-> [ANGST] In which you work at the nearest store at base, Ghost being your least favourite and unfortunately, most frequent, customer. Is there a connection there, or is it in his head?
If I meant something to you.
[Part 2]
[Part 3]
-> [ANGST] You want him, but does he want you?
Just a memory
[Part 2]
-> You viewed Simon as your friend, but clearly he didn't feel the same
His name is Ghost
->
𝙆Ö𝙉𝙄𝙂
Impressive yet unimpressed
[Part 2] Unimpressive yet Impressed
-> [ANGST] In which König overhears gossip about him, and the change in his actions affect you, physically and mentally. Part 2 -> He attempts to reconcile with you after his attack.
König und Prinz: Meine Entführer
-> Your attempts to run away with your son fails, and your husband confronts you. Seems like he's really influencing your little one.
König und Prinz: My Escape
-> You've successfully escaped! Or have you...
𝙅𝙊𝙃𝙉 𝙋𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙀
Silent Smoker
-> [FLUFF] Price can't seem to find his missing cigars...and you're the only culprit.
Tulips or Roses?
-> blurb - rose meets tulips
-> [ANGST to FLUFF] In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you.
Hii sorry to randomly drop in 😭 your price fic roses n tulips kinda popped in my head while sketching something recently 😭🙈 it’s not a fanart of it exactly, but the vibe reminded me of your writing, I just wanted to tell you I love your work <3
OMGGG thank you!!! Your drawings are absolutely beautiful, gimme some talent!! 🙏
Please we need second part where reader successfully escape and make a run to her parent's alone, your toxic König is too good and amazing well written 😭😭💖
toxic! König x Reader - [King and Prince: My Escape]
THANK YOU!! i planned to make a bunch of one-shots under this AU, but this received a lot of love and continuation requests so here it is!
I'm also finally finished with exams and coursework, so I'm actually able to breathe a bit now- oh, oh. Never mind, 2nd term starts next week, okay.
Trigger warning: Kidnapping, mentions of reader's mental health, poorly translated German (oh how I love you so DeepL.com and ChatGPT)
There's also a poem that's mentioned here: "Der Erlkönig" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, written in 1782. I recommend checking it out, it's a short, yet chilling read!
"Wo ist sie, verdammt?" [where the hell is she?] König mutters to himself, his voice laced with frustration and hurt.
He looks at the now empty ropes with no sign of his wife, huffing at the lack of her presence. In contrast, Leon giggles as he latches onto his father's head whilst sitting on his shoulders.
"Mama's playing a game with us, papa!" He says enthusiastically.
"Was meinst du damit?" [what do you mean?]
Leon hums in mock confusion, "Vielleicht will sie, dass wir sie erwischen." [maybe she wants us to catch her].
It's 9 P.M. and you've running in the middle of a field in nothing but an over-sized sweatshirt and joggers. Of course that fucker decided to tie you up in a basement in the middle of fucking nowhere. In fact, you don't even recall him ever owning that property, something similar to an abandoned farmhouse. But I guess the only animal getting played here...would be you.
You're questioning all the other things he might have hidden from you...other properties...maybe other women...and what's the deal with your son?
"Leon honey, listen. Mama's going to get out of here, and after that we're going to go somewhere safe, okay? We'll go to your grandparents, I'll take you home, okay?" You sweat out, exhausted after numerous times of pulling at the ropes.
"But I'm already home." Leon smiles eerily. There's something broken in that kid, you think. The way he smiles with no emotion makes you fear for your life.
You try to caress the top of his head but the ropes dig at the possibly infected gashes on your wrists, making you hiss in response.
"Mama, you're bleeding." He state inquisitively, grabbing your wrists to examine them.
Groaning at the new contact, you curse out, "FUCK. Leon, stop. Just get me out of this, please sweetie-"
You breath hitches at his expression.
A deep toothy grin is plastered on his face.
"Red's always been mine and papa's favourite colour."
When you're eye catches his red beaded bracelet, the one mirrors König's, a part of you had to come to terms with losing both your husband and your son.
"Stupid kid, should have had a daughter..." You whisper to no one in particular, stretching over thorny bushes and rocks.
You can't tell how long it's been in that room, could be days, could be weeks, but the moment you left the house, it felt like taking a breathe of fresh air for the very first time.
"König, pleas-"
"Schnuki, quiet please, I'm trying to read Leon a poem." König scolds you, whilst sitting on the floor against the wall with Leon resting on his chest. For some reason, they both like to spend time with you.
By spending time with you, that means going about their day, in your presence...just, without paying any attention to you.
"König, I need to fucking piss again."
"Es war eine kalte, dunkle Nacht, und ein Vater ritt mit seinem kleinen Sohn durch einen nebligen Wald." He reads, completely shutting your needs out. [it was a cold, dark night, and a father was riding with his little son through a foggy forest.]
"Kö..." You drag out the syllables to see whether that would make a difference to his reactions. It doesn't.
"Der Junge klammerte sich ängstlich an seinen Vater und flüsterte-" [The boy clung fearfully to his father and whispered-]
Leon speaks out now, clutching his father's shirt as he sleepily recites from the book, "Papa, siehst du ihn nicht? Dort, zwischen den Bäumen! Der Erlkönig ruft nach mir!“ ["Papa, don’t you see him? There, between the trees! The Erlking is calling me!"]
The two giggle at their reenactment.
As they continue their story, the loudly spoken story begins to anger you, for days you've been practically caged in the room, forced to listen to such mundane tasks. Reading a story before bedtime (but they happen to sleep upstairs with actual beds, leaving you to practically rot downstairs), or when König decides to blast his tunes whilst working out, or even when Leon simply chooses to study right in of your shivering body in the afternoon.
"DOES ANYONE HERE HAVE FUNCTIONING EARS?" You scream.
In a instant, König flashes his eyes on you as Leon flinches at the tone of your stern voice.
There's a moment of silence, a quiet battle between you and König, who seems to want to rip your vocal cords and shove them into a book to read about to his son.
"Was haben Sie gerade gesagt?" [what did you just say?] He murmurs with his eyebrows furrowed.
When you don't respond, your son decides to speak up for you.
He turns his head around to berate you, "Sprich dich aus." [speak up]
Your gaze turns to the floor as you watch droplet after droplet hit the surface, "...why."
There's no response. Perhaps, they didn't hear you or perhaps they simply don't know.
"Why are you doing this to me. All I wanted was a husband and a son that respected me. What the fuck did I do to deserve such a shitty family?!"
Before you know it, you begin wailing at the end of your outburst, tears rapidly streaming down your aching cheeks. You look up at the pair, hoping to feign any sense of remorse or sympathy.
But you're met with none.
"Maybe if you hadn't broken this family, you could have got what you wanted."
You're not too sure who spoke, at that point it seems like both father and son began to share a twisted mind.
A large vehicle drives by you and you let out a sigh, maybe there is an escape for you after all.
"Wait! Wait for me!"
The look of pity the driver gives you as you ask them for a lift wasn't as bad as the ones your own family have been giving you for the past few days, so you don't complain. Instead you give a vague description of your parent's house, your childhood home.
With a deep breathe, you make your way to safety, and for a second, you allow sleep to evade you that night. A sleep so deep, you don't hear the quiet ring of a phone...
"Hallo König. Ja, sie ist bei mir. Du hattest recht. Ja, sei einfach da, ich bringe sie in 20 Minuten vorbei." [hello konig. yes, she's with me. you were correct. yes just be there, i'll drop her off in 20 minutes.]
"Miss, we're here. Miss-" The voice urges you to wake up, poking your shoulder as if you were roadkill.
With a groan you awaken, at the sight of your parents house, safety as last.
You thank the driver for troubling him, and for getting blood on his seats, "I'm sorry I don't have anything to repay you with...if you give me a minute, I can run in and get you some cash?" You ask, apologetically.
The stranger shakes his head, "No need, payments been taken care of already."
Oh. Okay, cool.
You squint your eyes in confusion, but choose to brush it off, it's been days since you've engaged in human interaction, maybe you just forgot the small quirky things a person can say.
"...okay, thanks again."
"Bis ich dich wiedersehe." [until i see you again.]
You stop midstep, looking back at the stranger, but he's already hit the pedals and driven off without a trace. That was German, right? See you again?
It seems like a coincidence, and you want to brush it off, but the way he spoke mimicked König's dialect a little too well....Many people speak German though...
You reach the door of your parent's house, admiring yourself in the reflection of the door. A frail being, dressed in tattered clothing, with blood marks decorating your wrist. Afraid of being bombarded with questions, you pull the sleeves of your sweatshirt down and re-tie your hair into something more acceptable.
The door opens and your met with the relieved look of your poor mother.
"Sweetheart, I'm so glad you're okay!" She pulls you into a bone crushing hug, with her face tucked tightly into your shoulder.
Humming against her, you question her, "I'm okay...wait, how did you know? Where's dad?"
"He's okay sweetheart, he's in the living room. But don't think you're off the hook, now that you've come back." She smiles, kissing your forehead, as she guides you through the house.
You scoff, "What do you mean?"
"Running away is a serious matter, don't take it lightly, sweetheart. How do you think we've all felt? I understand, if you're you know..." She starts.
"...Know what?"
"You know, you've become a little..." She spins her finger around her ear in a circular motion, "I guess...cuckoo! Um...but don't worry, we're already looking into treatments."
You stare at her blankly, stopping her, "Ma. I'm fine. W-what- I'm not crazy, where on Eart-"
Every muscle in your body flinches.
It's like your body hit flight or fight mode but instead decided to switch off. You've never remembered a time where your mind has ever been so silent, but I guess now counts.
Those blue eyes.
2 pairs.
Staring back at you, soullessly.
Not a word is spoken.
And yet both your parents seem to be gleaming at the scene, of what looks like a family reuniting.
Family.
If that's even what this is.
"Why did you run away from us, schatz?" [darling]
You can't distinguish between your husband and your son.
Welcome back❤️ also I'm going to unis next year, if you don't mind me asking what's your major lol?would you recommend?
