Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The window feels cool against the side of your forehead. Sleepy, you watch as the heavy rain whips the glass, the bus under you swaying on the wet, dark road.

Evelyn, your childhood friend, had devised a plan. And like most times, you went along.

[Ev]
8:20PM> heyy <3

8:22PM> i know it's late but dad just called
8:22PM> he's leaving somewhere in an hour and asked me to dogsit for the weekend BUT I promised Jesse I'd go out with him tonight
8:22PM> can you come over by dad's house just for the night?
8:22PM> he already sent me some money but i'll forward it to you <33

8:25PM> i promise i'll be back by morning

8:27PM> ahhh quicklyquicklyyyy

8:29PM> you up??

It's not like you had anything interesting on your schedule, anyway. Your sigh creates a small foggy oval on the window. You had a day off of your shitty job with an even shittier pay and nothing more exciting planned than water the plants, pretty much. Besides – although it wasn't the sole reason you agreed – you really needed the money Ev had offered. You didn't know how much it would be, but considering it was her rich military dad who had paid her, it would be a lot.

You could, although grudgingly, admit it to yourself: you were jealous of your friend and her abundant life. She had all the money she needed and more, no pressure to work, a loving father who pampered and adored her even more now that she'd finally flown from the nest...

The two of you hadn't been in much contact after you both went to study even though you remained in the same area, but lately you'd kept in touch once or twice – enough to still call each other friends. You'd met at a cafe a few months ago and you noticed it took you a minute to... readjust yourself with someone like her. Someone who had everything she could ever want and had no grasp on what it meant to 'get by'.

And for her to ask you any favours... Was it just because you were useful? Did you even want to help or were you just after an irresistible wad of cash by being a dogsitter for a single night?

[you]
8:40PM> hmmmmmm

8:42PM> sure
8:42PM> but i gotta be ready for work by 6!
8:42PM> so PROMISE me

8:43PM> you know i wouldn't have the heart to leave the doggies alone :(
8:43PM> byebye job (i wish)

Plink. You press the stop button instinctually when the familiar bend on the road makes your head press tighter against the glass. Soon the bus doors open with a sharp hiss and you step out into the rain, under a lonely streetlamp. The only working streetlamp, you notice, as you peer down the near pitch black street. Weird.

Your ride for the last forty minutes leaves you to smell the exhaustion fumes, taillights coloring the wet pavement red before they disappear behind the road bend. The rainfall is deafening.

[Ev]
8:43PM> ty ty ty!!! <33 i PROMIse
8:43PM> pups are gonna be SO happy to see you! <3 they adore you it's been agesss

8:44PM> oh and dad doesn't know you're coming and he WON'T
8:44PM> so come by the backdoor as quick as you can? just stay out of sight or he's gonna kill me if he finds out
8:44PM> he thinks anyone cares enough to snoop around his office or smth lol, work stuff. and you're an enemy state agent right?!
8:44PM> txt me when you get here!! god ilysm

So here you are.

Fortunately?

...Unfortunately? Ah well, money's money and dogs are cute. And friends–

What are friends for, if not this? Right?

Evelyn must've turned off the motion sensors from the backyard since you're now standing in near complete darkness under the kitchen windows. You can see someone's shadow pass on the wet grass in front of you as the light glowing through the curtains flickers. You can't tell if it was the father or daughter.

You pull out your phone and immediately set the display brightness as low as it can go to not blind yourself in the dark. Rain patters on your jacket hood and you wipe some droplets off the screen.

[you]
9:57 PM> ding dong ♫

Almost instantly:

[✔ message read]

She doesn't type a reply for a whole minute so you stuff your phone back in your pocket and pull the navy blue rain jacket tighter around you. You desperately need new clothes – the jacket is seeping through somewhere at the shoulders, effectively ignoring the pounding rain. Couldn't John have chosen a sunny day to leave...

You adjust the other strap of your backpack. It's light; just the essentials, some snacks, a book and a spare t-shirt to sleep in. And dog treats because you just couldn't bare the idea of not buying some. It's just that the dark clothes and a backpack make you look less than innocent – were anyone able to see you. You're practically invisible standing there, like a burglar; just too tiny and weak to break any locks, so there goes another career option.

Shoulders up you stand there for a while, listening to the pouring rain and eyeing the dark neighborhood. Wealthy houses, neat lawns, expensive cars. Act marriages where the wives stayed for the money and diamond rings, husbands for the prime pussy and bragging rights. Mr Price used to be the 'distant' and 'never around' military husband trope of the bunch.

The pounding rain muffles all and everything – other than the sudden sound of a car engine starting. He's finally leaving. You stay in the dark, unseen even if John would decide to drive behind the house.

A few steps away, the backdoor lock clicks and warm light floods on the slippery porch steps like a beam. Evelyn's face pops outside and frantically turns around in search of–

"There you are! Oh my god I'm so so happy to see you!" she squeals overexcitedly when she finally finds your face amongst the gloom. Is she happy to see you because it's you or because you agreed to help? Ahh god, just– Forget it, forget it. Push the insecure bullshit aside and smile.

"Heyy! Been a while, huh," you glee and get out of the rain as Evelyn beckons you inside and fusses over the rain and her father being so quiet about why he had to leave she barely got any warning and ohmygod haven't seen you in so looong–

As soon as the door behind you clicks shut you hear a low, territorial bark. Then a second one, alerted by the former – a thundering, booming woof that almost separates your skin off your body.

Two absolutely massive tibetan mastiffs spot you over at the end of the hallway and their nails screech against the parquet as they come charging towards the both of you. Their mallet-like paws pound against the floor and the ungodly amount of fluffy, wavy fur still can't hide how death in the jaws of these beasts wouldn't be equally fuzzy and soft.

"Look who it iiis, is it your auntiee, yeess!!" Evelyn squeaks like a toy. There's zero room to back down as both guard dogs assertively crowd you to take a sniff, alert and suspicious as they make up their mind about the threat their owner just carelessly welcomed in. You give a shaky laugh when you hear a low growl inches away from your ribs. Very crunchy! 10/10 to gnaw on! Good nutrition value! H-haha, yeah, it's just auntie (pleaserememberpleaseremember)...

But it only takes a second for the tails to start wagging in recognition as the other one hops up on its two feet and practically crashes against you. The amount of paw and fat and fur against your chest and face is overwhelming and the mastiff's bulk is a milk carton's weight away from knocking you to the ground.

"Whoa o-okay–! Hi, hi! I know I know!" you squeal, relieved, and dig your fingers into the dog's fur to give it a good scratch, its humid breath and slobber all over your face. Oof, it must've had dinner not too long ago. The other pup prances at your feet, much more well-mannered.

"Alright enough, give her some space," Evelyn coos and claps her hands together to shoo the furry titans away long enough for you to wipe slobber off your cheek and kick off your shoes to not drag the rain and mud in.

"Yikes, mind if I brush their teeth while I'm at it?" You remove your drenched jacket, humbly letting two curious muzzles scan it with heavy sniffs as if to check if you were carrying concealed weapons. Dogs of a true military man, clearly.

"Pfft, if you really want to. But remember, you're here to relax," Evelyn says as you wrestle your jacket away from the clutches of two wet noses and hang it on the coat rack.

You know John usually takes the dogs with him to work for even weeks at a time, but otherwise they were here with him or sent to Ev's care. Or, as it turned out, secretly yours. Not that you mind.

Because it's... nice. To be in a big house, safe and sound, guarded. Free to spend your time however you wanted. Well, not really, of course – and daydreaming would get you nowhere. This wasn't your life.

"Did you cut your hair?" Ev's chirp cuts through the hallway as she hurries to the front door to grab her bag and the rain-beaten puffy jacket she had taken off right before her father left.

"Oh, yeah, a week or two ago." You pull a few strands between your fingers and let them fall, meeting Ev halfway when she scurries back with her arms full, but you don't get far.

"Looks nice on you! Dad always talks about how we did everything together – we even kept our hair the exact same length." Her smile looks like it beams, but it's shallow – like a reflection off of a mirror. You know it's partly just chit-chat because a) she's busy getting ready to take off again to be somewhere more important, b) you're still friends mainly because you just always have been, and c) it's just how she talked, even with you. Your conversations didn't dig very deep, anymore. Maybe she'd learned it from her father – that unspoken distance. Yet you hum with a warm smile.

"I remember." Yeah, maybe you did imitate each other, long ago. Now, not so much – in any department.

She comes right next to you and pulls you in front of a large mirror in the hallway, the two of you staring at the reflection as her smile shines and yours is still warming up.

"Hmm, almost the same color at least," she notes as your strands mingle. You stare at the two of you, an unsure smile tugging on your lips and brows lifted to reveal you felt inferior. Your friend doesn't seem to notice, just tilts her head happily and smushes her cheek against yours with a quiet tea kettle pitched "mm!". Then Evelyn pats down your shoulders a bit, feeling your shirt. She gasps like a trophy wife who sees a guest spill red wine on her sad beige couch.

"You're soaking wet! Oh my god I'm sorry you had to stand there in the rain – here, change into my hoodie."

"Oh, you don't have to–" But she's already pulling her peach colored hoodie's collar over her head. She straightens her shirt under it and hands you over the comfy, warm, and most importantly dry piece of clothing.

"Take it – or just pick anything from my wardrobe. I spend enough time here to have some spare clothes." And enough money to forget whatever she'd already bought. God, you were jealous, and it was a bad fit around your weary little heart.

A defeated little huff comes through your nose but you smile in appreciation.

"Thanks. It's really cute." You change into the dreamy-soft hoodie that's fashionably too loose despite its correct size. You pat the extra fabric, already feeling better to not be shivering in soaked clothes.

"Hmm, yeah. It's an old one," she just shrugs. The dogs sniff your own, rain-soaked shirt – the other dares to snort, leaving a splash of snot on the sleeve before returning back to its owner as if the crime was still left unsolved. You don't want to start washing your clothes here so you save your shirt from any more bullying by hanging it to dry next to your jacket.

"If you don't like what you find just go wild, whatever, cause y'know–" Evelyn steps away to the end of the hallway and into the large living room where the floor-to-ceiling windows give a sad but very clear view to the darkness outside. You peek from behind the corner to see as she theatrically, almost dancing, goes from window to window, pulling the curtains in front of each of them.

"Privacyy," she sing-songs after she's done and hops back over to you with the dogs right on her tail. Well, the large windows are pretty much the only thing that makes you feel awkward; getting the feeling some stalker might be out there, staring at you as you sit on the couch and watch a late night crime show with a plate full of whatever sweets you can find in a single man's kitchen cupboards.

"Oh and speaking of, I have to leave my car in case dad calls the neighbors and asks them to keep an eye on the house or something. At least they can tell him it looks like I'm still here. Jesus, he's so controlling sometimes..." her eyes roll.

"So you just chill, alright? No one's coming over to bother you. These little cuties will make sure of it, won't they," she pats the mastiffs and coos some high-pitched nonsense.

She had always been good at making promises she couldn't keep.

"And really, thank you so much," she then comes and gives you a tight hug. "You're the best."

"The best at covering your ass," you mumble a laugh over her shoulder before she retreats with a theatrically appalled gasp.

"Oh stop, I said I'm grateful! Besides, you're not gonna get in trouble. It's me he would get mad at – if he found out. Which he won't."

"Like he'd ever get mad at you."

"Pff, you try living twenty years under the same roof with a bossy big shot who's married to the military," she scoffs and lowers her voice a bit, "..rather than your mom. Believe me, I know what 'mad' looks like." Well no one had forced her to live at home for that long...

The other mastiff sniffs your bag while the other looks around every once in a while, like scouting the area, seemingly sensing that the plan is not what they thought it would be. And what smart puppies they are, as immediately Evelyn claps her hands together in excitement.

"Okay, I'm off! The treats are in the same cupboard as always and you just take anything from the fridge, alright? All dad's gonna notice is if his beer or whiskey's been touched, hah." Yeah, that makes sense. "Oh and cigars as well, but you don't smoke, do you? Order takeout, watch his stupid romcom DVD collection, whatever– whatever! It's your house for the night!" She hurries to put on her shoes as her phone gives a message notification.

"Ugh yeah yeah I'm coming– Okay bye, love you! Love you, pups! Have a good niiight!" Evelyn sends the dogs a kiss and wastes no time grabbing her purse and pulling open the backdoor. The rainfall has gotten even heavier, you both hear and see it roar outside as Ev gives an excited eep and covers her head with her jacket's hood.

"You too," you wave at her before the backdoor already clicks and muffles the gloomy weather.

You look at the fluffy giants standing at your feet. They've stopped panting as they look back at you expectantly. A thick glob of slobber slooowly droops off the other one's lip as it tilts its head, a sad little whine only emphasizing the very effective 'please miss we have never been fed / loved / given attention' look. And you're only human.

"Alright. Who wants some treats?"

***

As the shadow of your friend slinks away through the dark backyard, a large dark van soon drives by the house and comes to a halt on the side of the road, a fair distance away. The engine purrs for a moment before it, too, falls silent in the rain.

Nobody gets out, but it's only a matter of time.

When the lights go off.

Chapter Text

You decided to have a movie night with the two mastiffs keeping you company. Despite being guard dogs both of the massive furballs were secretly just absolute couch potatoes as they settled themselves on both sides of you throughout most of the silly romcom you found within the depths of the tv stand. The movie left you wondering if the DVDs were left by John's ex-wife as a glaring hint, since most of them were about some way-too-handsome rich men who fall in love with ordinary feet-to-the-ground women and actually settle down at the end. Ah, but hindsight won't help you, will it Mr Price.

Once every hour or so the other mastiff went to lazily check out the house until it was the other's turn to do the exact same. You felt safe, almost at home.

You didn't move around the big house (way too big for even a family of three) much, too polite to snoop. And because it made you a bit sad. It felt almost untouched, all of it. The furnitures were still where you'd last seen them, same couches, curtains, decorations; John barely had anything of his own, save for some forgotten clothes strewn around here and there. An empty bottle of beer. A holster. Otherwise his home still looked like there was a family living in it: a husband, a wife and their beautiful daughter. Not a lonely military man and his dogs. Because this house wasn't where he lived his life.

Was every man in the military like that..? Would a woman ever be able to keep them down?

Ev had joked about her father not wanting anyone to go into his office. Secret files, perhaps? It's just that... If the rest of the house looked the way it did, maybe his office had more personality. You couldn't deny your curiosity – even your friend didn't know everything her father did in the military – so after making absolutely sure the man had no cameras installed in the upstairs hallway you carefully pressed your fingers on his office door's handle.

Locked. You tried again, but the handle just clanked up and down. Guess he didn't even trust his own daughter not to go in uninvited. You glanced to the side. His bedroom door was ajar, but that was definitely the one place you were too bashful to go snooping around in.

You treated yourself to a long hot shower. After throwing your friend's peach hoodie on top of the already full laundry basket you undressed and hopped in the white-tiled booth, closing the door behind you with a clean little click. Everything was so spacious, nothing like your cramped up little bathroom where you had to squeeze in between the toilet and washing machine to get to your shower corner with the green flower tiles. Okay, your old tiny apartment had that comfy 70's vibe, but so did the musty smell in the building's stairway.

Steam soon covered the glass surrounding you, obscuring your figure as you took your luxurious time lathering yourself with that soap that made you smell so good and soft you wanted to keep rinsing forever.

The rushing water felt like heaven on your skin, you didn't even have to worry about warm water running out. Relaxation swooped over your body, making you feel like the owner of the whole place, like you had everything, all the time in the world.

A tender warmth bloomed within your lower stomach as you soaped your thighs, making you frown a bit, embarrassed. God, it just felt so good to relax, feel safe, not stress about your life and all the people in it even for one night. There was no man in your life right now, nobody to see when you went home. Shit, the last guy you went on dates with was more interested in laughing at his own jokes and gave zero effort to get you off when you got to that point. Your hand slipped upwards, in between your thighs and you gently bit your lip as the warm water found its way down your arm, your hand, between your legs. You had enjoyed this night so much more than you would have had you spent it in your own apartment, so you might as well. It's just that...

Would it be shameless if you did it here..?

You blink. Yeah, it felt too weird to even be alone in John's house. And, despite not having to worry about a sudden audience...

Shy, your hand slipped away from between your thighs.

After the shower you put on an old men's t-shirt that was way too big for you but suited just fine as a nightshirt. At least it covered your butt, because you couldn't bother with pajama pants – or bras for that matter. You went downstairs to let the dogs out in the backyard to do their business while you sat on the fancy light parquet floor with a white towel on your head, staring outside through the crack of the open door. You weren't particularly interested in getting yourself drenched once more, the pups could take care of themselves. A bit lazy of you, you could admit, but you'd clean up after them before Ev got back – didn't want to be a disrespectful guest. You clicked your tongue at them to get them back inside and just as you got the door locked you ran away with a squeal when they began to shake their soaked fur.

At long last, one by one the lights went off as you went through the house. It was eerie, almost scary, were it not for the two panting giants right at your heels. But no monsters here, no serial killers, no ghosts, no burglars.

"Alright, night pups," you coo.

The dogs have barely left you out of their sight the whole night, even now when you're right at Ev's second floor bedroom door.

"I'm not gonna ask you to check for monsters under the bed," you give them both a laugh and scratch their heads as they sit and insist on waiting for you to decide where to go. "You're the biggest, baddest, cutest little monsters in the entire neighborhood, nobody would dare to come and bully me, isn't that right?" You kinda expect them to start wagging their tails happily and gobble your babbling right up, but both of them look rather uninterested in your baby talk, almost serious. Guess John's trained them to take their duties seriously...

After you open the door to your friend's childhood room and tuck yourself to bed, the dogs sniff around the room for a while. Soon enough – after they made sure there's nothing suspicious lurking in every single nook and cranny – you hear them both trudge downstairs, the tapping of nails getting more distant as the fuzzy warriors clock in for their night shift. To guard the entry points to the house, most likely.

You wish you had all this. You wish for a life of safety. You sigh deep, trying to forget the fact that you were supposed to go to work in the morning, face the day and pay the bills and smile for the assholes and go back home.

After some time of you tossing and turning with the unfamiliar room's scent tickling your nose and a sulky pout scrunching your face, you finally fall asleep on the cloud-like comfiness of the bed. The roaring rain muffles all fears, all heartaches and all thoughts, keeps them from entering your soft cocoon of dreams.

So soft you don't hear them.

***

A quiet, high-pitched whine wakes you from your sleep – almost. Your eyelids flutter a bit but your sleep is so molasses-thick it drowns your awareness right back under it. You switch sides, bury your face into the marshmallow-like pillow and exhale deep, turning back to watching that dream so sweet it makes you lift your knees up to your chest–

Then a bark. That woof.

That 'stay away'.

...stay away?

Your dream escapes you as you see it in rewind within the period of a millisecond, taking you back to act one.

Your eyes spring open as a painfully prickling tightness of sudden distress flashes over your muscles in an instant, startling you fully awake. You sit up and it takes you a second of frantically looking around the room to realize you're not in your own apartment. The bedroom is dim, a bluish hue pouring through the windows letting your eyes make out the details after a moment of adjustment. You exhale to let the sudden stress out. It's still raining outside.

You could swear you heard the dogs bark. But as you sit there, your breath shallow and timid, you can hear nothing more. They... they wouldn't bark without a reason. Was Ev back? Or John himself?

You purse your lips as you turn your eyes at the closed door.

Should you..? Can't you just go back to sleep? You're sure this wasn't normal; earlier today they hadn't barked once after you had arrived, not when you let them go outside, not even when the tree branches beat on the windows. They weren't sensitive. They had a reason for every action they took.

You sigh.

Shit.

The door lets the tiniest squeeek when your head pokes through the small crack. The dark hallway is eerie to say the least. Silent, empty. Scary, a bit. Old pictures on the wall still, even when it's been years since the marriage fell apart.

You almost, almost call out to the dogs. But you're not going to do what every idiot does in horror movies and call out to anyone. No fucking way because not only would you be the first one to die, you would be the sole person in the house to die. You're quiet as a mouse, breathe with soft huffs as you do your damndest to listen through the sound of rain pounding on the roof.

And you do hear something. A creak, the softest thumps – your meek stare flicks around the hallway both ways because you can't pinpoint the source of the sounds. Almost makes you believe it's just imagination, nerves, too many slasher flicks catalogued in your brain.

Slowly, so carefully, you leave the doorway and sneak towards the stairs because finding the dogs was your first priority to make sure everything was okay. Goddamnit, this is not smart... You can't even see the top of the stairway yet, the corner hides whatever awaits within the rest of the house. But not for long, no.

You come to a halt right where you are as something emerges from behind the corner, making your heart jump up to your throat.

A large human shape. Time slows down as you watch it round the corner and turn its head towards you. Coming to a full stop, long limbs slightly apart as it stands there like an ominous monolith. Right in the way of your only exit.

Taller than any person you've ever met. Dark clothes, military gear that breaks the natural shape of the figure, its shoulders wide, posture confident as it stands to block your path a small distance away. The metallic glint of what was undoubtedly a gun reflects moonlight on the hip.

A dark hood over its head. Like an executioner – the helmet doesn't dilute the comparison one bit. Pale light shines through the windows and you see streaks of worn red under the slots where the eyes should be. But there's nothing. You can't see how it looks at you.

It's not the Captain. Definitely not your friend.

But someone who wasn't supposed to be here.

A monster.

A monster at the end of the hallway.

And it speaks in a man's voice as it raises its hand to its chest, sound of static scratches from the device attached there.

"Target in–"

A second of silence. You don't breathe. You don't move. You try not to exist at all.

It cocks its head, the movement forces a raindrop to fall off the side of the helmet. Uncertainty.

"–sight..."

You swear your heart has stopped beating – deciding you're a prey that's already been caught, dead and unmourned, being digested.

But your pulse comes back to you with a low thump below your throat when the monster takes a curious step.

Towards you.

Oh no.

You don't even waste time to scream; a pathetic exhale is the only thing you give before your legs start working again. You bolt, fucking fly to the opposite direction, towards the other end of the hallway where you know there is a bathroom. Your heart clenches inside your chest as you nearly stumble on the carpet but push yourself off the wall to charge onwards, bare feet pounding against the floor.

Another shadow emerges in front of you, from the room next to the bathroom. A monster, not as horrid as the other but just as thoroughly clad in camouflage gear, face covered – not with a hood but with a mask and pitch black glasses.

You dig your heels to the floor and come to a full stop and slip, catching yourself with your hands as you stumble on the floor. Scrambling to barely sit up your eyes never leave the human figure as it slowly steps closer, the blue hue of moonlight revealing the shapes and edges of the military gear it's covered in. You notice a gun in its hands, angled downwards across the chest. Doesn't point at you. Is prepared to.

"No... nonono," you mutter under your breath as you try to kick yourself away with your heels, shirt hiked up to your hips, air thick inside your lungs as you push yourself up. But even when you turn back around the monster is still there.

Closing in, its strides long. You're trapped.

You can't get back, it's already there, it knows what you're trying to do so it slams the bedroom door shut as it continues to close in. Holy shit no no no–

The closest open door is the one to John's bedroom but you have to get there first. You scramble towards the hooded shape – a man, a military-geared intruder, you reason to yourself – and just before he's right on top of you you manage to rip the door handle and pull it in, shutting yourself inside the bedroom. Your fingers shake like you've had ten shots of espresso as you fumble with the door and manage to lock it just as something pulls on the handle.

You jolt away from the door and turn around, look around the unfamiliar room with your heart beating in your throat. Holy fucking shit, what do you do, what do you do.

You scramble over the unmade double bed, hands grasping at anything to just pull yourself forward, away from the door and towards the large windows on the other side of the room. You dip behind the side of the bed and scurry backwards, the back of your head hitting the wall as you stare at the door. You're heaving, the loose shirt making waves on your chest with how hard you're breathing.

For a blessed second it gets frighteningly quiet. Even the door handle doesn't turn anymore – because no one even tries it.

Instead, the entire door flies open with a swift, powerful kick to the side of the lock. The loud bang of the now useless piece of wood forces a high-pitched wail of desperation out of you as you stare at the doorway, at the shadowed figure emerging through. You clamber on your feet and turn around to rip at the locks on the windows in vain. It doesn't work, you hear the heavy sound of boots closing in and you succumb to banging on the glass, hoping to god anyone in the pouring rain hears your cries.

You inhale deep, and the scream that pours out of your mouth is one of panic and fear of death.

"Help, HELP!! SOMEone–"

You get cut off when a massive arm emerges from behind you and wraps around your stomach, while a gloved palm covers your mouth and pretty much half your face. Your whole body jerks backwards against a hard surface, the monster's chest. Feet kicking wildly in the air you can do nothing but push at the strong arm holding you however it wants.

The palm is clamped tight on your mouth to muffle your screams and incoherent pleas to stop and help and please no no no. But he won't – he won't help you.

You're unceremoniously flung on the bed, your back bouncing against the mattress. And you have zero time to recover before he's already on you, pinning your wrists on both sides of your head and locking your thighs apart by stepping in between them, preventing you both from escaping and kicking him in the fucking chest or face or nuts or wherever to get out–

You look like a horrified mess. Brows high and knit with terror, your eyes watery and large as you muster the courage to keep looking at whoever the fuck this is that decided to infiltrate a high-ranking military officer's home–

...

That's exactly why.

But it's not the topic he wants to know about first.

"Und wer bist du..."

Your breath falters, your voiceless cry makes it jump, quiet, as you stare into the cut holes of the hood. The tone of his voice is intrigued. A low, confused murmur, almost.

Imposing and intimidating to the max, he looms there over you, his grip tight but not painful enough to make you squirm because of it. There's a whole lot of other reasons that make you writhe and tremble.

And, fuck... This is when you start to cry. The tears just well in your eyes and fall as plump droplets over your temples as fear of the unknown overwhelms you. Behind the watery blur you see the eyes behind the hood widen. Oh no maybe he'll kill you now because you're gonna be such a hassle to deal with and you're just so fucking small and dumb and weak and–

The desperate pleas pour out of you and you just don't care that he spoke in a different language, just hope to god he understands you–

"W-what- what do you want please god oh god pleaseplease don't kill me-e-ee–"

"Shh."

You immediately shut the fuck up with a startled sniff and suck your lips together, somehow managing even when they tremble uncontrollably – your whole body is unable to stay still because how could it. The strong hands on your wrists adjust a little, almost sluggishly, because holding you in place is just too fucking easy.

You hear a shuffle at the door behind you but you don't dare to look away.

"All clear. I sweeped the second floor. House is empty," a man's voice says, cool as if there's nothing going on.

They're not here for you.

"We can't find her."

Because you're not supposed to be here. That much must have been obvious to these people as well as soon as they had seen you. A strict tone snaps from behind the hood above you.

"Where is Evelyn Price."

Of fucking course. Holy hell, ohfuckohfuck this is some military espionage shit and people like these torture and kill and take prizes as spoils of war and – nonono... You want to look away, want to close your eyes to stop the tears from flowing but you can't and the pressure is too much for you to think clearly.

"S-she, sheleftshe'snothere, I promise, I'msorryi'msorry–"

He leans down towards your face in a flash, so close you can smell the gun powder that must already be embedded in his gear.

"Where." That low snap is bursting with such authority you swear it makes you shrink down on the bed and you let out a startled yelp. The tone carries a stern warning for you to not fuck this up. But you do, oh you fuck it up because your brain is in life or death mode and the answer he seems to crave is one you just cannot give. The grip on your wrists tightens, large gloved thumbs move to press on your palms for added control.

"B-boyfriend! Some- somewhere, I-I don't know- where–" you sniffle, "I'm so sorry I don't know him, please I swear–"

He lets out a deep sigh. Impatient. Looks at you straight in the eyes for a moment, thinking. Then his gaze flicks downwards, inch by inch, towards your frantically heaving chest. The faintest, high-pitched note whistles out of your throat as you wait for his next move.

He yanks you up on your feet and swings you around; for a second you're left without anyone grabbing your body like it's a doll getting thrown around by an eager puppy. So you just shiver there in your baggy shirt and raise your hands instinctually to shield your chest, staring at the other man blocking the only exit. He leans on his hip, switching the position of his shotgun – why the fuck would he have that. And the knowledge of having the imposing titan stand right behind you is enough to not make you fight back.

You feel a presence right behind your ear and the frighteningly soft, dark voice makes you inhale sharply.

"Don't make this hurt."

It makes both your blood run cold and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end; his voice sends vibrations throughout your body and the quiet, breathy laugh next to your ear gently blows on your hair. You hear the sharp whirl of a paracord chafing before he yanks your wrists behind your back and swiftly ties them together. You try to writhe away but it's like pulling a rebar out of concrete.

"Nononoplease!" you whimper and bite your lower lip as your brain goes through every single scenario this might lead to – and they all end with you in a tiny box after they're done with you. Your wrists are pulled together nice and tight and his one hand is enough to keep them still to give freedom to the other.

Fabric shuffles behind you right after your wrists are tied as he takes something from his hip pocket, the sound even more ominous than the rope. The man at the door tilts his head a bit, almost takes a step forward but quickly corrects himself. His gun lowers next to his hip now, thankfully not pointed at you. He sounds a bit unsure as he speaks.

"What about–"

Right then, darkness swallows you beneath a black fabric sack that's swiftly pulled over your head and you let out a high-pitched scream. You hear a clean whish when the hood closes loosely around your neck, tight enough to not slide off. Before you resume your resistance the giant already holds you still by locking your tied-up wrists flush to your ass. He then scoops you up by capturing your hips, effectively sealing you against his chest. Your bare feet lift off the carpet even when you kick and scream.

"Dose her."

"Right."

"What–!!" you scream inside the dark bubble of your prison, and not a few seconds later something sharp sticks deep into your upper thigh. You try kicking and writhing but your knee gets locked in a tight grip. Something stings – a fluid forced into your muscle. You wiggle and scream at the sensation but as it reaches its height, the needle is already gone.

"NO–! PLEASE no, pleaseplease I'm begging y–!"

You are unceremoniously being hoisted up and swung on the giant's wide shoulder like a sack of potatoes, stomach pressing against the harsh edges of straps and protective guards covering the sturdy body. An arm wraps around the back of your bare thighs and you writhe in the unrelenting grasp of this giant monster, your shirt barely long enough for its hem to get jammed under the arm holding you as to not reveal your panties. The absolute humiliation of the state of you, your position, ass up in the air on the shoulder of some giant abductor – the shock of your stolen freedom just stirs inside, swells, but can't unravel in any other way than by screaming and resisting.

Though weak and defenseless, you try separating your wrists to no avail. Not like that would've done much good – had you gotten free, what then? Begin hitting his back like a child? You might as well have been hitting a brick wall with a feather.

"What about her ankles?"

"Nein, no need." You hear the amused hum come up from somewhere next to your writhing hip. "She'll stop in a minute."

What did they put into you?

You're frightened and in your panic wondering if you should just give up or play dead or just keep on wiggling, but then it dawns on you that your blood circulation is probably at maximum from all the exertion and whatever they dosed you with will begin to take effect alarmingly fast.

Your body begins to sway along as he walks. And like promised, a thick pulse of numbness goes through your brain like a wave. Only once, at first. You make a sound, weirded out and tired, but still focus on trying to punch your knees into your captor's hard chest. You hear a faint crackle of a tactical radio as your kidnapper ignores your valiant struggles and calmly gives an order.

"Gather all intel. Exfiltration in five."

Your head gives a heavy nod, you can't control it as your body begins to droop in his grasp. Your muscles grow too tired to go on holding you together, it's too much, everything's too much. Your upper body falls limp against the man's back. Soon, it's... almost like you don't care. You don't care that your body is not yours, even your mind is urgently relinquishing itself to the sea of velvety numbness.

The sways of your head and rhythmic pressure on your stomach tells you he's going down the stairs. Faint but there, you immediately hear another man's voice, suprised somehow but too far away for you to make out the words.

Not even the tiniest sting of worry gets through that miasma inside your head, though the last thing you hear clearly is the one verification of your fate that should raise alarm the most.

"We're taking her."

Chapter Text

The back of the van is quiet, unless you count the rhythmic tap tap tap of hard rubber hitting against the metal floor. Space too small for him. Can't sit up straight. Tired of waiting. Done with this fucking mission.

König's knee keeps jumping as the heel of his boot taps the floor. The eyes behind the sniper hood barely blink. He stares in between Hutch and Aksel sitting opposite him, through the backboard that separates the front seats from the back of the van and gives just enough space in the middle to squeeze through. Rain and night behind the windshield. Horangi sits behind the wheel, keeping an eye on the surroundings and listening in on the radio for updates from their scout who watches the front side of the house further away. The radio channel rasps every now and then.

          "Target still in the living room. Dogs keep patrolling. Might be an issue."

Why the fuck was König sent here when he could be ripping people apart? He wasn't made for this – to sneak in like a fucking cowardly burglar, sent to snatch some spoiled brat from her palace in a rich suburb. His knee picks up the pace for a moment.

          "Lost visual."

Why the fuck was he appointed as the leader of this tiny five man team when it meant he's the one ordering his men around like they were babies instead of getting his own hands dirty? He should be infiltrating an armed enemy base, kicking down doors, smashing someone's head in. HQ says he's too rough when there's no need to be, that he needs variety... He'll show them rough.

König knew he wasn't taking this as serious as he should have considering it was 141 they were both directly and indirectly assaulting here, but he didn't care about whatever intel the client wanted from Price and his men. König gave zero shits about political quarrels, it was why he was a merc in the first place. Kill, get money, drink after the mission, be forced to go home, watch porn to dull the loneliness, then go kill again. It's all he knew, it's how he had learned to cope.

          "Lights are out from this side."

After all the lights in the house go out, Horangi leans to the side a bit, his masked visage and dark glasses come in view in front of the gap between the van's front and back sections.

"How long do we wait?"

"Thirty," König replies without even thinking about it, his eyes flick to now stare at the dashboard's clock. Horangi peeks over his shoulder properly.

"Thir–?"

"Princess in her castle better be sleeping tight by then." It's quite clear König is sulking under that hood. "Scheiße..." He was ready to get this over with.

Hutch leans his head against the backboard separating him and Horangi, eyes closed behind the dark sunglasses, completely still. Sniffs dryly, so not sleeping after all. Sitting next to him Aksel slowly rolls a silencer on his pistol, checks it before he's satisfied and sighs, leans against his knees. At least he was the most experienced with hostage rescues, though this will be... a bit of a different 'rescue'.

Exactly thirty minutes later König's boot lands against the floor with one final thump. After this, he was going to refuse anything else but a mission with a promise of blood and guts and broken bones.

"Move out."

The punishing weather drowns all other sounds in the night as the back doors of the van open under the sabotaged streetlamps. Hutch and Aksel hop out, quickly heading towards the house through the heavy curtain of rain. König steps out after them, almost sluggish in his irritation as the bottom of his boot splashes on a puddle. Horangi is the last to leave the car, soon rounding the front hood to head in before the group's leader follows suit.

