Knig X Gn Reader - Tumblr Posts

"Can I sit here?" König X Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: 3060

*Part one?

*Slow burn?

*Strangers to Friends (to Lovers?)

Not decidedany of those yet 😶

Edited on 23/8/2023 for some grammar tweaks.

*!!Fanfic inspired by @theeggrollslord's drawing on Twitter!! I really wanted to use their art as the cover for this fanfic, but due to me not having an Twitter (or X 🤮) account, and not knowing whether the original artist consents to people reposting their art, I held back. 😿 If anyone knows whether they are able to give me permission or are cool with it, please let me know!! ☺️

*Author has played MW1 + 2... but not the newest reimagines. 😭 all I remember from the campaign is that Shepherd shot Ghost in the face,but in NO way did he look as fine as he does now ☠️☠️

*Author does NOT speak German... but can use Google Translate !!😊

As is customary with all foreigners, English is not my first language!. Pls do not bully me if my grammar  is bad i will cry 😢

König sat by himself in the cafeteria.

Three sausages, a spoonful of beans, and two eggs alongside a 500ml water bottle were all that consisted of his daily breakfast. Hash browns would be served raw, and the bagels were solid enough to break teeth when bitten into. He didn't even want to consider the sandwiches, as their stale, stinking cheese and slick ham made him gag. A pity that they didn't serve Bratwurst or order authentic — hell, even half-decent — eggs, as the meat in his sausages tasted out of date and the yolks were a dull yellow. The beans weren't even Heinz.

Looking at the cheap slop on his tray made him lose his appetite. At least the water was drinkable, but its taste was peculiar at best.

König sighed.

Every day "eating" the same breakfast, sitting in the same spot, at the same time.

To say that he enjoyed the routine of the barracks would be an overstatement, as he felt oppressed by the monotony: rigorous and thorough briefings pre-missions; intense training three times a day; shooting drills and target practice right after the sun barely opened its eye or into late hours of the evening when it was hard to see. Yet he couldn't complain, and forced himself to appreciate the predictable structure of the barracks.

After all, routine meant safety.

Knowing the details of the misson and the intel required guaranteed a flawless operation. Knowing how exactly to eliminate an opponent in any given situation meant that it made the job even easier. Knowing when to dive for cover to avoid a rain of bullets and the rumbling thunder of machine guns in an active shootout equalled survival.

And knowing that you intimidated everyone on base at least made social interactions easier. All of these extended his life expectancy, yet by how much was anyone's guess.

Being a 6'10 wall of a pure muscle made him the perfect human bulldozer, and paired with his animalistic instincts taking over while on the battlefield, he struck fear in even his own teammates.

Most of the time, König didn't even need to use a gun, as he could snap an enemy's neck faster than they could blink; and, even if they could do that, they wouldn't be able to react fast enough as he manhandled their body like a rag doll and snapped their spine in half over his knee. Quick and easy kills. Other times, frantic stabs in the abdomen, chest or neck finished with a harsh cut of the throat sufficed when sneaking, and allowed him to release any pent of frustration he felt that he wouldn't have been able to relieve through strangulation alone.

Yet, all of the time, seeing König's brutality first-hand made his teammates lose their balance and struggle to collect themselves during the mission, fearing that he would turn to indiscriminately killing anyone that had the misfortune of entering his field of vision. Compared to König's animalistic instincts taking over in an active firefight and causing bloodshed, his allies putting down enemies with a bullet to the head seemed merciful, and even kind.

Unlike friendships, killing people was easy. Keeping good relations with people was difficult enough for König to begin with — with his first hurdle being his social anxiety, and the hurdle of others being getting used to his frightening exterior — and it grew more and more into a challenge as he moved up the ranks, until his position as Colonel made him feared, not respected. People avoided his eyes, and kept conversations to a minimum, bowing their heads in fear, not respect.

After witnessing him maul enemies like a feral animal, König walking down the barracks had people scuttling away like rats in opposite directions, a horde of people dissipating in an instant. Crowded rooms with rowdy laughter suddenly were brought to silence once he made the mistake of entering, with people speaking in hushed whispers or not even speaking at all, opting to escape before their colonel addressed them.

Truth of the matter was, König never wanted to be a colonel. He'd had rather been the one receiving orders than the one making them, as his social anxiety in front of innumerable pairs of expectant eyes put pressure on him in the moment and made it near impossible to let a single word out.

He was not a natural born leader: he knew it, everyone knew it; but he kept his position solely due to his ruthlessness in action and his cold efficiency, as there was no one like him that could come close to imitating his behaviour.

Then, to say that he enjoyed the daily routine of life in the barracks was a stretch to say the least. The thrill of killing on missions and the primal adrenaline that took over his veins and clouded his senses could not be more of a contrast to this boredom and overwhelming isolation on base: of every day sitting in the same damned spot; of every day pretending to eat the same damned food; and, of every damned day being avoided by the other operators to be at a peace he was forced to accept, whether he liked it or not. What a miserable life to live.

The beans on his plate looked menacing, and he had the urge to crush each one individually until they'd stop sneering at him so, as being judged by off-brand beans was running his patience thin. Yet, he wouldn't do that, as everyone else would view him as not only a brute but a mentally unstable lunatic who was now using food scraps as an outlet for his temper; so, he resorted to just picking at the rations instead. His head was in his palm, and his gaze went elsewhere, his pale blue eyes drooping.

So engrossed in absentmindly pushing the beans on his tray with his fork and contemplating what went wrong with him that he did not hear the footsteps walking towards him.

You cleared your throat. "E-excuse me, sir, but can I sit here?"

König looked up, and saw a young recruit hovering over him with a small brown paper bag in their hands. Your face was one he hadn't seen before around here, and you weren't in the standard military uniform, so he assumed that you were perhaps a groundsperson of sorts.

Your ignorance of him was probably the only reason you dared approach him, as any other person would have avoided his table at all costs and gotten whiplash from how quickly they'd turn their head the other way. However, he was glad that he didn't intimidate everyone that encountered him, and was internally thanking you for giving him a chance. Some hope.

Feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinising stare, you tugged the collar of your t-shirt and struggle for words.

"S-sorry," you begun, sheepishly looking down at the floor. A rub of the neck and a shuffling of feet. "It's just... all of the other tables are crowded, and I don't know anyone here well. And yours—" You looked at him, shooting him a lopsided grin, "—yours is empty."

"I understand," he stated, before looking back down at the mush on his tray. "Not a problem."

You gulped, feeling like he was dismissing you, and beginning to regret approaching him. "Are you sure, sir? I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Look at you, he thought, so thoughtful over his feelings. When was the last time anyone bothered to ask him how he felt, or treated him like a human being?

"Ja. I am sure."

Still standing, unsure as to how to interpret the tone of his statement, you shot him a shy smile and sat down at a reasonable distance from the man, beginning to unpack the contents of your bag.

König kept stealing glances of you from under his eyebrows, trying to be discreet. Although he actually was uncomfortable — not used to company in the slightest, especially with someone so polite and courteous — he was oddly drawn to you.

He was thankful that you were oblivious to his status around these parts, and he wanted to leave a decent first impression on you before you finally overheard the true rumours about him, and paid attention to how quiet the cafeteria had gotten now that you two were sat together.

The thing was, he didn't know where to begin.

Communication was not his strong suit. He mused over potential ways of starting a conversation, yet not only had he never been faced with a situation like this, the language barrier was ever so present. Perhaps if he could speak to you in German he'd be able to formulate his thoughts better, yet at the moment it felt like all his knowledge of English seemingly evaporated in an instant.

"You prepared well your breakfast," he stated plainly, angling for any kind of small talk. He internally cringed at the order of those words and how wrong that sentence sounded in his voice, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

An awkward smile. "—W-wow. Thank you, sir!"

König felt his chest tighten, but he didn't know why. 

"My first day on base I had the misfortune of being served breakfast," you continued, "so, from then on I decided right then and there "never again". The food—" you laughed weakly, "—sure is something."

"Du hast recht," agreed König. "I mean... You are right. If I had a dog, I never would feed it this— these... scraps."

You could sense König hungrily devouring your food with his eyes. Although he tried to be subtle, he was not good at going unnoticed. Really, stealing glances of this behemonth in front of you, you kind of pitied the man, especially when the next edible meal would be in precisely 5 hours. With his breakfast beaten and bruised into an unrecognisable pulp, it was definitely too late for him to consume.

Mourning your sandwiches, you silently bid them farewell and took a deep breath:

"Well, sir. I would assume that you're hungry."  You took out the contents from your bag and slid them in front of him, smiling meekly. "You can have my breakfast."

He looked down at your two sandwiches and his eyes visibly widened under his hood; four thick slices of sourdough bread, a generous slather of butter, cheese, rocket lettuce, and thinly sliced pieces of meat, topped with tomatoes, and most likely seasoned with spring onion and pepper.

They looked so appetising, and he felt his mouth salivate, yet he shook his head vehemently. "Nein! Ich sollte das nicht tun, nicht, wenn du dich so sehr bemüht hast!"

You tilted your head in confusion. König mentally facepalmed.

"I-I mean... you tried very hard, and it isn't right of me. They are yours."

You waved a dismissive hand. "Honestly, you need them more than me. Have them."

"Einer wird ausreichen," He shook his head again, and picked up one slowly. "One will be enough."

He reached over to take one and you looked at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to take a bite and give you his thoughts, yet it hit you. He was wearing his mask. He probably wouldn't eat in front of you.

A cough. "S-sorry. I'll look away while you eat it. Tell me what you think about it."

König practically shoved the entire thing in his mouth the moment your back faced him and and started choking. He saw you turning back to assist, but he raised a weak hand to stop you.

Getting over his coughing fit, he could finally appreciate the freshness and the flavour of the sandwich. It tasted of... nostalgia. Like the sandwiches his Mama would make for him after school to reassure him and to take his mind off the day's events. He felt like a young boy again. When he closed his eyes, for a split-second he imagined he was in the kitchen with his mother chatting energetically, taking his plate and ruffling his hair when he had finished and feeding him another, insisting that he "was a growing boy".

"So köstlich..." he said, and was disappointed to see that the sandwich was gone from his hands, already eaten. "Mein gott, that was perfekt. A sandwich of the Gods."

You turned around and you were beaming so brightly that König swore he would need to shield his eyes from the sight.

"Thank you so much! You don't know how happy that makes me."

You looked at him, your smile unwavering. "Do you know what would make me happier?"

He gave you a blank look. "...No?"

"If you ate the other one," you said, and König's eyes widened comically. "Though, please, be careful. Sandwiches can sure be a choking hazard," you dared tease him, and was actually surprised when he let out a quiet chuckle.

After savouring his second sandwich, the two of you were quiet. Although the tension had evaporated, the silence was deafening, and you felt suffocated by the lack of conversation.

"Uhm... Sir. What is your name?" A hesitant start, your hands folded neatly in your lap. "If it isn't too much of a personal question, of course."

He deliberated for a few moments, before responding with a quiet "König."

"König," you repeated, making sure to pronounce it properly. Your eyes widened in realisation, and you smiled broadly. "That's King, in German, right? That's so funny, because I go by King!"

König froze up like a statue.

"Holy fucking shit, what are the chances?" You rambled, not realising how quiet König had become. "Honestly, what are we doing here? Where are our castles, our riches? Our chariots led by silver horses and our toilets made of 24 carat gold?"

König shrugged stiffly. "Blown up by a grenade, I suppose."

You looked at him, dumbfounded, then burst into laughter. Like, fits of giggles, too many of them and too strong for his unbelievably dry response. Maybe that's why you were laughing so hard.

Either way, König couldn't believe it at first.

It was so... beautiful. Almost angelic in a way, despite you holding yourself up with a palm on the table and unable to contain your pig-like snorts. He could get used to hearing you laugh more often.

And, just like that, he dropped his guard. Slowly, all of his stiffness melted, and he became more of his confident self, this trait only ever coming out when he was actively shooting.

The two of you spent the entire length of breakfast chatting, joking, and telling each other things about each other. Although König insisted that his English wasn't good, you assured him that you understood him just fine — if anything, his confused looks and furrowed eyebrows at idioms you used were adorably endearing, each time earning a sympathetic giggle from you.

At some point — and though he would've been ashamed to admit it — he tuned out the babbling that came out of your mouth as he admired your face, noting all of your features: the colour of your eyes and how they'd crinkle in happiness whenever you smiled; the way your hair flowed and framed your face; taking the time to count all of the freckles on your nose and committing the number to memory.

He'd only catch himself staring when you'd suddenly finish talking. "But what do I know, I'm kind of stupid if you ask me. It's a wonder I passed the tests to qualify for this job in the first place."

You locked eyes with him, interested in hearing what he had to say. "What do you think, König? I bet you know the answer!"

To which he'd quickly clear his throat and respond with, "Ich weiß nicht. I don't know. To be... frank, though that is strange for me to say when I am not "Frank"—" 

You struggled to struggle to contain your laughter, and quickly apologized as soon as you stopped shaking, before attempting to explain to this clueless Austrian man why it was used. König didn't feel demeaned by your explanation, though, as he thought that his blunders would be worth it every time if it meant hearing you laugh so sweetly.

To König's dismay, half an hour flew by in minutes, and it was time to part ways as you began your daily duties.

As the two of you stood up, you initially had realised that König was taller than the average man based off how his knees could barely fit under the table.

You sure as fuck did not expect to see this.

He towered over you, casting a shadow down below. You had to strain your neck to make eye contact with him, and a painful cramp was already forming.

"Ha—ha.... you're pretty, uh... big."

That statement had more than one connotation. Gott sei Dank für diese Maske, he thought. Thank God for this mask, otherwise you would have seen the blush from his neck up to his ears after his mind went to a place he hadn't thought it'd go, especially not with a person he had formally met not even an hour ago.

"Oh well, I can finally put those 4-inch combat boots in the bottom of my closet to good use," you laughed, playfully nudging what meant to be his shoulder but your height difference meant that you instead touched his pec. Not that you minded though.

With your arms behind your back, you shyly averted your gaze. "Well... It was nice to meet you, König."

"You too... King."

Furrowing of brows as you tilted your head. "How do you say it in German? "Auf Wiedersehen"?"

"Ja, das ist es."

"Well then, Auf Wiedersehen, big guy. I'll see you around!"

Big guy... In more ways than one...

God. König had to get a grip.

Yet, with the way he was looking at your backside and fantasizing about your next meeting, he already knew that not even Gott could help him.

...

Note: I HATE this fucking fanfiction WITH MY SOUL 🤬🤬. This fucking thing was NEARLY FINISHED and I was in the process of tweaking yet my phone decided to erase half of my progress !!!! 😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡

My phone 📵 and God 🤬 didn't want this fanfiction getting published yet guess what!!! 🖕🖕🖕🖕Fuck you!!!🖕🖕🖕 Ive gotten it out anyways🗣️ fucking shaved a decade off of my life trying to recovervthe opening part of this fic,,

,,,,literally why did I get punished for writing a very mild and unextreme fanfic 😭😭😭😭 like the first half was just in Königs perspective and Ur telling me that i can't do that?????

I mf get fucking crucified like Jesus  on the cross, only this time I sarcificed my sleep and sanity to not be ressurected again,, bitch I would have rather died if I had known tjis would happen ☠️☠️ I could have actually SLEPT?!! 🤬🛌

Never again writing fanfictiosn on my phone, I can't trust this evil technology!!  I'm gonna draft them with PEN and PAPER bitch!!!! Typewriter!!!!!!!! Chalk On Pavement™!!!!!!!!!!!! PERMANENT MARKER ON MY FOREHEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

...

If you read this rant of mine, I hope you have a lovely day/night, beautiful person. <33 (please wash your eyes after reading that,,I needed to release my anger somrjow don't judge me hhhhhhhHHHH—)

"Can I sit here?" König x Gender-neutral Reader (Part 2)

Word count: ~2700

König finally asks you out on a date!

*Slow burn

*Friends (to Lovers?)

*FINALLT a Part 2 to 👉👉this fic rught here!! Tysm to those for being so patient in regards to part 2 kf this fic!!!😽 i hope u guys think this js good enoigh to be the sequel 😢😢😢 😢 Lots of fluff!!! 🥺🥺SOME suggestive themes but only if u squint 🧐

*Author STILL doesn't speak German!! 🇩🇪🙅🏼(im so sorru to any German-speakers thst xan see thru my Google Translate and whince in pain 😬Not mucj i can do abt it 🤷🏼‍♀️otber than spend 3 yrs learning the language and i do NOT ❌have time for thst‼️sorry😿)

...

Life on the barracks was still as mundane as ever for König.

With no new information on any recent targets or any gang syndicates appearing on their radar, he had to ease in to this rather boring lifestyle, his only source of entertainment being at target practice. Never really paying much thought to what he could get up to when he had free time — the truth was, he had never had any — he essentially was left twiddling his thumbs, this being the worst part about his job.

With no hobbies, König chose to kill time by going to the gym more often, working out with high intensity. On particularly slow days he'd enter the gym for a second time, going in when he knew no one else would be around so he would have the equipment all to himself.

He still wasn't a fan of the monotony, yet he grew more appreciative as a new factor entered his schedule, the recent recruit that had made his life more interesting: you.

Ever since that day when you chose to sit at his table, you always walked to the corner of the cafeteria where he was sitting with something new to tell, and König would listen attentively, not looking away from you once. Having you chat in front of him every morning and afternoon gave him something to look forward to during the otherwise uneventful mornings and afternoons, and he over time became more pleasant to be with and less and less awkward.

He'd wait eagerly at his usual table, looking forward to seeing your face. You made it your due diligence to prepare him something the day before, which would usually be the same that you would have, and the two of you would eat in a comfortable silence, König always being complimentary about the food no matter how simple it was to prepare.

"Mein Gott! Delicious, this is, maus! You really are talented," he'd proclaim, the sound muffled by a mouthful of food.

Maus. You had noticed König begin dropping in words like that when addressing you instead of your call-sign, yet you, being an ignorant Westerner, couldn't even Google their meanings as you had no clue how attempt to spell them. Maus, on the other hand, was self-explanatory; your height difference made you look like a "mouse" to him. You weren't sure whether to take it as a compliment or not, but you didn't question it further.

Shaking your head with a smile, you'd wave a dismissive hand at his remarks. "Eh, those are just simple pancakes. It would be hard for someone to not make them delicious, in all honesty."

"Nein, I mean it!" He'd reply in earnest, not breaking eye contact. "No one could replicate the... the flavour! The—" König struggled for words, his vocabulary limited enough as it was, yet with you in front of him he'd be unable to recall nothing that he had been taught in his English lessons.

Still, he'd persevere. "Das köstliche aroma! It's— so good. Very good."

A bashful laugh. "Okay, okay, König! I get it." You placed a hand on your chest, trying to downplay the rising blush on your cheeks. "Really, I'm flattered. Thank you."

To which König's eyes would crinkle, a sure sign of a thick smile under that hood of his. He was glad you couldn't see it, though, as he was sure he looked like an idiot.

When you'd be late by a few minutes, König could feel himself start to panic, his mind racing with possibilities at what could have happened to you. His anxiety was irrational yet his alarm was nothing short from genuine, only having good intentions; to keep you from harm's way.

He wanted to protect you, but he didn't know your schedule yet, thus hated not knowing where you were at all times. Tense shoulders visibly relaxed seeing you hurry through the double doors, and he'd let out a sigh of relief, trying to remember what he had planned to say, last minute rehearsals gone over in his head.

All of that careful planning went of out of the window, though, as the two of you would talk about everything and nothing, sometimes about something deep and philosophical; other times, your favourite type of cheese, and each rave about them respectively for five minutes flat.

You were a breath of fresh air for König, which was why he was now training with such vigour.

When working out, König made minimal noise, his movements quick and controlled. This time, however, he was grunting with effort, working until maximum exhaustion and completely drenched in sweat.

