ミ★ self ship blog! ★彡 ♥️ ↻ ◁ He/They/It ▷ READ MY PINNED POST BEFORE INTERACTING ↺i am autistic so pls be patient ⚠️NS/FW CONTENT AHEAD⚠️ ᒿ3/ B̼I̼G̼O̼T̼S̼/̼T̼E̼R̼F̼S̼/̼N̼@̼Z̼I̼S̼/PRO.SHIPPERS/MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI 🏳️🌈🇵🇸🍉🏳️⚧️🦈
🇦🇧🇴🇺🇹 🇲🇪 ඞ Self Shipper, anti cringe, artist and writer! I am ok with sharing, but please ask before dm-ing me! (Ageless blogs/Minors DNI pls!)
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DNI (This is not a Choice: If you are part of my DNI, you are not welcome, kindly fuck off, but do know that I block freely)
Bigots/N*is/Transphobes/Proshippers/Darkshippers/Pro trump/Pro hrry potter + rowling/pro-Israel/pro ai/2 edgy for me
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₊•.°.⋆ Socials ⋆.°.•₊
Main Tumblr ඞ @jacobseedisbabygirl
ao3: @/necrodancing666
Wattpad: wrathnotwrat
Other places I post my art: @xochi-shark , @dancing-off-the-world (main art blog)
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ੈ✩‧₊˚༺ Main Self Ships ༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
Romantic:
Far Cry:
1. Vaas Montenegro
2. Jacob Seed
3. Joseph Seed
4. John Seed
Call of duty
1. Poly 141 (remake series) John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" McTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley.
2. Valeria Garza
3. Diego Salgado
4. Hassan Zyani
5. Makarov, Andrei, and Melina
6. Keegan P. Russ
7. Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra
8. Farah Karim and Alex Keller
9. Hadir Karim
10. David "Hesh" Walker
Team Fortress 2
Heavy/Medic (poly)
God Of War Ragnorok
Thor
Heimdall (dont ask, I dont know why either lol)
Main familial f/o is Kate Laswell (and her wife, who've I named Janice), my self insert's moms!!!
Your shout comes from two rooms away and Simon swears he's never seen his captain or his sergeant move faster at any point in their lives.
Kyle laughs as they both leap to their feet. Hackles raised as they listen for clarification.
"NOW. JOHN."
Your voice rattles their bones and they both decide better to go together than risk sacrificing the wrong man. They make their way, tails between their legs as Johnny mutters curses at Kyle.
Kyle takes the opportunity to rearrange, taking Johnny's place in Simon's arms. They lounge for a bit, but Kyle can't resist.
"think they're both in trouble, or simply it's been forgotten they're both here?"
Simon shrugs. "The latter."
Kyle looks up at Simon. His eyes are closed, but there's the faintest smirk across his face. "What?"
"Shhhh," Simon's voice is hardly audible now. "Johnny had laundry duty, but I did it for him. Mixed in a red sock with the lights."
"Oh you're toast, mate."
"Shhhhhhh... You stay right there."
Kyle laughs and obliges in Simon's plot to be found sleeping and content. You know Simon never gets the sleep you wish he would, and you'd never interrupt Kyle from his weighted blanket duties.
You'll have to seek retribution for your now bright pink work clothes some other time.
The miscommunication/reader being new to poly trope is solid and all, buuttttt
Here me out: poly!141 × healthy polyamory!reader
Sure, the boys have had their fair share of additional partners over the years as a polycule. But they've been burned more times than they can count when the group attempted to bring someone into their relationship. Sometimes, the prospective partner flat out ignored Kyle in favor of the other three. Other times, they were too scared of Simon, at times flat-out, finding the man unattractive under the mask. Many couldn't keep up with how high energy and clingy Johnny could be, and some even called John 'to old.'
And honestly? Fuck that. The 141 have an unspoken agreement. It's all or nothing when it comes to adding in a fifth. They love one another too much (or is it trauma bonding from work?) to allow even one of them to be left behind in the dating pool.