Econ major 😻 learning about money but I got none 😁
Honestly I'd recommend it, because I found it interesting in high school, but really choose a major that you'd enjoy (yes I definitely didn't look at the careers and salaries post grad...)
You're friend wants you to meet a special someone, and he happens to be closer to you than you think. Literally.
Word Count: 4.3k
"Yeah he's great, you should come meet him! Although I dunno, he said he wanted to keep 'us' a secret..."
You look up from your laptop at your best friend Michaela, who has blabbering about her new fling for an hour now. You hum in acknowledgment, but come on ... you're not really listening.
"And he has a sick motorcycle, but he's never let me on it..." She drones on.
"Uh huh."
"And he said I would look prettier with longer hair! Which I think means he finds me already a little pretty...?"
"Wow, I agree..."
"And- YO ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"
You shut your laptop and focus wholly on her. "Mickey I love you, but this is the eighth guy you've loved this year. Whose to say this is gonna work out?"
Mickey sulks into your bed as you lecture her, finally being able to pour out your emotions.
"The last guy, who you planned a wedding for, you ended up dumping 'cos he reminded you of wet ketchup." You complain, moving your hands around over-dramatically. "And the dick before that, couldn't even pronounce your name correctly-"
"To be fair, Mickey is quite a hard name-" She butts in.
"It's a fucking Disney character, for Christs sake, who the fucks Missy? Listen, Mick, I'm happy for you, but you keep on dating douches, and then a month later, you come back crying to me about it. This isn't good for you or for me, you know how busy I am on this thesis."
Mickey's face contorts to a look of displeasure and betrayal, her eyes squinting as if she's trying to restraint the tears that look like they're about to burst in a moment.
She looks away before recollecting her thoughts, "I- I just thought you'd be happy for me-"
"I am Mickey! I really am! But it's like you search up 'world's most toxic asshat' and decide to bone the dude. They never treat you well Mick...come on, even a blind guy can see that..."
Your friend looks down, playing with the hem of her jumper, as if she's carefully considering your words, but you know her enough to know that she doesn't care for her advice. 4 weeks from now, and shes going to be sitting on your bed bawling her eyes out over another prick.
"You really are the worst, you know that?" She mumbles almost inaudibly, before getting up and heading towards the door of your dingy flat. You call out her name, telling her to come back, but give it a month, she'll come back trying over a different person.
It's a dark stormy Friday night, not even a week since your last contact with her, and there's already a brash pattern of knocks bombarding at your door. You look up from your laptop, almost a quarter into your thesis.
I swear if it's my fucking landlord again... You think as you grab a bat to protect yourself with, Mickey always complains about how dangerous your neighbourhood is.
You sigh out of relief when you peer through the peephole, it's Michaela...but she looks hysterical.
"Mickey...hey listen, I didn't mean what I said..." You start when you open the door to her furrowed eyebrows and hiccuped sobs.
"H- He- He keeps ghosting me-" She tries.
"Mickey, what's going on, who-"
She digs her face into the nook of your right shoulder, and your sharp nose detected the slight smell of booze, "Saw him at the grocery store, b-but he ignored me."
"Michaela honey, sit down. Okay what's going on." You bring her to your bed.
And so she tells you all about it. About the new guy that she's been seeing for 2 weeks now, how she met him at a new bar opening in your area, about how he sweet talked her into buying her a few drinks, and how he drove her home like a real gentleman. Your face scrunches when she accidentally spills about the part how rough he pounded her in her bedroom, with both her wrists tightly gripped and bound by one of his large callous hands, as he bent her over her desk.
The skillful way in which he dug his hips into her ass, 'thrusting into her like God told him to' as she put it. You mumble a little blasphemous when you hear that part.
A few more, 'Oh the dick was so good, I can't, I'm obsessed' and 'He fucked me like my future husband would', and she finally stops, her train of tears coming to a halt and she blankly stares at your ceiling, laying on your bed.
You nod dimly, not knowing whether to use the pep talk that you'd used for the last guy.
"What's this guy's name again?" You question her.
She shrugs, without energy, and the idea of injecting with a tranquiliser faintly disappears from your mind.
You look at her with amusement. "What do you mean-" you shrug, mocking her actions, "Does he have an ugly name like the other guy...what was...oh, Lester?"
Mickey snorts, looking up at you, "Lester didn't know how to eat me out, like he did."
"You don't need to bring up every sexual detail, Mick..."
"Sorry virgin..." She huffs.
You cringe at her, "Okay, so what's his name, it can't be as bad as Lester." She doesn't respond, her eyes tearing up again, "Um, okay, Imma say some names, tell me if I get it. James, John, Joseph, Jeremy, Jeremia-"
"Why are they all J names?" She mutters.
"Uh hello, you barged into my flat at 11 P.M. and you're drunk, considering how toxic this guy is, it's gotta be a J name. Jerome, Jude, Javon, Julius, Jason-"
"G." She stops you.
"G? Jason with a G...what the...Gason? Yeah, girl, if his name was that ugly, I'd be crying just as hard at you-"
"NO UH." She shouts so loudly, dragging her words, that even the gust of wind stops in fright. "His name starts with G...I think it does at least. He wouldn't tell me his real name...just a nickname."
You nod, as if in agreement, but you stop yourself because you've never been in a similar situation. As much as you love Michaela, you despise almost everything she does.
Like how in 2nd year of university, she missed an exam just so she could go on a date with a guy she was seeing. And she wonders why she had to retake that module over the summer.
There was also the time at your 20th birthday dinner, where she uninvitingly decided to bring her fling for the month, and no, you couldn't the food given the amount of time they decided to share saliva right in front of you.
"Wow Mick, your standards be dropping like this economy." You kid, although some part of you really questions how much truth lied behind that, "So, hit me. Who's this guy you've been seeing. Tell me about him."
"You for real?" She smiles sweetly at you, and for a second, every bone of hate towards her actions wash away. At the end of the day, she still is your best friend, and you should support her decision no matter what. That's what friends do, no?
"Yeah. I'm sorry. What's his name...or nickname? What do you call him?" You hold her hands, rubbing above her thumbs.
She sniffs a bit, but her smile doesn't falter, and her cheek blushes at the mere thought of him.
"His name is Ghost."
It's official. This was the worst guy Mickey has dated.
You've made a list of all people she's been with, ranking them with how well they'd treated her.
Okay so, Derek was a pass, he cheated on her with the Philosophy professor...literally worst degree ever. What kinda dumb career can you even go into with that.
Then there's Jonah, reaaaal bad boy, but he screamed like a girl and was way too deep into feminism. Pass, how do you manage to mansplain feminism??
Marc, aspiring footballer. You know what, smash, he was fine, I'll give her that. But then he left to play for Spain and never texted back... But he had dimples, so I'd forgive him.
Oh how did I forget Oliver. Auditioned to be a k-pop idol but lied about being Korean the entire time...pass for sure.
GAAH! There all so trash!
And yet there's another member on this list. Nameless, faceless 'Ghost'.
"What does he look like?" You begin your interrogation.
"Dunno." Mickey shrugs.
"How old is he?"
"Dunno."
"...Career?"
"Dunno."
"Dunno as in you don't know, or dunno as in this freak's unemployed?" You rub your temples in frustration.
Mickey sighs seeing how annoyed you are, she begged and dragged you out of your flat into the bright lights and atmosphere of a cafe.
"I think he's loaded, he-"
You sigh, "You said that about the last guy, and that was just because you couldn't see the minus sign on his online banking app."
"Can you not get annoyed at me for a second? This is my potential husband for all I know." She says exasperatingly.
"Ah yes! Your husband is a nameless, faceless, jobless knobhead who you've had sex with once, talked to...ONCE. Remind me why you're so hooked on this guy? Here's a challenge, don't mention his dick."
An elderly lady sitting on the table besides you two, grumbles and leaves after hearing that.
"...Can I have a sip of your frappe?"
"Oh would you look at that! Princess Mickey DOES know how to ask a question! You couldn't just, I don't know....ASK for his name? Don't act like this was the hardest thing you've done, remember when you considered proposing TO A MAN-"
"The only hard thing about Ghost...was his penis."
The cafe goes silent when she blurts that out.
You sigh for what felt like the 100th time that hour, and you lean in to whisper to Mickey, "Mick, it's been just over a week since you've last seen him- whose to say you'll see him again?"
She rests her head in her hands, clenching her eyes shut at the thought. "I thought I'd run into him again, I don't know...Am I stupid for wanting him so bad?"
Yes, yes you are. You want to say. But you bite your tongue.
"nOoOoO, oF cOuRsE nOt, gah, why'd you say tha- yes. Yes, you are." So much for trying, "You don't even remember what he looks like, are you sure we're not stuck looking for a character out of one of your sex dreams?"
Mickey leans in so close to you, that you can smell the coffee breath.
"I know I was drunk, but I swear, I woke up and there was hickeys all over my neck-"
"But you said he was wearing a mask-" You're interrupting her and you can tell it irritates her, with her eyebrow twitching.
"Yes, but I don't remember-"
"What colour was the mask?"
"Uh, black."
"Was it a surgical mask or a balaclava?"
"Um, a baklava."
"Bitch, that's a pastry dish."
"I CAN'T! I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!" Mickey screams, standing up so abruptly, everyone in the cafe stops and turns.
You gasp, purposely loud so everyone can hear, "Are you breaking up with me...because I'm homeless?" All of the cafe goers murmur to each other at the scene in front of them.
"We were at your flat an hour ago, you fool- come on we're going." Mickey hisses, dragging you out the cafe, uncomfortably smiling at all the people that looked at you with sympathy, "No, don't feel bad, apparently a thesis is more to important than my future husband."
The walk home was pleasant, with Mickey hooking her arms around of yours, onlookers may have assumed that you two were a couple. But overall, it was nice being in her presence without the mention of any men.
"Hey look, the room next to yours is vacant. Maybe I should move in!" Mickey points out, when both of you have made it down the stairs of your building.
"I don't want you that often, jeez." You joke.
And for a while, your days do seem to be getting better.
It's been a month since your little cafe date, and you're still stuck at home grovelling through your tedious thesis.