Before, he had never bothered with his appearance, only carrying the basic neccesities and wearing tactical gear that was comfortable enough and wasn't too tight. With his height, it was difficult enough to find form-fitting clothes to begin with, and damn near impossible when his bulk was considered, so any clothing that somewhat fit was good enough to König to wear on a day-to-day basis.

Yet, on numerous occasions, he found himself staring at his barren closet, contemplating over what outfit would look best with the few options he had.

Thinking of you made him want to look better for you, to make him worth your time, and he busied himself with searching on the internet and comparing reviews for the best cologne, for the best aftershave, even finding the best shirts from a niche private retailer that nearly catered to his needs to a tee, and he'd specifically select t-shirts that revealed his bulging biceps whenever he crossed his arms and would show off his body to you. A physique he maintained and would improve with you in mind, not necessarily for the sake of being the ideal soldier.

He would practice conversation in the mirror, thinking up of the funniest jokes to say, the most interesting topics to bring up. Suddenly, the English textbooks that were long forgotten about under his bed and the dust-covered German-English dictionary became of use, and he'd study the words, the idioms, the grammar, committing it all to memory. A pencil in hand and a lamp shining down on the notebook in front of him, he'd write late into the night, improving his sentence structure and mastering the expressions he had highlighted earlier, not knowing their definitions.

You were worth the effort, and he vowed to do this right. He wanted to impress you, and didn't want you to ditch him or think of him as less for the way he presented himself.

He'd shower and comb the hair back that you wouldn't see (yet he felt it a necessary thing to do, just in case), and generously sprayed himself with scented deodorant, before going to his usual spot at the cafeteria with his chest puffed out, hoping he looked immaculate.

And he did. His colleagues and lower-downs noticed this shift in his charisma and his growing confidence, actively taking advantage of his status rather than watching passively in the back of the room. They could sense his presence as he was walking down the corridors, yet rather than immediately looking down at the ground, instead saluted him with a respectful: "Good afternoon, Colonel Sir."

Really, he was elated. He had never felt this happy in years, and he was loving this feeling, walking around base now with a self-assured swagger to his step.

Waiting, though, was the worst part about your encounters. Minutes felt like hours as König held a hand over his bouncing knee to keep it in place, his stomach fluttering with butterflies as he waited in anticipation.

Truth was, you'd always be worn out after training after your instructor pushed you to your limits, and sometimes took longer in getting ready and making yourself look presentable than other times because your joints were aching and your clothes stuck to you from how sweaty you were.

Now, quickly combing your hair and rolling some deodorant under your armpits, you had a goofy grin on your face, excited to see König again.

König, the 6'10 giant who was really just a sweet Austrian man to you.

His dead enemies, however, would be rolling in their graves and yelling in protest at the thought of you calling the brutal murderer that snapped their necks like they were twigs "sweet".

Really, you were ignorant to people's stances on him, and would defend his honour on his behalf with innocent stubbornness, with naive certainty that you were right. After all, he was a gentle giant!

Even if his total 180 shift was true, you doubted the full extent of his brutality. So what if he got a little aggressive? Adrenaline could do a lot to a man!

Still yet to see the side of him that König was trying desperately to keep hidden from you, he intended to keep it that way for as long as he could.

Counting down the seconds on his watch, König was sure you'd come in any moment now. A minute passing and he imagined that you'd come rushing in though the doors, frantically apologising for taking so long before sitting down and giving all of your attention to him, giving him the attention that he had never received from anyone so attractive before.

This meeting, however, was going to be different. He had revised all that he had wanted to say and exactly how he wanted to say it, until the words were permanently engraved in his brain.

At last, the double doors opened and there you were, a lopsided smile on your face as you speed-walked towards his table, already apologising sincerely and explaining why you were late by a few minutes before you had even sat down yet.

Honestly, your kindness towards König was too much for him to bear, and his heart was near the point of exploding from joy from having you so concerned over punctuality, when he considered it a blessing that the engel in front of him would even spare him any time of their day.

Eyes crinkling in a smile, König shook his head. "Nein, schatz. There is not a thing to be sorry for."

"But there is! I always keep you waiting and It's my bad," you said, rubbing your arm. "Sorry."

He shook his head again, this time reassuringly. "Don't be."

Then, added. "You're worth the wait."

Not knowing what to make of this, you sat down, trying to hide the fact that his remark flustered you.

Coughing as you deliberately tried to change topics. "How was your day, König? Beat up any bad guys at all?"

A chuckle. "Das ist lustig," he admitted. "Funny, but I wish. Only been at the gym today. But I also have been devoting some of my time to studying English."

Raised eyebrows in admiration as you nodded your head. "Your English has certainly improved, König," you observed, noticing how König would commit fewer and fewer grammar mistakes when speaking, until he was confident enough to even use some colloquial idioms of his own. Of course, some of the German ones didn't translate so well, yet you couldn't deny that there was improvement.

Not having told König anything about it, you yourself had actually begun learning some German on your own to surprise him with it one day, yet with how you were progressing at the moment you thought that this would be better left unsaid for the time being. Your knowledge of the language only went as far as "Guten morgen" and "Mein Name ist King". So, nothing extraordinary.

You smiled, your eyes reflecting the cafeteria lights. "I'm sure by the end of this year you'll be the most well-spoken on base! You'll probably become more fluent than me soon."

König was lost in your sparkling eyes, his sight taking in all of your features. You were so beautiful, so perfect.

"Danke, schön, but I still have a long way to go." Momentarily glancing at your lips for a split of a second, before he quickly cleared his throat. "I had... I had actually something to ask you, maus."

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowed. "Really? What is it?"

The expectant expression on your face made König's voice hitch in his throat, suddenly forgetting all that he had carefully rehearsed and had revised for consecutive afternoons. "Y-you see—"

A thoughtful pause as he considered his next words, weighing the pros and cons of risking it all. "—From the day you sat down at my table, I— I've never felt this happiness in all my years on this world," he began steadily.

"My childhood... was... not the best—" He winced, and did not elaborate further. You didn't push him to, and waited patiently for him to finish. "—But... you make all those times I was unhappy forgettable when I make new memories with you. I couldn't be happier when you're with me. And—"

König took in a deep breath. "...Will you— will you do me the honour... of going on a date with me?"

Shock. This was not what you had expected. At all.

Your eyes were wide and throat dry as you licked your lips. No one had ever asked you on a date before. You hadn't dated a single person in all your years of living, or even went as far as having your first kiss, which was embarassing to admit. Too afraid to put yourself out there and keeping reserved in fear that you wouldn't be good enough, those same doubts entered your mind as you imagined König with someone better, someone more intelligent and more attractive, someone that always knew what to say in moments like these.

Not you, this moron that couldn't even learn some basic German for him, and the family's disappointing child which enlisted in the military as a last resort, with no qualifications good enough to secure you another job.

As you looked at the floor, König regretted ever bringing this up.

Oh Gods, did he cross a boundary? What if you didn't like him the way he liked you? What if— what if you were already in a relationship?! What if you were too nice to turn him down and tell him the truth?

It suddenly occured to you that you had not replied to König's proposal for a whole minute, and you pulled yourself together, reaching despairingly for his hand with a trembling one of your own, fearing that you blew everything.

"Oh my God, König— yes. Yes! I'd love to go on a date with you!"

König let out a breath that he didn't know he had been holding. "—Really? You— want to go on a date... with me?"

You nodded emphatically, compensating for your lack of response. "Yes! Fuck, I'm so sorry for not saying anything, I just—"

Quiet laughter. "I know, you're late to things," he teased, your face red. "Schatz, I think... I think we can make this work. Is— is it okay if I pick you up at 6 on Friday?"

"It's more than okay! It's perfect, König!" A goofy grin as you couldn't contain your child-like excitement. Then, a sheepish rub of the neck. "And... I pinky promise that I will be ready on time. I wouldn't miss our date for the world."

Later on, as he was rounding the corner and knew no one could see him, he punched at the air enthusiastically, feeling like he had just won the lottery; only, the grand prize was you.

Locking his bedroom door and immediately crossing off the date on his calendar, his body dropped on a chair.

With his head on his palm, he smiled.

He couldn't wait to see you again.

...

Note: I fed u guys with a fluffy fic in preparation for my upcoming one as imGONNA BREAK UR HEARTS INTO A MILLION PIECES WITH THE NEXT ONE U READ👺👺my next fic is angst Angst ANGST and u habe to be mentslly prepared for it... 💔

If u are sad throighout it and feel empty inside dont say that i djdnt warn you beacuse its gonna be some REAL shit rjbht there and abojt to get HELLA Depressing🗿🗿

Thankfully it is going to have SOME sort of happy conclusion to rub less salt in ur wounds🥲 and on top of that I posted this first so u dont get a doible whammy of angst<33

König mistakenly shoots you on the battlefield

König x Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: ~4500

*SLOW burn but when my writing finally has that spark this fic catches FIRE and FAST so be prepared!! 🔥🔥

*⚠️Angst Angst! ANGST!⚠️

*THABK YOU SO SO SO MUCH TO AZZY MY NO.1 FAN FOR THIS AMAZING IDEA!!!! 🥰🥰🥰I LOVE *YOU* VERY MUCH!! 🥹🫶🫶💞💞💞💞 💞💞💞💞💞THANK UVFOR ALWAUS LIKING MYNPOSTS AND BEING SO KIND TO ME YOU MAKE EBERY HOIR SPENT WRITING WORTH IT AS I AM ALWAYS EAGER FOR YOUR MESSAGES😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓I AM *YOUR* NO.1 APPRECIATOR IN ALL RHE GALAXIES🌌🚀✨🌠QNDVWISH U ALL THE BEST ALWAYS!!!!!!🫂🫂💗💗 THIS ENTJRE POST IS DEDICATED TO YOU !!! 🥹(,,havinf said that, i hope u arent TOO taken aback bu tje level of angst here 💀💀REALLT went overboard and I completely apologize 💔)

TWs: König is in love with you. König's sanity slowly deteriorates as the fanfiction progresses. Mentions of attempted suicide, graphic depictions of gore, potentially triggering depictions of depression. König has suicidal thoughts after shooting you. König experiences intense trauma after shooting you and has survivor's guilt.

*Reader's callsign is "King". Implied age gap. One-sided pining from König... but the ending is purposefully kept ambigous (as you, the reader, can interpret the final interaction however you like)! Can be read as a standalone if you have never read any of my works before. <3

*To clarify to those that have already read my works before, this is *NOT* a direct continuation to 1.my fluffy 2.series! This is a separate imagine, but DOES take place in the same KönigxKing microchosm. Whether the following events take place in an alternate timeline or happen at some point in the future/past is for you to decide. Idk man i just write the fics I don't do the world buidling 🗿I write sotires without thingign about the greater picture u honestly think my one shots will tie to a greater plot?☹️No 💔

...

Right from the beginning, König had a gut feeling that this mission was going to go wrong.

It was a deep sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, making him feel queasy on the helicopter ride as the both of you with an additional three others were scheduled for contact in a few minutes' time.

You were just a recruit, and this mission was far too intense for someone with next to no experience in an active warzone for it to be their first. He knew the dangers of missions like this, knew how things could go horribly wrong in an instant.

It wasn't that he doubted your ability. Not at all. From the corner of the room he would silently supervise as you sparred another person, monitoring your movements incase your opponent had the upperhand and you needed guidance.

However, he had never needed to intervene, as he was impressed with your quick reactions and your controlled steps as you'd move on the balls of your feet, arms held up in front of your face. Ambition was in your eyes, your face scrunched up in concentration as you calculated your next move.

You'd defend yourself up until the moment you'd pounce and in a blink of an eye be on top of your opponent, your entire weight pressed on their theirs on the ground. Whether it was another woman, another man, or even a person with bigger bulk you were clearly disadvantaged by, you'd never give up, and took on any challenge with an impressionable passion of a young recruit.

Once they'd be the one to tap out, you'd immediately push yourself off them and offer them a hand, asking them "Are you alright?" in a concerned tone as you were pulling them up. "Sorry for getting aggressive there, sir/miss! I hope I didn't hurt you!"

To which they'd respond with boisterous laughter and a strong clap on your back, you doubled over as they were congratulating you for knocking them off their two feet and telling you to keep up the good work. König couldn't wipe the triumphant smile from his face, filled with pride at your personal victory.

Once you'd be the one to tap out, you'd part ways honourably, never disrespecting the person that came out on top. If anything, your loss only added fuel to the fire burning in your eyes, driven to work harder. He still admired you, and would be the one to pull you up as he dusted you off, telling you that you did a great job regardless.

"Thank you, sir!" You'd reply bashfully, face red from effort and embarassment. "Though, I'm sure I made a fool of myself with how I was flailing my arms just then..."

"Nein. Not at all," he'd say, eyes glinting with something that you couldn't quite recognize. "You did very well."

Target practice displayed your accurate aim, wool seeping out from the heads of dummies and the targets regularly replaced as the wood would cling in pieces, the center blasted into smithereens by repeated bullseyes from you.

Always lingering nearby to assist, you would gratefully accept König's help and allow him to demonstrate how to operate another gun with an appreciative smile on your face, your genuine eagerness to learn making König's chest tighten. You seemingly never knew the effect you had on him.

You were a naturally skilled soldier, he had observed, and he knew that you'd make an incredible addition to the team, he couldn't deny that.

Yet, he couldn't shake off this feeling as something more grave.

All personel debriefed and the plan disclosed a week prior, the superior went over the plan once more back at base. A large blueprint spilling over the table with weak spots and areas to beware were annotated, his forefinger pointing at different areas of interest. Sketches, photographs, and jottings were displayed from a projector for all to see as you listened closely.

König's jaws were grinding against each other in agitation, having doubts about you being deployed on this mission.

Despite this operation being portayed as an in and out extraction, König knew better. He knew what the stakes were. Intuition urged him to warn you, to confide in you about his doubts and even considered crossing your name off the list and assigning you elsewhere last minute without anyone knowing.

But the thought that he could be controlling you — a young, innocent recruit — and even considered doing something so foul didn't sit right with him.

You were your own person, and he couldn't be your shadow, couldn't act as a human shield against all that was cruel and gruesome in life. You had chosen this job, and therefore must have had at least some idea of what your responsibilities would entail, some knowledge of what soldiers go through in pursuit of glory.

Instead of being so pertubed, he should keep it together, he thought, should maintain a stoic façade. He was your superior — your colonel, for God's sake — he was someone you aspired to be, someone that should be an inspiration, a role model, someone that could have your back and be a reliable body to fall back on.

Not someone that couldn't keep it together when you around.

Especially when he shouldn't have been having feelings for you.

You, a young person vulnerable and easily influenced by people older than you, by the likes of him.

It wasn't right. He wasn't right for what he was feeling, for what he had been thinking. It wasn't right for his feelings to cloud his judgement, wasn't right that abusing his power had even crossed his mind, let alone been tempted to act upon it.

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. "König? Are you alright, sir?"

Turning his head to face you, he nodded with false certainty, containing his worry in an attempt to appear confident for you.

"Ja, King, it's okay. Just thinking, that's all."

You quirked a brow, not convinced. "Hey."

Placing a firm hand on his shoulder, a serious expression was on your face, which caught König off guard and made his eyes widen. "If you're thinking that I'm going to get myself killed then you've got another thing coming, because I will NOT get shot by the enemy."

His back slumped over a little, averting his gaze for a moment. "Nein, sie haben recht."

"Ich sollte nicht zulassen, dass meine Gefühle mein Urteilsvermögen trüben." König mumbled something else under his breath in German, then quickly shook his head and laughed, looking into your eyes again.

Tension in his body was eased a little. "No, you're right."

A little. Because he wasn't going to dismiss the thoughts gnawing at the back of his head as mere paranoia.

You perked up. "Good, glad we've got that cleared up, sir! I want you to know that I won't disappoint!"

His heart skipped a beat at your smile, so eager to please and make him proud, that he shuffled uncomfortably, trying to get the butterflies in his stomach to calm down. Now wasn't the time.

Idly fidgeting with his combat knife as the helicopter blades hummed above, he went back to thinking over all the possibilities and different ways this mission could go awry:

...What if these were the wrong coordinates, or the helicopter would be attacked the minute they landed? The thought of an ambush wasn't an irrational one — it had happened before, he reminded himself — so he had brought a few more weapon crates than necessary for safekeeping.

...What if the helicopter's signal was intercepted and everyone including the pilot were destined for a fatal crash? Counting the number of parachutes and noting the fire exit, he could rest a little easier if an emergency like that was to arise, yet it still did little to soothe his nerves.

...What if you really did get shot? In case that happened, he had alerted some operators beforehand to serve as re-enforcements, one of those on board including a skilled army medic, under the guise of needing more manpower in case things went south. After all, this extraction could not have go wrong. It shouldn't have gone wrong.

But... what if you died? König wouldn't know how to deal with the feelings associated with your death, knowing that he had loved you from afar yet never acted on it. At least he'd be able to keep his shameful secret a secret, and you'd pass away never knowing what he truly saw you as, truly thought of you.

He had little time to figure out what was causing the trepidation to stiffen his muscles as the helicopter suddenly swerved and lowered, landing kilometres away from the designated building yet on unstable ground nonetheless. Any moment soldiers could attack it if they had known the group's location, so the blades kept spinning and the engine kept running for an immediate getaway.

König assumed authority. "Everyone remember the plan?"

Four heads nodded in sync.

"Gut. Then you all know what to do. I will enter from the side with my Lieutenant—" he said, gesturing with his head at a masked operator beside you, "—while you three—" referring to you and two others you were only vaguely aquainted with, "—storm from the back. Ja?"

König's eyes stalled on you for a moment longer than necessary. You were going to be alright, he told himself. He'd keep you in his field of vision and could provide you with cover once you regrouped when you'd really need it.

"A quick extraction," he reminded, eyes stern yet heart disbelieving. "Simply go in, get the data, and go out."

A final nod of the head from König as he and his associate separated from your group. You headed towards the back of the building, fully alert, aiming behind corner incase there had been someone waiting to assassinate you.

Doors creaking as one of the men pushed, the three of you filtered in noiselessly, attempting to be as discreet as possible and wincing when the door slammed not so quietly. Guns cocked and silencers attached, you advanced in a line, blending in to the shadows.

As you walked, there were no signs of life, and the storehouse seemed abandoned. No machinery was being operate. No voices could be heard.

All was still and quiet.

Eerily quiet.

Feeling the hairs on your arms and neck stand on end, you shuddered. You made eye contact with one of the men in front of you who had more expertise, and he looked on edge, eyebrows creased in focus under his balaclava. None of this felt right.

Suddenly, something small rolled over towards you all. Blinking once, twice, you let out a panicked scream and dived for cover.

"Grenade!"

All hell broke loose.

Bullets ricocheted over your head, guns blasting from so many directions you couldn't pinpoint their source.

Slowly recovering from your momentary shock, you gripped your rifle tight and started shooting back, hidden behind a load of wooden crates. When you saw your hooded colonel crouching in a corner, you relaxed. With an encouraging nod from him, that was all you needed to go change positions, and you lunged forward. All was going smoothly at that point.

So engrossed in eliminating the threats in front of him, however, König only came to the realisation that you weren't there when he didn't see your figure in his peripheral vision.

Panic consumed his senses and circulated through his veins. All at once, he was frantically scanning the immediate area, searching for any trace of you.

You were thrashing and kicking as you were being pulled by rough hands, your fingers reaching for your holster through gritted teeth, yet it was just out of grasp. You were thrown harshly against the wall, and the enemy towered over you, feeling high from his power trip and excited to exert authority he had never had up to now.

Just as a knife made its way to your throat, your hand finally found your side arm and shot a bullet between his eyes, body falling on top of you like a sack of potatoes.

You convulsed involuntarily, hyperventilating under his weight and the sudden situation. Noting your surroundings, your heart sank.