So. When they meet healthy polyamory!reader and, through a series of events, end up asking them out, the boys are a little stunned (full on, deer caught in headlights moment), to say the least:
What do you mean Reader uses the 141's favorite colours to keep track of dates and time spent with each of them in their day planner? Gaz no longer feels left out or blatantly ignored in favor of his boyfriends. He can see his favorite colour right there in their planner. His time.
What do you mean Reader actively finds fun activities to do while on dates with Johnny? Always looking for ways to help the man burn off his extra energy, and when it gets too much, they actually tell the Scot. Reader doesn't push him away or lash out when he becomes what some have called 'too much.'
What do you mean Reader slows down and enjoys letting John lead their time together? His slight age difference never pointed out as it's, truly, not worth bringing up. They're both adults, after all.
And, excuse me, what do you mean they aren't immediately trying to pressure Simon into removing his wide assortment of surgical masks and balaclavas? Letting the poor man keep his boundaries until he's comfortable to further their relationship at his own pace.
Just a thought. Will this become a ficlet? Maybe.
UPDATE: I hear you all. The first chapter for this has been posted !
Here is a bit of Vladimir Makarov, trapped in a Walgreens while a lady rants to the cashier about returning a pre-paid credit card!
(unedited, since it's a flash fic writing sprint thing!)
---
The cashier is a woman about Graves’s age, with an unamused stare and the world’s stiffest smile on her face. It may be the first time in his entire life he’s felt sympathy for an American, but the counter is close to the automatic doors and the sudden blast of hot hair as people enter and leave is starting to feel like a personal attack, and he rarely lets those go without retaliating.
“Ma’am, as I said,” the cashier tries, sounding very tired. “We have a clear policy that pre-paid cards can’t be returned for –”
“Listen here,” the woman snaps. “I don’t care what your policy says! I’m the customer, so you’re going to refund me. What am I supposed to do with it?”
“I understand how frustrating –”
“Don’t you give me that bullshit! You don’t know shit!”
“Ma’am, I really can’t do anything, but there’s a number, here–” The cashier attempts to point to something on the card, but the customer clearly isn’t interested and begins to tell a story about how she bought the card, right here, just two days ago! So there’s no reason she needs to call anyone and waste any more of her time, she drove all the way here so they are going to fix it or she’s not leaving.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” mutters the person in front of him. “Fuck it, I’ll stop at the Royal Farms.” With that pronouncement now made to no one in particular, the man turns and heads out of the line back into the store proper, sets his basket on the floor and walks out of the door.
“Rude,” the girl behind him says. “But relatable.”
Makarov snorts, entirely without meaning to, because…yes, he was also considering the same course of action.
“Royal Farms doesn’t carry La Roche Posay and you know it. Besides, the only tape we have is my Washi tape and I’m pretty sure that isn’t going to work on moving boxes, Shelby.”
“I want to speak to your manager!” The customer says, loud enough that likely every manager in every retail establishment from here to Moscow heard her. Perhaps this manager will appear like a helo evac, and draw the irate customer aside so he can leave.
“I am the manager,” the cashier says. “Sorry?”
Oh, we’re all sorry, Makarov thinks, and gets his phone back out. He spent four years in a Russian gulag, certainly he can outlast one entitled American shopper.
Ghost: Accidentally ignored a hug Soap when the Scotsman went for one.
Alejandro: walked into his and Rudy’s quarters after the man just cleaned the floors. He was warned to take off his boots before entering. He did not. He got beaten with a broom.
Alex: Bent down on his knees to talk to Farah.
Price: Mentioned.. MENTIONED having a small crush on Makarov in front of Nikolai.
Laswell’s wife: Shouted “that’s my girl” during one of Laswell’s court meetings.
Ghost so focused that he unintentionally sidesteps out of a hug. Soap is devastated. He's not letting that one go. Ghost has never known the wrath of a Scotsman scorned.
Alejandro is always forgetting to take his boots off, it's infuriating. Of course Rudy smacks him with a broom, the man won't learn! He's going to make Alejandro get on his knees and clean the floor himself.