The good news is, you're about 3 quarters in, the bad news is, your new neighbour has no apparent spatial awareness, having blasted his rock music through the floor. Unlucky for you, there's only 3 apartments on the floor of your building: you, Mr Feldman (who you're sure is deaf considering he hasn't made any complaint from the noise) and you're new neighbour, whom you've never met but already hate.
"TURN DOWN YOUR MUSIC DUMBASS." You bang on the door of your neighbour.
Yet no one opens the door and apologises.
In the evening, the noises get worse. Instead of rock, it's a combination of Weeknd songs and the loud female moans and bed shaking next door. Once you'd heard voices that had belonged to 2 women, so you deduced that you lived next to a sex-crazed lesbian.
"Mr Feldman, how are you okay with it?!" You complain. You've had enough of the noise, especially the headboard banging since it seems your neighbours bedroom is just a wall away from yours.
"Okay with what, sweetheart?" The elderly gentleman croaks out, standing at his doorstep.
"The noise! You don't hear the loud ass music?" You groan, having being repeating yourself for a 2nd time.
"Yes, the music is ass, but it isn't loud." Mr Feldman says, his finger tapping at his chin, comically pondering with his jurassic-age brain.
You roll your eyes, walking away and towards your own room, "How- I feel forgetting how old you truly are...."
"I heard that."
"I really doubt you did." You shut the door on him.
This is a real issue, not like the ones Mickey has with men, you can't focus on your thesis, this could seriously jeopardise your education.
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: have u talked to ur landlord
ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: duh i unleashed my inner karen, but he isnt doing anything cos this dick offered to pay almost double the rent for his flat
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: damn he loaded
ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: yet he cant afford earphones apparently
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: why dont u get him some
ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: wat
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: as a joke
ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: hm thats funny mickey
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: thanks who am i talking to again
So you did just that, you placed a pair of pink wired earphones in his mailbox... which happened to be right next to yours. And you waited.
And waited.
And a week later, and no response.
Your neighbour definitely doesn't know that he has a mailbox does he? A week since you're little prank, and yet you can still hear the music through the walls so loud, you think you've developed tinnitus. The throbbing in your ears is so painful, sometimes you feel phantom drips of blood running down your ear.
"Asshole doesn't even turn down the music. Come on, play some Beyonce at least."
Mickey snickers, she's on your bed texting other people.
"You're not even listening, are you?" You throw a pillow at her playfully to get her attention.
"Babe, it's 1 in the afternoon and I can't hear any music now, let's not start the day like this. Say, there's a lil get together in that bar down the road, you there?" She says, but you're not even sure she's talking to you as she hadn't looked up to you since saying that.
You crack your neck from exhaustion, "Nah I'll pass, need to finish a draft of my thesis and sen-"
"Blah blah blah, all I hear are excuses, thesis this thesis that." She rolls her eyes.
"Yeah, well you would have failed high school and university if not for me. So you paying with cash or card?" You boast.
Mickey gets up, dusting herself, "Listen I gotta dash, but I better see you there- it starts at 11."
"Woah, wait, which bar, who's going, what's the dress code- Okay you're gone."
And for a first time in a while, you're stuck in your room alone, without the loud obnoxious music and without anyone constantly whining at you. Peace and silence-
Hold on, what's that?
You press your ear against your bedroom wall, which is funny considering you usually complain about the noise. It's not music, it's more sultry and sexual. Deep and gruff moans escaping someone, and this time it's actually enjoyable to listen to. Nothing like those pornstar like squeals you were used to, no. This was more raw.
The way his voice broke at certain points combined with the lazy irregular slick noises, which you imagined to be his dick slipping through his tight, cocooned fist.
"Fuck, mhm."
That voice.
If this was the voice of your neighbour, you would have never complained about the commotion. Was this why Mr Feldman has no issue with the noise? Was he blessed with the intimidating whimpers next door?
You press further, ignoring the growing wetness pooling at your underwear. You could tell he started thrusting faster, his voice increasing in volume just a little bit.
You could tell he's close.
But some part of you wanted to deny him of this pleasure.
So instead of touching yourself with your neighbour, you're standing right in front of his door, banging against the door frame with all the might you can muster, you fear you might break it down.
The door opens.
And you're face to face with your neighbour.
And a minute the warmth between your legs actually makes sense. Because you're neighbour isn't a sex crazed lesbian...you're neighbour is a-
"Sex God,"
"Excuse me?" His voice is deeper when he's talking.
"... I said, oh God. Can you keep the music down?" You reroute your words, drinking in the appearance of this beast in front of you.
He's tall, maybe a few inches taller than 6 foot, with short dusty blonde hair, and a prominent scar running through his thin but well moisturised lips. And his jawline, wow, the Gods above must have spent eons perfecting his jaw structure-
"'m sorry. But uh, hey thanks for the earphones." He pulls out one of the hot pink earbud from his ear.
You blush, he had seen his gift, "Uh huh, how'd you know it's from me?"
"Y' think old man Feldman's gonna buy a bloke hello kitty earphones?" He kids.
"Maybe, it's 2024. Live and let live. Don't be shocked if you see Feldman walking around in a skirt." And you're surprised he laughs your joke, admiring the crease lines by his mouth when he smiles, almost forgetting that you had an imagine in your head that he was the worst possible neighbour alive...
"Cute." He comments, looking down at you.
"Me...? Or are you visualising Feldman....." You drag your words, until he laughs again, leaning onto his door frame and just then you understand why Mickey would chase guys the way she does.
"No, please, he's not my type. I lean towards um...cute, short neighbours."
"You're literally just describing Feldman, dude,"
"That's on me," he smiles widely at you, "If I had known it was you banging on my door, I'd 'ave opened it a while back." He flirts.
You blink at him, no ones ever flirted with you. What would Mickey do? No, she'd just snog him this very moment. I mean, what's stopping you?
"If I'd known you were my neighbour, I'd be banging you a while back. Wait."
There's a pause in the conversation and you're too scared to correct yourself. "I-"
But he cuts you off, letting out the loudest laughs at that you'd ever heard, almost as if he was cursed not to laugh and it had finally been broken. The type where he hand gently grabs your shoulder and you could almost feel the vibrations from his broad chest.
What a sight.
"You know what I meant." You giggle, wait, when did you start giggling?
His laugh ends in a fit of small coughs, "Didn't catch your name, dove."
You introduce yourself, opting not to sticking your hand out like you're in a job interview.
But he does it for you, placing one large callous hand in front of you, for you to shake.
"Simon." He says as he kisses the back of your hand.
You thought when you met Simon, that you two had bonded, like he was about to ask you out bonded, but alas you were wrong.
You laid in bed the rest of the day, intending to complete a draft for your thesis, yet instead you found yourself on Sims creating a family for you and your beloved Simon. And a short nap later, you wait up to over 20 notifications from your friend.
4 missed calls from ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: yoooo wru??? its 11:30
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: HOEEEE WAKE UP
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: fuck ur thesis come hereee im drunk
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: BABE THE GHOST GUY IS HERE NO JOKE
5 missed calls from ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: you better be dead
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: oml he saw me
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: black baklava btw
2 missed calls from ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: hehehehe im going back to his place
ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: if i die yk where im at yh
Oh shit. It's past midnight, you try calling Mickey but her phone goes straight to voicemail, curse her and her DND.
You start looking for your keys, there's no way you're attending the party, you're just going to pick her up from whomever's place she's at and take her home.
"Mhm, doll, jus' like that."
You pause in your step. Mickey's safe right? A quick listen wont hurt anyone.
"'lil deeper pretty girl, yeah, like that."
Some part of you wishes it was porn Simon was watching, and that God was playing a cruel joke on you, introducing you to the prettiest guy you've seen, and now suddenly you're stuck hearing him fuck someone else? Yeah, you've heard it before but...this time it made you feel uneasy.
This time you knew who was behind the voice, you knew who was moaning. And forgive me, but you thought you had a connection, no? That talk earlier today...did it mean nothing?
And when did he suddenly become so vocal? What was so special about this girl than the others?
You stand still, with your ear pressed so tightly against the wall, you've probably left a mark against it. And his moans never stop.
And hers start. For a second you feel like you recognise the female voice, but through the slurs and hand-covered whimpers (you presume), you can't figure out if it was familiar to you or not.
You flinch when the head boards banging, and you feel yourself throwing every romantic thought you've had of this man when you hear his degrading tone towards her.
"C’mon, make yourself cum on my cock, dove."
You gulp hearing him use the nickname he gave you on someone else.
30 minutes of torture.
You stood against that wall, with your ear so firmly pressed, someone might have thought it was glued on. The only sounds you were focused on was his whimpers and you caught the way his voice broke when he spoke, and your infrequent breathes.
When the noises stopped, you stepped back in embarrassment. You felt so shameful practically peering into a man's sex life. How disgusting are you truly?
You reach into your pockets, feeling for your keys and your phone, suddenly remembering Mickey's whereabouts.
ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: just woke up
You lied. You couldn't ever tell someone of today.
ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: omw wru
You open your door, feeling the abrupt urge to surround yourself within nature after doing something so distasteful. And if it couldn't get any worse...
Simon's door opens.
One part of you wants to turn and see which lucky girl had the opportunity to getting plowed by him, and yet the other part knew you'd immediately crumble at the thought of it not being you.
"Oh my god! That's why this place looks so familiar....!"
You widen your eyes, your breathe getting caught once again.
"Mickey...?" You whisper, not even turning your head to look at the horror next door.
"Yes, it's me silly. Come here, want you to meet someon- oh can't walk, fuck." She giggles, barely conscious.
You turn your head towards her slowly, like a movie character.
It's Mickey in the flesh, wearing jeans and a black tube top that had been worn so sloppily, you were almost scared you were going to get flashed. She smiles innocently at you were half lidded eyes.
"Oh...I-"
A figure walks out, dressed in a blue-gray 3/4 sweater and a hood, and you swear you feel yourself sinking into the ground. Could this get any worse.
And your wishes were answered. Mickey turns back to press a vulgar, almost cringe-worthy kiss against his clothed jaw, and you shift your eyes down... to see his dark jeans... and the zip undone. You turn your head around, almost debating to ignore the couple and lock yourself into your bedroom until death overcomes you. Your darting eyes rest on his face, begging for him to say something to remove the awkwardness.
