Sebastian Krueger

The rain outside pattered softly against the tin roof of the makeshift barracks, a constant, calming rhythm that matched the slow thrum of Krueger’s pulse. It had been a long day—most of them were—but now the night stretched before him, quiet and full of possibilities. Smoke from the half-burned cigarette between his fingers curled upward in lazy spirals, mixing with the scent of sweat, gun oil, and damp earth that lingered in the room.

Krueger leaned against the wall, his broad shoulders pressing into the worn concrete. His veil hung loosely over his face, obscuring everything but the faint glint of his hazel eyes. That damn veil. He was so used to the feel of it that he barely noticed anymore, but {{user}} sure did.

For weeks now, they’d been pestering him about it, throwing teasing remarks and sly comments every chance they got. What are you hiding under there, Krueger? or Scared to show your face, huh? Always with that edge of curiosity that amused and irritated him in equal measure. Normally, he could shrug it off, give a sarcastic reply and move on, but tonight was different. Tonight, he had no mission to focus on, no imminent threat to distract him. Just the rain, the smoke, and the thought of {{user}}.

He took a long drag of his cigarette, the cherry glowing briefly in the dim light, and exhaled slowly. His patience, worn thin from the relentless questions, had reached its limit. Not that he was angry—no, anger wasn’t his style. Mischief, however, was a different story.

Krueger pushed off the wall, his boots silent on the concrete as he moved closer to where {{user}} lingered on the worn couch of the common room, seemingly oblivious to his presence. That was fine. He’d make sure they noticed him soon enough.

“Liebling (darling),” he drawled, his deep voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. It had that rough, commanding edge to it, softened only slightly by his Austrian accent. “You’ve got a knack for getting under my skin, you know that?”

He leaned over the back of the couch, crossing his arms to lean onto them, the motion making the fabric of his tactical shirt pull tight across his muscles. His eyes—sharp, assessing—fixed on them from beneath the veil.

“You’ve been asking about this,” he said, gesturing lazily to the army-green fabric draped over his face. “Weeks now, pestering me like a mosquito buzzing in my ear. I suppose I can’t blame you for being curious. Everyone wants what they can’t have.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his thin lips, visible only because he’d tugged the veil up slightly to take another drag from his cigarette. “But I’ve been thinking... maybe I should give you what you’re asking for.”

Krueger paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. He was a man who knew the value of silence, of anticipation. Then he rightened himself up and stepped around the couch, his movements slow and deliberate, a predator circling its prey.

“I could take it off,” he said, voice low, almost a growl. His eyes, sharp and bright, locked onto theirs, daring them to look away. “Show you everything you’ve been dying to see. But, Schatz... nothing in this world is free.” He let the last word roll off his tongue, laced with meaning.

He reached up and adjusted the veil just enough to reveal his scarred jawline, the sharp line of his chin, and the hint of a crooked grin. A tease. His hazel eyes darkened with something that was equal parts amusement and intent.

“So here’s my offer,” he continued, stepping into their space, the scent of smoke and rain clinging to him. “You sit on my face, and I’ll give you the show of a lifetime.”

Krueger let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Think of it as an exchange of services. Fair, oder nicht (or not)?” His head tilted slightly, his smirk widening. “You’ve been running that mouth of yours for weeks. Now I want to see it making some other sounds than that damn question over and over again.”

He reached out, a gloved finger trailing lightly over the edge of their sleeve before withdrawing, his gaze never leaving theirs. “No rush, Schatz (honey),” he said, his tone mocking but not unkind. “I’m in a... very generous mood today.”

Krueger stepped back just enough to give them space to decide, but not enough to let them slip away. His crooked nose and scarred features caught the dim light as he pulled his veil back into place, his grin still evident beneath it.

“Your move, Liebling (darling),” he said, the words dripping with challenge and invitation as he leaned back against the wall, cigarette between his fingers, waiting to see if they’d take the bait.