As planned, Aksel and Hutch split to head towards the two main entrances. Horangi circles to the side of the house, climbing the fire ladder up to the second floor balcony to silently break in through the last door. With all exits blocked and their positions confirmed through the radio, König gives the go-ahead. With both first floor locks shot open, König follows behind Aksel as the Norwegian prowls his way inside the house with his gun ready and rounds the corner to check for the much expected danger.

Irritation guides König to be near indifferent to any threats the house may pose. He doesn't give a shit about cameras with all of them masked, he doesn't give a shit about the dogs as Aksel and Hutch are assigned to locate and take care of them, and König sure as hell doesn't give a shit about silent alarms since this will unfortunately be the quickest, dumbest, easiest kidnapping mission he's ever had the displeasure of conducting. He can't wait to get back to the van and be far away from this house, hopefully soon on his next mission already.

His boots wetting and staining the shiny floor, König doesn't even ready his gun as he walks through the first floor hallway, just keeps it on his hip in case one of the mutts decides to try its luck. But even that doesn't seem to be an issue anymore as he hears the scratch of claws against the parquet, then a sharp whine cut the silence behind the corner where Aksel headed.

The booming bark from somewhere further away is what makes him turn his head, but as it's followed by a faint flash of light against the kitchen wall at the end of the hallway, König lets out a heavy exhale and halts for a second. Hutch emerges from the kitchen, raises one finger and, as König gives him a nod, heads forward deeper into the house to secure their other objective. Aksel confirms his part and follows suit, leaving König in the eerily silent hallway.

He spots the stairs, water dripping down from the edge of his helmet as he turns his head. Horangi must've already gotten in since, supposedly, there were no threats left in the house. None other but them.

König hears nothing, though. No screams, no thumps suggesting struggle. Radio is supposed to stay silent as long as there is a confirmed visual. And he's tired of this infuriatingly comfy looking family house already. He wants to burn it to the ground. His own house was nothing like this; it makes his stomach boil with envy and he dreams of choking the life out of anyone who had what he didn't. Too rough, they said. He would be, and they would never send him on these kind of missions again.

König goes up the stairs almost sluggishly – making noise is the least of his worries. His heavy steps thump against the carpeted stairs, one of them creaks as he heads forward. Might as well let Horangi know it was him in case he had decided to sweep the second floor with his gun ready.

And König's body relaxes even sooner than he had hoped as he comes to the top of the stairs and rounds the corner, eyes already adjusted to the dark blue hue that pours through the windows.

In the dim hallway he thinks he sees what he's looking for, barely taking a second to look closer since all he needs to know is he has a woman in his sights. Fucking finally. He turns his radio on, takes a relaxed stance.

"Target in–"

But König pauses as his vision narrows down – down to the sight in front of him, only a small distance away. Could almost reach out to touch it.

It's not what he expected.

That surprised face, such a scared look in those wide eyes. Hair messed up by the pillow. Sweet lips parted – he could almost hear a silent, trembling breath leave them, call to him. All alone and defenseless in the hallway, lost tiny thing, with nobody to come to the rescue. Naked thighs below what could have been a dress, almost. Tense arms half folded on both sides, could be mistaken as wings but they're already broken – before he had the honors.

You're not supposed to be here. Innocent, his anger is not your fault – no, you wash it all away.

He's got you in his sights – and if you ever believed in fate, this now seals it.

A shapeless mumble of sorts – that's all you hear when you slowly begin to surface. The thickness of the tranquil miasma that fills each possible crevice of your buzzing brain barely lets anything through, but the murmur is the only thing you could identify as human voices. Something to grab a hold of.

             "-looks wea- - -dose- - -athing normal-"

          "-probl- - -gonna- - -dead-"

Dead? Are you dying?

You feel something on your neck, below your jawline. Or the lack of it, rather, as pressure leaves your sluggish pulse and leaves numbness in its wake.

Maybe you let out a quiet whine, maybe you don't, you're not sure. But the sleepy voice you hear comes out at the very same time as your throat tightens and pushes through thick, soupy air, and the effort it took to do even that wears you out so fast you just want to go back to sleep. To sweet unconsciousness that weighs you down like lead at the very center of your brain.

               "König- - -base- - -nts to talk-"

But the distorted voices continue to prick through, annoyingly persistent. All English, now. Why did you expect some other language..?

You notice it properly, then; a sturdy, uneven wall pressed against your back and a slight pressure on both sides of your ass. Something enveloping you. You lean back into it and as you shift you realize there are two appendages holding you in place, one around your waist and the other on your thigh, securing you so your limp body doesn't fall over. They react to your movement, you feel a pressure gently adjust on your stomach. The mass behind you feels warm and strangely comforting as it grounds your body to stay conscious.

The voice above you feels the most familiar, so present and close. Tightens something in your stomach in recognition. You can feel your heartbeat on your lips, tongue heavy behind them.

"Tell them I'm busy," König says, jaw tight and mind somewhere else entirely: somewhere between his body and yours as he sits behind you in the back of the moving van.

König can't believe his luck. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing to take you and not plan it too much, he can admit, but who could blame him? He now has the most adorable girl in between his legs, weak and docile, leaning her tiny body against him like he was finally someone's knight in shining armor. You're barely conscious and not exactly willing, sure, but that's beside the point.

He knows he was always fast to act and cursed to think later. But fuck, you're so tiny and cute, he thinks as he tilts his head way above yours, lets his gaze glide down your body. That shirt is too big for you, but even through the loose, excess fabric he sees your tits bounce a little as the van sways – shit, König has to steal his eyes away to look at something entirely unappealing like the two other war dogs sitting there with him. How could you even survive on your own out in the world like that? You look like you were just waiting for someone to snatch you up – someone worse than König, of course.

Breath of cruel air climbs up the skin of your legs, steel unforgivingly cool and hard under you. You can feel your shins prickling as a shiver climbs up your body. A coldness sticks to the underside of your thighs and even under your bum, though the thin fabric of your shirt cuts the worst of it there. Whatever you sit on, it's made out of thick, cold metal and its grooves dig into your skin, making your bottom grow numb. It's just that the haze in your brain refuses to let you do anything about it, just sit there with your body drooping from one side to the other like the apparition of a ghost under a sheet.

Voices, first one is close once more, right above you.

        "Intel?"

            "Minim- - -data's secur- - -sent forward-"

Men's voices, you now realize.

König is not good with women; christ, he has scared away everyone he has gotten in bed with both for reasons he thought were his good features, as well as things he was very self-conscious of. Too clumsy with his size. Too intense. Too rough. Too anxious.

But then there you were, unable to resist or restrict him when he set his eyes on you. You had no choice but to come with him, alone and exposed, an unfortunate victim of a mission gone wrong. Too fucking cute and perfect for König to be able to prevent his heart from giving an extra beat when he saw you in the dim hallway. And you were a witness - what else was he supposed to do but to take you?

You are so unlike the harsh, cruel life he's used to; you look soft, gentle, a little sad somehow. You ran away at first, confused and irrational of course because König knows he can be scary, even when he was so careful not to hurt you when he pinned you against the bed. His muscles get tense when he thinks about it.

He needs to know if you are as sweet as you look. Would you resist him too much? Would you, too, think he's too intense even though he can't help it?

Something suddenly starts to awaken inside your fuzzy head – like a very faint fog light, except it's bright red and tries its damn best to make you lumber towards it. Men..? Why? The sweet whisper of sleep tries to drag you back but the light is so red–

No, don't think, rest your heavy head...

No, this is critical, fucking wake up, stare at the light, don't you blink or it's gone, burn your corneas on it–

Where are you? Who are these people? What happened?

König's fingers keep twitching against your body but he stays his hand, doesn't want to degrade you under the watchful eyes of the rest by doing what he desperately wanted to. HQ had wanted him to be less erratic, less destructive – well look at him now, the depiction of peaceful and... not calm, exactly, but as non-lethal as can be. The opposite, actually – he didn't want to break you. The pads of his gloves keep getting caught on the hem of your shirt, compulsively pulling the fabric upwards an inch or two every time before he returns back to the reality of sharing a tiny space with three other men even if one of them is driving and can't see him fondling the prize he'd found. And oh, he knows very well those men are not happy about this.

It's not uncommon for KorTac to let the mercs indulge on the field if an opportunity presented itself, but it was usually restricted to willing participants. Not like anybody would hold them accountable. In your case... Well, König would have to wait and see; he wouldn't want to force you too much. He wasn't like that.

König has to close his eyes for a moment when you rub your back against him, offer a view of your neck as your tired head droops to the side. You smell so fucking good. Like a woman, clean and soft and dreamy; König wants to bury his face in the crook of your neck, right underneath the sad little sack he'd had to tame you with. But he has to focus. Has to think of something else than your body leaning against him but it's hard with you fidgeting around every now and then, clearly beginning to wake up. König restricts you as little as he possibly can but can't help but feel bad about the fact he's covering your face. He raises your hood's edge a bit.

A soft breath pushes between your numb lips as a shape peeks under the darkness that had enveloped you all this time. A stripe of dim light reveals shapes and dark colors under the opaque fabric around you. You're... wearing a hood? Over your head? Your breath hitches as a sting of panic pushes through the fog, you feel it for real now when you barely realize there was a hand holding onto the edge of the fabric that restrained your vision.

"Keep her hood on, don't want her seeing my face. I'm pissed enough already. Fuck, all this for nothing..."

The hand stays for a bit, the hazy sliver of dim light within the lower corner of your blurry vision reveals a sturdy metal floor and a pair of military boots on both sides of your bare feet, uniting with a set of strong thighs wrapped in green cargos. The smell of steel, mud and gunpowder invades your nose – and something familiar, like you could connect the smell with a memory you can't quite grasp. You blink, indifferent and sleepy, your eyelids so heavy they can't even do it in unison.

"Then keep your own mask on." The sound comes from almost next to your ear. The hand granting you the slit of vision touches your cheek, not quite a caress but not an accident, either.

"Horangi, make some room." A third, unknown voice moves next to you mid-sentence and makes the air shift. A clattering sound behind you, like stuff being moved around. You hear the clank of boots and something like a car bench squeaking at the very same time the entire space surrounding you rocks for a second. It almost knocks you sideways, you feel your head sway but the back of it hits the sturdy entity behind you.

The hand retreats and your hood falls back in front of your face, your world returning to darkness once more. You fidget a bit, slow like your body had been thawing, and immediately feel something dig into your wrists that are tied together. The uneven wall behind you moves, the arms around you pull you against it. You suck air in sharply and use that same strength to move your lips while you still can.

"W-hr... whr' 'm I..." It's your best effort to reach out.

Someone further away sucks their teeth like they've reached the very last inch of their fuse. Then, another language, spoken through gritted teeth with a palpable anger from above you, startling you as you realize the conversation isn't all just faint mumbling in your ears anymore. The numbness begins to subside, bit by frightening bit.

A harsh, painful bump of flat steel against your bum forces you to stay aware. What was clearly a vehicle you're in keeps rocking back and forth but the hold – large arms, you realize – on your body tightens to not let you sway uncontrollably.

"Wh – wha'sgoin'unh," you mumble and try to break free in vain with that hard rope chafing against the sore skin of your wrists. "Ah– ow."

Your pulse begins to quicken and the uncomfortable feeling of increasing familiarity with the voices, the coldness, the harshness and darkness creeps up your spine. Your ass is one with the steel under you because your panties feel as thin as paper against something so unforgivingly harsh and cold. The only thing keeping you from freezing is the presence behind and around you.

There's this damned car, and men, and you're– you're wearing the sack, and the haze in your brain was preceded by a sting–

You begin to panic alarmingly fast, try to gather a mental image of where the hell you were but the sounds around you only tell you're in a moving vehicle, gravel under the wheels, bumps on the road, something screetches against the car doors every once in a while like tree branches.

You don't get to become familiar with your current surroundings as the vehicle comes to a slow stop and you hear the crank of a handbrake. Immediately, the arms around you take you into a proper grip by scooping from under your knees and arms, effortlessly lifting you into the air. Your tired body puffs the breath out of your lungs but you're finding the fight in you once more, trying to squirm yourself out of the bridal carry.

Still, no matter how you wiggle and kick and mewl weakly, a harsh bump cuts your cry short when your captor hops down. The sound of boots against gravel is all you hear while the cruelty of cold outside air spanks your exposed skin and it's the one thing that finally wakes you from your artificial stupor.

After a set of wooden stairs a door opens and someone greets the group of men that seem to surround you. The cold air is left behind, but not remedied by the 'warmth' of what seemed to be a house. Whoever's holding you lowers your feet to the floor but then immediately pushes you to sit down on a wooden chair, making sure your tied arms are set behind the backrest.

You let out a weak cry when the hood is pulled off of your head and the sudden light blinds your eyes, making one hundred percent sure you're gonna stay awake from this moment onward.

"Who the hell is she?" a new voice spurts out but you can't see anything, just keep squeezing your eyes shut to save them from the blinding white.

"Well not Evelyn fucking Price, that's for sure."

"What? What the hell went on in there?"

"Ask him."

There's a moment of silence until you hear a voice stutter in disbelief.

"Sir? Won't we have to take her out–"

"Last I checked, I'm still in charge of this mission."

When you manage to peek behind your scrunched lids, your surroundings are what looks to be a normal house, almost.

It's certainly old – reminds you of a log cabin of sorts with the aged furniture: brown leather couches, a dark brick fireplace, old massive carpets, the hide of some poor furry animal hung up on the wall. It, unfortunately, looks very remote. But it's not the house or decore or the damp, foresty smell that worries you the most as you blink away the discomfort and your eyes adjust to all shapes within your vision.

It's the fact that you're sitting in front of five large, masked, geared up soldiers.

And the tallest one of them all is standing right in front of you.

Slowly, your eyes pan up his body; the muddy boots, the green cargos, the holster's strap tied around his upper thigh, up to the pouches around his chest, on top of the dark jacket.

And the hood. The one thing you would never be able to forget. Your eyes follow up along the red stripes that fall downwards like bleeding wounds in the rain, and they pour out right below two cut eyeholes. Through which those blue, piercing eyes stare down at you, unblinking, the eyeblack smeared around them merely emphasizing the intensity.

It's him.

The monster who took you away.

It all comes back to you like a punch to the gut, the entire reel of the last moments you can remember sped up in your mind.

Your voice gets caught in your throat, panic shuts your airways and makes your midriff contract like your diaphragm just can't decide whether to let you breathe or not. But when your lips begin to move you fumble with your words as they pour out like they could keep him away.

"Ohgodnoplease, n-nonono–" you shake your head and look away, squeeze your eyes shut as you dig your heels into the old floorboards, your heart galloping in your chest.

"Quiet," a voice behind the hood says, the curious calmness of it somehow still so commanding it makes you immediately shut up with a panicked peep and squeeze your trembling lips together to stop yourself from pouring out the panicked word vomit. You sniff in shivering breaths, your eyes opening to flick through each of the men although the worst of your fears is still the one in front.

And it's like he reads your mind as the hooded man steps closer to you and gets down on one knee, eye-level with you. You keep your head turned away, trembling, but he raises his hand and cares little about your struggles as he catches your jaw to force you to look at him.

It's that moment once again – you, in his grasp, struggling and fearing for your life. He stares at you through the hood's cut eyeholes with great interest – or bloodlust? Or irritation? Or hunger? You can't read him, and don't even wish to know what he wants of you. But he keeps your head locked tight with just one hand, his touch firm but warm through the frictioned pads of his gloves. It's unnerving to not see any human faces; just masks, eyes, mere shapes of men.

"W-who are you?" you peep with a pathetic stutter, the corners of your mouth turning downwards in a way that makes you look like a forcibly bathed kitten.

"No one you'd like to know, girl," one of the soldiers sitting behind your kidnapper grunts and leans his elbows to his knees. He scratches his face through the black ski mask covering his identity, the sound of fabric chafing confirming he has an itchy beard under there.

The man concealed under the hood doesn't negate the statement in any way. Instead, he tilts his head a little and you can see his eyes flick on your features before he speaks.

"You will call me König from now on." His thumb caresses your cheek gently, like confirming to himself that you're real. It's a stark contrast, your soft cheek and his rough glove.

It tells you nothing. A name, a nickname, a word – no idea. But 'König' insists on making himself clear. He squeezes your cheeks a little and it makes you jump, lips forcibly puckered. Is the gesture encouragement or a threat?

"Understand?"

Oh, uh. You give him a couple of hasty nods, to which he's satisfied enough to let go of you and stand back up.

König sees you shiver, sees you fidget awkwardly, trying to pull your bum backwards to stop your shirt from hiking up your still very much bare legs. And he sees you squeeze those lovely thighs shut, rub them together, likely to create warm friction or simply as a self-soothing gesture.

Your thighs. You were rubbing them. Together.

All he wants is to just–

Behind the privacy of his hood, König's jaw clenches and he has to take a steady, deep breath.

"What's your name?" he breathes out while he's at it, sufficiently under control to talk about appropriate topics like their task at hand.

They– don't even know who you are? They mentioned Ev already, but... Does that mean they didn't expect to find you in that house? You and her looked nothing alike appearance-wise, despite your attempts to do so many years ago. It hadn't been a case of mistaken identity when they kidnapped you from Price's house. This monster– König hadn't made a blunder. He saw you, your face, his terrifying eyes examined you up close, intimately. He knew you weren't the person you should've been.

And didn't care. Took you anyway.

You think for a second before giving him a false name.

"That's not what your ID says." One of the men nudges something that's lying on the floor next to him. Your bag. Shit, when did they rifle through it?

...Right, maybe while you were drugged up to the point of unconsciousness. Holy hell, the thought scares you. Has anything happened while you were out of it? You swallow thickly, suddenly very aware of how your body feels or should feel – had they done something? Would they do something? You sink deep enough that König's question startles you.

"Now I ask again. What is your name?"

The corners of your lips tremble a little when you answer him. König hums in a content tone while you, on the other hand, feel embarrassed by how quickly you submitted. It's not like it's a habit, but it's kinda hard not to obey a man-shaped defense tower with four others behind him, all armed and fully capable of tearing you apart.

"What were you doing in that house? And don't you lie again."

"Ev– uh, Evelyn and I were– are– friends. She wanted me to look after the dogs while she..." Your eyes slowly lower, realizing the ridiculousness of it all. "...went to her boyfriend's."

You can't believe this. She could be you right now – but is not, only because of such an insignificant thing. That tiny change of plans, exactly that day. Shit, what day even is this? Is it morning, is it night..?

You briefly explain what had led you to arriving at Price's house, and just by the way they interrogate you makes you realize that someone – they – indeed had been watching you the whole night. But they had been lacking eyes on the backdoor, it seemed. A bus going through its routine route apparently hadn't raised as much suspicion as it should've, in hindsight. Little details, like you, gone unnoticed.

Judging by their very specific questions, what had ultimately likely damned you however was not only the almost fully opaque living room curtains that had blurred your identity, but also Ev's shirt. Nothing had alerted the men of their target switching. A blurry female figure and similar colors were enough to not tip them off. Yeah this was the last fucking time you were borrowing clothes from anyone – if there ever could be a next time, anyway.

"Jesus fucking christ... What a shitshow," one of the men groans and you feel his tone prickle your skin – makes it sound like you were responsible for all of this.

"We're not getting paid, are we?" one mutters to another, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Well what the fuck do you think? The data's only half of the contract."

It's stupid but you can't shake the feeling of being threatened just for being... you. The men shuffle every now and then, agitated. But König stays still.

"And Price? Does he know about this?" König sounds a bit more serious this time, making the info sound more vital than the rest.

"No... At least– he wasn't supposed to."

"Well, he will soon enough."

And it sure as hell isn't König's fault their target was not where it should've been. They still got one half of their contract fulfilled with the others rummaging through the house and as far as he was concerned, König got something very pleasing out of this mission as well. He would figure something out to get his team through this. And Price's ego and sense of security had definitely been wounded, anyway.

Their agent at Price's base might even be able to do more damage as compensation for this 'unfortunate' mishap since the Captain's attention would soon enough be on making sure his daughter was kept safe – for a while, at least.

"Did you... The dogs–" You want to turn the subject away from yourself even for a second, even though you don't think you even want to know the answer to your question. Recalling the sound that woke you up hurts you. "What did you do to his dogs?" That tiny voice of yours is aimed at your lap, mournful and meek. König glances at his men.

"Don't worry about it," you hear one of them say.

"Don't worry about it," König immediately parrots as he turns back to you, just the innocent messenger of bad news. Your posture slouches further down on the chair and you let out a sad sob. If they hurt them–

König knows he's in deep. Not just with the prettiest girl in front of him, all emotional and vulnerable and hopefully soon ready to fall into the hands of her savior. No, no. His men will want compensation. He grits his teeth, flipping through scenarios in his head, none of them optimal. He's found something he never expected and he's suddenly not in such a hurry to be done with this mission after all.

König has to figure out how to fulfill the contract to get them out of this mess. HQ will have the last word, but he can plan ahead.

"We need to set a ransom," König says like it's 'most unfortunate it has come to this' and even though it spells your freedom at best, it sounds scary as hell. One of the soldiers gives an approving comment, mildly interested. You sniffle and your sad little frown slowly melts away as the realization kicks in. You lift your head. Ransom. Oh no.

"So who do we call," König sighs and crosses his arms.

"H-huh?" It's a confused little moan you let out as your head lifts to look at him.

"Who do we call. For ransom. Someone will have to pay handsomely to see that pretty face again."

Yeah, this is it for you.

"No one..."

"What do you mean, 'no one'?"

"Nobody's going to pay." Your voice drowns as you press your chin to your chest.

"Fffuuck..." you hear one of the men hiss, teeth clenched before he steps away like he's on the verge of breaking something, and it makes you shrivel up. "Then she's useless," another one whispers and you know exactly what that means. You peek at them from under your knit brows. "When's the last time you were ordered to kill a civilian, huh? Yeah, that's what I thought. Now shut up."

Kill? Oh, oh no, nonono, what–? The chair feels more uncomfortable by the second and you open and close your mouth like a goldfish on dry land as your wide eyes flicks through the men, half expecting someone to pull out their gun to get this over with.

"You have a family, ja?" König sounds sceptical, above all.

You alarmedly shake your head because you can't really lie about any of your contacts now; it's useless to start digging that topic or even start a discussion about anyone's ability to pay. And it's not like your work bestie's going to scrounge up the money by working with the exact same desperation as you have.

"A boyfriend?" König's eyes subconsciously squint a little as he stares at you, an unknown emotion clearly going through him but you can't know why.

What? You want to dig into the question but can't look him in the eyes long enough – his stare is too sharp, too alert right now and it's drilling a hole right into your brain like he would force the truth out of you if he had to.

"I don't have one." As if it's any of his business. His tone makes you feel judged. However, König's intense stare as well as his increasingly agitated posture relaxes immediately with your answer, like a wave went through him.

"Oh."

Oh?

Further away, someone shifts. "I'm sure Price'll pay–"

König fucking snaps, throws that carefree 'oh' right out the window. Immediately he turns to bellow at the man who tried to butt in and it makes you jump. It's just that he's shouting... mostly in German, so you have no idea what he's saying. Guessing it's a threat of some sort, since you hear a grumbling and reluctant yes sir sorry sir from the man who made the comment in the first place.

After he's done, König turns back to you like an ominous gargoyle, his gaze feral enough to make you shrink into your chair.

...He's scary. Goes from 0 to 100 in a heartbeat. But then, when he looks at you, the chilling glint in his eyes dies down and his demeanor melts. Maybe it's an interrogation tactic, to show you he's a good guy at heart. Good to you.

König breathes away the anger that boils inside; even the thought of someone so infuriatingly respected and polished like Price snatching you away just by giving a wad of cash to KorTac makes him want to kill him and everyone back at the base with his bare hands.

You don't have a boyfriend. You... don't. Not like it mattered in the end, but still. You don't?

"You have nobody waiting for you back home?" König asks, his relief shadowed by his surprise.

"No," you mutter, embarrassed but still very aware of the fact your life has just more or less indirectly been threatened. The more König wants to define the meaning of 'nobody but the government can pay to get you back and that's never gonna happen', the worse it feels. But though you expected irritation behind his question, you sense something else. His tone is strangely intrigued, almost curious. Like he can't believe what you're saying.

Fear floats back on top, colors your thoughts as you think about all the ways this can go down. And the very first outcome is still–

"Are you... Are you going to kill me now?" you peep like you're already waiting for them to put a bullet through your forehead. Hell, they could, this very instant.

König sounds almost amused by your troubled question like it was an offer.

"Do you think we should?"

"N-no..?" But the other option was..?

You see the corners of König's eyes scrunch so clearly there is no doubt in your mind he's smiling widely. It's just that you don't know if it should make you feel relieved or very, very worried.

"Then I guess you're staying, ja?"

Chapter Text

The sheets shuffle in the messy bedroom, lights dimmed in the cluttered space. A purple-hued neon lamp on the floor, half covered by the other cup of a lacy bra, gives the room a distinct vibe; atmospheric enough to set the mood with the quiet notes and bass emanating from the speakers nearby. The tapping of rain against the window is like a rhythmless beat to the music in the late morning hours.

A cheery ringtone cuts the sound of wet smacks and muffled giggling pouring from under the blanket as the bright white of a phone screen beams on the nightstand next to a low queen size bed.

"Wait– mh, babe–mm." Ev does her best to get a coherent word in when her boyfriend does his best to prevent her. "That's my dad's ringtone," she mumbles against Jesse’s mouth and tries to escape the steamy, alcohol-laced kiss. Her head pops from under the blanket to catch some air, out of breath.

"Yeah, so?" Jesse grunts, sounding like it’s pointless she’s even talking. Instead, he finds it more appropriate to tickle her from under the jaw with his finger to get her to focus on activities that required no words. Ev giggles at his enthusiasm but she knows the deal, props herself on her elbows against his chest.

"Sooo, I have to get it.” She attempts to move with actual effort this time.

"Sooo, you don't," Jesse mimics and pulls her into a kiss while the phone keeps on ringing.

"He's not gonna stop calling, I have to– mph-! Babe stop!" Ev has had enough – she smacks her boyfriend on the shoulder hard enough to elicit a sharp yet yielding 'ow'.

"Jesus..." She breathes as she reaches for her phone and pulls the blanket over her bare chest. She sits up, back against the wall above the bed. The bright light of the phone screen reads ’Dad ♡’. A quick tap and a glare shot back at still half-drunk Jesse before she answers.

"Hi dad–"

"Evelyn? Honey?" Her father's voice is taut and breathy, he sounds like he's just come from a run. Ev keeps the nonchalant chirp of her voice, ready to spin a tale of how her evening went and how the dogs are waaay too skinny, you need to give them more treats, you're too harsh with their training, they're just babies–

"Yeah, what's–"

"Thank fuckin' christ." John's voice is heavy, strained tight, and he lets out a heavy exhale he must have been keeping down. He sounds like he might as well be talking to one of his men, not his daughter.

Eager fingers sneak their way up Ev's thigh under the promising humidity of the blanket.

"Hold on– Jesse stop!"

John hears the faint slap of a hand.

"Jesse's there?"

"Oh, uh, yeah we–" Damn, that slip will be hard to explain.

"Where are you." John didn't need to raise his voice to make her daughter listen – most of the time. Now, he's dead serious.

"Umh..." Evelyn swallows. She's gotten away with worse, but something tells her to just spit it out. She was never good a lying, she can admit that, especially with her father being who he was. "Well. At his place – but I promise–"

"Are you safe?"

"What, yeah I'm safe? What's going on?"

John breathes for a second – just breathes, calms himself for what's to come next. There was no telling if what she was saying would be the case for much longer.

"Don’t call the police, don't leave the apartment, lock the door and do not open it to anyone before my men get there. No matter who’s at that door, do not let them in until I call you. Me, nobody else, do you understand?"

Evelyn's boyfriend glances at her with his brow cocked but turns away to discreetly iron the blanket with his hand to cover his jutting hard-on because yeah, it sounds like this wasn't the time for it. Ev's eyes flick at the apartment's entry before she furiously points at it to get Jesse to move his horny ass.

"Lock the door?" She repeats and her gestures are sharp enough to make her boyfriend get it the first time as Jesse gets off the bed and slouches away to check the door. Evelyn adjusts her grip on the phone, brows knit tight because she wants to think of this as a drill of some kind but–

"Dad, you're scaring me–"

"If you're not home, who was at my house tonight."

There's an awkward pause as she weighs her options. His father trusted you enough, surely; he'd known you ever since you and Ev had become friends. He wouldn't get mad at you for being there. And why did he say 'was'? Shouldn't you still be there?

"Dad, I didn't tell you, but we–" She can't even finish her sentence, her father's voice now booming at the end of the line.

"Who was at my house!"

It’s that breathy sob that breaks your spirit and you let it fall into your lap, head hanging forward to not look at your captor. So instead, with your eyes wet with newborn tears, you peer down at your feet through the blur. You squeeze your thighs together, scrunch your toes against the cold wooden floorboards. It has holes in it, old cracks, worn marks from the chair’s legs that had scratched the old lacquered surface. You’re not the first one to sit on this spot. Thankfully, you don’t see dried old blood splatters.

How the hell could this happen to you?

Everything had been fine– well, not fine, but still better than being at someone else’s mercy. You had never imagined you’d miss your daily life so much, would’ve never expected to want to go back to work or sleep in your own apartment, listening to the neighbors, the construction site next door, the wail of ambulances. No matter how often you had half-joked to your coworkers how you wished someone would storm your workplace, rob it clean and take you hostage just for you to not be able to come to work the next day… Yeah, maybe it was your crossed fingers that jinxed you. You’d keep your mouth shut in the future – if you ever make it out, that is.

One of the masked soldiers pulls something out of his pant pocket – a photo. He sticks his hand straight and compares the photo to you, making you feel very evaluated. You only see the white backside of it, but there’s no chance he isn’t holding a picture of your friend.

”Give it up,” the man next to him murmurs. There’s no magic wand to change you into her.

”Just needs some rearranging, that’s all,” the soldier holding the photo muses, an unsettling capability to violence swimming in his tone as this confirms your suspicions. His dark humor makes you shift on the chair, an inch or two away from him as if it would do any good – you were still tied up. The other man snatches the photo away and stuffs it in his vest pocket, hopefully to stop any unpleasant ideas from surfacing.

Since you can hear the low murmur, so can König. With you snugly held put, he turns to his men and gives some instructions you can’t even listen to anymore since the threats of violence seem to be growing more frequent by the minute and it forces you to switch to figuring out where the hell you are; so that you can escape.

Now that all your attention isn’t focused on getting the bare-bones of what’s going on, you look through the living room windows. Your stomach twists as all you see is thick evergreens, their branches languidly swaying in the wind. It looks cloudy outside but you can’t tell if it has rained or not – whether you’re in the same area you left from, even. Jesus, you have no idea how much time has passed but judging by the outside light it’s daytime, more or less.

You take a quick look at your indoor surroundings – hopefully not your last resting place. The large living room you’re in is quite open, with three brown leather couches set around a wooden table nearby. The one opposite the table and fireplace in front of them is the widest, with the two smaller ones at the sides. The hearth is unlit but already set up for the night, it seemed, with a tv on the wall above. Cabinets and a vitrine decorate the edges of the room and there’s some old classic painting of a deer in a forest hanging on the wall. It’s a poorly tended holiday home turned into a remote safehouse of some sort, you reckon; for laying low. Or for keeping prisoners like you.

Even though your brain is still confused, the rest of your body begins to notice the passage of time. A faint hurt curls in your stomach and although you have zero appetite, your body is begging for you to eat something. There’s that, and well… You’re somewhat happy of the fact you at least have retained the option to control your next urgent matter.

As the men talk and bicker amongst themselves, you open your mouth a couple of times before you manage to speak.

"I-I really need to use the b–" You pinch your eyes closed as an uncomfortable shyness envelops you and almost makes you lose your nerve.

"–bathroom." There was no way around it, but the thought of being at the mercy of these men and their mysterious whims was unnerving. No idea whether they'd keep your needs in check, so this might as well be a test of that.

Judging by the light shuffling and shared glances, the men seem somewhat confused by the idea of you going for a pee in their bathroom, meant only for five dirty soldiers who piss standing up. It makes you feel embarrassed to the point you almost ask to forget it just to not have them think about you sitting in the bathroom with your panties down your ankles.

König looks at a door nearby, then back at you, then steps away to pull on the handle.

You hear him rattle around the room before he emerges with a dusty plastic basket that looks like it has been sitting under the sink for five years minimum, collecting dust and grime and soap and... blood, judging by the tiny rusty-looking splatters. König has filled the basket with miscellaneous items like tweezers, shaving equipment, a sewing kit, wound dressings–

And a fucking pistol. Without even checking the safety he throws the gun to one of the men who is likely the owner. It wasn't just a whoopsie-daisy mistake to leave the gun there – by looking at the men you are increasingly aware of the fact you are not supposed to be treated this 'well', to be able to use their facilities where they can leave whatever the hell they want lying about. Do these people sleep with their guns as well?

König gestures one of his men to go to you as he puts the basket away from your reach.

The rope is tugged unnecessarily tightly before you're released. Your shoulders ache from being in the same position for god knows how long, and you rub your aching wrists. The man shoves you on the shoulder to kindly suggest you to get on your feet. Brutes...

If you were panicked to the point of nausea before, the bathroom doesn't make you feel any better. Not like you expected a five star hotel, but...

The yellow, flickering lightbulb makes it look like something out of a horror movie where a group of teenagers rent a hostel for a nice relaxing weekend full of booze and sex and foreshadowing polaroid photos. It's small as hell, even for you, and you have a hard time imagining someone like König even turning around in it. There's old, hastily cleaned smears of blood and grime on the wall. All the damp trap of a bathroom has is a toilet and a sink with a cabinet above, and a grimy carpet covering the floor, water-damaged beyond saving. It feels sticky and moist under your feet as you step forward to look at the most saddest thing of all:

Your reflection. The mirrored cabinet over the sink shows your tired visage, your brows knit in worry, your lips parted in shock at the state you're in. Your hair is messy, the t-shirt is drooping on your other shoulder, showing more skin than you're comfortable with. You close your mouth with a click to swallow thickly and fix your shirt a little.

Because König is watching you. Your eyes flick to him in the mirror, staring back at him as he comes to lean against the doorframe, effectively blocking your exit out of the claustrofobia inducing bathroom. His eyes are on yours for a moment, until they slowly descend on your body to see how you adjusted the shirt on your shoulder to cover yourself. But the rest under the hem down below is still up for grabs.

He's totally unapologetic, letting his eyes wander on the back of your thighs right under your ass, your knees that are pushed together like you're reserving heat. Your toes curl against the carpet until they straighten once again in shock at how disgusting the moss-like surface feels. You yank your shirt downwards by the hem and, in a moment of irritation and shock, shoot a weak glare at the hooded pervert.

You're trapped. You're helpless. And you're so fucking adorable like this. The sudden rush of blood down south makes it hard to concentrate so König takes a silent, grounding breath before he closes the door behind you to grant you at least an ounce of privacy. That, you wouldn't have much.

Your eyes lower and you, too, let out the breath you had been holding. There's no window in the bathroom. There's no escape. At least König has left you with the world's thinnest bar of soap – like everything else, it's old as time judging by the unevenly colored layer of greasy dust and short, coarse strands of someone's beard shavings on it. Well, not like you can kill or defend yourself with a slimy piece of soap, but the top layer of it could use an acid bath.