You were in no man's land, full view of soldiers shooting at your team. The extraction point was just in sight, exactly how and where it was illustrated on the blueprint.

So far, no one had noticed you, too preoccupied aiming down their sights to see you shuffling under a corpse. You could enter those headquarters right now, could be proclaimed a hero of this story, and make your colonel proud and finish before schedule.

The risk was too big. You were bound to get shot.

Yet, against all better judgement, you dashed for the entrance, taking advantage of the element of surprise as three men turned towards you with wide eyes, not expecting to see you enter. Two were haphazardly shoving papers into a half-open folder thrown on the table.

Three shots fired before they could scramble for a gun, you rushed towards the desk. Scanning the material, your eyes widened in shock. This was it.

Now, your only choice was to crawl back into the line of fire. Soldiers still kept shooting with their backs turned, endless ammunition right at their disposal.

You were totally helpless on your own. Just one pair of wandering eyes from the enemy and just one shot in the back of the head would be all that would take to end your life at that moment and make all of your efforts go to waste.

Although an atheist, you mouthed a silent prayer, before taking a deep breath, and sprinted.

Seeing sudden movement headed towards him, König acted on instinct, and pulled the trigger on you.

His heart stopped.

Time slowed as your body fell in slow motion, more bullets piercing through your gear.

Realising his mistake immediately, he almost vomited his own stomach out at seeing you fall lifelessly on the ground, eyes wide and body dropping on impact.

"Scheisse, cover me, verdammt!" He yelled over his shoulder, all rational thought ceasing.

Breathing rapid and strained, he rushed towards you, gently wrapping his arms around your body — growing weaker by the minute — and headed straight for the first sign of cover he could see. Behind unstable and temporary refuge that could be blown to pieces, König was at a loss at what to do.

He had expected everything, evaluated every possible scenario, every possible outcome, even prepared a lifeline for you on the off-chance that you'd be injured in action.

Yet he hadn't anticipated that he would be the one to shoot you. Never.

Shaking violently, König could barely get any words out. "—S-schatz, please please please—"

Hesistant hands hovered over your wounds, conflicted, as blood was staining your uniform, wrenching König's heart. His mind kept repeating you did this. You did this. You did this.

You needed urgent aid, and you needed it right now, yet he didn't deserve to touch you, his hands clenched into fists as he didn't want to break you further, treating you like fragile glass that could shatter into pieces under his touch if he so held you.

He was the one that did this to you. You, the young recruit he was so hopelessly infatuated with, a person who he had cherished and loved from afar, the person who made him feel good things for the first time ever in his life.

He did this to you.

He was the monster in your closet, the threat that König had desperately attempted protect you from all this time, the threat that you were told to eliminate on this mission. The enemy.

The enemy that had mistakenly shot you.

"Es tut mir so leid, I'm so sorry—" König's mind couldn't function properly, speaking in broken mix of English and German. He couldn't gather his thoughts, couldn't think.

"—I'm so so so sorry. Please don't die, bitte vergib mir, forgive me, forgive me, schatz. Forgive me. Ich liebe dich, schatz, do you hear me? I love you."

Bullets whizzed past you both relentlessly, both of you still caught in crossfire. König's lips were moving yet you couldn't hear what he was saying to you, couldn't feel anything as you slowly lost consciousness, slowly closed your eyes.

A calloused hand tapped your face in desperation, your vision blurred.

"—Nein, nein, King! Stay awake! I'm calling for the re-enforcements now! Please, don't die on me— I'm so sorry..."

Shaky yelling through the walkie-talkie, voice cracking. "This is your colonel, König! We're retreating right now! One of ours is wounded! Send the re-enforcements right now to this location! I repeat, we are retreating! I am calling this mission off!"

"What? Are you crazy, König?!" A break in character from the commander, before immediately assuming professionalism once more. "Proceed with the mission! You are on the verge of breaking their defenses! You will enter their headquarters and be able to—"

"Nein. That was an order, commander," he hissed through gritted teeth, nearly crushing the device in his death-grip. "We are retreating. I am calling this mission off."

A pause. Then: "Copy that, colonel. We are sending your re-enforcements to cover you as you exit. Your helicopter is waiting. Hold out for thirty seconds longer."

Sighing with relief, he suddenly thought his heart stopped beating when he saw you laying there motionlessly, eyes closed. Desperately tapping at your cheek did nothing to awaken you. He prayed that you'd survive, willing time to go faster.

At last, loud whirring from above gave him the only comfort. Not waiting a second longer, König picked up your limp body and dashed outside, the helicopter lifting off as the rest of the crew threw themselves inside.

Opening your vest to inspect your wounds, he saw a blood-soakes folder secured tightly to your chest.

It was the data. You risked your life for the mission. You risked everything to accomplish the task and he had shot you anyways.

"—This is your colonel, König. We have the data. Mission accomplished, I repeat, mission accomplished. King has the data."

The radio crackled with an indistinguishable response, yet König heard nothing, blood rushing to his head and ringing persisting. Medics wasted no time to wheel you into an operating room, tearing your limp body away from his arms. He avoided the celebrations and cheers for their colonel, leaving everyone dumbfounded at his reaction. Shouldn't have he been proud? The mission was a success!

Yet the mission wasn't a success, and if anything, he felt shame. No one knew why their colonel holed himself up in his room aside from himself.

The news of you in critical condition in the hospital broke König.

As much as he wanted to see you, to check on your health and be the one to see your first signs of recovery, he couldn't. He couldn't bear to witness the colour drained from your face as you laid unmoving on the bed, the slow beeping from the heart rate monitor machine the only indication that you were alive.

He just couldn't. Not when he caused this. Not when he fucked up this much.

Using the gym as a coping mechanism for a while, he trained harder and more often than ever before, only wishing to make the pain go away. When he wasn't at the gym all throughout the day or at odd hours of the night, he'd toss and turn in his bed, having nightmares about your body bleeding out below him as the shot relentlessly echoed in his head. Or worse, he'd imagine himself shooting you again, only this time he'd find the barrel of his gun was aimed at your forehead execution-style, your unassuming face suddenly exploding into bloody pieces and what was left of your bewildered expression still remained even after he had pulled the trigger.

At those, König would spring upright, screaming "No!" in anguish.

He'd be panting heavily, bedsheets drenched in his own sweat and feeling like he was suffocating with each rise and fall of his chest. When the situation sunk in, he'd clench his fists so tightly his knuckles went white, shaken to his very core. On those nights, König wanted nothing more than to hurt himself, to compensate for the injury he inflicted upon you and how he had completely disgraced you.

At one point, when he had finally had enough, in his blind craze snatched the pistol laying by his bed, flicked the safety off and aimed it at the same place he had shot you, just to break down in despair when no bullet came out, the clip hidden in his bedside drawer.

Hand tightly squeezing his heart through his soaked t-shirt, he was repulsed by the fact that he was completely healthy and could walk freely while you lay injured and dying.

Under his watch, you had been injured. Under him, your body had crumpled. And it was his fault.

In emotional turmoil, he soon lost all ability to function. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and could hardly find the motivation to get out of bed most of the time, convinced that he had killed you, convinced that he was a monster. Responsibilities were kept on hold, the next best person taking his place. No one questioned the new arrangement, despite the shared confusion from everyone on base.

He couldn't take this. He couldn't take this any longer. He would have rather died, sacrificed himself in any way possible if it meant that you could live another day, as you could make a greater impact on the world than he ever could. Could be a better person than he ever could.

It was his fault. He shot you. He had shot you. He had shot the recruit that he had hopelessly fallen in love with, yet only he himself was to blame for it for his lack of control, for his inability to be unaffected by his feelings.

One day, a knock on his door pulled him out from his trance.

Prior to the interruption, König was staring at the cement wall, his eyes unfocused, completely still and barely breathing. He wasn't himself.

Immediately straightening his legs and nearly tearing a tendon from how fast he got up despite having been so inactive for the last few days, he stomped quickly towards the door, his face glum yet eyes glinting with the merest hint of hope.

Hand reaching for the handle, he had readied himself, expecting bad news coming from a surgeon wearing a medical mask and a blue uniform, a solemn expression as they devasted him with your passing.

All but the latter was true.

"Colonel König, sir. The patient is awake. You may now visit them if you so wish."

Blinking a couple of times, König thought he had heard incorrectly.

"...P...Pardon?"

Repeated were the words that König was shocked to hear.

"King is awake, sir. Their condition is a stable one. Our team thought to notify you first since you were on the mission with them."

Gasping, König could barely breathe. He felt like he was drowning, drowning despite his head breaking out from the water. "What... I... where?"

"Ground floor, room twelve. They're on medication as of this moment yet are fully awake."

König nearly fell to his knees. You were alive!

You were alive! He hadn't killed you! He thanked the Gods, and could barely keep composed, barely able to stop himself from dashing to the center of base and yelling into the sky in pure joy.

"I— thank you... so much."

Running faster than he had ever ran in his whole life, he was at your door in minutes.

Yet, as his fingers reached for the door knob, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, hand poised mid-air.

What if you didn't want to see him after the whole ordeal?

What if you resented him, and would spit in his face the moment he walked in?

What if you hated him, and wanted nothing to do with him ever again?

Hesistantly knocking twice, he nearly had a heart attack when your voice broke through the door:

"Come in," you called simply; your voice was hoarse, but it was clearly still you.

Taking a deep breath, König pushed the door open.

There you were. He was having heart palpitations at seeing you awake and looking at him.

The light coming through the open curtains made your skin glow despite how pale you were, eyes sparkling and crinkling in happiness despite the dark circles and heavy bags under your eyes, hair splayed out behind on your pillow, resembling a halo, despite how greasy it was.

He had missed you. So much.

Then his heart sunk as he reminded himself that he was the reason for why you were here, why you were in in this state to begin with.

Seeing König, You shot him a daring smirk despite how numb your face felt. "Hey, König, sir. Did you visit me at all? I'm sure you missed me."

Waiting in anticipation, you kept looking at him excitedly. At the lack of response and his refusal to meet your gaze, it faded completely. "—Wh—what? You—"

"Not— not even once? Not—"

Tears were welling up in your eyes. "—you didn't come see me even one time?"

Maybe you shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. Maybe you should have thought that König would not have time to spare in his busy schedule.

Yet you couldn't not get your hopes up when as soon as you woke, your first thought was of König. Although the grim reality hit you hard like a bucket of cold water dumped over your head, you still wished to see him.

And yet, he hadn't wished to see you at all. He had avoided you like the plague.

"Scheisse—"

König started pacing the room, head hung low as he weighed the pros and cons. Indecision.

"—Do you really... do you really want to know why I didn't visit you, King?"

You nodded meekly, lip quivering.

He finally made up his mind.

If you rejected him, at least he'd rest easier knowing that you'd live, and continue to be happy for you from afar. He'd still support you, still be your colonel, still love you even when you found someone else.

"I... I put you in this position, King... It was all my fault," he begun, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tone softed as he finally stopped, as still as a statue, a metre away. From this angle, you saw how bloodshot his eyes were, how they sagged in sadness, how dark circles had formed from lack of sleep. His pale blue eyes were dull, glued to the ground.

"Not only did I lose sight of you on the battlefield, I also shot you. Shot my own—" Pausing, not knowing how to refer to you.

He carried on. "I couldn't live with myself. I still can't live with myself. I'm walking, uninjured, as you are laying in bed, recovering from an injury that I am the reason for. From bullet wounds that were the result of me."

Voice hitching slightly, he tried to keep his breathing under control. But he couldn't.

"How could the monster that shot you enter your room and dare to look at you? How could I watch you cling to life, while I walk freely despite causing you this— this agony? What right do I have looking at you after putting you here?"

You allowed the tears to spill down your cheeks.

He stopped, eyelids drooping, finally meeting your eyes.

"I have feelings for you, King, I—" Trembling "—I do. But... I shouldn't be feeling this way. You have your whole life ahead of you and I—"

"—I've... aged... I'm not the same man I was before. I've witnessed things far too disturbing to ever share with you. I... I know that you should be with someone better and I—"

Although still in a daze and sedated by the drugs, your thought process was still clear enough where you could be sure about this.

Reaching with a tentative hand for König's larger and rougher one, you squeezed it weakly, looking up at him with a heartfelt expression.

König smiled for the first time in ages.

Through that gesture alone, König knew that you forgave him.

He allowed his breathing to stabilise, wanting nothing more than to start over with you.

...

Note: MY FAT FUCIIJF FINGERS SLIPPED AND I POSTED THIS EARLIER THANI WAS SUPPOSED TO OJ MY GOD I AM AN IDIOT 🤡🤡

Edit next day: how tmdid this fet 100+ notes im sobbing 😭😭. thabk you everyone for readijg this angst fest!!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

König jealous of your dog headcannons

Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: Definitely more than 2😎 🗿Honest to God i have no idea whay the word count is 🤦🏼‍♀️These were mewnt to be short headcannons yet as PER USUAL i got carried away 🤡🤡not abt to copynpaste every single paragraph individually into a word counter

*Slow burn

*Established relationship with König

*⚠️Google Translate German!!⚠️ (sorry guys ...💔)

*Not requested 😋😋 just something that's been on my mind.

*Pls dont worru about rqs guys!!😨 Writing two of tjem atm but I jus wanted to post this first (so my profile isnt as barren as the Sahara desert🏜️while i work at a pace that is slower than that of a turtle 🐢)! :)

*Also how tf do people make their bullet points look so good??? is it a formatting thing or sum cuz im ACTUALLT crippled 😰😰

...

König really didn't want to be jealous of your dog. He didn't.

He hadn't anticipated he would ever feel that way, especially towards a dog, of all things.

Despite not being the type to be jealous — at least, not from his perspective; he was only looking out for his darling! — his eyes would narrow whenever a soldier would approach you, being far too handsy with a stranger. His partner. It made his blood boil.

Sure, König would always stare down whoever made the mistake of flirting with you or introducing themselves with playful banter while behind you. Clearing his throat, a tense hand was placed gently yet firmly on your shoulder.

"Hör auf, mit meinem Schatz zu reden, sonst breche ich dir das Genick."

Not understanding a word of what he said, they would cower in fear nonetheless, getting the message with how he'd had spat that sentence and the venom in his voice. Glancing at their wrist despite wearing no watch, they'd insist that they were running out of time and literally run away.

When you'd look up at him in confusion, König looked back down at you innocently, paraphrasing that he had simply said you were taken.

A facepalm from you. "God, König..." you'd groan, unable to stop the silly smirk from stretching itself on your face. "You nearly made that guy shit himself. Please don't do that again."

König would likewise always straighten himself to his full height and cast a menacing shadow at the dummkopf who dared speak poorly of you.

Once they'd mumble rushed apologies and speed-walk away, you'd see him glowing with an adoring expression in his eyes, a complete 180° to the death stare he shot at the recruit and the hand gesture he made at his throat seconds before.

König would always rest a large hand on your lower back to guide you in crowds, keeping you close beside him to further drive in the point that you were strictly off limits.

Really though, he wasn't jealous. Not in the slightest!

He rationalised his behaviour as looking out for you. In no way was he being overbearing or overly territorial; if anything, people were pushing your already established boundaries and he was reminding people of them! He wasn't jealous at all, no.

Behind closed doors, however, he'd be quieter than usual and have a vulnerable look in his eyes, desperate for your reassurance and to hear you say that you loved him.

Deep down, he was insecure.

That good-looking man didn't make you swoon, did he? Why were you laughing so hard at his joke? He wanted to have made you laugh like that. You still loved him, though, didn't you? You wouldn't want to be with anyone else, right? Right?

It wasn't that König didn't trust you. Although this Colonel looked fierce in front of his collegues and used his booming voice to command others with a harsh tone he found it difficult to project at a large crowd, he had always been sensitive in secret. Being bullied in childhood could certainly do that to a person.

You were the only one he trusted to see his insecurities, and would always shower him with love and affection in private, reassuring him that yes, he was still your sweet and handsome König, and yes, of course you still loved him — that guy that got a laugh out of you was only one out of pity, as he gave you the ick anyways.

One afternoon while you two were eating dinner, König had out of the blue been the one to suggest the idea of a pet; a strong, big, intimidating dog that would protect you while he himself couldn't.

In all actuality, he had been thinking this over since the day you two started dating.

After all, as much as he'd had liked to clone himself and have one part of him fighting when duty called while the other part stayed with you to protect you at home, obviously that wasn't achievable. That afternoon seemed most appropriate to bring it up, as he was assigned for a mission in two weeks' time and was already worried sick over you despite still yet to be around you at all times for twelve more days.

You laughed, surprised by his sudden suggestion. In a way, you had already had a guard dog all along, you told him, yet König shook his head vehemently, insistent. "Nein! Was ist, wenn du verletzt bist? What if you get hurt while I am away? I won't allow it!"

Shaking your head in defeat as an amused smile was tugging at your lips, you couldn't really blame your boyfriend for being so paranoid. In a sense, he was justified in thinking so, and you couldn't fault him, him being a soldier — a Colonel — and all.

König himself came to the conclusion that you should have a German-Shepherd — "A big, strong, and intelligent dog" — smiling proudly as he said so. Laughing at his need to prove himself to you and his evident enthusiasm that proved he was deadly serious, you shook your head again with a sincere smile on your face and gave his forehead a kiss. Really, his concern over you was endearing, and you loved him so much.

On the day before the mission of his, he surprised you by leading in a fully-grown German Shepherd into your shared home as he carried a large dufflebag over his shoulder. Although you had wanted to have a puppy, König insisted a trained canine used in the police force and military operations would keep you safe, and he was firm, not budging even when you mustered the best puppy-dog eyes you could. He knew best, and he needed to relieve the anxiety that plagued him when you weren't around immediately. Finally having use for the connections he had made in his position, he was able to bring home on of Kortac's own German-Shepherds.

Standing with a self-assured manner, the dog didn't hesistate in showering you with love once the lead came off, lapping and licking at your face in excitement at seeing his new owner's face.

You laughed out loud when you saw a tactical dog collar around his neck, the same khaki colour that matched König's cargo pants. Another piece of König to remind you of him.

Still standing, König watched with his arms crossed and a huge smile across his face as he saw how happy you were. He was beginning to breathe easy with the knowledge that nothing would come to harm you while he was away.

Tongue out while panting, the dog waited expectantly under you for an order.

You looked up at König, eyes sparkling in child-like excitement. "Can he do tricks?"

Smiling, König's eyes crinkled in his love for you. "Schatz, it can do more than just tricks. It can protect you. And it will."

You looked down at the giant yet sweet dog, and raised your voice slightly.

"Sit." He did so without hesitation.

"Handshake," you prompted, and he offered his paw to you obediently.

"Stay..." you began, a finger in front of his snout, "stay..."

"Good boy!" you squealed, and fed him a dog treat from the one of the XXL bags König had bought for the occasion, along with a mountain of dog toys, and even a bed.

"What are clever boy you are, aren't you? Yes you are! You are!"

König crouched, and pet the top of the dog's head a couple of times, his eyes on you. "What do you want to call it, meine Liebe?"

Pausing, all at once it occured to you. With joyful satisfaction, you exclaimed: "Prince!" You giggled, barely able to contain your happiness. "Our Prince to my sweet, handsome King," you cooed, not failing to notice the way König looked away, his cheeks under the eye holes of his hood reddening at your comment.

While away from you for weeks, even months at a time, he could rest easier knowing that you weren't all alone at home. Although he still worried for you excessively, biting his nails when in his room as he thought over how you could be doing and what you were doing at any given time, at least he wouldn't toss and turn at night thinking over what could happen to you. He'd smile in satisfaction, pleased that his presence would still linger even when he wasn't physically there, finding comfort in the fact that a part of him still remained with you when he was hundreds of miles away.

