full height. "I've got you, Sunshine."

You gawked at him as though you hadn't understood a single word he'd said. Realistically, you truly hadn't. They'd come for you, knowing that it would put everyone at risk. 

Simon had come for you, leaving Birdy to a man that he hated with every ounce of his being. 

Simon had come for you, not Birdy. 

"You're here?" You whispered and although it sounded fucking stupid, Ghost only nodded. He knew what you were really asking. 

"Of course," he said. "Of course, I am."

"You came for me?" Your voice broke.

The soldier shuffled on his feet, shaking his head as though he thought it was obvious. 

"I'd follow you anywhere. We both know it," he huffed, that dark gaze pinning your soul to your chest. 

You rocked forward at the words, knees buckling from beneath you. Simon shot forward instantly, his arms looping around your waist and hauling you upward. His hand came to grip your chin, fingers slapping your cheek lightly as your eyes rolled backward. 

"Come on, Sweetheart. Stay with it, it's nothin',"  he growled, jostling your body to keep you conscious. Your head fell forward to rest against his shoulder, ears ringing and your mind shattered. "Sunshine, stay awake for me."

You couldn't any longer, you couldn't listen to him. He should have been used to it by now, you'd always been the troublesome one for him. Never directly disobeying him but never doing it the way he asked, always driving him bat-shit fucking crazy- always under his skin. 

But, if Simon couldn't save you, you'd die happy knowing that he'd even tried. 

You'd die happy knowing that somebody loved you. 

—

When you thought of dying, you always had such a visceral image of what would happen. You'd be the last one on your line, and the rest of your unit would be shot down; you'd make a stand on a hill and wipe out the enemy until you were out of ammo. Then, you would fight until you were overwhelmed. 

That was the death you'd imagined. 

Not abandoned and left alone in a warehouse in a sick game of "pick the sniper you like more." 

"They'll fully recover physically," someone sighed from above your head. "Mentally, though…" 

"They'll be right," Simon finished. 

"That's what they said about Birdy," the doctor muttered. "We all know how that ended." 

"Doc-" 

"Saint."

Simon cleared his throat. 

"Saint," the callsign foreign on his tongue, "Sunshine's not Birdy."

To hear it from Simon Riley himself was all the validation you needed. 

You stirred in the bed and immediately all conversation fell quiet, the both of them waiting for you to fully awaken. 

You knew you were in the hospital before your eyes opened. You recognised the doctor who was talking, a medic who had yelled at you often for ‘being reckless.’ The smell of antiseptic was near seared into your memory and the sound of the monitor beeping was too familiar. 

However, the room was brighter than you’d anticipated and you cringed into your pillow with a moan. The overhead light stung your eyes, searing your retinas and making it near impossible for you to think. 

“Get the lights,” Saint ordered, realizing what the issue was. 

The room fell dim, enough for you to finally pry your lids open and have a look around. Your jaw felt heavy like there was cotton in your mouth. As you probed with your tongue, you realised with a pitted stomach that there actually was something stuffed between your teeth. 

You moaned, reaching upward to pull it out. 

It was as though you’d set off a bomb with the movement. Both Simon and Saint immediately shot forward, hands on your arms to rest them by your side gently. They stood on either side of your bed, like two sentries, one dark and one light. 

“Gonna need you to just relax a second for me, spitfire,” Saint chuckled. 

You huffed, fighting the urge to gag on the material in your mouth. Your tongue ran over it, moving to dislodge it from where it had been wedged between your teeth. 

“Now,” the doctor leaned over to adjust your drip. “Do you remember your name and what happened?” 

Rather than respond, you opted to slowly let the gauze fall out of your mouth and onto your chest. Saint watched you with a deadpan expression as you fought with your facial injuries to perform this feat. 

At the end of it, you offered a weak smile. 

A long moment of silence ensued before the doctor sighed, staring at the lumps of bloody fabric sitting on the gown. 

“I’m gonna go grab some shit,” they said. “Maybe a fuckin’ whiskey.” 

They disappeared from the room swiftly, leaving you alone with the Grim Reaper himself. With a harsh sigh through his nose, the Lieutenant reached over and scooped up the gauze, dropping them into the bin. 

“You couldn’t just answer the question?” He muttered, moving to crouch by your head. He wore only his balaclava, his hoodie down for once. 

“Not with that in my mouth,” you rasped, words thick and sickly. 

Simon snorted softly but he said nothing, opting to watch you instead. His gaze ran from your hair to your neck, over and over as if he were committing you to memory. His expression was gentle but there was something hidden that made you think that, at that moment, he was extremely vulnerable. 

Anything you said from this point on would determine the relationship between you both. You remembered what he’d confessed when he found you beaten and bloody on the floor. It was clear as day and imprinted on your brain as though it had been branded on the inside of your skull. 

“I would follow you anywhere. We both know it.” 

You’d both reached the point of no return, no more smoke and mirrors, no more half-truths. Neither of you could get away with hiding your feelings behind hatred anymore. 

Not after he’d chosen you. 

“You came for me,” you whispered. A statement, not a question this time.

“Of course,” he said again, just as he had before. 

You hadn’t realised you were crying until his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from your cheeks ever so gently. As much as you hated it, as much as you wanted to stop, you couldn’t hold them back. 

The relief was palpable, the understanding that you were valued was freeing. 

Simon Riley knew the kind of person you were, right at your very core, and he still chose to love you. He still chose to hold your hand and dry your tears with nothing but pure reverence in his gaze. 

You realized then and there, that you were valued.

You were enough.

Ive been thinking about a reader who came into 141 with an american accent but overtime picked up little quirks and accent bits from the other members and they start to notice and tease them about it (like imagine reader picking up and using soaps scottish slang lmaooo)

Languages

Summary: The reader picks up different languages and accents throught the years, and the boys are fast to notice and tease you about it.

Platonic!141 X American!reader.

No use of Y/N. Use of gender-neutral pronouns.

Warnings: Swearing.

A/N: I imagine Price's face when he hears you say mate towards him for the first time lmaoooo i loved this idea (So sorry it's so short i know very little about their nacionality or informal words in another languages.)

Imagine the reader noticing Ghost's a little grumpy and they're like

"yer a little crabbit today huh"

soap is already on their side, begging them to repeat.

"Soap fuck off, no"

he secretly likes hearing you say things in a light scottish accent

You then starts using slangs and like 25% of the time only Soap gets it and starts laughing

there was one time you are in a mission, Ghost heard you swear in scottish and since then is calling you "Little Soap" and all variations of it much to your desgrace

"Mini Soap, come take a sip of water will you"

You do not go, and he just laughs more and more

Other times, just for mockery, you start talking with a british accent and using british words

But then you don't and it starts lightly. A "mate" in a phrase, a "she's bonkers" while discreetly pointing to Kate fumbling into papers

until you are full in accent and everything

"they left it in shambles." while organizing a table for you to eat

Gaz asks you if you are trying to catch your captain's attention and you get all embarassed.

"Captain, I think our little soap here is trying to catch your attention, yeah?"

you shake your head quickly to Gaz before Price turns to you and you look back down to your papers.

He just laughs while watching you.

"Shut the fuck up mate"

"AGAIN" Soap laughs and you are certain everyone in the base heard him.

as the time passes, you picks up a little accent there, a little word there and you are teased heavly for it, but you learn to accept it.

Avatar The Way of Water spoilers without context:

You Think I'm-?

Summary: The reader helps a drunken Osferth to bed.

Notes: From number two on this prompt list. Contains drunk Osferth, Finan being Finan, Sihtric being a good bro, and some kisses. Fluff! Gender neutral and entirely undescribed reader. Unbeta'd and unedited. oop

Read on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider giving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

Uhtred’s men had, once again, spent an evening drinking in celebration. And you, one not as fond of ale as the three men, had found them singing in the street. If one could call it that. Their singing resembled far more the shouting and long drawn out cries of startled cows at pasture.

“You best shut your jaws before the alehouse bans you from the place altogether,” you remark, arms crossed as you regard them stumbling through the mud of the street. “Your singing is worse than the innkeeper’s wife.”

Finan laughs heartily, stumbling with Osferth as Sihtric smiles at you, steadying the young monk between them.

“And what would you know of decent singing, eh?” Finan teases. “Always the critic!”

“I’m sure they have a lovely singing voice,” Osferth pipes up, his ‘g’s exaggerated. As he attempts to take a step forward he practically careens sideways, saved only by Sihtric catching his flailing arm. The Dane seems to be the most sober out of the three.

“I think the three of you have had enough ale tonight,” you try not to laugh at the sight. You nod to Finan, making eye contact with Sihtric. “Go on and help the Irishman, I’ll manage Osferth.”

He nods, steadying Osferth on his feet and going around to the young monk’s other side to start herding Finan to the Irishman’s bed.

“Oi, why does baby monk get your help and I’m stuck with the Dane bastard?” Finan jokes, clapping Sihtric on the back, who playfully wraps an arm around his neck in a mimicry of a grapple.

“Because this baby monk doesn’t weigh twice more than a fat dairy cow,” you dig playfully as you sling Osferth’s arm over your shoulder. “And is far more polite than yourself.” Osferth smiles gratefully, sheepishly, at your words.

Finan laughs easily, and before Sihtric can stop him he reaches over and claps Osferth on the back, sending the two of you stumbling.

“He might be polite enough, friend, but watch him! He’s a sly one when a pretty thing like yourself is about!”

Osferth’s head shoots up, eyebrows high at Finan’s words, but Sihtric shoots you a look and wrangles Finan away at last, the two men laughing at something as they turn a corner.

“Come on, ‘baby monk,’” you say, adjusting his arm around your shoulders and you follow the other two men.

The two of you march and stumble your way through the drying mud of the street, nearing the building your party is staying at.

“Thank you for your help,” Osferth says, catching himself on a porch pole when he stumbles sideways, nearly taking you with him. “It’s easy to get carried away when you’ve got Finan egging you on.”

You grin in amusement. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Osferth,” you say, pulling him back onto the road.

You help him all the way to his bed, going as far as tugging his boots off when he drops onto the cot.

“The room isn’t spinning as badly as I expected,” he says. “You don’ ‘ave t’ do that,” he protests, words slurring a bit, but you’re already taking his second boot into your hands.

“Like you could do it yourself right now,” you scoff. “And I’ll not have you muddy up the bedding for whatever poor soul cleans up after guests leave.”

He slouches slightly, trying to hold his leg out straighter for you to pull the boot easier. “But you’ve got mud on your hands now,” he mumbles.

“Hands that I can wash easily enough,” you say, finally yanking the boot free, and putting it aside with its partner. “Stay here, I’m going to get you some water so you don’t die of too bad a hangover when the sun comes up.”

He doesn’t protest, not that you’d listen if he did, and so you leave the room. You wash your hands in cold water from the well outside, and fill his waterskin you’d liberated from his person, as well as your own, before hurrying back out of the cold.

When you return, Osferth is laid on his back. He is still in his robes and his leather armor over his chest, leather bracers still on his forearms. He’s at least undone the belt of his scabbard, though not fully removed it. You scoff, amused at the sight.

“Jesus, baby monk, can’t even get undressed can you?”

He opens his eyes to look at you from his recline, and you approach and sit on the edge of the cot.

“Come on,” you pat his shin. “Up. At least have some water and take off your sword properly.”

He hauls himself up obligingly with a light groan, legs a warm presence against your thigh as he adjusts and accepts the waterskin.

“Thank you,” he says with a gasp once he releases it from his lips.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” you repeat yourself from earlier, nudging him gently.

He grins slowly. “That’s th’ second time you’ve called me pretty tonight,'' he begins to tease good naturedly. “Don’t let Finan hear you say that or he’ll think you mean it.”

“Oh, shush your pious hole,” your face warms and you avoid his all too intense gaze, as lighthearted as his smile is.

There’s a shift in the air, as Osferth keeps watching you, his smile suddenly turning to a slightly openmouthed look of surprise.

“You do,” he says, vocalizing his realization. “You think I’m pre–-”

You act on impulse, shutting him up with the first thing your body finds as a solution before your mind can catch up, pressing a quick firm kiss to his lips. You’ve pulled away before he can process it, and then the two of you are sat there staring at the other with wide, equally shocked eyes.

“I—” you don’t know what it is you’re going to say, how you’re going to play this off, but it hardly matters when his hands embrace your face and suddenly he’s kissing you.

It's a frenzy, all lips and teeth and surprised whimpers and gasps from both parties, the taste of ale and fresh cold water passing from tongue to tongue.

The need for air pulls you apart at last, chests heaving. You aren’t sure when or how it happened, but you find that you are straddling Osferth’s lap, your ankle twisted in the long strip of cloth that makes up the front of his robes. His hands are on your hips, steadying you, and your hands are on his shoulders.

He stares up at you, eyes wide as yours must be, both faces an expression of surprise.

“Uh—”

“So—”

You both start at the same time, and then you burst into a fit of nervous laughter. “Oh, God,” you say, covering your mouth as you try to stop from laughing too loudly. “Finan was right.”

The smile that had been spreading at your giggles turns into a confused frown. “About what?”

“You’re sly,” you chuckle, pushing at his shoulder to show you’re only teasing. “How did I even get on top of you?”

“Dunno,” he grins again, loosening his hold on your hips as you try to untangle your foot from his robes.

You shoot him a stern look as you finally free yourself and stand clumsily. “Are you even drunk?”

His eyebrows shoot open. “Wh– yes–!”

You push at his shoulder again with a broad grin, and he falls back despite it having only been a playful nudge. “Good.” You collect your water skin and straighten your clothes, smiling to yourself.

“You’re not staying?” He asks from the bed, shifting about to lay properly on his side. When you look at him he almost looks disappointed.

“I’m not going to hump you for the first time while you’re drunk, Osferth,” you cock an eyebrow.

Both his eyebrows raise again, and he shifts on the arm that has him propped up on his side.

“And I don’t want to be caught by Finan in the morning,” you admit. “Another time, baby monk.”

His face turns pink when you grin at him, closing the door behind your exit.

I have a request 🐉

~you can chose the house we are in :3

imagine being betrothed to bran stark (readers father wants her to be queen). after the wedding how would bran act? reader likes him but bran is kinda cold to her but he eventually warms up to reader after he sees all the effort she puts into the marriage. will he fall in love with her?

something like this please and thanks

-lady 🐉

A/N: AHHH this is ADORABLE <33 I decided to write both some headcanons and a fic at the end for this because i liked the plot a bit too much and might have gotten carried away, so apologies for the length! 🥲💞 I hope you enjoy this my dear ^^❤ Also, let's pretend everyone's alive and happy and well, yes? :") another note: originally, i was planning on making the reader either a Reed or a Greyjoy, but since i wasn't so sure which House to choose, i wrote (L/N) so you can refer to your own last name as a House, or, pick whichever house you'd like to be in! Hope this is what you expected dear, i'm getting used to writing for GoT 😂🥲❤

Pairing: Bran Stark x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings?: Long, very. More than expected.

────────────────────

• You're (Y/N) of House (L/N). Your father has arranged you to marry Brandon of House Stark – expecting you to become the future Queen, eventually.

• Of course, as expected, the previous days before your wedding you had to meet your now future husband and the castle you were going to live in to, at least, get familiarised with each others presence a bit, and as well to get used to your new home.

• Being fairly honest, it took him a bit to get used to the idea of being betrothed to someone, even if he constantly reminded himself that the idea of being betrothed/married to someone was all merely political, and to show union between the Houses.

• His first impression of you, was that you were a rather sweet and lovely girl, but you were still a stranger for him; and a stranger he soon would have to refer as "Wife". He barely knew you properly, since you had only talked for a small bit, and didn't really feel the type of love he's supposed to feel when getting married to someone. But what can he do about it? He's got no other option.

• You, on the other hand, as cold, unexpressive, and introverted as he seemed when you met him for the first time, you couldn't help but develop and instant crush on him. What you liked about him, was how cute he was (despite his awkwardness around you), and how he kept his gentleman behaviour. You were afraid you'd be stuck in an unwanted, abusive marriage like most girls you'd met, but he was quite the opposite – and that was more than enough for you to fall for the coffee-eyed boy.

• The day of your wedding, you were extremely anxious, yet excited about it. Your parents – and his family as well – reassured you everything was going to be just fine, and complimented you quite often in hopes of calming your nerves.

• Bran, as distant as he seemed towards you, also seemed to calm your nerves with his tranquil, shy personality, and with his compliments: making you feel much better, and even, spend a nice time in your wedding, surrounded by people who loved the two of you.