Your little operation is an ordeal but you manage, feeling dirtier than before as if it was the whole point in letting you in here. The whole time you can hear the faint murmur of the men talking amongst themselves. In an effort to move past your initial panic and haze you focus on your chances as you turn the faucet on. The house can't be in the middle of absolutely nowhere since there's running water – or, well, whatever you can call the coughing spurts of murky water that emerge from the faucet and toilet. The lightbulb in the ceiling is functional but dim and flickering, occasionally leaving you in the dark for a second. It makes you wonder if there's proper electricity leading to the house or merely held up by a generator or something.

You stare at your reflection for a minute, try to be brave and logical. Until you can feel the sting in your eyes once more and turn around, wiping your hands dry on the hem of your shirt because there isn't even a towel (and likely never was).

You emerge from the bathroom with less of a discouraged face than before. But it doesn't do miracles to hide the fear, the burning uncertainty, the powerlessness that lurk underneath. Clicking the door shut behind you, you lean your back against it and squeeze your legs straight. Your eyes meet the group of men waiting for you – or the three that are left, since one is sitting further away on one of the couches reading a magazine and the fifth is nowhere to be seen. König turns back to you, his arms crossed.

You're scared, König can see that, but why would you be? He's big, he's strong, he's violent– but he wouldn’t hurt what he liked. You are safe with him – and him only, because he knows the hounds around him wouldn't miss a beat to tear into you if they could. He won't let them, of course. Because he got to you first.

In you, those hounds only see money and pussy. König doesn't care about any ransom money or KorTac's pay right now, he has enough dough to live comfortably for the rest of his life if he just didn't like killing so much to keep earning more. And, yes, he also sees the rest of you. Those terrified eyes, sweet and sad lips, small trembling hands that would be better off holding his. And your body – god, if you would let him hold you for a day he still wouldn't have enough time to map every inch of you with his hands, his mouth, his–

König has already caught himself staring more than was probably appropriate by civilian standards. And even when he doesn't literally ogle at your figure, he looks at you with a goal in mind.

Sure, he has a house in Austria, it's far away from everything and everyone and serves its purpose as a place to sleep and get depressed whenever he's off deployment. But that's exactly why it's sad and empty. It's missing its essence. Something only a cute girl could nurture to life.

You look perfect, like you’re made for him.

König sees you eye at the front door, only a short dash away since you had proven to be quick with your feet. He’ll have to remember that.

”Don’t even think about it,” he says and sees no need to grab you to get his message across.

"Here's her bag.” One of the intimidating brutes raises your small backpack in his fist and glances at König.

Your bag contained the bare minimum: phone, wallet (with that god damn ID), your own toiletries, some light snacks and a book you’d been ignoring for way too long and had wishfully hoped to finish while dogsitting. It’s only now that you realize you had also left all your clothes in Ev’s room when you had went to sleep. You have no spare clothes with you, save the pajama pants you had decided not to put on. The thought of these men going through your stuff makes you skin crawl.

And, at the very same time, your stomach tightens when you remember that the slip of your contraceptive pills must still be at the bottom of the bag. Eyes flicking between the masked soldier and the bag he’s dangling in his hand, you wonder if you dare even mention them. But they must know… It’s at the bottom. If they had been thorough, they’d know. Your breath quickens once more as a dark thought creeps in between your ears: if they knew, if the topic surfaced, would they get any ideas? Oh shit…

The soldier stuffs his hand in your bag and fishes out something that glints under the light of the large living room’s ceiling lamp, handing it to König. Your phone. It has that cute casing you had picked at the store when you bought it and some old worn stickers attached on the back. It doesn't exactly ooze street cred, which makes you feel even more helpless among five burly men.

"Hm." König taps on your phone's screen, then raises his eyes on you. Then he casually steps towards you. You flinch backwards against the bathroom door, know exactly what he's after. The spark of resistance reignites within you.

"I'm not giving you the pin–!"

König absolutely towers over you, twirls you around effortlessly as he seizes your other arm and presses your body against the door with his own, your cheek smushed against the cool lacquered wood. He slides his tight grab on your wrist and your forefinger is pressed against the screen before you can even hope to resist his strength.

Plip. Shit. Damn your infuriating laziness combined with the practicality and ease of a fingerprint code.

"Hey–! You can't– that's private! You can't just do that!" You struggle in his grasp, try to turn around but he keeps your arm locked behind your back at an angle, forcing you to either deal with the hold or make you hurt yourself. But he’s not intentionally forcing any pain on you. The gloved fingers encircle your wrist like it was a twig to someone of his size.

"Already done." König sounds infuriatingly pleased with himself as you bunch your hand in a tight fist.

You hear the gloved pad of his finger tap on the screen for a quick second before he pushes his thumb inside your fist, pulling your fingers straight once more. He adjusts your forefinger again and presses the screen against it, likely to give a confirmation for something. A new password?

Something clenches at the bottom of your stomach as he then caresses the dip of your palm with his thumb before letting go and walking back. You pull your arm to your front as you spin around to face the threat and breathe in quick huffs, eyes sharply on your captor and the phone that looks so small in his hands. And you see him do exactly what you had feared – choose a new pin code.

"It's mine now." You see the corners of his eyes wrinkle as he glances down at you – he must have the widest smile in the world spread across that stupid hidden face. This bastard–

"Don't– You're not gonna look through my phone, that's– that’s illegal!" So is fucking kidnapping. You don't even know what you're saying anymore, just try your best to stop him from robbing you of all your privacy and dignity. Well not your best, exactly, since all you can do against five armed men is shout and cry and ask nicely.

König’s laugh is full and genuine, it unites with the low chuckles of the others.

"Kleine, the only thing that's illegal is how cute you look when you think you have options."

He slips your phone into his back pocket, safe and sound.

"Now, let's give you a place to relax."

Your ’place to relax’ is an attic-like room.

The roof slants on both sides and in the very middle lies the world’s thinnest, grayest mattress and only that: no sheets, no pillow, no blanket. Your only grace is that at least you’re not thrown in a bare concrete basement with a complementary ball and chain.

After one of the brutes herds you upstairs with a pressing grip on the back of your neck to prevent you from looking around too much and shoves you forward inside your new little home, the dusty smell of the abandoned room attacks your nose. It’s like having a sleepover at your grandma’s and she hasn’t opened the guest room’s door in ten years. The window at the very end of the triangle-shaped view is rusted shut and has no handle; you know because that’s the very first thing you shamelessly try your luck with. To your guard’s great enjoyment, no less, as you hear a scornful hum echo from the doorway when you fiddle with the frames and copper colored hinges but decide not to break the glass and hurt yourself.

The dusty floorboards creak, betraying your every single step even if nobody had you in their sights. But they do. The masked men take shifts to sit on a chair at the open door with you fully in their view at all times. One of them demands a cigarette break every time his shift is coming to a close. One of them reads a porn magazine without shame and makes no attempt whatsoever to hide the raunchy cover from you. One browses their phone and gives a light chuckle every now and then, the first few times glancing at you like he wants to show you what he’s laughing at but decides to save it for the guys. The last one likes to lean his legs against the doorframe and looks like he sleeps through the entire hour but you wouldn’t know since his eyes are covered.

But not König.

He doesn’t watch over you, not even once during the entire evening.

The attic must also be the coldest place in the entire house. Your loose shirt and thin panties do nothing to protect you from the cool air that pushes through the room, wind likely seeping in through the cracks of the poorly tended section of the house. You’re shivering and the thin slip of wadding nobody in their right mind would call bedding only gives you the bare minimum of comfort to separate your bum from the floorboards. So after deciding that anxiously standing near the window is the worst option as the cool wind oozes through, you finally sit down at the center of the room and tuck your legs under your shirt.

Night finally falls and the view outside your four-paneled window turns to soot. You’ve spent your evening hours flipping through all possible ways of escaping, then the scenarios where the men wonder which one of your limbs to cut off first to make you fit in that tiny box you were still imagining yourself ending up in. Or, seeing as they’re all men, they could do worse than kill you.

You sit on the poor excuse of a mattress, hugging your thighs, and glare towards the doorframe as the men switch turns one more time. It’s the one with the magazines this time. He’s switched to a new one, a fresh pair of paper boobs within your line of sight.

Maybe his shamelessness is what makes you open your mouth just to stop him from being so… tactless. Browsing porn images with a young, captive woman around? Really?

”What do you even want with–” You almost said ’me’. But they never wanted you in the first place. ”With her? Just money?"

A pair of cold eyes languidly turn to you with a slow blink. A second’s worth of staring. Then they blink again before turning back to read the magazine. He turns a page, ignores you completely.

”I–” you start, hesitant, because you swear you’ll go insane if they shut you away completely and withhold all answers. ”I said–”

”Shut your mouth.” There’s no emotion in the man’s voice but he’s not indifferent, that much is clear just by the intimidating message alone. But instead of just sucking up his threat, an irritated wrinkle forms on your forehead as you stare at the masked soldier and the full on titty action on the cover of his magazine. Maybe it’s your poor stomach talking, as well.

You’re beginning to move to the ’anger’ stage of grief as audacity bubbles within.

”Or what?” Immediately after you wish to god you didn’t just say that but stop just shy of slapping your palm on your stupid mouth. You might want to go back to the ’denial’ stage for a while longer.

But the man’s a trained soldier, no doubt – takes your insolence like he’s dealing with a mildly irritating bug. Because he could absolutely just clap his hands and bam, you’d be gone. He has the luxury of conserving energy so that might be the reason he doesn’t just blow up in your face no matter how stupid you act. But this might not apply to everyone.

”You’re being treated better than what you deserve, girl.” That one actually comes out somewhat bitter. Although it makes you feel a little sick, you can’t deny things could be way worse for you. But he’s not threatening to throw you in a basement or anything. Maybe he’s not even in a position to do so, since König has been ordering them around the whole time. Well, König’s not the one watching you now, is he. Wherever he his, you don’t even care.

He hears your tongue click as you open your mouth to speak again and grants you one final mercy.

”If you make me look your way one more time I’ll make sure we’ll have nothing to look at in the morning.”

You leave the porn mag guy alone for the rest of the night and force yourself to sleep with an angry pout hurting your facial muscles.

You're not logged in on all of the apps you've installed. Not an issue: König will get in one way or another eventually, it's not like a mercenary group willing to do almost anything lacks in technical know-how. He’s already secured your phone to prevent tracking and calling. You and your silly little social media accounts... There's nothing you can hide from him.

König sits in the tiny first floor office, door shut to give the team’s leader some privacy as he leans into the old leather chair, legs propped up on the mahogany table. He should be making more calls, keep HQ informed on the current events even though they already know the deal and are furiously trying to figure out how to fix this mess. König couldn’t care less right now.

He taps away on the screen of your phone. The first local app his finger hovers over is the photo gallery. Of course.

It's not that he wants to pry, or look at your cute selfies, or pictures of your lonely little home, or pretty much anything that tells him everything about you – no, of course he has an appropriate reason for this. To gather intel. Yes, and for safety reasons.

Your latest pictures are of Price's dogs from the night he took you, and it makes König frown, thinking how could you be fond of anything that has got to do with the Captain. His finger hovers for a moment as he stops to look at a picture you snapped from first perspective: in it, the other dog's head is on your lap, looking drowsy and enraptured by your gentle hand that scratches it behind the ear. But the annoyingly sweet dog pics don't have your face in them so he flips them away. Although... They do confirm how sweet you must be. Gentle and loving, for those mutts to like you.

And if you liked those kind of monsters, then maybe...

Maybe you would be sweet to a monster like him.

König flips through your photos meticulously. Lots of progress pics of your house plants, healthy and green and watered and blessed by sunlight. Well, most of them. You've added a frowny face and a tombstone emoji on top of one that's given up. Looks like the type of photo he’d find on your social media feed.

There are pictures of city streets at dusk, roadside plants, a stunning sunset, an atmospheric cafe at closing time, aesthetically cropped – König's heart aches when the thought of you walking home alone at night hits him. No, you should never be let out alone, someone might... Well. Kidnap you. But it would only be bad if it was someone other than him. He would keep you safe, would never mean to hurt you, you were so lucky it was he who caught you first–

König gets increasingly frustrated by the utter lack of selfies, enough to put his feet down and lean his elbows against the table, staring at the screen. What kind of a girl were you, refusing to take a plethora of pics of yourself to serve fapping material for lonely, horny losers (obviously he wasn't one) on social media?

He starts ignoring every picture that doesn't have a face in them and when it's someone else than you it only throws fuel to his flames – especially if he sees a man. You and him are going to have a little talk about those.

He grips the phone so tight the casing makes the faintest of popping sounds as his frustration grows with each flick of his thumb.

Until.

König's eyes slowly widen. His grip eases.

It's you. Your face. The first one among a hundred other pictures.

You're smiling - at least a bit. The expression doesn't look very genuine, more like a pose for a profile picture.

He’s almost reluctant to flip to the next picture but it's a similar one, just from a different angle. In it you're pursing your precious, sweet lips a bit, making a cute face on purpose and winking at the camera. And in the next you're trying different poses in front of the mirror. Different clothes. Some baggy, some tighter, fabric cheekily pulled on the waist to show the figure you hide under there. A pout, like you’re munching on whether you look good or not, but you do. Skirts. Even shorter skirts. A pondering bite of your lower lip. Your expression betrays uncertainty but König’s eyes are on more than just your lovely face.

You look so fucking silly and endearing.

So much so that König leans his hips forward and snaps open his belt.

Chapter Text

After sitting in the van for hours with you safe in his arms for most of the trip, König thinks he’s waited long enough to enjoy a moment of privacy. To enjoy you.

König pulls down the zipper of his cargos and pulls his pants down just enough to fit his hand against his briefs – against his heavy cock that has begun to grow intrigued by the fairly innocent pictures of you he’s looking at. He strokes his swelling member through the fabric, drags his thumb across the warm shaft, sending a spark up his stomach. It reacts with a stronger pump of blood each time his eyes wander on your clothed ass or tits – the priority of any painfully horny man. The lovely angle between the curve of your ass and the back of your thighs, the valley between your adorable breasts... Your other shoulder looks tense, a bit, trying to find a flattering pose. But he feels a throb in his chest as well when he looks at your face, your cute features. That shy smile, unsure look in your eyes.

In you, König sees something you clearly don’t.

He slips his hand under the elastic band of his briefs and pulls out his half-hard cock; a flush powdered on the pale skin, the revealed tip pulsing red, size proportional to the rest of his body as his fingers grab the thick shaft. The weight makes it droop, an intimidating thing. He knows he’s big, has been rejected because he’s been told he can’t be gentle with it.

Right now, when it’s only his hand at the end of his flushed dick, he doesn’t care much about ’gentle’.

He flips through your poses and can’t decide just one to focus on as he strokes himself – long, slow, but tight drags that merely make him ache more, make him breathe deep through his nose as he wants to stuff his monstrous length inside you to the very base. The thought alone makes a shiver run through his body, his breath hitch.

God, he needs a woman’s touch – passionate and horny at this moment, but caring and loving in the end. You look just right. And it’s what makes his mind attach to you without your permission, unconditional and determined.

König bites his lower lip tight under his hood, unblinking eyes staring at your photos when he flips through them, fist tight around his hard cock as he jerks himself with increasingly hurried strokes. His eyes wander on your figure, those lovely hips and thighs, that feminine bump of your lower stomach as you pinch the fabric on your waist, the curve of your breasts, neck that is begging to be kissed and licked and bitten by him.

Just like your mouth. Those lips would be much happier if they were flush against his.

Not like it would be an abnormal deed for him but he would fucking kill to see what you hide under those clothes, see more than just your shape. König wants to feel every inch of your soft skin, explore the spots that make you stifle embarrassed moans as he would pet you. He’ll have to dig deeper, later; extract all files you’ve thought you’ve deleted from your phone, because nothing ever gets wiped completely – surely you’d know that. If you didn’t... He hoped he would get a feast for his eyes.

König is rock hard. His cock aches, the filthy thoughts going through his mind feeding the sensation on his swollen member with each throb as he imagines how you would touch him. Gentle fingertips gliding up and down his shaft? Would you squeeze the tip in your fist, make him ache with both pleasure and pain? Would you dare take him in your mouth, lick him wet and slick first and brave his size because you just can’t help yourself?

Would you ever even want him?

König’s eyes flash in a millisecond of panic. No, no no… He’s not gonna think about that, he’s not. König grips his cock tighter and forces his mind to swim in his fantasy of you panting under him, neck glinting with sweat. He would lick it off of you, suck bruises to replace the taste of your salt, bury his face against your soft skin, listen to your sighs and moans right next to his ear as you’d take his cock and squeeze it tight–

He doesn’t get far with his fantasy. König’s muscles tense up, contract in waves as his stomach jolts and his breath quickens into shallow huffs and pants. He chockes on a pained moan as he throws his head against the leather chair’s backrest.

He can’t bite back the pathetic groan as he cums hard – harder than in a long, long time – abs tightening under his shirt as he spurts pale ropes on the mahogany table; and a droplet or two on your phone’s screen.

It fucking hurts to cum so hard, even more psychologically as the torture of not having your touch grant him his release pains him to no end.

König’s hips twitch as his tip pours out the last few lazy pumps on his fingers, he’s panting as the tension leaves his body. His head lolls forward. König licks his dry lips and swallows as his gaze returns to you. He lazily wipes the cum off your phone with his thumb, leaving a stripe right on top of your picture; one where you have your back turned towards the mirror and you playfully peek over your shoulder.

König takes a deep, satisfied sigh. Like a beast, sated.

He’ll clean you up last.

You startle awake to the sound of knocking.

You don’t even hum in a half-sleepy way – no, it’s like an invisible force jostles you awake as your eyelids unstick and your curled up body jolts, limbs grasping onto your surroundings. Which, sadly, happens to be only a musty old mattress and a cold wooden floor surrounding it. You flinch as the chilly lacquered floorboards graze against your bare ankle and you instantly realize: this is not your apartment.

You inhale sharply and cough as dust invades your lungs, but fright takes hold of your body and forces you to sit upright, look around while you blink away the piss-poor sleep you’d managed to collect. Someone’s at the open doorway, blocks the light. A figure fills the entire space even as it leans against the frame. You rub your eyes to see, but as your brain finally accepts the reality of where you’re at, you don’t have a hard time figuring out who the visitor is. You’re forced awake immediately, as if your body prepares itself to face the main threat in this enclosure of beasts.

König. He looks different – still has the same hood on without a helmet, but the top layer of his previous gear is gone. Just the boots, cargos and a black shirt that sits especially snugly on his shoulders. You try your absolute best to not stare but still end up side-eyeing his body as you wearily rub your other eye, because you don’t dare to close them both.

Your kidnapper is holding a plate filled with food and the mere sight of anything edible makes your stomach instantly rumble something fierce. Almost makes you forget you’re here against your will and König is the sole reason why. Well. At least you woke up, so that’s a plus.

”Rise and shine,” he greets, calm and confident; not a surprise, considering he’s the one in power here. The erratic intensity of the previous day is gone. Still, it’s unsettling to hear a voice but not see a face; his hood keeps up the ominous appearance even if his tone is friendly. The stark contrast is confusing, makes the two clear sides of him melt into one.

König takes a seat on the chair outside the door and spreads his thighs wide, leans his other elbow on his knee as he takes a look at your sad appearance. Shadows loom under your eyes, you’re squinting as you get used to the sunrise blooming through the window. Your hair is a cute mess and König just wants to ruffle it, pet you and tell you to go back to sleep, tiny thing. As if you could, in a cold room like this, on a sad excuse of a mattress like that. Alone, afraid, unsure. Which was quite the point.

He lifts the plate a bit as an indirect offer.

”You must be hungry.”

Enough to feel sick, though there’s no way in hell you’re going to admit it. But König doesn’t approach you, just sits there and holds the plate. It’s your job to fold. And despite giving it a moment of serious thought, you’re not gonna go on a hunger strike when your number one priority is to get away from these men and return to…

To your old life.

Fuck.

You're still grieving for your lost freedom. But do you really miss your day-to-day life as much as you thought you would? Yeah, of course you do, you must...

Still a bit disoriented, you gift him a glare that ends up looking more pouty than suspicious because, honestly, you look like you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. You have, after you had wasted all your energy on crying and worrying and fearing for your safety, but it was likely the most uncomfortable night you have ever had. It’s why you wince a bit as you unfold your legs from under you and get up on your feet with a wobble. König watches you closely, you’re well aware of that, so you make sure the hem of your shirt stays as low as possible.

With tentative steps you walk over to him, too hungry and morning groggy not to look at the plate he is holding though you should be more cautious of the mountain of a man who stole you away.

Some sort of oat biscuits, butter and jam, an apple and dry jerky are set on the plate – mostly food that doesn’t immediately spoil, so this really must be their hideout, meant for laying low for longer periods of time if they’ve brought rations. And thankfully, König also reveals a bottle of clean water from behind the corner of the doorway. The breakfast is not much considering how long it must have been since you last ate and how much energy you actually need, but you’ll take absolutely anything to fill your hollow stomach. König himself probably requires three whole rotisserie chickens per day to keep up with the demands of that build...

You shoot an unsure look at your captor. He knows what you’re thinking; gives a light, warm chuckle that tightens your poor stomach a little.

”It’s perfectly safe, silly,” he reassures you, and you beg you can believe him.

In a shocking revelation, you notice you almost feel a relief now that König has finally come to see you. He’s let you in the bathroom, brings you food, doesn’t threaten to beat or kill you, doesn’t blame you for not being who you were supposed to be… Has an– interest in you. Despite making you uncomfortable, maybe it means you have a chance to make it out of here alive. You think the others would have raped and killed you by now – in the car, even. The period of unconsciousness still sends chills down your spine whenever you think about it.

You hold out your hand to receive the plate, but König doesn’t move an inch, forcing you to come closer. With a throat as dry as yours it’s hard to swallow so your wariness is awkwardly obvious as you munch your lips a little and flick your eyes between him and the food. You take a step closer, as if he’d snatch you into his hold, but König stays put. Hands trembling with the lack of energy in your body you grab the plate and your kidnapper is kind enough to at least hand you the bottle as well – without any mind games.

Your breath hitches as your fingers touch, likely intentionally from König’s side, but you grab the bottle quickly and back away to the safety of your mattress before the behemoth gets any second thoughts.

König stifles a pleased hum, just about. He has tamed himself, he’s nice and mellow after last night. For now. God, your phone was a treasure trove. Should’ve guessed you had a dirty side to you; of course you did, naughty thing.

"Sorry about the sedation. Couldn't have you screaming for the whole neighborhood." Only for him.

You flop down on your ’bed’ and immediately scoop some jam on one of the biscuits, doing your best not to openly devour it like a feral kitten.

You realize you haven’t even talked about this whole… situation with him, only moaned about it to the other more or less grumpy criminals. The men are perfectly okay with keeping an innocent civilian hostage, like it’s a normal Tuesday for them. It’s sick. The fact that you’ve done nothing wrong, you’re scared and helpless and fear for your safety, seems to just fly over these people’s heads. They’re okay with it.

And König is the worst of them all with his nonchalant attitude – as if you’re an intriguing little animal in a zoo or something, skittishly wriggling in his lap as he forcibly tries to pet you. All the carrying and touching and staring… And still, he’s the only zookeeper who feeds you.

"You tied me up, forced a hood over my head..." you mumble against the biscuit, almost forget to chew it as the disbelief of the turn of events once more surfaces. The jam tastes of cherries – a bit old and clumpy, but sadly comforting. Combined with your dry throat, the biscuit still feels awful on your tongue so you twist the water bottle’s cap open and take a gulp.

"We didn't take the scenic route here, don't worry, Kleine," König says, clearly amused.

You glare at him as you munch your food down and wipe a drop of water off the corner of your lips. Bastard is joking. He kidnapped you, stole your freedom and all your personal items – and he thought it was okay to make light of it? While giving you that pet name?

"But no more. I promise."

König sounds... actually genuine.

...what, of course he doesn't mean it. He can't promise something like that, he's just saying things to get you to roll over for him, make his job easier.

"I don't trust you," you mumble the obvious. Well, you’re kind of trusting him already, gobbling up your breakfast because you’re so hungry you’ve forgotten your worries of it being laced with some night-night juice. He’s done it once – why wouldn’t he do it again? Promise or no promise?

"I'm not asking you to,” he hums lightly, cocks his head a little as he watches you eat with embarrassingly good appetite, dependent on him.

And speaking of trust, it seems you can also trust these men to not let anything go unnoticed.

The back of your neck freezes when you finally see something peculiar on the edge of the plate.

A pill.

Your pill.

You’re paralyzed for a second as you stare at the tiny, innocent little thing, normally such a small part of your daily routine to take care of your contraception. And now it has gained an ominous shade. Attention.

Your wide eyes flick up to König whose stare responds with full confidence. Unwavering, he just looks straight at you and doesn’t say a word although he knows exactly what’s happening. He’s the one who must’ve put it there, after all.

You continue with the conversation to direct his attention away from your eating in any way possible.

"How did you even manage to plan the– kidnapping?" You grab at a dry biscuit and sneak the pill in your hand at the same time, fiddling with your fingers as you bunch them into an awkward fist. You’re too damn tired to do this well.

"I could tell you,” König replies, amuses the idea.

His hooded eyes follow your hand like he’s watching you step into a trap. You’re trying to be so sly with your compliance, try to divert the attention away from the subject...

But you’re a good girl. You take care of it.

"But we’d have to kill you."

You almost choke on the world’s driest biscuit. König says it so fucking casually that his pleased, purring voice is somehow more frightening than the words themselves. Try as you might to prevent it, you go into a little coughing fit and grab at the water bottle to get rid of that piece of sawdust that’s torturing your throat. You cough into your palm and sneak the pill in your mouth before you gulp down some water. König just lost his ’no death threats’ medal.

He sits back on the chair, lets his palm slide against his firm thigh.

"Mmh, I'm just playing, Kleine. Of course I won’t tell you. Does it even matter?"

A weak cough to let the air flow once more. Now he’s once again reassuring you that he won’t kill you. Which one is it? Your tired head lacks too much energy to keep up with the cruel game.

"Well it– didn't work, did it," you manage to croak, voice in dire need of another sip of water. A bit bold of you to indirectly call him and his team incompetent at best and stupid at worst.

"Seems to me it worked just fine,” he muses.

What..?

To your horror you feel conflicted about the attention you’re receiving. König is scary as fuck, terrifying with how unpredictable and unexplainable he seems to be. Yet at the very same time he’s weirdly straightforward and honest with what he says. It makes your head spin in confusion.

Especially because he’s the one out of all these men who treats you like a human– no, wait. No, no, you’re their prisoner, of course you’re not being treated like a human being with rights. And yet you can’t help but feel a tinge of hope when König is around. He’s hardly deserving of a crown of mercy on his head, but still.

König clearly acts like your guardian. A massive, dark shadow of one, at least.

"Well you… didn’t get what you wanted. Why did you take me?" There’s honest curiosity in your voice.

Oh, but you’re wrong. König did get what he wanted.

He’s quiet for a second, his stare gets focused.

"A man can get lonely."

So where do you come in the picture– Ah. It’s like a tombstone drops from your throat to the bottom of your stomach. He says it with no doubt whatsoever in his tone.

”Wh–” you mumble before you immediately shut up again.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Should you have lied, before? Tell him you’ve got loads of men – big, angry, strong men – waiting for you to come back home and they’re also in the military and they’re going to kill anyone who so much as looks your way?

And yet, he hasn’t forced himself on you. He’s taken care of you – kind of. If he wants something of you, does that mean you could make it out of here in one piece..?

It’s the first time you notice the bracelet König is wearing: deep red beads around his wrist, two equally red cords tying them together. And it’s only because you take note of the way he touches it now, brushes against it with his thumb in passing or twirls the bracelet around his wrist as if adjusting it. A telltale sign of anxiousness.

"You have nobody to go home to,” he continues, eyes set on you and you can’t escape his gaze nor the fact that he’s right. It's not even a question anymore, just a statement. Still stings when he puts it like that. But you shake your head in confirmation.

König stares at you like you'd disappear if he took his eyes off of you. His leg beings to lightly tap the floor, knee jumping up and down.

"Me neither.” You can’t grasp his tone, what it means.

You carefully glance at him while you continue eating, unsure. Wherever his home was, you can't say you were surprised to hear a goddamn kidnapper wouldn't get a warm welcome when he got back. You lift your chin a little, a touch of budding attitude in your eyes.

"So– where’s that? Your home, I mean," you ask, trying to dig up a sense of normalcy in the middle of all of... this. And to divert the topic while you’re at it.

"Austria," he replies, and there’s really no reason for you to not believe him because that finally explains his accent and why he tended to switch between languages. "Ever been?"

"No–"

"Would you like to?"

His question hits that sense of control you had for a precious second and slaps it straight out of your hands. There's a glint of hopefulness in his tone, like he's ready to get up and take you there immediately if you so wished. You stammer with your words for a bit, trying to think of something to say but you just purse your lips and pinch them shut once more. It’s much easier to continue eating, so you grab the apple and dig your teeth in it, juices staining your lips. You’re sure he isn't suggesting a vacation.

König lets out a light sigh as he watches your struggle and refusal to answer, lets the topic go. Of course you can't decide yet. But you will.

He's trying to be so patient, doesn't want to scare you. Well, a little bit of fear was fine, it would make you more malleable if need be. But he... didn't want you to be afraid of him. You had no need to be, he would show it to you.

"Ah, well. We have time to work on that," he clearly smiles, and it twists your belly. He taps his boot down one more time before he gets up and takes a deep sigh. König looks at you for a moment, eyes hooded.

”Eat up.” Then he takes his leave.

You look at the empty doorway and almost feel like you could make a run for it now, but as you already hear another pair of footsteps approach, you make the dignified decision to stuff food in your mouth now that you’re out of anyone’s line of sight so that you can act picky and proud in front of your next jailor.

Stupid sweet cherry jam, you think, as you wipe the last sticky stripes off the plate with your thumb.

The guards have no mercy. Whenever you ask for info, your bag, clothes, they either stay quiet or tell you to be quiet. They do escort you to the bathroom, at least.

The evening is colder than yesterday. You can’t stand to be so bare, so you ask for your pajama pants or a blanket. They must have some if this house can accommodate five men. You have no idea how big the house actually is, how many rooms there are, if the other corners of the house are any warmer than this sad little horror attic of yours. Maybe not – maybe these men are hardened enough to be able to survive in the heart of winter up in the mountains or something and wouldn’t complain about a thing. But not you.

”Not my call,” one of the more relaxed soldiers replies to your every plead. So he can’t decide what to give you or do with you? Is there really a strict hierarchy at play here?

Despite trying to convince yourself that this is not a good idea, you stoop so low as to ask to see König.

”What do you need?” König happily asks as he shows up to take a seat at your doorway, your guard glad to be relieved before the end of his shift.

You decide to take a careful approach – imply rather than demand.

"It’s– it’s really cold here," you hint and rub your arm, all goosebumps under your icy fingers. You want to pull on the shirt’s sleeves but it would merely reveal more of your chest. König tilts his head as his eyes slide on you from head to toe.

"No wonder if you go to sleep like that and have no one to keep you warm." König skips the part where you're cold enough to shiver. Well it’s not like you specifically thought of getting nabbed and thrown into a breezy attic when you thought you would be safe to sleep in the comfiest house ever–

"Well I have my pajama pa–"

"Whose shirt is that," he interrupts and nods towards your midriff. You lost the mind games immediately by making a request to retrieve the one piece of clothing you still had for spare – that, or it had nothing to do with it as König seems to have an obsession with how much of you is covered and how much is revealed, and why. You pull on the shirt’s fabric off your chest a little, both to emphasize your confusion and hide the shape of your boobs from his gaze.

"It's... just a shirt."

"A man’s. Your ex-boyfriend's?" His tone has a certain sharpness, you notice. And you’re not an idiot – he’s preying on you like a wolf would a sheep.

"So what if it was." Your answer is a little too snappy considering you were in no position to start having an attitude with your captor.

And his reply is a clear sign of that.

"I'd have to take it off of you." König stands up and approaches you with determination, his eyes set on you.

Your throat feels like it snaps shut from how hard that threat hits you and you scramble up on your feet. And then he's already reaching his hand towards the hem of your shirt and you flinch back, digging your soles to the floor as you pull away.

"I-it's just a men's t-shirt! I bought it myself!" you admit in a flash as you back away before your back already hits the wall at the end of the room. You liked to sleep wearing men’s shirts – jesus, you liked smelling men's perfumes as well but thank god you at least didn’t use them. How would he have gotten that off of you? You swallow as a hot flash crashes over you, heating your neck. You don't dare think about it.

You’re cornered by him – a mistake on your part since you decided to back away instead of slapping him away. Not like that would’ve worked, anyhow. König halts just a mere step away, casts a shadow over you. Close enough to make his threat come true. He stares you down, so high up there.

"I'll give you one of mine," he says like it's the obvious solution when he halts in front of you, his hand still an unsafe distance away as it droops back to rest at his side. He got his message across loud and clear and seems to prefer verbal rather than physical threats with you – for now, at least.

Jesus, how big would his shirt be on you..? The man's built like a titan and if the shirt you're wearing is massive on you and isn't even his size, then you could probably use his clothes as a blanket–

...Why are you even thinking about this?

"I don't want your stinking shirts," you retaliate and scrunch your lower lip a little. It looks more like a pout than a face of utter disgust and hate towards the man who's threatening to undress you for supposedly wearing the wrong kind of clothing. But König lets out an amused, low chuckle.

"Too bad, silly. You'll have to bathe and get some clean clothes after, anyway."

Yeah, you definitely do. You can feel your hair getting greasy and the attic smell is beginning to stick. Soon, you might as well fuse with the corner of the ascetic room and nobody would notice, letting you mummify there in peace.

”You can have a shower if you promise me you’ll behave,” he says, and you just can’t figure out how he can sound both generous and commanding at the same damn time. You can. But you also have to.

”I… I’m not sure if I want to.”

”You like being dirty, then?” he asks with a smile, and that tone of voice carries something more than mere shaming.

You don’t answer him. It makes him switch his weight to his other leg – he’s already made up his mind about it and is merely waiting for you to give in.

”So, promise me you’ll be good?”

You… you really need to wash yourself. One way or another. You try your damndest to move your head in a way that resembles a nod but really isn’t because you desperately want to stick to at least some form of principles.

It’s not nearly enough, you can’t fool him – König squints a bit.

”Say it.”

You discreetly munch on the inside of your lower lip, try to stare him down – as if you could. What’s the worst he can do. The absolute worst..? If he’s made up his mind, he could force you, and you definitely didn’t want that. So you fold. Fuck.

”I– I’ll be... good?”

Concealed by the hood, König’s smile flashes teeth.

”Gutes Kätzchen.”

You rub the shampoo on your scalp like you could clean your brain while you’re at it, cool water pouring on your body.