Yet, something about Simon was different...
His eyes bore deeply into your soul as if trying to read you, his once kind face contorted into a look of pure disgust, like he were looking into the eyes of a killer. This didn't look like the man you talked to this morning...
His eyes drag down over your crooked frame, a raised eyebrow twitching almost in mock sympathy. To make it worse, he had his arms crossed so tightly around him, he looked like the human epitome of a 'side eye'.
You pray to God it's the effects of alcohol. Or maybe you're the drunk one! Maybe you're sleeping and this is all just a dream, or nightmare...
You put your hands on the doorknob, wanting to resign yourself from this situation when your eyes drift back to Mickey, who seems to have taken the liberty of speaking.
"I want you meet the guy I was talking to you about. His name is Ghost."
First of all, thank you all for 6200 likes and 300 followers?!!!! THE BEST <3
Also, my writing schedule is so poor, I'll try to update as much as possible!!
tags -> @lilliumrorum , @kxtz3 , @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12 , @restrictionsapply-blog , @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @chessecakelover , @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyysho3es, @delta98-idk , @spankmydepression , @yourfavbabigirl
A/N: I'm a minor, and yes I'm aware that the cod community mostly consists of adults, but I really just want to have fun and play around a bit, so if you could please respect that, I would be more than grateful<3
💚 = reader ❤️ = König
I hc that König can't hold a pencil or pen or whatever correctly cause his hands are so fuckin big so he writes terribly
OMG I JUST HAD A THOIGHT. What if like on this fic that you wrote “tulips or roses”, what if Rose and reader met?!?!
PLSPLSPLSPLS MAKE IT ANGSTY TO FLUFF TOO 🙏🙏🙏🙏
AMAZING THOUGHT POOKIE I WAS THINKING THE SAME >_<
also i'm on holiday rn visiting family so ofc the wifi decides to the shittiest rn so apologies for slow uploads and errors :( and tags aren't working???
Word Count: 2k
Tulips meets Roses.
It was a Friday evening at the pub, where you sat beside John Price, your arms interlinked with his clenched bicep listening to another one of Johnny's story.
"'n' th' mornin' efter we shagged, she juist vanished! Efter a' th' love we made?"
Ghost grunts in mock sympathy, and Gaz stifles a scoff next to him, "She probably got scared of your haunted puppet collection mate-"
"Oh ye leave Bonnybelle oot o' this-"
These outings weren't as frequent as one would hope, considering how busy the Task Force usually was, but when there was a break with the missions, most of the soldiers found themselves at the hustle and bustle of the local pub, and it made it better when you could bring a plus one.
It's been a few months since the 'argument' about Rose, and even though John likes to name it a 'dispute', he's drilled it into your head how it was his fault completely not yours.
"Yeah well, me and my girl visited Bali for our anniversary-" Kyle boasts to the group.
"Yeah 'n' Simon gaed tae Croydon wi' his grandma, sae whit." [to all my non-londoners, Croydon is THE GHETTO. always in support of croydon slander]
John snickers, and you smile as the feelings of his arms encapsulating you. "You'll find someone one day, Johnny, I know it." You smile sloppily, partially tipsy from all the alcohol consumed and partially from all the sweet talk.
"Aye ah better, a'm wantin' th' Tulip tae mah Price."
Ah, turns out John's been calling you Tulip to everyone.
"She's limited edition, find your own fuckin' flower." John comically dismisses, taking a hefty sip of his beer, bringing you impossibly closer to him.
Your smile at the compliment is cut short when a blonde bob catches your peripheral, and just as you're about to turn your head to catch the face you're looking at-
"Is your garden in bloom?" Simon casually questions.
The table immediately erupts in coughs and laughter, with Gaz side-eyeing Simon's question, and Johnny laughing at the clever Bridgerton reference. John corrects his posture at the comment and covers his cough with his fist, a light tinge of pink painting his pale bearded cheeks. He'll make sure Simon runs double the amount of laps during practice.
"And that's my cue..." You press a warm kiss against John's temples, before heading off to the women's bathroom, not blind to the 'awwws' and coos from Soap, and the "What does it mean? I only watched the sex scenes..." from Simon.
Walking to the women's bathroom, you yawn and stretch your tense back after sitting on the wooden chair at the bar for so long.
"Tired?"
You snort, "An understatement, I'm sleepy as fuck- Oh."
Locking eyes with the voice in the mirror, grounds you back to reality. The once fictitious woman you were most worried about stands next to you in the bathroom, returning your glance through a mirror.
You break the silence, feeling awkward at the tense scene, although you're unsure if she's feeling the same. Does she know who you are? Does she think of you as her replacement?
"Weather's nice." A terrible comment considering it mid November in England; the weather's far from nice, yet Rose chuckles. For a moment, you can see why John longed for this woman, from the way her skin creased around her mouth as she flashed you a grin through the reflection.
"It's nicer in Greece, moved a few years back." She smiles amicably.
You hum, nodding as if in agreement, even though you hadn't even set foot in a Mediterranean country, "When did you come back? To the UK?"
She looks up, recollecting the days, "Hmm, must been a week now, Greece is lovely, but the UK's home, you know?"
Once again you just nod, watching as she pulls out a red Dior lipstick and reapplies to her supple lips. Watching her intensely focus on her lips makes you question John once again, a wave of insecurity rushing through you like that previous time.
She's so much better than me... You think to yourself.
"How's he been then?"
There's a pause in your breath, your eyebrows raising slightly. Rose makes eye contact with you again through the mirror, and you're grateful that she doesn't turn to look at you physically, you're scared that you might pass out in nervousness.
"I- uh, who?" You manage to blurt out, mentally cursing yourself for what you think sounded like a helium-produced high pitched squeak.
Rose chuckles at your response, "John Price. I see the way he looks at you, you been dating him for long?"
You purse your lips into a thin smile, even after years of dating and marriage, any compliment given to the both of you would send your heart to a warm frenzy.
"Been together for 4 years, married for 1..." Your smile in inevitably giddy as you admire the glittering rock plastered on your ring finger. Rose looks at your ring, her smile faltering a little, but you don't notice it in time.
"And you?"
"Me?" She straightens her posture, and even her mannerisms reflect that of your husbands a bit, "A few years of marriage...it's...nice." But it sounds like she's trying to convince herself more so than answering your question.
Your response is again, a shy nod.
Silence evades the conversation as she closes her lipstick delicately, placing it back into her expensive purse. You want to press the conversation further, beg her for more answers about the history that she might have had with John, you wanted to hear it from her perspective.
"I loved him you know."
Oh.
The world stops for a moment, and you feel the slow emergence of bile erupting from within. You're silent for moment, your thoughts halting. What kinda woman just announces that she had feeling for another's man...no, not just feelings...love.
Her reflection in the mirror breaks into small minuscule frames, as your eyes tear up. Not even a breath escapes from your mouth.
A droplet of sweat cascades down your back and you tremble at the thought of John kissing Rose.
"I...of course, realised too late. When we were celebrating my retirement, me and the team, I, uh...I was about to tell him...and I saw his phone screen...didn't know about you then, but it was a picture of you," She giggles at the memory, "Thought you must have been important 'cos that man's had that brick phone for years, and this is the first time I'd seen a different lockscreen."
You don't respond, unsure of whether to scream at her, calling her a homewrecker, or just to let her complete her speech. You realise she had used the past tense, loved. Did she still feel the same?
"And then I followed him back to his office...he was on the phone...to you. And oh my God. I swear I looked through the crack of his door, that guy was literally melting. Caught him twirling the invisible phone line and everything."
You can't suppress the tiny smirk on your face.
"And it was just a mundane conversation, nothing special...and it looked like he would kill the task force, just to have a spec of your attention on him. I've...never seen him this way, not even with me..." She whispers the last part, looking down at the droplets of water on the porcelain sink.
"I'm sorry if I'm intruding, I guess I just came here to get closure-"
"Did you get it?"
The first you've said in minutes, and the tone was so gruff, one would think you were berating her.
She nods, still smiling, and for a second you wonder how strong this woman would have been, flying all the way back, just to see someone she'd harboured feelings with another.
"And even if I hadn't, I wouldn't do anything to either of you...forgive me, I'm not like that."
You nod, intaking some air after what felt like hours. You force yourself to turn your body towards her, a question still stuck in your head, urging to be answered.
"Rose." You whisper. She looks at you with a sweet smile, and for a second you feel bad for even thinking such inhumane thoughts about her.
"Do you still love him?" It was short and curt, no hesitation in your question, which did sound somewhat more like a command.
She looks at her reflection in the mirror, as if assessing her flaws and imperfections. There's another uncomfortable pause in the atmosphere, and it feels like the two of you have sucked a breath in anticipation.
The truth is...she doesn't know. What even is love? Is it measurable? Is it subjective, objective, definite, is it yes or no? Are there layers to love? Can you love two people at the same time? Has she ever felt love?
Does she still love John?
Did she ever love John?
Did John ever love...her?
She thinks back to when she walked into the bar, her eyes searching for the bearded captain, only to see them locked on...you.
Oh the way he looked at you. It reminded her of a loyal dog watching upon his master, like a peasant being granted a sip of golden delicious nectar for the first time. Like the way the moon orbits the Earth indefinitely, following Mother Earth on her orbital path.
Like the way a wounded man would rest in his knees painfully, praying for his Goddess to notice at least one his pleas, as he weeps for her.
It was a look she never gave to him, and one he never gave to her. That look, he had only reserved for ... you.
"No, I suppose not, not the way he loves you." It comes out in a pained whisper, and Rose can't tell if she wanted to go back in time to have John all to herself or if she believes that she would ever experience that kind of connection with him.
You hum, it felt like your voice box was strained every time you responded, but you felt at peace, finally.
How long have been in the bathroom for?
Run along now, John's probably looking for you.
You hug Rose, and you can tell she's not used to physical touch, the way her tall frame freezes at the contact. She smiles to you, silently apologising for her burdensome self.
You leave the bathroom, with a smile bigger than you had ever worn.