• Your marriage, even if it was sudden and kind of unwanted (at first!) was better than you expected. You tried to be the most loyal, and faithful wife as a girl could ever be, and you were beside your now husband no matter whatever happened. Always helping him out, sticking by his side, defending him when you heard people saying hurtful comments about him, taking him to the garden – whatever you could do to cheer him and have a nice time, you did it.

• ^ And of course, so did he, being the true gentleman he is, even if he's still not fully used to the idea of being married.

• With the passing of time, he eventually grew very fond of you, and became closer. Bran enjoyed your warm presence, it was very calming and you were a very good and loyal companion to him.

• And, from one day to another, oddly enough, Bran suddenly began noticing you more than he often did, even if he was already warming up to you. A particular new sensation for you sparked inside of him, a feeling he's never felt for anybody else, but for you: desire. There was something about you he loved so much, and he wouldn't stop admiring you from afar, even if you didn't notice.

• He thought of you as incredibly kind, sweet, beautiful, and he adored how despite you being incredibly pure and innocent as a dove, free from the cruel stains of the world, you could easily stand up either for yourself or for anybody else without flinching. The way you always put so much effort into your marriage, and how you always tried to give him the best, was something he admired and appreciated a lot.

• He's began taking a particular liking for you, and there's no turning back from that – he has fallen in absolute love for you.

• For Bran, he's uncertain and absolutely clueless about how to properly express his feelings for you, and confess to you that he's in madly love with you. So, to discreetly tell you he loves you, he'd do small things to do so, such as: pulling you closer to him while sleeping (or him cuddling you), complimenting you more often, gifting you jewellery (if you like wearing it, of course), holding your hands more frequently, giving you small kisses on your cheek/forehead, etc.

• You found it odd that he suddenly began showering you with love in small ways, but deep down inside, you enjoyed the particular attention you've been getting from him.

• Even if you're married already (because you had no choice tbh), he'd spend a long time thinking of ways to tell you how he's recently began feeling about you, in a way that doesn't kill him from the anxiety.

• The best way he thought of confessing that he truly loved and cared for you, was doing it while you were showing him the blooming flowers in the usual garden walk you always gave him in the mornings. It was peaceful, nobody would interrupt you, and it was a perfect moment.

• And my final answer for your question? Is yes. He would most likely fall in love with you when he notices how you always try to stick for him by his side, and always try to make him as comfortable as possible in your marriage.

────────────────────

The warm rays of sunshine delicately hit your faces, as you strolled your husband's wheelchair through the blooming garden. It was your favourite activity to do in the mornings, and even if he wouldn't admit it, he quite enjoyed it as well; helping him relax, and make him forget about everything, at least, for a short while.

Your father had recently betrothed you to Brandon Stark, just a few full moons ago, and quickly got wed. All of this, was only so you could become the future Queen once Bran was named King. For both of you, the idea of being married to someone you barely knew still felt awkwardly odd, even if you knew it was eventually going to happen. Getting betrothed with someone was all purely political, and only to unite Houses. In this case, unite House Stark and House (L/N).

When you met Bran for the first time, a few days before your wedding, as cold and distant as he seemed to be at first, you thought he was cute: which made you develop an intense crush on him. Why? Because, he acted different from the other Lords and future Kings: in your life, you've met several girls who married Lords and future Kings, and sadly, all of them were stuck in an abusive, unwanted relationship. You were absolutely afraid of ending with that same fate, but lucky for you, Bran proved to be the complete opposite of the other future Kings – he was a gentleman with you, and he was polite as well, even if he was quite unexpressive at the moment, naturally. But his personality was what had charmed you.

You thought, the feelings were only one sided – and even if it hurt a bit, you had to accept it. So, despite him probably not experiencing the same interest you had for him, you decided to still be a good wife to him, and stand by his side at least, as a loyal companion who'd try to help him with whatever thing he could possibly need. And how wrong you were to think he couldn't possibly like you.

Your natural sweet, kind, and helping self was more than enough to make him take a particular liking for you, soon growing to become love. It was hard for him to express his feelings for you, as they made him feel anxious, but he loved it when you helped him lay in bed, defend him, stay by his side whenever he needed it, and, like you are currently doing right now: take him to the gardens in the early mornings.

Snapping out of your thinking trance, you took a look at your surroundings, filled with beautiful colours from the flowers. Stopping, and gently touched a rose that has now fully bloomed. “Look, Bran, the roses and the lillies have bloomed so preciously. Some new flowers have bloomed as well, they're so pretty. Don't you think?” Breaking the strangely awkward silence between the two of you, you looked down at him, who was admiring the recently grown flowers as well. “Yes, they're quite beautiful.” Bran said, a small smile forming on his lips, as a contented sigh escaped from you.

As you tenderly touched the petals of the new grown flowers with the tip of your fingers, he noticed a particular odd flower that stood out from the rest. The flower had a strong crimson yet bright colour with some darker red strings that grew from the center, it's shape was different than the rest of the flower – as if it were more vivid, and so mesmerising as well. Bran carefully took the flower from it's stem, and softly raised it to his nose, feeling the sweet, pure smell of the flower – causing him to smile even wider at all the pleasant sensations. As he admired the flower he was holding, he thought, the moment was perfect to do what he's been wanting to do for a while, now: confess his feelings for you. No one was around to bother, or interrupt you, and your surroundings were so calmingly pleasant – it couldn't possibly get any better than that.

Bran couldn't understand why – or how – could you make him feel so nervous. You were already married, and you were very kind to him, yes, but he was afraid you were doing it out of politeness rather than sharing the feelings he had for you. Taking a deep breath, he turned around to look at you, slightly lifting the flower so you could see it; signaling for you to take it from his hand, in a way. It was nearly impossible for him to hide the growing redness on both his cheeks.

“This flower is for you, my love. I believe, it resembles your beauty.”

Looking down at him with wide eyes in surprise, a faint blushing rose your cheeks as well. Lately, he had been becoming a bit more expressive and less distant with you, leaving his cold, awkward nature around you far away. Bran had complimented you many times before, and he became so sweet with you, but never like this, acting very suddenly.

“Wait, why, wha– Really? Why, thank you, darling.” Stumbling upon your words as you began speaking, you offered him a shy smile, not hiding your blushing. You gently took the flower from his hand, and smelt it. “It smells tremendously sweetly, as well.” As you spoke, your voice tone was low. Crouching a bit to him, you placed a kiss on his cheek, which was warm from blushing. “You deserve it, beautiful. You've always been so kind for me, and I feel as I haven't returned you the favour.” Before you could open your mouth to speak, he signaled for you to sit on front of his lap by gently patting it. “Come, and hand me the flower for a second. I have something important to tell you.” Bran didn't even know where all his current courage was coming from, but that didn't matter anymore.

Doing as told, you first handed him back the flower, and continously, you shyly adjusted yourself on his lap, a bit tense from the sudden physical contact you were both having at the moment. Bran placed an arm around your body to properly hold you, as he tenderly tucked the flower behind your ear. He lovingly admired your flustered face for a brief moment, before he spoke. “I must apologise for being so distant and unexpressive towards you when we first met, my dear.” As he lowly spoke, he lifted the hand that tucked the flower behind your ear, only to softly stroke your cheek with his thumb. “I am sure you'll understand the reason of why I acted that way towards you. The idea of being suddenly betrothed and getting wed in a short span of days was a complicated thought to process, as expected as it was for both of us, knowing it'd eventually happen in our lives.” The only thing you could do, was shyly nod in agreement, as he kept spoking. “The idea of getting married merely for political terms rather than getting married for love was disappointing for me. But, I believe, fate has bought us together. I've realised–” Bran made a short pause before he kept speaking, trying to hold his own nervousness, as your heart pounded faster.

“I realised, I can't see my life without you in it now. It started by noticing how attached I became to your genuine sweetness and effort in making our marriage work, allowing me to warm up to your presence, and now, I desire to stay by your side for the rest of my life. I love you, and I am so happy to have been betrothed with you.” His words seemed so genuine and true, that made your eyes get watery with happiness of receiving the love you had terribly longed for since the first moment you met. “I am proud of calling you my wife, I desire no one else, but you. There aren't enough words to express my true feelings towards you which is beyond any possible barriers, my love, but hopefully, this will prove it.” His body began leaning towards you, and naturally, you did the same, until your faces were inches away. Ever so lovingly, the hand that was previously stroking your cheek now went to the back of your head, and pulled you closer to him – your lips finally meeting, in a pure, genuine kiss.

Of course, you had previously kissed in the lips before the day of your wedding, but it didn't feel genuine; it felt rather cold, and forced as well. It had been utterly bittersweet for you. The rest of the kisses you had given to each other, especially these recent days, were small shy kisses given in either the forehead, the cheek, or hands. This precise kiss, felt warm. Warm with the genuine, unstained love he had recently began developing for you in such intense way, that there was no possible physical way for him to prove it, unless you got inside his mind. Kissing his plushy lips was something you've only dreamed for so long, thinking you would never really get to experience his sweet taste – but here you were.

As you slowly pulled apart from him, you slightly gasped for air as a smile began forming on your lips. “I quiet enjoyed that,” You lowly cooed, as you wrapped both your arms around his neck, and placed a loving kiss on the corner of his lips. “But I think, we should get going. If we go missing for too long, they're going to start looking for us.” You said, as you played with some strands of his hair. “Yes, I think we should.” Bran said, placing one last kiss on your chin, as you tried to untangle yourself from him. Before you could place a foot on the ground to stand and go back inside with him, he tightened his grip on your body, and pulled you closer to him once again.

“Allow me to carry my dear wife back inside.” He said, notoriously teasing you, as the red colour on your cheeks slowly began appearing again. “Alright, only if you say so.” Adjusting yourself back on top of him, your arms went back to being wrapped around his neck, some giggles escaping your lips as he wheeled the two of you back inside the castle. Once you got back inside, you received some funny looks from the people who were walking around the halls, and around the castle in general. Seeing the future Queen on top of the future crippled King as he wheels the two of them throughout the halls was certainly not something you saw everyday. Of course, none of you cared about the way other people looked at you.

The two of you were now happy that each others feelings were fully reciprocated, even if it had taken a while to do so after being betrothed and getting married. You were happy that way, and no one would be able to change it.

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♡ taglist : ♡

@anemic-royaltyy

credit to: @namedlunagoddess or bruised_peach on tiktok.

Keep Moving Forward

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You’re determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he’s just some guy that’s taller than most people right? He’s probably harmless! Well, he’s a little scary, but you still like him anyway.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

AN: Just want to say a massive thank you for everyones lovely comments on the last part, I can’t believe how many notes that has now 😱 I’ve got a taglist so if you want to be added or removed (I just stuck down everyone that commented or reblogged the last one with tags/comments) lemme know! Also I’ve got my own version of what König looks like and I’ve been including details so hopefully you like my thoughts on him 🥰

Part 2 of A Rocky Start

Part 1  |  Part 3

-☠️-

A forbidden crush, a whole unit of men watching out for any missteps and a job that required you to be on your A game - it all sounded a bit like a bonkers netflix plot, but no this was your life now. You were desperately trying to hide your little (massive) König crush, while trying to get through your days and it was going horribly. The universe was working against you. 

Keep reading

I have done what gods do. You’re welcome. 💚

…

[ We needed a shirtless Joel pic. My edit @lvlyedits.mp4 on IG ]

…

I’ve been seeing people vastly misunderstanding the whole point of the shootout scene, so I want to share my analysis here. It’s not just a redemption for Chishiya, and not just a way to make Niragi seem deep and complex. It’s a way to compare the characters of Arisu, Chishiya, and Niragi, and show their adaptability to change.

To begin, the initial main focus of it all is Chishiya. He has just left the King of Diamonds venue, and has realized that he is jealous of people like Kuzuryuu who are able to die happily with a purpose. He is seeking to speak with someone, to open up about his inner turmoils. That is when he gets caught between Arisu and Niragi, two ends of a morality spectrum he is struggling to find his place on.

Now, why does Niragi start this shootout? He says that he, Arisu, and Chishiya are all too similar, and due to this only one of them can live (although, it is later evident that it is for this very reason all three of them survive). Niragi doesn’t say they are similar in regards to their actions in the games; he says this in regards to how they are all inherently selfish people at the core. They put themselves first and foremost, whether intentional or not, and hurt those around them as a result.

For Arisu, this makes more sense in the context of his manga characterization. Manga Arisu has the unintentional tendency of doing things for his own sake when he thinks he has the group’s best interest at heart, and his speech mannerisms mainly revolve around his own feelings. He is selfish without realizing it. The shootout finally makes him conscious of this, and makes him want to remedy this. He is adaptable to change for the better.

For Chishiya, this has been evident from the beginning. He will manipulate and use others for his own gain, without worrying what happens to them afterward. He never goes out of his way to help others, but at the same time never directly hurts them either. He has and recognizes this selfish indifference towards all facets of life. However, the games make him envious of people like Arisu, who are adaptable to change.

For Niragi, it has always been obvious how he embraces his selfishness. He enjoys going out of his way to hurt others and make them suffer. He becomes the abuser to keep from being vulnerable. He is the oddball out of the three, because despite everything, he does not want to change.

Their selfishness is just the example that Niragi gives, but there are other things they have in common as well. Their upbringings, for one – they all lacked love and affection in their home lives. What makes them different in this sense is that Arisu had Chota and Karube to hold him up, who made him more friendly and optimistic towards life. Chishiya had no friends, but no enemies either, which led to his indifference towards life. Niragi had abusers, which led to his hatred and resentment towards life. There’s also how they all initially wanted to stay in the Borderlands; Arisu because he wanted to avoid his real world responsibilities, Chishiya because he was intrigued by the intellectual stimulation and death of the games, and Niragi because he could thrive in a world without laws. But they all eventually came to the realization that they wanted to leave; Arisu first due to escaping and finding a reason for living, Chishiya next due to realizing he needs to reject the offer to truly change, and finally Niragi not because he changed, but because he simply wanted to live.

As you can see, they are all similar characters at three different levels of intensity. Arisu at level one, the level where he is still capable of goodness. Niragi at level three, where he is too far gone and considered evil. Chishiya is stuck in a morally gray area between the two, trying to figure out where he should place himself.

Anyways, back to the shootout. Chishiya came here to talk to Arisu because he wanted to change for the better. But then Niragi came and pulled him backwards, halting his progress. The shootout is a battle of moralities; a push-and-pull between Arisu’s good and Niragi’s evil.

The whole point of this scene was to give all three of them time for introspection. Who are they currently, and who do they want to become? Niragi’s comment about all of them being similar spurs their answers. Arisu is disgusted at the realization of being so similar to Niragi, so he quickly puts his gun down and pledges to change. Chishiya is inclined to distance himself from Niragi once he sees Arisu’s resolve, and only puts his gun down to become uncharacteristic and save Usagi. And Niragi, upon seeing the other two take this chance to renew themselves, realizes that he was foolish to believe anyone could be like him in the first place. He truly is alone in this world, and he only has himself to blame for it. He never lets go of his gun – he fires. And in that split second, why does Arisu pick his gun back up after vowing to change? He does it to save Usagi. To not be selfish and shoot Niragi out of his own hatred, but for the sake of saving Usagi’s life instead. Saving Usagi is the turning point for Arisu’s character, and for Chishiya as well. Niragi’s attempt to kill her demonstrates how he never wanted to change to begin with.

So yes, Niragi was right in saying they are all similar in terms of their selfishness. But he was wrong to believe that they were kindred to him and could not change.

TLDR; all three of them are foils, bound together by their inherent selfishness. This shootout is the defining scene for their characters. Arisu is adaptable to change, Chishiya struggles with his alignment but ultimately chooses to change like Arisu, and Niragi was never meant to change in the first place.

requesting for chishiya !! i dont really see anything abt him being flirty, so i'd LOVE to see smth like after the game with king of diamonds when he starts to open up yk, maybe chishiya had feelings for op when they were at the beach but never told them that cause he didnt >want< to feel that way, but after all that talk with kuzuryu he wants to change but doesnt rlly know how so he just starts flirting with op at any given chance basically :]] like calling them pretty and holding their hand/waist yk and maybe just dropping some "wanna makeout?" but its SO CLEAR that hes trying really hard and has no idea of what hes doing (that man does NOT flirt usually

I AM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH FOR THIS !!