König, despite your best efforts to tell him you absolutely didn’t want him to, brought you downstairs in a bridal carry. So that you wouldn’t stumble and fall and hurt yourself, he explained. You didn’t believe him, but there wasn’t much you could do against his strength as he had already hoisted you up and held you in a steady grip, making your insides turn with uncertainty and embarrassment to be restricted like that.

You tried to get a full picture of the interior of the house while he carried you to the shower, but considering his steps must’ve been twice as long as yours, this proved to be impossible because when you just about saw a new room, König was already rounding a corner and bringing you into another. What you did see, however, was that the second floor where your prison was had a short corridor and two other doors, both closed. The stairway was open, an old wooden railing with a view to the front door. They had relocated the interrogation chair away, leaving the worn marks on the floor as a reminder.

The first floor’s open area consistend mostly of the living room, through which König carried you – past the lit fireplace, dear god... One of the soldiers lying on the couch was still pulling down his mask and glared at you as you were taken away, likely irritated to be forced to cover his face just because of König’s unpredictable warning that he would bring you down. And because of you. A nuisance. You likely should’ve been in a cellar somewhere, out of sight, with a bucket and a slot in a metal door for them to toss some dry bread for you to gnaw on. Were you honestly lucky? Was it just because of König?

What made your train of thought scramble even more was the fact you couldn’t help but notice how your captor’s body felt as his strong arms held you, squeezed the back of your thigh and your side. After spending the night in a cold attic, you couldn’t help but feel a moment of respite against König’s warmth. The only reason you were shivering now was nervousness and fear, but not discomfort. Infuriating.

König sits on a ridiculously tiny wooden stool right on the other side of the thick plastic shower curtain – all both of you can see is each other’s blurry shapes, thankfully. You feel violated to even be naked in the same space as him. You would’ve rather had anyone else here with you, knowing they were bored to death to even look at you. But not him. König was sharp and alert.

At least he had let you have your own toiletries from your bag and let you brush your teeth – while he looked, of course, because apparently you could sharpen the handle within two minutes and try to stab yourself with it. The water tasted awfully mineral-rich when you rinsed your mouth, made your stomach and mouth wring in disgust.

The scent of your soap and shampoo makes you sad. Though meant to relax, the soft scent only emphasizes the crudeness of your surroundings, the contrast between you and… this. These men.

Between you and König.

No man has any business being that tall, with wide shoulders and a lean waist, rolled up sleeves baring forearms striped with old scars and thick and firm enough to be mistaken for wooden logs.

Then there’s you, tiny and squishy. Like a pet next to him, powerless to defend yourself both physically and mentally, because he’s saying the right words, the facts, fulfills your needs.

The attention he gives you is hugely different from the others. And you’re afraid of what he wants.

Since this was your opportunity to wash yourself and have no idea when to do so again, you had undressed only after you were behind the curtain and hastily washed your shirt and panties with soap. But instead of handing your wringed but still wet shirt and panties over to König – no way in hell – you had peeked behind the curtain just enough to chuck them on the edge of the sink with the high hopes they’d just… well, dry on their own. Yeah, bad plan. You’d catch a deathly cold if you went back up in the attic with wet clothes. But it was better than anything else.

After you’re done, you twist the cog-like faucet to cut off the water and squeeze the excess moisture off your hair. The shower water was cold enough already and having it evaporate off your skin makes you feel even worse. You grab the towel you had hung up on the metal pipe above the shower and quickly rinse the cooling dew off your skin before you freeze to death.

You wrap the towel around your midriff and peek your head behind the slimy curtain to meet König’s eyes. He’s leaning his elbows against his knees, his leg jumping up an down again. Anxious. Impatient.

”C-can I have- my clothes, pl-ease?” you stutter, successful enough to not have your teeth clatter.

König blinks, eyes wide as his leg halts against the grimy floor tiles. He thought he’d already made this perfectly clear to you.

”You’re not going to put wet clothes back on.”

Ah, damn. That was a massive blunder, König realizes. You could keep a wet shirt on and he’d have no problem with it, just have a good time watching it stick to your body and show your nipples through it.

”W-what?” you blurt in disbelief. ”But I need my–”

”That’s too bad. They’re wet. You’ll get sick, dummy.” He chucks you a clean, dry shirt you just about manage to catch before it sticks to the wet tiles. Your lower lip purses as you hide behind the shower curtain and replace the towel with the shirt.

It is, as expected, big enough for you to almost drown in, especially on the shoulders. Dark grey, surprisingly soft in texture as the cotton is worn and old. And above all, it’s dry. And… fuck, okay, it’s comfortable. You frown at the fact in disbelief and try to shoo it out of your head as you pull aside the curtain, stepping out of the shower with a defeated look on your face.

König’s eyes widen and his breath catches a bit as he looks at you drowning in his shirt. His. He swallows, a quiet click sounds in his throat as he looks at you keeping your legs together, scrunching your fingers on the hem, his shirt unfortunately a bit longer than your previous one.

”Looks cute on you.” König’s heart swells with warmth; you look like a slice of home. Like you’d come and wake him up in the morning, bring some fresh toast and jam in bed. Like you’d snuggle up under his arm, purr against his chest and demand you two sleep for just an hour longer.

His cock gives a demanding throb and he knows he has to tame his urges once again. Watching your naked form through the infuriatingly thick plastic curtain was torturous enough.

He pulls you into his arms and you don’t even resist because this means he’ll take you back to the attic. He’ll leave you alone – for now, at least. He discreetly smells your wet hair as he carries you up the stairs and the sweet scent almost makes his eyes roll around in his head.

That night, König takes good care of your laundry as he fists himself with your stolen panties wrapped around his aching cock.

Early next day, you wake up after a poor night’s sleep with how the wind howls through the cracks. König’s shirt is warmer and more comfortable than your own, but it’s still a miracle your breath doesn’t fog when you wake up to the sunlight and sound of the five men going through their morning routines – whatever it is people like them do. Check their guns? Plan war crimes? Take care of morning wood?

But no. You just hear the front door open a few times but the air pressure doesn’t even change because the structures of the old house must not be compact enough. A faint echo of a clank as someone puts a teakettle on the stove, then a few clicks to turn on the gas. Infuriatingly normal. It makes you sad, to know they’re nonchalantly enjoying their freedom and breakfast and comfort and warmth while you – you…

Sometime during noon, you don’t hear any phone ringing, but someone answers it downstairs.

”Yeah. M-hm.” One of the soldiers with a voice deep enough to force you to make an effort to listen in. You hear a couple of heavy steps. ”HQ.”

”Was,” you hear König blurt out like someone was interrupting him.

He mostly listens, makes an affirmative sound every now and then and confirms things are under control. Considering he seems to be the leader of this little troupe, he’s certainly the most indifferent to the shit they sound like they’re in without their real target in their hands. Everyone else is on edge, frustrated. But König’s perfectly happy – unless he has to talk on the phone, sounds like.

”Ja, ja, was auch immer. Just put him through.”

You hear the old leather of one of the couches curl and the floorboards creak every once in a while under the steps of the towering Austrian.

”Took you long enough. Here I had hoped you didn’t care.”

You hear footsteps come up the stairs while he talks, König’s voice becoming clearer. You quickly correct your sitting position to make sure your lack of panties doesn’t become an issue. As he appears in the doorway, he nods at your guard to free him of his shift – a relief the guy gladly accepts as the soldier doesn’t waste a moment to get up. But König doesn’t take the chair.

”Oh, we’re doing just fine.” He leans his shoulder against the creaking doorframe and crosses his arm under the one he’s holding the phone with, looks at you while his body crowds the entire exit.

He’s talking about you. To whom, you have no idea because as you had already informed, there was nobody out there to be able to pay for your release.

König is quiet for a moment as he listens. That cocksure aura of his ripples, something that was said at the end of the line making him think. You want to shrink, escape his stare, but curiosity takes over way too easily and you keep his gaze.

"Ja, I can do that." König suddenly pushes himself off the doorframe and walks to you. He taps the call on speaker and holds it down towards you.

"Mach schnell."

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the person at the end of the line, whatever it is he’s saying. But you crane your neck a little although you think you'll be heard just fine. It's just that the phone feels like the only lifeline you have. You don’t know who to expect.

"H-hello?"

"Sweetheart?"

John.

Surprised by a sudden burst of both hope and desperation, you let out a pathetic little exhale and hope to god he didn't hear it. His voice is warm, soothing. But worry pierces it.

König's fingers visibly curl when Price calls you 'sweetheart' – the phone's casing lets out a quiet squeak. Please don't break it please don't break it... Your voice feels paper thin on your tongue.

"Mr Price?"

The casing gives another pained, plastic whine and you can clearly see König’s arm move a little as if he was already going to pull the phone away.

"I'm here. Listen, we're gonna get you out of this mess, don't you worry. You’ve always been the brave one, you know that, right?" The last part is not true unless compared to her daughter, but it makes you feel a little bit better nevertheless. The timbre of his voice sounds homely, something you had gotten used to when you were younger. It's almost too fatherly for someone who isn't your father.

"O-okay," you manage to muster without crying, pinching your eyes shut to prevent the stinging. Your stomach twists at the idea of someone caring about you, to take you back home. To imagine the rage John must’ve felt when he had found out about his daughter being hunted–

"Just hold on, alright? We'll get you out – god, I promise you that. You're gonna be just fine." During the time you’ve known John you’ve never witnessed him angry or particularly serious, not like this. John’s voice is laced with a sharp worry that, even in the current situation, seems almost uncharacteristic. You can sense the urgency. Exactly how dangerous are these people?

"M– Mhm... John?" His name just slipped out–

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

Slowly, you open your eyes and raise them up to look at the titan standing in front of you. From his black combat boots to the light olive green cargos. To his belt, where he'd missed one of the loops. To his midriff, broad chest under that tight black shirt, showing his undeniable strength. And last, up to face the blue eyes. Half-lidded, they still bore into yours from under the hood's cut eyeholes. Like a beast in ambush, its eyes glinting in the shade. And you're running out of daylight.

You swallow down a sob and it makes your throat jump, empty and dry and tight.

"Please hurry–"

König decides that's quite enough. You just about manage to hear John's frustrated breath before König pulls the phone away from your reach. His eyes never leave yours as he raises the phone in front of him, straightening his back in a way that emphasizes his full height. He doesn't bother to switch the call off speaker.

"Do take your time," he mocks – but not you, that much you understand. His jab is targeted at Price. You get the feeling he’s perfectly content with the idea of keeping you here forever.

"Mark my words, I will kill you myself if–"

"Please try." König winks at you as if to say 'I'll be fine, don't you worry'. You bite your lip and lower your head in defeat, closing your eyes to just shut away as much as you can.

"So when are your boy scouts going to come and try to steal my prize?"

The word 'prize' ties your insides into a knot. Were you up for the grabs just because you were collateral damage instead of the main target? Was that all you were?

König's invitation is frighteningly carefree and the silence that follows at the other end of the line feels humiliating to you. Maybe it's because– Maybe Price just doesn't want to say anything, to keep these guys on their toes. Maybe they're already on their way.

Or maybe there’s nobody coming.

"She's not military." That's... that's all John can say? That you’re not part of their little game? "A civilian's not yours to take."

That sets something off in König. You hear him huff out a laugh, dry and mocking.

"Oh nein, nein... That's where you're wrong." You hear the bottom of a boot scrape against the floor and you open your eyes, just to see how his long limbs circle around and behind you.

"You see, everything I want–"

At that very moment, something falls on top of your head, making you jolt. König rests his palm on your hair, gently, and lets it glide down on your cheek as he crouches behind you. You stifle a whimper and lock your jaw tight as the large fingers wordlessly shush you to be still, quiet, before they reach down and set on your throat. You hear him shift right next to your temple.

At the very same time, he reaches the phone in front of you and you see he’s switched on the video feed. And you can’t pretend to be brave just because John wanted you to: You see your scared look, your sad face, next to König's dark hood and sharp eyes.

"Everything I touch–"

Like finding its rightful place, König's hand moves against your skin, palm setting firmly under your jaw and long fingers way too effortlessly reaching around to set themselves to your soft cheeks. His thumb pushes up, just enough to radiate possessiveness as it presses against your skin, forcing your head to tilt towards him.

"Becomes mine."

Oh, you are fucked.

Chapter Text

"John–!"

Plip.

And just like that, your last lifeline is gone.

”Arschloch,” König mutters to himself after he ends the call, although John can’t accept the graceful feedback anymore. He lets his palm caress your cheek as he pulls his hand back and stands up.

"Sorry Kleine, didn't mean to scare you," König reassures as he pockets the phone and circles back in front of you, squats down casually like all that possessive shit was normal and you were in on it. "Had to get things rolling and let him know we mean business."

You are in a different state of mind entirely. With your mouth hanging open, you stare blankly at the spot where the phone was just a moment ago, through König’s body like he’s a ghost. You breathe out, quiet, when the weight of his words sinks in.

Anything he wants will become his.

And he wants you.

König scratches his nose through the hood, sniffs dryly. He's unable to hide the twinkle of pride in his voice.

"And I have a reputation to maintain. They don't call me König for nothing,” he brags as if you’re even capable of listening right now. You don’t even know what that nickname means. But one of those words does finally wake you up: reputation. You blink out of your stupor, shaken, and raise your eyes to the two slots on that damned hood.

You– you can’t stand this on-off game anymore. One moment he’s calm and nice; safe, even, not that that’s the best word for it. Then suddenly he’s got his hand on your face and is blowing threats in your ear. Claiming you for his own because he seemed to be so attached to the idea of both of you being lonely. You open your mouth a couple of times and rewind his words in your head.

"Reputation..?” Your brow twitches, the corners of your mouth turn downwards. You don’t even sound scared anymore, just confused. Whatever he was famous for to soldiers equally strong and threatening as him better have nothing to do with how he’s going to treat you. ”You promised you wouldn't hurt me–!" You can’t do this–

"And I won't,” König quickly reassures and tilts his head as he takes in your defeated posture, sees that you’re going to shut yourself in from him again if he lets you. Your head droops and you hide your face from him, bury it behind your palms as you sit there with your legs tucked sideways under you; so cute. Poor thing. Are you getting it yet? Or is he going too fast? It’s only been a couple of days and going through such strong emotions in that time period is apparently not normal.

König swallows. He’s going too fast, isn’t he.

”I already–” But he cuts himself off when he suddenly hears you hiccup a breath and it actually squeezes his damn heart to knock cracks into your defenses like this. He sees a droplet fall on the floor as you hide your face and try to simultaneously wipe away the tears before more will come. You’re emotional now, he gets it – kind of, almost, maybe.

Wait… Could this be a good sign?

”Oh, hey– There’s no need to cry, Kleine,” he hushes and reaches forward to awkwardly touch your shoulder, but you pull away. He’s having none of it.

”Come here,” he coos and effortlessly pulls you on your feet with him to hug you, your wet cheek mushed against his chest and your arms curled between the two of you. And though you try, you can’t pry yourself away from him – you’re too damn tired, bullied to the point of exhaustion by his whims, confused by his words and intentions. Fuck, this man is warm and hard and big, and he would feel nice if he wasn’t so evil and… You start crying for real, now; you let yourself sob vulnerably against your offender, the one whose fault all of this is, but you have nobody else to lean onto.

You can guess why he’s comforting you. But why is it working?

Having you flush against his body is… It’s heaven. König’s muscles relax, they melt – he melts when he gently holds you against him and keeps you there. With his arms wrapped behind your upper back he gently feels up your body, swipes his thumb on the back of your shoulder in a soothing manner. He wants to protect you from the hope Price tried to shove into your mind, uninvited, knowing damn well he can’t do a thing if König won’t let him. That piece of shit. König’s jaw clenches, he breathes deep and feels your smaller body move along with his chest.

Your skin feels cold, you poor little thing – he should feed you something nice, warm you up better if you would only let him… He tries his best to just hold you there, ignore the raging want caused by your feminine scent, your softness and your sweet sobs. If you’d only move your arms he could feel your softness more, or he could guide you down on the mattress so you could rest against him, let him comfort you the way you deserve–

Ah, and then he goes and spoils the moment.

”Besides,” König hums, his voice resonating through his chest. It’s almost comforting because you think he’s going to say something reassuring with that hum of his vibrating against your temple. Until he continues.

”I thought you liked that kind of stuff.”

You sniffle, brows knit in a moment of confusion as you blink away the tears. Huh? What does he mean, you liked that kind of–

Your phone.

He has it.

He has gone through your phone. Everything on it. He has to have delved into your life, offended your privacy, pried open every lock on that device to reveal pictures, texts, social media accounts, websites, apps – things he had no business scouring through without your permission. And now he taunted you for it.

”What..?” you whisper in disbelief and try to push yourself away from him. König lets you, but switches to holding you by your sides because you can’t realistically stop him.

”You don’t have to lie.” His thumb grazes your hip, suggestive as he looks down at you with half-lidded eyes. ”You like it a bit rough, ja? Want someone else to be in control?” he practically purrs.

A sudden surge of anger boils inside your chest. And before you can think clearly–

You slap him, hard.

Open palm, on the cheek, through the hood. It doesn’t make that satisfying clapping sound, no, but the silence afterwards practically booms in the bare attic. So does the immediate terror between your ears.

Your hands fly up to cover your mouth in absolute shock of what you just fucking did.

König’s head barely turned by the blow, but he stares at the corner of the room for a moment, eyes unblinking. You stare up at him in horror, your lower lip trembling behind your palms. Your mouth goes dry, you can’t even muster a tear because you realize you might have fucked up. Real bad.

”I-I, sh...it. I’m–” you stammer through your hands, voice cracking and heart pounding in your throat like it’s clawing its way out. ”I’m s-sor…” You can’t even finish your sentence because you’re afraid any word might be your last.

He doesn’t move.

König breathes, calm. Blinks once.

”Please, I’m so… sorry, I didn’t mean– please, don’t–” you stutter in panic. Plump tears well in your eyes once more as if in self preservation to soothe a beast’s anger. König is a mere blur within your vision as your trembling hands first dart towards his chest and then back again, desperately trying to decide whether to make an attempt to calm him down with a touch or back away, run run run before he takes his violent revege. Proves his reputation.

König slowly turns his face back to you, and you gasp quietly, carefully place your shaking palms against his chest anyway because maybe he’d forget all of it if you just gave in, begged for him again and again not to kill you, remember how he said he won’t, he wouldn’t do it now either, right–

You flinch as König raises his hand, but his movements are calm.

He places his palm on the crook of your neck, it slots in place right below the ear. A calloused thumb pets your wet cheek, wipes away the teardrop that finally falls to let you see him clearly again.

König deserved that slap. He can accept that – knows it, even. He’s a man, a little bit broken: König doesn’t think, he acts. He doesn’t plan, he initiates. But it seems you can do that, too.

You can be spicy if you so wished.

And he likes that. You can clearly get past that mindless, fearful state of yours if you really put your mind into it. It’s promising, if it works for his favor; maybe you can use that to rationalize to yourself that he wants something else than what you had initially feared. Approaching women when they have no chance to escape was so much easier for him, it seems, and he can’t let this opportunity slide. Not when he’s found something he doesn’t mind chasing – inside a cage, but that’s pedantry.

König likes you. He just wants you to like him back. Has he not deserved it after everything he’s had to deal with in life? Some sweetness..?

Can’t you let him prove himself to you?

König doesn’t pull on you, but keeps you still as he slowly tilts his head down. He gets closer, closer still like a prowler – your eyes flick between his, breath quick and shallow as you wait for his judgement with your legs petrified where you stand. Your arms are forced to fold against his chest as he reaches down, the hood a breath away from your face.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

All you can imagine right now is him biting down on your throat and crushing your trachea between his teeth.

König sees your restlessness but doesn't back off. The promise he offers feels genuine but it’s swimming with anticipation that makes it waver:

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Something gets shifted between you, but you can only catch a glimpse of the black hood gathering into a bunch and a flash of stubbled skin, before his–

His lips press against yours.

Unobstructed. Warm. Your eyes fly wide, fingers clench his shirt inside two tight fists as time comes to a standstill.

His scent, the gunpowder, the feel and memory of the monster who restrained you against the bed and scared the living hell out of you floods your senses in a heartbeat. But there’s a familiar shape of something human in König, now, like you’ve just discovered he’s not a faceless monster under that hood after all. He’s… a man. A person.

You don’t move a muscle, can’t react with how hard the turn of events hits you.

But when you crash back into reality, you finally find a word for this strange gesture of his that makes even your blood vessels feel stiff. You remember once more that you had just slapped your kidnapper; didn’t think far enough to consider that he might kill you for it. And instead of hurting you back, he–

He’s kissing you.

Right as the revelation hits you, your stomach does a flip so violent the clench of your muscles hurts. Your wide eyes stare through the two impossibly close holes on the hood, at König’s closed lids and… and his eyelashes. His pretty eyelashes.

The kiss is gentle, confusing you enough that you don’t fight back as his warm lips stay against yours, twitch a little as if nervous, trying to sense how you feel. They're softer than you expected – even though you had never thought about it because why would you. Your mind slowly comes back to you, sense more than the tentative softness – you feel the raised edge of a scar against your upper lip, something distinct enough to probably look mean on his face.

You don’t respond to the kiss, body frozen in fear of the unknown and under the pressure of his assertive intentions, and because the hold he has on your neck is too steady. The last remnants of the tears that stung your eyes fall down your cheeks and the heat and anticipation between you begins to become unbearable, your mind becomes unbearable as you realize this is happening, he’s fulfilling his promise.

As he moves his lips gently, breathes deep and can’t decide whether to just keep himself there, König is almost boyish in his initial shyness–

And in an instant he's not. The lack of any violent struggling from your part emboldens him enough to bring his other hand up to cradle your head. His mouth catches your lower lip and König drinks in your hitched gasp for air before he pushes his mouth against yours. And then he's already beginning to get lost in the feeling, breathes in huffs, tries to get you to let him in–

Time moves full speed again in a flash. You mumble against his mouth, brows knit in discomfort at the assault of lips that breaks whatever spell he had you under. You push back against him when all the tenderness is gone and he begins to feel like he'll swallow you whole if you let him. With a harsh shove you manage to make him understand he's gone well beyond acceptable intimacy even if he wasn’t going to kill you and he pulls back with a soft smack of your lips.

König breathes heavily, his hood immediately falling back down to cover his parted lips. His eyes are set on you, pupils blown wide and he doesn’t physically back off at all, keeping your head still with his hands on your neck.

"You don't have to be scared,” he breathes, almost nothing but the thickness of the hood’s fabric still between you. His voice carries a palpable threat that warns you he’s not done with you yet, might refuse to leave, could take more from you. He’s right on the edge, watching you make a move, a sound, any kind of gesture that could be interpreted as even a hue of green light for him to go on. His palm slides up the side of your throat, hot and humid against your skin, and he brushes your lower lip with his thumb, glides against the saliva left there.

But you are scared, when he’s acting like this. One moment he’s appealing and trustworthy, then feral and forceful the next. You can never know which one it’ll be.

"I- am," you stutter because there’s nothing else you have the brains to say.

That’s not a green light.

Ah shit, shit. He's so fucking hasty again, he's painfully aware of that, but König doesn't know how much time he’s going to have with you. Things are moving way too fast as HQ wants this mission to end, but that would mean König would have to hand you over–

He holds your jaw, fingers tensing and then relaxing once more as he does his absolute best to contain himself and… Let go of you.

For now. Again. Because he was nothing if not patient, surely.

König takes a quiet breath like he’s about to say something, but then holds it, hesitates – or makes a calculated decision, for once, and keeps his mouth shut. His hood brushes against your cheek as he turns his head to give you one more soft peck on the temple, through the fabric. An almost innocent good night kiss.

König’s grip on your jaw slides away as he straightens his back and looks down at you one more time before taking his leave without saying another word. You’re left scrunching the hem of your shirt in your fists and don’t even look back, body tense and trembling with a surge of emotions that have no outlet. You don’t even register a guard coming to sit over at the doorway with how your quickened pulse pounds in your chest and your mind races with a thousand thoughts all at once, going through scenarios of where you will end up in if things continue to go this way. His way.

After a period of just standing there in your dress-like shirt like a creepy ghost for the guard to uncomfortably eye at, you take a step sideways and slump down on your mattress. You know you’ll toss and turn for the rest of the day, hide your face later when they take you to the bathroom and feed you. And, yeah, you’ll probably cry, too.

When König shuts the office door behind him, he feels more locked in than ever. The thought of you now inhabits a previously empty slot in his brain. It has set the foundations, made a nest…

And all you need to do now is try to get comfortable.

That night, König comes up to guard you for the first time since you were brought here. Considering he’s well more than an arm’s reach away from you, you soon quit glancing at him every other minute – likely fearing he’d change his mind on touching you. König couldn’t deny the thought had crossed his mind more than once – to gently persuade you to accept his advances – but he had made a promise. Sort of.

He wanted your trust. He was just so fucking terrible at gaining it.

He makes a phone call as he watches over you. Doesn’t talk much, just an agreeing hum here and there, a comment you couldn’t grasp the meaning of. It’s not like he cares much about covering all the information HQ is relaying to him – he just doesn’t want to disturb your rest. As soon as you stop tossing and turning and shivering on your mattress and he hears your soft, sleepy huffs, König quietly stands up and closes the door halfway: enough to be able to hear if you’d try to leave, but also muffle most of the conversation that would soon be had.

After König returns downstairs, he orders his men to gather up in the living room.

”HQ wants all hands on deck,” he says as he tosses the phone on the coffee table set in the middle of the leather couches. ”Price’s daughter’s whereabouts is still open, but they want everyone working on it. The possibility of a ransom is still on the table.”

”Is our boy still breathing?” Aksel raises his eyebrow.

”Unconfirmed. He’s had to figure out an exfiltration plan on his own.” König doesn’t know any more than the rest of them. Their agent – long dormant until now – stationed at 141’s base knew the risks he was taking. Not that things had gone any different for him despite the issues at Price’s house, since all he’d had to do was to get intel outside the base, make a false alert, and get out.

”He better do it soon,” Hutch says as he cracks his neck and leans his head back. ”141 has to know something’s up.”

”The false alarm must have raised suspicions, he should’ve left the base a long time ago,” Horangi adds. Everything had gone exactly as planned up until the kidnapping part. Price had been successfully lured to the base. Whatever has happened after that will remain a mystery until the agent makes contact.

”I just wanna get paid,” Oz growls, clearly done sitting on his ass all day with no information about his paycheck – which was supposed to be massive. He didn’t spend his night in some bush, in pouring rain, looking at the blurry shape of some random ass girl going about her business in a suburban house, just to get fuck all for his trouble. And König had had the audacity to not inform the team’s scout of the evident problem before they’d already arrived at the safehouse.

”Was the data sufficient?” Horangi asks, because that’s where the money lied. The data KorTac’s agent had managed to smuggle out of the enemy base among Price’s belongings – just a ’harmless’ tracked USB secured from John’s home office by Aksel and Hutch – was supposed to contain information so vital to their client they couldn’t label this mission as a failure by any means.

”Ja. More than the client asked for,” König says, which makes Horangi sigh out in relieved awe. König’s enthusiasm, however, is absent as he continues. ”Which means HQ keeps extracting the additional intel as we speak. They will keep it to themselves, pay accordingly, and no one says a word unless they want to get into an accident.” In KorTac, if you hear something – no you didn’t.

Oz grows increasingly frustrated, shifts on the couch like nobody’s talking about the problem.

”That still does fuck all for us here. Are we getting paid for that wrong bitch? This is a failed mi–”

König is terrifyingly fast. His fingers are curled against Oz’s throat before he can react and König pushes hard, squeezes enough to make him gurgle. The soldier’s calloused hands fly to the Austrian’s arm.

”This–” König growls, pupils like pinpoints, fuming at the very poor choice of words he just had the displeasure of hearing. ”–will be your last mission if you question my decisions one. More.” His grip tightens. ”Time.”

Oz squeezes König’s wrist but, by orders, can’t exactly fight back against his leader in non-lethal contact. The hierarchy was strict, mercenaries or not. So he just grits his teeth and stares back into those feral eyes before his skin is beginning to flush from lack of oxygen.

”You don’t get it, do you?” Aksel grunts next to them to break the tension – he knows well enough König gets insane every other day or so, but he’s not going to kill anyone, at least not here. Outside the mission? A whole other story. ”The data’s worth more than Price’s daughter. She was just a leverage and now the intel’s already more valuable than we thought. You’ll get your fucking beach vacation with a dozen bikini bitches, now shut the fuck up about it.”

König lets go of Oz’s throat when he feels a tap against his arm, but remains standing right in front of him to stare him down. Oz tries to hold his cough but ends up clearing his throat.

”Shit,” Oz rasps, but stays collected enough to not require another intervention. He gets up and storms to the front door. ”I’ll believe it when my bank account’s about to burst.” He slams the door shut behind him as the dark of the night hides his shape through the windows for as long as he needs to calm down.

You might wake up to the sound. König has to ground himself, so he gets to the point.

”HQ wants us back at the base as soon as possible,” he says and rips his eyes away from the front door – towards the attic. ”And I’m still in charge of this mission.”

”So that means–?” Aksel leads on.

König turns to face the rest of his men. He keeps himself neutral, but inside he knows he’s waited for this moment ever since they got out of the suburbs. He’s well past holding the mission as his priority anymore as it’s just one among many; he has other motives now. So his order, be it originally from the HQ or not, comes purely from his heart.

”You’re all dismissed.”

When you wake up in the morning, you squint your eyes as you instinctually look towards the doorway, expecting to see one of the bored-to-death guards.

But it’s still König, leaning his back against the chair with his large arms crossed. His eyes are closed but his head is up; otherwise you could imagine him being fast asleep behind that hood.

You haven’t forgotten the kiss. The mere thought of it makes your stomach give a gentle clench and you have no idea what that means. Silent, you stare at your captor through blinking eyes, but can’t decide whether you’re scared of him or… kind of relieved that he has respected your space when you’ve been in a vulnerable state. Has König been there the entire night? You scoot up into a sitting position.

”Mh–” you unintentionally let out a quiet sound as you wipe your tired face. König’s eyes open slowly – he blinks a couple of times as he wakes from his shallow slumber, brings himself back to this time and place. To turn his attention back to you.

The house is… quiet. You frown groggily and leave your palm mushed against your cheek as you concentrate for a second to just listen. But there’s nothing. Nobody’s brewing tea downstairs. No one’s watching videos of gun reviews. No footsteps. Nothing but the old wooden chair giving a creek under König’s weight as he leans forward, intrigued to finally find you fully awake. You let your hand fall next to you, fingers instinctually pulling on the hem of your– his shirt.

It still smells of him – minus the gunpowder. Just a man, not the... monster.

”Morning, sunshine,” König smiles. Yeah, right… You usually look more like a grumpy forest troll first thing in the morning, squinting at the damned light pouring in.

”Have you been watching me all night?” you ask with that distinct ’no of course you didn’t wake me up’ tone, more or less suggesting he’s kind of a creep for doing that.

”M-hm,” he hums. He wishes he had. But watching his men haul their asses inside the van and drive off was pretty satisfying, too.

”Don’t you have your goons to do that,” you mutter.

”Not anymore. I sent them away.” The van was far gone already. Now there was nobody to bother the two of you for days. Hopefully longer.

You blink as if you could hear him better. But you heard him loud and clear. You just can’t believe it.

”Huh–?”

König’s smile is one of contentment and triumph and he’s actually glad you can’t see that. He’s played this game long enough and now the pawns are gone, so what’s the use. He can focus on you and you only. The swell in his chest feels like warm honey as newfound confidence raises its head in him. With your little cage getting a renovation, he’s all too happy to take the praise for it.

König stands up, a little morning lazy in his movements as he straightens his back to his full height. He looks at you, still with that grin on his face, and gives a nod that encourages you to follow him.

”Looks like it’s just you and me, Schatzi.”

Chapter Text

Now that it’s just you and him, König – in his boundless mercy – allows you to spend your daytime downstairs. With him.

After you receive some breakfast (now somehow ten times better and more nutritious than before, but maybe being able to enjoy it in the living room gives that illusion), he also gives you back your panties; which you would have been grateful of if – after you give them a discreet sniff – it wasn’t so weird that the piece of clothing you had washed with a scented soap now smells like him instead. And what makes you forgive him just a teensy bit is when he also gifts you your pajama pants from your bag, without you even asking. Like an apology of sorts for rushing you when he had… kissed you.

Jesus. That actually happened. A whirl of warmth flushes over you whenever you get any sort of reminder of it, be it just a flash in your mind, or the way you remain staring at König’s hood and the region where his mouth should be judging by the bump of his nose, or seeing how König tilts his head in that innocent sort of way. And he’s much more relaxed, now. Looks like a puppy, at times–

You are insane for thinking that about him.

König explains that you can’t roam freely beyond the living room, naturally; he has to have you in his sights or locked away when you can’t hang out with him and the arsenal of knives in the kitchen, for example. But you do now have free access to the entirety of the living room, the stripped-bare bathroom and shower, the couches where you settle in the farthest corner away from him...

And if you asked König, you’re pretty sure you have a ticket to sit on his lap, as well.

You don’t use it.

Being alone with him feels weird, but still ten times better than being guarded by the other four men who had despised having you around – because you were worthless to them. Every day you had feared König would leave the house to go somewhere, abandon you. And what would have happened if the men had gotten the chance to unleash their frustration on you… König had started to feel more like your guardian than your captor, even when the other men were now long gone.

You had spent your morning wandering around the first floor: pulling an old book from the shelf and sneezing as the puff of age-old dust attacked your nose, secretly glancing around if König had missed any security details you could exploit…

...And mentally ripping your hair out due to the fact he has once again happily left you in peace the entire time you’ve been awake. It’s like you either can’t have him in your sights at all or he has to be forcefully kissing you – there’s no comfortable in-between for you, anymore. König is a man of extremities, and it’s beginning to rub on you. Your mind is addled and it’s all his fault. How did he manage to do that..?

So, yeah, König has been cheerful but verbally fairly quiet the entire day, humming away (he can’t stay in tune), keeping busy with a laptop (you’re suspicious of what he does with it) or whatever equipment he brought out to tinker with every now and then (all military junk looked equally bleak and harsh to you).

You’re not an idiot. You know what König is doing beneath that charade, now, see how he looks at you. And the carefully handpicked attention he butters you up with is, to your utter dismay, taking effect now that you’ve put him through the ultimate test – refused him, violently. And he didn’t retaliate even though he had all the power to.

In your day-to-day life you had felt alone for so long, but now you’re the center of attention, the main attraction, put on the spotlight. After being left in the shadow of the main prizes all your life, you now were the main prize to someone.

It's just that the leading contender to hold you up on the podium is an indisputable criminal: built for war, not holding a girl’s hand. Suspiciously possessive and frighteningly obsessive towards someone he didn't even know, but desperately wanted to. Physically, at least.

Fuck, you can’t deny it feels weirdly good. And you scare yourself more than König ever could.

Late that afternoon, you sit on one of the leather couches and warm yourself by the fire while you try to focus on the unfinished book you had convinced König to release from your backpack. He didn’t seem too happy with the fact you had a way to make the time go by – it’s like he wanted you to have exactly two options: wither away of boredom or beg for his attention. He had eyed at the novel’s back cover for maybe a second, deemed it ”boring-looking” enough and didn’t mind your eyeroll as he handed it over.