Alex leaning down slightly when talking to Farah. For whatever reason, he wanted to hear her better or he just wanted to get closer, Farah is not amused.
Price, in passing, mentioning that Makarov was kinda hot? He's been shunned, Nik can barely look at him. Price has to kill Makarov now, it's the only way to fix it.
Laswell getting embarrassed because Annie is such a cheerleader. That's her girlboss! But that still is embarrassing when everyone in the building can hear her cheering on her wife.
The teen!au but one of them is sick. I think it would be cute for the teens to try to help Price if he was sick. Yet, I can also see Gaz being the most DRAMATIC. You'd think Simon, but he'd rather hide the fact that he can get sick. Food for thought.
Farah will keep going if sick, unless it's something bad. She has to be forced to rest. John is following behind her, ushering her away from strenuous activities and making her tea and making sure to have food on hand that doesn't upset her stomach.
Simon? Yeah, definitely can't let anyone know he can get sick. That would be bad for his reputation. Refuses to acknowledge he's sick, he's dizzy and sneezing but no, he's not sick. Go away, Dad, I'm fine!
Gaz? End of the world. Very needy, calling John and Nik for everything. Poor baby boy, he can't do his chores now. He's always in someone's business, he needs attention. He won't stop whining, he's upped the annoying brother act to hundred.
Gary is a miserable blob on the floor. His energetic self is gone, he won't eat and he just wants to be held. Has to be convinced to take medicine even though it tastes nasty. He'll probably get someone else sick before he finally starts feeling better.
If John is sick, Nik is fluttering around making sure he has everything he could possibly need, including things he absolutely does not need for a cold, like a box of chocolates. The kids are sure to be extra good for him, at least.
If Nik is sick? Well, it's obvious where Kyle got it from.
Inappropriate Use of a Furby (Tf141/M!Reader) (y'all respect my fucking DNI or I'm going to personally dm you and tell you to respect people's dni)
Laswell sends a little gift. A cute, harmless looking Furby, letting you that she needs you to pull a harmless prank on the captain as revenge for an op gone wrong in Columbia. You and the boys decide to scare the living daylights out of him with it
Reader is Laswell's son, in an polycule with the 141
"(y/n), I know this is a bit unusual, but can you do me a favor? I give you full permission to use this as revenge against the captain. When he asks, just say it's for an operation in Columbia. He'll know. -Love Mom (P.S, Mama gives her love ❤️)"
You held the Furby up, inspecting the strange, cursed children's toy from years past.
"That thing's cursed mate." Gaz says. He eyes the pale white Furby nervously.
"..I'm starting to suspect my mom really just sent this to get it off her hands." You snort. You place the strange bird toy down on the coffee table.
"(y/n). What the fuck is that thing?" Ghost stood in your doorway, his usual stoic expression replaced with what could only be caution mixed with terror.
"A Furby. Mom says his name is Mr. Noodles the Fourth." You respond with a calm demeanor. "Laswell sent this?" Ghost walks over to inspect the owl-like beast.
"Says we're supposed to give it to the captain for something that happened in Columbia?" Soap chuckles. Ghost freezes. "Uhh.. Simon?" You question. "Johnny, you go distract the captain. Get him out of his office. Gaz, keep watch outside his office," Ghost says, as if he was planning an intense OP, "(y/n), you're with me." Soap smirks, knowing this was going to end with nothing but chaos. (And quite possibly Furby related-trauma)
You happily follow Ghost down the hallway. He holds out his arm to stop you from going any further, allowing soap to start the plan. Soap manages to easily get the captain out, and the two hurry far enough away from the office. "Right. Don't have much time. Kyle, station. (y/n), you're in charge of hiding the Furby." You and Gaz both nod in confirmation, before you open the door and you and the Lieutenant hurry in. "Ok uhh-" You look around frantically, trying to figure out where to put Mr. Noodles, who blinks, making small, strange garbling noises in what sounded like Furbish.