I am a firm believer that chishiya is definitely a huge antisocial dork outside of the borderlands and with his partner, so this request hits home

"A" for Effort

Summary: God, who would've thought Chishiya Shuntaro could fail at something so gracefully—alternatively, the one where Chishiya tries flirting for once.

Genre: fluff, aib!au, ooc chishiya (he's a dork in this one)

Pairing: reader x chishiya

Words: 1k

"You know, I can make a bomb out of that with enough batteries and wires." Chishiya mused, a hint of pride in his voice. You froze midway through your actions, the cola can you were holding suspended in midair, inches from your lips. "That's very cool of you, Chishiya."

"Yeah," he hummed. He slid his chair closer to you, making the old floor of the abandoned apartment creak. You'd be lying if you said his closer proximity didn't make your heart flutter.

Uncharacteristically, he slid an arm around you, seemingly aiming to land on the armrest on your other side. As soon as his palm hit the wood, it gave in with a sharp snap, making the blond jolt forward. His chin hit your shoulder, sticky soda liquid spilling as your arm jerked alongside it.

For a split second, he looked mortified, eyebrows raised slightly and his mouth agape. Quickly enough, he caught himself and slid back into his stoic expression. He cleared his throat, "I just have to cut that top part open. The wiring goes in and then the pull-ring after. It's really easy—I can teach you if you want."

His breath was on your skin, deep brown eyes burning into yours. When they're close enough, his eyes no longer looked cold nor judgmental. They were soft, gentle—they were windows to the vulnerabilities and brilliance hidden beneath his hard shell. His pupils seemed to dilate when he whispered, glimmering with wonder under the candlelight.

"You're really pretty."

Your breath hitched in your throat. Eyebrows raised, you let out a hum in surprise. What has gotten into him today?

"Sorry?" You couldn't help but smile. It was an awkward one, given how you were unused to interacting with him like this, but a smile nonetheless.

His arm was still around you, limply laying on the side of the chair before he decided to press it onto your waist. For the first time in his life, Chishiya's fingers trembled. He was praying you wouldn't notice the almost imperceptible way his fingers shook over the fabric of your shirt. You pretended not to notice.

"I think your lips are really pretty," he said as a matter of fact.

He didn't know why you were looking at him as if he just blew someone's head off. Truthfully, it wavered his confidence and he started to rethink his approach. You still hadn't said a word for you were trying to figure out if this was really happening, but he mistook this silence for rejection.

"I'll uh—" he moved away from you, standing up to go towards your makeshift bed of papers and pillows. The bed in the apartment came with questionable stains, and you were adamant about never touching it.

"Chish-"

"I'm going to sleep," he grumbled, frustrated at himself for failing at something he considered to be simple. Why was it suddenly so difficult to talk to you?

Whatever fire Kuzuryuu ignited in him has certainly dampened a bit. He felt defeated—stumped—that the perfect plan he concocted didn't pan out the way it usually would. He thought that now was the best time—he had just came off from beating a king, you found a place the King of Spades seemingly hasn't touched yet, and the both of you managed to unearth unexpired strawberry candies that actually tasted good. Today was supposed to be lucky.

He'd thought of all the variables, and processed the multiple backup plans he had up his sleeve, yet when that fucking armrest broke, they all went down the drain. He was curled up in a ball, back facing toward you. He didn't want you to see him in such an embarrassed—pathetic—state.

"Humans aren't formulaic," he thought.

Sighing, you stood up. You blew the candle, the resulting wisps of smoke trailing up towards the ceiling. Chishiya lay motionless, and if you weren't any wiser, you would've thought that he had actually fallen asleep already.

You sat crossed-leg next to him. The plastic of his earphones glinted under the moonlight, peeking through strands of bleach-blonde hair. You gently plucked the bud out and the blown-out bass of a heavy rock song greeted you. He tilted his head slightly in your direction.

You leaned down, bringing your lips closer to the curve of his ear. "I think you're pretty too."

For a beat, he was unresponsive. Then, he rolled onto his back, now facing you fully. His lips quirked up, giving you the smallest of smiles. He propped himself up on his elbows, cocking his head to the side. It's almost as if it was a challenge for you to continue.

"I don't know what got into you, but I do know that it gave me the courage to tell you this," you bit your lip. "I have feelings for you."

He cocked an eyebrow up, pleasantly surprised and almost in a teasing way. So the plan did work. Not in the way he thought it would, but it still came to fruition.

Your noses were almost touching. You wanted to close the gap, to meet his chapped lips that vaguely smelled of strawberries—he swore he wasn't using lip balm but you begged to differ. He was yearning for this as well. God, he was so mesmerized by you.

So pretty, so pretty, so pretty.

"If you're having trouble with getting the lid off, I can always help you with some pliers I found."

"What are you talking abou—is this about the fucking bomb again?"

He cut you off, finally pressing his lips against yours. Snaking his hand behind your head, he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. You still hadn't quite figured out the intricacies of his mind. His behavior was sometimes erratic—although he was calm and calculative, he can also be unpredictable and warm.

There was a multitude of thoughts running through your mind, the loudest one being the drive for the both of you to make it out, to survive. And without saying it, you knew he wanted the same thing.

Master of Puppets | 3

Summary: You meet someone who caught your attention the first time, and he was all you desired.

But what happens when that desire is taken for granted?

Pairings: Chishiya x Fem!Reader

Genre: Slowburn, Angst

A/N: This chapter 3 of the MoP series! Chapter 3 is shorter than I expected so I apologize. Hope you guys still enjoy :)

****

Embarrassment was far more than you could describe what happened that night. Grabbing the pillow next to you, you let out a loud scream while kicking your legs. It wasn’t until today where you actually laid down in your bed and carefully thought about everything that happened in those moments with Chishiya. And the more you thought about it, the more you realized how right he actually was. Chishiya did have an affect on you, and it was making you go crazy.

You have absolutely no idea why or how it happened but he’s someone that you just didn’t want to get enough of. He’s on your mind consistently, whether you liked to admit it or not. Even when you would hang out with Kuina, sometimes you couldn’t help but ask about Chishiya to see if he was doing okay and just making sure that he was still alive. Kuina has asked you if you wanted to go with her to be with Chishiya and you turned her down. You just couldn’t face him. Not right now. Although Kuina was skeptical about it, she never pushed you on. She figured you would tell her once you feel comfortable and reminded you again that she will always be there for you. My guardian angel. 

But it’s hard, having to isolate yourself because you feared the truth. And what scared you about Chishiya is that he knows the truth. And it begs the question:

Does Chishiya know you better than yourself? 

The thought of it makes your mind and heart go around in circles like a roundabout. If he knew the truth it’s just best to be honest about it right? What was his stance on the matter? Does it bother him that you are going to be appear more often now that you are close with Kuina? You know you can’t hide from him forever and vice versa, so will he just continue to ignore you? Or will he take an initiative?

But why would he bother taking an initiative if he told you that he didn’t want to be friends with someone as pathetic as you are? Again you screamed in the pillow. Even if he doesn’t want to, you know that being close to him is something that you felt you need to do. 

Rather than just running away, you knew you just had to accept the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth. That truth being that you wanted Chishiya more than anything. 

Quickly jumping off the bed you put on your shoes and start heading out the door. You weren’t exactly sure where you could find him right now but you had a few ideas where he could be. You just hope that he hasn’t left for a game so soon.

-

Looking for this man was giving you an absolute headache because he was nowhere to be found. You checked the obvious places and people but found no sign of him. It was getting ridiculous how much you were running around the Beach trying to find him, and the weird looks people were giving you wasn’t helping either.  You figured you would just call it a night and head back to your room and try again the next day.

Walking along the corridors of your floor you spot him coming from the opposite direction. Your heart starts to accelerate.

Just stay calm.

Slowly walking up to him you can feel the anxiety coming straight at you like a hurricane. This is probably the worst idea ever but there is no turning back now. Now face to face with him, he pulls out the earphones that he had on and gives you a raised eyebrow. 

“Chishiya! Hi- sorry um..” giving yourself a deep breath you continued, “sorry I just wanted to let you know that you are absolutely right. You do have an affect on me and I can’t explain why, but all I know is that I really like you. I like you so much and I know that sounds crazy because you barely know me and I don’t really know much about you either but I just… I feel like I’ve always had these feelings for you since I first saw you and they won’t go away. I think it’s the best if you knew the truth.” You look at him straight in the eyes, your heart palpitating with your palms already sweating.

Breaking the eye contact you look down at your hands and start playing with them, as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. Why isn’t he saying anything? Taking another deep breath you look back at him, his eyes were still on you. The smirk grew wider before he speaks,

“The question is how long did it take you to know the truth?

“Oh? Well I guess I didn’t realize until… that night” you gulped. You watch as he slowly started to inch toward you, just like he did on the rooftop. Your legs were frozen in place, not moving an inch from where you stood. He was at your eye level, but this time he was slowly getting closer to you. Your faces were now inches away from each other, lips centimeters away. “Was it when I came close to you like this?”

You gasped and he chuckles, quickly backing off before continuing, “I think it’s cute, however you serve no purpose for me at the moment.”  Giving you one last smirk he starts walking away, leaving you once again in delirium. 

 ***

The thick black smoke circled around while you were laying on the cold concrete floor underneath as you sleep. The smoke becomes thicker and your throat and lungs were getting severely irritated. You start to cough aggressively, hoping to remove the impurities that were in your respiratory system. Getting up, you tried to breathe to get any clean air into your system. The feeling only made you feel worse. The black smoke forbid you to see your surroundings, but you knew you had to get out of here. Coughing and running you try to find any signs of an exit. The place was like a labyrinth; so many twists and turns and it was as if you made an entire circle. Your body was screaming in desperation to get out, and you looked for another route to make it out of this crazy labyrinth. 

Running south this time, a bit of the black smoke clears up and you see a figure standing several meters away from you. Getting closer you see the man with his signature white hoodie. He was surrounded by water – lots of water, like the entire Sea of Japan was behind him. And he was just standing there watching you. You try to run towards him, calling out his name. HIs figure stood there with no response. The black smoke that you thought you escaped from was chasing after you, and the fire began to spread further as you continued running. Looking back, you see the raging hells were geting larger. You forced your legs to quicken their pace, hoping to reach the man that oh so desperately had what you needed. 

Just a few feet away and as you jumped into the water, you quickly swam over. His body was now right in front of you, giving you that sly smirk. Admiring his features, your fingers couldn’t resist but to touch the delicate soft skin against his cheek. Did he always have a small mole underneath his left eye? He doesn’t move an inch, and your eyes move towards his lips. Your thumb gently rubs against the bottom of his lip before you lean in and touch his lips with yours. The fire that was once coming after you has completely engulfed inside your body. The kiss lasted for several seconds and you did not want to stop. When you let go and open your eyes, his beautiful presence was not there. Looking around you see that he has completely disappeared, and it was just you alone in the darkness with the cold water surrounding you. 

You called out his name repeatedly, even screaming his name at the top of your lungs but to no avail. Tears were coming out of your eyes as you sobbed. You dive in looking to see if he was in the deep waters with only the darkness staring back at you. It was no use searching for him. Wailing now, the sobs continued, and the tears blurring your vision forbid you from seeing the tidal waves completely consuming you. 

Master of Puppets

Summary : You meet someone who caught your attention the first time, and he was all you desired.

But what happens when that desire is taken for granted?

Pairings: Shuntaro Chishiya x Fem!reader

Chapter 1:

Running across the apartment complex sure was a workout. The loud screams of the people getting massacred was enough to give you that adrenaline rush that you needed. Even if you feel your limbs go numb you would not dare give up so quickly. Not sure where to run off to, you let your body naturally guide you to the top of the complex. As you reached the top, you see a figure at the very corner. It was that mysterious guy you saw at the entrance of the complex. His white hoodie stood out to you along with this his light hair peaking out of his hood. Instead of heading to his direction, you felt frozen in place. Your body would not move and all you could do was look at him. He locked eyes with you, startling you in your place. Like a deer in the headlights, good job Y/N.  Feeling your heart aggressively palpitating against your chest you couldn’t help but turn around and run. Why did you run away? He’s obviously not the tagger are you stupid? You don’t know why, but those few seconds of eye contact with him gave you an unexplained feeling. Your heart was beating more than it should and you feel your cheeks flushed. What the hell was that?

The round finished quicker than you expected as a few people found the safe room. Leaving the apartment complex you were glad that it was finally over. Your body was in need of a deep rest after all that fiasco. Deep in your thoughts you failed to realize the figure standing in front of you, and you feel your body hit against an object.

“Oh, Sorry I-” you look up and see the same guy with the white hoodie. Your mouth stopped and it was as if your brain just lost all function. He looks at you curiously, wondering how you were going to finish your sentence, but nothing was coming out.

“Be careful next time.” Was all he said as he walked away.

And this was the first time you have met him.

****

The Beach was definitely not something you expected. Literally, you thought it was an actual beach, not a resort with people partying all the time. You had to admit, it was nice seeing everyone enjoying their time. It lets them know that even though it might be their last time here,  they should enjoy their days to the fullest. 

Walking around the bar you saw people dancing like there’s no tomorrow, people drunk off their asses and makeout sessions happening left and right. Seeing the people around you having fun made you want to get that same satisfaction. You grabbed a bottle of liquor from the counter and started to drink. The burning sensation immediately hit your throat. Taking few extra sips you walked to the dance floor and started to dance. You weren’t the best dancer but who cares? It’s not like anybody here is going to judge you based on how well you could dance. Several minutes go by and you feel the effects of the alcohol hitting you. Instead of continuing to dance you make your way to the pool lounge and jump right into the pool and screamed right before you hit the water. Laughter escaped your lips, particularly for no reason at all. You were definitely tipsy at this point. Swimming around the pool felt therapeutic, it was as if the water was giving you one giant hug that you didn’t want to get out of. Looking up, you see people laying down on their lounge chairs talking amongst each other. Observing everyone in the room, your eyes lock in to a particular person. One that seemed oddly familiar to you. He was leaning against the fence just looking at you, amused. Where have I seen him? Several seconds of eye contact go by and you remember. The guy from the five of spades game. You feel your heart do a somersault, your cheeks flaring up and limbs go numb. The alcohol really is hitting me harder this time then ever before. Breaking the eye contact, you swim to the other side of the pool to get off. When you look back, he was no longer there. Was I hallucinating? I had to be. 

When you made it to your room one big jump to your bed was all it took for you to completely knock out.

And maybe, that was the second time that you have seen him. 

****

The game was inside an abandoned cafe. A bell chimes when you open the door, grabbing the attention of the man and a woman already inside. In front of you was a table with two phones. Being the third one there, you picked it up to register for the game. Taking a closer look around the inside of the cafe, you noticed the old artworks plastered around the room. Despire the state of condition they are in, you couldn’t help but enjoy some of the work. One in particular that you enjoyed was the skeletal drawing of the face of a deer in black and white. You make your way closer to the painting, studying it. 

The bell chimes indicating that the last person has joined the game. You didn’t immediately turn around to see who it was, for whatever reason the artwork was very captivating to you. As the game was about to begin you turn around and see the same man once again. At this point you weren’t sure if its just a coincidence or if you’re going absolutely crazy. He didn’t notice you at first either. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. Something in him told him he was being watched and as he looked up his eyes met yours. You quickly averted your eyes to one of the paintings against the wall. 

The game screen chimes, indicating that the game is about to begin. There are 4 participants and the difficulty is a three of hearts. Great. The game is called Spyfall. The rule for the game is to figure out who is the spy. The game ends when the spy is captured. 

Each person is seated at one of the large tables in the back of the cafe. There is one card faced down in each seat. There is a large distance among the person sitting in front of you and adjacent, to prevent any cheating. 

You pick up the card, hoping that you are not the spy. Looking at your card you see that the location is an Amusement park. You try not make it obvious that you aren’t spy, holding in the huge relief that has been carrying on you. If anything, this game specifically is more difficult for the spy because there is less people in the game.  Now, since you are obviously not the spy and the there is 4 participants total, meaning that there is at least a 33% chance that one of the other players is the spy. Attentiveness is important in this game, so the responses of the questions being asked are clues to what the role of the player could be. 

As everyone was asking each other questions and answering them, it was starting to get a bit difficult to figure out who the spy is. If anything, it seems as if they all are answering the questions unsuspiciously. The time was ticking and it was getting harder to think of other questions. 

“You seem a little nervous there aren’t you?” said the woman to you.

“What?”

“Well you keep fidgeting with your fingers and looking down, seems pretty suspicious of you. I mean, why would you be so nervous?”

