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Summary
"I am going to give you to the count of 30 to come out on your own before I get you myself, little one."
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Villagers are required to give all unclaimed Omegas over the average age of presentation to The Crown. Bereft after the untimely death of his wife, your father deigns to hide you away as a young girl, forbidding you from ever stepping foot outside the house. A week after your 18th birthday, sickness takes him. On the brink of succumbing to starvation, guardian-less and naïve, you are unaware that it is the 1st of the month, and time for the village inspections.Colonel Konig comes to collect.
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A place to put Call of Duty stories / one-shots that pop into my head that I won't necessarily continue. If you like monsters, dark themes, fucked up shit, the CoD boys or Reader character not necessarily being a good person, stuff like that, you may enjoy what you find here. Reader is AFAB but skin color etc. isn't normally mentioned. No use of Y/N or any of that. König is a favorite of mine so he'll feature heavily!
Different chapter title = different story
Each story will have its own tags at the top of its page. There are completed works + ongoing stories in here!Explicit chapters marked with *
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You know you should address this: this need to be something groundbreaking to someone. To want someone to be this obsessed with you, no matter how sick that someone is. You know you would have gone to the police if your stalker was a sleazy, weak-wristed man from the pub. You would’ve moved houses already, changed your name and closed your social media accounts, quit everything if your stalker was small and ugly and weak.
But now that you know he’s relatively good-looking, does something dangerous and has a lot of money, and looks like he could fuck and fight half the city by himself, you’re not in that much of a hurry to go to the authorities.
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⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆
A dark, hooded figure emerged from the dense snowstorm, growing far too tall as it approached. You shuffled back weakly in the bloodstained snow and winced as you jostled the trap clamped on your boot.
“What is this?” the man’s voice rumbled, muffled behind his mask. “You are…not what I expected to catch today.” He crouched and cupped your cheek reverently, as if you were a tiny creature whose delicate bones would snap at a too-rough touch.
You flinched at first — but he was warm, so warm.
“You are very far from home, aren’t you, Kleines Häschen?” he mused, honeyed words drawn out slowly as you relaxed into his palm. “Come, let me tend to your wound. Rest by my fire, just for a little while.”
The man scooped you up from the snow, unresisting. Sleep whispered sweet temptation as you were cradled to his chest, lulled by the blood loss and his steady steps. You gave in to the beckoning darkness, and allowed your heavy lids to close, like he said—
just for a little while.
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Yes, Ratio remembers that first day: the Omega had introduced himself sweetly, words nearly a lilt. Aventurine. He had said his name was Aventurine, named after the precious stone, supposedly.
Now, months later with a dagger pressed to his throat, back against the floor and the window shattered, Ratio should have seen this coming, too.
Prince Ratio, as part of a trade negotiation with the IPC, is gifted a prize Omega who seems dead-set on seducing the crowned Prince. Ratio, not one for barbaric traditions such as treating Omega as chattel, resists any and all seduction attempts: Aventurine is not his mate, after all.