"(y/n)-" "I know!" You whisper yell back. Your eyes widen when you spot the perfect spot.
You hurriedly pull out a few books, hoping to god that there was enough space. You sigh in relief, before placing the Furby down, and covering him up with a few old books.
"OK. we're good!" You say.
"Good, lets go-" Ghost quickly ushers you out of the office, and the two of you make it out just in time to see soap running back, panting. "Oh perfect timing. I canne keep him out-" He huffs.
"What're you Muppets on about? Move over Simon." Price grumbles.
"Right, sorry Captain." Ghost says as he ushers you and Soap away.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •
Price rolls his eyes, sitting down. He gets back to the paperwork, focusing on the files.
It was quiet for a moment.
But a loud "hrrggbhkgk" broke his concentration. His head shoots up, quickly looking around to find the source of the sound. He stood up quick enough to throw the seat back.
"The fucking hell was that?" He growls, looking everywhere.
Another warbled babble breaks through the tense silence.
"…No." He groans, running a hand down his face.
He quickly starts searching for the accursed toy. "WHAT THE FUCK?" Price yells with rage. He clenches his fists, looking everywhere for the sound.
"BLOODY HELL-" The gruff captain growls, tossing books down.
He finds the cursed toy within 5 minutes. By the. He's fuming. He's trying to turn the toy off, fumbling with rage as he attempts to open the battery case.
As he does, it lets out a horrific, low battery, garbled screech.
Like it was summoned from the deepest depths of the void itself.
Price immediately widens his eyes, and throws the Furby hard against the wall, resulting in a loud *thunk*, and what sounded like the distinct sound of a Furby crying out in pain.
"Bloody demon-"
He strides over grips the toy by it's "neck", instantly recognizing it.
"Goddamnit Kate." He runs his hand over his face, before he realizes.
Kate wasn't on base. She was in Washington D.C. So how did..?
Price groans, and turns to leave his office, door swinging open in a dramatic manner. He finds you, Gaz, and Soap doubled Oliver, laughing. Ghost nowhere to be seen.
"Y/n." Price growls. You instantly stand up straight, trying hard not to laugh again.
"Yes captain?"
"Your mum put you up to this?" "..Yes sir." Price lets out the classic tired dad sigh, before handing you the poor, broken furby.
So...I wrote something for the question of the day in the GhostSoap Discord. The question was:
Between Ghost and Soap, who's always bringing home strays, and are they humoured in doing so?
Enjoy! (Please excuse any mistakes, proofreading pretty much consisted of reading it aloud to my bf once).
Already Part of the Family
Anticipation ran through Soap’s veins when he finally unlocked the door to their flat. He hadn't seen Simon in a week, hadn't even been able to greet him on the Tarmac when the man had returned from his mission, too busy with training on the demolitions field.
Maybe it was better this way. Ghost had never been a big fan of PDA. At home, their reunion would feel even better, with Soap not having to hold back showing his affection.
A grin already plastered on his face, he pushed the door open, warm, cozy light and the smell of roasted garlic greeting him. Christ, this was how life was supposed to be.
“Si?” he called out, yanking his feet out of his boots and dropping his duffel bag to the floor. Slowly, he approached the doorway leading into the living room and the small adjacent kitchenette, but before he could even catch a glimpse around the corner, a tapping sound made him pause.
It wasn't even close to the sound Ghost’s heavy feet made on the cheap laminate floor.
The tapping continued, coming closer, and before Soap could even consider if this was some kind of weird threat he should prepare for, a shadow suddenly rounded a corner followed by -
-a dog. There was a dog in their flat.
Soap blinked, unmoving. The dog stared at him, panting, looking almost like it was smiling, its tail wagging softly from left to right.
Soap could do nothing but stare back, the only sound the loud sizzling still coming from the kitchen.
And then, the dog started approaching him. Soap raised a hand in warning, unsure of what to do. He’d never been very good with dogs. It wasn't like he couldn't stand them, but getting bitten often enough during missions had made him somehow hesitant about getting close to one.