You weren’t sure how to even respond to that. I mean you obviously know you aren’t the spy you have the card to prove it, but you can’t reveal that as it will give away the answer to the real spy, which is game over for you.

“Cat got your tongue?” she mocked. 

“I’m just taken aback with what you said, I mean what’s your proof?”

“You didn’t even answer my question. Why are you nervous?”

“I just naturally am. Is that a problem? I mean im not the spy.” At this point she was annoying the hell out of you and you wanted nothing more then to shut her up.

“Yeah that’s something the spy would say.” she rolled her eyes. “My vote is for her. She’s the spy i know it.”

You were in disbelief. It honestly didn’t even matter if you’re the actual spy or not in this game because if you are voted against then it’s game over for you. The game does not end until the real spy is captured or if the spy is the last one standing. 

You looked around to see what the other two men thought. The older man was silent, while the guy in the white hoodie had a smirk on his face, looking pretty amused at the cat fight that seems to have occurred.

“Well, I mean she is right. Your responses were one-worded and you were mostly quiet throughout the entire game. Everyone else here seemed to have talked more than you.” said the older man.

“See, it’s obvious.” barked the woman. 

“Im not the spy! How many times do I have to fucking tell you, and even if i do try to explain myself you’re just gonna dismiss my response as a lie.” you yelled. “Ask me more questions then and i will gladly answer whatever you guys throw at me.

The woman gave you a dirty look and the older man looked as if he was thinking of another question to ask you very specifically.

“Ok then, is this place somewhere you would enjoy being at?” asked the older man.

“Absolutely not,” you responded.

He looked at you confused.. “Oh, and why is that?”

“Because I will get sick.” and with that the older man seems to understand.

It gets quiet for a while until another voice begins to speak, “This game could’ve easily ended a while ago.” 

“See, everyone believes me!” said the woman. 

“Just because someone isn’t responding the way you want them to does not mean that they are the spy. Their responses were very straight forward.” explained the younger man.

The woman is startled, not knowing how to respond to that.

“And based on how you were responding specifically, you were too talkative. You kept trying to explain things when there was no need. It was starting to get annoying. At one point you slipped up on your answer and you didn’t even realize.” he chuckles. “Then you suddenly accuse her of being the spy. Seems like desperation isn’t it?”

You could see the woman’s face getting red, both of anger and embarrassment.

“You were getting desperate that you could not figure out what the exact location is, and in order to save yourself you thought diverting the attention to her would make you appear less suspicious, when in fact it only made you do the opposite.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was this guy really defending you? You are absolutely grateful for that but it was something you did not expect to come out of his mouth.

The older man seems to agree with what the younger man said as he nods in agreement. “Well I guess that concludes the game.” 

You all voted for the woman, and when she reveal her card she was in fact the spy. “I hate you all” was all she said before the laser immediately kills her. You look at the younger man who was now facing you. Feeling your tongue tied you had difficulty thanking the man that defended you, “T-t-thanks.” you said to him.

He gives you a smirk, “I wasn’t really trying to help you if that’s what you were thinking.”

“N-no not at all.” you look down, unsure on what else to say. He gets up to leave the building but you call him out before he could open the door. 

“Wait!” you yelled. He looks back at you, locking eyes with you with that same old smirk.

“What’s your name”

“Chishiya.” He turns around and walks out.

And this was the third time you have seen Chishiya, where it all began.  

only on episode 5 and I’m constantly screaming because of him

Secret Cove (Part 1)

Neteyam X Metkayina (oldest daughter of Tonowari, the chief)

Takes place before the last battle in AWOW

Neteyam is 18

Contains: alcohol and angst

“Let him go, Neteyam,” I say as Neteyam calls after his brother, angry lines creasing his forehead. Lo’ak’s retreating back glistens as he dives in the water. My little sister, Tsireya, dives in after him, a playful smile on her lips. 

“Argh!” Neteyam growls. He whips around in annoyance and leans over the edge of the Mauri pod. He makes a clicking sound, calling for an ilu. He’s been so stressed lately; we both have. It’s hard being the oldest ones in our families.  

But I’m tired of it. My eyes harden before I reach out and grab his arm. “Neteyam, please.” 

 An ilu swims to the surface clicking happily as Neteyam stiffens. The warmth of his bicep seeps into my hand. I rub his arm softly, trying to calm him. 

“Lo’ak can’t get in trouble again. My dad—” he sighs, “He is my responsibility. If something happens to him…”

I pull my hand back. Neteyam’s shoulders are tense. His eyes dart across the water nervously as he unconsciously picks at his fingers. He needs to relax. A smirk grows across my lips. I know just what to do tonight. 

“Come on.” I grab his hand before he has a chance to protest. 

I yank him to his feet. He stumbles forward slightly, surprise flashing in his eyes. I grin at him before taking off through the village with his hand in mine. We’ve never held hands before. While we’ve grown close during his time here, we mostly just follow the rules. I’ve taught him how to hold his breath and to fish. Sometimes I’d catch him staring at me. Or other times, I’d hear him telling Lo’ak to stop teasing him about me. We often shared glimpses of annoyance, when our younger siblings did things they shouldn’t. We shared the same kind of burden. Understanding passes easily between us. Understanding and the shimmers of something else. 

 Now, it’s nearly eclipse and Neteyam’s hand is warm in mine. People are returning to their homes. I run quickly between different pods, the wooden floor bouncing beneath my feet. I duck under a woman carrying a tray of fish and spears. 

“Woah!” Neteyam cries behind me as he ducks just before the sharp head of the spear can cut him. 

“Children!” The woman scolds. 

I laugh as I continue down the village, heading for the beach. I don’t need to turn around to know that Neteyam is shaking his head. I don’t need to turn around to know that he’s also wearing a small smile. He grips my hand tighter. 

It’s dark when we step onto the beach. The ocean creatures glow beneath the smooth waves and the palm trees blow in the sweet breeze. I close my eyes and inhale the scent of my home. I refuse to feel trapped, not to tonight. Neyetam shakes his hand that’s intertwined with mine. 

“What are we doin’?” He asks playfully. 

I open my eyes. He’s watching me. His eyes are bright with interest but there is something hesitant in the set off his mouth. Like he wants to let go but is too afraid. Time for him to learn, time for us both to. I let go of his hand. Hurt flashes in his eyes but he conceals it quickly. He begins to stiffen like a soldier returning to his post. 

“Follow me and find out.” I wink at him before sprinting down the beach. Neteyam’s mouth falls open as he looks around incredulously. 

“Try and keep up, treehugger,” I yell behind me. I run right down to the surf and dive into the small waves. The ocean envelopes me. It’s warm against my skin as I swim away from the village. 

Neteyam dives in behind me, his entrance making small ripples along the surface. I pause after a few moments of swimming to make sure he hasn’t fallen behind— but he isn’t there. I freeze. My heart begins to pound. This was a bad idea. I swim back to where we dove in, paddling frantically. 

I look all around me but there is nothing but fish and coral. I shouldn’t have done this, what was I thinking? I start to swim up to the surface, ready to call for help, when something grabs my ankle. I scream, letting out a bubble of air. Neteyam grins up at me from the darkness of the water. I kick at him causing him to laugh before releasing me. Relief floods through me as I swim up to the surface, followed by Neteyam. The second I hit the surface, I’m no longer relieved; just irritated. 

“You skxawng!” I splash him. His face glows beneath the dark sky as he smiles at me. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t believe you,” I hiss and splash him again. I splash with all my might, sending water right into his nose and mouth. 

“Okay, okay!” He says between bouts of ocean water hitting his face. He reaches out and grabs my waist. I stop splashing the second his long fingers sprawl across my skin. I don’t fight against him, I don’t move at all as he pulls me closer to him. My heart begins to pound. Our faces are nearly touching. He leans in, I begin to close my eyes when I realize he’s leaning towards my ear. 

“Where are you taking me?” His hot breath hits the side of my neck. 

A shudder runs through my body, I try to conceal it to no avail. He sees right through me. A smirk grows on his lips. I shove him, snapping back to my senses.

“It’s a surprise, forest boy.” I dive back beneath water and swim quickly toward the underwater cove. The cove belongs to my mother, or at least it’s her that found it. We occasionally have family meetings there, when we want to discuss things that we don’t want others to hear. But mostly, my parents and their peers use it when they want to do things and don’t want the children to see. 

From the outside, the cove is just a large circular rock, tucked between colorful coral reefs. I swim towards it, dive deeper, and swim up under the rock. Blackness covers my vision for a moment before I break the surface. The water is still and warm inside the cove. A soft glow comes from the ceiling and spreads throughout the enclosure,  like a starry sky. 

Neteyam pops up beside me, gasping for a breath. He looks around quickly as though to survey where his new surroundings are and if there’s any danger. I raise an eyebrow at his apprehensive face. 

“It’s just us here, warrior.”

He gives me a look before observing his surroundings more peacefully. His mouth opens slightly in awe as his cute eyes grow wide. “What is this place?” 

“It’s my parents underwater cove,” I reply and begin to swim towards the small rocks that run along the small enclosure. “More like their hideout.” 

“Hideout?” Neteyam questions as he paddles after me. 

I pull myself out of the water and squeeze my hair, causing water droplets to drip down. I can feel Neteyam’s eyes on me. His gaze burns into my back as heat creeps onto my cheeks. 

He jumps out of the water and settles down on a nearby rock. “Why would your parents need a hideout?” 

I turn around to find him staring at me. His playful demeanor from earlier is fading. His flushed face is turning from lighthearted to nervous. “Look, I can’t get in trouble,” he says. He starts to get up as though he’s going to leave. I quickly walk over and push him back onto the rock. 

He looks at me with raised eyebrows. “I’m serious—”

“No, I’m serious,” I interrupt. “You need to relax. You don’t have to be perfect all the time. We don’t have to be.” 

“Tell that to our parents,” he mumbles under his breath. 

I slip my hand under his chin and force his eyes to meet mine. I’ve never done anything like this before. My hand trembles slightly against his smooth skin. He blinks slowly, his gaze steady as he watches my face. “So,” he begins softly. “How am I supposed to relax?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” I whisper back. I pull away from him and turn towards the wall of the cove. It’s damp and cool as I place my hand on it. I push in harshly three times until a little compartment shoots out of the wall. I turn towards Neteyam with a smirk. He cocks his head to the side.

I wrap my fingers around a wooden bottle and lift it up. “Drink, anyone?” 

Neteyam’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “No, I can’t.” 

I ignore his protest and walk calmly over to him. I sit beside him, the wet rock rubs my thighs. I lift the bottle to my lips and take a long sip. The alcohol burns as it goes down my throat. It’s a Metkayinan drink, made for adults, and special occasions. I’ve only ever had sips before, from my mother at celebrations or by Aonoug sneaking some for us. But tonight, I feel like breaking free. I’m going to make tonight a celebration in itself. 

Neteyam watches me carefully as he chews absentmindedly on his lip. “What’s gotten into you?” 

“Aren’t you tired of it?”  

He doesn’t respond so I continue on. “Aren’t you tired of watching Lo’ak have all the fun while you clean up his messes?” 

I take another sip of the bottle, taking my time, letting it sear against my throat and warm my stomach. “I know I’m tired of being the oldest, the most responsible.” 

Neteyam reaches out and yanks the bottle from my grasp. He shoves it to his lips and swallows. He pulls it away and coughs before drinking more. I raise an eyebrow. Alcohol drips down his chin and onto his muscular chest. Damn, he’s hot. 

He stops drinking, the bottle shaking slightly in his hand. He blinks a few times and looks at me. “Yea. I’m fucking tired of it.” 

“Pass the bottle then.” 

He obliges and I take another drink. We continue like this for a while, passing the drink between us, letting the alcohol drown out our thoughts. We don’t speak but it isn’t awkward, there’s a sort of peace between us as we listen to the sounds of the ocean, feeling completely isolated in our own little world. 

I’m starting to feel a little dizzy. Warmth spreads through my entire body, and I can’t stop smiling, especially when I look at Neteyam. I think he feels the same way because he is swaying slightly and giggles each time I catch him staring at me. 

“What are you laughing at?” I ask after he laughed another time. 

He smiles, a small, sweet smile. “I’m,” he begins before looking up at the glowing roof. “It’s so beautiful here.” He looks down at his hands before meeting my eyes. “And I’m here with you.” 

“And that’s funny?” 

“No. It’s, I just, I didn’t expect this,” he stutters. 

My stomach churns nervously. “Are you okay with being here?”

Alarm flares in his tipsy eyes. “Yes!” He scrambles off his rock and slides onto mine. The warmth of his body spreads through mine as our legs touch. He looks down at me, his face inches from mine. I turn my head, suddenly too nervous to meet his gaze. “I really like being around you,” he says, the smell of alcohol drifting off his breath. 

“You’re drunk,” I reply, trying to act like his closeness doesn’t affect me. Like it doesn’t make me want to wrap my arms around him and press my lip— no. I’m fine. 

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “You’re drunk too.” He pokes my side. 

“Hey!” I try to swat his hand away but he turns his fingers around and wraps them around mine. My breath hitches in my throat as he slowly intertwines his fingers with mine. I look at his deep eyes; our stares cut into each other. There’s the fierceness in his eyes and the tenderness that he always has. But there’s also an undercurrent to his stare, one I’ve never seen before, one that burns, and makes my heart pound. My body feels alive in a way I’ve never felt before. 

Neteyam’s breath comes out quickly and shakily. His hands tremble in my grasp but he doesn’t let go. I inch closer to him. My skin feels like it’s on fire, there’s a burning hole in my stomach. I want to get close to him. I want to feel his skin beneath my fingertips. I want to entangle my hands in his hair. 

“Neteyam,” I breathe. I’ve never heard my voice sound like that. Raspy and— full of desire. 

He groans slightly and leans his forehead against mine. “I mean it.” 

I pull back, my whole body protests the movement. “What?” 

“I meant what I said.” His eyes drink in my face. They trace every inch of it. “I like how you make me feel.” He brings his fingers to my face. He caresses my cheek, holding me gently, as if I were the most delicate, precious thing in the world. “Understood, safe, and free.” 

My face breaks into a smile so wide it hurts my cheeks. “You make me feel that way too,” I whisper. 

He smiles back at me, a relieved smile, as though he didn’t know I felt that way. How couldn’t he have known? His fingers trace my jawline, his eyes never leaving mine. I reach my hands up and place them on his shoulders. He shudders at their touch. The pit in my stomach grows. I move my hands along his chest, letting them roam as though they have a mind of their own. 

His grip on my jaw tightens as he leans towards me. I meet him halfway, our lips brush against each other. He kisses me tentatively as he spreads his long fingers along the side of my face. His lips are soft. He is kind and good, and I adore him. I grip his shoulders. But I also want him, with a kind of want I’ve never felt before. I pull myself into his lap and wrap my legs around his back. 

He jolts slightly at my sudden movement before using his other hand to hold my legs in place. I pull my lips away from his and place them on his cheek, then his jaw, and onto his neck. I kiss softly before sucking on his damp skin. He groans beneath me as his grip on my legs tightens. I leave a trail of kisses along his neck, taking my sweet time, listening to the soft moans he tries to hide. 

Suddenly, he yanks my face up and kisses me, hard. His mouth is frantic, his lips collide with mine with a newfound urgency. His hand leaves my face and makes its way down my back. I kiss him back, tasting alcohol and salt water. He bites my lip and pulls it between his teeth. I moan before meeting his lips again. I entangle my fingers in his hair, pulling softly against his braids. A groan escapes from the back of the throat as we kiss. I smirk against his lips. 

His hands continue to roam from my back to my waist and my stomach. They continue downward before stopping. I pull back and look at him. Our breaths come out heavily, mixing together in the small space between us. Desire burns in my stomach causing my body to throb. “Neteyam,” I whisper. “It’s okay.” 

He shakes his head slowly. “No.”

He moves his hands from me. I go rigid on top of him. Does he regret this? The desire that was running through me runs cold. I move to get off him when he grabs my wrist. 

“I want to kiss you for as long as I can,” he says. “But I won’t do more. Not now. You deserve more than something like this.” He motions to their surroundings and the empty bottle beside them. 

I nod, feeling light headed. He leans forward and kisses my cheek before whispering, “Where were we?” 

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Secret Cove (Part 2: Busted)

Neteyam x Metkayina (oldest daughter of Tonowari, the chief) Neteyam is 18 Contains: arguing, protective Neteyam, slight violence I squin

* I’m thinking about adding another part where Aonug catches them and then drama ensues when their parents find out. Would anyone want to read that? PART 2 IS UP!