Soap's points towards you, at the table, and the others smile, John immediately whisking his head so quickly, you fear he might have pulled a muscle.
"Hey baby," you whisper into his hair, sitting down next to him, with his arm around you, where you belong.
"Jesus, sweetheart, 'was about to go to the bathroom m'self to look for you..." He mumbles, pressing his soft lips against your temple, purposely brushing his beard against your cheek.
You hum, as he presses fluttering kisses against your neck, whispering all kinds of affectionate names, oblivious to the fact that Ghost was already submitting a letter of compliant for excess PDA.
Rose shortly leaves, exiting the pub, her eyes falling on John's blushed cheeks burying into your hair, as she opens the door.
He turns to her, feeling someone looking at her, but instead of freaking out, he just smiles, acknowledging her presence, and quickly shoving his cheek against yours.
Tulips truly were his favourite flowers.
"SHE GAED TAE TH' BATHROOM 'N' DINNAE WASH HER HAUNDS"
You are reading: [Part 2]
Read [Part 1] here!
Word Count: 1.4k
You viewed Simon as your friend, but clearly he did feel the same.
When Ghost was asked about his emergency contact, he mentioned Soap's name.
"You can't put down another soldier, mate. Gotta be yer ma or summit." His higher-ups informed him.
"Why no'?" He grumbled, leaning against the wall in the dingy office.
"Wot if you're on a mission with 'im? Wot if he's injured too? Hm? Just do me a favour and put down yer missus, will ya."
Ghost rolled his eyes in annoyance, slamming the door shut as he walked out. With an important mission coming soon, it was vital that everything was in order before they left.
He just doesn't get it. Why does a skilled killer like him need an emergency contact? He's only been fatally injured once, and when they contacted his previous emergency number back then, was it really a big deal with someone at the nearest Maccies picked up?
Gaz frequently laughs at him, "Tried to call your mother, ordered a quarter pounder instead." It's a running joke in the team.
Ghost skims through his phone contacts, and he's embarrassed to see how few numbers he has: 5 being his teammates including Gaz, Soap and Price, one being KFC, one being his mother which he had saved under Slag. He scrolls up and down rapidly, debating to himself, should he just give them a fake number?
No...they'd find out again.
He clicks under the spam numbers.
His eyes shift to a familiar number.
It was yours.
The monotonous ticking of the clock paired with the irregular typing of the keyboards were burnt into your brain unknowingly. You've lost count of the number of days you've been in the menial job now, your first job since graduating university. How long have you been with that company, 2 years? 602 days now? You're counting the days 'til the weekend but even during that, you've got no one to come home to.
What a pathetic life.
Sometimes you wonder what Simon was doing in that exact moment was he working like you? Was he also in London? Did he...think of you, the way you think of him? It's possible he's forgotten, I mean after 5 years you've lost contact with the majority of your classmates- so much for best friends for life.
You check your phone, 9:28 P.M. 2 more minutes and you're running out of there.
By the time it hits 11 P.M., you're tucked away in bed a movie playing the background as you're aimlessly listening to reddit stories on TikTok whilst watching a minecraft speedrun.
You switch to using Instagram, by that I mean stalking. Your friends seems to be growth further away from you, one sending you an e-invite to their wedding, one welcoming their 1st child into their families, and yet you're still hung over about the last day of secondary school. The way the last time you had seen him had been in form, when he glances at you walking in late. The way his hands would purposely linger against yours when you were asked to hand out sheets to the class.
The mere thought of him jolted you. That, and the sound of your phone ringing.
It was an unknown number.
There's a hitch in your breathing. Was this a sign? What's the phrase, speak of the devil and he has appear? Was it perhaps...Simon?
You wait for a minute before picking up, not wanting to come across as desperate.
"...Hello?" You murmur.
"Hey." The voice is harsh and cold. It reminded you of Simon.
"Simon?" You whisper, a smile appearing on your face.
There's a pause on the other end of the line.
"What? No- Alan. From Accounting. You left some documents here at work, they seem important. You gonna pick 'em up?"
You blink. Once again your're stuck in another fantasy. In what world would it be Simon? The man who couldn't even reply to your texts in summer holidays. The man who wouldn't even attempt to return a full smile when you locked eyes in the corridor. The man you shouldn't have feelings for. Because, well, it's not like they were ever reciprocated.
What a pathetic life.
Alan, the dickhead from Accounting interrupts yet again. "Yo, you there? Wan' me to bin them?"
You sit up in your bed, sighing deeply uncomfortable, "Pull up your pants man, I'll be there in 30, Jesus. Just leave them on my desk."
Question. What's short but intense, most people dislike it, but you find it thrilling? One would think a conversation with Simon. But the answer is: London traffic.
You'd assume the usually busy roads to be dead and empty at 11:30 P.M. ish, but you're heavily mistaken, my friend. Seems like London nights are the life of the party. Driving past busy clubs and lit up pubs, whilst listening to One Of The Girls by The Weeknd [SUCH A GOOD SONG-] made you feel like a movie star in a coming of age film.
One where the guy gets the girl.
Of course, the majority of the drive you've being beeped at, or you're doing the beeping, but it's what really appealed to you when making the move to the heart of London. Life moves on whether you want or not, might at well be at the capital of England. Though sometimes you feel you're more likely to run into Simon in the north...
By the time you reach the entrance of your workplace, you begin regretting your outfit decisions, making eye contact with yourself in the reflection of the glass doors: A black hoodie and flared joggers. Nothing wrong in the clothing of course, but compared to the Data Analysts and Investment Bankers that are judging you right now, it makes you feel like the smallest person in the room.
Just a elevator ride up, grabbing your shit, another ride down, brisk walking to the car, and you can go back to the comfort of your bed. Easy, no?
You're in the elevator finally. The weird look from the receptionist really was the cherry on the cake.
Soon enough, the doors open again at the 9th floor, and you're met with the dark room of your department, which only had 2 of your colleagues slaving away at their desks, one which you're 99% sure is rotting away as they type on their keyboard.
You briefly nod at the two as they look up from the elevator doors opening, to which they returned.
Where's that file, where's the fucking file. You mumble to yourself, sifting through all the papers from your desk. The rotting lady looks up to you, shushing you for the noise.
Yeah, if only you had the courage to shush your toxic-ass husband...You think. Soon we'll hear your reddit story next to some trashy ass run on Subway Surfers on Tiktok...
The way down the elevator was excruciatingly slow, which was odd considering it was working perfectly fine 5 minutes ago.
The doors open again, at the 8th floor and 3 analysts walk into the once quiet elevator, and now you're face to face with the loud chatter of clients, and business meetings and...who left a mess in the men's toilets...
A phone rings again, and the analysts all search their coats, thinking it was theirs.
Not me.
Neither.
How is there service in this elavator-
Someone coughs, and you open your eyes from drowsiness, the 3 business musketeers silently urging you to pick up your from and rid them off that irritating ring tone.
Silently apologising, you bring your phone out of your hoodie pocket. It's another unknown number.
With no hesitation this time, just pure frustration and fatigue, you pick up the call, "Alan, I swear to God, if you're calling me again-"
Correction. There is service in the elevator. It just wasn't good.
The line breaks at the other person on the phone speaks.
"He- Co- It's an emergen- He- -mon Ril- -jury-"
"Huh?" You respond, partially not hearing as the line breaks every now and then. but also because the other 3 people decided it was okay to talk on full volume.
You try once again, "I'm sorry I can't hear you."
"Missi- crash- 3 dead- -husba"
You snort, you wish these 3 analysts were dead right now-
The line goes dead, and you're stuck staring at your phone with more confusion than you had started. Husband?
What was that? Wrong number? No, they had addressed you by your full name. You couldn't hear much, but from what you gathered...an emergency? I mean, that alone you could tell from the shrill from the speaker's voice.
The elevator door opens again and this time, it's the ground floor and all 4 of you walk out. It looks like the scene where the rich, popular characters make a grand entrance, straight out of a K-drama, except one person clearly missed the memo about dressing formally.
You check your phone's call log, debating whether to call them back.
Before you can lock your phone and shove it back into your phone, it dings again, a text from the very number. They've given you a location. A quick search on your phone, shows you google images of an army training ground. You check the time. It's just past midnight.
Looks like you're going on an adventure.
The drive to the army grounds was shorter than Google Maps had said, and now you're parked on the side of the roads waiting for the gates to be opened.
Theories are racing through your head right now, who do you know that's in the military currently?
Your coworkers? No.
Your university friends? No.
Your secondary school classmates? No.
Simon? Can't be.
The gates open, and you drive to the 2 men standing by the doors to the building, one is dressed like a doctor, the other? Like Stalin.
You get out of your car worried, "Hi, someone called over the phone?"
"Aah, yes. Mrs Riley. A pleasure to meet you. I mean I didn't think you were even going to come." He turns to the doctor.
You don't fail to hear the words exchanged between the both of them.
"What if she works at Maccies as well...she's dressed like it-" he murmurs, smiling at you widely.
The doctor on the other hand, seems to be more tense about the situation, "Sir, can we just send her in already, it's 1 A.M., I got a family to go home to-"
"Wasn't your wife cheating on you though-"
"Sir- How do you know- Okay, Miss. Mrs... Riley, was it?" The doctor turns to you.
You raise an eyebrow at him, "No. Um, no. My first name's not Riley, it's-"
"Will you just follow us. Please."
The inside of the building was almost the opposite than the outside, a loud brightly lit environment with crowds of doctors and nurses rushing around, compared to the silent dark grounds.
"Sorry, where are we going exactly?" You question, as the two men walk in front of you.
"You're handling the news better than I expected, Riley." The military leader (?) notes.
What news?
"What news?"
There's no follow up answer, instead they lead you to a quiet corridor, just outside a room, to which they gesture you to open. The doctor reads from a file, "He's going to be fine, just a few cuts and bruises-"
You interrupt, "I'm sorry?"
"What he's trying to say- we found him unconscious, seems like he inhaled too much of the gas. Thought he was in grave danger. Wasn't responding to anything. Broken rib cage, but he'll be fine. He always is, this man."
The doctor agrees with the solider.