“Oi. No. No. C’mon. Just-, stay,” he ordered uneasily, trying and failing to sound commanding.
The dog didn't listen, its tail wagging even harder, like Soap was encouraging it rather than slowly backing off.
“Si,” Soap called out again before shooing the dog again. “C’mon. Get lost.”
It didn't help. Soon, a wet snout was pressed against his leg, sniffing him before jumping excitedly around his position.
It was cute, in a way - would honestly be fine if Soap had any idea what to bloody do with the thing.
So he just kept still, frowning at the animal, when suddenly, a sharp whistling sound echoed through the hallway, the dog immediately retreating. It rushed back towards the doorway - towards Ghost standing in the doorway, spatula still in the man’s hand.
Soap looked from the dog, laying obediently at Ghost’s side, facing him again, up at Ghost, raising his eyebrows.
“What the fuck is this?” He asked, genuinely confused.
Ghost blinked, glancing down at the animal shortly.
“It's a dog,” the man noted easily, like Soap was the one losing his head here.
“I ken it's a bloody dog. Christ,” Soap grunted, suppressing the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“German Shepherd,” Ghost offered, like that clarified anything.
"Obviously. What's it bloody doing here?”
Ghost shrugged. “Found it in Siberia. Think it might have been the Ultranationalist’s. Definitely listens to commands like a military dog.”
Brows furrowing, Soap shook his head, just as baffled as before. “And ye- what? Just brought it here?”
“She helped me out. Took down some hostiles. Could be useful in the future. And she definitely earned herself a warm meal, didn't you?” Ghost bent down, scratching the dog's head, which pressed even closer to Ghost, clearly fond of the man.
“I-,” Soap hesitated, momentarily at a loss for words. “Ye want to keep her?”
Ghost looked up at him again, really looked at him, mustering Soap’s stance, his expression - seeing it all, as Soap liked to joke.
“You don't like her,” Ghost stated, slowly rising up again, no judgement audible in his voice.
After opening his mouth and closing it again without actually getting a word out, Soap took a deep steadying breath.
“I don’t not like her. I just - I don't know. I’m not good with dogs,” Soap explained, regarding the animal unsurely.
“You sure?” Ghost asked, stepping towards him, whispering a short “Stay” at the dog that had her immediately dropping to the floor again after previously trying to follow him.
“They’re bitey fucker’s, aren't they? Got a few scars to prove that.”
“They just do what they’re trained to do - what they’re told to do. She's not going to bite anyone without our instruction to do so, she’s an obedient one.”
“Maybe,” Soap muttered, unconvinced.
Ghost had reached him now, grabbing his hand, holding it loosely. “We don't have to keep her. We can just bring her to base, see if anyone else can check if she’s fully trained for the field.”
Soap pressed his lips together, peeking around Ghost’s body to regard the dog again.
She still looked like she was bloody smiling, seeming nothing but friendly.
“Ye want tae keep her, don't you?”
Ghost shrugged. “I do. But not if you’re afraid of her.”
“I’m not afraid of her,” Soap immediately grunted, shooting Ghost a glare that had no real heat behind it.
Ghost raised his eyebrows, amusement dancing in his expression.
“Oh, steamin’ hell,” Soap muttered, pushing his way past Ghost to approach the dog, hesitating only shortly as he reached her before dropping down into a crouch, awkwardly patting her head.
She closed her eyes, leaning into the contact, her fur surprisingly soft.
“See? Not afraid of her. Just not a dog person,” he grunted.
“You know, of all people, I never thought you’d be the one who doesn’t like dogs,” Ghost noted behind him.
Soap glanced back at him, his hand still running along the dog’s head.
“Why's that?”
“Because you’re a lot like a dog,” Ghost explained with a quiet huff.
“Piss off.” Soap shook his head, regarding the dog again. She had lowered her head, resting it on the floor, looking completely content as Soap somehow wasn't able to stop petting her.
“Easily excited - easily riled up. Full of energy. Obedient, but only if you want to.”