*Also, this is my second fanfic so please leave me feedback and let me know if anyone wants to be friends!

Consider Us Even

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley X GN!Reader Word count: 3100± Warning: Profanity Summary: He owed you a date. He's paying it. [Part 2 of You're Gonna Owe Me for This]

It was more or less three months after Simon decided that he owed you a date that he finally went home. At some point, you were worried that something had happened to him during his leave, but when it was to the point where you were about to text him, you saw him about to enter his flat upon your own arrival at yours.

Simon did not see you, but you were at least glad that he came back alive. Who could even imagine what he went through in his work the last three months?

The next day, just as you were about to leave your flat, you found Simon waiting in the hallway across your door. He did not look different. Well, of course, that was what you saw because who knew what was behind the mask? He could have been piercing his cheek with a chopstick since the last time you saw each other for all you knew.

“Mornin’,” Simon greeted.

“Morning to you, too,” you replied. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Half an hour,” Simon answered. “I knocked.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you blurted. “I didn’t hear. I must’ve been in the shower.”

“I figured,” Simon said.

“I mean, you could just text me,” you gave him an apologetic smile.

“Anyway,” Simon moved on, “are you free next Saturday?”

“Next Saturday?” you paused, thinking of a way to mess with him. “Ah, I already have a date on Saturday.”

Simon froze for a second.

“That’s… unfortunate,” Simon said, he sounded so disappointed.

Feeling bad, you ended up letting out an amused chunk of air out of your nostrils.

“I’m fucking with you,” you admitted. “Yeah, I have a clear schedule next Saturday.”

Still, Simon took a moment to judge your statement.

“Alright,” Simon sighed. “Say, next Saturday’s raining because the weather here is shit… you’re still down to go?”

“Do you want me in a raincoat and boots?” you asked.

“Only if they’re goth,” Simon answered.

You chuckled, clocking the slight shift in his eyes that was probably the closest thing you had seen him getting amused.

“Noted, sir,” you, very stiffly, saluted him.

Simon sighed in disbelief.

“See you Saturday, yeah?” Simon concluded. “Late afternoon?”

“Sure. See you then, too,” you nodded.

Then, Saturday came.

No, you definitely did not plan your outfit. Definitely not. Just like Simon definitely did not.

Simon was contemplating, staring at his masks, wondering which he should be wearing. There was skull mask #1, then there was the backup skull mask, then the backup backup skull mask, and at least skull masks #2 through #6. 

He ended up picking the one you patched up. Sometimes he could feel your stitches on his lips and for some reason that made this mask his favourite.

You dressed accordingly, but made sure you would look nice at the end of the day because who knew what would happen by then. Again, Simon happened to be your neighbour and he might have known what you look like on laundry day. No one looked good on laundry day and you were just the exception sometimes.

Then, finally, he knocked on your door. You made sure to hear it this time because you were waiting.

Simon, upon seeing you, took a moment. Honestly, you were expecting a compliment, but then you realised that he might not be the type to do so. Until he did. Kind of.

“You look different,” he said.

“Well, I put quite an effort into it,” you admitted.

“Looks great,” Simon added.

“Thank you,” you said. “You, too. I guess. I don’t know what you look like.”

“And you never will,” Simon stated.

“What?” was all you could say.

“You’re ready to go?” Simon asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Are you?”

Simon slightly tilted his head aside, but said, “I think so.”

With that, the two of you made your way out of the flat building. You just followed him wherever he led you. There were hardly any words exchanged as you walked.

Simon turned out to be the sweetest yet gentlest person, contrary to what he looked like. He kindly opened a few doors for you. When you were out on the street, he walked on the outer side and weaved you through people.

Not long from your leave, Simon brought you into a store with a bunch of fruits displayed upfront. You were passing a row of grapes when Simon broke the ice.

“I don’t think we’re allowed to buy one singular date, so I’m just gonna ask you how much do you want? 100 grams? A kilo?” Simon asked.

“Excuse me?” you replied just as Simon stopped walking in front of a variety of date fruits.

“There’s these smaller ones, they’re pretty sweet. Then, there’s this—”

You cut him off with a chuckle full of disbelief. In response, Simon only looked at you. He looked serious.

Was he serious? He might be. What if he was? You could not get a read of him and you started getting nervous that he might actually be serious.

“So, how much? Which one?” Simon continued. “There’s some dipped in chocolate, some with nuts. Or maybe you’d like the syrup instead. They also have date infused milk.”

Eyes slightly widened, you raised an eyebrow whilst looking at him. Still, Simon only looked at you without any readable expression seen in his eyes.

That lasted for sometime.

“I’m fucking with you,” Simon admitted. 

Now you were the one who only looked at him.

“Consider us even,” Simon said.

“So, you dragged me into this store just for a lame joke?” you concluded.

“I thought you’d like it,” Simon reasoned

“I adore your commitment,” you smiled.

“If you want them, I’ll get you some,” Simon said.

You chuckled, “No, thank you.”

“Alright. Let’s get a move on, then,” Simon stated.

The two of you started walking out the store.

“Where are we going?” you finally asked.

“There’s this place my friend recommended. It shouldn’t be that far ahead,” Simon answered.

So, here was what happened when he arrived home a few days ago. Simon was mentally breaking every piece of furniture in his place out of frustration. He had no idea what to do.

It all started with you delivering him a cake—which plate had not he returned to you somehow—and it proceeded to him making the stupidest excuse to get you his number—which resulted in you texting him with yours—then, he decided that he owed you a date approximately three months ago.

So, Simon did what he thought he would never do.

He texted Johnny what he and his stupid (legendary) mohawk would do if they asked someone out on a date. There was a lot of teasing in the chatroom and even more threats. By the end of it, Soap had something to blackmail Ghost with and Ghost had at least half an idea on what to do to repay what he owed you.

Simon gave Johnny a broad area of where he lived and some time later, he recommended a place. By the look of it, it was a cafe. Simon considered a cafe as a safe enough place for a first date; if there would even be a second or thirteenth eventually in the future. 

With so, Simon looked up where the place was and decided that he would take you there.

However, when the two of you arrived in front of said cafe, Simon had no idea what to say. He was frozen on the sidewalk, looking at the place before looking at you who were looking at him with a questioning look.

The next time Simon saw him, Soap would get kicked in the chest so hard, it would practically fillet his spine off.

“Is this the place?” you asked.

“Supposedly,” Simon answered.

“Your friend recommended this place?” you asked again, slightly a little more amused, but still intrigued.

“Yeah,” Simon breathed.

“You trust this friend?” you continued.

“With my life,” Simon said.

You could not help, but chuckle. Simon looked at you.

“If you don’t want to spend maybe an hour in a cat cafe with me, let’s just consider this friend of yours is trying to mess with you and we can go elsewhere?” you suggested.

Internally, you felt a little sorry because you now had the intention to spend maybe an hour in a cat cafe with a big, muscular man with a skull mask.

“Yeah, there’s this place—”

“Oh, my God, look at that cat, Simon,” you blurted and went straight into the place without consulting Simon any further.

Once inside, you looked back to Simon who was only still standing where he was and gave him an excited grin in hope to encourage him. That was all it took for him to actually go. Your stupid (gorgeous) smile.

About fifteen minutes in, you noticed that Simon was simply just moving every cat that went towards him by itself to the space next to him almost robotically. A few minutes after that, you realised even more that the cats seemed to be attracted towards him because they kept coming at him, but he always put them away—a useless effort.

One of the cats had black fur with a white patch on its face. This one in particular managed to climb up to Simon’s shoulder while he was putting another cat away.

You would tell him that he looked cute, but you were worried that he might actually murder you if so.

“That one looks like you,” you pointed out.

Hesitantly, Simon picked up the cat and held it in front of his face. He looked at the collar and saw the cat’s name.

“Even better, it’s got my name,” Simon informed. “Ghost.”

“Ghost?” you repeated.

“They call me Ghost,” Simon casually said before putting the cat next to him.

“Should I be calling you Ghost instead?” you asked.

“I’d rather you don’t,” Simon answered, about to move another cat, but he stopped when he looked at the cat’s collar. “Fuckin’ hell.”

Hearing that, you looked at him, wondering if there was something wrong. Maybe he wanted to leave. Maybe you should not have come here. Maybe he was very uncomfortable.

God, what had you done?

“We… don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” you said. “I just… I thought it’d be funny to actually see you around cats.”

“Oh, it’s very funny. Do you want to know what’s funny?” Simon flatly replied. “This cat also got my name.”

“Simon?” you guessed.

“Riley,” Simon stated.

“Riley,” you repeated. “That’s your—”

“Yeah,” Simon nodded. “I thought you knew.”

“I know nothing about you,” you said. “I should be terrified of you.”

There was a pause.

“Why Ghost?” you asked. “I reckon it has something to do with the mask.”

“You know, sweetheart, I owe you a date, not a story,” Simon brought up.

“People tell stories on dates,” you reasoned, hoping he did not notice how you smiled when he called you sweetheart.

Simon only looked at you for a moment.

“I don’t have a pleasant story,” Simon said. “Except if it’s about my neighbour who I ended up going on a date with.”

Scoffing a smile, you playfully shoved him by the arm. At that brief moment, you felt his arm. That reminded you that you, as weird as even just the thought of it was, had never even seen what his arm looked like.

Maybe his arms looked like the two muscular arms holding hands meme. Now, you started picturing all the possibilities of what his arms looked like. Maybe he had a tattoo, a lot of people in the military had tattoos. Maybe his tattoo had a skull on it. Maybe not.

It just seemed to be his personality in general.

“Fine,” Simon said. “What do you want to know about me? I’ll answer some, but only if you do the same.”

“Deal! I have so many questions,” you stated excitedly.

Simon held up a finger.

“Let’s wait until we’re somewhere better suited for that kind of conversation,” Simon said.

“Let’s go now, then?” you suggested.

“You were so eager to get in here earlier,” Simon recalled.

“I changed my mind,” you shrugged.

The next place you went to was an actual cafe. The one with warm and cold drinks instead of cats.

Simon placed you both in the furthest corner. He sat facing the wall while you sat across him. The nearest window was feet away.  As you arrived earlier, it started raining outside.

Now, the two of you sat with your chosen beverage. Simon had brought his to his lips, but you stopped him by holding his wrist.

Simon looked at your hand for a moment before looking up at you.

“You still have your mask on,” you pointed out.

“Fuck, right,” Simon realised.

Carefully, you removed your hand from his wrist. However, Simon did the exact same thing again without taking his mask off, but you quickly stopped him again by putting your hand on his wrist again.

“Fucking ridiculous,” Simon realised, shaking his head lightly.

You chuckled.

This time, Simon lifted his mask up to his nose, holding it with his thumb, before taking a sip.

At this point, you could see the scruff of a beard that he had, a couple of scars, the tip of his nose, and his lips. His lips would probably be the only thing you thought of for at least the next two weeks.

As soon as Simon lowered back his mask, you looked down at your cup. 

“You know, most people just watch and let me wet my pants,” Simon brought up.

“That’s just mean,” you commented.

“My friend, especially, thinks it’s funny,” Simon added.

“The same one who recommended you that place earlier?” you guessed, lighty smiling at him.

“That exact one,” Simon confirmed. “Uh… soap.”

“Soap?” you repeated.

“People call him Soap,” Simon said.

“What the hell kind of name is Soap? Is it an inside joke?” you asked.

“Not exactly, no. It’s not that pleasant of a story either,” Simon answered. “You see, he’s good at cleaning houses.”

“With… guns?” you continued.

Simon gave you a nod.

“I guess that makes sense,” you said.

Filling the next seconds, the two of you sipped your drink. Simon remembered to lift his mask this time and you could not help but glanced over.

God, you really should not be doing that. What if he really did not want you to see his face?

Simon also accidentally pulled his dog tag when he pulled his mask this time. He let the metal hang in between his pecs. Just looking at that, you felt quite flustered and immediately looked away.

“You know, you can maybe add a zipper to your mask,” you said. “You can maybe add it, like… make it a flap. Like a door.”

“That might actually be a good idea,” Simon said. “That ought to solve most of my problems, but… I tried and it ruined the shape of the mask. Then, if so, I wouldn’t have to bother my neighbour in the middle of the night and ask said neighbour to help me fix my mask.”

“I mean, you can bother your neighbour any time you want, any way possible,” you said.

“How am I supposed to owe my neighbour a date, then?” Simon questioned.

“You could ask your neighbour on a date,” you replied.

“Interesting concept,” Simon nodded.

You chuckled.

There was a little gap in between you two.

“So, are you in the Royal Marine?” you continued. “You seem like one.”

“No. I’m in the Royal Army. Exactly, I’m a… lieutenant in the Special Air Service,” Simon answered.

“What the fuck?” you muttered. “Isn’t that like… super important?”

Simon let out one amused scoff.

“Is that why you wear the mask?” you asked despite not finding the sense in your question.

“The thing is, as long as I’m not a civilian, the mask stays,” Simon explained.

“Are there exceptions?” you continued.

“Jesus, you do have a lot of questions, don’t you?” Simon sighed.

You pouted a little.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“No, it’s alright. You look cute when you’re curious,” Simon stated.

If you were not visibly flustered before, you were now.

That was the start of a very pleasant conversation between you two actually getting to know each other. Simon did not say much about himself, but he was very interested in you. He listened to every single word you said as if it was a need-to-know on a mission.

Although Simon was reluctant to take you to eat dinner outside due to the mask situation, he did take you to a restaurant and ordered food to be taken away for the two of you before you two made your way back to your flats.

It was a long walk. Way longer than when you two left the building earlier this aftertoon. At some point as you walked, Simon dared to put his hand on the small of your back.

Honestly, who would have known that this very intimidating looking person could be so kind and sweet? He was also funny, too. In his own way. He turned out to be one of the most interesting people you had known and you knew him a little better than most people.

In addition, you might have gained the ability to read him a little better and thus enhanced your ability to read other people who were easier to read compared to him.

Wishing the day was not over so soon was not an exaggeration. Simon planted a desire in your heart simply to just take care of him. Maybe ironing his uniform or making sure his mask was straight or brewing him some tea, maybe even tuck him to sleep and washed his face off the warpaint he used around his eyes.

Unfortunately, you soon arrived in your flat building. The two of you eventually got into the lift and out of it.

Simon stopped in front of your door with you.

“Thank you for taking me out today, Simon. I really had fun,” you said.

“We’re even then, yeah?” Simon asked.

“I guess so,” you answered. “However, I will be disappointed if you stop annoying me.”

“Don’t tempt me, I might borrow every single piece of hardware that you have and return none of them until you knock on my door and wonder where your vacuum cleaner is,” Simon replied.

“Just don’t ghost me,” you proudly smiled, flicking your eyebrows.

Simon only looked at you, there was half of an approval in his eyes.

“I’ll see you around,” Simon said as he stepped back.

“Wait,” you called.

Simon stopped on his tracks.

You kissed the tips of your fingers before pressing them on the mouth area of his mask. The next three seconds felt like three hours where Simon only stared into your eyes, stunned. You only gave him a smile.

Your smile seemed to slap him back into the moment.

“You’re gonna owe me for that,” Simon stated.

“Oh, fuck you,” you chuckled.

Here's part 3

Playing Twister with Spencer

You have no idea how you got roped into playing twister at the BAU’s monthly game night. But here you are in the middle of a game with Spencer while the rest of the team watch.

“Ok, right arm, red,” Morgan calls out.

You bend down so you’re basically on top of Spencer. He’s in a crab like position beneath you. You both have three limbs on the mat. Only your left arm remains out to your side, helping you balance.

Morgan spins the wheel again and laughs.

“Left arm, green.”

You bring your arm down to the nearest green spot and Spencer shifts below you, also finding a spot to place his hand. Now your face is only an inch from his. He blushes and the rest of the team laugh.

“Damn Reid, this must be the most action you’ve ever gotten from a woman,” Morgan chuckles.

“Just spin the wheel again, Derek,” you sigh, trying your best not to fall on top of Spencer.

“Left leg, yellow,” Morgan announces.

Both you and Spencer move your legs at the same time, causing them to hit against each other. The lack of support from your leg puts more pressure on your arms. They start to shake, unable to hold you up much longer.

“Shit,” you exclaim as your arms give way and you fall to the floor, bringing Spencer down with you.

Your face falls on Spencer’s shoulder and your legs tangle.

“Sorry,” you say, attempting to climb off him.

“It’s ok,” he replies, rubbing the back of his head which had hit the floor.