"Indeed, a few months of bed rest, and he's be back in better shape."
The two stare at you, as you look at them with an unreadable expression.
"...And...I'm here because?"
They share a confused look.
"You're his wife, no? His emergency contact? That's what Simon said at le-"
"Si-Si-Simon?"
One second you're at home, the next you're a work again, and now you're in the bathroom with your head in your hands, sitting on the toilet lid, panic pulsating through your blood. For some reason, you can't find it in yourself to tell the truth, that you're not Simon's wife, so instead you pussied out and excused yourself to the nearest bathroom.
The good thing is, the 2 men believe you're crying over Simon's injuries, the bad thing is that he's awake. And he's been made aware of the call to his emergency contact: his wife.
"Good to say you mate. Called your wife. Sensitive one, that. Rushed-"
Simon breaks out of his dazed look. "Wife?" He barks.
The doctor shares a knowingly glance to the solider, Simon's higher up. "Yes...the one under your emergency contact?"
"Wot- Oh. Er- Yeah." Simon clenches his jaw, rubbing his temple, "Did she pick up or sum-"
"No Simon, she's here. In the bathroom."
The minimal colour in Simon's pale bruised face drains out in a click, and he's staring dead straight in front of him. For a second, no one talks, there's no movement, not even a breath is exhaled. Simon's not religious but he prays the 2 can't hear his beating heart thumping rapidly.
How was do when he sees you? A smile? A wave? A 'haven't seen you in so long'? No...he selected spouse when he put your number down for his emergency contact, if anything, he's got a role to act in front of the staff and higher-ups.
There's a knock on the door that breaks the silence. The door creaks open awkwardly, and a small head peeps out.
Simon's breath hitches.
When your parents instructed you to get out fairy land, you did. You were called delusion by your friends throughout adolescence, and you're teachers feared your expectations in life were always too high.
You remember the first time your parents told you the story of how they met. In your mind it was a romantic story, two doctors meeting together for the first time in the hospital, locking eyes and blushing furiously when their fingers touched through gloved during a high-risk heart transplant surgery. So when they mentioned that it was mere 'marriage of convenience' type relationship to you, your belief of love at first sight hit the iceberg of reality and sunk. Sunk deep.
So mustering the courage shouldn't be that difficult, right? Love doesn't exist...
The first step into the hospital room felt like walking into every exam hall you've ever entered in your entire life merged into 1...times 10. Nerve-wracking was an understatement.
Your goal was to just lie and act at his wife, play pretend and hope Simon plays along with it. It's all acting.
A marriage of convenience, you could say.
"Hey, Si-"
Your breath breaks, cutting off your own words as your eyes lock with Simon's. The room seems to shrink, and the bustling noise from the hospital corridor fades into the background. Simon's gaze is intense, his usual stoic expression softening for a brief moment. It's something the doctor and the soldier haven't seen, given the 5 years of knowing SImon.
He reaches an arm out, without speaking a word.
"Oh, erm." Taking his hand, he gently drags you, motioning you to sit on the chair beside his bed. Small electric shocks course through his fingertips and into yours, a warm feeling bubbling through your chest, and you can't help but smile at the way his eyes lock onto you, as his fingers gently caress your hand.
Simon’s grip tightens ever so slightly as you sit down, his touch simultaneously reassuring and questioning. You swallow hard, nerves prickling your skin. It feels like a minute has passes by the 2 spectators in the room feel like their watching a slow-burn romance movie.
The soldier clears his throat, breaking the silence. "We’ll give you two some privacy," he says, gesturing for the doctor to follow him out. As the door clicks shut behind them, the heavy silence continues to fall over the room.
Simon’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, a gesture that feels both foreign and familiar. His mask of stoicism cracks, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath. "I didn’t think you’d come," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. Your heart rate increases with every word he speaks, the hints of his northern accent peaking through the harshness of his voice.
You smile. "Well, here I am," you reply, attempting to sound casual despite the thundering of your heart. "Guess I couldn't ignore the call of duty." Your attempt of a pathetic joke makes him grin.
Simon interlocks his fingers with yours, and you swear your body changes to manual breathing. "SImon...You don't have to act, they're not here..." You mumble.
Simon chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. His eyes, usually so guarded, now seem to search yours for something unspoken. "I'm not acting... and...I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
"What for?" Both of your hands gently hold Simon's and you notice the way just one of his hands dwarf both of yours.
"That day...the last day. I tried to come, I swear, love. I was late-"
"I waited for you Simon." You blankly state. Simon freezes at the slight frustration in your voice, "I waited so long for you, hell, the teachers nearly kicked me out."
Simon nodding understandably, grinning slightly at the thought.
"I know. I asked our form tutor, missed ya by 15 minut-"
"Then why didn't you call me Simon? Hm?"
The lack of response let's you continue, the heat from your hands warming Simon's.
"I called you, I texted, I reached out to your friends-"
"-but it's difficult when I had none, right?" Simon cuts you off, his eyes urging you to look at the situation from his perspective, "The moment I saw you in that classroom on that first day, you were the only person that smiled at me. When I forgot my lunch, it was you that shared with me by your desks. Fuck, it's always been you, and I was too fucking embarrassed with myself to even be around someone as perfect as you."
Simon squeezes your hand as he continues.
"I didn't want you to be seen with me, because...you deserved better, love. You've always had. Good grades, good school, good life, didn't was you to be dragged down by a dick like me." He huffs out, turning away, "Signed up for the military that day, y'know. Remember when you said you wanted to just give up on your dreams of uni and jus' join the army. Just use all your frustrations on a gun or sumthing... I bulked up over that very summer."
You stifle a warm tear as it escapes and runs down your cheek.
"Wanted to be someone for you, swear down. So I signed up for the military...and I- that day. I was going to tell you...and ask you out."
Raising your eyebrows, you feel the atmosphere shifting, he continues.
"Yeah," Simon chuckles, reminiscing, "Wrote a letter cos I didn' know how to get my feelins across. But uh, I was too late. And when I asked your friend, and they told me you were moving out for uni...I just thought it was better to let my feelins die out. Didn't wan to drag you down any further..." He mumbles the last part.
A mix of emotions flood through you as Simon's words settle in the room. The weight of the years apart, the misunderstandings, and the unspoken feelings hang in the air. You take a deep breath, wiping away the tear that escaped earlier.
"Simon," you begin softly, your voice trembling with a blend of sadness and hope. "You never dragged me down. If anything, I felt lost without you."
Simon's gaze shifts back to you, eyes searching for any hint of resentment or anger. Instead, he finds warmth and understanding, a look he's not seen in years. "I thought you'd be better off without me. That you'd move on and find someone who could give you everything I couldn't."
"But I never wanted someone else," you confess, your voice firm despite the quiver in your heart. "I wanted you, Simon. Even when you weren't there, I kept hoping you'd come back. Do you know how many times I've looked at my phone hoping it was you that was calling me?"
Simon laughs, moving ever so slightly closer to you, his thumb continuing to stroke your hand, his touch grounding you both in the present moment. He takes a deep breath, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts.
"I'm here now," he says finally, his voice steady. "And I'll call you ever chance I get. Don't want to waste any more time."
You squeeze his hand in response, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Neither do I."
Simon presses a chaste kiss against your forehead and you lean against him.
"The name Riley really does suit you, y'know." Simon whispering into your hair.
"One step at a time, Si." You whisper back, burying your smirk into the crook of his neck.
Maybe your parents were wrong, maybe love at first sight does exist.
Outside the room, the 2 men straight in awe at the couple. The doctor sighs, "No more trouble in paradis-"
The solider nudges the doctor, "You wish that was you, huh."
You are reading: [Part 1]
Read [Part 2] here!
Word Count: 1.4k
You viewed Simon as your friend, but clearly he didn't feel the same.
Being friends with Simon was not something you'd expected to happen, even though you'd known him since secondary school. You recall a young boy entering the classroom, your teacher introducing the new kid from Manchester as Simon Riley. The small chain of snickers erupts from the classroom, you weren't able to tell why then, only learning after that he was teased and picked on due to his ragged appearance, mainly the dark eye bags and the bruising plastered on his arms. But that didn't stop you.
You found your edging towards his presence, talking to him in between classes, sitting on his table and admiring him from afar, but your attempts to befriend him were futile. He just never reciprocated it.
You never shared the same classes, to your dismay. Though you were in the same year group, you were distinctly cleverer than him, that was a fact, excelling in your A-Level subjects, considering your high ambitions of applying to the best universities in the UK. Simon, on the other hand, always found himself at the centre of trouble, getting detention after detention for insignificant reasons such as failing to get his planner signed by his parents, or talking back to teachers, even when they had asked him questions.
Once you finished your after-school extra classes, only for students that had been handpicked from the year group, you'd purposely walk the longer route through the now empty school just to look through the doors of the detention room, to see Simon carelessly slouching on his chair, whilst graffiting the school furniture. How the teacher never caught him, you'd never know. But you could tell who the culprit was, you'd sit down in classes where the table was littered in small skull faces carved by biro.
Sometimes, he make eye contact with you through the door, when you'd walk past, the constant snarl on his face slightly faltering when you'd flash a gentle smile his way. Of course, the smile was never mutual. In fact, you often find yourself thinking of the last time you'd seen his smile, flicking through the yearbook and class photos, only to find that he was in neither.
Ah, you remember that. The end of school was approaching. The last year you'd see your fellow classmates, the ones you've grown around for almost 7 long years.
Simon Riley entered form time late. It was the last first day of secondary school. The first day of Year 13. He strolls in, the tie around his neck still sloppily wrapped around his white shirt collar. You remember that fondly as, the moment he looks up to you, you point towards the collar of your blouse, hinting to him that the teacher was going to cause another scene at his attire that week. He raises his eyebrows at your gesture, blushing furiously as he rips the tie off, the teacher beginning to raise his voice at Simon.
In your mind, Simon's blushes at you, after seeing you for the first time since summer holidays had started. But that thought is pushed away, when your friend asks you if Simon had replied to your texts. He had not, for your information, they had been left on delivered.