"Found us a radio," König cheerfully announces after he comes back from rummaging through some closet nearby and flops down on the couch next to yours.

But he did, in fact, not bring in a radio. Or at least he made no effort in choosing a station. Oh, no no, it was a fairly new speaker with the possibility to turn on the radio. And when you peeked behind your book you saw him discreetly fiddle with his phone before the ’radio’ started working.

The music fills the living room while König spreads his thighs wide and slouches against the backrest of the couch looking like a massively overgrown teenager, working on whatever it was on that sturdy-looking laptop of his. Planning more crimes? Uploading your phone’s content on it? Chatting with his fellow criminals? Your job is to try and read your damn book at the far end of the couch ensemble and enjoy the new form of entertainment while you try to get a hold of yourself and your mixed feelings towards your captor.

The playlist is an incomprehensibly miscellaneous mix of rock, 80’s, pop, heavy, classics… Almost could believe he’d put on an actual radio channel with no host, at first. You see König’s leg tap mostly along with heavier music, which means the soles of his boots sound like an automatic rifle pounding at the floor when he tries to match the drummer’s speed.

Nevertheless, the worst part is you think he isn't playing just anything.

You start to notice those kind of songs.

Put Your Head On My Shoulder.

Can't Help Falling In Love.

Words.

Every Breath You T–

Jesus CHRIST you’re going to die here and nobody will ever find your body and your ghost will haunt every single love song on this planet for the rest of eternity for what this insane titan of a man is doing to you–

He’s like the most lovesick puppy you had ever had the discomfort of seeing: slouches there, gives you less than discreet glances when the right kind of song plays, does whatever irredeemable war criminals even do on that laptop of his while Elvis sings his fucking heart out.

It feels like a sort of desperate courting. You want to tell him to play Somebody's Watching Me instead.

König is trying to be soft for once. He plays you silly little songs, gives you your silly little space. It’s his way of saying ’sorry for rewarding your spicy and cute outburst with a kiss and yes I got a little excited for our first time but do you believe me yet’. He really doesn't care if he goes one step back as long as he's going two steps forward but he just doesn’t know what to do right to make it so.

He takes a break from writing an update report to roll his thumb over his phone, scrolling his music library every once in a while and wondering if you'd like deathcore. Takes a peek at you, watches you glare little daggers at him from behind your book, your spiciness budding. Hmm, you might. He’d have to remember to check your playlists on your phone when you weren’t within eyesight to judge him for invading your privacy once again.

He wouldn’t mind you slapping him again, though. You thinking you could ever physically resist him sends a fat pump of blood between his legs, though he knows the fantasy was ”morally wrong”. In some other activities, maybe not so much, especially when he knew what you liked...

You hear the first drum beats and synth chords of I Want to Know What Love Is and, without even moving your head, peek at König from under your scrunched brows to show him just how unconvinced you are.

He looks at you with what was best described as a hopeful glint in his eyes.

You're sure you're gonna throw up from the suffocating pressure this man puts on you.

So you fight back. You begin to determinedly hum I Want to Break Free over some worn old rock song that actually always gets played on the radio on repeat because the licence must've been so cheap. König's intrigued look turns to you and for a moment you feel sweet victory for indirectly (and by using his own weapon against him) telling him how it is. So there.

Then, sooner than you remembered, you get to the part about fucking love, because of course, and immediately puff your cheeks, cutting your brave humming short.

But it's too late. He knows. He fucking knows the lyrics and now your humming has only spurred him on.

"Do you like the songs I picked?" he asks with barely veiled glee, sporting a victorious smile under the hood as he turns his eyes back to the laptop.

So he finally admits he picked them and did not, in fact, just tune in on a random radio channel that plays music nonstop. Or did you just gaslight yourself by assuming he had lead you on in the first place? Is it really honesty if he tells the truth afterwards? You give no straight comment, just munch for a response vague enough to make him stop playing the cheesy love songs.

"So you listen to 80's a lot?" It turns out your attempt at a wounding cut is just about as effective as watering plants in the rain. König keeps tapping on the keyboard, eyes never flicking to look at his fingers. He types fast. You had figured him a soldier, not a nerd.

"Mh, just sounds familiar."

You scrunch your other eye. Does that mean it's the stuff he listened to growing up? And he notices, sees that weird face you make.

Something in his head clicks, then. König turns his head towards you – and god, he knows how to confront you with the tiniest of gestures to make you react.

"Am I too old for you?"

You were just about to turn a page when the sudden question makes you rip the paper a little.

"What? N-no? Yes, uh." You had never even thought about it because why would you. You couldn’t see his face. How old did he sound like..? You immediately try to correct yourself to at least buy you some time to make an assumption as your eyes flick on his body, the firm scarred arms below the rolled sleeves, the battle-hardened shape of him under that black shirt.

"I mean– Why's it matter?" is all you manage to say.

"You don't even know how old I'm talking about."

He wasn't going to let it go until you asked, so you entertain him. And... maybe yourself. A bit. Out of sick curiosity, because you had no way of knowing with that sack over his head and his voice didn't tell you much more than 'over 30 at least, maybe, depends if he smokes and he clearly doesn’t, who the hell knows, and if you lived in a world where men never stopped growing height he would be old as fuck'.

"How old are you..?"

Although he really wanted you to ask, König observes you for a moment before he says anything.

"40?" It's comes out as a question, a suggestion even, not a fact. You don't really know how to react to that. But König looks like he takes your evident lack of disgust as a good sign. You can see his eyes narrow under the hood, like he's smiling.

So you're not against the idea of him being in his 40s, which must be the absolute oldest he could be with that kind of body, right? Or maybe he said 40 because he's likely younger but wants to know where you draw the line considering he knows you’re younger than him, he has your ID after all. Or if you’re sufficiently okay with 40 then he might later reveal he's actually older than that. And maybe you are okay with– fuck, like you cared! He’s old enough to know kidnapping was criminal and revolting and insane and–

Creep. He’s nothing but a (maybe 40 year old) creep.

"You like older men?" he suddenly asks, because he doesn’t want to make the same mistake of blurting this stuff out as a fact again. Although, about that tender slap of yours...

His voice snaps you out of your thoughts because you still hadn't commented on his age. And he has to know way too many things about you, considering he’s holding your phone hostage and has already revealed he’s gone through it.

"W-wh–" Bastard got you there, because you shift in sudden embarrassment, adjust the grip on your book. None of his damn business–

"I don't like weirdos." There you have it. You swiftly turn your attention to your chosen literature that, in all honesty, you haven’t been able to focus on the entire time.

"Weirdos?" König echoes, tilts his head a bit. His wide shoulders nudge as he chuckles warmly, lets the cut barely graze him as he turns back to his laptop with a click of his tongue.

"You wound me, Herzchen."

You huff through your nose and drop your bare soles on the cold floor, leave the book behind as you get off the couch. Bastard wouldn’t even give you socks, during the morning he had said you looked cute just as you were. It had made your cheeks tingle before he had already said something stupid again.

You warm up in front of the fireplace for a moment before stepping away and walking over to the windows where a gloomy, rainy view of a thick forest stares back at you. You open the narrow side window as far as it goes, which is barely a sliver, and raise your shoulders up as the cool air crudely breezes against your skin.

God, you need to get out of here. Now. König won’t let you leave entirely, but getting a permission to step outside on the porch can’t hurt, right? He’d still have his hawk eyes on you.

And maybe… maybe you could try running.

Like an idiot. He would catch you, eventually; there’s only so far you can run on the forest floor before a monster well over 2 meters in height, sprinting in proper gear and boots, is already on your heels. The mental image tickles at the back of your neck. Him, hunting you down just like at Price’s house...

You’re not sure if you even want to run, considering you have no idea where you are other than in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. And if you did, if you escaped–

Returning back to your day-to-day life somehow feels… awkward? Repulsive? You can’t see yourself at work anymore; not at the same place, anyhow. Not that you even wanted to. You can’t see yourself acting like everything is okay, that nothing has changed.

And you can’t pretend you’d be the same person you were then.

Oh, shit. You can’t go back to the way things were. And the thought of it – a flash of anxiousness curls inside your stomach, at first. But then the feeling fades, and in return a veil of strange comfort falls over you. New priorities. An ironical sense of freedom. Like you have broken free of the cycle that had made you feel helpless in your day-to-day life in the first place.

But you’re not free-free. There’s an entity named König invading your personal little bubble, making all of this more confusing than it has to be. Or, well, he has made things easier in the traditional sense as far as kidnapping and hostage situations go – you’re still alive, aren’t you? You’re luckier than most, having all your limbs, nails and teeth still attached to your body. All he has wanted out of you so far has been a kiss. And he took it. If he wants physical attention only, it’s… better than dying by his hand, you think. It’s just that you sense something else behind his actions, his words. Those pet names. It makes you yearn for something, as well.

You want someone to… take care of you like this.

Jesus. You need to get your mind straight and take a deep breath. Multiple. You need to get away from the musty air that’s rotting your brain.

”I need some fresh air,” you bemoan quietly as you stare out the window. The light shower of rain looks healing; it would give you some rest, wash away your conflicted thoughts.

When you get no reply, you take a peek at König. He seemingly doesn’t take the hint, despite usually being overly alert to your every peep. It’s like he’s not listening to you, just hums along as another sickly sweet ballad drips out of the speaker.

”König..?” His name – or whatever it was – feels strange in your mouth. Like it’s something to be revered.

König’s head lifts up like a whip.

”M-hm?” he hums as he turns his head to look at you, alert in an instant because this is the first time he’s heard you use his callsign. And it shoots straight to his heart, echoes in his ears. He sees you mourn like a caged bird, pleading with those puppy eyes. Gott… He could snatch you into his arms already for hearing you call out to him like that, but maybe teasing you will get you to say it more.

”The window’s already open, ja?”

"It’s not enough.” Your voice is quiet, clearly an attempt to act humble enough to get to his good side on this. ”Just… Let me at least step outside on the porch. Please?"

König blinks once. Then it’s like he just resets.

"Ah, sicher. I have the key on me,” he suddenly complies. You’ve noticed him adding his native language into his speech more and more each day like he expects you to already understand it or at least begin learning it. God, he wasn’t kidding about that ’do you wanna go to Austria’ thing, was he…

König slaps down the screen of the laptop and moves it on the table, then gets up like he’s about to just go and open the door for you like a gentleman.

"Oh,” you say. Well, uhm. You certainly didn't expect that.

It's just that König isn't making any effort to hand the key over to you, just stands there next to the couch and keeps his eyes on you. You're not in on the joke.

"Can I have it?" you ask as you take as step away from the window. You can retrieve your ticket out of this musty prison now, thank you.

"Ja." König spreads his arms as a 'be my guest' gesture. His gaze is relaxed, head tilts. "Bitte." He looks like an imposing bouncer ready to deny you access to a vip club wearing that tight black shirt of his, muscles ’don’t fuck with me’ level intimidating under it, bonus points from the mysterious black hood covering his identity as if to make him look cool.

But he remains standing still. You’re getting a bad feeling about this...

"Can't you just give it to me?"

"Nein. But you're free to take it from me."

Oh christ.

You tentatively approach him, like a tiny deer assessing the safety of a small clearing in the woods. Knowing that peril awaits behind the corner, but what you want – what you need – is right there. And he watches your every step, looks at you with those attentive blue eyes. Lying in wait.

"Which pocket,” you ask as you round the coffee table, try to be assertive but fail miserably and you bet he can smell it on you.

"Don't remember." Yeah he does. His voice is lower, now; hides something that swims right beneath.

He looks ominous, dangerous and hot as fuck right now and you have no idea how he does it. And why it affects you.

You start with the easiest part, you think: his back pockets. König keeps his hooded eyes on you as long as he can when you make the decision to step to the side and tentatively go around him. It’s like circling a spooky Halloween decoration with a lock-in mechanism that makes its head follow you when you walk past it.

Had you known you’d be pawing at König’s ass merely days after he had kidnapped you, you would’ve dropped dead back at John’s bed already.

You superficially tap the back pockets of his cargos, make it quick as if his hands would launch back towards you at any given moment. And you actually flinch back when he moves, but König merely stretches his neck a little from side to side and rolls his shoulders – to make his back muscles pop, obviously.

Now that you don’t have his eyes on you, you can openly ogle at him. His wide back, lean waist, big arms idly hanging on his sides, legs that are definitely to be properly credited for the man’s ridiculous height. You blink, eyes licking at the veins and scars that jut out. König has seen more violence than you could ever imagine, and you’ve only seen his arms. Is that sympathy pinching your heart..?

König side-eyes you over his shoulder.

”Find it yet?”

His voice makes you jump a little when you realize you’ve just been staring at his body and stopped searching, lips slightly parted with how loose your jaw and tongue were. You clear your throat a bit, carry on like nothing.

”Mh, no. You can just tell me, you know.” His black shirt is usually cleanly tucked in his cargos, but since he just stood up from the couch there’s a rebel flap of fabric sticking out and covering part of his belt. You unnecessarily slap it out of your way when you stick your fingers under his belt. An amused chuckle rumbles in König’s chest.

”Already did,” he innocently reminds you as he turns his head back and lets you do your thing.

Idiot.

Scrunching your lower lip, you get back to it. He’s got nothing in his back pockets – not that you really knew what he was supposed to have, but it was weird, still. So many pockets and nothing in them? Unfair. You had seen way too many women’s pants with fake pockets in them it was impossible not to feel jealous. They didn’t have to make them into army cargos, but still…

You slide your fingers over his belt just in case and you kind of get invested in this for a moment. You squat down next to him to pat down his thigh pocket and he once again turns his head to look down at you. Feeling both his hard thigh and hooded gaze on you, you hate how hot your cheeks grow before you carry on to the other side.

When the time comes to move back in front of him, you gather your strength to just focus. Breathe in.

König lets out a quiet, breathy groan as your palms press against the hooded part of his chest and his head droops backwards. Your saliva feels uncomfortably thick as you swallow.

And you– god, you can't get past the betraying heat that pools between your legs; it makes your breath catch in your throat, forces you to lick your lips as you shyly palm at his hard body, unintentionally giving his tight muscles and the enticing bits of fat resting on top a light petting because you have to tap over the hood that flows on his chest in case he has a breast pocket under there. And this isn’t even the worst area you have to pat down, yet.

With you willingly touching and exploring his body, König had never been this fucking happy in his entire life. Every single touch of your fragile little hands sends sparks across his body, makes his skin tingle and cock swell. He lets his head loll back so he can stare down at you, pupils so wide there’ll soon be no blue left around them. His biceps twitch. König hides the tremble of his fingers by closing them into fists.

He’s desperate to have you, enjoy carnal pleasures in every single form as long as he can make you whimper and beg for him. He needs to have your hands touching him at all times, your voice to tell him how you need him by your side. He’s waited for this for so long he can’t take it anymore. You’re gonna be so perfect for him, he knew it from the very start.

Sweetest fucking girl, Scheiße–

You edge towards the front pockets of his cargos – the most obvious of places – but the thought frightens you. Because they’re too close to dangerous waters. Bracing yourself, you carefully explore and tap through the front but there’s nothing hard– uhh, no metal to be found.

And finally, the betrayal drops in your stomach like a fistful of lead. You’re so dumb.

"There... is no key. Is there,” you manage to say as you blindly stare at König’s chest, wide-eyed. You’re too gutted to look him in the eyes. But König sure as hell stares down at you.

"For the door? No."

You’re adorable for thinking he’d give it to you for free. He’s been generous, sure, but he’s not going to let his little bird just fly away – not when he hasn’t yet shown you everything he has to offer.

König takes your wrist and presses your palm against his lower stomach, feels your tiny fingers twitch at the contact. Sweet thing… You have no fucking idea of the things you do to him.

"For you to get to go outside? Ja. There is."

He slides your hand downwards, your sweaty palm sticking to his shirt before it passes over his belt, fingers catching on it and you almost grab a hold of it to not let him show you what the correct answer to your request was all along.

Your stomach drops as König guides your palm towards his front–

You try to yank your hand away but his grip on your wrist does not relent – instead he pulls it to the side to wrap his other arm behind your lower back and pull your body against him, your lower stomach flush against something you can only identify as a bulge. Or you had missed a Desert Eagle stashed away in his crotch. And now you flick your eyes up to look at him like a deer in the headlights.

König’s body is warm, nearing uncomfortably hot. Your chilled limbs feel like they melt against him while, ironically, It’s Now or Never plays in the background even though it’s far from matching the anticipation that ripples in the air. His grip on your wrist still dominates your entire arm as he brings your captured palm to touch his firm chest once more. You look like you’re posing as old-time lovers for a postcard, right to the finishing touch of you craning your neck to look up at him. It’s just that your expression is not exactly enamoured – more like frightened by what’s poking against your stomach. König’s other hand slides down a little to softly knead on your hip.

"Mhh, you fit so perfectly…" König trails off mid-sentence, too high up in the heavens with the feel of your smaller, softer body against him to stay fully coherent anymore. He stares you down, eyes hooded. "My bed also has a fitting spot, just for you," he purrs, unashamedly allusive to the point it’s not a hint anymore. He slides your palm against his stomach and notices how you don’t stop him.

”The– the window is a-actually sufficient,” you blurt out to change the subject back to original because you have nothing else but excuses to arm yourself with. Fuck, your body feels uncomfortably hot right now, König’s intentions crystal clear. You do need fresh air, right fucking now, or you’re going to lose your mind.

Fuck. König breathes out in frustration because his cock is bellowing at him to just take you right there, finally fuck your silly little brains out, exhaust you until you can’t resist him anymore, force you to like him. He huffs through his nose, tries to keep his composure. What a saint he is.

"Kleine, I'm only trying to make you comfortable,” he tries to coax you, releasing your wrist but catching the side of your neck instead. His thumb pets your jaw. "My bedroom is much cozier than that cold, dark trap."

It was König who put you there in the first place.

”I, I don’t–” you stammer before you do something drastic. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t go back to the attic, you promised... ”I’ll be fine.”

Behind the hood, König’s jaw clenches so tight it would hurt if he had the mind to feel it. You’re driving him insane. He’s been patient, has given you space, done his absolute best to be the only positive contact you have here to make you fold and make the conditions uncomfortable enough for you to be dependant on him. He had gotten credit as a torturer more than a few times during his career and he had put his experience to good use with you – Extra Light Edition, obviously, with a pinch of manipulation on the side. Just to make you see him, that’s all...

To make you like him. Need him.

König just breathes, manages to speak without sounding too tense. He doesn’t want to scare you, he can’t let that happen now, no. No no no.

”Are you sure?” His thumb brushes across your lower lip – like a reminder. It makes your breath waver, and that feeds him.

You nod, and not like you aren’t trying to hide it, but it oozes uncertainty. You’re not sure if you’re going to be ’fine’. You hate the idea of being left alone, isolated, cold.

The difference between freedom and solitude has begun to blur.

König closes his eyes and breathes out through his nose, nice and slow. Breathing exercises were pretty much the only thing that had caught on after that useless therapy period he didn’t even have the patience to finish years and years ago. Mandatory in the army, sure, but that’s exactly why he was in KorTac now. He slowly opens his eyes again, looks down at you.

A deep breath doesn’t work as well as that unsure look he now finds on your face. The same you made in front of the mirror in your selfies. König’s eyes hone in on your features, he frowns as something scratches at the back of his mind. He mentally flips through your selfies, the way your expressions had changed depending on what the picture was about.

You didn’t look like that in every photo. In the braver ones, you looked more at home. In your element. König finds himself calm when he realizes he can change that expression of yours. He hums, softly releases his grip on you.

The attic it is, then.

”As you wish.”

He sets a mental timer.

Fuck!!

In the middle of the ass-freezingly cold night, you find yourself knocking hard on the locked attic door and it hurts your ice cold knuckles to the marrow. You manage to call out to König only once before you already hear a couple of faster muffled thumps which then suddenly switch to lazy footsteps on the stairway.

As the old key rattles inside the lock for a moment and the door opens, König is still pulling down his hood like he had just put it on.

He... has no shirt on. And he’s– jesus christ, not that it’s a surprise anymore but he is jacked. And... beaten up. Riddled with scars, new and old, a yellow/purple hued large bruise decorating his ribs above the loose, grey sweatpants. As soon as your eyes lower you snap them back up to not look at the unusually bulging fabric on his crotch.

"What's wrong, Kätzchen? You should be sleeping," he asks with a slightly raspy voice, though the tone makes it anything but a question. He is one hundred percent aware of what your problem is. Your arms try to huddle together in the middle of your chest and you scrunch your toes, can’t stand them freezing against the floorboards.

"I'm- co-cold." Your teeth clatter, and you hate how obvious it is. The thin pajama pants and an oversized, airy shirt aren’t going to protect you from the breeze that creeps out of every corner of the attic.

König scratches his jaw through the hood, adjusts the fabric a bit while he’s at it to get the eyeholes to align better. The crooked look was annoyingly amusing on such a scary beast.

"Oh?" How terrible. Wish there was a way König could help.

This bastard… You were not gonna fold, you were not–

"You- h-have to have a- spare blanket, somewh-ere, right?" You can't help but stutter, shallow and rapid breaths cutting you off between every word. You give him your best puppy eyes because that’s as low as you’re willing to go, swear. König looks at you from head to toes and seems to disagree with your inexorable conviction.

"Hmm. Still a no, sorry. Nacht–"

"Wait!"

König is already closing the door in your face but before you even think clearly you grab him by the arm in panic – even through your plight registering just how huge his biceps are – and don't let go of him.

And god is he warm as hell, you have to suppress an actual, miserable moan because his body heat feels like you're stretching your arms towards a roaring fireplace. You just can't imagine letting go.

König halts even though a man his size wouldn't be even mildly inconvenienced by your tiny fingers attempting to hold his body in place. But he turns his head, eyes looking down at you half-lidded, sleepy almost. With a glint – christ, that something his gaze always seemed to have when he looked at you.

But he doesn't speak, doesn't ask anymore.

He wants to hear it come from your very own lips.

"C-can I–"

Ah shit, are you really doing this..? Your teeth are clattering, skin prickling and hair standing on end, your limbs instinctually curl inwards to reserve as much warmth as possible. But it's not enough. You know what would be, and it's exactly what König wants, as well.

You’ll make it out of here if you give in. Just a little.

You shiver, fingers twitching against his muscles because he's your only lifeline now. You grab him a little tighter.

"Can- I s-sleep downstairs?"

You and him both know what that means. You hear his exhale, heavier than normal, like he'd been holding it. But he keeps his cool. You see the corners of his eyes scrunch a little, unable to hide a smile.

"Schatz, I thought you'd never ask."

Sleeping downstairs didn’t mean you’d be sleeping alone.

Naturally. The other rooms weren’t secure enough for you to not make a break for it, and König had to keep an eye on you, of course. Which meant your only option was to sleep right next to him.

His bedroom looks exactly like the rest of the cottage: old, dim, atmosphere reeking of 70’s cottagecore with the distinct waft of abandonment. There’s a small window to the side, moonlight illuminating the night behind the panes, and despite the bedroom being warmer than the attic you can feel the cold tongue of a breeze lick your skin as soon as you step in. But considering the attic was absolutely bare, the fresh air was right at home here where everything looked fairly normal and… cozy.

The room has barely anything else than an old double bed with an ornamentally engraved hardwood headboard, a narrow drawer, an armchair with a crocheted mixed-colored quilt thrown over it, and a small nightstand with a lamp, the orange light of which the room atmospherically bathes in. Every piece that’s made of wood is old but clearly of good quality, lacquer shining wherever the furniture wasn’t worn out. An old painting of a farmhouse hangs near the doorway, and it looks like someone’s bumped into it a couple of times because one of the corners of the frame is slightly splintered and the entire picture is crooked. There’s a pistol holster on the nightstand but the gun itself is nowhere to be seen. It’s almost like he expected this to happen, stashing it away beforehand.

The only modern elements in the room are König’s gear, arranged and stacked neatly on the drawer next to the bed, on the side he had – judging by the messy sheets – just woken up on. It’s a stark contrast: the haphazard cottage feel and the army level strictness he has folded his clothes with.

Apparently you’re taking in the sights for too long when König gently taps your hip.

”Make yourself at home.” His satisfaction practically beams from under the hood.

You step inside and can’t help but feel relief mixed in with the suspense. You have the option to sleep in an actual bed tonight. König already rounds the bed and flops down to sit on the edge. He rubs his neck through the hood, seems to find a tight spot on one of his muscles and focuses on it for a moment, then lies down on his back without bothering to move the blanket from under him. You turn your eyes away immediately to hide your flustered gaze after staring at his naked upper body. As expected, he doesn’t remove his hood. You're the reason he has to wear it to bed, now.

He reaches his hands behind his neck and practically offers you his body to ogle at – like it’s a return service for him eyeing at yours the entire time you’ve been here – as he settles. Your eyes return to him, furious at how hot he looks with that hardened body and dark armpit hair. Unapologetically male.

You can see the bulge on his groin has grown slightly more prominent, now – or maybe it’s just the posture doing that to the fabric... You swallow as a wave of something you immediately want to choke to death washes over you. König reaches out with his other hand to fluff your pillow.

”Come on, don’t be shy, Schatzi. You’ll have my side of the bed.” He nods at your spot. ”It’s still warm if you hurry.”

The mood is almost domestic in a very warped sense. You sit on the edge of the bed and lie down on your side, facing away from him. The linens smell of him and it makes your stomach flutter. It’s like he knows exactly what makes you fold – men’s shirts, their smell… Their warmth; his body temperature still lingers on the mattress. It wasn’t hard to imagine your corporal self melting on the sheets as you rest your head against the pillow and stifle a relieved moan. Your eyelids flutter – you can’t deny this is heaven after what you’ve been through.

König switches off the lamp and the room turns almost completely dark now that your eyes aren’t adjusted to it. But the moonlight aids your vision as it pours through the window and lands as a wide stripe right on the bed. You could fall asleep right then and there, let the bed swallow you up. You even forget the age-old patchwork blanket pooling on your legs completely in favor of just swimming in this newfound comfort of an actual bed. But König is not done pampering you.

You feel a large arm scoop over your waist, a palm press against your stomach – and with a confident yank König slides you to him, your back now flush against his bare midriff. You let out a flustered sound as your eyes fly open, but when you realize that, god, König’s bare skin feels almost hot…

His head settles above yours, your height difference making adequate spooning rather impossible when the proximity of your limbs don’t exactly match very well. Or, then again, he might be the perfect big spoon for that exact reason.

”You were cold, ja?” Don’t say it don’t say it, you’re gonna say it aren’t you.

König smirks under the hood, pretty proud of himself. His fingers adjust on the softness of your tummy, feel around a little.

”Sharing body heat helps.”

You would groan aloud if his words didn’t tingle at the bottom of your stomach. He actually used that classic line as an excuse to shove himself against you.

”O-oh.” You feign dumb, because all of this makes you into one – the comfort and warmth feel like an abundance of luxury compared to what you had to endure under the watchful eyes of the other soldiers. Not like König couldn’t have done this before, but realistically, you would have clawed his eyes out if he had tried anything. And it’s… okay if you just lie here like this. Right? He’s just warming you up. Once again, he’s granting you relief when you desperately need it. Takes care of your needs...

You take a deep sigh, let yourself merge your body and soul and mind against König’s warmth because it's the most heavenly thing on this earth. It's like every part of you that's touching him immediately begins to thaw and relax. Could almost forget he's an irredeemable kidnapper.

Irredeemable... Is he really? He has yet to force you into anything. You had slapped him, and he still wasn’t mad at you. You denied him, earlier today. Are there still normal emotions under that war torn shell? Something to piece together?

"Comfortable?" König hums with an unmistakable smile, shaking away your thoughts. He pretends to have to adjust his arm wrapped around your midsection again and it makes your stomach tingle with something– no. You frown to yourself, try to focus.

"M- mhm," you mutter awkwardly, like you’re at a sleepover and try to shush a friend to shut up and go to sleep already.

”Gut.” His voice is layered with warm honey, but right below the surface, something more potent stirs. ”So am I.”

You feel it when König shifts, casually slots his knees behind yours and brings his hips forward as if to spoon you better.

His hard cock, right under your ass, against your pants. Its size is very much proportional to the rest of the behemoth.

It makes your blood run south so fast you suddenly feel faint and fully awake at the same damn time.

”Hm. Sorry, Kleine, it’s a man thing. You can just ignore it if you want,” he mumbles against your hair.

If you want?? Trying not to acutely pay attention to his warm cock nudging against the cleft of your ass while you’re his little spoon is quite literally not a valid option no matter how he suggests you deal with it. You tense up, try to slowly squirm away from him, but König retaliates by merely constricting his arm around you tighter, his hips staying flush with your ass. Your little wiggling only pushes out a low rumble from his chest.

”Mhh… Are you really going to move around all night?” he groans against your hair and you feel his cock twitch. You swallow thickly, heat throbbing somewhere you don’t want to admit.

Yes, if he’s going to keep doing that.

”Is it because you’re still cold?”

König’s arm moves to circle your forearm with his fingers, tests the temperature of your skin. Your breath falters when you feel how big he is, how effortlessly he pats down your body with those paw-like hands of his. You keep stirring but he does not relent, slides down your arm to take your hand inside his fist. Feeling your cold fingers make him tut.

He lays your hand down to move his own to your side, now, slide down towards your hip. He’s not exactly inconspicuous in the way he pulls your hip back against his croch, veiling it as feeling up your cold body better. But there’s this thing called clothes in the way of his inspection.

You almost shoot out your hand to grab his wrist when you feel his fingers dip under the elastic band of your pajama pants, but the swirl of warmth and confusion and embarrassment of how you feel makes you cover your mouth instead. Your breath hitches against your palm when you raise your knees towards your chest more to protect the one thing König hasn’t claimed.

And you can’t deny you haven’t thought about it – from the very first day, out of debilitating fear. Now…

He's demolishing your walls brick by brick with every inch he so lovingly explores. And you’re letting him.

König’s breath huffs, it blows warmly against the top of your head as he nuzzles his covered nose in your hair and closes his eyes. His cock is throbbing, it aches, and it hurts him more to know he’s so fucking close to finally breaking you. Your skin feels heavenly soft against his calloused hand as he has the fucking privilege to smooth his palm against your bare hip. He lowers his hand down, slowly, listens to your every shallow breath. And his jaw clenches when he hears the quietest of whines escape your throat at the way he splays his fingers and gently squeezes the flesh on your upper thigh. There’s nothing you can hide from him – nothing...

”Poor thing, you’re practically freezing…” The benevolent act is holding together by a thread. But in the end, it’s not even supposed to. His breathing has grown more laboured, your hear it when the bridge of his nose brushes down your scalp, huffs of air warm near your temple. And when his hand dips between your thighs, hooks each of his fingers there–

”König...”

He has had enough. He plays his final card.

You squeak when he suddenly flips you on your back and maneuvers his body on top, grabs your wrists and locks them on both sides of your head. His thighs effortlessly pry your legs apart and he sets his hips above yours just close enough for you to feel his strained bulge graze against your clothed pubic mound.

König’s face is inches away from yours and his stare is so intense it makes you squirm helplessly under him. You stammer, voice high-pitched and quiet.

”W-we should–!”

”Kleine.”

That familiar assertive tone, the pet name that might as well already replace your real one, shuts you up immediately. König stares you down, his eyes shadowed deeper behind the hood but there’s a distinct memory that surfaces when you look at him from this perspective.

Moonlight. Bed. His hands on your wrists. Effortless in his dominance. You can’t help the way it gets to you.

He had wanted you to fall into his arms on your own, not force you too much. But he’s past that.

”You want someone to take care of you, ja?” König breathes through his nose, his huffs sound strained and frustrated. He’s telling the truth, he’s found the magic word. You’ve never uttered your need aloud like that, but he sees it in you. You don’t have the strength to struggle against it anymore.

”Y-yes…” you whisper like you’re spellbound to speak the truth, because fuck, he knows how to soothe the ache in the very spot where he had first skillfully stabbed you in. You’d been plunged into solitude and misery – and he steps up to raise you from the depths.

And all your life, when you had gotten to this point, you had gotten cold feet, too nervous, too afraid it wouldn’t go well because you can’t hand over your trust when someone tries to assume control...

König releases your other wrist, and you already know. The hood folds upwards as he makes his pledge.

”I can do that.”

Your lips part for him out of instinct.

König’s mouth presses against yours, no bashfulness whatsoever present in his approach, this time. His kiss is passionate, determined in his pursuit to make you let him in. With your lack of resistance he has no trouble slipping his tongue inside your mouth and brushing it against yours. Your eyes flutter shut, brows knit together with whatever flurry of emotions it is that’s swirling inside your head right now because König robs all your attention to himself.

His tongue is blazing hot and possessive as he claims your mouth, and you let him because he takes your damn breath away. His lips feel so damn soft it’s criminal for someone like him – it’s too endearing and unexpected at the same time when otherwise he’s so fucking rough and even has that scar that brushes against your upper lip again. Warmth throbs in your stomach, spreads to your limbs all the way up to your captured fingertips and you sure as hell are not cold anymore.

Towards the end of the kiss König slows down and pulls his tongue back. He savours the way your irresistible lips still keep themselves obediently parted for him, submitting under the demands of his. You make his entire fucking body pulse and ache. He’s so painfully hard it feels like the front of his sweatpants is soon going to rip, and he can’t help but slowly press the clothed shaft of his cock harder against your mound in pursuit of any kind of friction. And god, how he relishes your startled meep against his mouth, the way your thighs clamp to the sides of his waist at the contact.

Any other day he would’ve told himself you’re complying, but that already happened the first time he kissed you. Now, it’s more than that. He can sense it.

There's willingness.

Your lips part with a quiet, wet sound. Gentle, unrushed, longing, leaving both of you panting. But just like the first time, König doesn’t leave you any space to retreat. Not like you could, with your head secured between his and the pillow. His hood stays creased on the bridges of your noses, your heavy breaths uniting unobstructed, hot and humid and intimate. You stare at each other in the dim moonlight for a moment, anticipation thickening the air. König has such pretty lashes...

Does this mean you’ve finally given in–

"I need to kiss other parts of you, too.” König’s breathy confession is followed by an audible click as he swallows, resumes his labored breathing. His voice is a whisper away from your wet lips, dripping with want.

Your flustered reaction dies on your lips as you bite down, a searing flame rising on your cheeks from the implication that left nothing to one’s imagination. He’s moving so fast–

"Ask me where." His voice is a frightening, lusting purr and you have no choice but to face it head on.

He wants to ’take care of you’. And you can’t help but be intrigued how.

"...where?" you manage to whisper.

His answer remains hidden from your gaze.

And it is a hungry grin.

Chapter Text

You can’t fathom how you ever got to this point.

From the safety of a military officer’s home, to being drugged and pulled into a van, interrogated by five strangers, then trapped and deprived of comfort.

To being in bed with your kidnapper.