You, on the other hand, were so happy! Obviously you were overwhelmed with the responsibility — quite frankly, you had never had a dog before, much less one this big — so you struggled to take care of it in the beginning. Knowing what food to feed it, how to keep it entertained, going so often outside you'd flop on a chair in exhaustion was physically and mentally demanding, as you wanted your canine companion to love you unconditionally and not be a bad owner to it at all.

However, it all quickly became routine to you: walking your guard dog as his ears were perked up in alertness, head darting around from side to side; playing with it in the park, and spoiling it with treats when you'd get home; and grooming his soft, dark fur and taking him to vet checkups almost made you wonder how you had managed to live this long without ever owning a pet.

Whenever you'd make yourself some food, you filled his bowl with dog food too. Whenever you had just stepped out of the shower, it would be your dog's turn to be cleaned in the bathtub. Whenever you would lazily lay on the sofa or sprawl yourself on the bed, your dog was cuddled up to you.

It was all fun and games, though, until he'd damn near suffocate you with his sheer mass and make you sneeze from the fur that tickled your nostrils, but you slowly grew used to it, using your German Shepherd as a weighted blanket and hugging it like it was your own child.

Somehow, this furry friend filled a void that König would leave behind, and you practically were both attached by the hip — well, by the ankle and hind leg, actually, but that's beside the point. You two were inseparable, and if König knew that then he'd be surely overjoyed.

When König finally had some precious minutes to himself, the first thing he'd do was call you, wanting to hear your voice and make sure you were alright. He'd nearly trip over his own two feet as he scrambled for his phone to dial your number, nearly knocking over a lamp and falling over some furniture in the process.

You'd pick up on the second ring and would nearly go deaf upon hearing the loud accented voice on the receiver. "Liebling! How are you, my sweet? I have been missing you!"

You two would exchange these sorts of questions and proclamations of love back and forth, so lovey-dovey that some of the more daring operators in König's faction made gagging noises on the other side of the door, while the more serious operators scolded them and reminded them that they were yet to feel the touch of another man/woman.

As König would listen to your ramblings about how happy you were and your lovely German Shepard, however, his ears perked up and he listened more closely.

"Prince is so lovely! He's my sweet baby and I love him so so so much! He's definitely my best friend right now, 100%. Everyone back home is getting pissy with me when I don't answer their calls because I spend more time with him than I do with them but can you really blame me when I have this beautiful prince? I mean, he's so sweet! Whenever I don't wake up at the same time in the morning he's jumping into bed and licking my face and oh my God I cannot cope with this cuteness! He's such a good boy! The very best boy! The best boy of all the boys!"

Meanwhile, König stood there, his mouth agape.

...What did you mean he was your sweet baby? Your beautiful prince? Your good boy?

Why would you call him the — not the best, but the very best — boy, the best of all boys? You couldn't have been serious.

It was just a dog. Why were you so attached to it?

It wasn't like König didn't grasp the concept of strong bonds between humans and animals — in fact, he had always been a strong believer of the "dogs being a man's best friend" common knowledge — but... this? You were coddling the thing, for God's sake! It was supposed to be fierce and threatening, not cute and cuddly. How was it supposed to protect you when all you'd do was hug it and give it compliments?

He felt his jaws tighten when you panned the camera down to show the dog peacefully laying beside you on the bed, you stroking his ears. On. The. Bed. On his and your bed. The bed the two of you would sleep on.

König couldn't believe this; he, a grown man, a disciplined soldier that moved up the ranks to be a Colonel, a 6'10 brutal killing machine who l... wanted you to be calling him those things, wanted you to run your fingers through his hair like that. Not some mutt. You were giving it star treatment and pampering it way too much than you should have.

He laughed at himself for thinking so irrationally and for being so immature. I mean, it was a dog. There was no competition to be won, nothing to prove — his rational thought repeated to him that you still loved him regardless — yet the ultimate prize would be you and your attention.

He chuckled disingenuously as you rambled on about something, and the smile under his hood didn't quite reach his eyes.

When he finally returned after grueling months away from you, those pale blue eyes still crinkled up in happiness whenever they saw you, still picked you up and spun you in the air as you'd shriek like a banshee while your legs kicked freely, still gave you a loving kiss on your lips before showering your face with wet kisses. He'd pull away, a boyish grin on his face, his face flushed, your eyes locked with his in an intimate moment...

...And then his mood would sour as your dog leaped up towards you, not wanting to be left out in the reunion.

You'd fail to notice his hands clenched into fists as your dog took the oh so comfortable spot on your lap, where he should have been laying, how below his mask a scowl was aimed at the dog you'd shower with kisses that should have been for him, how the dog would slobber your face and leave it dripping in drool, almost as if it was proving some point to him and being totally smug about it.

Of course, he didn't seem the least bit bothered to you — he wouldn't let his behaviour show. This was utter childishness, completely ridiculous, and absolutely absurd, yet somehow König couldn't control the jealousy that would stew inside of him hours after you'd fall asleep, glaring at the dog laying in between you when all he had wanted all day was to cuddle up to you and hold you close.

Somehow, his plan to keep you safe backfired, because the dog took his job as your body guard too seriously and would not let him be affectionate with you. He was beginning to despise the creature.

When you'd be walking the dog together and shower it with praise, König's hands clenched into tight fists. When you'd stroke the dog's head gently, running your fingers through his thick fur as his front paws were tucked neatly underneath him, König's nails dug into his biceps as he kept his arms firmly crossed, hating what he was seeing through his peripheral vision. When you'd glance at him as your dog was nestled between your legs, he'd turn his head, hiding the furrowed eyebrows and the clear pout on his face of an annoyed child, behaving like an annoyed child.

• In conclusion: give your König a hug. :( A kiss right on the lips and tell him that he's your sweet baby! Your beautiful prince! Your good boy! Your favourite person in the entire world and the best of the best!

• Reserve that precious spot on your lap *just* for him, and allow him to be putty in your hands!

• Run your fingers through his hair just like you would with your dog, and scratch that sensitive spot on his scalp with your fingernails!

• Don't make him regret ever getting the dog for you :'( As time goes on, it will eventually become the "father that didn't want the pet is now best friends with it and the pet is most affectionate with him" kind of dynamic.

• Just because muscular men and army-hardened soldiers like König were disciplined to be stoic and strong, sometimes they want nothing more than affection and words of affirmation from their lover from time to time. <3

So, you'd now lounge on the couch, content with your two guard dogs on either side of you; your Prince laying to your right, and your King in between your thighs, stroking the top of his head as his chest rose and fell at a steady rhythm.

...

Note: Gonna kms 🤡🔫 i have ro to go back to school tmr fucjing WHY i hate everyoje there 😭So yeah less frequent updates sorry guys 💔💔still going to be writing my long-ass fanfictions but itll take more time and ill probs have like 10 mentsl breakfowns daily 🤪 literallt cannot wait 🥰

My writing process is so incomprehensible tho 😭i jump from the first fic im writing to the second one im writing WAYY too often 🗿but ig its good because in a way im not TECHNICALLY procrastinating and beinf productive with 2 projects at once,, tho idk i guess tbats just a major cope if im beinf honest🤷🏼‍♀️

THANKS FOR 1000+ LIKES AND NEARLY 80 FOLLOWERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥳🥳🥳🥳🎉🎉🎉🎉🎊🎊💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕 LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF U AND WISH YOU NOTHING BUT HAPPINESS IN LIFE 🥹🥹🥹❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

"Can't sleep?" König x Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: 3704

Having flashbacks about the battlefield and unable to fall asleep after an exceptionally draining mission, you go seek the comfort of your Colonel in the middle of the night.

*Slow burn

*ANGST!!💔... dw it gets wholesome at the end i promise ❤️

*Thanj you to Azzy!! (My No.1 Fan...🥹🫂💘) for this request !!!🙋🏼‍♀️💫💞💞✨Love u too🫶💕,, I kind of 🥺slightly🥺 maube a littke bit🥺🥺🥺went off prompt and König isnt affected by the mission per se BUT i have fulfilled the CUDDLING part!!! ☺️☺️pls dont show up to my fhome with pitchforks and torches im sry it just sorta happened ok😱

Also i rhink i have dementia bc I thought someone else rqsted König comfortinf rreader in a storm???😰😰Turns out nobody did so maybe i hallucinated it or smtj idk🤷🏼‍♀️Anyways I thought to merge these two ideas together so lmk what u think abt this lil (by "lil" i mean WAY too long🤪) drabble🙏💕

*Reader is pining for König

*Events loosely take place in the KönigxKing (as in, reader's call-sign is "King" storyline) mini-series. This serves as a slight backstory for King (reader). Again, this is by no means in any chronological order in relation to the series, so this can also be read as stand-alone! :)

*THANK YOU FOR 100+ FOLLOWERS!!!!!! 🥳🎉🎊✨🎇💖I SWEAR ONE IT LITERALLT FEELS LIKE MID-AUGUST WHEN I HAD LIKE 7 WHERE DID U ALL COME FEOM??????😰😰💘 IT MEANS SO MUCH FOR ME LIKE I CANR STRESS THIS ENOIGH BC IM SO HAPPG U GUYS THINK MEWORTHY ENOIGH OF YOUR PRECIOUS FOLLOW AND WANT TO READ MY WACK WORKS!!!!!!🤧🤧💖💖 LIKE??????? 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹THANK U THABK YOU RHABK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🫶🥰🥰💖💖💖❤️💞💞💕💖💕💕💞

                                        ...

You couldn't sleep.

It was raining relentlessly outside, the pitter-patter of water droplets hitting your window. Storm clouds boomed loudly outside, and despite the blinds being pulled tightly shut, lightning occasionally flashed through the cracks, elongated shadows of buildings forming on the walls.

Counting down the seconds until you'd hear the rumbling thunder, it would only be a few kilometres away, and you'd shudder at the sound, shivering.

While tossing and turning in bed, you had kicked off your covers and were staring at the ceiling, still wide awake. Normally, a storm like this would be like a lullaby to your ears, yet now it did nothing in helping lull you to sleep.

Even if you wanted to sleep, how could you when those corpses haunted your nightmares?

Laying in bed, your mind replayed the same scenes like a movie reel, the same screams like a broken record:

Lifeless, unblinking eyes with mouths agape and an expression of fear permanently engraved on their pale faces; flies swarming in hordes to harvest the soft tissues of the irises and tongue, eating the human mush; limbs contorted in unnatural positions, arms and legs crushed by the force of detonated mines, bones broken under the weight.

Rumbling roaring of machine guns and the deafening explosions from hand grenades meant that the high-pitched ringing would drown out everybody's yelling, muffle all noise from your surroundings, and you'd only be pulled out of your daze when you'd find yourself stumbling on unstable ground, on bricks and cheap concrete that had all crumbled.

Bodies would drop so fast it'd take at least seconds for you to register whether it had been an enemy or an ally.

You'd pull the trigger, but seeing a bullet go through someone's forehead and the exaggerated shock stamped on their face — a permanent expression in their final seconds remaining forever in death — left you wondering why you would ever sign up willingly to do this.

Disorientated, you'd struggle to pull yourself together, would enter far too many close calls for a soldier to count, and would only get a grip once you saw a familiar face, a reminder that you weren't alone in the warzone.

Even now, the sonorous sound kept echoing in your head, and, if you listened closely, it resembled hundreds of hoarse shouts, so many people screaming at once in collective agony.

You flinched as a bolt of lightning suddenly struck the sky.

Sparing an absentminded glance at your digital alarm clock, your eyes widened slightly at the time: 1:56am.

Damn... you thought. ...it's that late already?

Drills would begin at 7 o'clock, and you had to have woken up at 6 to brush your teeth, get dressed, eat, and mentally prepare yourself for the day, so you kissed a good night's sleep goodbye, and accepted the telling off from your superiors the following morning for under-performing.

...Still, how could you sleep after what you had experienced? What you experienced and would continue experiencing?

Accepting high-pressure missions and a demanding workload once you had enlisted, you thought that your ability to keep calm under pressure and stay composed would mean that you would have been unaffected by the shooting by now, and be taking everything in your stride. Calm, composed, and unaffected, is what you had thought you'd be. Surely you'd be able capable enough to cope with it all?

Yet, you weren't any of those things. Never getting used to the stress that would persist even while on supposedly "low-intensity" extractions. You'd always be on edge, always recoiling at hands that would reach over to tap your back as encouragement or hold your shoulder in reassurance on base.

You believed you could never familiarise yourself with the panic and unpredictability of missions and being hyper-aware of something, anything, everything going wrong, with the adrenaline that would course through your body and take over your senses in times of fight or flight, with the nerves that would keep you on edge hours after landing safely on base.

But, most of all, with the nights you'd lay in bed, unable to fall asleep: nights like these, when every time you closed your eyes, you saw the eyes of dying comrades; when every time you walked along the corridors, imagined yourself diving across the floor and felt shattered shrapnel breaking under your feet; when every time you sat in an empty room, heard ear-piercing blasts and the ricochet of discarded shells just missing your head.

Whereas the other operators seemed to be completed unmoved by any of their deployments and would shrug their shoulders off of the events, the anxiety for you lingered, trauma deep within your soul consuming you whole.

How could you ever get over the fact that you were shooting real people? Losing real soldiers?

...Losing yourself along the way?

All this work took a toll on your psyche, but comparing yourself to the other soldiers made you feel like such a coward, and second-guess ever enlisting in the first place.

...Well, you did so because it had been your only option all things considered, but looking back on it, you thought that maybe it would have been better if you hadn't chosen anything at all.

Accepted the grave nature of your failures in life, the same life that would have had inevitably ended with you pre-maturely in a grave.

After all, you had no job prospects to look forward to, no dreams to strive for, no aspirations to achieve.

Failing your school exams time and time again until you had finally achieved a result that was good enough didn't earn you any security, as you weren't exactly employable with grades you had just barely managed to claw to even pass.

Really, it was hopeless. You were hopeless.

To say your family was disappointed in you would have been an understatement. Out of three children, you were labelled the disappointment child, the underachiever and failure.

Your two siblings worked as a lawyer and an engineer respectively, while you had never even been able to grasp the basics in education, never spoke with your teachers of anything other than the worrying results of your exams, never came home to share a thing with your parents you had accomplished with a smile of pride stretched on your young face like your siblings did.

Never. Because you weren't ever good enough.

At the dinner table, your siblings boasted of promotions and of revolutionary research, of trials and of successes, of their brilliant breakthroughs, as you sat on the side of the table, listening from the sidelines, excluded from all of the grandeur that you couldn't relate to.

Still, it was always better to keep your mouth shut than to make a dent in the conversation, further embarass yourself and prove how lowly you were, than to have so many pairs of pitying eyes talking down on you in patronising tones, of the subtle condolences from your parents and their regret with triumphant smirks and condescending attitude from your siblings.

In a last ditch effort to make your parents proud, you made the decision of joining the military. You were young and impressionable, under the impression that your parents would finally be impressed.

...Of course, they weren't. In fact, your decision made them even more disappointed, shaking their heads sympathetically with strained smiles stretched on their lips.

Maybe that was the reason you couldn't handle the pressure of the military, you thought. You were weak, incompetent. Pathetic.

Although no one told you explicitly or made you feel that way directly, somehow, you always had felt inferior. Somehow, you felt that no matter what you did, how much you did, how well you thought you did, you wouldn't ever come close to the others's level.

That, despite your effort and dedication, you would never be good enough. Would always be inferior no matter what, because you always had been and would always be so.

...Your Colonel never made you feel that way, though, and you never quite understood why.

After all, your interactions were few-far-and-inbetween. It made you wonder what made you feel this way, and what spark ignited the warmth you'd feel when he was around.

Although a man of few words, the words that he did say to you would matter, though. His praise, his acknowledgement, his always being there made you want to keep going and prove your worth to him.

It started off as sporadic encouragement:

Your skin glistening with sweat, an accented voice would say "Gute Arbeit," over your crumpled body on the gym mat.

Offering you a gloved hand, you grasped it gratefully, and he pulled your tired body with ease. "Good job, King."

A lopsided smile from you as you'd wipe the sweat from your forehead and brows after sparring with someone else, limp limbs barely keeping you standing. His eyes were betrayed no emotion under his veil, yet a thin-lipped grin was behind it.

"Thank— you— sir!" You'd manage to breathe out, still panting for breath. "I did— my best, but— I didn't win."

"That does not matter," he'd say, speaking in a tone you couldn't quite recognize. "Very good job. Keep it going. Soon, you'll be able to pin even me down."

You'd laugh weakly at his words, yet would immediately feel a surge of motivation to keep working hard, and would train up to the point of exhaustion behind closed doors. Thinking you'd be alone, you'd punch a dufflebag with grunts of effort, missing the tall silhouette observing you with crossed arms in the corner, satisfied.

Then, those became casual greetings;

"Guten Morgen, soldier. Nice day, ja?"

Turning around, you'd see your Colonel walking towards you, frame visible even from a distance.

You smile broadly, eyes crinkling up in genuine joy, before you caught yourself and coughed. "Y-yeah!"

"Always a nice day whenever you're around, sir," you'd tease, playfully winking at him as he approached you, yet you were yet to master it without blinking both eyes.

He'd chuckle heartily, flattered, then shook his head to hide how his face flushed under his veil, and held up a hand.

"Thank Gott I have you here. My day would have been ruined."

"Have a good day, sir!" You'd call after him brightly, and he'd turn around for a final time with a two-fingered salute. Strange, since he was your superior, not the other way around, but you shrugged this off as a friendly gesture.

Until it developed into a sort of mutual connection.

In your eyes, at least.

You didn't want to assume that you two were friends, as the man was way out of your league. Strong, muscular, and a disciplined soldier — a Colonel, no less — a man of influence.

Besides, he, conversing with the only-recently-recruit-turned-soldier that was the slowest to understand a joke, did not comprehend complicated terms, and was the least bright out of the entire faction was not something you wanted him to be associated as, didn't want to tarnish his reputation.

You reasoned that you didn't want to bring down the Colonel down to your low level, so you kept your relationship as just that; associates. Aquaintances. Nothing more, out of respect for your Colonel.

Little did you know, the Colonel had developed a soft spot for you.

It seemed as though the storm had gotten worse, as the rain was unrelenting, and the tapping on the glass increased with force. Booming thunderclouds made your room shake.

A sigh as you turned to your side again. 2:07am.

Your thoughts moved back to your Colonel, and you started missing him, longing for him. The warmth that radiated off him made you wish he'd take you in his arms, hold you close to his chest, and you suddenly felt so cold. So lonely and cold.

Maybe it was childish of you to be feeling this way — he was your superior, after all, and you had no reason to be so attached — yet your daily encounters made you gain feelings for the man. Made you feel things when he was around.

Somehow, he brought you security. Made you feel protected. Safe. Like you could always count on him for having your back.

Made you forget that you were so useless, and was the reason for the fuzzyness within your chest, the buzzing feeling you'd feel as you'd be grinning from ear to ear after speaking to him.

Made you feel like you weren't pathetic. Weren't a wasted wishing star. Instead, you were appreciated, seen, even.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to be with him.

...Would he want you, though?

No. Of course he wouldn't. You weren't good enough.

A deep sigh. 2:15, the digital alarm clock displayed.

...What if he actually did want you? Not even as a partner, but just to be around him? Breathe the same air as him? You thought you weren't worthy of his time, but maybe, just maybe he wouldn't see it as such a waste.

Another crash of lightning brought you to your senses.

Finally making up your mind, you huffed in exertion as you pushed yourself off your stiff mattress, not bothering to organize the mess of blankets on the floor.

Walking with certainty, before you realised it, you were at König's bedroom door. Standing behind the door, hand hesitatingly reaching for the handle, you bit your lip, confidence wavering.

Should you really go through with this right now? What if he was asleep at that moment and all you'd do is disrupt his slumber? It wouldn't be fair of you to disturb him so late in the night, especially when he had so many responsibilities.

Still, you inhaled deeply, and, as quietly as you could, knocked twice.

You almost jumped out of your skin at the familiar accented voice of your Colonel.