But you don't fail to notice the change of appearance from Simon, in fact most of your classmates open your jaw in shock, the once scrawny boy had seem to hit a growth spurt, his body almost doubling in size.
"Simon mate, hitting the gym?" A boy asks, when Simon walks past to sit in his seat at the back of the class. His attempts of a conversation are unanswered, and a small part of you is happy to see that he treats everyone harshly, not just you.
Trying to talk to him in the lunch line was also so much harder, now that he was surrounded by a bunch of popular kids, the girls squeezing at his bulging arms, and the guys patting his shoulder, conversing with him as if they hadn't ignored him for the previous years of school. He'd catch your eye once in a while, and sometimes you'd find a look of desperation within them, help me, like he called out for you.
All in all, the last 10 minutes of lunch always consisted of you sitting at your desk, ready for the next class, with Simon sitting rather close to you, even though his designated seat was rows behind yours.
"Maths was boring today, I know we're not in the same set, but when you finally get to the same topic, I beg you'd start cryin'." You'd mention, not turning to look at him, but he knows you're talking to him.
He hums, listening, "Speakin' from experience, huh?" He'd always refer to you by your surname, his manny accent seeping through his words.
You'd chuckle in response, jolting suddenly when the bell rings signally the end of lunch and he gets up and walks to the back row, even though it was still just you and him in the room. Perhaps he was embarrassed to been seen by you, given his new-found popularity, or perhaps he thought you didn't want to see with him. Who knows.
Many months pass by, and as exams had finally come to a finish, the schools opened the hall for a get-together for the final year students. Many had turned up with pens and markers to sign their fellow classmates school uniform, as memoir before heading off into university. Others had their yearbooks open, asking (or begging) people to sign them. You sat down, watching your friends mingling with others, a hot pink sharpie in your hand, knee bouncing as your eyes skimmed the loud room for a tall muscular guy.
Hours had gone by, your shirt only consisted of 7 signatures from your friends and one janitor that you'd been acquainted with, yet no sign of Simon. And when the clock hit 5 P.M., you were one of 5 people in the hall, the rest leaving to head home for the holidays.
"He's not coming, dude. C'mon, ice cream on the way home?" Your friend would suggest.
"But...but it's the last day of school...I mean there weren't any classes, why wouldn't he show up, I don't understand..." You frown, admitting defeat as you start zipping your bag up ready to leave.
"Did anyone truly understand him?" You friend states, rather than questions, locking arms with you and she drags you towards the exit, ranting about her holidays plans.
15 minutes later, the room was nearly cleared out, with just your form room teacher tidying away the paper cups and plates.
"These bloody kids, why am I even a teacher, I would have been on Broadway if it weren't for puberty messing up my lovely voic-" His mumbling is interrupted by the doors slamming open and a teenage boy with a black balaclava mask running towards him.
"AAAAH- This is a school- This is a school in the afternoon, who in earth wants to rob a school past 5 PM, what you even in here for? Gonna steal some pens and pencils, yeah I'd like to see you try, I'm a white belt in Karat- Riley, you? Mate, you're like 6 hours late."
Simon pants in exhaustion, his mask now in his hands, "Sir, -huff- is she here? Am -huff- I too late?"
The teacher huffs in annoyance, "You're not the protagonist of a romance film, Riley, go home. We finished at 4:30. It's 5:15, don't you boys haven't nothing better to do?"
Simon rolls his neck, "Ta...cheers for the wise words." He makes his way towards the exit.
"Happy to help," your teacher groans turning away from him, "Had you been here 15 minutes earlier...maybe you would have caught her...."
Simon pauses in his steps, cursing loudly. Maybe he shouldn't have signed up for the military that day.
He walks home that dark afternoon, forgetting his card for public transport. He checks his phones for notifications, clicking the text messages that he'd marked a spam. It was from you.
He knows he should have called you, at least even texted you. But he was too much of a pussy. It would be weird to hear your voice over the phone, not like hearing it as he sat by you at lunch hearing you ramble.
It's not like you meant something to him, you're...you. Replaceable.
Like every other person he's met.
You don't mean anything to him.
And just like that, 5 years go by just like that.
Okay, so I got this idea in bed, let's see how it goes on paper :P or on my laptop should I say...part 2 in the making hehe
With exams finally finishing, you find yourself slouched against your desk chair, eyes glued to the screen in front.
"Liebling...c'mon let's talk..."
König mumbles, walking into the room. With your finals done, and him on a break, he just wants to spend time with his lover, but instead your attention is devoted to your video games.
"Hmm...5 more minutes..." You grumble out, clicking aggressively to shoot the enemy team.
"Baby, you've been playing for so long..." He tugs at your hoodie, forcing you to fix your posture and sit up straight.
You groan his words, realising your character had died. You turn to König, an idea popping into your head.
"For a sniper, you're quite bad at shooting long distance...oh wait, you're not-"
"Scheisse." König blurts out, the character now frantically running around, taking some damage from a bullet shot. "This mouse is faulty, schtaz..."
Snorting at his words, you lean into the crook of his neck, "Come on, Colonel, you bought it for me for christm-"
"Was zur Hölle- [what in the hell] Schatz! I hate this game." He screams, sitting up straight again, incidentally shoving you away. "When's the next round."
You laugh at his tantrum, massaging his tense shoulders.
"How about I take you with me for the next mission and I'll show you some real shooting, hm?" He suggests, rubbing his temples.
"I dunno babe, given the way you play, I might not come home alive-"
"Schatzi, please." He interrupts, turning to face you with a strict expression, "...the games starting again."
The next few rounds were very hectic, consisting of König screaming at his teammates with the mic on (which definitely led to your account being reported), and then König almost raising his voice at you.
"Why's the gun on the floor?!"
"Kö, you dropped it-"
"How do I pick it up?!"
"Babe, clic-"
"Who's behind me aAaAah-"
"König! Stop-"
Ultimately, the game ended with a disappointing score of 1 - 13, and a few new nail marks imprinted onto the desk where König has gripped out of irritation.
"That was a good game, I see why you like it Schnuki."
You hum in response, inquisitively picking up a random button that had be torn apart from your keyboard - the space bar, amidst König's shooting spams.
He gets up and pats your back, heading to the kitchen to prepare some dinner for the both of you, "Same time tomorrow?"
holy shit exam season is finally over and i'm so bored
lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts!
tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby, @nigthmar3moon, @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm, @bubusi11, @chessecakelover, @owkittie, @cheomain, @corvusmorte, @k4es, @mandythemint, @copiasratscheese, @yyiikes, @funkyysho3es
toxic! König x Reader - [King and Prince: My kidnappers]
Your attempts to run away with your son fails, and your husband confronts you. Seems like he's really influencing your little one.
Word Count: 2.8k
This is intended to be a oneshot :P SHOUT OUT GOOGLE TRANSLATE, RLY CARRIED THIS FIC
The picture of your husband and father of your child of 10 years, with his arm slung around another woman, really was the pinnacle of your disappointment for the man.
The house, once decorated with handcrafted creations by you and your son, Leon, whom König had frequently nicknamed 'mein kleiner König' [my little king] and 'mein kleiner Prinz' [my little prince] was now all packed away, stored in numerous duffel bags and small cabin suitcases.
"Mama, wohin gehen wir?" [where are we going?]
"Your grandparents." You huff.
It's not like König was cheating on you. He really wasn't. He loved you too much for that. But the constant nagging and the berating on your side truly stressed you to a point where you heavily questioned your relationship.
"Take all your belonging Leon, dunno if we're coming back in a while..."
"Und Papa? [and papa?] Do we need to pack his clothes too?" He aks innocently, peering up at you from down below.
He was a smart boy, your son, though he was barely 7 years old, and already at an outstanding height of nearly 140 cm, there was no doubt that he was König's son.
"No." You halt your movements, thinking of an excuse, "His clothes are already there."
Leon nods. He may be 7, but he's not stupid, and he's upset that you think so little of him. It's apparent that he's closer to his father than to you, and although you're grateful to have such a loving family, you can't help but feel a spike of jealousy whenever your Leon visibly preferred your husband over you.
Like his school's sports day, when you and König had cheered him on as he raced to the finishing line quicker than his classmates. It was an easy win, I mean look at him.
As he crosses the finishing line, he rushes to the both of you, and although you're standing in front of König, with your arms wide open to hold your son, he only just makes a beeline, straight to his father, jumping to press his face into König's chest.
It's little things like this that makes you wonder if your son even recognises you as a parent equal to his beloved father.
The drive to your parent's house was long and awkward, with Leon making small remarks like when his father was going to be there, and what his father was doing at that very moment, and why his father wasn't with you guys that very moment.
"Busy with his bitch I presume..." You mumble under your breath, and you know that if König had heard you, he would've pulled you aside and scolded you for using such foul language around his precious son.
The bond was mutual it seems.
"Mama, papa is calling you." Leon mentions, grabbing at your phone.
"Disconnect." You bark.
"But mama, what if it's wichtig." [important]
"Leon. I said, disconnect it."
He hesitates but eventually listens, hanging up König's call. It's the 5th one of the car ride.
The phone vibrates once more.
Kö: meine liebe, wo bist du??? [my love, where are you???]
Kö: schätze [treasure]
Kö: where are your clothes??
Kö: where's everything???
Kö: where's my son.
Kö: Hör auf, mich zu verarschen [stop fucking with me]
Leon looks outside the window, debating whether to tell you about the spam of texts you're receiving, but he ultimately chooses to stay silent. I mean, you don't need to know.
On the other hand, König is shaking with fear. He never met to be near that woman. I mean she didn't mean anything to him, he barely knew her name!
She was just his senior, and he had to do what he did for that promotion in the ranks...schätze, you would understand, ja?
The moment he enters your home, the eerie silence spooks him, considering he's used to being tackled almost instantly by his wife and little one. Instead, he's faced with the empty walls and cupboards. You were even petty enough to take the TV remote with you, so he was restricted from watching from the newly bought TV.
He calls out your name numerous times, then your son's, running up and down the 3 story house. You two were nowhere in sight, and the lack of clothes from the wardrobes confirmed that his two favourite people had left him
He checks his phone to see a message from you.