König’s fingers effortlessly adjust around your much smaller wrists, but there’s not a single ounce of pain in his grip. Force, yes. Discomfort? A bit, because he’s clearly impatient. His body keeps moving all the time; fingers flexing, muscles tensing, knees shifting against the mattress to prevent you from forgetting that his sizeable cock is still very much against your barely covered pussy. And each discreet rub of his hard shaft against your mound parts your folds little by little, revealing your clit to give it unbearable friction. Fuck, fuck, fuck–!

”I’ll start…” König’s head tilts, he dips it lower to reach for the side of your throat and you barely feel stubble graze your jawline as his hood follows to droop off your face.

”Here.” You gasp as his warm breath blows against your neck and his lips touch your sensitive skin. A pathetic little ’oh’ pushes out of your mouth like you’ve already gone full stupid. His warm kisses trail up your throat, reach your pulse and you don’t even realize you’re craning your neck for him before you already feel your cheek press against the pillow.

”Why have you been squirming away from me, hm?” he hums against your pulse point which must be thrumming frantically.

"Y-you're the one who– kidnapped me, and... and," you stutter, desperately trying to get through to him that you had been preparing to keep your life, not your... panties.

"Do you hate me?" König's voice makes everything halt. He stops kissing you, just keeps his mouth a breath away from your skin. Cruelty is the first word that comes to your mind, because now he stopped taking care of you. You can feel the grip on your wrists tighten a little, like he’s doing it unintentionally, something painful and threatening stirring within him. There’s a wrong answer to his question.

"I-I…" You peep and keep your head turned, breath faltering. He’s asking such terrifying questions: yes or no, there's nothing in between.

You don’t even like him – you can’t, because he’s the offender, your jailor, and you know nothing about him. There’s no excuse. But to your utter horror, you realize you don’t hate König anymore. You’re simply afraid. Afraid he's going to decide that in the end you're not worth the trouble, ransom money, his time and... effort.

He could kill you. Snap. That's all it would take. He’s a bad person, a bad man, did bad things to you and has probably done much, much worse to other people before you.

There are excuses that linger on your tongue, and then there's the truth.

Confusion and shame. Inability to admit you were slowly, so slowly, beginning to give him a chance to show you that you weren't here to be killed or raped.

Was it genuine trust or survival instinct that made you rely on his supposed good intentions?

"I'm... scared,” you finally admit with a whisper, swallow thickly as you try to side-eye him. His breath on your neck is so hot you feel your temple starting to sweat. His lips touch your skin once more.

"Of what?" His question isn’t exactly softened by how his teeth then graze against your throat – more like underlines the danger you’re in, teasing you on purpose to bring you to the edge where fear turns into complete surrender. He’s pushing you to let go.

"That you'll– hurt me,” you immediately answer, body tensing up even more as you hope to god he believes you. He’s contradictory – threatening you with the possibility of punishment, but at the same time enjoying the warmth your traitorous cunt practically glows with.

König's exhale huffs as he releases his held breath. He'd been waiting for you to say something so devastating he would break – but you didn't. You said something entirely opposite, something that wipes all of his fears away.

He raises his head and leans back to sit on his calves, between your parted legs, sliding his hands from your wrists down to your sides. You don’t dare move your hands even when he would let you. The wetness left on your neck cools in the chilly air of the bedroom. Chilly..? You can’t even remember what being cold felt like. You carefully move your head and stare back at him like prey, unsure of what his reaction meant.

”Is that all?” König breathes out a laugh. His eyes pan over your face, your timid expression. ”Schatzi… There’s not much you can do anymore to stop me.” You want to sob, totally unused to handing over all control in real life. And you know that you can’t stop him. You know, you know. It’s fucking terrifying and makes your stomach tense up to admit to yourself he could do anything he ever wanted, yet…

König’s large hands slide down on your hips as his eyes lower on your neck, your chest, tummy, between your legs. Slowly, savouring the view and the way you present yourself for him – with the damned pajamas on the way.

"But I promised you I wouldn’t hurt you.” His promise feels genuine. He would’ve hurt you by now if he had ever wanted to. And if you’re good for him, if he gets what he wants...

König’s eyes flick back up to yours. He dips his other hand under the hem of your shirt and begins to slide it up.

"I'll prove it. Ja, Kleine?"

The swirl of warmth within your lower stomach, the heartbeat pounding away in your chest; they tell you you don't want to say no. And he has no obligation to wait for your permission anymore.

”Now, where was I,” he hums, ready to continue with his little game even if you weren’t.

He carefully pushes up the hem of your familiar shirt, large palms hot against the bare skin of your sides. His thumbs drag across your tummy, feel how your timid breathing makes it rise and fall and rise again, tense with anticipation of what’s to come.

”Next, I’ll kiss you–”

The shirt feels almost more ticklish than his hands as it bunches up, gathers on top of the two mounds you had been protecting from curious looks all this time. You bite down on your lower lip, a nervous peep living right there in your throat but it doesn’t come out as you look down.

”–here…” König’s voice disappears somewhere in the air when he zones in on the view revealing before him.

König groans when he pushes the shirt above your naked breasts and thanks the fucking heavens his little doll hadn’t come with a bra.

”Scheiße…” he finally breathes and spreads his palms on your clavicles to keep the shirt out of the way.

You let out a poor little whimper and finally lower your arms to bunch the bedsheet in your fists as your kidnapper’s hands find what they desire. He lowers his palms to cup your tits, your nipples already hard and sensitive from all the anticipation. There’s a slight tremble against your skin like you’re something König is almost afraid to touch. Or, the exact opposite.

König hungrily stares at your chest, your pebbled nipples, massages your tits like he’s never seen a pair before and he just can't decide which one to focus on. His eyes switch between both of them, but König finally leans down to your left breast, raising his hand away from your other one long enough to lift his hood and press his hot mouth against your nipple.

”Oh–” You keen, arch your back and your hands fly to his firm shoulders, a halfhearted attempt to push him back out of shame because to your horror you realize you don't even really want him to stop. And it would be a silly attempt, anyway, because König moans against the soft hill of your breast like he's already lost his last ounce of restraint. Your stomach tenses when he takes a long, wide lick that makes your puckered nipple flick as the tip of his tongue passes over it. Sliding his thumb across the neglected one, he pinches it between his fingers to elicit a quiet cry out of you.

König licks and nips at your breast until his mouth pops off of it. Longingly, he lifts his head, the hood lowering to cover his face as he backs down just enough to stare at his handiwork. Your other nipple, tortured by teasing bites and licks, shines with his saliva, standing at full attention like it's yearning for more. It tells him your body isn't asking for your rationalized opinions anymore.

”Fffuuck,” he drawls. ”Such a pretty girl…” He massages your tits like he simply can’t get enough of them, testing what makes you squeal and let out delicious huffs.

Your face is so sweet when you try to hide your expression, that irresistible bashfulness of yours only fueling his need to peel back this layer of shyness to uncover what you need the most.

König pinches his mouth shut and inhales deep to stop and think for the right things to say because he’s always been so fucking bad at it. But his brain is scrambled, he’s come this far with you, been so patient, so the only thing that comes out of his mouth is the desperate truth as his eyes flick to yours.

”I can’t wait to have you.”

And it’s those words that go and bang open your fire doors and now the whole house is in flames.

König needs a good slap on the wrist for giving you back your pajama pants because he can’t wait to tear them off of you as he turns his attention to the space between your legs. It fuels the anticipation, yes, but both of you have undoubtedly had enough of it by now.

He lets his palms slide off your tits, making them bounce in such a cute way that makes him swear he’ll come back for those later. His fingers graze your naked lower stomach, dig under the elastic band of your flimsy pants and you’re still not doing anything to stop him. Needy girl, adorable how you’re trying to hide that. Just right for him.

”There’s one place I’ve still missed,” he purrs as he begins sliding the pants off of you. Two places out of… how many? Who knows. How many do you have time for tonight?

As the thin pair of pants find themselves on the cold floor, König pries your lovely thighs open even when you first resist. What he finds makes his breath get stuck in his throat for a second.

”You’re–” He huffs, something between a laugh and a confused sound.

You don’t have to look to know and feel the soaked spot in your panties.

”You’re wet.”

He’s in shock, in awe, his brain can’t handle this kind of pure relief. There’s no one word to describe what he feels now that he finds you wanting – so bad your body can’t do a thing to hide it.

”I– I just–” you stammer to make up some stupid excuse, but there’s nothing you can say or do to hide what he just proved right.

König doesn’t bother to rid you of your panties just yet as he slides down on the bed to lower his upper body and capture your hips from under your thighs. You let out a flustered sound as you stare at him, wide-eyed, and see him bury his face between your legs.

König lifts the edge of his hood on your lower stomach and pushes the bridge of his nose against your clothed pussy. He finds your panties still smelling faintly of him and it sends a hot pump of blood in his cock. He’d made sure not to get his cum all over these as he had jerked himself off a couple of days ago – didn’t want to seem like a creep, after all.

König licks your puffy outer folds through your panties, tongue dragging against the fabric, and feels his balls ache as he tastes your sticky wetness and hears your flustered gasp.

”Fuck– You can’t keep this from me…” he grunts against your pussy, the vibration of his voice making your hips jerk away from him as the rumble evidently pours straight over your clit. But he imprisons your hips with a tight grip on both sides. You can’t go anywhere no matter how you struggled.

”So sweet,” he breathes out as he swipes a wide stripe across your now soaked panties one more time, the tip of his tongue pushing between your folds to make the wetness practically gush against the fabric. Then he backs off just enough to hook his fingers on both sides of your panties, under the elastic band.

”K-König, I–” you stutter and grip at the sheets as you feel your last barrier slide down your thighs. You could stop him, or try to, maybe kick him or grab his wrist, but… Shit, you don’t want to. The movement forces you to raise your knees together and up as König slips the panties towards them and then down your ankles, his eyes glued to the absolutely soaked part on them.

”I know, Schatzi… I know,” he pants. Whatever it is you wanted to say is clearly translated as pure want in his brain. And you can’t argue with that when he says the exact right words, the panties slipping off your ankles and flying somewhere behind him.

König grabs your knees and locks eyes with you.

”I’ll take care of you.”

Your shallow breaths make your head feel heavy as your thighs are parted again, a quiet, wet sound audible between your legs. You can’t look down, you can’t, you’re too mortified by how hot your cheeks burn so you turn your head away and squeeze your eyes shut.

König just stares.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the rush of blood in his ears, the heaviness of his tongue in his mouth, a tight pulse between his legs. Absolutely no coherent thoughts.

Your pussy glistens with wetness, the moonlight giving him just enough light to see how desperate you are for him. Have been, all this time.

And your pussy is the cutest, most sweetest thing he’s ever seen. The most intimate part of you fully on display for him to enjoy. König can’t figure out a single word that would describe the animalistic want with which he wants to dig into you, devour your whole body until there’s not a single inch of you left uncharted.

The painful throb in his cock wakes him up from his stupor, brings him back to the reality of you in his bed, nearly naked, legs apart and pussy wet and ready for him. Waiting for him.

He had promised to kiss you. There was one last place he had not yet touched, and he wanted his mouth to be the first to receive the honor.

The mattress dips as you feel him move, grab your hips in a tight grip once more. His large fingers flex against your hips, thumbs dig into the sides of your stomach. The cool air against your pussy is unbearable – you need warmth, you need a touch, anything, because you can’t stand the anticipation and the fact there’s nothing you can do to stop König from getting what he wants.

Your mouth slowly falls open when there’s a warm huff against your pussy–

His tongue catches the dew that drips from your hole.

The purest of moans pours from your lips before you can slap your palm on your filthy mouth to stop it. Your pussy immediately clenches around nothing, making your hips jerk sharply against his mouth. The area he covers is immediately sensitive, sending a wave of warmth up your stomach as your free hand digs into the sheets.

And he’s not content with just a tentative first lick.

König’s eyelids flutter when he tastes you and glides his eager tongue over your wet hole, forces your folds to part for him, feels the bump of your clit on the tip as he licks over it. His body is radiating warmth, the pleasure pulsing through him making him slow and groggy because he’s utterly happy and content having his mouth against your sweet little cunt. And when he gets through that initial wonder, he does his absolute best to make his other senses enjoy you as well. He has to hear you.

And he does. He leaves a wet kiss on your clit and could swear he could cum just by listening to your sweet gasps alone. It only spurs him on, makes him hone in on his goal.

König is high up in the heavens between your legs, soon lapping at your cunt like you could be ripped away from him at any moment. Though his brain is melting, he's aware of your movements, your twiching and writhing – and that's fine, you can squirm and wail and, fuck, he wants you to moan your heart out so, so much. Yet, when he gets his senses back, there’s still that part of him that’s afraid you'll tell him to stop like you mean it, afraid you'll rip yourself away and get mad at him and think he's doing a poor job – he's so afraid he's not enough and that you'd hate him because of it.

But you're not prying yourself away. You're not punching him. König buries his face between your legs, feels like the luckiest man alive and wants nothing more right now than for you to grind yourself on his tongue, let him prove how he'll take good care of you, the best, he's your savior, your comfort, a mountain to lean on.

König wants to please you, wants you to cum, wants you to moan and cry for him and he’s not satisfied until you will.

”You taste– so sweet, fuck–” he groans, voice muffled against your sex. König's responsiveness makes your head spin – his moans are filthy, breaths deep, pure in their lust. He has no mind for anything else but to make out with your pussy. Lick, lick, lick, like he’s trying to catch up with the wetness dripping out of you.

With a large thumb he pulls up the hood of your clit, uncovers more of your precious pearl. Flushed pink and swollen, it's too alluring for him to look at as König barely swallows before already burying his mouth against it and giving it a gentle suck. You cry out and snap his head between your thighs, but he is unrelenting.

The bud keeps slipping away from under his eager tongue, flicks deliciously with his movements. The stimulation is so strong and hot it makes your hips jump and back arch off the bed, but his arms keep you tightly in place and you realize you don’t care less if you bruise.

"A-ah, König–!!"

"Ja, ja– ich kann dein König sein," he mumbles right against your pussy, the vibrations of his voice only spreading the pleasure all over your lower stomach. You have no fucking idea what he’s babbling about and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing – judging by your past interactions it might be for the best if he at least spouts all the controversial stuff in his native language. But the horny stuff? You could listen to his desperate rambling every single second.

”Should’ve fucked you– days ago,” he says in between giving open mouthed kisses on your clit. You can barely hear him over your frantic breathing and the whines that escape you, but your brows knit tighter when you realize he’s been craving for you all this time. And it has been literally only days. Three? He wanted to fuck you in the van? Jesus fucking christ, his want overwhelms you because it’s both frightening and gets you heated like nothing else.

He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever been with. And it makes your head buzz, to be pleasured and desired like this.

He suckles on your clit, clearly salivating a lot because it feels like you're melting against his mouth like candy, all saliva and slick and your kidnapper's hot tongue flush against the most sensitive parts of your body.

”Kleine, I, f-fuck... You’re so– I have to–” König pants between generous, wet kisses and you almost wonder how he’s still breathing with how desperately he’s lapping at your cunt. You make a sort of 'uh-huh' whine in response because that’s the best you can do, there are no coherent words in your head anymore. But you do notice he’s starting to slow down, gets sloppier, can’t seem to focus.

You lift your head to look at him from between your tits and see him barely able to keep his eyes open behind the hood’s cut holes, almost like he’s going to lose consciousness. He– what’s happening?

”Scheiße… Noch nicht–”

Your eyes fly open when you realize.

Immediately you grind the back of your head against the pillow as the heat between your legs overwhelms you, and you can only imagine what König’s expression looks like when he buries his mouth on the crook between your thigh and pussy and lets out a filthy groan.

König can’t help but grind his hips against the mattress and ride his ecstacy as he comes hard, using all the willpower that’s left in him not to sink his teeth deep into your sensitive flesh. Hips desperately pressing against the bed, his cock throbs wildly in the unbearable confines of his sweatpants as his thick cum pours out against the fabric, immediately beginning to both ooze through and drip down his shaft.

König moans and whines against the softness of your thigh, can’t hold himself from vocalizing his desperation and want. He revels in the wetness of your pussy, your scent, your softness and he just couldn’t help himself. He wanted you to cum first, he wanted to hold on to spear you on his cock afterwards but he just couldn’t– you feel too good, you’re so fucking precious, you’re his, he finally has you...

He slowly humps his hips against the mattress as the last spurts of cum drip out, the warmth turning to stickiness in his pants but he couldn’t care less, just pants against your skin as the sparks within his vision begin to fade and he once again hears your frantic, sweet breaths.

You stare at the dark ceiling in disbelief, so heated you feel like you can’t handle it anymore.

He came.

Just from eating you out.

Jesus christ, christ–!!

You're heaving, arching your back from how your muscles tighten because the thought of him coming without even touching himself hits you like a tidal wave. He ate you out, and fucking came.

A blanket of heat washes over your body when you think about what he must look like behind that damned hood of his right now; eyes heavy-lidded, tongue drooping like lead as he just pants his ecstacy, and how the front of his pants is now sticky and dirty and you just want to–

Your train of thought, as scrambled as it still is, gets cut short when König seemingly gathers himself once more and you feel him move, his mouth leaving wet kisses and nips against your cunt. And he’s back at his number one mission before you know it.

König's tongue returns to recite its most desperate prayers in worship of your pussy.

”Oh– oh–!”

It snaps the final cord. You start hyperventilating, quick exhales, the high-pitched needy whines escape your throat with no way for you to stop them. It's a mindless string of pants and moans and cries that pour out.

"Ja, fuck, let me hear you," König groans, more determined than ever to make you so desperate for a release you can’t help but grind your pussy against his mouth.

Fuck. You're a moaner, a screamer, a crier, and König wants to cum again so bad he ruts his croch against the mattress to get any kind of friction on his tortured, still half-hard cock. Fuck, he wants it so bad, he has to have you, he needs to fuck you, needs you to wail and writhe with him buried deep inside you, needs to make you feel so good you’ll never want anyone else again.

You grip at the sheets until your knuckles ache as you grind your hips against his tongue with no mind to even think anymore. You don’t care – fuck, you want it, you need to chase it, have his tongue lick you one more time, just like that. You think you’re babbling something but you can’t even make out the words as air gets stuck in your throat, blocks your voice for a mere second before you freely moan out.

And König does exactly what you need. He brings his mouth on your tortured clit and flicks his tongue against it so good you snap.

Your orgasm is so overwhelming it blankets over your clit, heat spreading all over between your legs and across your body. You cry out as your pleasure is released against your kidnapper’s mouth, his tongue hot and wet as it continues to swipe against your clit to force out every single heavenly pulse of ecstacy out of your body.

The sharp jerks of your hips only double the victorious swell in König’s chest as his mind revels in your climax. He claims it on his mouth, keeps his tongue flat against your pulsing cunt and drinks in every throb, every drop. There’s so much emotion, movement and desperation behind your orgasm that König feels it like his own. The corners of his mouth widen into a grin as he looks up at you, mouth latched on your pussy and hands tight on your hips to keep your writhing lower body still. He fucking celebrates the way your chest heaves, your perked tits jiggle softly, how you bury your head into the pillow and cry out because he makes you feel so good.

He. He did that.

There’s no gentle way of coming down from that. König can’t seem to give up when it’s still comfortable for you, and instead of releasing his grip on you he keeps on giving your sensitive pussy soft licks even though you’re getting sore. Your hips twitch, thighs jerking with each electric pulse.

”A-ah, hahh…” You can barely do anything else than pant, sweat glistening on your forehead. And you had been cold, once in your life...

”P-please… pl-ease,” you pant and fumble with your other hand to grab at König’s wrist. With your weak pulls you finally get through to him that he’s being a bit too eager, the moment is gone already and your body is going to shoot off the bed if he licks you at the wrong (right) spot one more time.

König gives your hole one more lick to gather the last bits of dew before he unwraps his arms from under your sweaty thighs. You have no fight left in you to resist him as he pulls up and flops his tall body on top of yours. You let out a huff as his upper chest lands on your tits and pushes the air out of your lungs, thankfully not with his full weight as König mostly rests his mass on his elbows buried on both sides of your head.

"König... König," you huff quietly, barely aware you’re even talking. You just want to know if he's still there, if he's coherent enough to take it slow, be gentle, cause your body is smoldering and sensitive and he can’t go poking at the embers right now. That, and you want to know he’s not going to kill you now that he got some action.

"Ja Kleine, talk to me," he mumbles as he buries his face into your neck and inhales your scent through the hood. Your skin is overly sensitive and you twitch again, breathe out weakly.

”Mnh…” you quietly moan because that’s all you can muster. König doesn’t even mind.

”Hah– Tongue-fucked you silly, huh?” he laughs as he moves to rest his head next to yours, the bridge of his nose brushing against your hair. ”Gott, you’re so fucking sweet, I knew it… From the moment I first saw you,” he sighs, voice bursting with pure happiness and warmth. ”So sweet for me,” he adds because his possessive ass simply has to.

He kisses your hair and shamelessly presses his hips between your legs, doing nothing to make all of this less dirty as your juices unite. Your eyes roll in their pits at the contact but there’s nothing you can do to push the behemoth off of you.

"I'm only hungry for more,” he hums. Not as a warning, really, but as a confession. If there’s a slight pang of worry in your chest at his words, it’s gone before you know it because your head is too dizzy to feel anything but static and satisfaction.

"But look what you did to me."

As König straightens his arms and falls back to sit on his calves, you take a peek down his body out of curiosity. The splotch of wetness is evident on the front of his pants, darker in the middle and already freely oozing through because he must’ve gone commando under the sweatpants. You would be able to taste him if you licked it–

Ashamed beyond measure, you groan at the idea and hide your face by turning it to the side, absolutely mortified by your thoughts – he kidnapped you, he tied you up, drugged you, took your freedom…

And König just made you cum so hard it made you see stars like nothing else.

”Not so cold anymore, are you?” he smirks and feels up your sides to find your skin quite literally feverish. He hums like he’d just dipped his whole body in a warm bath after a day in the field.

And fuck, he’s not done with you yet. There’s no post-nut clarity. There’s no fatigue. His cock might demand a short rest but König has merely gotten a (literal) taste of you.

”Wait there, okay Kleine? Don’t go anywhere,” he suddenly says as he reaches out to give your soft cheek a gentle pet and longingly looks at your glossy eyes before pushing himself off the bed.

You just moan weakly in response, barely understanding what he even meant by that. Your head weighs a ton, your body is tied to the softness and warmth of the bed by sheer exhaustion. Where would you even go..? Or why, when you feel this good and tired? You don’t want to lift a finger and all you feel is the throbbing in your body, on your skin, the wetness between your legs. But you muster just enough strength to at least lazily push down the hem of your shirt and close your thighs, tilting them to the side a little to deny the absolutely pornographic view.

König takes the risk of leaving you unattended just to pop in the living room to hurriedly switch off his phone. He sure as hell isn’t going to have HQ calling about something trivial this night, no, he’d rather toss the entire phone in the forest than let anything interrupt the two of you.

König hurries back to the bedroom door and adjusts his hood as he licks his lips and kneels on the foot of the bed. He’s about to tear off his pants, but he takes one more look at you. At your very sleepy expression.

”Schatz..?” he asks, doesn’t even bother to whisper as he halts, the band of his sweatpants barely past his thickened shaft.

You’re fast asleep.

König munches on his lower lip as he listens to your soft breathing, his cock throbbing and ready to sink inside your sweet little pussy, eager beyond measure to find you wanting. He raises his hand to touch your naked thigh, soft skin still warm and damp. He can’t help but push up the hem of your shirt a little, let his eyes rest on the glistening wetness that still sticks to your mound, barely covered by your closed thighs. That’s his drool on you. It was his tongue that left behind that beautiful glint.

Your soft, sleepy huffs calm him down a little as he looks at you and feels his heart melting in your peaceful aura.

He had found you wanting. You. You wanted him. Had that been the case all this time, or did he actually do something right for once?

König can’t help his urges entirely. For a fleeting moment he thinks of slipping his cock inside you in your sleep but he has the mind to not spoil this night. You’d… probably wake up if it hurt. The thought pains him, he can’t let that happen with you.

After he goes to jerk his fist in the bathroom and cleans himself up (you can stay lovely and sticky throughout the night so that you’ll wake up to remember exactly who gave you that pleasure), he returns to the bedroom wearing a clean pair of pants to find you sleeping soundly, still in the same position he left you in. Your expression is peaceful. Satisfied.

He carefully scoots his body over to spoon you just like before and feels nice enough to cover you both with the old quilt. His arm goes over your hip to hug you and you don’t even stir as he sets his hand against the soft mounds of your breasts to give the other one a little squeeze. He shouldn’t, he’ll get hard again…

With his hooded face resting on the pillow above your head, König finally closes his eyes and lets his body melt against yours. He’s content enough to hold you in his arms like this and let both of you sleep. For now.

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up to the wonderful realization that you’re now his.

Chapter Text

A problem at the base.

Those had been the first words John had heard on the phone while he’d been enjoying his rare day off at home. Ghost had said something hadn’t seemed right about it, and John trusted him without question. It had forced him to act even faster, no way of telling whether a day at the base would turn into a whole month. While he would investigate the issue, Ev could handle the house in the meantime, she’d be happy to. Especially if dear old dad gave her some shopping money.

The issue ended up being a security breach in their system – could be just a hacking attempt, could be an actual leak, no one knew for certain yet. Why was it John’s problem? Because they were his files someone from the outside had tried to get into, unauthorized.

’Workin’ on it, sir,’ was all the tech team could report after John got to the base, barely having even gotten his rain beaten jacket off. Shit. Ghost, the first person to inform John of the problem, was nowhere to be seen. Said he’d ’look around a bit’.

’A message for Captain John Price only, they said’, one of the lower ranking men from communications informed him on the phone, wanting to connect a call just as John was staring at the screen over a very stressed out tech guy. He almost didn’t take the call, too occupied with the task at hand. In hindsight, he almost wished he hadn’t.

The distorted voice at the other end of the line made everything halt.

          ”Hello, Captain. We believe we have something of yours."

The end of that call had set a timer in John’s mind. With him barely having had the time to bark out an order for everyone to get on high alert, Ghost – wherever he was at the moment he got the message – had insisted on staying behind at the base while the rest of the squad was scattered to secure both John’s house and his daughter.

Crying and panicking didn’t help Evelyn much as she was finally located and hauled off to a safe location, leaving her boyfriend behind to be interrogated by a group of soldiers. Those men made it very clear he wouldn’t have a need for his dick for much longer if he had any part in the night’s events. The scale of this operation was still very much unknown, but John’s priority was keeping his daughter safe.

He was beyond relieved she was unharmed, there was no question about it. But this was a crushing violation to him. Of his daughter, his home, his life. And now, with his enemy having kidnapped you from his home and keeping you hostage, it was a deep cut to his pride and reputation as well.

Would a man of his stature do everything in his power to save a meaningless civilian?

The first cruel hours turned into a day, then two, then more. The passage of time was not a blur, but a dragging hell. There was no way of communicating back to KorTac, though the tech team did the best they could. Price got mere snippets of what was going on. And even when he did, he ended up wishing he hadn’t.

Progress brought along a glimmer of hope. The most relieving moment was to get through long enough to hear your voice: conscious and coherent – alive, most importantly. The worst was to see your frightened face next to your hooded captor.

That image has haunted John ever since. Knowing who has you is the one thing that has kept him awake at night.

”The girl might not make it." At the other end of the line, Laswell is just as cold as she has been during this entire time. The operation at hand is beginning to stretch to its limits.

John almost wants to end the call right then and there, pissed off beyond words to hear someone say it aloud. He even eyes at the right button on the desk phone. He leans forward on his office chair, hasn’t bothered to turn on the lights as the evening has gotten dark behind the windows. The light coming off his laptop screen is near blinding in the dim, depressing room.

”Not an option.” John’s exhausted sigh carries the weight of his worry as he taps the touchpad of his laptop, going over the reports from the past few days – once again.

”We’ve been over this. You don’t need me to tell you what you’re up against.” Laswell’s voice is tired – but not like John’s. She’s tired of talking about this, trying to find a solution to a problem that would solve itself in time; in an unfortunate way. A massive operation to save a civilian with no political attachments? She can understand the damage the breach against 141 could have caused, but that’s exactly why it’s their top priority. A hostage having a somewhat sentimental connection with the Captain is no reason to throw all other active, global scale threats aside, no matter how cruel it sounds.

Not only is it KorTac they’re negotiating with – now they’re well aware it’s König, a man with a reputation of being one of the most feared, ruthless and unhinged individuals in the aforementioned mercenary company. Knowing the rumours that surrounded the man, every hour feels more vital. John knows it from experience, both after meeting König in person once, as well as having witnessed the destruction and carnage he seemingly tended to leave behind. While John would be willing to not make his personal experiences rile him up and yearn for justice, he’s more worried about König being overly eager to hurt him. Now he could.

And with nothing to negotiate with, John fears you are König's best pawn.

”What I’m up against? Just me now, is it?”

”We don’t have resources–”

John’s anger flares, he raises his voice and turns to physically look at the phone as if Laswell could sense his frustration better. He leans in.

”And if it was my daughter? Would we have resources then? Bloody christ, Kate–”

”Don’t ’Kate’ me, Captain. We’ve exhausted our options, there’s no reason for them to keep her alive.” It’s not John’s own daughter that’s in immediate danger. But he acts like it is.

”Get some sleep.” That’s all Laswell has to say before she hangs up, and the desk phone bleeps.

John curses under his breath and pulls open the topmost desk drawer with a rough yank. He pulls out a cigar and raises it between his teeth, biting down harder than necessary. He flicks the lighter but throws it across the desk when it’s out of fluid.

He gets up from his desk and walks to the windows, leans against the pane to blindly stare at the empty training yard, darkness cut by sharp spotlights.

Is he going to have to give up? Is that the kind of man he’s going to be?

His cellphone rings, making John grit his teeth – the sound of any contact has so far meant nothing, only fed his frustration. But he knows for certain it’s not going to be Evelyn, since she’s not allowed to make any contact until this is sorted out, just to be safe. And considering very few people have his number, he pulls it out of his pocket. Ghost. John hasn’t seen him the entire day.

”Simon, tell me somethin’ good,” John answers the call with a heavy sigh as he rubs the inner corners of his tired eyes.

”You got it.”

John lets his hand slowly rub down along his face as he stares out the window, suddenly completely focused. Like the spotlights in the dark suddenly cut through something in him, as well.

”Come by the barracks. Sam’s quarters.” Sam, one of the team’s senior techs for the better part of three years now.

Ghost’s straightened arm stays still, unwavering. His pistol points at the poor wounded Sam lying on the floor of his own quarters, huffing out shaky breaths as he holds his shot leg. There’s a laptop and two hard drives sticking out of a black satchel on his bed. His thigh is urgently bleeding, but the gunshot is not fatal – yet. Because Ghost didn’t want it to be. He wants to do much worse.

This is why Ghost doesn’t trust easy. Or at all. He gives John the only info he needs.

”Found the mole.”

"Mnh..." you sound softly as you rub your mushed cheek against the warm pillow.

Pillow..? Warm? Huh, that's weird somehow, goes a thought in your blurry mind as you breathe in deep with your eyes still tightly shut.

As the surrounding world begins to materialize in your brain, you feel absolutely rested. Your muscles don't ache, your extremities aren't made of ice, and seemingly you haven't been falling in and out of sleep throughout the night judging by the lack of headache or fatigue weighing down your weary body.

Your brow scrunches as you slowly begin to wake up and move your limbs. The morning light disturbs your rest from behind your eyelids. But the attic's window is so small and you don't tend to sleep facing it...

As soon as you feel that there's another body pressed tight against your back, your eyes fly open and your body goes stiff.

This is not the attic. Your stomach clenches as you hear a man's sleepy huff above your head and the human mountain behind you moves a bit to accommodate with your sudden jerk, a sturdy chest pressing against your upper back and neck and an arm like a log wrapped around you.

König is asleep. But it's still him, and that fact negates the harmless state of his unconsciousness. Yet you’re alive. And not only that – you’re comfortable, warm and held. Safe; as much as a hostage can be, at least.

Morning after shame is suddenly very real. Your thighs rub together the tiniest bit and you already feel it.

Oh. Ohhh.

The stickiness between your legs makes you instantly both heat up and cringe. Oh my god you have his drool in your pussy, jesus christ... Last night comes back to you in flashes until your brain recovers pretty much the entire reel. That happened... You let it happen, you didn't protest - you didn't want to. What does that mean, for you..?

Carefully, you glance downwards. König’s lower arm rests on the mattress, palm slightly upwards like his hand had tipped over when he’d fallen asleep after he had held something. It’s pretty close to your chest…

You notice the bracelet on his wrist again. It’s… kind of beautiful. Or not even kind of; it is. Fits him and at the same time doesn’t, this baffling man. You can’t help yourself: you move your hand to tentatively touch one of the beads. Smooth, warmer near his wrist. Worn as well, the beads having likely endured a lot of chafing against his gear. But the cord has held on tight. It must be important to him somehow if he’d rather wear it than not.

Your fingertip touches his wrist for only a second and it seems to tickle him in his sleep as König’s palm twitches a bit, making your hand immediately retreat.

What would become of you were you to stay in this lonely man’s arms? Should you be forgiving him for what he did in exchange of him taking you under his wing?

In a way, hasn’t he kind of rescued you?

There’s no way around it. You’re comfortable and warm, your body doesn’t ache like it did in the attic. He's not that bad, is he?

He said he'd take care of you. But what does he want from you?

The problem right now is you really have to pee. You should’ve done that long ago, probably before you even fell asleep because König really put your body through the test. You scrunch your lips as your cunt contracts a little at the memory, only worsening your conundrum.

Should you wake him?

What if he won’t believe you and says no? What if he'll demand more? Oh shit, you can’t take that risk. If he wakes up and wants to continue where you left off, you’re screwed (hah).

You listen to his breathing for a while, barely feeling warmth fan against the top of your head through the hood. He feels nice, warm, big-

No. You have to act. Carefully, you begin to shift your leg away from him. When you get some leverage, you move your bum as well. The cool air shifting between your bodies feels uncomfortable since you've practically been stuck together the entire night. One foot… Your ankle slips off the side of the bed. Twooo...

König suddenly stretches his big arms forward, biceps bulging against your side and under your pillow. Then they curl back around you as he lets out a deep, grumbling sigh – like a large cat hugging its mouse toy. He stops breathing for a second, makes you wait with your body still and tense like a rock. But sleep still holds him tight.

His sudden, heavy inhale almost startles you but it’s enough to make you believe he has no idea you’re even there with him.

You caaarefully slip both your legs outside the edge of the bed and slide your bum over towards the same goal. You channel your inner octopus and maneuver your body from under König’s heavy arm, gingerly grabbing a hold of it to set it back down against the mattress. With a final successful stretch you slowly slide your upper body away from his hands before you’re already straightening your back, standing securely next to the bed wearing nothing but his shirt.