"Come in," he said hoarsely. His tone was almost warm, inviting, yet you shook your head at the idea, and pulled the handle.

Entering inside, you slowly closed the door behind you. When you turned around, König was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, seemingly deep in thought. Wearing a tank top and cargo pants, his head was hung low, his veil hanging loosely over his head.

The blinds were drawn open to reveal the sky dominated by darkness, the grey curtain of monochrome on the nearest buildings cast down by the clouds, the raindrops that remained on the windows and the rhythmic echoes against the pavement as they dropped in syncopation.

The sight, his presence, were both so... relaxing. In a way, your anxiety was relieved by the tranquility of the scene, and it made you forget the internal turnoil you had been going through for the past few hours, made the tension in your body fade.

"Ah, King," his arms dropped to his sides and he raised his head to meet your eyes in the dark. "I had a feeling that it would be you."

You fidgeted nervously, not knowing what to do.

"Bitte, schön," he said, patting the empty space beside him on the mattress. "Please, sit down. I insist."

Slowly lowering yourself to his side, you sat at a reasonable distance away from him. With the both of you sat down, the size difference was still very noticable. His height made him hunch over you, and one of his thighs was like the two of yours combined.

So nervous, you didn't even notice how his back slumped so you'd be both at a similar level.

He cleared his throat. "What brings you here so late in the night?"

An awkward tug of your t-shirt collar.

"Can't sleep," you stated simply.

"I see." He was quiet for a few moments. Then: "And you decided that my room was the place to go?"

Your face heated up, and you averted your gaze. "Well, sir, it's j-ju—"

"—Nein," he cut you off, holding up a hand to stop you. "I have told you so many times not to call me that. Call me König."

"But— but you're my superior," you gasped, mouth agape. "You deserve to be addressed with respect! I couldn't possibly—"

The protest died on your lips again as the man shook his head, the loose material of his veil following his movements. "Nein. None of that matters. I want you to call me by my first name."

A heavy silence lingered over the two of you, words left unsaid by you both.

"So," König prompted, "what brings you here, King?"

Pausing to think over a pretence, the best you could come up with was: "The storm scared me."

"Ja?" Even with the fabric covering his face, you could almost see the skeptical smirk on his lips.

"A soldier like you afraid of loud clouds? Some rain?" He chuckled.

"Really, I'd have thought you better than that, King." If you didn't know him well enough, you'd have thought he was mocking you, yet despite the sarcasm his eyes held a genuine concern for you.

An bashful laugh escaped you as you rubbed your arm, nails slightly digging into your skin.

"Okay, tell me the truth, King," Leaning forward, his tone became serious. "I know for certain you aren't scared."

He searched for your eyes, yet you avoided his gaze.

"Something is troubling you. Is that it?" He cocked his head to the side, fabric falling loosely over his shoulder. "You can tell me, King. I am your superior, you know. You should tell me these things."

"Well... it's j-just—"

You bit your lip, willing the tears to stay in your eyes.

Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.

König watched you, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, vulnerability showing in your eyes. "—This recent mission, it was— it was really, really difficult. And I just..."

König shuffled towards you until your knees were almost touching, watching you intently. As your body trembled, a hand hovered in uncertainty by your shoulder.

Sniffling, you wiped the wetness on your face with your arm, voice breaking.

"I-I just think that I'm not strong. That I'm... weak. Not— not good enough to be working with people that are so much better. So much stronger—"

Your breath hitched in your throat, voice coming out in a broken sob. "—I-I mean— I'm so pathetic. I shouldn't be so... weak. I should — I should be better. Wh-why—"

Tears flowed freely down your face. "—Why can't I be better, König? Why am I so— so useless?"

Without saying anything, König wrapped his strong arms around your body and pulled you against his chest, pulled you close so you could let it all out. For a few moments, he let you cry, ever-so-gently stroking the back of your head, fingers running through your hair. Weeping into his chest, his steady breathing soothed you.

Once you recovered enough from your emotions, you pulled away, downcast. Face red and blotchy with tears, eyes puffy and pink from crying, lips quivering and voice hoarse, you felt so pathetic. So, so pathetic.

"F-fuck, s-si— König—" Trembling. "I'm so so sorry. I'm too emotional, please, I'm sor—"

"Nein." His tone was soft, yet firm. Definitive. "You have nothing to apologise for, King."

Both hands cupped the sides of your face, tentatively tilting your face upwards. His expression was forlorn, and you felt tears brimming in your eyelids again.

"...You're not weak. You're not pathetic. You're not useless. I see you always trying so hard, King, always giving it your all..."

He paused for a few moments, deliberating over how best to put his thoughts into words. "...Maybe... maybe your best isn't the best out of anyone's bests, but it's the effort that counts." He rubbed the back of his neck, then let out a mono-syllabic laugh. "Scheiße, did that make sense? Sorry— I'm not good with words—"

You glanced away. "—Hey," his hand reached to hold to side of your face. "Look at me, King."

"You're not weak, not pathetic, not useless," he repeated, voice wavering.

"You're none of those. You're better than you think you are. Your inner strength," a finger pointed at your chest, "your heart, it's so full of goodness. So full of so many good things that don't define you, but instead changed you for the better."

"Maybe... maybe you aren't the aren't the best, haven't been the best, or never will be the best, but it's not your fault. You try so hard, and the odds... the odds are stacked against you. And, sometimes... sometimes it's okay to not be the best. You don't have to be fearless, the strongest, perfect. You can just be... you."

His eyes were pleading in the dark. "Please don't doubt yourself. You're so— so much better than you imagine."

A shaky breath. "So much stronger than you tell yourself. I can promise you, you are your own person. Other people's successes don't define you."

König turned around to glance at his alarm. 2:36.

When he turned back, your face had slowly regained the colour on your cheeks, eyes sparkled, chest rose and fall at a steady pace. You said nothing, yet König knew you listened to every one of his words.

"Looks like it's too late for you to fall asleep in your own room," he whispered, gently caressing your face. "Stay here with me, King."

Eyes immediately widening in surprise, you were about to protest. "B-but— I couldn't possibly, König—"

That protest died on your lips as König's arms engulfed you again, and brought you down against his mattress so you were laying on his chest. Cocooned like a protective blanket over you, you didn't need him to say anything more. You felt so... safe. Loved.

The storm outside seemed to calm down, and lightning no longer crashed against the window. Rain faltered, and some clouds were separating in the darkness of the sky.

Before you knew it, your eyelids became heavy with drowsiness, feeling a wave of calm wash over you, cleansing away your sorrows.

Just before you fell asleep, you heard König say something in German, barely above a whisper, but you did not understand:

"Schlaf gut Schatz. Ich liebe dich."

...

I don't know who needed to hear that, or if anyone even did, but I stand by the words I wrote. Although you are reading this, and are likely a stranger, and I'll never face you in real life, I want you to know that you *are* good enough. And if it takes a person on the internet using a fictional character to tell you so, then so be it. You are still valid. 🫂

...

Note: i rhink some of the ppl that read my previous fics will be able to tell that i went tryhard mode on this one 💀💀

Its mostly bc im back in school and were going over all the stupid fancy shmancy literative devices and figurstive language (god why cant u call it literallt anything else i swear why does it have ro be so unnecessarily overcomplicated just call it sentence structures or writing techniques istg.man😭)so i unconsciously chanelled all of thise boring technicalities into this 😬

With me writing as a hobby you'd think I'd have the highest grades in English? No💔I wish LMAO

I NOW HAVE 130+ FOLLOWERS!!! Which is unbelievable if u wsk me bc etf why wre eo mwnt people following me i don't deserve this qt ALL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 THANK YOU ALL 🥹🥹🥹🫶🫶🫶💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

I still remember when @puff0o0⭐ began their self-aware au with König and Ghost qnd ive qlways veen cheerint for her from the sidelines ☺️☺️come to find out shes been mentioning ME in THEIR podts and writing on their blofs thwt my CoD blog is good and i.????😭😭😭cant????????😭😭😭😭😭 Literally -99999 damage and an ARROW 🏹 STRAIGHT thru the HEART 💘🥹 I LOVE U B (platonically ofc dw)😽💕💓💓❤️💞💞💕💞💕💞💞💞💕

Intimate König headcannons

Gender-neutral Reader

Word Count: 1246

*FLUFFFFFF!!!!! YES FINALLY WE (I) LOVE THAT ☁️☺️💫

MANY THANKS TO @puff0o0💫🩵🫂💙🩵✨⭐ FOR GIVING ME TJE IMMEDIATE INSPIRATION TO WRITE THIS 🥰🥰💖 LOVE U SM POOKS I AM SO THANKFUL TO HAVE SOMEONE LIKW YOU AS MY MUTIAL 🥹🥹🥹 YOU ARE SO SWEET AND DESERVE THE WORLD (and to be with your crush😤 fuckingGOD im in AGONT when the FUCK is the wedding gonna be 😭😭💔)

Was down in the dumps and feeling really guiltt for not delivering fanficgions on time but you really reassure me and make ot seem like its alright for me to take my time 😇 Honestly am forevr used to the stress of deadlines and alwahs achieving expectations always expected of me thay i always feel intense guilt whenever i delay 😿😿 Thank you so mucj for your love and support uour messages are whay have kept me going 🙏🙏💖🫂(and motivated me immediately to write this in <5 hours LOL🤭)

also pls do NOT track my ip address puff PLEASE this is some next-levdl fbi investigation type shit and im honestly SHOOK are u secretly an fbi agent ?????😰😰never poetinf screenshots ever AGAIN ❌🚫‼️

*Physical intimacy (not sex guys🗿) headcannons for before your relationship and during your relationship

Tag List ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @abysslovesyou ♡ @puff0o0 ☆ @rustic-guitar-notes ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @reyner-lee

...

König's crush on you was not subtle. At ALL.

My personal headcannon is that he has never had a girlfriend/boyfriend/lover before. :(

I mean, bullied at school, enlisting into the military aged 17, climbing up the ranks to become a Colonel... yeah, to me it doesn't sound like the man would ever have time to find a significant other.

Oh, don't get me wrong, he would devote so much time to a partner (if he had one), would coddle them and cuddle them more than humanly possible and spend every, making the most out of every moment together. Precious hours never taken for granted that he dreamed of while on deployment.

...Yet, having no experience with receiving affection and being affectionate since being a very young boy, when his mother was still around to take care of him before he attended secondary school, up to this point he had ZERO (0) experience.

Still, König ALWAYS had a hand over your body in some way, under the guise of protecting you and keeping you out of harm's way. It was endearing that he cared so much about your well-being. 🥹

Resting a large hand on the small of your back as he guided you down crowded rooms (though that was almost always a pretence, as there would actually be very few people around, and it was only his excuse for touching you).

Leading you out, his hand would be quickly replaced by his arm wrapping around your side and pulling you close, closer even than you had been moments prior.

Truth be told, the way he touched you was the way he longed, craved for someone else to touch him. To long for him and crave him as much as he craved you.

It wasn't like you were oblivious. In fact, you were hyper-aware of the skin-to-skin touch, of every instance his fingers grazed your knuckles when handing you something, of every "accidental" bump of your head into his chest in corridors, of each time he rested a hand on your shoulder. Or on your back for reassurance — though, whether it was for your reassurance or his own, you couldn't tell.

All his touches, his gazes at your from afar and up close, the way his pale blue eyes crinkled in happiness under that long hood of his: all of it; you noticed it all. Every single time.

Obviously, you didn't object. You relished in this attention, so touch-starved that each touch made you melt. Besides, how could you even? You became putty in his hands, and you revelled the feeling of being so loved.

...However, your own intrusive thoughts insisted that you wouldn't be good enough for König, did not deserve such a man like him.

As much as it pained you to do so, you shied away from his advances, always the first to pull away.

And, of course, König noticed it. Every single time.

His immediate thought was that you didn't feel the same way. That you felt disgusted, disgusted by him and his touch.

Did you not like the way he touched you? Did you not like him?

Therefore, for a while, he toned down the touching. A simple pat on the back or a tap on the shoulder would have to suffice, despite his desperate need to feel more of you, touch you more.

Judging your reactions, scrutinising your cues... you weren't disgusted. Not in the slightest, it appeared.

You just looked... flustered. Shy. A hand would go up to hide the blush on your cheeks — nothing discreet about that — stubbornly avoiding his gaze, yet a small smile was on your face, and it made him wonder: what if you really did like the way he touched you? Liked him?

His touches became more daring. Confident.

One day, all of his anxiety ceased to exist when you reciprocated his touch with some of your own.

The hand kept in place of your hip flinched slightly at yours timidly moving to touch the top of his, interlocking fingers over his palm. Momentarily causing König to short-circuit, he became stiff, audibly gulping.

Adam's apple swallowing the dryness of his throat, he looked at you, frantically attempting to read the expression on your face.

You said nothing, didn't look at him at all, yet through that gesture alone König understood it better than had you could have ever said it in words.

For a moment, you regretted it. Even made a move to sheepishly pull your hand away. König, finally pulled out of his daze, held your hand in place, squeezing it three times. You squeezed it three times, too.

Suddenly, it all made sense to him, and, somehow, made sense to you too. You two were meant to be together, regardless of your insecurities.

Now, your dynamics shifted slightly.

Hands held together as you two sat by each other in a room, neither acknowleding the situation in case the other pulled away in embarassment. Never parting ways without a good-bye hug from you, your arms lingering by his own for a moment longer than they should have.

When you two are finally in a relationship?

☠️ Say goodbye to privacy and personal space ig

König is unbelievably clingy, and literally clings on to whatever of you he can reach. He does not let you go. There can be no compromise, and he keeps you in place, despite your protests and squirming, face flushed as you tried to playfully push him off you, obviously to no avail.

At the same time, König's touch is so, so gentle.

Tentative touches on your skin as if your body was precious porcelain, a fragile fine china.

Callous hands that had killed so many in cold blood running across your back, your arms, your waist, your legs, anywhere that König could reach, with a mildness that could have made people question whether it was even the same man and if so, how he could ever be capable of being so soft.

It doesn't matter whether you go to the gym regularly and have put on muscle or whether you are someone on the more petite side, you're so delicate to König. Like you could be broken at any moment.

For that reason, he holds back. Or, at least, tries to, for the most part. Bless his soul, he tries his best, but it's impossible not to cradle your body in his arms. <3

Unable to restrain himself, his resolve breaks after five minutes of going without you under him or on top of him or beside him or entangled with him, and his hands go back to touching you all over again, caressing you with such care and love that tears often brim in your eyes.

No one has ever been so gentle, so attentive, so loving. No one has ever touched you like this before.

And, seeing how you allow yourself to be vulnerable with him, to see you so sensitive, he would wordlessly wipe the tears away with his thumb, your eyes glassy like a doll's.

He'd run his fingers through your hair, whisper sweet nothings in a mix of English and German, often forgetting to speak in English and unconsciously reverting to German, calling you the loveliest things in a tone that expressed his complete devotion to you.

And, as you'd sleep peacefully beside him in bed, he'd admire you, and wonder how on Earth he possibly could have gotten so lucky.

...

Note: can i please have my own König irl please and thank you🙏🥰 want nothing more than a big beefy man to hold me 🥹❤️❤️(😭 man i need some mentsl help 🗿thays for another day tho am not wbout to get into the catastrophic state of my brain😊✨gonna keep deluding mtself instead !!<3)

My personal thing, if you don’t mind me sharing <3, about König, while I know he has the potential to literally kill you without a second thought, I feel like he has a soft spot of children. Parents not so much, but he always spares the children. Now, for the bad behaved children I feel like he would give a scary talking to 👀

Because König feels very strongly about bullying, so if he heard a kid was bullying the other kid? Would come to their immediate rescue and shut the bully down harshly. For him, that’s a mercy, but he promises that if he ever hears word or sees them acting like that again he won’t be as “merciful”. But to the Victims he would console them, but also give them his harsh reality of “you have to be stronger than your enemies” and as much as he wants them to keep their innocence, he doesn’t want them to be weak either. Or worse killed.

But that’s just my little HC 😌

Anon rhis is such a good headcannon???? 🥹🥹 lemme just..,🤏🤌

No i don't mind qt all!!! 😊 If anuthing, im so glad you shqred this with me 🥰💖 bc I felt IMMEDIATELY inspired by this headcannon !!😽✨💖...

... so jere are MY headcannons for YOUR headcannon 🙈🙈⛅🌻💞💕💓✨🌼 Took me a short while to formulate my answer, so srry for the delayed reply 😿 I saw this as soon as you sent me this an i dont want u to tjink i ignored you at all:(</33

König with a soft spot for children headcannons🥺🥺

+ father König drabbles🤭

Word count: ~2022

*If you ignore my VERY angsty depiction of König's childhood, then it's totally pure fluff all around 💖✨🤗

*General headcannons for König

Writinf block is fuckinf AGONY and im in PAIN 😭😭💔💔 give me time to recover and ill powt two fully-fleshed out fanfics sometime soon 🙏🥺

Tag List ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @abysslovesyou ♡ @puff0o0 ☆ @rustic-guitar-notes ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @reyner-lee

...

König, having been bullied all of his childhood, is FIRMLY against bullying.

To see a little girl/boy being labelled an outcast is oh too familiar to him, and hits far too close to home than it should. Brings back the insecurities, the feeling of being utterly humilated, a permanent reminder of his not fitting in. Literally.

Primary school: bullied for being a beanstalk, for head hitting the door frame, for being abnormally large, a "mutant"; balls hurtled at him in dodgeball, all competing in finding out who can knock out the "freak"; knees kicked from behind and legs buckling from the attack, a stampede of legs stamping on him as he cowered on the floor, helpless, and no one caring to help, teachers observing idly nearby.

Secondary school: nose broken to "fix" his crooked features, his "ugly" face; cast aside in class photos for "ruining the picture"; people of his own age turning their heads in the other way in disgust, avoiding him like the plague.

As if his "ugliness" was contagious, and if anyone was to touch him they'd catch the disease.

Power surpassing his tormentors, yet too powerless to fight back, he endured, yet didn't overcome.

Lasting trauma changed König's own perception of self completely.

It took a long time becoming the cocky and confident commander he presents himself as. To stand up to his full height and embrace himself for who he was and is, to be self-assured, domineering, and boisterous with others irrespective of their rank. The Colonel; a hardened soldier; a strict man of discipline exerting his authority over all, not at all sympathetic towards anyone.

Deep down, he is still that young boy, vulnerable in the center of a circle of so many pointing fingers and sneering faces. All became a collective body of ridiculing smiles, of sing-song laughter, so many that he lost count.

So, personally vowing to NEVER let his future children (or any children) go through the same turmoil, he would intervene whenever he had the chance to.

For instance, perhaps König was speed-walking home one day, dufflebag slung over his shoulder as he rushed to get back to you as soon as possible after being deployed these past weeks, and maybe he was passing by a playground.

Initially focused on the goal at hand, he couldn't help but turn his head, a small smile under his mask as he felt a wave of nostalgia crash over him. Nostalgic of times before he was forced to integrate with callous society.

Smiling at the oblivious children playing together, kicking their chubby little legs on the swings, sliding down a slide and falling, squealing. All giggling with glee, so innocent.

All except one. His eyes would land on a small girl, bawling on the ground, no older than five years old.

Surrounded by three others, all pointing fingers and laughing, the ringleader making fun of the poor thing as his henchmen stomped the remainder of her sandcastle, kicking sand at her. Hands on hip, chest puffed out triumphantly.

Rubbing her puffy eyes, thick pouting lips drooping in an open-mouthed frown, chin quivering as she struggled to contain her broken sobs, she kneeled on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest.

Usually, in these types of situations, people tend to behave in two very different ways when they see something that happened to them happening before their eyes:

"Why should I help them? I went through the same thing, so it's not my problem" or "I should help! They shouldn't have to go through the same thing".

You can probably already guess under which category König falls into.