“How the hell did we get into that position?” you ask. “That spinner must have had it out for us.”

Then Morgan falls into a fit of laughter.

“What?” you say forcefully.

“Well, I kind of started ignoring what the wheel was telling me to say when I realised how much more fun I could make this if i just made up the positions myself.” Morgan explains.

“Are you kidding me?” you snap angrily.

“It was funny,” he replies, putting his hands up in fear that you’ll tackle him.

“Derek Morgan, I am going to kill you,” you shout. You try to remain angry but you can’t help but smirk when you notice just how flustered Spencer is after having you on top of him.

an absolutely insane way to end this year 

Anything III (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I was really fighting for my life with this chapter y'all. It's more to set up for the next coming chapters.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD, graphic violence, graphic description of gun violence, graphic description of injury.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"That fucker needs to go." 

"He's not going anywhere, Simon."

The Lieutenant spun on his heel, reeling on Price with startling speed. He didn’t budge, though. Not when Ghost stopped only inches away and not when a finger rested on his chest- a warning. A threat. 

“Birdy’s my responsibility,” his voice was dangerously low and the Captain’s eyes narrowed. 

“And you’re all my responsibility,” Price’s words were slow and enunciated, spoken through gritted teeth. The heat rolling off his body was tangible, he was fucking furious. He was torn. “You think this was my fucking idea? I get orders from up top just like you do, Riley. They got their own plans in mind.”

Ghost inhaled sharply, dropping his hand to his side. Up top. If the rank has been anything, it’s been consistently shit. 

“When someone tears their own fuckin’ face-off, the plan needs to change,” Simon murmured, the images of the incident drifting across his vision. The man was no stranger to intrusive thoughts but these were particularly vivid, they splattered across the carefully cleaned plains of his mind- taunting him. 

“I know.” Price lit a cigar, his gaze trailing across the rooftops. “Been working on it.” 

“And?” 

“Baby steps, Simon. Baby steps.” 

_________

Inhale, exhale. Again. 

Bang 

Then again. 

Bang 

And again. 

Bang

One, two, three, the hole never widened; not even by a millimetre. The target stood strong and unwavering, and you were doused in hot anger. You’d selected the biggest one you could find, it wasn’t as tall as you wanted, but you supposed the chances of finding a nearly seven foot soldier on the battlefield were slim. 

You were grateful that the one thing that hadn’t changed over the recent horrors of your life, was your aim. You were still a sniper.

Bang 

You were still the best. 

“We got another unit comin’ in for their assessments, Birdy.” The range supervisor’s voice was loud over the speaker and you forced yourself not to jump. “You gotta clear out or pick another lane, mate.” 

Your eyes trailed over the aisles beside you. The rear of their booths were all open, designed for trainees to have an instructor standing over them. Those days of needing direction were over, as were the days of leaving your back vulnerable. 

The lane you had chosen was at the very end of the range, a locked booth designed for soldier’s shooting assessments. It was a bi-annual event, where your marksmanship was tested in order to deem you competent and qualified. No instructor, no target indications, just you in a locked booth with a rifle and a target. 

Now, it was the only place you felt safe enough to shoot. 

You heaved your body up, clearing your weapon before slinging it over your shoulder. It seemed that your time was up. 

As you stepped out of your haven and into the aisle, you tried to settle the anxiety in your chest. It was a burdensome feeling that only faded when you were looking down the sight of your rifle, plaguing your every move and every thought. It was all-consuming. 

A shot rang a few lanes ahead and you flicked your gaze up to the screen as you walked. They were half a centimetre or so off from the central aiming mark but the next shot was dead on. You snorted. 

As you moved to pass, you spared a curious glance at the shooter. 

Your body locked up. 

Right in front of you, lying on his stomach with those long legs sprawled out, was König. 

You seethed. You were suddenly overcome by a rage that, for once, did not wash over you with a flush of heat. Instead, you were cold. Ice trickled the length of your spine and your fingers went numb, pins and needles pricking at your nails. 

Your face stung at the sight of him. 

He was the reason you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror anymore, he was the reason you looked like a fucking abomination. Your face was deformed and mutilated and here this fucker lay, his back turned to the world because he was not the one that got destroyed.

König ruined you and got away unscathed. 

You waited for him to take another shot, using the cover of the resounding gunfire to put down your rifle. He had no idea that you were there, he was entirely unsuspecting. He was vulnerable.

Before you could comprehend what you were doing, your body had moved to stand over his prone figure. You could hear his breathing, see the rise and fall of his chest.

 In, bang, out. 

They had chosen this fucking imbecile to replace you? He couldn’t even breathe right, everything was wrong. His form was wrong, his breathing pattern was wrong, his shooting was wrong, and he was not built to be a sniper. He was built to destroy with his hands, with no finesse, no pinpoint accuracy- just a bludgeon. 

There was no honour in what König was. 

Again, your face stung beneath the gauze. A reminder. Encouragement. 

You reached for the Glock strapped to your belt, cold sweat trickling down your neck.  König took a breath in and you flicked open the buckle. But he didn’t take a shot as you had predicted, and he’d heard the noise from above him. 

When König turned, you let him see you, just as he’d given you that mercy. 

Then you struck. 

Unlike before, König hadn’t been given the chance to kick the weapon from your hands before you descended upon him. A startled rasp ripped from his mouth as you dropped onto his body, bringing the butt of your firearm to strike his temple. 

His head knocked back, bouncing off the mat beneath him. 

How merciful, that it was not concrete? How gracious, that you didn’t grab his head and crush it? 

König groaned, his hands flying up to defend himself, stunned by the sudden impact. You knew that his vision would be spinning, a loud buzz ringing in his ears. You knew too well. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

You pushed his hands away, bringing the gun down again. You felt his skin render from beneath the metal, a wet thud echoing through the booth as you split the skin of his cheek. The blood made your eyes widen. It wasn’t enough. 

You would give him your scars. You would peel his skin from his bone. You would shatter him until he was unrecognisable. 

This wasn’t enough. 

König’s eyes flickered open, hard and betrayed. 

You knew that the element of surprise had run out, but you were not finished. You’d just gotten started, the purple of his cheek and the red dripping down his temple only marked the beginning. But you couldn’t overpower the man below you. 

When his hands gripped your biceps and he opened his mouth to yell, you pushed the barrel of your handgun past his lips until his teeth scraped the steel.

Everything fell still, his hands frozen on your body and his eyes wide. You hoped that he could taste the gunpowder, you hoped that he could taste his death. The sound of the safety flicking off resounded in the booth and the man beneath you flinched. 

His fingers shook against your skin, his breath rattling in his chest. 

König was afraid. 

And at that realization, for the first time in over a year, a genuine smile twisted your lips. The soldier’s eyes widened, his body twitching beneath yours, groaning around the barrel in his mouth. 

“How do you like it?” You whispered, the words a snarl as you leaned down close. 

König’s emerald gaze was steady on yours and you could visibly see him attempt to calm his breathing. In, out, in, out. He was breathing wrong, everything was still just wrong, wrong, wrong. You pressed harder on the gun. 

This wasn’t enough. 

He wasn’t bruised enough, he wasn’t bleeding enough. You moved your left hand to cup his cheek and his eyes flickered. König wanted to buck you off, he wanted to disable you, maybe he even wanted to murder you. You hoped he did, you wanted to see the same hatred in his eyes that you saw that damned fucking night. 

You wanted him to look into your soul and know that you were going to ruin him. 

That you were going to kill him. 

“You feel guilty?” You hissed, your fingers slowly digging into the skin of his cheek. “You feel bad for what you did?” 

König’s eyes softened. 

Don’t want your pity. 

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. 

Finally, he hummed his affirmation around the barrel in his mouth. Your nails dug into the flesh of his face, dragging a jagged scratch inch by inch across his features. The man didn’t flinch, he didn’t move, and he didn’t make a sound- he only watched you. 

When you leaned in to brush your lips against his ear, he knew what was coming. 

Satisfaction flooded your senses, righteous anger gripping you by the throat and forcing the words that you’ve wanted to say for so long from your lips. 

“Your fight is finished.” 

König took in a sharp breath. 

You pulled the trigger. 

The sound was deafening and for a sweet, beautiful moment, you felt vindication. You’d  won. You’d bested him. The man that had ruined your life had gotten what he deserved and he needed to die, die, die. That was the only thing that would settle his debt, the only thing that would serve the justice you felt owed. 

With the simplest pull of the trigger, you had been avenged. 

Then, you realised that the blood that had sprayed aross the space between your bodies wasn’t his. It was yours. 

König was on top of you. The gun was gone, his mask was on, and your face was crushed. You couldn’t breathe you couldn’t think and the only thing you could feel was the searing pain of the knife twisting in your chest. 

No, no, no, no. 

This was wrong, this wasn’t what was meant to happen. Why were you back here? His hand was on your face before you could protest and you felt your head lift from the ground. 

“Even in victory, you are nothing.” 

Crack

“You will always be nothing.” 

Crack

You were screaming, you could hear yourself doing it but your mouth wasn’t moving. Your teeth were caved in, your jaw had collapsed, you felt as though your face had melted from the bone. Yet you could hear the shrieks, hear the wailing. 

The back of your head was wet, your skull felt like it was falling apart at the seams. The breeze tickled against your brain and your nerves were on fire. 

You were broken, broken, broken. 

“Birdy!” 

This time you could feel every crack of your head into the concrete. This time you felt your brain matter smear across the floor. 

“Wake up!” 

Wake up.

Wake up. 

You sat up with the gasp of someone who’d been drowning, clawing at your throat for air. Sweat trickled down your spine, the room was hot and the blankets were tangled between your legs but you were in your bedroom- you recognised it instantly.  

“That’s it, sweetheart,” a rough voice murmured from beside you. There was a hand pressed flat against your chest, firm and grounding. “Breathe.” 

“Simon,” you sobbed. The man hummed in response, his other hand rubbing your back with enough force to rock your body. He was trying to keep you rooted in reality, give you something physical, something tangible to hold on to.

“I’m losing my mind,” you gasped, your chest caving at the realisation. You didn’t know what was real or not, fact or fiction, tangible or imaginary- you lived on a plain of uncertainty. You were lost, you were broken and you were unreliable. 

Price was right. You had become a liability. 

“You’re late to the party,” Simon loosed a soft chuckle, pulling you close against his body. “I lost mine years ago, kid.” 

You relished in his touch as you tried to regroup. You were in your room, you were in your bed, it was the middle of the night and you’d had a nightmare. Your clothes were soaked, sticking to your skin uncomfortably; and you had the horrid realization that maybe it wasn’t all sweat. You sucked in a breath, scrambling to push the blankets from your body. 

“What-” 

You ignored anything that the Lieutenant might of said, scrubbing your hands over your limbs, neck and face. The sweat threw you off and you checked your fingers in the dim light for crimson stains. You couldn’t deal with it again, you couldn’t cope with more damage. You were already disgusting, you were already mutilated and scarred. Unloveable, untouchable, irreparable, irevevocable, irremediable-

No more, no more, no more no more no more-

Simon gripped your hands, tugging them towards his chest and jerking your body forward. You dragged in a sharp breath, eyes wide and frantic. 

“You didn’t hurt yourself,” the words were urgent and low, his gaze holding you still just as well as his grip. “You’re alright, Birdy.” 

You took in a rattling breath and his grip tightened. 

“You’re alright, kid,” Simon reinforced, that ocean gaze compelling you to calm your heart rate. He left no room for discussion with the way that he looked at you, there was no option to disobey. You pushed air into your lungs, following the pattern he’d set for you. “It was just a nightmare.” 

You frowned. “Only at the very end.” 

Not when you had been shooting, not when you’d been atop of your enemy with a gun in his mouth; that was not the nightmare. You’d felt vindicated, you’d felt insane but satisfied. During those moments in the dream, you were not afraid of König. You were not shaking, you were not whimpering or begging for your life. 

You were strong. 

Stronger than him. 

“How’d you know I was–” You cleared your throat. “How’d you get in here?” 

The silence that followed had you on edge, as Simon’s hand worked methodically across your back.  He didn’t answer for a long while and your thoughts began to sober. Why was he in your room? How had he gotten there? How did he know you were having a night terror? His quarters were nowhere near yours, he was in the hallway over, divided by thick concrete walls; he most definitely couldn’t have heard your screams.

“Someone tipped me off,” the words were spoken through clenched teeth and his minsitrations against your back faltered. Your chest tightened at the implication. “They thought I’d be better suited to come help you.”

“How-” 

“He’s down the hall, Birdy.” Simon interrupted and you could feel his fingers curl into a fist against your spine. “Everyone in this fuckin’ corridor could hear you.” 

Your breathing began to pick up and heat flushed against your skin, the blood boiling from beneath the surface.

“That doesn’t explain how you got in,” you rasped, gripping the blankets at your side. You needed to ground yourself, you needed to be calm. 

“He thought you were being attacked or somethin’ with the way you were yellin’,” Simon sighed. It wasn’t a direct answer but it was a good enough indication as to what had happened. 

You let your gaze drift to the door, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight before you. The hinges had been ripped from the wall, the frame torn straight from the brick. The door itself was missing completely, and as you slowly leaned over to get a look at the floor, your heart dropped to your stomach. 

Your bedroom door lay in pieces, the splintered remnants splayed across the floor like shattered glass. 

i BEG YOU please listen to the full robbers trilogy in order

an encounter -> robbers -> about you

you wont be disappointed, just close your eyes with your headphones on and do it.

Anything II (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper. The altercation ends in your hospitalisation and when you've finally recovered, Price assigns the same man who destroyed you to teach you how to never let it happen again.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I genuinely hope this isn't dog shit and a complete letdown.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD episode, graphic description of unintentional self-inflicted injury.

Previous Chapter

You had thrown up. Twice.

Pressure snaked its way from your chest to your throat and nausea gripped your stomach. You felt deeply unsettled. Your fingers shook, your face was gaunt- you hadn’t slept properly in days. You were a mess.

All because of him.

You cussed beneath your breath, bouncing on your toes lightly. You were due for another training session and considering you’d bailed on the last one, you couldn’t afford to skip it again. You’d received an earful from Price for walking out after your conversation with König.

That fucker had reported back to the Captain that you’d simply ‘discussed the terms of the agreement.’

You slapped your thighs. Then, you hit them harder. The sharp pain jolted your system, and you used the distraction to force yourself out the door. The more you dwelled on it, the more you needed to vomit again.

This time, König was waiting for you.

He sat on the bench, legs spread and his head down. He was fidgeting with his gloves and, had you not known any better, you’d have thought that maybe you’d snuck up on him. But you did know better. König was aware of your presence the second you entered the hallway.  

You sucked in a breath as he finally looked up, pretending that he’d only just noticed you. His features were obscured by his hood, giving you no indication of his reaction. He felt inhuman, there was no tug of his lips or twitch in his cheek- only an emerald gaze that stripped you of your courage. 

“Birdy,” König tipped his head in greeting, your name soft on his lips. Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice. You hated when he spoke like that, low and from his chest. You wished he would yell, you wished he would be boisterous— anything to drown his promises of death in your ear. 

“Your fight is finished.” 

You didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t say his name. Instead, you slowly entered the room and moved to the farthest side from him. Your heart beat wildly against your ribs and the nausea you’d felt earlier was back in full swing. 

“The sooner we start, the sooner you can leave,” König reminded you, flicking his gaze across your attire. 

“Then start,” you snapped. The man blinked at your aggression and his fidgeting fingers fell still. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. That emerald gaze was pinned to your figure, steady and inquisitive and terrifying. He straightened up from where he was slouched over, his seated form already taller than you standing. 

“What can I do to make you more comfortable with this arrangement?” König spoke slowly, each word enunciated with careful control over his tone. Your heart dropped to your stomach, he was getting frustrated. 

You wanted to spit at him that the only way you’d ever be comfortable was if he were to leave. You wanted to shout at him to fuck right off back to KorTac and never show his face again; that’s what would ease your mind. 

But, as he held his body deathly still, that stare trained on yours- you reminded yourself of what he was capable of. 

“The mask,” you whispered, cursing yourself for the way your voice shook. 

König finally moved, leaning back into the bench as he took in a long breath. He waited for you to continue, to pitch your proposition, but your mouth had gone dry and your tongue had fallen limp. When he realized that you weren’t going to offer anything more, he nodded his head, clasping his hands together tightly. 

“You want me to…” König bounced his leg, clearing his throat as he sat up straight. “You want me to take it off?” 