“Oh, shut yer puss.”
“Loyal. Brave.”
The dog glanced up at him, sighing before rolling on her back.
“Ye’re trying to flatter me to convince me to keep her?” Soap mumbled, feeling confident enough to scratch the dog’s warm belly carefully. Christ, how was she so soft?
“No,” Ghost answered, stepping up behind him. “As I said, if you don't want to keep her we give her to someone else on base. Got enough soldiers that could make good use of her.”
Soap pursed his lips in consideration. “She helped you during the OP?”
“She did.”
“Saved your life, did she?”
“No, but she did her part,” Ghost hummed.
Whenever Ghost left for a mission on his own, Soap was left behind waiting anxiously for his return. And Soap knew Ghost felt the same whenever Soap shipped out without him.
Knowing that the other man had had at least some kind of back-up with him, the thought was reassuring in a way.
“Can't bring her to base this late anyway. Let's just- decide later,” Soap settled on.
Suddenly, fur slipped out under his fingers as the dog pushed herself to her feet, rushing in the direction of the kitchen with a whine.
Soap glanced at Ghost, raising his eyebrows, before going after her, stepping through the doorway into the living room.
They didn't have to go far before they could smell the bitter stench of burned food.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost cursed, immediately heading for the pan, pushing it to the side and turning off the stove.
Soap opened the window before joining Ghost, gripping the man’s arm to get a peek at the pan. It's content was still somewhat recognizable as some kind of tomato sauce - store bought, judging by the empty glass jar next to the sink, embellished with some fresh garlic, long burnt to a crisp.
“Made me something nice, did you?” Soap asked with a shit-eating grin. “Looks great.”
“You can still have it, then,” Ghost grunted, pulling out his phone. “I’m ordering out.”
“No, c’mon, it was a joke. I’d kill for some Chinese.”
“Maybe Riley will share the meat I bought her with you, if you give her more of those belly rubs,” Ghost mused, tapping away at his phone. Soap knew he was already putting in an order for Soap’s usual at the little Chinese place around the corner.
“Riley?” Soap asked, making Ghost shrug.
It seemed like Ghost had already made her family, then.
Something soft suddenly pressed against Soap’s legs, Riley pushing her body close to his, just as she had done with Ghost before, staring up at him like she was waiting for something.
“Fuckin’ hell, alright, get on the couch and I’ll bloody pet ye,” Soap finally noted, giving in, pointing at the couch.
Immediately obedient, Riley rushed through the room, laying onto one of the cushions, regarding him and tilting her head, forming, as Soap had to admit, an adorable image.
As he looked back at Ghost, he found the man was already watching him, a knowing smile on his lips.
“Don't even say anything,” Soap warned.
“I wasn't about to.”
“I know ye were.”
Ghost huffed quietly, still staring at him.
“I missed you, Johnny.”
Soap could feel his expressions soften, smiling back.
“Aye. I missed ye, too.”
Behind him, Riley let out a gentle yap and Soap knew, even without Ghost here, wanting to keep her around, he would have a hard time letting her go again.
Leonberger-Mutt!Hybrid König x Chihuaha!Hybrid Reader
--still on my Hybridverse idea and this brain baby came straight from a talk with @sentientsheepdog from the discord server. I hope you like this as much as I do.--
The barracks mess hall was loud tonight. Too loud. The air was thick with sweat, fried food, and the sour tang of alcohol smuggled into canteens, soldiers half-shouting over each other in mismatched languages. Laughter spiked sharp, boots thudded against the floor, and somewhere across the room a card game was already dissolving into arguments.
König sat hunched on a bench near the wall, as always, trying to take up as little space as his enormous frame would allow. Shoulders curved forward, hands folded in front of him, mask shadowing his eyes. His plate sat barely touched. The noise pressed in on him, every sound jabbing at the edges of his nerves.
He wasn’t the only one there from his unit — you were, too. The smallest hybrid in the whole company. Where König looked like he belonged in some mountain fortress guarding gates, you looked like you belonged in someone’s handbag. Fur-tipped ears twitching, tail held high, sharp little eyes darting to catch every flicker of movement.