He was NOT about to actively play a passive role in ignoring the poor blubbering child, to be downright apathetic like the other adults were in their radius. No way.

Still carrying his dufflebag, imagine the horror of the little shitlings*: seeing an imposing giant 2ft+ taller than them, huge body trudging towards their little troupe; cold, icy-blue eyes half-lidded staring into their bulging ones. Glaring.

Little band of clowns would probably actually shitting themselves fr 💀

Not only does König give the brats a stern talking to (all the while they are nodding their heads with jaws on the floor, knees trembling and nearly caving in on themselves), he later makes it his due diligence to track down the parent(s) and scold them too.

"Was wird deinem Gören zu Hause beigebracht? What do you teach your brat? This behaviour is unacceptable. You have set a terrible example, Du verdammter Idiot. How dare you allow this? Bulling is wrong. Scheiße, are you listening to me? Because you should, Dummkopf. You should be ashamed. I am sure ashamed of you. I swear to Gott—"

Cue 1 hours later, he personally grounds them (the child and parents)... 🤐

...And the child goes with it? Even the adults? 😭

I mean, to be honest, I would too, if a 6'10, body-so-broad-that-it-blocked-all-sunlight-and-did-not-fit-in-the-door-frame Colonel, gesticulating wildly, projecting strongly his German-accented voice, cursing in an aggravated amalgamation of furious English and a spiteful spit of German... Yeah, I'd be pissing my pants not even gonna lie 😭

I'd imagine that the parents would be immediately saluting, images of stupidity on their faces, completely dumbfounded to have their parenting challenged and to learn that their "precious little angel(s) that can do no wrong" actually can do wrong. (sorry guys i hate toddlers with a RAGING PASSION... rant over fyi no more of me insulting shitheads🥰)

As for the sweet, weeping girl, he would crouch down to her height, gentle eyes genuine behind his menacing mask. Slowly lifting the fabric, wary of his facial deformities, his scars, he'd do his best to give her a comforting smile, wanting to make her at ease.

She was not put off by his appearance at all. If anything, she maintained eye contact — was curious yes, so with no filter whispered, "You... you have a nice smile, sir. I like your eyes.

"They're—" a loud sniff, wiping her nose with her sleeve "—they're pretty. "

Taken aback, König's eyes widened. Then, in soft whisper:

"Meine Süße, I'm so very sorry about those— those idiots..."

The girl giggled a little, dimples appearing on her tear-stained cheeks.

"And I'm so very sorry, but there will others. Other idiots," he allowed himself to smile, letting out a dry chuckle.

A tentative hand dropping to her round shoulder, squeezing it every so slightly to emphasise his words. "And you have to be strong, Mädchen. You must be strong. This world isn't a good place for angels like you."

Obviously, he didn't sugarcoat the truth. Situations like this would be unavoidable. He would make that clear.

"I do not condone violence, but—" a wink, acknowledging the irony behind his words. "—if you stick your foot out when one of those brats are walking down the corridors, surely nothing will happen, ja?"

Seeing the girl lighten up, smiling brightly, no signs anymore of crying, he ruffled her hair with a toothy grin.

Letting the veil drop down his face, he suddenly fixed his posture and gave an exaggeratedly goofy salute as he turned to head home, satisfied. All the while the girl waved at him energetically, eyes crinkling up in an adolescent's adorable smile.

On another note: I never really gave it much thought before, but... König as a father? 🥺🥺

Your headcannons unlocked a part of my brain that had been locked. 🤭✨ Needed to upgrade my König skill tree before I got to this poin. 🦸🏼‍♀️ Sure has been worth it, though. 🤩

Ever since he was past his teenage years, the thought of a family was something he longed for. Desired.

Maybe it's because he was taught traditional house roles in his European household, or was longing for something that was out of reach, he couldn't tell.

What he was certain about was that it was his biggest wish. His dream.

Deployed in a foreign country, his favourite past-time was fantasizing about his future with a special someone, to have a big family, and to raise his children, giving them everything good he never had, and to shield them from everything bad he had experienced.

Something in being the breadwinner of the house was so masculine to him, and coming home to so many short, out-stretched arms, so excited to be reunited with their papa clinging on to his long legs brought a tear to his eye.

And, once you two officially became a couple, he knew that he wanted to start a family with you at some point. From the moment he met your eyes, intuition assured him that you would be the right one for him.

If you're a [fertile] female, he wants nothing more than to see miniature you and him running around, sweet cherub faces and their chubby cheeks smiling at him, calling him papa, calling you mama.

Seeing your belly swell up with his baby would strangely give him a sense of pride, proud that you would both bring sacred life into the world together, and would practically worship the ground you walk on. He would want to get this right, for everything to be perfect.

He wouldn't allow you to lift a finger despite your protests, catering to your every need, caring for you in any and all ways he could:

Carrying the groceries, 3 carrier bags in each hand, serving you while simultaneously subtly making you swoon, not missing the googly eyes you made at his strength from his peripheral vision;

Doing the bed, making sure to stock up on additional soft pillows and fluffy blankets so you would rest well, removing all stress from your morning routine, and the discomfort of finding a comfortable sleeping position at night;

Insisting you eat balanced meals, preparing nutritious food that had all the nutrients you would need, the sustenance to feed you and develop a healthy baby.

The gore and guts he had witnessed in the battlefield did not compare at all to the sight of blood staining the hospital bed sheet. The look of horror in his eyes as you went into labour, death grip on his hand, knuckles turning white. He'd be hyperventilating, almost feeling the same pain you were going through 😢💔

Not to say that your agony was worth it, but seeing the beautiful blanketed bundle in your arms, you cooing at the little one, made every single horrific moment combined in his life worthwhile.

All the struggles, the hardships, the troubles; all worth it if it meant seeing you with his child.

If you're anything other ([infertile] female, male, non-binary, etc), König would get so emotional when adopting a newborn with you.

He'd be teary-eyed, unable to hide the emotions.

To think that he'd be rescuing a child, giving them a second chance and making it feel so wanted, so loved. To give it all the love he was missing, the feeling forgotten through years of bullying, abuse, and violence, and war.

He would waste no time building the nursery. Painting the walls, building the crib, buying plush blankets, stuffed teddy bears, toys that would be in no way a choking hazard.

His helicopter parent preparations aside, his dream would be to grow old with you, and be surrounded by children, grand-children, and even great-grand-children, sharing stories as the lively atmosphere was bubbling with life, with a family.

Piggy back rides would be a MUST!! 😡 Or, better yet, his infants (taking turns — dunno if three kids at once is very practical 😭) sitting on his shoulders, seeing the world from so high up. Reaching out, and their head in the clouds.

Bouncing them on his knee, like a train conductor going through heavy turbulence, all the while the little ones would be laughing happily, telling him to go faster.

Every single one of his children cuddled up to him; in his lap, over his shoulders, splayed over his legs, clinging to him like a pack of koalas. 🐨

Reading bed time stories, stroking their head, stood in the door way minutes after his children had fallen asleep. Keeping them safe.

A family of his own. To eventually embarrass endearingly, to squish their cheeks, and tickle their sides, play-wrestle and tease by keeping objects out of reach. His extensive research also included horrible dad jokes, which were made hilarious by their poor translations into English.

Wanting to raise his children the way his mother had raised him while she was still around, to give his children the happy childhood he hadn't had, to make school a positive journey into adulthood. He'd teach them to deal with bullies, to stand up for themselves when he never could...

...And, athough he has good intentions, the truth is that with a father like him no snot-nosed brat would ever dare to mess with the Colonel's children ☠️

...

Note: Omg you. csn tell that i got so carried away w/ this😭😭 you know rhat line where König "fantasized" about a family ?yea that was me the entire time wiritng this...💔 God i need to stop daydreamimg excessively ajd return to reality 🥲 ...

...,,jk i wont 🥰💅✨💫 good mental health??😰😰 guurrl we don't know her 💆🏼‍♀️💫✨🧚‍♀️💓

Functioning like a normal human being💔🤮🤮🤮<<<<< Making up vivid scenarios in my head💓💓 😍😍😍

*fyi, shitlings is a loose translation for "gówniaki/gówniarze", an insult you have for children in Polish (similar to the English "shithead"). Do what you will with that new knowledge. The world is your oyster with that one ig 👍

König finding out that you are hard of hearing

Gender-neutral Reader

*Slow burn

Word count: ~4265

Always ignoring your Colonel, König takes it into his own hands to finally turn your attention on to him.

What he doesn't anticipate... is that you have actually been hard of hearing all along.

*‼️Mature themes**‼️ (mostly in the form of König's overly sexual[ised] fantasies and downright delusional thoughts of you). König is a MAJORRR pervert, and you're oblivious. 😋💅✨

I AM BACK!!!! 😳😳FROM THE *DEAD*!!!!! ☠️💀🧟‍♂️And ive fot a lil smth planned for you Ghost lovers ;)

*Many thanks to -—>@trepaika&lt;;—-🤭💖✨💓💞🩷💕 for proofreading this !!😇😇 I had no energy whatsoever to read it afger typikg this out so i am so honoired that you took time out of your day/night to help mw out and it rlly means alot 🥹🥹💙💙🩵🫂💙🩵 you better do yoir fucking biologu work afterthis 😡😡

*Thabk you so much to @reyner-lee for this request!! 🥰💖💖💕 Initiallt, i was aiming for a "idiots in love" plot where König and reader are both oblivious😩😩😩 . .... made König veey mentally unstable and psosessive instead ☠️☠️💀, mb broski😇💁🏼‍♀️🧚✨🌟💫💕💞💞💕✨

no but seriouslh i didnt mean to mwke this so mature it was meant to be a FLUFFY(mayb a little bit angsty 😳) fic as ALWAYS😡😡 so im SO sorry for dekivering something COMPLETELY different to what u probs had in mindbc lets face it this is completely diffetent to whay i initially hwd in mind too LMAO😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

*Part of the KönigxKing series (drabbles with loose plot, no world-building just a collection of one-shots)

*Edited 14/10/2023 for typos

Tag List ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @abysslovesyou ♡ @puff0o0 ☆ @rustic-guitar-notes ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @reyner-lee ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika

...

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when your hearing worsened.

As a soldier, heightened senses were something of a blessing, especially in high-pressure situations: a 20/20 vision, a gut feeling, or even just the ability to distinguish the most indistinguishable of sounds that others would miss was something of a life-saver.

Literally.

Hairs standing on end and goosebumps running down arms could alert a soldier — you — to an assassin sneaking behind them, hand with a knife glistening under reflected light in the dark, poised ready to slit their neck.

Instead, you could save yourself in the nick of time by executing them before they had the chance to do so.

Stealth on missions was a lifeline. To sneak in and out, to extract intel, evading all detection all the while, and to disappear when you hadn't even appeared on the enemy's radar in the first place made you breathe easier on the journey home.

The ability to hear footsteps in enclosed spaces and pinpoint the exact location of someone through a mis-step on a creaky floorboard or a squeaky door hinge was vital. Crucial. An important distinction between life or death, between success and failure.

Obviously, you were no super-soldier. In fact, your eyesight was below average — having to wear contact lenses specifically designed to be as discreet as possible so you weren't a walking lighthouse sending a signal to your postion always — and you could never separate the feelings of foreboding from the foreshadowing of what was to come, the fine line between imagination and intuition blurred.

However, hearing shuffling that others wouldn't, muffled footsteps upstairs that others couldn't, hushed voices around the corner that others would miss, gave you and your team the upper hand.

You weren't the best, but you proved damn useful, more useful than someone that could see in the dark or a person that had some omniscient sixth-sense.

At least your hearing used to be put to good use. Could have been put to good use.

Up to the point when a grenade blew off right beside you on a mission.

No time to realise, no time to react, and no time to recover from the shock, let alone alone to dive for cover, a blast flung you to the side, arms and legs flailing mid-air like a lifeless ragdoll. Time seemed to slow down, and for what felt like an eternity — mere seconds in reality — you were suspended in the air.

Body suddenly thudding on solid ground with a deep thump, you hit your head so hard against the pavement that you had thought you cracked your skull. Debris toppled over your stomach, dust making your eyes tear up and cough painfully, collapsed brick all around you.

You groaned in agony as an ear-splitting ringing inside your head nearly broke your forehead in two.

You couldn't raise your limbs, body limp and weighed down by what felt like a tonne, but could feel the thick waterfall of blood through the open wound on the side of your head; staining your uniform, streaming into your mouth, the metallic taste and smell on your tongue and in your nostrils.

Confusion, disorientation. Bewilderment.

Seeing double, figures running to and fro looked like a dozen, and panic stiffened you.

Desperate blinking eyes squinting to try and make sense of the scene before you, head spinning and unable to think clearly, struggling to lift the limbs that each weighed a tonne, all you did — all you could do — was lay there. Limp.

No one was nearby to help you, and your anxiety intensified: it was just you, and broken debris to keep you company, all noise muted aside from the high-pitched screeching.

Not much is clear from that incident after that. Memories are hazy and unclear.

All you remember are hands tapping your face, tugging your arm and willing your eyes to focus. Then, those same hands suddenly lugging you up by the scruff of your collar and slinging you over their shoulder. Finding yourself being lifted off by a helicopter, and ultimately passing out in the end.

Medics told you your ear drums were inverted, turned inside out from the force, and ear canal blocked by dust. Thankfully, all you required for the head injury were a few stitches, and you wouldn't suffer any brain damage.

Still, the news of becoming hearingly impaired made your world come crashing down.

Yes, you'd still be able to process sounds, they assured, but not as well as you used to.

An official diagnosis was made, and condolences were given to you, for there was nothing that could be done to fix your hearing. You were practically inoperable as the risk was too high, and you could go permanently deaf if the procedure was to go wrong.

You didn't reveal you having a hearing impairment to anyone — why should you, anyways? Things like this happened, and there were people in your faction that have had it worse.

Besides, it wasn't like you would be permanently deaf or anything, you reasoned, so the only thing to do was keep working.

Like you used to. All things considered you were a good shot, with good aim, with good spatial awareness and reaction times.

You could keep working, keep serving your country.

Yet you didn't work like you used to.

How intensely you stared at people, their face, eyes darting from theirs and their lips, was passed off as you being attentive.

No one would have considered that you were desperately trying to keep up with everyone else, and feeling like you were left behind. To fend for yourself as the world moved in triple speed, while you were still processing your new circumstances.

Of course, no one noticed the change.

And König, for one, sure didn't.

Completely enamored by you, he thought it foolish, really, to be so taken by a soldier, one below him in ranks and younger than him.

Yet, he admired you, was your secret admirer, and let his feelings blind him to what could have been so easy to see.

Well, to onlookers, his admiration for you was far from secret. In fact, it was obvious. Very obvious.

Initially, people joked that you were going to be reprimanded by the Colonel, taught a valuable lesson for some mishap you had committed, when you'd be pulled aside. Not a single one could have forseen König's behaviour towards you.

Stares, only strategically turning his head when you looked in his vague direction. An aura of threat, had it not been for the way his eyes sparkled. Held a particular glint that no one could pinpoint his intentions, and his needing to excuse himself to go to the restroom and not return for half an hour.

Walking behind you, guarding you at all times. Making sure he figuratively — and literally — had your back. A hand that would roam, explore, and push its limits, figuring out how low he would have to go before you broke, before you'd beg for more.

Demonstrating combat moves to you under the pretence that it would help fix your reaction times, all an excuse to be near you, to touch your mid-section and rest his hands on your body for seconds longer than necessary.

Touches that he would commit to memory, that would help him reach his climax behind closed doors at the thought of feeling your bare skin, and the feeling of your clothed body having to suffice.

No, none of it showed intent to humiliate you like they thought he would; rather, it was evident that their Colonel had taken a liking to you. Favoured you among the rest.

Obviously, no one saw the perverted nature behind your interactions, the side that König revelled in.

You always seemed to appreciate the gestures, albeit hesistantly, and would blush up to your ears and would flash him an uncertain yet award-winning smile, one that made blood rush up to his face and lower half as he wondered what other sorts of facial expressions you could be making, and whether that smile would stay if you saw his most intimate self.

However, you rarely paid him any attention afterwards. Would go on about your day, as if he wasn't even there.

Ignored him, as if he wasn't worth your time, or even your acknowledgment.

He'd attempt small-talk with you when you were on your own, trying all he could to find common ground, to keep you interested —or, butt in the conversation when someone else diverted your attention from what should have been on him — but, throughout it all, your facial expression was blank. Like you didn't even recognize him.

Eyebrows furrowed, wondering why your colleague stopped talking, you'd only come to realise that König existed when they'd nudge your side with their elbow, whispered frantically in your ear, and when you turned back around you'd jump up with seemingly exaggerated fright, blushing.

Stuttering and sputtering apologies to your superior with a bowed head, eyes avoiding his, König thought that there was a triumphant smirk that you were hiding, a strut as you walked, back turned as you flaunted your way out of the room in a mischievous manner.

Teasing, testing the waters to see how long you could go on without admitting that he was there next to you, to see how long König would last before he broke.

Oh, the things that you were doing to him.

Fury brewed in König, and he'd stew over your (his) one-sided interactions, your blatant ignorance of him, your complete disregard of him. Regarding him as not worth your time, and seemingly ignoring him with an air of superiority.

So imprudent, so rude, and such a daring little thing. So fucking naughty.

Contradicting urges of wanting to yank you by the collar into a passionate kiss in front of anyone and everyone and marking you as his in his private quarters became near impossible to contain. To put you in your place, and prove that you weren't all that that you made yourself out to be.

After all, brats like you had to be tamed, and König would not stand you demeaning his ego like that.

Reprimands from unsuspecting soldiers got harsher. Spitting at others in a rasping voice, barking commands loudly from the background. Drills became a living nightmare — everyone a target for König's relentless bullying. Sparring became relentless, and damn-near a deadly duel as he was unrelenting, remorseless.

König needed to release his pent-up frustration somehow.

König hated that his love was unreciprocated, and would be in a bad temper, stomping around the grounds looking for an inferior to abuse.

He loathed how you made him feel, yet loved what you made him feel, his feelings intensifying when you were in eyesight, and the knuckles of his fists turning white, shaking with rage as you frolicked off with some dummkopf, some piece of shit saukerl that didn't pay attention to you like he did, not considering the higher-ranking alternative.

Figuratively speaking: as, let's face it, König was the full package; and literally speaking, as he had a full package of his own to satisfy your every need, and would convert you to his lover in an instant.

You were an enigma. König couldn't read you at all, and was in internal turmoil.

Why couldn't he win you over? Were you really that high-maintenance, or playing hard to get?

You had to like him back. There was no way you weren't doing this on purpose.

Were you really that unbothered? Unbothered by his advances, not caring at all?

Or, were you really just proud, too full of yourself to pay respect to your superiors?

Really, König should have taught you a personal lesson if that had been the case, one so personal you'd learn to never disrespect him ever again, and be as respectful as a little darling as ever.

...Yet you? You couldn't have been more oblivious.

Sensing a presence in the background as you scrolled mindlessly on your phone, you only became vaguely aware of something off about König when you realised the intensity of a stranger's stare, bearing down on your neck.

Glare. König's glaring at you from afar, camouflaged in the corner by the shadow of the dimly-lit room, the few flickering light bulbs all the more unnerving.

Only in close proximity did you become aware of your Colonel, imposing even while sitting down, tall even with his being hunched over.

Accidentally meeting the eyes behind the veil draped over his face, he unapologetically took up as much space in the room as he could, back straightened to his full height and long legs wide spread apart in an act of dominance.

Those eyes pierced yours, and made you shiver, all intentions of small-talk drying in your throat and, in fear of becoming tongue-tied and losing your cool, you said nothing.

Why was he just... staring at you like that? Did you do something wrong?

It made you shudder, and you shivered, trying to shake off the ominous feeling.

