~MOUSE~
The aroma of sweet oats filled the cramped kitchen, swirling in the air like a comforting embrace.
Ophelia's delicate nostrils twitched as the scent wafted up, a welcome distraction from her less-than-appetizing culinary creation.
She wrinkled her nose, casting a sceptical glance at the pot of sludgy oatmeal on the stove.
Cooking, it seemed, was the one skill that eluded her amidst a sea of talents.
She knew eight languages and killed ruthlessly, but couldn't cook oats.
It seemed almost unfair.
A soft chuckle resonated beside her and Ophelia turned to find Zero peering over her shoulder, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"You're worse than me," he teased, smoothly sidestepping her to reach for the coffee.
Ophelia rolled her eyes, her gaze lingering on the questionable contents of the pot.
Perhaps he had a point.
But at least hers wasn't on fire.
In the room, their eclectic team sat in seemingly casual positions, sipping coffee and engaging in light-hearted banter.
To an outsider, they could easily be mistaken for ordinary people, not highly trained operatives.
Ophelia observed them with a small smile.
They were growing on her.
Just like she was on them.
Zero's voice interrupted her contemplation, pulling her attention back to the present.
"Who you cookin' for?" he inquired while pouring coffee into his mug.
Ophelia winced at the question, her eyes still fixated on the unappetizing sludge in the pot.
Zero caught her discomfort and grinned knowingly.
"Roommate still not warmed up to you yet?" he asked, setting the coffee on the counter.
Ophelia's gaze remained fixed on the pot, her mind drifting to König.
Oh, he'd warmed up to her alright.
He didn't seem to want to take his hands off her.
And that's what worried her.
She'd never had something that felt so serious.
She, who had always been confident and sure, now found herself stumbling in unfamiliar territory.
Sighing, Zero patted her shoulder gently.
"Don't worry about it, kid. He's got issues. Doesn't ever eat with us anyway." His words offered a modicum of reassurance, but Ophelia couldn't shake off the unease that lingered.
"Never?" she blurted out, surprised by the revelation.
Zero nodded, his hand absentmindedly smoothing over his short beard.
"Never even seen his face," he admitted, turning away to navigate toward the tables.
Ophelia's eyes widened, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.
As Zero walked away, Ophelia's thoughts lingered on König, her mind involuntarily replaying the vivid memories she held of him.
His strong face, his open expressions, his vulnerability.
His scars, his tousled blonde hair and every little thing about him.
She had seen it all.
Her mind whirred as she walked back towards her room, her eyes darting all over the hallway as she thought about Zero's words.
The dimly lit room held an air of tension as Ophelia opened their barrack door.
On silent feet, she walked to where his massive form sat draped over a small desk in the corner of the room.
She dropped the bowl onto the worn wooden desk in front of him with more force than was necessary.
The clatter echoed in the silence, drawing his attention away from whatever occupied his thoughts.
Her short, brown, curly hair framed her face as she stood defiantly, hands on her hips, and eyes ablaze with a mixture of frustration and determination.
The giant man's head turned slowly towards her, revealing short, blonde strands that framed his scarred face.
His tired eyes flicked from the bowl to her in confusion.
Strangely, she found herself drawn to the ruggedness of his appearance.
He was really hot.
Tired and rugged as hell, but very, very hot.
"What's this?" he asked, his deep voice breaking the silence.
Ophelia rolled her eyes, frustration etched on her face as nodded towards the bowl.
His voice filled her with heat and made waves of tingles roll over her skin.
"Breakfast," she retorted sharply, her anger palpable as she stared at the humble oats she had prepared for him.
Cooking might not have been her forte, but she had made the effort for him.
It made her uncomfortable.
His eyes, still fixed on her, softened, turning that beautiful ocean blue.
A crooked smile slowly spread across his plump lips.
Ophelia felt her confusion and frustration subside as a surge of desire and happiness ignited in her at the sight of that rare smile.
"You care about me, Schatz? " he asked softly as he stared at her, but Ophelia could hear the smugness evident in his tone as he leaned back in his chair.
Long legs stretched out in front of him.
Lean muscled chest rippling as he moved.
Dismissing his statement, Ophelia rolled her eyes once more and turned to leave the room.
She wasn't used to this.
To care and make an effort.
Before she could take another step, the chair behind her screeched backwards against the floor.
Ophelia's heart raced, and before she could comprehend what was happening, strong hands enveloped her waist.
A surprised gasp escaped her lips as she was effortlessly lifted from her feet and gently placed on his lap.
The contrast between his strength and her petite frame was palpable.
His muscular arms securely encircled her waist, creating a cocoon of warmth and security.
Noël was much taller than her, but as he pulled her close a sense of shelter and intimacy wrapped around her.
He felt safe.
Her legs dangled over the edge of the chair, and the feeling of being enveloped by his presence was both comforting and electrifying.