You nodded your head. König said nothing. The sinking feeling that he just might reject your request began to worry you. He could say no and there would be nothing you could do to argue that, you were still required by order to do these training sessions regardless of whether he agreed to your requests or not. 

You swallowed thickly, scrubbing your nose to break the eye contact between you both. You couldn't stand it. 

"I can't do this if you're wearing that thing," you waved vaguely at his face, keeping your eyes low. "It- I just-" 

Frustration burned in your chest as you flailed to articulate your feelings. You couldn't tell him outright that his stupid fucking mask plagued your dreams every night. You couldn't tell him about the terror that gripped you by the throat whenever you laid eyes on it. 

König didn't let you finish, anyway. He reached for his hood, swiftly pulling it from his head and, again, you were thrown off kilter by his appearance. 

His brows were furrowed as he observed you from beneath his lashes. "I know." 

He knew what you were trying to say. 

"Shall we start?" He asked, slowly standing to his feet. And, despite it being painfully obvious that he was keeping his body language open, you still took an inadvertent step back. You cursed beneath your breath when he straightened up to his full height, the urge to run from the room was almost overwhelming. König triggered your fight or flight response and your body was a slave to its survival instincts. 

You sucked in a breath, forcing yourself to stay still as he approached. 

"What are we doing?" You forced the question from your throat, trying to distract yourself from the hulking figure moving closer. 

"Ground defence." 

Your heart seized in your chest. 

"I don't want to do this," you said as calmly as you could. Your pulse climbed rapidly as König's gaze softened. 

"I know," he murmured. "But neither of us has a choice." 

You didn't give a fuck about him or his choices. You couldn't care less whether he was here of his own volition or if he'd been ordered to take care of your training; you only cared about the fact that he was twice your size and had nearly murdered you once before. 

You couldn't believe that Price was allowing this. 

Betrayal stung in your chest. 

Actually, what you really couldn't believe was how this cunt was even allowed to be here. 

Clearly, you were dispensable. 

Maybe you had overestimated your importance to the team, maybe you had misunderstood the bond between you all. You'd been replaced by your own aggressor and Price had allowed it. 

Clearly, you hadn't meant as much as you thought to the 141.

“Birdy.” 

You jumped, tripping backward into the bench behind you. You stared wide-eyed at König who was equally as startled by your reaction. 

“What?”You snapped, straightening up as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t almost frightened you out of your skin. 

He hesitated before continuing, the side eye he shot you was clearly one of concern. Disgusting. “I need you to lie on your stomach.” 

“No.” The word fell from your mouth before you’d even realized it. 

König raised a single brow. “You want this to happen again?” 

He gestured at your swollen cheeks, the fresh scarring from your stitches that littered your face. The man referenced you like an artist would show off their masterpiece. 

“Only to you,” you said, your voice sickly sweet as you forced a bitter smile to your lips. The fluid in your cheeks felt like liquid fire beneath your skin at the movement, but the way his expression fell made the pain worth it. 

“Then get on the floor so I can teach you how,” König crossed his arms, carefully schooling his features to give away nothing- but it was too late. You saw that you’d hurt him with the comment, or at least affected him enough to feel satisfied. 

Your small victory gave you enough courage to lie down. 

Your logic reminded you to immediately regret it. 

Konig’s knee came into your vision as he knelt by your prone body. You couldn’t see his upper body, you couldn’t see where his hands were. He made no noise to indicate what he was going to do and your spine seized along our back.

You didn’t want to do this. 

Not again. 

“König,” you rasped, pressing your hands into the floor. “König, I don’t want to do this.” 

Your breath was too fast, you felt like you were channelling air in through your mouth just to be sent right back out. It was as though you were rapidly suffocating, not getting any oxygen to fill your lungs, the room spinning from where you lay. 

“Birdy, you need this,” König reminded you from above. The words sounded distant and muffled like someone had placed their hands over your ears and spoken softly.

You gasped loudly as the man behind you straddled your back, the mass of his body resting against the lower half of your extremely fragile spine. You wanted to buck and kick and scream until he was forced off of you but your mouth was dry and words evaded you. 

“I want to teach you how to spin onto your back first,” König said, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You can’t win from your stomach.” 

You couldn’t win on your back either. 

“No,” you said firmly, twisting experimentally from beneath him. “No, get off. I’m not doing this.” 

There was a sharp sigh from behind you and instead of moving from his position, König began applying pressure. Your chest sunk into the ground as he leant just a fraction of his weight onto your body. 

“Then get me off.” 

The floor was hard against your body, it felt like your ribs were collapsing from beneath you. You could barely breathe as it was and now you were gasping like a fish out of water. There were so many things he could do to you from this position, so many ways he could torture you and you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself.

You tried to press upwards with your hands in an attempt to relieve the pressure from your chest. It was fruitless considering the 130 kilograms of muscle pressing your face into the floor, but you tried again. Then again. 

You were beginning to sweat, your palms slipping on the floor. Your arms shook from the exertion and you could feel your resolve slipping, your control spiralling from your grasp. 

“Get the fuck off me,” you wheezed, that same ugly pressure clawing its way up your ribs and into your throat. “König, I’m serious. Get off.” 

“Listen to me and I’ll teach you how to get out of this yourself,” König’s voice was firm. There was no room to argue, the bite in his tone enough to put the fear of God into you.  “Pull your knee up beside you, slide forward to get up onto your knees and roll me off to the side.” 

You followed his instruction, forcing yourself to breathe as evenly as you could. Your skin burned where he touched, your body screaming at his presence atop of you. 

Get him off, off, off. 

The weight of his body eased as he let you perform the maneuver. He was too heavy and you were too tired to pull that move off without his help, but you didn’t care anymore. You’d do anything for him to get the fuck away from you, you’d do anything for him to never touch you again. 

Konig rested his weight back down, straddling your hips as you lay on your back now, facing upward. 

The exact same position of that night. 

Your breathing picked up and your hands began to tremble. The sensation of excess adrenaline flooding your body, a feeling that you were familiar with, rendering you shaking but incapacitated. 

The hood was on his face again and his eyes were wild and manic. You’d never seen that look in a mans eyes before, you knew then that he was going to kill you. The emerald glint of his psychotic glare was all that you could see. It was so dark and he was so fast, you weren’t able to predict his moves because you couldn’t fucking see them. He was a shadow, he was death incarnate. Your body was on fire, your lungs screaming from within your chest. 

The monster’s eyes drifted to your chest and you followed his gaze. The handle of a knife jutted from above your breast bone and you snap your eyes back to his. Blood sprayed in the space between the both of you as he twisted the knife in your chest. You’d forgotten the noise that it had made, your punctured lung sucking air from the bloody wound with a wet gasp. 

König’s eyes were hard as he reached for your face, fingers outstretched and closing in across your vision. 

Not again. 

Not again. 

“Birdy!” 

You bucked, you heaved, you fought off his grip. You knew what was going to happen, you knew what came next. This time, your brain matter would be smeared across the floor, this time he would finish you off. 

You clawed at the fingers wrapped across your face desperately, trying to draw enough blood for him to flinch away. You ripped at his skin as hard as you could manage, screaming against his palm. 

“Birdy, stop!” 

Nothing was working, nothing could stop him. You dragged your nails across his fingers, driving them into the divots of his cuticles in an attempt to deglove his skin from bone. 

“Jesus Christ, get a fucking sedative!” 

When König smashed your head into the concrete, you were grateful for the darkness that ensued. 

You didn’t have that privilege last time. 

____

The first sense you regained was smell. 

And, by God, did you fucking hate that smell. 

The scent of disinfectant flooded your olfactory system so viciously that you were forced up in your seat. You scrubbed at your eyes desperately, praying to whoever the fuck was listening that you weren’t where you thought you were. 

White lights flooded your vision and you cringed back into the cushions, pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“Easy, Birdy. Easy.” 

That familiar cockney accent served as a warning. Gloved hands tugged your fists down from your face and you tried to regain control of your breathing, eyes squeezed shut.

“Ghost?” You rasped. Your voice was barely a squeak, and you realized with a frown that you’d lost it somehow. 

“Thought I’d come pay you a visit.” 

You slowly attempted to regain your sight, blinking away the blurriness and the harshness of the down lights. You gingerly observed your surroundings, heart sinking to your stomach as you recognised the room. 

You’d been on this bed for weeks during your recovery from the incident. 

Same hospital, same room, same bed. 

You felt nauseas. 

Swallowing the bile threatening to make an appearance, you dragged your gaze to the seat by your bed. Ghost sat so still you could have mistaken him for a piece of furniture had you not been actively looking for him. 

The man watched you carefully, his hoodie raised over his head and the balaclava perched firmly over the lower half of his features. 

“When did you get back?” You asked, cringing at the broken sound of your voice. Ghost exhaled through his nose and his eyes softened under your scrutiny, an expression you’d never seen before flickering across his gaze. You were disoriented, still unsure of how he had gotten there or what you were doing there. 

“Yesterday.” 

You froze, eyes widening as Ghost waited for you to come to the realization. 

“How long have I been in here?” You cried, the words gutted by your vocal fatigue. “What the fuck happened?” 

“You need to take a breath,” Ghost leaned forward, his hand pressing lightly against your shoulder, prompting you to lay back into the cushions. 

“No, you need to tell me what happened, Simon,” you reinforced, throwing a hand to your chest. You pressed against the skin, as though you could force your lungs to slow down with just a touch. 

Ghost made a noise from the back of his throat, strangled and uncomfortable. You could tell that he hadn’t expected you to wake up while he was there. 

“You…” And for the first time in nearly a decade, you heard Simon Riley hesitate. 

Your mouth was dry as you realised the severity of what had happened, the anxiety of not knowing what you’d done ripping at your chest. Your eyes were pleading now, begging him to just come out with it, to tell you the truth. 

That stormy gaze was sympathetic. It made you tremble. 

“You had an incident, Birdy.” Ghost said slowly, deliberating over his words carefully. “An episode.” 

“An episode?” You questioned, narrowing your gaze. “The fuck do you mean an episode?” 

Ghost didn’t shift in his seat the way König did when under pressure, he didn’t fidget or bounce his leg. Simon Riley sat still like a cold-blooded creature, watching you from the darkest corner of the room with a cool, steady gaze. 

“PTSD, Birdy.”

You blinked slowly. 

“During your ‘training’ with that cunt,” Ghost spat the words, his eyes shifting to the side as he centred himself. “We heard your screaming as we were on the way back in.” 

“We?’ You rasped, dread settling in your stomach. 

“Me and Johnny,” Ghost clarified. He exhaled softly, shaking his head. “You had to be sedated, kid.” 

The skin on your cheek stung sharply before you could process that bombshell. You frowned, attempting to ignore it in favour of uncovering what had happened. Ghost was never one to beat around the bush, always outright and as ‘blunt as a cunt’, in Soap’s words. 

So, why was he now omitting a key part of the story? 

The skin beneath your eyes stung again, this time demanding your attention. You began to sweat at the sudden severity of the pain, hands flying to your face to diagnose the issue.

Ghost moved before you could blink, striking out like a cobra. His hands gripped your wrists, keeping them from scouring over the skin. Your eyes were wide as you appraised him, bent over your bed, your hands suspended in his grip between the both of you. 

Your eyes narrowed. He mimicked the expression. 

You shoved at his body, ripping your hands from his hold. You needed to get to a mirror. Throwing yourself off the side of the bed, you gasped as your knees buckled from their sudden use. Simon gripped your bicep, pulling you upright with ease, but you tugged against him immediately. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” 

He retracted his hand as though he’d been burned. 

You stormed into the bathroom, the door smashing against the rubber stop glued to the wall. The lights flickered to life as you bashed the switch with the bottom of your closed fist. 

You could have thrown up. 

Gauze pads covered both your cheeks, stained pink from what you realized was blood. Your face was bleeding. A whimper fell from your lips as you reached for the dressing, peeling it slowly from your skin. Your mouth fell open at the slow reveal of what hid beneath the gauze. 

A strangled cry ripped from your throat. 

Claw marks. 

Jagged, deep wounds, tearing down the length of your face; raw, bleeding and fresh. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Distantly, you could see Ghost standing behind you in the mirror, his gaze solemn and his hands clenched. You couldn’t ask the question, couldn’t form the words but you didn’t have to. Simon had understood you back when you were eating from a straw, your eyes so puffy you couldn’t open them for days. 

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, the only comfort he could offer as you stared at your mangled reflection, yet again. 

“You were screaming for him to get off,” Ghost began, his fingers tightening against your burning skin. “The fucker was standing next to me.” 

Blood dribbled down the distinct lines engraved into your flesh, tracing the length of your throat and disappearing down your hospital gown. The both of you watched it trail your prickled skin, but you couldn’t move, suspended in time and trapped with the image before you.

Simon’s voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.

“You thought his hands were on your face.”

_____

NEXT CHAPTER

____

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Please tell me if you'd like to be added or taken off x

Omg but picture Soap and Ghost coming back from leave and hearing Birdy freaking out in the next room, only to find König on top of her again— they don’t know what’s going on, but Ghost is ripping him off of her and ready to fuck him up, and Soap is by her side trying to calm her down and get her away. Price hears the commotion and comes in like ?????? What the fuck happened? And oof, Ghost is livid. This guy almost killed their Birdy once and Price is just gonna let him do it again?? Not fucking happening.

Side note— she made that comment, “you got the job you wanted, the transfer, the training.” I wanna see more of that— her feeling like König killed her and replaced her and everyone was seemingly fine with it (they weren’t, but they’re a bunch of men who suck at showing their feelings). Some of them make more of an effort to spend time with her rather than him (ie Soap and Ghost), but the others think König’s actually an alright guy if they gave him a chance.

Idk. Lots of potential for angst here. Could be fun.

OH MY FUCKING GOD YES.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

I can see Ghost being fucking furious over Price allowing Konig to train the reader. Now that Ghosts back he pulls Price aside privately and straight out says "I'm off leave now. I'm the better hand to hand combatant and I outrank that cunt. Let me train them"

Meanwhile König wants to fucking die. You're right about the other guys being cool with him, Gaz is alright, Rudy as well (if we're including him and Alejandro). Alejandro is a passionate guy so I don't think he'd be okay with it.

I feel like Soap is actually on the fence about it. He's probably the most logical of them all regarding knowing it was an accident but understanding the hatred. He didn't just try to kill the reader, König fucking mutilated her. He's psychotic on the battlefield and everyone admired that until they realized just how fucked it would be if it was turned on them.

Oh don't worry the readers hatred isn't going anywhere either. I specialise in angst 🤌😏

Underneath (König x Reader)

Summary: You'd been looking for some time alone when you'd gone to the shooting range at nearly midnight. König clearly had the same idea.

Requested by Anon: #47 I forget how to speak whenever you're around and it's embarrassing.

A/N: Honestly, this felt sooo trash. My apologies anon, König was difficult to write here.

Categories: Hurt/Comfort || Fluff || Mutual Pining

Warnings: Mild Swearing

The night air was crisp, your breath leaving small clouds of white to trail behind you. You adjusted the strap of the weapon slung across your shoulder and shivered. Next time you’d have to dress warmer if you wanted to take a late night stroll, but you knew full well you’d make the same mistake.

As KorTac’s resident marksman, the firing range was almost like your second home. Your sniper rifle was an extension of your limbs and this place gave you the opportunity to exercise it. It would be worth the walk and worth the cold.

You glanced at your watch as you entered the facility. It was 2300 hours, no one in their right mind would be at the range this late on a Friday night. You’d have the floor to yourself, blowing off steam with unlimited ammunition into the early hours of the morning: the perfect way to start off the weekend.

As you entered the doors and rounded the corner, your breath left you in a gasp and you stumbled backward.

“König!”

The giant came to a screeching halt in an attempt to not bowl you over, his eyes wide as he appraised you. He held a sniper rifle in his right hand, the weapon looking like a Nerf gun in comparison to the sheer size of him. Your heart thrashed wildly in your chest at the scare of unexpected company.

“Jesus,” you rasped, a small laugh slipping from you lips. “What’re you doing here so late?”

There was a short pause as the man gathered his bearings, the both of you thrown off by each other’s presence. “Probably the same as you.”

You nodded your head with a small shrug. You should have guessed that König wouldn’t be at the club with the rest of the team. He was the resident introvert, maniacal on the battlefield but withdrawn in the barracks.

König was an enigma.

It’s what drew you to him like a moth to a flame. Although, the man avoided you where he could. You guessed he wasn’t as curious about you as you were about him.