Never in a million years would you have thought that König had any sexual romantic interest in you — if anything, with that grim expression you'd have thought he'd had a bone to pick with you.

He looked absolutely terrifying. A beast of a man, with penetrating eyes.

Unbeknownst to you, König was undressing you with those same eyes. Penetrating, yes, but imagining scenarios where he himself would he penetrating you.

He made himself so inviting, with the spot on his lap reserved as a seat especially for you, reclining on a chair with a head in his palm as he gazed at you in interest.

He even considered making a gesture with his hand, a beckoning finger signalling for you to "Come here", just to make it loud and clear that he was welcoming you, and wanted you exactly where he had positioned himself.

Until some soldier entered the room, saw you and hit you up, starting casual banter and exchanging sarcastic remarks, which made you laugh. The tension melting in your body, you allowed yourself to relax, and forgot about what was looming in the very same room.

To König, the man was flirting with you, and with the way you had a hand clasped over your mouth, practically swooning over the guy, it was solidified.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, he jolted upright, and the chair he was sat on was nearly flung backwards from his sudden action, a deafening screech echoing in the room.

Two pairs of eyes on him, he beckoned the man over to him:

"Come here. I have a duty for you, sergeant."

Only this time, he wasn't at all inviting, and even the man beside you knew he was in for it big time with how König's fury was seething.

"Toilettendienst, weil du ein Stück Scheiße bist."

Cackling, and a sly, venomous smile under his veil. "I'm sure you'll love it, seeing as you can't mind your own business."

Your encounters with König were terrifying, but you tried with all your might to keep them out of your mind. After all, you were still struggling to get by, so to be so on edge would only make matters for you worse.

Having people repeat what they said to you over and over again was passed off as bad signal or static over walkie-talkies, yet without being able to read their lips you were practically deaf and couldn't interpret the gargling, speech drowned by the feeling of your head being underwater.

However, you managed. Managed to keep afloat, somehow. Clung on to your life raft, despite the crashing waves of the tide that flung you from side to side.

And, lulled into a false sense of security, you were contracted for another mission.

Just like before, and on all the other missions before all the ones before your injury, all seemed to be going smoothly.

No sudden movements, no noises out of the ordinary. Nothing amiss.

Except, suffocating silence had shifted and pushed its weight down against you, swirling and following your movements as it had slowly tied a noose around you and your crew's necks, making it difficult to breathe.

But you shrugged it off. You rationalised your nerves as post-morbid jitters. No way was it a gut feeling.

It was unusual how well things were going, and was second-guessing yourself after not having had been deployed in ages.

Your guessing proved to be true, and it was a shame that you realised this too late.

Ambushed out of nowhere, bullets and blood were all that you saw; blasts and bangs were all that you heard.

No one escaped unscathed. Every single one of the operators had sustained some sort of injury, yours minor scratches compared to gaping bullet wounds, stabs in the abdomen, and broken bones.

Intense guilt plagued you for hours, days afterwards, and you were unable to look those colleagues in the eyes for days, weeks afterwards.

How could you let that happen?

Clawing up the ranks until you were finally trusted, finally deemed worthy, it shook you to your very core that you failed to forsee any of this. Failed your colleagues. Failed.

No one blamed you, because they didn't connect the dots that you were the common denominator behind both incidents, the one that catastrophically failed your allies.

König, seeing you in your most vulnerable state, pounced at the opportunity to finally confront you once and for all. To settle the doubts in his mind and come to a solid conclusion.

He wasted no time in hunting you down as you were walking, alone, a predatory look in his eyes.

At last, cornering you in a remote area where no one would interrupt, nor allow you weasle your little way out of it again:

"King."

You dropped your head, avoiding his gaze. Readying yourself for the severe scolding, being berated by König, you dropped your head, cowering below him.

"Before you say anything—" mumbling under your breath, "—I will admit this myself first."

"I... I messed up. Messed up completely on this mission. I'm— I'm so sorry for endangering your men, for nearly getting the entire crew killed. It was my fault."

König's eyes widened a little. This was the most you had ever said to him in one conversation. And you sounded so... sincere.

...Could he have had the wrong perception of you all along? Were you just... Timid? Shy? Maybe a little bit introverted even, and not one for socialising?

No, that couldn't have been right.

He needed to interrogate you, press you for information, put you under pressure. You'd break then, and he'd finally figure out the truth for himself.

"Ja," he spat shortly, voice unwavering and eyes betraying no emotions. "You did mess up. My men are all injured."

You were mortified when all you could interpret was harsh gibberish. None of the words made sense to you, and you couldn't differentiate any consonants from the syllables.

You breathed in deeply, feeling so foolish for thinking of asking this, and prepared yourself for the worst:

"Sorry, sir? Can you repeat that?"

König was the one to be bewildered this time. For a few agonisingly long moments, he needed to process what you had just said. Your request.

Finally, it sank in.

Oh, you were in for it now.

What did you mean "Sorry, sir?"?

You ignored him, have been ignoring him for all this time, and you had the gall to give him attitude?

Worst of all, to fail to pay attention when he is was scolding you?

No. König wasn't having it.

Both hands slammed against the wall above you, with such a force that even you could hear a deep crack of splintering brick.

With you trapped, he wasn't about to let you go until you learned your place.

"You're not going to say anything anything more, maus?" He leans in closer, steel-blue eyes betraying no emotion baring into yours. "Pip-squeak has lost its voice, has it? You really should learn manners."

Understanding "...going to say anything more, maus?... Pip-squeak... should learn manners" it was enough for you to understand what he was implying, and you were confused. In disbelief. Bewildered.

"S-sir, I—! "

Eyes wide, you shook your head vehemently, hands held up in protest. "—It's not like that at all! I swear!"

König quirked a brow, leaning in closer. Licked his lips inquisitively, curious to hear your defence.

"I've not... been ignoring you, sir. Never. I wouldn't ever do that..."

You trailed off, averting your gaze. "...Or, at least, consciously..."

You bit your lip. Shifting uncomfortably, your fingers fidgeted, fingernails digging into the palm of your hand. How were you going to explain this?

"Y-you see, I'm—"

Bracing yourself, you breathed in deeply.

"—I-I'm— I'm actually hard of hearing."

König blinked twice. It was his turn to be confused, and he pulled away a few inches, concentrating hard.

Seeing the blank look in his eyes, you immediately clarified:

"N-not deaf, obviously! — I suppose I can still hear, in a way — but my hearing is not good. I struggle to understand people."

A defeated sigh. "Communication is tough enough because I'm not good at reading lips yet, and..."

"...with you, it is — would — have been impossible, because of the—"

A weak gesture towards his face covering "—mask..."

An awkward pause.

"L-look sir, I'm sorry for ignoring you. Honestly, I never meant to. It's just I—"

"Never heard," König said, nodding faintly. "I understand."

He understood, alright. Understood what a moron he had been all this time.

God, what a fool he was.

All this time, concocting scenarios of finding a way to prove himself to you, of asserting his authority, of sexually frustrated evenings considering all the possibilities, all personality traits... was all one-sided pining.

Poor thing, you were just oblivious.

He couldn't blame you, and was kicking himself for viewing you as anything other than a pure soul.

If he had known this, known of your condition earlier, perhaps he wouldn't have been so frustrated, so confrontational.

Now, he had ruined all his chances with you by intimidating you out of nowhere.

God, he was such an idiot.

Embarrassed, and not knowing what to say, he sheepishly slid his hands off the wall.

Coughing twice, he cleared his voice, and projected his voice so it was clearer and louder:

"King."

You looked up, face showing shame and genuine guilt.

"Gut. Keep looking at me."

To your surprise, König's hand was reaching up to his veil, fingers hooking under the the hem.

In a prolongued but fluid movement, the fabric was pulled up, and, slowly, slowly, he revealed his face.

His white chin and stubbled jawline came into view first. Only slightly defined, not modelled after some Greek God, yet not lacking definition, either.

Then, thin lips, pale pink and pressed into a tight line.

A hooked nose, crooked likely from it being broken more than once before, neither long nor large nor flat. Perhaps slightly off-center.

Keeping the fabric in place, he would not raise it higher.

After a few seconds of silence, you saw how his Adam's apple moved when he gulped, his lips quivering as he breathed in deeply.

Even seeing the half of his face, he looked handsome to you.

"Well... is this better?"

Mouth moving to reveal white teeth, some misshappen and others crowded, it looked as if he had never worn braces before.

He swallowed thickly, then his hot breath fanned your face, mouth partly-open as he panted in increasing agitation.

Blue-gray eyes looked into yours, no longer domineering. Instead, pleading.

Wanting your affirmation, to be reassured that you would appreciate him partly presenting his identity to you, the most vulnerable part of him.

To be told that you truly did appreciate this gesture after all.

A smile tugged at your lips. "Yes. Much better, sir."

You were touched.

To think, that your commander, your Colonel, the big, beefy, burly man, the masked soldier of towering stature, would go out of his way to be sensitive. To be at the mercy of you.

It made you tear up a little. No one had ever gone out of their way to accommodate you like this, and it left you at a loss for words.

"Sir, I—"

"Nein. Call me König."

Cleared throat. "König, sir—"

A devillish smirk formed on his face, and he shook his head.

"Gott, such a sweet little thing," he cooed, purposefully slowing down his speech so you could interpret it on your own. "Will need to have you getting used to you saying my name, ja?"

Those steel blue eyes had melted. Were warm. Held a fondness in them that he hadn't had before — or, maybe they had, but you had never noticed it until now — either way, you felt at ease with him. With König.

One of your biggest mistakes.

"Thank you, König. Really. For being so patient."

Rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly, you shot him a bashful, lopsided grin.

"I'm sorry that you had to be patient in the first place! I wish I could make it up to you, König. I really do."

König's mind flashed with blasphemous images of you.

Images that he had visualised in vivid detail, when he had been longing for you, longing to have you around him.

He was almost regretting what he had on his mind, yet, he reasoned, it was only fair you gave him a reward.

For his patience.

The smirk on his face became broader. Serpentine.

"Don't you worry, meine liebe. I know of a way."

A cackle, sounding forced and a little too loud to be genuine.

"I'll make sure that you'll be loud enough so that even you can hear it for yourself."

...

Note: i promised yesterdag id get thus oit today ... 🥹Bit late cuz at the time im typimg this ntoe its 22:33 (gonna be later once i proofread this for the final time😫😫) Edit: its 23:25 and i have a test tmr hahaHHhahahahAHAHAHAHHAHAHAA 😍😍😍😍

Hope yoi guys like perverted König 🗿 i for one do 😇😇 (fyi, it was NOT MT INTENTION to write him in this wau I PROMISW😭😭😭😭😭it just sorta happened and i rolled witj it ☠️💀)

Halloweens with König headcannons 🎃🍂

Gender-neutral Reader

*Slow burn

Word Count: ~3246

*FLUFFFFFFF😿😿💖✨🩷🩷💘

*Soft König☺️ (but also König is a smug bastard + asshole 🙄), Established relationship, Single mention of (ambiguous) age gap 😮‍💨

🧡Happy Halloween guys!!🧡 I don't celebrate Halloween myself , but im feeling 😈in the mood😈 so i hopw this can suffice for this ooky kooky spooky season 😰😰

Gos i wanna kms ive veen so uninspirws AAAHAHAHAHDHDHDDH this is literslly. Me rn--->💥💥💥💥💥🙂🔫 fuckijg FINALLT GOT sometjing OUT 🥳🥳 rest asusred iwont kms i need to finish my rqs first ☺️💖💖✨ i will feel SO euphoric when all the WIPS will become Completed Works !! 😍😍Im just gonna not post until i gdt smth donw bci hate giving false promises its the same as lyijg,🗿🗿

Tag List ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @abysslovesyou ♡ @puff0o0 ☆ @rustic-guitar-notes ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @reyner-lee ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika ☆ @luci4theminorannoyance

...

König wasn't really one for Halloween.

Hadn't ever been, really, as he hadn't been raised to celebrate it.

In his household, he hadn't had much exposure to the Western "Hallow's Eve".

Besides, even if he was familiar with the tradition, his parents didn't bother celebrating those kinds of trivialities; after all, they certainly weren't going to bother wasting hard-earned money on trifles like pumpkins, just so they'd rot on the front porch, or candy that would rot your teeth, or on vulgar masks that depicted serial killers and monsters, too blasphemous to bear.

Plus, his neighbourhood didn't partake in "Trick-or-treat'ing" at all, and wouldn't leave any candy for any children — wouldn't do anything, really.

Nobody decorated their house with ghouls and ghosts, nobody dressed up as vampires or murderers, nobody jumped from behind corners to shout "Boo!".

None of that, as these ideas were childish. Infantile. Juvenile, even.

Thus, October 31st, König's Austrian villiage was quiet. So eerily quiet you'd had thought it was a ghost town had it not been for hundreds of cloaked figures in the cemetary — as, for König, "Halloween" tended to be a more sombre occasion in comparison to the American/English versions.

Instead of running around and knocking on people's doors with a broad, lopsided smile like other children ought, he was brought along to visit the graves of his family members: graves of his ancestors, which he'd be told about in detail, details of the person buried six feet under the stone slab; information and stories passed down from generations.

He would be taught to honour those deceased in his family and respect their memory, to remember those in the afterlife and what they sacrificed to get there.

Carrying a lamp, he'd light candles on those decrepit gravestones, text faded and illegible, while his parents left boquets of flowers, and pulled up their long black cloaks. Silently paying their respects.

While it wasn't necessarily a day of mourning — König never needed tissues to wipe any tears or blow his nose, and neither did anyone else in the family — it was far graver when compared to the Halloween holidays elsewhere.

However, König's memories of Halloween were few, far, and in-between.

Whenever he'd hear of other people's experiences, he was never nostalgic, as, the times that he did attend those familial ceremonies he was either too young to understand what was happening, or knew too little of the deceased[s] in question to be moved by the heavy atmosphere.

Not only that, but the time period was overwhelmingly solemn, with people flooding the burial grounds, some murmuring prayers, others with tears in their eyes.

There was no laughter, no treats, no fun costumes. Not even tricks. Just suffocating depression all around.

So, he didn't really associate the celebration with something to celebrate: what, celebrating the deaths of your family? That was quite morbid, when he thought about it, and he wasn't going to dedicate an entire month every year to remind himself of death with so many other operators around him falling on the battlefield, and having had faced the grim reaper himself several times already.

Hence, every 31st of October, he did nothing. Didn't acknowledge it at all.

But all that changed one fateful day in September. When he finally acknowledged it, all right (with a little of your help of course)!

You had asked König in passing if he had considered dressing up as something for Halloween. Maybe what he had considered doing on the evening. Or if he had plans to attend the autumn fair sometime soon.

His response? A blank look. Distant recognition.

For a quiet moment, you thought he was scowling at you, silently ridiculing your childish suggestion.

Then: "Halloween? Ah!" An amused chuckle, endeared by the child-like curiosity in your eyes, and a silent sigh of relief from you.

"I don't celebrate it, myself, meine liebe. But you're welcome to tell me what your costume is. I'd love to hear all about it, maus."

Mortified by this revelation, you couldn't let this go.

"What do you mean you "don't celebrate it"? You have got to be joking!"

Wide eyes, and jaw agape, you were in disbelief.

He simply shook his head with a strained smile. "I've just never seen it as something to celebrate, you know? No reason to."

Taking it upon yourself to prove him wrong, you wasted no time converting this skeptic into a believer. "Oh no, there is. I mean, it's Halloween! Everyone is crazy for it!"

Suddenly, your eyes lit up. A wave of adrenaline crashing into you, you tugged König's arm in direction of the couch.

"That's where we'll start! We're gonna watch Halloween! That'll surely get you in the spirit."

You winked at him, satisfied. Then, a sudden snort and a suppressed chortle, hand cupped over your mouth as you laughed at your pathetic attempt at a joke.

König cocked his head to the side in confusion, but let you hastily scramble for blankets, pillows, and to microwave bowls of popcorn, as he made himself comfortable on the couch cushions that sank in protest under his weight.

Initially, he was reluctant. Not necessarily looking forward to being forced to watch movies from the 80s–00s, over-the-top movies with subpar acting, to say that he was looking forward to it would have been a stretch.

However, seeing how passionate you were about the holiday, your interests, König didn't want your sweetness sour.

Yes, he was a little older than you, and perhaps didn't grasp what there was to fuss over, but he wasn't about to spoil your good mood, or dampen that excitement just because he didn't personally understand or was interested personally. He wanted to make an effort, for you.

Vowing to take part in your silly shenanigans, he swore to become involved in the festivities in order to see you smile. To keep seeing you smiling.

After that, every October evening you'd watch a movie — a (usually) corny horror classic, though spending most nights binging all the Screams, Halloweens, Chuckys, The Shinings, Saws, and Evil Deads, — huddled under moutains of blankets and stuffing your faces with toffee-flavoured popcorn.

Watching horror films with him was like being lectured on common-sense and taught self-defence lessons in real time, though. Not like you minded, but it really got rid of the edge and the tension in its entirety.

Instead of paying attention to the storyline, it's more likely König would catch on to the stupid decisions the characters and the shitty attempts to fight back, and he wouldn't be able to help commenting:

"Why did she leave the knife in him? In his abdomen, of all places? Now the murderer has a weapon! Should have taken it out and left him to bleed out. But noooo, nein, leave the knife there."

"Going into the forest on his own? In the night? With a killer on the loose? Mein Gott, he is such a dummkopf! Bring a friend, why don't you?"

"Liebling, why is there so much gore? Isn't this rated "15"? Wait, and why is there a lady with no shirt? This is supposed to be scary, ja? I'm very scared. Scared you'll slap me, actually, if I don't keep looking at my lap."

Angrily ranting at the television, you'd gently reassure him, that, "Sweetie, this is fiction. Sometimes, the scenes are unrealistic." "But it said "based on real events"! I swear, liebling, if I watch another ten minutes of this I'll have a headache. I can't comprehend the stupidness."

Tough crowd, that couldn't really immerse himself in the plot, but you took a note or two for the sorts of horror movies König wouldn't dislike.

Although he insulted all the characters for being stupid and ridiculed all the characters for being so brainless, he would begrudgingly admit that he enjoyed the movie, pointing out some of his favourite scenes.

Self-aware comedic slashers meant he could suspend disbelief and laugh out loud a little, while, movies with an omnipotent monster meant he couldn't criticise any inaccuracies. He didn't winge at those as much in comparison to major blockbuster films. In fact, he even preferred low budget movies, ones that were pure comedic relief and so self-aware that he wouldn't be able to help but laugh along, unable to hide his amusement.

Afterwards, at exactly midnight, you'd be huddled together in the dark under a thick blanket, gorging your mouth with sugary sweets and bite-size chocolates (also indulging in chocolates that were far from bite-size), giggling like lunatics (well, that was mostly you, but König joined in to keep you company).

Later, face serious, with a torch under your chin, you'd be whispering hushedly with a tone of foreboding, voice low, and words ominous:

"Drip. Drip. Dripping water. She had checked the bathroom taps, the kitchen taps, and they were twisted tightly closed. A leakage, perhaps? Or, perhaps, something else. As she roamed the corridor, the drip-drip-drip of liquid grew louder. And louder—"

"Ah, she should call her plumber, then, shouldn't she?" A sure shit-eating smirk that was obscured by his mask, but the way his eyes were squinting you knew he was taking the piss.

Of course, storytelling was not as haunting as you would have had liked it to be: König would interject, interrupting the aura of mystery and the medatitive atmosphere, with sarcastic remarks. It made the narrations really melodramatic in the end, and frustrated you to no end.

Still, you would groan, and, undaunted by his immature antics — as, mind you, this was a grown-ass man, a 6'10 wall of muscle messing around like this, teasing you not like the cocky Colonel he was but a snarky teenage boy — continue:

"—she walked on — despite having been rudely interrupted moments prior — and her heart sank. Blood. A puddle of it, on the floor, looking like gallons upon gallons of it had—"

"Maybe she was — ah, what's the word?" A thoughtful pause, hand where his chin was under the fabric "— menustrating? Was she wearing white pants, maybe?"