His cargo pants pressed against her thighs, the rough fabric a reminder of the rugged reality that surrounded them.
She'd only worn her sports bra and cargo pants, which she now regretted.
There was very little separating them.
Ophelia shifted slightly, feeling the play of his muscles beneath her as she settled into the unexpected embrace.
Ophelia's back remained rigid, emotions swirling within her as she sat stiffly on Noël's lap.
His hot breath whispered over her neck, and she could sense the curve of his smile as he looked down at her startled face.
"Don't panic, Maus. I won't bite," he murmured in her ear, the softness of his words contrasting with the underlying tone of arousal.
His accent, thick and laced with desire, sent shivers down her spine.
She also knew he was fucking lying.
He did bite.
A lot.
The contrast between the steel of his muscles and the softness of his touch left her in a state of conflicting vulnerability.
Ophelia winced as her sore legs protested the movement, a reminder of the events from a few nights before.
As she settled into his embrace, Ophelia let the scent of sandalwood and honey envelop her.
She could feel him smiling as his chin found its place on her shoulder.
A jolt of surprise shot through Ophelia as she felt calloused fingers slip over her bare skin, their touch exploring the delicate expanse of her lower stomach.
The unexpected contact ignited a fiery desire within her, and a gasp escaped her lips as his large fingers traced a path over her skin.
His heartbeat, steady and strong, reverberated against her back.
The contradiction of his actions, the tenderness intertwined with a subtle arrogance, left Ophelia both infuriated and captivated.
"I like that you care about me, Maus," he whispered, his voice a soft caress against her ear.
The endearment sent a shiver down Ophelia's spine, the contradictory mix of tenderness and dominance leaving her caught in a whirlwind.
As his fingers continued their explorations, tracing lower, the line between desire and danger blurred even further.
It was a frustrating feeling that left her unsure of where she stood with him.
She felt an overwhelming urge to punch him for the frustration he caused and then kiss him senselessly.
Ophelia couldn't define what they were, and it was unnerving.
"Don't get used to it, Chéri, I'm not a good cook," Ophelia whispered softly, her eyes closed as she rested her head against König's neck.
His fingers continued their dance, tracing lower, sending waves of arousal through her.
He wanted her again.
It was a desire that seemed insatiable.
Ophelia felt the vibrations of his laughter resonate through her, a deep chuckle that created a strange flutter in her chest.
"That's okay, Meine Liebe, I am," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
The admission hung in the air.
Ophelia jolted up from the cocoon of pleasure in surprise.
In a swift motion, she sat up, spinning around and wrapping her legs around him, bringing their chests together.
Her wide, brown eyes stared at him in disbelief, the unexpected revelation both surprising and oddly endearing.
"What?" she stammered stupidly, her gaze fixed on him.
The intensity of her desire for him mingled with a newfound fascination as she observed his reaction.
His cheeks tinged a subtle shade of pink, and for a moment, his eyes avoided hers.
"I can cook," he repeated uncertainly, the admission lingering in the air as his eyes flitted around the room, avoiding direct contact with hers.
His body began to shift beneath her, his hands instinctively gripping her hips as he looked around, a delicate rose shade of pink colouring his cheeks.
Something hard pressed into her thigh as his grip on her hips tightened.
Her head whipped down and she stilled.
The realization struck Ophelia like a sudden jolt, snapping her back to the present moment.
Her body was still intimately entwined with König's, and the subtle arch of his body toward hers was a clear indicator of his desire.
He wanted her.
Now.
Ophelia, caught in the magnetic pull of his gaze, felt a surge of longing.
Their eyes met, and she saw his pupils dilate.
He would take her now, or she'd have to fucking bolt out the door.
The sudden bang on the barrack door shattered the burning atmosphere, and shock rippled through Ophelia.
In an instant, as if propelled by an unseen force, she threw herself from König's lap, landing on the hard floor with an audible thud.
Rolling away from him, she quickly jumped to her feet and dashed across the room.
Her gaze fell on König and she tried not to laugh.
His cheeks were bright pink as he hastily pulled on his hood and tugged at his pants.
She smirked as she saw the massive lump pushing at his fly.
Ophelia, her pulse racing, tried to compose herself.
She rubbed her thighs together as the ache in her stomach doubled.
The door flung open and she turned to see Zeus standing in the doorway, a commanding presence that filled the barrack.
His burly figure, adorned in military attire, exuded strength and experience.
Ophelia determined not to seem weird, placed her hands on her hips, adopting a casual stance.
Meanwhile, König, in response to Zeus's arrival, swiftly dragged his chair under the desk, concealing any sign of arousal.
"Morning," Zeus greeted, leaning against the doorframe with a nonchalant air, his gaze surveying the room with seasoned scrutiny.
Whether or not he could tell something was off didn't cross his expression.
Ophelia offered a polite smile and nodded in acknowledgment.
"Morning, Sir," she replied softly, embodying a calm and collected demeanour.