Schnucki: hallo papa, wo bist du?
Schnucki: it's leon papa :-D
It's his son!
Kö: mein kleiner prinz, wo ist deine mutter? [my little prince, where is your mother?]
"What's happening Leon?" You ask your son, your eyes only darting quickly to your son by the passenger seat, who's squinting and tapping away at your phone now.
"...Just watching Cocomelon, mama."
"Boy, your father told you, you're too old for that show..." You mumble once again, and your son mentally notes that he's going to inform his father about all this mumbling that seems to get on both on their nerves now.
Schnucki: we're going on a trip, where are you papa?
König scoffs, "A trip?", he's going to have to discipline this attitude out of you when he finally gets his hands on you. You should know, König plans all these 'trips', your little self isn't as efficient as he is.
Kö: i'm on my way. remind me where we are going again?
Schnucki: an Ihre Schwiegereltern [to your in-laws]
König's rushing to his Jeep when he hears this. This reminds him of the previous time you had run off to your parents with his son. 2 years ago, when Leon had just turned 5, König had suggested that you quit your full-time job so you be a stay at home wife for him and his son. You could home school Leon, but also look after the home with all this new time on your hands.
Of course, you laughed in his face. A Bachelor's degree, a Master's and constant slaving away within a male-dominated industry, just to become a housewife? After a fight ensues, you run for your parents with your infant glued to your hip.
And it's happening all over again.
König starts the car, the journey to his in-laws was about 2 hours by car, a little over 1 if you're speeding. He makes sure to shoot a text to his son whilst driving.
Kö: coming. what can you see around you prinz?
Leon looks out of the window, recognising the area to be one where him and his parents would often frequent to. He sees the Wendy's where he spent his 6th birthday at, with his father munching away at his and Leon's burger in front of him. He cried hard that day.
Schnucki: i see wendys :-D and there's a park, and a field, and a roundabout and a traffic jam
Kö: coming
König knows where you are, just half an hour away from your home, you're not too far, and he knows if he speeds quick enough, he can catch up to you soon enough.
But he knows that's not good enough. He needs to teach you a lesson this time for running away for what felt like the 10th time, though it was just the 2nd.
"Mama, why are you mad at papa?"
Leon breaks the silence after 25 minutes. He can't sit here any longer knowing you're this upset at his father.
You stay silent. To be frank, you don't know what the exact reason was.
It was König's behaviour first, the way you'd tell him to clean up after himself and him not listening to you. Sometimes it was him forgetting date night just to watch Austrian movies with his son at home, even if you have them once in 3 months.
The breaking point was for sure when he mentioned a possible promotion at his job at Kortac, him running home and pressing wet kisses all over your's and Leon's face.
He warned you that one of the higher-ups was quite touchy with him, though he'd reminded her he was married with a son multiple times, though pulling his ring finger multiples times. He truly was so proud of you for fulfilling his wish for a family.
Somewhere down the line, it got mistranslated, and at the ranking ceremony, he gets promoted by his superior, with her (unprofessionally, might I add) pressing a kiss against his cheek when he had bent down to receive a new badge.
Though he was shocked, he had to suppress his disgust behind his eyes through his mask, and fake a smile for the camera, which unfortunately captured his arm sitting uncomfortably around her waist.
"Your father's getting bored of me." You say nonchalantly, to your son.
Leon scrunches his face. He's used to coming downstairs in the morning to seeing his parents smooching away, or walking in front of his parents, only to look behind to see their fingers intertwined, with a warm red colour flushed against both their cheeks.
There's no way his father was getting bored, in fact the other way round was more plausible.
"Nein." He defends his father. [no.]
"Nein?" You peer at him, still weary of the cars surrounding you.
"Papa ist verliebt in dich, why can't you see that?" [papa is in love with you]
Leon senses slight hesitation in your answer, and he glimpses at your downturn eyebrows.
"If he's so in love with me, why does he not listen to me..." You state plainly.
The phone vibrates in his hand, silent enough for you not to hear, and his attention turns to the unread messages from his father.
Kö: Prinz, do see a petrol bunk?
Leon looks out the window.
Schnucki: Ja
König thinks to himself, trying to pinpoint your exact location, now that his car is closer to yours.
Kö: tu mir einen gefallen [do me a favour] is the fuel light on?
Leon looks at the beeping petrol light.
Schnucki: Ja
Kö: Gut. [good] Tell your mother to fill the tank, I'll meet you at the gas station. Don't tell your mother.
Schnucki: was ist, wenn du nicht rechtzeitig kommst? [what if you don't come in time?]
Kö: then stall her.
"You need to fill in the tank, mama."
You look at the fuel light beeping, humming in agreement. You wonder how your son even knows what the tank light is, let alone how he realised it was on in the first place.
After driving into the petrol station, and parking by a pump, you fill your car up. As you're about to make a quick trip to the shops to pay for the petrol, your son pops his head out of the open window.
"Can I come? I want a Schokoladentafel [chocolate bar]."
It's about 10:30 P.M. when you make your way to the empty till, ringing the bell on the counter to alert a worker. The gas station was dimly lit, with no one inside, no even by the pumps. You question whether the gas station was even open.
"Where are these people..." You grumble to no one in particular. You begin to look at the close to empty trays of chocolate bars and small packets of crisps
"Keine Ahnung [no clue]." Leon replies, holding your hand in one, his other hand still gripping at the open messages on your phone.
Schnucki: We're here papa, und du? [and you?]
Kö: Ich sehe dich [I see you].
Leon giggles to himself, he's finally going to see his father!
"Where's the damn cashier..." You groan, spamming the counter bell now.
"Looking for me?" You hear a voice behind you.
Leon let's go of your hand.
"Jesus, dude finally. Can me and my son pay already, we're alread-mHmMmHPh-"
Before you realise what's happening, a wet cloth is pressed against your mouth and nose, a large hand supporting the back of your head as you falter on your feet.
"Leon..." You eyes close completely and you faint against a chest musky chest. König smiles, finally having his beloved in his arms, gripping your backside and hoisting you up to his left shoulder, where you rest, motionless.
Leon on the other hand, as if witnessing his mother being drugged in front of him was the most normal thing in the world for a 7 year old to see, was jumping against his father side.
"Papa! Pick me up too!"
König chuckles, lifting his son and carrying him on his right flexed bicep, before snatching a few sweets and walking out of the deserted gas station. He hands one to his son, rubbing his mask against his little one.
"alles für meinen Sohn." [anything for my son]
By the time you wake up, the room was dark and it's difficult for you to differentiate whether it was the same day or the next morning. You turn to find your son, only to find that you can't move a muscle.
Ropes are tied around your waist, arms and legs, so any sort of movement was completely restricted, and you're kneeling on the cold smooth floor, bruising your skin. The ropes aren't tied expertly, so you know it's not the work of your husband, whom you're aware was a professional at the art of knots, given his career.
"Meine Blume..." [my flower]
You squint at the sudden voice. Your ears are mildly ringing so the voice is slightly distorted.
"Papa! She's awake..." A second voice, resembling your son's.
A light is shone in your face, and you put your head down, avoiding the light.
"Leon? K...König?" You're not in the same clothes, having been changed into a black sweatshirt and joggers.
"Schnucki...." [sweetie pie] It's König, you recognise the nickname through your phone contacts, "Why do you keep trying to separate this family?"
You're shocked by his words, separate?
"Why must you take my son away from me?" He demands now, his voice getting louder.
You look up to the figure, slowly adjusting to the light, it's König, with Leon still sitting on his biceps.
"Are the ropes too tight, mama?" Your son interupts.
You look down at the tight ropes, ripping at your skin under your clothes.
"Yes...König, what is this? Let me go...Let go of my son..." You can barely speak, the effects of the drugs stlll present in your system
Leon smiles at you, his dimples poking through, "Gut, I tied them on you!"
You blink at your son. They're working together?
"König- König, what are you making my son do-" you cough, and Leon leaps down from König's arms and hugs your head.
"Mama, aren't you proud of me? We can finally be a family together! You don't have to be mad at Papa, I forgave him alre-"
"That's not how it works!" You scream, interrupting Leon.
"Don't you dare shout at him."
You jolt, as König seethes at you, leaning towards you. "If you're going to be mad at someone, be mad at me. Don't drag Prinz into this."
You laugh nervously, "Me? I'm dragging him into this? Are you listening to yourself Kö? You made Leon tie me up- THAT'S NOT NORMA-"
Leon stops you, "Prinz."
"Leon...Prinz..." You try reasoning with him, he seems like the only sane person in the room, which is worrying given that he's only 7.
"Prinz. König und Prinz." König firms, crossing his arms and standing, dominating you physically.
"König, why -cough- are you doing this?"
He laughs, "Schatz, why must you run from me?"
"You and that lady-"
"Nothing happened between them." Prinz interrupts. You cough, looking at Leon Prinz.
"You told my son?"
"He's my son, not a stranger."
"And me? You think it's normal to kidnap your wi-"
"Like you tried to kidnap my son?"
A pause lingers in the air.
"That's not kidnapping.." You reply defensively, "We were visiting my parents..."
"Don't lie, mama..." Prinz shakes his head, disappointingly. "Papa plans all the trips, you know this."
This kid... You think to yourself.
"I'm sorry...okay. It won't happen again..."
Your husband and his sidekick stare down at you, waiting for you to stop beating around the bush.
"You can...can let me go now..."
"No." You can't tell who said that, your son or your husband.
"You'll sit here and think about what you did-"
"-trying to separate this family-"
"-how dare you-"
"-who do you think you are-"
The light turns off now, and your eyes fail to adjust to the rapid light changes, clenching them tightly to rid yourself of the blaring pain in your head. You can't tell who's speaking and the sudden thought of failing as a mother flashes through your head.
"Kön...my head...my son-"
You hit the floor, head first, laying in front of König and Prinz.
There's a silence between the father-son duo.
"Next time, I'll tie the knots better, papa."
König ruffles his head, "Gut gemacht." [good job.]
König, I volunteer 🙋🏽♀️🙋🏽♀️🙋🏽♀️🙋🏽♀️🙋🏽♀️
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