Glancing down at König you feel a moment of victory before it turns into a weird sensation. It feels so… wrong to be the one staring at him. Like you’re the one doing something illegal now. He’s not supposed to look so vulnerable. Well, he isn’t, when he’s built like that, but still. You almost want to abandon your mission and curl back against him–

No. No no no you need to get to the bathroom, now, the yucky feeling between your thighs only accentuated by the upwards position. It gets even worse when you take a step to the side and head towards the doorway, each move keeping a steady cringe on your face as you grab your panties and pajama pants off the floor as you go.

The house is quiet. Saying it’s eerie would be a mistake. Instead, it’s like waking up early in the morning to find dust specks floating in the stripe of sunrise, listening to a wind chime singing quietly outside the kitchen window. The first bird to wake up makes itself known to the world somewhere in the bushes outside while the house creaks softly, wakes up at its own pace.

That, but it’s a dusty old cottage meant to house criminals, and the air is a bit damp. The living room is dim in the pale morning light that barely tries to push through the grey clouds blanketing the sky. A raindrop or two teases the trees outside like a promise of good rain.

Yet that’s also fine. It fits, here. It emphasizes the one thing that’s promised to keep you safe among this bleakness.

In the bathroom, you manage to clean last night off your body in the ice cold shower. The only problem is you can’t clean your brain of the memories that keep flooding it, making the task at hand more difficult than it had any right to be. It’s just saliva and... And evidence of your needs. Your clit is sensitive, you try to avoid rubbing against it too much because it both hurts and feels good. Fuck. The tingly feeling instantly connects your thoughts with him.

After the speedy cleanup, with soft steps you carefully sneak your way back to the bedroom doorway in fear of having awoken your captor, yet you can already hear König’s heavy breathing all the way over to the hallway; not quite a snore but definitely a sure way to tell he’s fast asleep. The raw mass of him lays heavy on the bed, somehow both endearing and very, very intimidating-looking. Would he be a danger to you, anymore..?

A clear realization hits you as you look at König from this perspective. You’re completely unattended. And despite that, there’s only one thing you want to do with your freedom. You turn your eyes to the front door, a sliver of it visible behind the corner and across the large living room.

You could...

If you still feel reluctant to leave, even after getting some fresh outside air and time alone, could you admit you're giving this monster a chance? That he is honestly keeping you safe from the others as long as you're held prisoner?

You glance at your sleeping guardian once more. He looks almost harmless with his huge body relaxed like that, lids closed under the hood, even his naked, built tummy relaxed and soft-looking. The soft insticts that stir within you as you look at the beaten beast are urgently besting your fears towards him.

You won’t be long, won’t go far. And you definitely won’t say a word after you get back. Just ten minutes, that’s all you need.

With that thought, you take your leave.

König has the most wonderful dream. Well, multiple. He wakes up a couple of times during the night, each time startled a bit to find another body next to him.

That has never happened before.

And every time he wakes up, the initial confusion turns into a beaming warmth within his chest – a softness, a wonder. A deepening affection that’s more than just his male instincts talking.

You are comfortable enough to sleep soundly in his arms, your tiny body relaxed within his embrace. You don’t stir, haven’t made an attempt to escape, haven’t pushed him away because he demands so much physical attention – evident with the way he holds you throughout the night, keeping you warm and safe. But definitely close and demanding.

König has needed affection for the longest time. And you give it to him, you finally (after mere days) do. Forced or not, you do not fight him any longer. He caresses your wrist with his thumb while you remain dreaming. God, if only he could stay like this forever...

Alas, he's unfortunately forced to figure out how to proceed to keep things like this. The bigger plan is still on the table, HQ is indecisive on how to fix this ’mess’. It's just that there’s no mess here for König.

Well, there is: the sticky one between your legs.

A pulse in his cock stirs insistently whenever your night together plays back in his mind. He can’t help but grind up against you a little, just to relieve the ache of not getting quite far enough with you. But he will, if he’s patient enough… It’s that thought that lulls him back to sleep, content to wait until morning.

It feels like only a moment; a brief, soft dream that he had fallen under as he slowly begins to wake up. These past few days, it’s been a knock on the door or his alarm clock that have startled him awake, otherwise he would sleep until noon. But not today. König takes a looong inhale and scrunches his eyes, barely still realizing he’s wearing his hood to bed this time. He thinks he heard the shower, earlier. One of his men must’ve–

Wait. There are no other men in this house anymore.

König frowns and forcibly blinks his eyes open. He makes a sleepy sound as he breathes out and curls his arms towards himself to feel your body. But he doesn’t. All his palms find is his own hard chest.

König’s eyes fly open in a flash.

He sees nothing but the view he wakes up to every single morning. The empty side of the bed is missing something. He jolts up, frantically pats the mattress as if you would suddenly appear from under the thin blanket. You’re not here.

You’re not here.

The panic that shoots through him makes his stomach drop violently, a heavy, black mass of all too familiar sorrow building up inside him. No. No, no, you wouldn’t, you were supposed to stay–

König hears the front door click.

”Schei–”

Chapter Text

Approaching the cabin’s front door feels intimidating, but you’re determined to inspect the lock to get an idea of what kind of key you’ll be looking for. You sneak across the living room with soundless steps, having memorized a crude map of where the worst creaking planks are after stretching your legs yesterday. The door’s lock looks surprisingly old, you can easily see the bolt between the frame and the door itself. Well, not like you assumed the hostages / prisoners kept here tended to have free access to it. Maybe that’s why the cabin isn’t such a bunker one would’ve thought it should be considering its uses.

You press on the handle experimentally and peer through the crack.

A breeze of cool air breathes against your face and makes the thin fabric of your clothes flutter as the door clicks open.

You flinch before you go completely numb, like all thoughts drip down your body and slither away. A complete daze takes over.

The front door isn’t locked.

Your confused blink might as well be audible, but instead it’s your mouth that makes a soft click when it falls open.

What the f– Has it been open this entire time? That lying sack of–

König made you touch him, search for something that wasn’t there, made you sit around like a mouse in a cage, he–

Ohhh that immediately makes you seethe, angry both at him and yourself. You could’ve ran at any moment, and you were stupid enough to not even properly try. Shit, now you kind of want to escape, just to show him you could. You scrunch your lower lip and think upon it for a second, but the fear of losing what little you have highlights your sense of self-preservation.

There’s that, and you hear a noise. A loud one, multiple. You turn your head towards the running thumps of footsteps coming from the bedroom and your heartbeat immediately begins to follow their rhythm.

You forget your plan entirely, just stare wide-eyed as König emerges on the other side of the large living room, rounds the corner and digs his heels into the wooden floor to break, grabbing hold of the side of the fireplace. As soon as he sees you, he stops on his tracks, looking like a wild animal.

Caught red-handed.

König’s entire body is tense. Shoulders hunched, body ready to shoot forward. He stares at you with wide eyes, bare chest slowly heaving up, down, up, down. Even from across the room, you can tell there’s a glint of something frightening in his eyes.

”Um.” Somehow stupidly you had forgotten this man could make your poor body fit inside a matchbox if he so wished. You swallow thickly as the original plan of a nice little moment alone on the porch withers away. You can explain.

”It’s not what you thi–”

König moves.

And he’s fast.

Out of sheer terror to have a shirtless beast storming right at you, you let out a frightened gasp only to immediately dart outside in a mindless panic and bang the door closed behind you to put anything between you and him. König’s shoulder slams against the wood on the other side and you hear the faintest crackle on the frosted window before you stumble backwards. Your almost slip on the cold porch planks as you turn to jump down the stairs, landing on wet gravel under the soft rain.

Holy shit, you’re actually outside. You can’t help but stare out of pure shock as you look around you. The thick evergreen forest surrounding the old cabin looks like it would only lure you deeper, lose you among the thick natural maze, swallow you whole, and the trees are tall enough to look like they’d block the sky to choke you and leave you to rot. And suddenly being outside on your own feels scary. Having König on your heels does nothing to ease that feeling.

This is not what you wanted. You bite your lip and spin around only to see König has ripped the door open and stepped outside, heading straight towards you.

”This isn’t what it looks like, I promise!” you desperately yell at him as you back away, clutching the hem of your shirt. Stray raindrops fall down from the grey sky, creating a map of dark stars on your shoulders.

”You’re scaring me,” you whisper to yourself as you stumble backwards, sharp gravel digging into your soles. You panic as König descends the two steps with his eyes never leaving you. He’s going to kill you he’s going to kill you he’s going to–

”Stop, you’re scaring me!” you scream at him.

König halts immediately as if a rope had tugged him back. Soft rain patters on his bare shoulders, still tense like never before. What you said made him stop on his tracks, his eyes widen. You let out a couple of shaky breaths and take the moment to try and calm him down.

”I’m not running away, I only wanted to sit on the porch like yesterday, I swear,” you try again and raise your hands in front of you in a useless effort to soothe him, voice trembling because you’re this close to crying. There’s no reason to be found in his eyes. ”Just listen to me!” you plead.

It seems your talking only wakes König from whatever emotion he had fallen under in the first place, because he steps towards you. And since he won’t listen, but instead closes in and doesn’t seem to have calmed down, you foolishly make a run for it. You dig your soles into the gravel and take off into a sprint towards towards the thick forest.

As expected, you certainly don’t get far.

You don’t even manage to get to the treeline when the thumping footsteps against the ground catch you. Large arms scoop around your midriff and yank you backwards, leaving your feet kicking the air. Fight or flight kicks in – and since you can’t run, your brain goes in defense mode.

”NO! Let go!” Sudden fright takes over inside you, the horror of him being angry at you twisting your insides and you’re actually scared of him like this. Nothing compares to the first time you saw him, but this is pretty close – now that you know what’s at stake.

”You left.”

Your stomach loses its bottom at the tone of his voice – jesus christ it’s a real punch to the gut. You can feel his shock, how he thinks you’ve betrayed and abandoned him. And realizing you might have lost his trust makes you feel ten times worse than losing the ten minutes of freedom you had initially wanted.

Still, you try to get through to him, thrashing in his iron grip as he hauls you back towards the cabin and switches to carry you from behind your back and knees.

”Let – go! I just wanted some time to–”

”You left me.”

It really is about you leaving him, not the cabin.

You pull on his arms as he walks back inside and you realize he’s going in a different direction than where you’ve ever been to. He opens a door at the far end of the first floor’s short hallway and starts going down a flight of stairs you didn’t know were there – and that, if anything, is worrying. You can’t even see properly in the darkness, so you opt to kick at the walls of the narrow stairway as if it would get him to lose his grip.

”You can’t be serious! The door has been open this entire time–”

It’s only when he opens a screeching metal door at the end of the steps that you realize the gravity of your mistake. The lightswitch flicks. What you see makes your guts twist.

A basement. One single, neatly square room. The floor, walls and ceiling lined purely with nothing but pale, coarse concrete. Absolutely cut off from everything else, visually so numbing it’s a horror of its own. A single light bulb high up above the only furniture in the stony cage: the wooden chair the men had made you sit on when you first arrived.

The room was specifically made for a singular purpose.

Holy. Shit. Is this what had originally awaited for you? Reality hits you. You have been spared of a fate much worse than what you got. And to think, at one point you had been so sure your situation couldn’t get any worse… You should be fucking grateful for what you got.

And it’s all because of him.

König steps inside the room and you react immediately.

”PLEASE, no no no, not here!!” you sob in panic and grab at him, kick the air wildly to make him halt.

”I’ll do anything, please!”

And you sure do. You reach your hands behind his neck and, in an effort to confuse him if nothing else, your lips crash against his face through the hood. You barely find your target, kissing the corner of his mouth.

Your brows knit together tighter when you feel his shape in your palms, your fingers digging into the back of his neck. He’s so human under that stupid hood, something you can reach, and it pains you that he’s not an actual monster; you would have one more reason to hate him in addition to what he has done, but you don’t. You want to understand why he wants you that badly and reacted so strongly. Or wanted? God, if he doesn’t need you anymore... You were so stupid to run, so fucking stupid–

The kiss makes him halt, at least. You keep your trembling lips against him and hold him tight. When he doesn’t deny your attempt, you move your lips against his properly through the fabric, both trying to find comfort in him and make him see the truth in you. You only notice you’re crying when your tears manage to fall down halfway your cheeks before they absorb into König’s hood.

When nothing – good or bad – happens, you back away slowly. You search for his eyes but König looks like he sees nothing. He’s in a different state entirely. It both frightens you and makes you feel sorrow deep enough to want to understand why.

König’s breathing sounds strained, like his entire body is charged. He’s still for a moment, just stands there at the doorway and stares at the empty chair peeking from behind your frightened face.

Like your fate had been a breath’s away from turning out different, to your absolute relief König turns around to walk back up the stairs and flicks the lights off. You don’t bother to hide your sobbing exhale, because you’re so fucking lucky.

”Please, please, don’t be mad, you’re not getting it,” you cry as you resume your desperate explanation. ”I wasn’t going to escape, I promise!” You stare into his eyes and keep holding onto him like it would stop whatever he’s planning. You’re no longer struggling, because surely anything is better than what had just threatened you.

”You left me,” he repeats coldly once again like it’s the only thing he understands in his devastation as he rounds the corner and begins to march up the more familiar wooden stairs towards the attic. The creaks of the stairs sound more ominous than ever, like fitting tunes to go along with your weak voice.

”I– no, I didn’t! I just didn’t want to wake you!”

He pushes the attic door open and brings you inside. It’s eerily familiar, like he’s putting you back in your room but it’s a place where you’ve only ever felt sorrow – it brings up a lump in your throat. As König approaches the abandoned mattress, you grab his shoulders in despair.

”Earlier you said I could go outside!” He said that, he promised, he told you there’s a ’key’ and you have claimed it, haven’t you? Last night, didn’t you give him what you– he wanted..?

With no answer, he dumps you onto the mattress, your bum hitting the thin cushion with a thump. The impact takes the breath out of you but before you manage to collect yourself and scramble back on your feet, König has turned around and is headed back towards the door.

”Please don’t do this–!” Your broken voice echoes in the dark, sad space when you push yourself up and stare at König’s back. You dash towards him, but he’s already pulling on the handle, the only sliver of light growing thinner and thinner as he disappears behind the cruel barrier between you.

”I’m sorry, I’m SORRY–”

But the door closes with a bang right in front of your nose and the lock clicks when your palms hit the frame. You bang on it, beg for him to open it but all you get is silence. He doesn’t answer anymore.

You’ve fucked it.

You’ve ruined everything.

König slumps down on the floor and lets his back thump against the door, leans his arms against his knees. His breathing is quickened, stays that way for a while. And before long, your desperate banging switches to quiet sobbing. König is too numb and disconnected to let it clench his heart right now.

He blindly stares forward.

You leaving his bed felt all too familiar, a déjà-vu. It’s painful, he didn’t expect to see what he saw and that’s the worst of it. He was looking forward to waking you up himself, tug you against him, keep you warm and comfortable like no one else ever because he could. But he got too careless last night, distracted only by what he wants, as always, and left you to your own devices.

This is not how this was supposed to go. What the open door should’ve been was a well thought out show of trust – but on his terms, not yours. You should’ve played his game until the end, build that bridge between you, let him make you see that he’ll treat you well if… If you’ll treat him good, too.

But he let his guard down with you one time and he’s already paying for it.

He takes a shaky inhale, then breathes out like he’s physically pushing the air. Breathe, breathe, fucking breathe, just like they told him to do back in therapy. They said he tends to overreact; it leads to him losing his temper, he won’t be able to make logical decisions and in the field he’ll put the mission and his entire team at risk whenever he charges off like a smoking grenade.

König grabs his hood and pulls it off to let the air flow better.

The scar over his lip is even paler than the rest of him. It rises up to his cheekbone, a prominent feature on his face were one to see him for the first time. Even after sleeping better than in ages, the hours had been scarce – the lines under his eyes dig deeper. He runs his fingers along his hair, then presses the back of his head against the door to have his airways nice and free.

Deep inhale, controlled exhale. Again, slowly, then again. The pounding in his ears begins to calm into a soft buzzing.

They told him to split his plan into three: stop, breathe, think. He’s stopped. He’s breathing. So it’s only now he’s beginning to actually process your words through the thumping of blood in his ears.

             Believe me.

       Please.

                You promised.

           I won’t run.

I’m sorry.

But he doesn’t have time to ponder on your honesty for long. It’s right then the sound of your sad pleading is cut by the sound of the phone vibrating against the living room coffee table. The buzz makes it clatter against the wood, forcing König not to ignore it.

Biting down hard he gets up and storms downstairs, your voice echoing through the door with every step. He grabs the phone and wants to crush it. He should’ve kept it switched off through the night, not put it back on silent–

”What,” he snaps as he answers, caring absolutely none about who the person on the other end of the line is.

”Calm down,” goes the immediate, tiredly unofficial response at HQ, preceded by a sigh. They should be used to him always acting interrupted by now, but unfortunately it’s exactly what likely makes them stay in contact more often – to keep an ear out on his mood. König hates any and all options. If they contact him, he gets sucked out of his fantasy of being alone with you. If they don’t, he has zero info on what’s going on behind the scenes and how much time he has.

And despite the suggestion König won’t, in fact, calm down.

”Hostage still breathing?”

Sounding more like a disgruntled caveman rather than an expert operative, König makes an affirmative sound, more irritated by you getting called a ’hostage’ rather than the question itself. You’re not a hos– shit, yes you are, you still are. He just fucking proved that by forcing you back inside. Shit, shit. König leans his other arm against the fireplace, curling his fingers against the rough edges of the bricks.

”Unharmed?” goes the following question, which makes König’s fingers twitch, scratching reddish brick dust under his fingernails. Until now, HQ hasn’t really cared about what state you’re in.

”Just tell me what this is about,” König simply grunts. Speaking coherent words – and thinking about what the correct answer to asking what state you’re in should be – actually helps him ground himself a bit.

”We got in contact. Price let us know they’re coming up with a counteroffer. No info on what it actually is. Could just be money.” Son of a bitch Price – you’re not an item he can just buy off. ”We gave them two days. Just–” A bit of a worried pause. ”Keep her intact while we wait.” It’s a solid request from HQ’s part, knowing that König isn’t known for pampering anyone on the opposing side. Oh, if they knew–

”But if we’re not happy or they won’t cooperate–”

”Ja, we head back–” König starts to fill in the usual plan he had negotiated. You’d return to another secure location near the base, they’d contact the government but of course König would figure out something else before–

”–we’ll let you know so you can dispose of the hostage.”

König shuts up. His eyes fly wide, a pang in his chest hurts like nothing else.

”Was?” König’s voice is barely audible enough to hear through the phone.

”You copy?” they ask for confirmation. He shouldn’t officially have any kind of qualms with getting rid of someone.

For a solid moment, König doesn’t respond, just stares blankly ahead. Having been lost in his head and in the hazy horror scenario of being left to lick his wounds once again, he is firmly pulled back into the reality of the situation.

”Ja,” he says with absolutely no readable tone in his voice. Just a word, monotone and meaningless to just say what he’s meant to say, no matter what. ”Copy.”

Blip, and the call dies.

The emotions he went through with you just a moment ago are beginning to feel something he can actually name. He was shocked, distraught. Angry, even. At you or something else – he doesn’t know. But right now, knowing that your head is on the block redirects those feelings towards everyone else. He was supposed to keep you safe.

And he gets it: why you’d want to run away from all of this. And it’s exactly why he can’t let you know what he just found out.

If you’re not a hostage, then you’re also not going to get disposed of.

***

Time painfully crawls forward until you’re just simply existing and can’t feel it anymore. Maybe it’s been an hour, or a couple, or half a day – you don’t even know anymore. It’s hard to tell with the weather as gloomy as it always is outside the small window. You exhausted yourself in König’s arms as you tried to pry yourself free, but now merely existing feels tiring. But you can’t sleep, not with the worry gnawing at the back of your head.

You heard him walk back upstairs a while ago, relieved beyond words although he didn’t respond to anything you asked – where he went, what was he doing, is he going to keep you here again from now on. Even though it’s been quiet the entire time you know he’s still there with you, his shadow still blocking some of the light coming from under the door.

Your tears have died hours ago and the initial panic has subsided into something blunt and unpleasantly logical: The reality of your fate being in someone else’s hands sinks in once again, but it doesn’t feel the same as it did when you had arrived. A strange feeling of indifference colors your attitude. You still don’t want to die, no.

But if you’re choosing to stay, is it by your own will?

Quite soon you realize you have to have your basic needs met, no matter the circumstances. König has to see reason for you to do that. So if he’s unwilling to listen to your explanations and begging, you might as well appeal to something stupid while you’re at it.

”I saw a mouse in the corner,” you try weakly. For a second, nothing, and you almost lose hope.

”That’s you,” goes the stoic response through the door. Your lower lips trembles for a moment, relieved to hear his voice and the long absent tears begin to well in your eyes again. At least he’s willing to talk to you again; it keeps the glimmer of hope alive. The side of your head softly knocks against the wall.

You think offering to give him a blowjob now would be pathetic and distasteful.

König is silently hoping you’d offer to suck him off just to show him how sorry you really are.

He doesn’t want to hear you cry anymore. Well… Okay, maybe a little bit. It shows him you care and that he’s right to do this to you. König rubs his face roughly. He’s put a lot of faith in you. Well – expectations, rather. He just needs a little more time. Two days. Two days to make you his.

Since he’s reachable at last, you might as well test the waters again. Your fingertips caress the cold floorboards, a nail catches on one of the cracks and you lazily pick on it a couple of times. Drained, you stare at the pale light pouring from under the door. If you can’t explain yourself out of this, you can at least remind him of his promise – and admit you’re thinking about what… happened.

”Last night, you…” you start, pausing for a moment. You’re not really even thinking about what you’re going to say, there’s no proper planning behind it. No desperation anymore. Just disappointment in yourself and what you went and did.

”You said you’d take care of me.”

König closes his eyes. He did. On the one condition that you would let him. He can’t do that if you’ll only run away, and especially if his group would hunt you down to ’dispose’ of you. But if you’re still open for the offer, then...

”You promised,” he hears you say, almost with a whisper because you’re not making a real effort to force him to hear you anymore.

”I liked that,” you finally admit in a sad, pathetic tune. König releases his exhale with a quiet huff.

It’s all he’s waited to hear. You had every chance to plan your escape more properly, possibly even find the guns and shoot him while he dreamed the softest of dreams. He would’ve died happy. König pulls the hood back over his head.

Well, you have some proving to do.

The lock clicks. It doesn’t even startle you, but you exhale in tired relief and wipe your nose before looking up at the familiar hooded figure with the saddest, most pathetic expression imaginable. Your eyes glisten, the tip of your nose shines a bit, your lips are flushed. Whatever tears have still gone undried cling to the corners of your eyes and cheekbones and you don’t bother to wipe them off in case the view makes König more likely to forgive you. You’ll do anything for it. You– you will..?

You’re exhausted – from crying, from being afraid, from struggling with your feelings. From everything. You just want to rest.

”I’m not– going anywhere,” you sniff as you stare up at him. König stands in the doorway, his body choking the only exit and you don’t even care that it does. As long as you’re not alone, you might as well stay in the attic. It’s just that you rather wouldn’t.

”Why,” he asks. You have a really hard time answering him – the reasons are still too complicated and embarrassing. König peeks at your face to find out the truth in your expression, but you hide it from him. Thankfully he gives you some rope by offering what you believe is the correct answer. ”You'll stay in the house?” He holds a meaningful pause. ”With me?”

”Mm,” you let out a sort of an affirming hum as if you could ever hide how you have already yielded to him last night. ”I’m sorry,” you mumble quietly.

”I believe you.” That’s not quite an ’I forgive you’, but it’s something. Right now, you’ll take whatever he will give.

König kneels down and lets out a sigh as his mind once again concentrates on you and you only. Okay, so you’ve had your first lovers’ spat. Better to get it over with sooner rather than later. You’re a woman, of course you’ll act all spicy and silly – he’ll have to get used to that. Or he’ll just make you behave. He’ll have to think about the appropriate approach while he still can.

You can’t get scared right now, you’ll just have to think everything is still as it was – he’s got it all under control.

He eyes you from top to bottom for a second and you feel smaller than ever.

”You showered,” he says out of the blue.

”Yes..?” Well, partially. You washed off your shame, or at least tried to. König blinks a couple of times and looks at you like you’re really not getting why he said that, so he makes it very clear.

”I made a mess – it was my job to clean it.” He sounds like he’s sulking. Actually disappointed. Your cheeks flash hot and you look away with a flustered frown on your face.

”Oh my god…” you mumble in embarrassment because he’s so straightforward and crude and insatiable and... ”I felt dirty.”

”You are dirty,” he hums, sounding more like himself already, which is a huge – well, plus? Better have him speak his mind and blurt everything out rather than see him lose his damn mind so bad he can’t get a word out. ”And difficult,” he adds. What’s ’difficult’ is him simply letting you get some fresh air–

”Do you still want to go on that silly porch?” he says and you blink when you turn to look at him, surprised. Is it a trick to see if you’re still overly excited about the idea of freedom?

Stick needs some carrot to even things out. You’ll be better for him that way. And with that, you’ll do yourself a favor in the long run.

”Can I?” Better not get your hopes up too much. Yet König makes a vague sound – this is not what he wants to do obviously – which you still interpret as him giving in. That’s… This can’t be him accepting your apology so easily.

”Yes… Please,” you say with a well chosen, humble tone in your voice. König grumbles and steps away from the door to head towards the stairs. When he says nothing more, you quietly get up and the wary tapping of your feet follows his steps.

***

”You scared me,” you say as you sit on the first step of the porch stairs. The fresh smell of rain has soothed your sorrows a tiny bit, and you hope it does the same for König.

He stands vigilantly next to you, leaning against a sturdy wooden pillar. He snatched one of his shirts off the couch on your way to the door, now looking a bit more modest than five minutes ago. It sort of separates last night and the present moment and you’re relieved for it. You have to think things through. Too bad the optimal opportunity has already gone and went and you likely won’t get another.

You can’t see it, but König glances at you regularly; it’s only when you turn your head his way to gaze into the forest he raises his head. He’s on edge, and why wouldn’t he be? You’re clearly not to be trusted to roam around freely – yet. You’ll be the death of both him and yourself acting like that.

König doesn’t apologize for his reaction.

”Gut. You scared me,” he counters. You pinch your eyes closed, reeeally wanting to bring him back down to earth. He’s got no business pretending he’d have to be scared of anything. Maybe it’s risky to start arguing again, so you stop and bury your head against your arms. König lets out a heavy sigh, sounding impatient. He’s got nothing to fear; not like you’d get up and run off anymore with him being as vigilant as he is. You’re a prisoner with surprising amount of comfort and freedom – but still a prisoner, that much has been proven.

”That basement. Is that where I should’ve been put in?” you ask. The thought alone makes your muscles tense up.

”M-hm.”

”You wouldn’t– wouldn’t have put me there today, right?” You peek up at him, your expression betraying the worry that clearly haunts you.

König gives no reply, just side-eyes down at you. It’s not a very reassuring gesture. This punishment is way too harsh considering the true nature of the crime, you think.

”Cold yet?” he instead asks with a heavy emphasis on suggesting that yes you are. You nod sadly. You’re a bit disappointed by the way this turned out although you’re grateful for not having ended up in the basement. Still, he could’ve acted differently; believe you, first of all. But no, he just had to lose his marbles. It didn’t matter how many times you tried to convince him, you think he still doesn’t fully believe you.

You let out a deflated sigh as you get up on your feet and go inside with König demandingly holding the door open for you. You can feel his eyes on your back even after the door closes.

Hour by hour, the evening sky gets darker. The tapping of ever persistent rain wets the bottom stairs of the front porch, droplets race down the old, irregularly thick window panes that distort the view just a tiny bit.

With the gentle crackling coming from the fireplace only a few steps away, you sit in the living room under the yellowish hue of an old floor lamp, the cone shaped shade of it embellished with some sort of tassels hanging off of it. Sometimes you look at the big pelt hung up on the wall and wish it still had a stuffed head so you could at least see another face of some sort, other than your own when you stare into the grimy bathroom mirror.

Visually, the atmosphere in the cabin could be described as comfy from an outsider’s perspective.

But, surprise surprise, you’re not quite feeling it. Your early morning mistake has made the mood a bit awkward. König has kept you in his sights at all times, or behind a door you can’t lock. But he doesn’t touch you. And you know exactly why.

He wants your apology.

In what form? That seems to be for you to decide – and you haven’t made up your mind yet, since verbal excuses haven’t made much progress.

But last night has set your mind ablaze and the embers still burn at the bottom of your stomach, churning with the uncertainty of it all. Your budding emotions feel like treachery, like you’re cheating on yourself and making up lies to have this entire ordeal go by easier. You’re in survival mode, you want to tell yourself.

You feel uncomfortable whatever you do – whether you’re sitting on your own or have König escort you wherever, tap you on the back to get you moving, generally be closeby. Everything feels safe, yes, but still strange. For König, seemingly not as much. He seems to have mostly gotten over the little drama you caused, since he’s not sulking anymore. That, or he’s got something else in mind.

König rattles something in the room next to the kitchen. Likely a storage closet, judging by what he brings out when he shuts the door behind him with his leg and returns. He’s carrying two massive dumbbells. The muscles on his forearms are, unfortunately, very distinct and you quickly whip your eyes away before he notices you ogling.

With two massive thuds, König drops the weights on the floor (on the carpet, because those massive boulders would’ve made craters on the floorboards) and finally exhales when he looks at you.

"Schatz? Why aren't you eating?"

At least you’ve still got a pet name – hearing it makes you sigh. Nevertheless, König’s question has no effect in encouraging you. Your supper – a mush of rations – is cooling on the plate set on the coffee table in front of you. Soon you’ll beg for König to let you in the kitchen to engage in at least some form of basic cooking in this trap of a house. But he had insisted on ’making’ you something to eat because you never seemed to ask for it. In truth, you were afraid of being dependent on him with everything when you were perfectly independent in your normal life; not that it didn’t tire you out from time to time. And you do want to let go… However, König seems to almost enjoy you acting up and being a bit pouty and difficult.

Good. He’s been threatening you quite enough considering he wants to get in your panties.

"Mnothungry." Your mumbling is barely audible. You’re too stressed about the coming night – where you’ll be sleeping, and how, and what’s likely to happen again. And whether you really want this or not.

Not hungry? The corner of König’s mouth twitches under the hood. Well, he sure has something very accessible for you to stuff your mouth with…

”Are you still mad about earlier?” he asks. You are, aren’t you. You were behaving badly, of course he had to punish you. He sees you squirm uneasily because surely you don’t want to admit you were in the wrong. You should feel sorry, and he’ll welcome your teary apology with open arms. You’ve had the entire day to think about it, after all.

So has he – in fact, he’s had to think about so many awful things after what happened this morning that he’s ready to forget, even if only a moment.

"So fussy," he chuckles. "What can I do to raise your appetite, hm?" He could suggest a physical activity or two– Ahh bad dog, bad dog… Oh. Unless.

"Want to help me work out?"

Your eyes flick up to him, then on the worn metal dumbbells. If he wants you to be his spotter–

"No–" Ah, but König has already made up his mind, and there isn’t much you can say about it. He steps forward.

"Too bad. Auf geht's, Kätzchen." You let out a stupefied ’eep’ as he lifts you off the couch like you weigh nothing.

Within minutes, he’s explaining how much he can bench press and how these weights are actually just baby tier (if you tried to lift one your spine would pop) and he can do this many reps of these and this many reps of those and his set usually consists of this and that and he hates it when people stare at him at the gym but he doesn’t mind you and if only he had a pull-up bar here so you could hang on him like a cute little koala–

And before long, you find yourself sitting on his back as a weight replacement while he does pushups. His broad, hard, muscular back. He's all sweat and low grunts and breathy huffs after keeping at it for a while now.

He wants physical attention and intimacy. Unfortunately, you notice that so does your body, no matter how your mind still struggles. The testosterone just reeks and fills the entire space and the conditions make your head dizzy with something you desperately want to lock away, then hurl the key into the depths of the ocean rather than let it drown you like it so hungrily wants to. And it will. It will grab you and pull you under because you already feel it in your gut, your quickened heartbeat. Between your le– No. You can’t be that easy.

"You smell like sweat," you blurt out in the middle of his session in a poor attempt at sounding disgusted, so you drop yourself off of him because you can’t stand having his warm body awaken these feelings in you. And you don’t want his sweat to stick to you, yeah, that’s a good reason, too. And you’re still acting mad because he threatened to lock you in the basement.

König could've caught you easily but chooses not to. He gets up with a huff and rolls his wide shoulders.

"Like a man, you mean," he chuckles like your halfhearted jab had been a compliment and you're just too prissy to openly drool for him – which is quite close to the truth. He stretches his neck a bit, not even bothering to hide how he’s presenting himself to you. "You like it?"

"No." Yes. Yes you do because your cheeks are hot and there's a rabbit's heart clapping away in your chest. Shit–

König lets out a warm hum. He steps over to you, doesn’t mind it when you turn your back to him so that he wouldn’t see your urgently warming face. He either senses your inner struggle or he doesn’t, but no matter. König takes you into a hug from behind, wraps his arms around your stomach and you halfheartedly grab his wrists but… You don’t push him away, because he’s finally intimate again.

"Would you rather I smelled like a woman, then?" He’s teasing. You’re having none of it, instead frown in secret as blood pumps in your veins so warmly you can feel it where his body is touching yours. Your fingers slide against his bracelet, and you almost want to twirl the beads between your fingertips to steal his anxious habit for yourself.

"That's silly – I could never compete with you, mein Schatz." He leans down to rest his face against your hair and discreetly breathes in your scent like a predator that runs its tongue over a row of sharp teeth before they get covered in blood. Ready to dig in, to bite, to devour.

Working out always makes König’s instincts flare; the hot blood pumping in his veins rewires his body to become excited and horny and yearn for action because training is not a sufficient outlet for his need for physical attention.

”You’re still pouting, aren’t you,” he coos, a bit mocking. Your half-hearted attempt at elbowing him makes him chuckle. Time for you to get over it already – and he knows exactly how to push you. To get you to show him how sorry you really are.

”I might still be persuaded to forgive you.” König’s voice is low against the top of your head and you have to know what he means. His hood dips lower.

”Do you know what this reminds me of?” he purrs next to your ear as he moves his arms a little, emphasizes the way you two are positioned. And you remember, of course you do, and now it all floods back to you; fear and something else entwining in the way he holds you now. You remember your frightened reflection in John’s bedroom window. It highlights the way this situation has been flipped on its head, surreptitiously. You should be afraid, you should be mad as hell, you should– Shouldn’t you..?

König is past the point of reeling you in. You’ve been slippery, tested his limits, he’ll give you that. But he’s also been very patient, like a fucking saint. He was a good hunter in the field – aggressive and relentless – but never ever good with women because of that very same reason. Now… Now he’s finally caught something worth catching. You just have to admit you want to be caught.

It will save your life.

"I love how you struggled… Just thinking about it gets me hard."

He doesn’t mind your quiet appalled gasp. But that’s all you do. He has no need to tighten his grip on you, doesn’t need to worry you’ll punch him from this position. The worst you can do is use your words the wrong way.

He has both dreamed and daydreamed of that night – of trapping you, hunting you. Surprising you from behind and grabbing your smaller body in a hold you could never pry yourself away from.