She cocked her hip, maintaining the definition of casual.
She watched König stiffen at her words and turn his head in her direction.
There was a certain heat in his gaze, a flicker of anger that seemed directed at her.
Ophelia maintained an expressionless façade as she observed König's reaction.
His arms crossed, his body rigid, she couldn't help but notice the unmistakable signs of displeasure.
She had called Zeus 'Sir,' and König fucking hated it.
She found it almost amusing, a hint of laughter tugging at the corners of her lips.
Ophelia's eyes reluctantly moved away from König, her brief connection with him severed as she redirected her attention to Zeus, who was engrossed in tapping away on a military-grade pad.
It seemed as though he had completely dismissed their presence.
A subtle, sly grin formed on her lips, a reaction to the realization that König enjoyed being addressed as 'Sir' not just due to hierarchy but because it underscored a subtle dance of dominance between them.
And when she used it on another man, he fucking loathed it.
It fascinated her, this intricate dance of power and submission that existed beneath his surface.
He was never one or the other, he was both all the time.
As her eyes flicked back to the military pad, Zeus's directive interrupted her musings.
His gaze shifted from König to her with an air of authority that demanded immediate attention.
"Training ring, thirty minutes," he declared, the urgency evident in his tone.
"Need to debrief everyone on the next target. Also noticed some of the hand-to-hand is sloppy."
Ophelia nodded, and her mind swiftly transitioned from the intimate moment with König to the pragmatic demands of her role.
Zeus, having conveyed his orders to Ophelia, turned his piercing gaze toward König.
"Intel room," he stated with a tap on the doorframe.
With that, Zeus exited the room, leaving Ophelia to release a held breath.
She ran a hand through her hair, feeling the weight of responsibility settle back onto her shoulders.
Sergeant and Colonel.
Glancing at König, who remained hidden beneath his hood, arms crossed and body rigid as he looked away from her.
He was frustrated, turned on, and annoyed at her.
She sighed and nodded to him casually.
"Well..." Ophelia's attempt to break the awkwardness with a casual remark trailed off as she felt the weight of the strange atmosphere hanging between them.
The dynamics had shifted, leaving an unsettling tension in the air.
With a half-smile, she turned towards the door, determined to push past the discomfort.
"Okay," she replied, nodding to herself as she made her way into the hall.
As she reached the doorway, ready to step into the corridor, König's deep voice cut through the air like a knife.
"Maus." The word was strained.
It pulled at something in her.
She turned, ready to acknowledge him, but before she could react, a pair of strong hands grabbed her hips, pulling her back into the room.
Surprise froze her, and any attempt to vocalize her confusion was silenced as his lips met hers.
The unexpected kiss left her momentarily breathless.
He groaned into the kiss as if he craved the taste of her.
Strong hands moved with a possessive urgency, fingers curling around the hem of her pants.
Ophelia was caught off guard, the sensation both exhilarating and disorienting.
The kiss held a raw intensity, a collision of conflicting emotions that left her momentarily breathless.
She heard him slam the door closed angrily.
The echo of the bang rang through the barrack and corridor.
"Verdammtes Arschloch," he growled angrily as his hands fell into her pants, his lips burning their way down her throat.
The unfamiliar words dripped with frustration as he glared towards the door.
She had no idea what he said, but he sounded pissed off.
But not at her.
His hands, strong and possessive, conveyed a mix of anger and desire as they explored the contours of her body.
The urgency in his touch contrasted sharply with the anger in his voice, creating a whirlwind of need in her.
His hands worked with a certain urgency, undoing the fastenings of her pants.
Her hands instinctively found their place on his chest, feeling the ragged rise and fall of his breath beneath her touch.
The erratic rhythm of his heartbeat echoed back to her as she felt him press into her.
His chest heaved beneath her palms.
He was desperate, and it manifested in a subtle tremor in his hands.
Ophelia managed to find her voice, a soft inquiry escaping her lips between his fervent kisses.
"What are you doing?" she asked her words a whisper that hung in the air.
He responded with a guttural grunt, his actions driven by an unspoken urgency.
Her pants were quickly discarded, the fabric pooling around them as he focused on the task at hand.
Simultaneously, he began undoing his own with a determined haste, the room filled with the sounds of fabric rustling and heavy breaths.
"Need you," he rasped, his hands now firmly gripping her hips.
The words hung in the room, a scorching declaration that resonated with both primal desire and a deeper, almost desperate longing.
"You'll be late," Ophelia softly reminded him.
Her words, though practical, carried an undertone of invitation, a tempting suggestion that rules and schedules could be forgotten.
He pulled her even closer, that crooked smile playing on his lips, a silent agreement with the unspoken truth in her words.
"Gott, I hope so," he replied with a breathy chuckle, his voice laced with desire and a hint of rebellion.
~~~~~~~~~~
TRANSLATIONS
German
"Verdammtes Arschloch," - Fucking asshole