“Is this why you’re better than most with a sniper?” You nodded towards his rifle but his eyes remained glued on you. “You shoot at midnight?”

It was mean to be a joke but there was some truth to your question. König was one of the better snipers in KorTac, as though he were born with a natural talent for the role. You wondered if he’d ever consider pushing for a change in positions.

“Better than most,” he agreed quietly with a shrug, but then his eyes sparkled with amusement. “However, I shoot at midnight to be better than you.”

Your heart stuttered at the words. You knew he was joking, or at least attempting to break the ice, but it always felt good to hear words of affirmation. Snipers were very much out of sight and out of mind until you needed them and you’d rarely received compliments on your work outside of training.

“Well,” you breathed, shifting the weight of the rifle on your back. It was cold but suddenly there was warmth blooming along your neck as König watched you intently. “Now I wanna see if you’re going to put me out of a job.”

König’s eyes widened and you saw him hesitate.

“You,” he cleared his throat, “you want to watch me shoot?”

You offered him a small smile in response, it was cheeky but not enough to alarm him. The last thing you wanted was to make a 6’10 mountain of a man think that you were here to laugh at him

You knew that König was a good shot, though you also knew he was not on the same playing field as you. Something told you he needed a win, though. If watching him shoot and complimenting his ability would give him something warm on such a frigid day, then it would be the least you could do.

After all, you don’t go to the range at midnight on a Friday night unless you’re lonely.

“Actually,” König began, suddenly shifting on his feet uneasily. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

You nodded your head, indicating for the man to continue. Silence swept into the conversation as König’s gaze flickered from your rifle to the floor, his hands moving to rest behind his back. You could tell his fingers were fidgeting even though he’d hid them from your view.

Finally, he spoke. “I wanted to ask for your help, I’m having trouble adjusting this rifle.”

Your mouth fell open and you blinked at him dumbly.

The giant blinked back.

“Yes!” You said with a start, realizing he was waiting for your response. “Of course- yeah. Lay down and set her up as best you can while I go offload my shit.”

König let loose a breath, his shoulders relaxing from where they’d been bunched. The sniper’s hood that he wore should have made him difficult to read, but his body language was beyond expressive.

When you returned from laying your shit down in the next aisle, König was on his stomach and those long legs were stretched out to full length. Again, you marvelled at the size of him.

He was peering down the sight of his rifle, a frustrated sigh deflating his chest as you looked down on him. You could see what was wrong with his positioning, then the actual rifle would be an entirely different beast to tackle.

“König,” you brought his attention back to you as your eyes skimmed over his body, watching for any flaws you may have missed. When you looked back at him, the man was watching you from above his shoulder. Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity of that emerald gaze, the determination to find out how to better himself.

You let loose a breath.

“Can I fix your position for you?” The question was soft but König’s hand flexed against his weapon anyway.

“Of course.”

You started with his legs, grabbing the inside of his right knee to push it upward. He helped you tucking it up so that it sat parallel to his body.

“It absorbs the recoil without shifting your line of fire,” you explained, and you saw his head nod from above the contour of his back. You stood over him, your feet planted on either side of his waist in an attempt to see the angle his body lay on.

Finally, you made your way to his arms, lowering yourself beside him. That green gaze flickered towards you, taking in your bent over form and settling on where you rested on both your knees.

He looked away as his breath hitched.

“Pick your elbows up,” you murmured, leaning over him as he lifted his arms. You tucked them a bit closer to where he had them initially, your chest brushing against the back of his head as you moved. His biceps were hard beneath your fingers and you swallowed thickly. “Now lean into them outward so the skin of your elbows is stretched.”

Again, the man obeyed.

“See how everything feels so much tighter?” You asked, leaning back onto your knees with your hands on the floor behind you.

König groaned at the sight.

You frowned.

“Is…” you cleared your throat, sitting straight. “Is it not good? I can adjust it if –“

“It’s fine,” König said quickly, his voice strained.

Your heart sunk at the urgency in his words, as though he were impatient. You thought that this was what he wanted, he had asked for your help.

“Well,” you rubbed the back of your neck with a sigh. “Give it a shot then, big guy.”

Big guy.

König missed the target.

You gawked at the small screen bolted to the floor between your bodies. When your eyes flicked over to the man lying next to you, he closed his eyes with a sigh.

“Try again,” you tried to keep your voice neutral but to miss the target entirely was a pretty big feat. Especially for someone like König who, usually, was an excellent shot.

This time, the bullet had barely caught the edge of the cardboard. The screen emitted a small beep, informing you both that he’d missed the centre aiming mark by 2,876 millimetres.

If that was a person, he’d have taken some fabric off of his shirt sleeve.

König sat up suddenly, a low growl reverberating in his chest. “Sheiße!”

“Is it the rifle?” You questioned as he rested his back against the isle wall, dropping his hands against his knees. His head fell rearward, gaze moving to the ceiling and for a second there he looked truly hopeless.

You didn’t receive a response.

“If it’s the positioning then-“

König’s head snapped upright, his eyes settling on you with an expression you’d never seen on him. You felt like you were burning.

“It’s you,” he said simply.

Your mouth dried.

“Oh.”

You stood to your feet without another word. Your chest felt heavy, and your skin stung as though the words had been a whip bearing down on your body. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks as a cold chill trickled down your spine.

You hadn’t realized how cold it was in that room.

Before you could walk from the aisle, König was on his feet. He stood before you, hands raised as though attempting to placate your or surrender. He was careful not to touch you, but the way he leaned in made you think that he wanted to.

“Not,” he stumbled over the words, they were desperate and choked. “Not like that. Never like that.”

You stared at him incredulously.

“Don’t leave,” König murmured, stepping into your space. Your head was craned so that you could see him, though eventually you gave up and tossed your gaze to the side. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you mean, then?”  Your voice was hard, and you heard him suck in a breath. “You ask me to help you then don’t talk to me when I do.”

After a pregnant pause, a hand came to rest against your upper arm and you forced yourself to stay still. When a finger tucked itself beneath your chin, forcing your eyes upward, your knees trembled dangerously beneath you.

“I’m not ignoring you, I swear it.” König’s words fell from his lips in a tumble, that emerald gaze intent, “I just forget how to speak whenever you’re around and it’s embarrassing.”

Your jaw would have fallen open had it not been for his fingers holding it.

The silence was heavy as his words settled and you couldn’t think of a single thing to respond to him with. How were you meant to tell him that you felt the same way? How were you meant to express the effect that he had on you without sounding like a child?

Eventually, his fingers slipped from your skin and a chill fell over your body at his absence.

König took a step back, his body rigid.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, his shoulders squared, and his eyes cast downward. “That was inappropriate, I shouldn’t have- “

“Don’t apologize,” your voice was barely a whisper, but the words echoed like a gunshot in the space between you. “Don’t you dare take that back.”

König watched you carefully from beneath the hood.

You decided, as his fingers slowly returned to your skin, that tonight you’d be under that hood with him.

Six Words (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Summary: After a mission goes wrong, you're tasked with keeping an injured Ghost safe from swarming insurgents. When you almost fail to save him, you realize your feelings towards him makes you a liability. Ghost disagrees.

Prompt: #61 "I don't know how to love you" From my prompt list here.

A/N: I need prompts, my head is empty with nothing but Konig and Ghost SOS.

Category: Angst - Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Swearing - Gun Violence - Themes of War

Missions were the hardest part.

The gunfire over comms, the callouts and the target indications. Every now and then you’d wince at the wounded cries of your colleagues, it was always the younger ones who screamed.

And although it was eery, you were glad to hear them. If they were crying it meant they were alive.

It was the silence that you were afraid of.

“Sunshine, this is Bravo-6. How copy?”

You blinked, flicking your gaze from your rifle’s scope. Car horns blared from the bustling city beneath you, unaware of the conflict happening 40 stories high.

“Bravo-6, this is Sunshine. Loud and clear, over.”

If Price was raising you, it meant that the fight would soon be moving into your arcs of fire.  You settled in behind your rifle, resting your cheek against the stock. You’d already accounted for the distance and thankfully the wind was steady enough that adjusting your weapon sight hadn’t been difficult to calculate.

“Sunshine, you’ll have company soon, 42nd floor. Clear them out.”

“Copy that, Bravo-6.”

The windows had already been blown out, providing you the clearance to take your shots, so you waited, watching the elevator and stairs with your finger curled lightly against the trigger. However, when someone had finally come busting through the door, you hadn’t expected it to be Ghost.

Jesus. Ripping your finger off the trigger, your heart raced, its panicked beating echoing in your ears like a church bell.

You hissed a curse beneath your breath, what the fuck was he doing in the red zone? Bravo team was meant to herd them onto the 42nd floor so you could clear the board, not pay a house call with them.

“Ghost, what the fuck are you doing?” You snapped into your headset.

You watched him throw himself over a bench on the far side of floor, tucking his body behind it for cover. He turned his head to the window, presumably to where he knew you were nested.

“Shit’s gone sideways, change of plans. I’ll distract them, you shoot ‘em.” His voice was ragged and rougher than usual. Small groans were woven into his words and as you looked at him a little longer, you realized that he was pressing a hand to his stomach.

Ghost had been shot.

Your heart dropped.

“Incoming!” He shouted, twisting his body to face the bench rather than away from it.

You hissed, moving your sights to where they should have been- at the doors. Instantly, you realized there were too many of them, he hadn’t cut down as many as he should have and now it was a race against the clock. Kill them before they killed Ghost.

You got to work, falling into a frenzied rhythm. Spot and shoot, spot and shoot. You forced yourself to not check on your teammate huddled into the corner, to not see if he’d been turned to minced meat.

One by one, they fell. And one by one, anxiety had begun to claw its way through your chest. You had a sniper rifle, not an LMG, it was near impossible to clear this many people before they’d be able to reach him.

“Fuck! Fucking shoot, Sunshine!” Ghost roared through your comms. Your breath was unsteady now. One after the other they fell and one after the other they pushed towards the little bench Simon Riley was hiding behind.

You said nothing, unable to talk, unable to think, only able to shoot and shoot and shoot.

“I’m getting overrun here!”

You pushed your scope to view Ghost. There were four of them on him already and so many more pushing ahead. Your heart dropped as the sounds of your shots became hollower, the tell-tale signs of sound echoing through your mag, you were coming up on empty.

Then there was a dull click where there should have been a ‘bang’.

 “Reloading!” You shrieked, dumping the mag and scrambling for a fresh one from your body armour. All the while you watched Ghost fight on the back foot, offense became defence and fluidity became manic.

He was going to die.

And it would be your fault.

“Covering!”

You held your breath.

Soap slid through the doorway, shooting before he’d even had a good look at the scene before him. He knew there was too many of them, he’d heard the radio chatter and he’d heard your panic.

You could have cried at the sight of him.

You finished reloading, repositioning yourself with a newfound hope fuelling your body. Between the three of you, the rest of the insurgents had been light work to clear out. It was a massacre, a sight that would traumatize most with bodies piling along the floor.

But all you could think of was Simon.

You heard his groans as Soap helped him to his feet, muttering comfort beneath his breath the way only Soap could. “Come on, LT. You’re pretty banged up, let’s get you home.”

As the adrenaline began to seep from your body, leaving you shaking and quiet, your mind began to spiral.

Nights spent on the roof, revelling in each other’s company but not saying a word. The short tit for tat banter that you’d fallen into. The drunken nights you’d sought each other out, to chase the nightmares with touches neither of you would remember in the morning.

You’d almost let him die.

Ghost straightened as best as he could, leaning against Soap as the Sergeant held him up. They both came to a stop by the window near the exit, the battered soldier pausing to gaze out across the buildings. And although you knew he couldn’t actually see you, it felt like he was looking straight at you.

“You did good, Sunshine.”

The words were genuine, almost soft if it weren’t the ragged breathing from his injury.

You bit your lip.

When you didn’t respond, the pair continued on, disappearing into the elevator and leaving you to suffer with your thoughts.

_______

The cold, night air always helped to clear your head.

You were sat on the rooftop, legs dangling off the edge of the building as though it were just a normal bench. Your chest rested against the railing; your arms folded over the top of it.

Your mind was a mess.

How had that mission gone so wrong, so fast? Logically, there wasn’t much more that you could have done. You were on the trigger constantly, a body dropped every two to three seconds, a good enough pace when you were constantly switching targets.

But you weren’t fast enough.

“You’re not gonna jump, are you?”

Your body jolted, gripping the railing tight with a gasp so you didn’t fall right off the edge. Ghost stood beside you, clad in a pair of soft black trousers and a hoodie that was drawn over his head. You swallowed your anxiety when he lowered himself to sit beside you.

You’d seen him without that jumper plenty of times, twisting against each other in the dark with alcohol on your tongues. But seeing him with it, seeing him look like any other man preparing for bed, made your heart soften.

“No.” You rasped, answering his quiet joke.

You both fell into silence, but it wasn’t comfortable like it usually was, at least not on your end. You were stressed, the tension rising in your chest to suffocate you. You forced your eyes to remain on the horizon, observing what you could under the moonlight.

There was a nudge by your hand and you glanced down. The man held out a cigarette and a lighter and you forced yourself not to look at the unlit one hanging from his mouth. It was an unwritten rule, when he rolled the mask above his lips to smoke, you would avert your gaze.

You took the cigarette with a sigh and a soft ‘thank you’, perching it between your lips. You lit the smoke, drawing the first drag to keep it alight and Ghost softly took the lighter from you.

“Didn’t know you were out of hospital,” you said, taking another draw. You blinked away the head-spin from the nicotine, feeling the stress melt from your shoulders.

“If you’d known you wouldn’t be up here,” he said simply. You clenched your jaw, hoping he wouldn’t push the subject. You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face, watching for any tell-tale sign to say that he was right.

But you just took another drag.

“You’re avoiding me,” Ghost finally said outright.

Your heart stuttered in your chest and you made an effort not to crush the cigarette between your fingers.

“I almost got you killed.”

The officer’s breath came out in a short huff, the equivalent of a laugh for the sullen character. “Don’t flatter yourself. We fucked up; you were on clean up.”

Your heart was racing now, but you knew what the problem was. You knew why you were beating yourself up over something that wasn’t really your fault. It was childish and it was immature and one day it might just get you both killed.

You’d become a liability. It was your duty to inform him.

“I’m going to apply for a transfer out of the 141.” Your sentence rang like the toll of a church bell, echoing between you. You couldn’t believe you’d finally said it but you’d known for a while.

“What?” Ghost shifted beside you, twisting his body to stare at you front on.

“I’m going to get someone killed-“

“Is this about today?” Ghost questioned and you risked a glance at him. His lips were curled in disbelief and he flicked the cigarette off the roof. He dragged his mask back over his mouth, but his eyes still flashed with incredulity. “Get the fuck over it, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s about you, Simon!” You snapped.

Ghost fell silent.

“I’m fucking compromised,” you stood to your feet, flinging your cigarette over the railing. The soldier followed in suit, towering over you instantly. “I can’t be in a situation like that again- what if I’d have failed? I couldn’t fucking breathe, I couldn’t think-“

His hand came to rest against your shoulder and your words guttered to a stop.

You peered up at him in surprise, meeting that dark gaze. For the longest time, you’d always thought Simon had dark eyes, the blackest you’d seen. The breath left your body when, on closer inspection, you realized they were fucking blue.

For a long moment neither of you said nothing, silenced by the sudden display of affection. There was no end goal, no reason for him to be touching you. No high to be chasing, no bullet to push you out of the way of.

He was trying to comfort you.

He took a sharp breath. “I know.”

You blinked at him, opening your mouth then closing it again. He’d understood. He knew what you were saying, he’d known all along because Simon had been fighting the same thoughts.

When his fingers tightened against your shoulder, your lip trembled.

You wanted to hold him. You wanted to see him.

You knew that you could do neither.

“I don’t know how to love you,” you whispered, “I don’t know how to feel like this and work with you. Watch you get shot at. Be the one to make sure you don’t die.”

Simon shrugged, his gaze never leaving your face, taking in your features as though committing it to memory. He had no words of affection to give you but you could feel it in the way his thumb rubbed against your skin ever so softly, a ghost of his touch.

“You’re smarter than me, Sunshine. You can figure it out too.” His words were careful, and you blinked up at him from where you’d hung your head.

You can figure it out too.

When he pulled his hand from your shoulder, you felt the cold of his absence. But his words had set a fire in your chest that kept you burning.

Six words from Simon Riley were enough to set your world ablaze.