He pushes his nose against your hair and talks only after he presses his hips against your ass to make sure you can feel his length as he continues to unfold his fantasy. And you still don’t pry yourself away – just give him lovely, shallow breaths. Beneath them, he can almost hear your heart race.

"I wish I could do it again," he confesses, voice so low it makes you shiver.

You swallow hard and the click of your throat is immediately followed by an open-mouthed exhale, starving for a break because the heat is once again becoming unbearable. There's no fairness in his fantasy: he's a trained soldier and you... You're just a woman, tiny and frail compared to him and your only experience with this sort of thing is an afternoon self-defense lesson you had once. It would be him hunting you for sports. And you – god, you can’t deny how it does something to you now that he’s promised you’d be safe… He’ll forgive you. Won't he?

König’s arms move. His other palm slides down your side as the other finds a nice spot on top of your stomach, gathers some of your – his – shirt in his large fingers and pulls the fabric up a little, unable to contain himself from taking these small sips of you only to end up strengthening his thirst.

"I want to take you back to... No, not his house. Your home."

The thought of him standing in a dark corner and watching you without you knowing forces a quiet sound from your lips, equally scared and excited. Shit, he knows. He knows, he knows, and he loves every second of this.

"I want to watch you do your evening routine… Wait and listen while you shower." You hear a rumble come from his throat as the mental image of you naked amidst the steam no doubt floods his mind right fucking now. It sends goosebumps up your arms, to hear someone want you like that. Passionate – or depraved?

"I want to enter your bedroom, watch you sleep so soundly. You wouldn't have the slightest idea what would happen next." But you do, you imagine exactly what he would do and the thought alone betrays you as your stomach clenches against the fingers he had kept there just to catch that precious tell.

"I'd wake you up with–" He breathes in and censors himself, just this once, to let you feast on your imagination of what would follow. "–my hand on your mouth. Scheiße... You could kick and scream all you wanted. You could cry like you did then." His hand presses against your tummy just below your breasts to let you imagine him controlling you. You love it, you know you do. He sure as hell does.

"And I'd steal you away again, out of that silly little life of yours. To mine." He brings it up to let you get used to the option of coming with him. But he wants you to save yourself willingly.

His head tilts against your temple, coaxing you to accept his generous offer. König wants confirmation – he always does. He wants to hear it come from your sweet lips. A part of your apology.

"You'd want that. Wouldn't you, Schatz?"

Your throat has dried up, tongue like lead in your mouth. Do you? Do you want it..?

”Mh…”

That’s good enough for him. König flips you around to face him and enjoys seeing your absolutely flustered expression. So cute.

”Since you think I’m so sweaty…”

He wipes his hands on the back of your shirt, then pulls your body against his damp chest just to make his point stick. With hooded eyes, he nods towards where the shower is.

”Let’s go make us both smell like you.”

Chapter Text

You can’t help but notice how you don’t look frightened like you used to as you stare at your reflection in the tiny shower room’s mirror. And considering your circumstances, that, if anything, is kind of worrying in itself. But nervous? Yeah, you certainly are. What are you nervous about?

Maybe the behemoth of a man closing the door behind the both of you. Just maybe.

Click, and you’re here, and he’s here, in a closet sized shower room. And you need to repent.

König gives you a relaxed glance as he drops the towel on the tiny stool he’s always sat on while he’s waited for you to shower – and you used to do that on your own, right up until now. Things were about to change drastically from here on out.

”You’re not going to shower with your clothes on, are you?” the teasing idiot says. Your lips purse a little as you unsurely fiddle with the hem of your oversized shirt. König makes an amused sound. Silly you, it suggests.

”No need to be shy, Häschen. As if I haven’t seen your body yet,” he says, cocking his head as he lets his eyes slowly wander on you from head to toe. Then they flick up back to yours. ”All of it,” he adds, a knowing smile coloring his voice. You’d think you’d gotten used to his straightforwardness, how he doesn’t seem to give a thought to being courteous enough to veil his shameless intentions behind well thought-out words or even stop himself from saying it altogether because it’s so obvious. He just says it. He’s seen you naked. You think it’s right on the tip of his tongue to remind you how he’s also licked you until you came–

You’re not going to wait long enough to hear that because the thought alone gets you tingling. With a telltale warmth creeping up your cheeks, you begin with your pajama pants since the way König just stands there and watches informs you it’s you who’s going first. And this is the easy part; your shirts hem successfully covers you up so you just push the pants down to your ankles and step out of them, sad to even have them touch the grimy floor but that’s the least of your concerns.

You grab your shirt with both hands in a courageous first thought of doing this like you’re ripping off a band-aid, but you hesitate when you catch König lowering his gaze down onto your chest in anticipation. Jesus, hasn’t this man seen enough boobs in his lifetime not to turn into a horny teenager… But you bite the bullet and pull the hem up, trying to do it in a way that lets your arms cover part of your chest and press your thighs together while you pull the shirt above your head and drop it on top of the pants.

When you raise your eyes to look back at König, he’s shamelessly looking at your body. But to your surprise he’s not just staring your private parts, no. All of it, taking in the sight of your shape, the way you fiddle with your fingers, your unsure posture; like you don’t know if you should be trying to cover yourself up or just defiantly stand there with your hands on your hips and call him out on his behaviour. He’s also not just ogling. It’s like there’s a barrier that’s getting broken right now, making him more at ease and confident – you can see it in the way his wide shoulders relax. It slowly sort of catches on to you as well. Is it just you, starting to accept that this is–

Your train of thought that ponders on the rights and wrongs gets interrupted as König grabs his shirt behind his shoulders and, stretching the neckline just enough to not disturb the hood, pulls it off, making your tense up a little with the suddenness of it. His skin shines at certain places, clean sweat still clinging on to it and dampening the dark hair of his armpits. And König doesn’t waste a damn second to toss the shirt on the floor and pull down his sweatpants to fully undress himself way faster than you had the decency to, making your eyes fly wide as you see all of him for the first time.

A knot drops from your throat right down to your lower stomach when your eyes know exactly where you want to look first.

The dark, thin trail of hair on his lower stomach leads your eyes down between his scarred thighs where his cock hangs heavy with the slightest of curve still pulling it down, but already half-hard and flushed. You can’t help but stare at it with wide eyes and a strong, fiery hot pull making itself known between your legs as König casually sets his pants aside and turns to face you once more. With the distinct vein on the side probably working to its limits to provide enough blood for the entire member, his cock has swollen into a considerable thickness. You can see the warmly colored tip of it, still mostly covered by the foreskin that’s begun to pull back due to the ever growing hardness. You swallow as his cock gives the tiniest upwards nudge, very much intrigued by the situation. His balls hang firm under it, a particularly nasty-looking scar of an old gunshot wound all too near on his inner thigh. That must’ve been a close call, yet you think even a successful shot at the intended target would merely have made him normal-sized.

The size you imagined his cock to be by having it rub against you pales in comparison to how big it really is: worryingly. And you couldn’t possibly name all the feelings that swirl both in your head and between the damp thighs you’re unconsciously pressing together as you stare at the length you had previously only party felt. To your absolute shame, you feel your mouth water enough to make you roll your tongue awkwardly inside your mouth.

König stands still, fully pretending he’s not bothered by it all. He absolutely enjoys having you eye at him, sees that mix of nervousness and undeniable curiosity, and speaks only when you finally remember that his eyes are actually much, much higher up, under the familiar hood he still refuses to remove.

”Get in.” He pulls back the thick plastic curtain and nods sideways, his eyes never leaving you.

Meekly, you do just that and step in the shower, back facing the wall. You don’t even flinch at how cold the old tiles feel because the thought of you losing sight of König and his, uh, front, troubles you more. Nervously, you just stare up at him as he follows and steps right in front of you. Your eyes are locked with his this time, because everything else is intimidating. Well, his gaze is intimidating as well, but only because it tells you exactly what he wants.

You.

König reaches past you to place his hand on the shower tap, but stops there. He stares at you from up there and you don’t know what else to do but stare right back as your heart gives an extra beat. You’re scared of how soon he’s going to be hard enough for you to feel his cock nudge against your mons this close. Your vulnerability practically oozes out of every single inch of you.

”I need you to turn around for me,” he says softly, keeping his hand on the tap. Another arm on the opposite side of you, and you’d be trapped there. Since you don’t move, because the thought is kinda scary, König’s head tilts curiously.

”Na, Kleine?”

You munch on a sound but it doesn’t come out. You’re so used to him having the hood on it’s like a mandatory part of him. You’ve only felt his lips, would recognize his blue eyes anywhere for the rest of your life; but he’s still a mystery to you, faceless. Having him near you without his hood on is a thought that feels very intimate in a whole other way than showing physical intimacy. You’re not sure if you’re ready for that level of bonding just yet.

”Can’t– can’t you just keep the hood on?” you ask quietly, though the longer you drag this on the colder you’re getting. Maybe he could just shower after you…

König cocks an eyebrow at your silly line of thinking. Maybe your brain is overloading because his size takes all the disk space.

”Have you ever heard of waterboarding?” he asks.

”Oh. Right,” you say as you clear your throat. That’s, um, very logical.

”It’s not very pleasant,” he hums as he looks at you with hooded eyes, and you don’t want to think about whether or not he’s actually ever endured it himself, or been the executor...

You bite the inside of your lip as you slowly turn around to face the wall. You try to focus on the gaps between the murky white tiles but they’re uncomfortably grimy so you decide to look down your naked body. The chilly shower room makes your nipples perk up into tiny pebbles – yeah, just the chilliness, that’s the only reason… The tap screeches as König turns the water on. A quiet gasp escapes you as the water splashes against your skin, but while you were prepared to jump out from under the icy water, you’re surprised that it’s actually not that cold this time, and soon even turns warm-ish. He must’ve put the heater on early.

You raise your hands to hold onto the steel soap holder as you hear a faint shuffle of fabric from above you and keep your eyes tight on the bottles in front of you. The men have had exactly one option to share: an old it-does-the-job shower gel that’s pretty much used up by the looks of it, sunken in the middle. But now, there’s your shampoo and soap as well, so clean and pristine-looking the set is like a laughably obvious metaphor.

König’s body practically envelops yours as he reaches in front of you, leaving you in his shadow in the cramped space. Grabbing your soap to squeeze some gel on his palm right under your breasts, you watch as he rubs his hands together to create some bubbles before they disappear from your view. The soft, delicate scent has pretty much conditioned your mind and body to relax, but right now it’s König who’s devoted to make that happen.

Even after last night, you tense up a little as his palms find your sides, warm and large as they slowly rub your skin with deliberate strokes, letting you get used to his touch. Though your arms curl inwards and you inch closer to the tile wall, he’s not deterred. He’s gentle – yet he’s not giving you much of a choice.

He begins to wash your body, and sensing the tenseness of it, with effortless strength he gives you a nice, light massage while he’s at it. And the very first time he pushes his thumbs against the knot of muscles on your shoulders, you unintentionally let out a relaxed sigh, forgetting where you are for a moment. The shower water finds its way on your face, wetting your cheeks and dripping from the corner of your lips.

He feels– good. God, how good…

You secretly enjoy the soft tapping of water on your skin while two large hands trail along your shoulders, arms, back; buttering you up, making your body malleable like dough, and you don’t even mind. Right when it starts to feel like only a massage, the hands that dive to your sides find their way to your upper stomach.

Then, you begin to sense the dog that wants to play with his toy, right beneath his exploring fingertips.

König knows he can trust you from now on. Not that he would let you know that, but he's content enough to remove his hood around you - he knows you'll behave, you won't look. From above you, he tilts his head a little to see exactly what his hands are doing – what makes you suck in that sweet, shallow breath and grab onto the soap holder like you’d fall otherwise. By now he already knows you’d react this way when his palms reach the underside of your breasts, cups them, and carefully kneads them.

König revels in the quiet, stifled sound you make – it makes his cock jump and he just wants to spin you around, have you straddle him, and fuck you against the tiles until you’re screaming. He bites down hard at the thought. Fuck – he should be patient, shouldn’t he, that’s what everyone always keeps telling him… König breathes out, nice and slow, ignores the demanding throb in his cock and buries the bridge of his nose in your wet hair. He’s patient. For a while.

His soapy touch is slippery as his thumbs pass over the buds of your nipples, taking all the time in the world to swirl the pads of his fingers against them until your arms move restlessly as if you’d soon beg for him to stop. But it feels too sweet – you know it, he knows it. It’s good for him, too, as he worships your tits like this is exactly what his hands were made to do. So fucking good… But König takes a slow, deep inhale and knows he wants to do more.

”Since you insisted on washing yourself this morning…” he trails off, his touch lingering on your soft mounds like he wants to map every inch of them into muscle memory before he moves on. His palms slide down, off your thoroughly soaped tits. God, he touches you more lovingly than you ever could yourself–

”Now that we’re here together, you could teach me how to do that, hm?” His palms find their place back on your hips, but the other moves closer to your lower stomach. Near, but not near enough.

Your pussy sends a warm pulse up your stomach right to where his palm rests against your skin, when you realize what he means.

You bow your head in uncertainty and shame while König patiently waits, rubbing his thumb against your tummy in a slow, delicate motion. It’s when you feel his lips on your temple that you fold.

”Show me.”

He’s not going to let it go until you will.

Shyly, you grab his hand, setting your palm on top. Your fingers naturally wish to slide between his for a grip because he’s just so much bigger than you. The shower water rounds your united hands as you feel the veins on the back of his hand, the knuckles that feel violently sturdy against your fingertips.

He’s clearly attentive but doesn’t budge unless you specifically move his hand for him. And it makes your job harder because it means it’s pretty much you asking him to do this. As if you have any other choice. As if you didn’t want to–

Even you can’t tell if you’re reluctant or just ashamed, but you slowly guide his hand to down on your mons, further, to cup your front. Your breath is shallow as the large, warm palm slots itself between your legs. When you do nothing else but wait with unbearable anticipation, his thumb brushes your mons gently, making your hips nudge at the gesture.

”You must have done more than that,” he hums close to your ear. He senses your hesitation and sinks his teeth right into it.

”Show me how you do it,” you hear him say through the pattering of water hitting the tiles at your feet. You bite your lip hard. There are exactly two things he can mean by that, but you’re guessing he’s not talking about washing yourself anymore.

Your hand trembles ever so slightly as you push against his middle finger, effectively guiding it to touch against your outer folds. They’re more sensitive than they normally have any right to be, and even the act of sliding the pad of his finger along the seam sends a shiver up your lower back.

You’re in too deep already. You can’t turn back now.

You want this. You want to know what will happen.

König has to bite down hard to quell a needy moan when you do just as he says, like the good girl you are, and guide two of his fingers between your folds. His cock gives a demanding throb – even when left untouched he’s already fully erect but keeps his hips further back to make you wait for it, which isn’t difficult when you’re that much shorter than him. He finds your wet heat inviting and warm, fucking irresistible, and by the amount of slick you’ve already gathered he knows your body has been preparing for this ever since he began granting you affection after what happened this morning.

He wants to make you cry again, he notices. But not out of fear; no no, that has begun to truly hurt his heart. You need to cry for pleasure. For more of him.

The back of his hand nudges against your inner thigh, gently making you spread your legs for him. And it’s a relief when he takes over and his hand begins to explore you on its own. You switch to holding onto his wrist that’s too thick for you to ever wrap your fingers around. The shower water flows over and in between your bodies, your grip slipping when you have no control.

The pad of his middle finger soon finds your sensitive pebble, evident by how you immediately suck in a quick, embarrassing moan. You are all tells.

”Hm. I made this spot extra dirty last night, didn’t I,” he hums against your hair as his middle finger brushes across your clit teasingly, making you jump.

Something else makes your body go tense, as well. Something that presses against the small of your back. The thing you’ve been worried about.

His cock – hot, wet, and heavy – moves to rest against the small of your back as König’s entire body follows to press against yours.

Your stomach takes a plunge so sudden and warm it makes your eyelids flutter.

You feel his length glide against your skin, settle there, hard as rock. It feels like he surrounds you with the way every part of you is touching him; his large body is like a wall of solid muscle, his warm palms possessive tools to control you with. You swallow thickly, urgently aware of his size as your senses measure where his cock begins and ends as it rests on your back. His balls press against the top of your ass, warm and firm, the water and lingering soap preventing your bodies from sticking together.

The weight of his length feels like a warning of what’s to come. You won’t avoid this. Not like you even realistically want to even though you should do you damndest to, because he’s huge and intimidating and–

And then all of a sudden he’s slowly pushing his middle finger inside your cunt, making you choke on a surprised sound.

”Oh Kleine, how wet are you?” he gives a breathy chuckle against your temple, amused and undoubtedly excited to find you so ready to receive him. You can’t help but push the back of your head against his chest as your eyes close and all you know is how good his large finger feels as it invades you, gliding in embarrassingly easy.

So easily, in fact, that his other finger impatiently nudges against your entrace, spreading it to make more room. You grip his wrist harder, your other hands shoots for the back of his other hand as well because you have to hold on to something. His fingers move in unison, undulating to make the other push in easier while the first one still works to open you up. But it’s a lot so soon, he’s stretching you so much already and it makes you clench down around him. Your voice is all pants even though he whispers you to relax – but you hear the strain in his voice, as well; how he’s trying to keep himself in check.

And when the slight pang of the sudden stretch dissapates and his fingers lodge in next to each other, as deep as he can comfortably reach, your exhale escapes you with a moan as the pleasure of having your pussy filled takes over.

König groans against your hair as his fingers find home deep within you, the heel of his palm pressing against your mons and clit as it moves in unison with his fingers. He closes his eyes and rubs his aching length against the curve of your spine, wet skin against skin as the water raining on both of you tries its best to clean away this filth between you. The thought of coming on the curve of your spine while you’re bent over, spreading his seed on you… He stores that idea for future use because his filthy, feral thoughts are effectively trying to push back the softer, more tender ones he has to prioritize. It’s always like this… He’s afraid it’ll be over too soon, you could leave once he’s done or even if he isn’t. He’ll have to take everything, feel everything, show his passion–

The tip of his cock pulses with heat, demanding some kind of friction, anything, attention and heat and pressure. He wants you so bad it hurts his body, makes his muscles tense up and it takes a lot for him not to begin fucking you in earnest with his fingers because he wants to already hear you moan more than anything. His fingers move slowly, exploring you from the inside like König wants to map every inch of you. It sets his heart ablaze to feel your smaller body writhe against him – accept him.

You’ve come so far, been so good. Well – naughty, too. But that was clearly a good thing. It lead both of you here, as if intended. Fate. He rewards you with a curl of his fingers, and a pleased smile tugs on his face when you quietly cry out. He presses his lips against your hair in encouragement. You’re doing so fucking good.

In competition with the large fingers curling up inside you, you feel his cock rub up and down your back before it slides all the way down, reappearing on the cleft of your ass – and pushes down further, forward.

His shaft finds home right against your pussy as if you’re sitting on it. You suck in a startled breath at the absolute size and heat of him, so fucking shocked to actually feel his cock against your cunt.

And right then, König’s fingers slowly pull out, making you whine in not-so-secret protest and your grip on his wrist tightens for a second. But that emptiness is replaced with a whole other sensation, with his fingers that are now absolutely soaked with your slick moving up to catch your pulsing clit between them, beginning to rub up and down.

The warmth of his cock that has set itself between your thighs feels like nothing else. His shaft glides between your folds, frictionless. Oh shit, oh shit...

”Are you sorry for leaving?” König says as he holds you close, voice low, laced with need. You can’t escape him physically, and you certainly can’t escape him mentally. The reminder of what you went and did is almost painful now, and you’re so close to just giving it to him straight – that you did wrong, that you’re sorry, that you’ll do anything as long as he won’t lock you away. When in reality, you weren’t even going to escape. So you did nothing wrong...

”Mmn,” you sound weakly, protesting in vain. König slides the hard shaft of his cock against your folds, now parting them effortlessly with each slow thrust and finally getting in contact with the center of your wet heat.

”Hm?” He demandingly presses around your clit with his two fingers, and it’s not that hard to admit it after that.

”Y-yes, yes!” you cry out, your hips bucking as you fold under the hot sensation. König’s other palm holds your hips tight to keep you still. ”I’msorryi’msorry!” you whine, breathless.

”That’s what I thought,” he muses with a content smile. König rewards you by resuming to circle his fingers around your clit, the pleasure making your back arch and ass press against him even more. With the remaining slick that hasn’t yet been washed away aiding him, his movements are slippery, each touch sensitive.

”No more games, ja?” Only his.

”N-no– no more,” you comply as soon as you swallow and get a hold of your breath, barely thinking about what you’re even agreeing to – especially when you have a hunch of what your punishment will be if you dare to sneak out again. But right now, with how he makes you feel, you’re afraid you’d agree to anything he could ever think of.

”Gutes Mädchen,” he praises. You’ll behave now, won’t you… For your own sake, if nothing else. There’s only one option in his mind on how this mission is going to end, and that requires you to want to stay alive.

König has easy access from above you to stare at the glistening skin of your tits, the slight jiggle of them whenever he brushes against your clit. Your pussy feels so soft, so delicate… And–

”You tasted so good,” he sighs, infatuated by the memory.

The way he says it makes you bite your lip because he sounds like he worships the sheer thought. It’s highlighted by the way he instinctually slides his hand down to cup your pussy like he’s reliving the memory, making you bend forward by how that makes your cunt pulse.

”I could bury my face between your legs every night,” he groans when his palm slides back up against your clit, his fingers circling it with a firmer touch. Fuck, that makes your cunt give a pull he can definitely guess by the way you squeeze his cock between your thighs. König lets out a breathy laugh.

”But I need more. You want it too. Don’t you?”

His other hand disappears from your hip as König grabs the shaft of his cock, giving it a firm tug to pull his foreskin all the way back. Christ, he’s rock hard and knows it in his gut that he’s not going to last very long. But he’ll push through it, he’ll do absolutely anything to feel you lose yourself into the feel of him – to get you to stay. Clenching his jaw he nudges the head of his cock against your entrance before he slips forward again, teasing you, preparing you. He hears your breath grow louder, shallow and nervous, and it just spurs him on.

”Just the tip, ja, Kleine? Just a little bit...”

It’s faaar from ’just a little bit’.

When the thick head of his cock pops inside you, your loud gasp and König’s pleased grunt unite into a beautiful tune of fright and pleasure.

”T-too much–!” you whine out. The sensation of sudden stretch his fingers couldn’t possible prepare you for in such a short time makes you stand on your toes, knuckles tight with the way you grip on his wrist. But König returns his other hand on your lower stomach, keeping you there with a sure grip.

”Shh, shh, it’s just– just the tip,” he quiets you, voice breathy. ”Scheiße... You feel like heaven,” he groans right after, wholly forgetting your startled reaction for a second in favour of feeling your heat envelope the sensitive head of his cock.

He’s inside you, he’s finally inside you. For a split second König fears he’ll black out but as his eyes roll and he takes a deep breath he’s forced back to reality by how fucking good you feel. His cock finds a home in your heat, the endless amount of slick already a clear tell of how you want him, despite your attempts at denying everything. He has already cracked that barrier – and he sure as hell will tear it down.

Holy shit he’s huge. You don’t even hear your own moan anymore when all your focus is on having him inside your body, hard and warm. Just the tip..? You can’t tell if it’s drool or shower water dripping down your jaw but your mouth sure as hell has dropped open just to pant at the sensation. You don’t even know where the pang of the stretch ends and the undeniable pleasure of being filled so good begins, but their line is fading.

Just as you were sure he would let you get used to his size for a moment longer, the head of his cock slowly slides out to the very tip – only to pop back in, easier than the first time, thankfully, but you still won’t let your soles touch the floor.

”Such pretty sounds... Like it, ja?” König lets out a breathy laugh at the way you keep panting for him. ”It’s all for you.” And you’re all for him – jesus, is that so bad when he makes you feel this good? Your mind is too scrambled to form a coherent sentence or even a thought; nothing but a mindless, breathy ’uh-huh’ and a whimper in response to his filthy talk.

König huffs, sounding like he’s beginning to step over that coherence as well – only pleasure, emotions and the feel of your body heat clashing.

”A bit more? Just a bit–”

You gasp loudly and your hips jump upward as he slides deeper, your reaction more startled than a sign of actual pain because the stretch is so immense–

But König reacts immediately and has a keen eye for your feedback, no matter how hard he has to work to keep his eagerness in check. He’ll do it, just for you, he’ll be merciful for now because he’s already inside you, he’s broken that seal. He’ll get rewarded for it later, surely...

”No? Okay okay, ja, okay Kleine, hush…” he hastily coos and pulls back a bit less than what he went in, keeping the girthy tip deeper inside you to have you locked to him. He rubs your clit, soothing you further to make you relax. You can’t escape it, you’re already on your toes and he’s keeping your hips still so the only thing you could do is to lower yourself on him further. Fuck, fuck, fuck your arousal flutters at the bottom of your stomach, fans the flames that live where König’s body unites with yours.

”Mh... Du riechst so süß,” he groans. The beast panting above your head sounds like he’ll soon lose his mind judging by the way he nuzzles the bridge of his nose against your wet hair and keeps thrusting the tip of his warm cock in, and out, and in, until your walls begin to adjust and the stretch turns into a pleasure so tingly and gooey your toes curl.

”You’re so good, so good, you know that, Kätzchen? You’ll take all of me soon, you’re doing perfect…” he babbles his generous praises as he demandingly brushes his fingers over your clit.

He makes it sound like it’s the main objective – for you to take his entire cock when you already feel you’re taking more than ever before in your life. It both scares you and makes your stomach do a bungee jump.

Oh fuck – he fills you up so good that in your scrambled mind you almost regret saying it was too much because it already isn’t and you want to sit on him deeper, forgetting what the morning after would no doubt feel like. You’re afraid you could get addicted to this – or that you will, if this goes on. König’s assertiveness combined with his constant desire to make sure you enjoy him tugs at something in your chest and the shame of it all is beginning to subside.

And so is everything around you as a telltale tingling lets you know you’re getting close – really fast.

”I’m– gonna… ’mgonna–” you pant.

”Gonna cum?” he completes your desperate mumbling with an excited exhale. The smile is evident in his breathy voice, so fucking pleased. He picks up the pace of his thrusts, tightly circles your clit, bullying you to let go – to hell with teasing and edging, he wants to feel it.

”Go on, Kätzchen,” he pants, laboured and heated, clearly on the very edge of coming himself. But this time he’s determined to make you fold first.

”Do it for me.”

That sends you off the fucking cliff. After a few deeper thrusts and a press on your swollen bud it’s as if on command that you climax around the head of his cock with a choked moan, squeeze him so tight he groans in appreciation. Your brain zaps into black as all you feel is the warmth spreading in your body from the tip of your ears down to your curling toes, your clenching pussy sending pulses that feel like they glow off your skin. It’s like you can feel every inch of his cock against your walls with how snug he fills you. Your eyes roll before you close them, and you want to sink onto him completely to let yourself melt in the heat but it’s too late already.

König’s thrusts halt into nudges because he can’t get deep enough anymore, instead slipping out of your hole with the last pull and pushing his shaft against your slippery folds. Wrapping his other arm around your stomach and holding onto your thigh with the other he pulls your entire body against his, only the curve of your lower back leaving a sliver of air between you. And thank god he keeps you on your feet because your body feels limp and powerless, the little sparks in your head turning your thoughts foggy.

But König is just fine holding you like a doll as you let him have you.

”I’m gonna- mh, make a mess on your pussy–” Your mushy brain barely registers his voice as you begin to surface once more and silently lament on the fact you can’t feel him inside you anymore. Instead, you feel his thrusts become feverish as he rubs his hot and slick shaft between your slit, nudging against your sensitive clit with near every move, making your ass jerk back against him.

”Ha– Liebling...”

A new nickname..?

König’s moan gets stuck in his throat as his muscles tense up. His cum spurts against your clit as his cock jerks between your folds, the rest of his spend staining the tiles in front of you. And he comes a lot – your hazy eyes widen for a second as you witness the amount of pearly, sticky cum drip down your inner thigh and against the wall. The shower water soon washes away most of the evidence, but the stains in your mind will certainly remain.

You keep panting away the ecstasy, one breath at a time as the buzz still lingers in every part of your body, pulses in your fingertips. It’s a moment of pure mental stillness for the both of you. And it… It envelops you in a sense of trust, because why else would you feel so content in his arms like this.

Bit by bit, you are becoming more certain of the fact he’s being honest. He’s not going to kill you, or hurt you. Or… Leave you.

”Hah– I accept your apology,” he laughs breathlessly against the top of your head and you still kinda want to pinch him for that because he can’t possibly know your mind was swimming in deeper waters just now only for him to pull you out. But that would mean you didn’t want this, yourself. And that’s far from the truth already.

”So sorry, Liebchen… Now I have to clean you all over again,” he pants, absolutely not remorseful in the slightest. But he does exactly as he promises – without the mindgames. Gently, König rubs in between your legs to wash away the stickiness with water, first, carefully using his whole palm instead of rubbing your oversensitive parts with his fingers after you let out a quiet protesting sound.

With no rush whatsoever, he takes good care to lather you in soap, massaging your tired body thoroughly once more to properly clean you up. Even when he swipes across your breasts he doesn’t tease you anymore, doesn’t grope or pinch you. He washes you like you’re having a fever and you’re too tired to do anything yourself. Letting yourself trust him, you simply rest your back against him with your eyes closed and breathe, putting off your mental penance of enjoying his large hands rubbing your skin and hair for some other day.

Why would you want to leave when you could have this? After all, he kept his promise. He’s taking care of you. And best of all…

He has forgiven you.

When both of you are done and König turns the tap to shut off the already chilled water and the last stray droplets remain to drip on the tiles, you slowly open your eyes and wait as you hear him shuffle for a bit. He seems to dry himself with a towel and you respect his privacy, although nothing’s stopping you from turning around to see what he looks like.

You can’t lie – you want to, and at the same time you know that’s information you might not want to hold. If you see his face, you could identify him later were anyone to demand it. If you ever get back to normal life, that is… Maybe that’s why he’s putting it off. If you saw his face once, you shouldn’t be allowed to describe it to anyone ever again–

You realize that to stay sane, you have to make a choice eventually. Otherwise he – or if you’re unlucky, someone else – will do it for you.

König gently grabs your hip to make you turn around like signaling that it’s okay. He’s still drying himself off, which gives you ample time to decide where to lay your eyes on. You keep your head slightly bowed and don’t look up, instead glancing at his lower stomach, the dark trail of wet body hair, and his – now relaxed – cock. You bite the inside of your lip. God, it’s huge… And just a moment ago it was (partly) inside you; no wonder you’d been stretched to your limits. Even in a flaccid state, it hangs thick, still visibly swollen. As you let your eyes shyly wander along the handsome length of it, the intrusive thought of wondering how heavy it would feel in your hands floods your mind for a second.

Your skin is urgently beginning to cool as the moisture evaporates, and the first shiver goes through your body. You raise your arms on your chest to at least try to cover your boobs (although what’s the use anymore) and carefully flick your eyes upwards inch by inch to make sure you can see the edge of König’s hood. And when you do, you dare to raise your head as well, finally meeting his relaxed gaze all the way from up there. He’s sated, naked body basically glowing with warmth only a breath away from yours.

”Let’s go get some evening snack, Liebchen. Then it’s off to bed,” he says warmly and wraps the towel around you.

The rest of the evening goes just as he said it would. With the towel still draped on your shoulders and a clean new t-shirt to wear, you’re lifted to sit on the kitchen counter as he scours the cabinets for something to eat. The homeliness of it all should feel distorted and false, but even though you can pretty much guess König just wants to keep you within his sights at all times after your recent stunt, you munch on the old oat biscuits he gave you with a budding attachment of some sort. You can’t escape it, not with the inevitable soreness that lingers between your legs and reminds you of how far over the line you’ve already walked. And you’re not stopping.

You keep glancing at him whenever he isn’t looking, cataloguing any features you can see and the way he spoke into memory like it would help you understand him better.

You don’t know his face. It’s the first time you are genuinely interested in what this man looks like. To have something to anchor your feelings onto.

And if you’re truly that courious, it means you’d have to wait and see.

***

”Choose a hand.”

”Huh?”

In the bedroom, all ready to finally go to sleep, you stand at the end of the bed when he speaks, making you turn around.

”Give me your other hand,” he instructs again as he holds out his. Unsurely, you reach out your left one.

König grabs it almost like a gentleman, holding your palm and fingers in his much bigger hand. It feels nice – and after the ’shower’ you’re pretty open for this kind of gentleness. At least, compared to what he was like before, showing his capability to shut off from you... His thumb brushes against the sensitive flesh of your wrist, sending a ticklish shiver up your neck as you look into his eyes with an inquisitive expression. You want to see him. If he really cares about you–

But then König produces something out of the back pocket of his sweatpants and before you know it, a piece of cool metal snaps cleanly around your wrist. Your eyes go wide as you stare down.

He put you in fucking handcuffs.

”W-what–” you stammer before the realization truly hits you. ”Are you serious!” You yank your hand back but the damage is done. It’s already tight enough to stop your wrist from slipping out, but König holds it to stop it from digging into your skin.

”Very,” he says with a clear smile under the hood as he tightens the other end of the cuffs to his own wrist with a professional motion. He releases his grip and you fight back immediately, pulling on your hand. ”Bad girls get punished,” König states like it’s obvious. He double-locks the cuffs with a push pin, caring little about the way you uselessly tug at him – so cute of you to think you can.

”Wh- I- This is–” you stutter. ”I said I wasn’t going anywhere! How am I going to sleep like this?”

”Next to me, of course.” He feigns stupid. This is clearly very fun for him.

”You– I said I’m sorry,” you say as if he had broken a promise. And you did way more than verbally apologize. Hell, you thought he could give you another chance–

”And I accepted your apology,” he hums, totally unbothered as he looks at you affectionately, with that mischevious glint that stirs your shocked state.

”So you don’t trust me,” you say. Betrayal is evident in your expression, your brow and mouth scrunched in disappointment you don’t care to hide. But König doesn’t mind at all. He seems happy to have you chained to him.

”Don’t pretend you don’t like this, Süße.”

”I don’t.”

”You don’t like being tied up?” He leans down closer, watches you with his eyelids relaxed. He’s challenging you to deny and resist the facts he can easily pull up to show you.

”You don’t want to be– what was it again…” His gaze wanders a bit as he pretends to think and you know exactly what he’s scouring through in his mind. You think you could try to find your phone and snatch it back from him, but there’s a 99 percent chance he’s already sucked every bit of content out of it onto some dirty hard drive full of other unlawfully seized documents. König finds the word he’s looking for, turning his eyes back on you.

”Claimed?”

”Stop,” you mutter and turn your head away, cheeks in flames. König hums, victorious. He cocks his head hopefully.

”Kiss?” he suggests all innocent and already grabs the edge of his hood.

”No,” you snap and angrily yank at his connected wrist to pull him towards the bed, ready to slam your head onto the pillow and not think of this mess for a blessed moment.

König, like the infuriating and unfair idiot he is, just laughs and follows.