König Shorts | Fem!Reader

THE KING

For a while, you had been convinced someone had been following you.

"Darlin', you know what your mind is like. It's okay, no one is there. Do you need to see someone? I can arrange it."

Simon was probably right. Simon was usually always right. Your partner, bound for life, that shiny metal looped around your finger engraved with his words inside. But this time, this time you were sure he was wrong.

You had both finally gotten the house of your dreams, the place to begin growing your family. However, it was full of triggers that daylight didn't see. Replacing them was a slow process, leaving you running up the stairs away from the glass panelled doors of the lounge and the secrets they hid behind them in the dark. Heart pounding from the awkwardly placed light switches that left you sprinting down the hall at night to get into your room.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Depression. Anxiety. The triple threat.

The only real threat which had ever existed, amalgamating themselves in to intense fear and paranoia that came and went as it pleased. And was all acquired from work, your old work, with Taskforce 141. You were the last standing female, someone viewed as the weak link of the group, not in regards to your abilities, your skills, but in your inability rather to defend yourself in hand-to-hand combat with as much capacity as the guys. You were nimble, quick, yes, but you lacked the sheer size and strength they possessed. The easy target. And you had been exactly that, in the hands of KorTac.

One stray bullet had injured their colonel, their faceless King. A move not taken lightly upon, hunting you down until they had you trapped like a frightened animal, screaming, kicking, fighting for your life. Three weeks. They kept you in the dark, they held you, defenceless, alone. And they were smart, König was smart, ensuring to move you around every other day, never giving 141 a chance to pinpoint your location. There was an undercurrent of obsession as well, an obsession with the fact you were Simon's. A priceless valuable that could be destroyed within an inch of breathing, toyed with like an expensive plaything, all to curb twisted satisfaction. Eventually you gave up, not another single thought even entered your mind anymore. Numb. Already dead. That bored them, so they let you go; discarding you in dark woods, with little to protect you, lying, broken, curled up on damp leaves as it rained.

The aftermath saw you finish your contract and leave. Permanently. Hundreds of hours of therapy, hundreds of small tablets. The only two things that kept you taped together at the seams. And Simon. You had gotten married the year after. But the paranoia had never left, something your therapist had said was likely related to his return to service.

It had resurfaced now, with vengeance. Walking home from the shops, the trees all shades of orange, leaves crunching under your feet. Was that footsteps behind you? No. No one was there. The same as every other time. Yet the crawling uncomfortable feeling didn't leave until you were behind your locked front door, which you practically ran towards. Washing the dishes in the kitchen at night, blinds down, when the garden light would come on and cast the shadow of an unnatural figure against the window. Hands immediately dropping what they were doing to check out the back door. But nothing was there. The sound of the TV blaring, the loud chatter somewhat soothing for your mind, especially when home alone. But it couldn't drown out the rap of repeated, harsh knocks at your front door. Simon always chapped the letterbox if he forgot his keys, or his hands were full. So your soul left your body as you walked out to check who it was. Nothing.

All of it made you feel so uneasy, so unsafe. You were sure it was real, but you had absolutely no evidence to prove any of it.

Simon noticed how withdrawn it was making you, silently sipping coffee in the morning. Refusing to go out by yourself. Sitting with your laptop, the thousand mile stare returning when you were supposed to be working. The extra jumpiness, constantly clammy hands.