You’d claimed a seat beside him without hesitation. Nobody had questioned it. Nobody ever did.
For a while, it was fine. You ate, König pushed food around his plate, the noise rolled over both of you.
And then it came.
A voice from the next table, sharp and lazy at once:
“Oi, big mutt. You gonna finish that, or you waiting for your master to tell you?”
König froze.
There were chuckles, a ripple of interest. Someone leaned across, a smug grin pulling at his mouth. A soldier from another unit, half-drunk already, the kind who always sniffed for weakness.
“Look at him. Doesn’t even bark back. You sure you’re not just a service dog, hm? Big paws, no bite.”
The laughter bit harder this time. König’s ears pressed flat against his skull, body curling smaller, as if he could disappear into the concrete wall behind him. He didn’t answer. He never did.
And that was the mistake. Because before König could fold in on himself completely, you moved.
Your chair scraped loud against the floor as you shoved it back. Tiny frame straightening, hackles bristling, tail stiff as a rod. In two quick steps, you planted yourself directly between König and the soldier leaning over.
Your teeth flashed.
“Say that again.”
The soldier blinked, startled at first. Then barked out a laugh. “What’s this? Chihuahua’s got opinions?”
You didn’t budge. Your whole body trembled, but it was the kind of vibrating tension that came before a strike. The kind that made even bigger hybrids hesitate.
“Pick on someone your own size,” you spat, voice shaking with fury. “Oh wait. You can’t. Because you’re a coward.”
That made the laughter stutter.
The soldier tilted his head, smirk pulling thin. “Careful. You might trip over your own shadow down there.”
You took one deliberate step closer, baring your teeth fully now, a low growl vibrating out of your chest. Everyone nearby went quiet, tension sparking through the air. Nobody had expected this. Nobody expected you to be the one snapping.
König sat frozen behind you, wide eyes fixed on your back.
The soldier’s smirk faltered. He raised a hand like he might push you aside — and that’s when you lunged.
It wasn’t a full attack. Not claws-out. But your speed was sudden, sharp enough to shock him — your teeth snapping just shy of his wrist, close enough to graze fabric. The sound was vicious, a crack of jaws that left the air heavy.
The soldier jerked back instinctively, face twisting. “Fucking hell—”
You didn’t stop. You stood your ground, shaking but unflinching, and snarled low enough that only those closest heard it:
“Touch him, and I’ll tear your hand off. Test me.”
Silence.
Across the room, the card game had stopped. Conversations dulled. Every set of eyes was on the smallest hybrid in the building, baring teeth at a man three times your size — all to shield someone even bigger.
The soldier hesitated. His smirk slipped into something brittle. He muttered something half-hearted, shoved back to his own table, and sat down. The ripple of noise slowly returned, though more muted this time. Nobody laughed.
You stayed there, planted firmly in front of König, until the tension eased out of the air.
Only then did you turn.
König hadn’t moved. His plate still sat untouched. His hands were tight together, knuckles pale beneath the gloves. His eyes — just visible beneath the mask — were wide and uncertain, flickering from you to the table and back again.
“You didn’t—” his voice rumbled low, caught in his throat. “You didn’t have to.”
You snorted, ears flicking back, tail still twitching with leftover adrenaline. “Of course I did.”
He blinked at you, confused, almost shy. “But… why?”
You crossed your arms, still bristling, but your voice came sharp and sure:
“Because you’re mine to yell at. Not theirs. And now eat! Cold food sucks.”
For a moment, König just stared.
And then, slow as a sunrise, his shoulders uncurled. Not much — just an inch, maybe two. But it was enough to feel like the whole room shifted.
You climbed back onto your chair like nothing had happened, tail flicking, ears still alert. König watched you for a long time, the corner of his eyes softening beneath the mask.
When he finally spoke again, it was almost too quiet to hear.
“…Danke.”
You pretended not to notice the way his voice caught.