"—Menstruating, König — and stop ruining my horror narration! Now I've lost the plot! Okay — against her will, her eyes moved up the wall, following the dripping blood. To her horror, it was coming from the attic. Swallowing the heavy lump in her throat, she pulled open the hatch with jittering fingers, grip slackened by the warm sweat on her palms, knees threatening to buckle. And, when the trap door released, she gasped. Blood draining her face, she saw—"

An exaggerated gasp from König, as he clasped his hands over his mouth in mock shock. "She— she saw— your mother! Mein Gott, the horror!"

"Shut up, König!" An annoyed huff, and shuffling away. "Honestly, you're such a killjoy..."

König, scooping you into his arms when you turned around with crossed arms, pouting lips, and furrowed brows, nuzzed his masked face into your neck, chuckling heartily. You squirmed under his hold, fabric tickling your sensitive neck, and you'd desperately hold back your giggles, trying hard to keep a straight face.

"Ja, ja, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Es tut mir leid, meine Liebe. Please keep going. What did she find in the attic?"

"No! You made me forget the grand reveal, now! I forgot what was up there, anyways..."

Walking around the house, you'd have the fright of your life when a huge shadow would jump in front of you at odd hours of the day.

"Boo!" König's voice resounded, loud and reverberating.

And you screamed, damn near verging on a heart attack.

"Shoving" him in frustration — you became actually even more frustrated when the man was like a solid wall and did not even budge a millimetre — König was quick to console you.

Doting over you, a wide smile on his face that the mask couldn't hide, he would be so overly lovey-dovey with you in an attempt to win back your affection that you'd roll yours eyes so far they'd end up in the back of your head.

"Meine liebe, I'm sorry for scaring you. I couldn't resist. You'll forgive me, won't you? You will, right? Please say yes."

You insisted you would, seemingly unassuming, then schemed to startle him at odd hours of the night as payback for losing your dignity in that moment.

At one point, you had even waited half an hour in the wardrobe while he was showering, only to jump out and see König in only a towel.

Yeah, you were the one that got jumpscared instead, face erupting in red despite you two being together for months at that point. You gave up trying to spook him then, bitterly accepting defeat.

Though, going along with your silly little activities, like going shopping for Halloween decorations, made König's heart swell seeing you bounce around excitedly and point out all the ornaments.

He didn't quite consent to you buying a life-size skeleton to call him Greg and place him in your shared bedroom. That was one step too far.

Still, seeing the wonder on your face, in awe of all the masks, costumes, decorations, and animated mannequins that'd cackle after triggering their mechanisms made his steel-blue eyes soften, melting into pure love and devotion for you.

So, to humour you one day, and to lift your mood after scaring you that one morning, König made two eye-holes in a white blanket, running after you around the house, almost tripping over it in his haste.

"Ooooo-ooo!" he moaned in over-dramatised agony, voice low yet playful. "This is not König, but his ghooost! Run, liebling, or you'll be neeext!"

Hearing him say that in his Austrian accent was so hilarious that were tears running down your cheeks from how hard you'd be laughing, and your sides splitting with the laughter, struggling scramble away, giggling.

Those moans of agony would become genuine cries in pain when he'd accidently hit his head on the doorframe when he forgot to duck in his excitement. The one time that bulky helmet of his could have come to use.

Despite all that, you'd be cornered against the wall, with nowhere to run, and König would pounce, tickling your sides viciously.

That broad smile on your face and the expression was worth fooling around and making a fool of himself.

He even didn't mind having you coo over his "injury" just like how he had when he was doting over you, because he loved you so much.

And, he loved you so much, that he even allowed you to "decorate" his gear. "To make it appropriate for the spooky season!" you had insisted, and he'd comply, not wanting to dull that sparkle in your eyes.

So contented with painting an intricate monster on his mask with fluorescent orange paint, you didn't notice König watching you hunched over the desk from behind, leaning against the doorframe with a loving smile on his face.

You hadn't expected that he'd wear that gear on base — veil, knee pads, helmet, and all — strutting his stuff. Just to remind everyone that their Colonel had a lovely spouse back home.

What you hadn't anticipated was how quickly König would start enjoying the season. Unexpectedly, he became obsessed with Halloween — his favourite tradition, second only to Christmas.

Carveling hollowed-out pumpkins of all shapes and sizes was one of his favourite past-times.

You'd think that with his size he'd struggle to cut through the orange crust without crushing it into pumpkin-coloured mush in his fists, but you'd be forgetting that he was skilled with a knife.

That said, König wasn't artistic. At all. The best he could produce would be a lopsided smiling caricature of... something. A nondescript creature, which you had complimented him on being so cute, only for him to angrily insist that it was an evil monster, and not cute at all.

Still, you would snap a picture before he could object, and give this pumpkin the spotlight on your front porch, soon many more following suit. Jack'o'lanterns illuminating your front step, glowing gold.

The sweet scent of cinnamon, ginger, and vanilla extract filled your house, new freshly-baked treats from the oven laid out on the kitchen island daily.

Delicious aroma of sugary pastry, homemade banana bread with small hints of vanilla and sprinkled with icing sugar, candied oranges and sour, sherbet lemon cakes, crunchy cinnamon sugar pumpkin seeds ("Made from the pumpkin guts!" you exclaimed with a smile of pride, König's eyes smiling in delight of your enthusiasm).

Crumbly shortbread in the shape skulls and bats, round cookies with orange and black icing resembling pumpkins, sponge cakes that oozed thick raspberry and strawberry jam when you bit into them ("Because they were bleeding blood," you proclaimed, a devilish smirk on your face — or, something like it, as to König you were the cutest angel he'd had ever been blessed to be around), and so, so, so much more.

So much that your weekly trips to the supermarket became biweekly, until you two found yourselves stocking up on sugar, flour, eggs, and butter far too often to keep track of.

The house was so inviting, especially to little ones from the neighbourd, that their mouths were agape and their eyes sparkled as they passed your "haunted house", holding the hands of their parent(s).

Mentioned in an earlier post that König has a soft spot for children, he'd stock up on Halloween candy and treats, and lug bucketfuls of sweets on the doorstep for any little ones that'd knock on your door to cheerfully cry out in unison, full of glee: "Trick or treat!"

He'd welcome them with open arms, but, with most of them being so little, they'd point with bulging eyes the giant on the doorstep, to be harshly reprimanded by their mothers and fathers for their ignorance and rudeness.

Few would say much after seeing König the giant, and after daring to scoop a handful of confectionary, bowing their heads and avoiding his eyes would mumble a shaky "...Th-thank you, s-sir—!"

One of them, however — a little girl with rosy cheeks donning white stockings and a gold tinsel halo — beamed brightly, albeit shyly, at König, thanking him for the treat and his generosity. An innocent, toothy smile that made her squint from how high it reached her eyes, her front baby teeth missing.

When she had her back turned to you two, she ran as fast as her chubby little legs could take her, and exclaimed, "Mommy! Mommy! That giant is a big and friendly one! A big, friendly giant. Can we go again, please? Please?"

It was only when you nudged König with your elbow, grinning, when she had skipped happily away, that he had realised he had tears in his eyes.

Moreover, maybe the memories König had of Halloween weren't so cheerful, or ones even worth remembering in the first place; after all, his childhood wasn't so cheerful. Joyless, and with little life.

But, with the way that Halloween was shaping up to be, he was already looking forward to the special celebration.

So full of life the you two were, you would laugh at the irony — animated and living the dream, while celebrating the day of the day. It brought you two to more laughter.

And, with you, König could make new ones, ones that you'd look back on fondly years from now, and those grueling months on deployment.

...

Note: Went off experience here for the beginning, guys🫡🫡 for the mowt part i have never celebrated Halloween😰 only a couple times in Poland, and once in England when i drank tomato juice and prwtended it was blood and i was a vampire🤪,

, but I Googled "Halloween in Austria" /Germany" to clarify whether I wasn't just speaking outta my ass and König here would have celebrated it differently to how I had in Poland 💀cuz, yknow, im not egocentric ajd the world doesnt celebrate things the same way Poles do 😘...

...And, no, I wasn't !☺️✨✨(... sort of😅... As far as I know, Germany has adopted the West's Halloween, ans theres pumpkin carving competitiomsn stuff, while Austria does indeed celebrate it slightly differently) .

Because I have no fuckijg idea of König's nationaloty anymore as it KEEOS CHANGING, I got the vest of both worlds 🥲🥲

Also been really busy guys😰😰😰by busy i mean stressing out ovee not writing then proceeding to NOT write bc im stressed❤️❤️🥰 you know jow it is!! 🤗(🔫) its ok tjo❤️(no it isnt) ill work tjis oit somejow🥹(no i wont im gonna kms) 🥰🥰

Have a very spooky halloween guys<3Feel bad foe those that are buying candy bc not onky is it smallwe than last uear but its more expensive 💔😟

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭

𝐊𝐨̈𝐧𝐢𝐠 𝐱 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

*𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7700+

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐁&𝐁. 𝐊𝐨̈𝐧𝐢𝐠, 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧. 𝐀 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐯𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

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*𝐀 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨. ☁️😇

*𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐊, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐡.

*𝐊𝐨̈𝐧𝐢𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐲, 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝❤️‍🔥 + 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐨).

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“𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭„ ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @rustic-guitar-notes ♡ @best-soup ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika ☆ @luci4theminorannoyance ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @nightlyvoids ♡ @skeletalgoats ♡ @aethelwyneleigh27 ☆ @arrozyfrijoles23 ♡ @dobaddo ☆ @the-second-sage ☆ @wil-xyz ☆ @revnatheshadow ☆ @feelya

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König was tired.

Very tired.

So tired was he of being tired, that it was tiring to be tired. And he was exhausted.

How long he had been on deployment, he had no clue; initially, it was meant to be a month-long mission, but time seemed to be simultaneously zooming in double-speed and moving in slow-motion. A day, then a week, then another week, then three days. Day, night, night, and day — shifting from one to the other in the flick of a switch.

And, before he knew it, it had been over three months: in the barracks afterwards, those three months had felt like three years.

Still, the hours that he could recall were gruelling: hours upon hours — from morning, throughout the day, up until the night, unending — of syncopated staccato gunfire, of cacophonous voices roaring themselves hoarse, of humming helicopter blades as the bass accompaniment to the crashing cymbals of explosions, and of deaths, anticlimactic finales for those that had perished.

Of course, it was no coordinated orchestra: just chaos.

And König was tired.

What he needed was to collapse onto a mattress, face-first, and fall asleep instantly — to be possessed by a near comatose-condition, catharsis, and wake up, not knowing what day it was.

A hand reached weakly to his temple, where an intense migraine had been plaguing him for days, and held it there in vain to numb the pain.

What König needed was sleep. And actual sleep, not the kind of sleep he became accustomed to; laying idly, wide-awake, on the thin, firm barracks mattress on the metal frame, a bed too uncomfortably small and uncomfortable to accommodate for both his disproportionately gigantic size and battered, aching back. While being a Colonel had its perks, clearly the perks did not extend to an agreeable bed.

So, obviously, he was not going to lay on a bedding which, to him, felt like a plank of wood.

Instead of arriving back at the barracks — which was more than 5000 km away — in two days for a briefing he was intended to deliver, he figured that the pilot could make a detour and land somewhere in the UK as it was on his way anyway.

Besides, he could always insist that they had experienced heavy turbulence and had to land as a safety precaution. A day later than scheduled would not be a disaster — charm offensive tended to work, yet if few were charmed, he could just as easily go on the offensive and assert his authority as Colonel.

By now, it was far closer to the next day than it was today. Or was it early morning, and the day had already passed? 0500 read his watch, but whether it was dark due to the winter still lingering and prematurely enveloping the sky like a black, starless blanket, or dawn in a few hours, wouldn't have made any difference.

The pilot had landed fuck knew where, König thought, but all he knew was that the town was quite quiet: aside from the occasional drunkards at a pub or a single customer at a convenience store buying cigarettes, the town was asleep. König ought to have been too, but the thought that he would be soon was comforting.

König was too tired to research either hotels or motels nearest him as he usually would, as he was struggling to keep his eyes open as was. He just needed a bed, to rest, and that was it… perhaps some breakfast, too. But that wasn't the main objective.

König continued to trudge at a begrudging pace, back slumped over under the mass of his rucksack, his legs difficult to lift as if they each weighed a tonne.

At this point, a sofa would do, as long as he could stretch his sore legs on it.

As he turned the corner, he rubbed his puffy pink eyes, eyelids sagging. That's when the fancy, elegant letters of the “ʀᴏʏᴀʟ ʙᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋғᴀsᴛ”, caught by his closing eyes.

At last — salvation had come!

“No vacancies — sorry!” said the sign in front, but König, choosing to ignore it, opened the door.

Given the hour, it was pitch-black. Aside from the weak fluorescent glow of a crescent moon casting a silver luminescence across the walls, a faint sliver of pale light was visible through the crack beneath the door. A shadow.

Running of water and the soft clinking of plates — the washing of dishes, as quiet as one can be. König wasn't going to consider why anyone sane would choose to wash the dishes at whatever hour this was. Frankly, he couldn't care less. What he cared about most was rest.

A dulcet humming slid smoothly under the door; faint, yet audible, and soothing. Whether it was the melody of a song or an improvised tune, it sounded pleasant.

Drawn towards it like a moth to a flame, König chucked the rucksack into the darkness, alleviating the pain of his shoulders after carrying such baggage.

Realising that it would give the person behind the door a fright to see an uninvited guest — to them, an intruder — on their doorstep so late in the night, it would be wise to pose as little of a threat as possible. Starting with louder footsteps to alert them beforehand, and a gentle greeting as he opened the door:

“Hallo.”

Almost dropping the plate that you were washing onto the floor, you shrieked in surprise nonetheless. Turned off the tap, having heart palpitations.

At the sight of the intruder in front of you, you stifled another shriek, a hand shooting up to grasp the fabric of your tee tightly, almost collapsing onto the floor had not your left hand held onto the countertop for support.

The plate, dropped in your secondary shock, shattered, loudly clattering as porcelain pieces still foaming with the dish-soap bubbles scattered across the floor.

“Fuck!” you cursed, but before you could lean in to tidy the mess, the stranger was crouching down and scooping it all in his gloved hands — quite agile for someone his build.

Then König's back was protesting in pain, joints cracking embarrassingly loud.

“Nicht,” he hushed, accented voice hoarse from barking orders and yelling at the top of his dust-lined lungs. Not like you knew — to you, he sounded like he was a chainsmoker, croaking his final breath before his lungs collapsed. “Bitte. Allow me.”

This was… unusual. Unusual was an understatement, however — just what the fuck has happened in the last ten seconds?

The moment you saw him, head almost reaching the ceiling, hovering ominously in the darkness, your first thought was that this man had come to murder you.

Big, bulky, and brawny, as tall as he was wide — fuck, taller — heavy military gear, combat boots and all…

And if his appearance at a first glance hadn't made you faint, his veil was the cherry on the cake: even with the cutouts for eyes, his eyes were camouflaged by the cover of darkness, so that the holes were eerily resembling two empty caves; or even ravines, emptier, deeper, as an abyss.

Oh God, you thought. Maybe that's how and where he would dispose of your body; just dump it in a cave to be forgotten and fossilised, or into a pit, plummeting to the ground; unrecoverable.

Either way, the veil made the entity appear uncannily similar to an executioner…

Should you have called for help? Fuck, get it together, you fucking idiot, of course you should have! The man had murderous intentions! He had come here to murder you, he had! Why else would he be here at this ungodly hour? And— oh God— was that a pistol in the holster?!

In your head, you were calculating the seconds needed to stall for time after loudly shouting for help before your experienced guests would come running from the corridor and tumbling down the stairs from the second floor. Not only were there four of them, but they were soldiers, too — good men, and good soldiers.

So, your boys would definitely overpower this guy, outnumbering him and tackling each one of his limbs to the ground long enough for the Police to arrive, and…

…no. That's ridiculous. What were you thinking? This man has not given you any reason to think this way. Sure, his appearance left a lot to be desired, but aside from that, he was... docile. Polite.

Awkwardly hovering over him, quite literally twiddling with your thumbs and unsure of what to do — ...call for help regardless? — you hesitated when asking: “So, uh— what, um, brought you here then, sir?”

He grunted in acknowledgement, and, having scooped up the remnants of the plate, it all dwarfed in the palm of his hand. You gulped audibly as he stood up to his full height, and you didn't do a good job at concealing the way that you flinched when he leaned close to dispose of the ceramic pieces into the bin beside you.

As he took two steps back, he drew out a weary sigh, head sinking a little.

“I'm tired,” he said. “I need a room.”

Oh.

In your panic, your anxiety… you had totally forgotten that you ran a B&B. That this man was perhaps here because, you know, your business, your current career, was in hospitality and catering.

Yeah… You totally had overlooked that…

…But it's fine. It's totally not like you forgot that you were in the building that housed your guests or anything. Rather than realise that the people you were housing were your guests, your first instinct was to bring their profession into this.

Self-preservation had never been so selfish until this point. Yikes.

God. Had you been less afraid at the start, you could have spared a laugh at the absurdity of the situation and your irrational thought process, but as things stood, you were still pissing yourself from terror, intimidated by this unit of a man.

Now you were just standing there, expression stony and as still as a statue. The veil hovered over you, scrutinising you with squinted eyes in curiosity.

Your expression softened slightly at the sight of him; so pitiable and pitiful, evident exhaustion weighing him down.

Frowning, you were sympathetic. “I'm… sorry, sir, but there are no vacancies available. You must have missed the sign outside? I'm so sorry—”

“I didn't miss it,” he stated, rasping in the same assertiveness of a German (that's what you gathered his nationality was, anyways — what, with his accent). “I still need a room.”

Sighing in exasperation, you were less sympathetic: still, you were going to continue being polite. Just in case he took anything the wrong way. You prayed that he'd prefer his pistol over his hands.

“Sir, you— you must understand that I cannot possibly accommodate you. You— you do understand, right?”

The man's shoulders drooped, and light finally reflected off his eyeballs as his head dropped, too heavy to keep straight: his eyes were sagging, both in sadness and tiredness. Scleras were nearing crimson, and heavy bags under his eyes were burdened by dark half-circles. Some warpaint that hadn't been washed off well enough outlined his eyes, giving the impression that his eyes were sunken into his skull.

You looked away, overwhelmed by guilt and pity.

“Um…”

Biting your lip in consideration, your eyebrows furrowed.

Yet there was little to consider — this was a man desperate for some rest, and given his assumed soldier status, he was evidently deserving of some sleep. Besides, what sort of a person would you be if you refused to house a guest? The decision would remain in your conscience, reminding you of how heartless and inhumane you were.

Or it wouldn't, when you'd be murdered in your sleep and all of your meagre belongings and material possessions would be stolen, while your four other guests had their throats slit.

Because despite their similar profession, it seemed that this man was not in their faction. Your gut churned at the thought that you could be unknowingly housing two rival contracts.

As you swallowed thickly, you looked back at him, your unease easing by degrees the longer you listened to his slow breathing, yet persisting nonetheless.

“Well—” you hesitated. “—I do have a room—”

The light in his eyes became brighter, as his eyelids could barely remain open. “Ah, you do, do you?” he said, eyes crinkling in a small smile.

“Yes, sir,” you sighed, then offered a small smile of your own. “It's upstairs, though. Is that okay with you?”

“Ja,” he affirmed. “Lead the way.”

Wordlessly, he followed you up the stairs, the thump—thump—thump of his heavy boots following close behind, that would have otherwise thud—thud—thud’ded had they not been muffled by the fluffy carpet. You mourned the way that it would never be as fluffy again. The dirty dirt marks left behind with each footstep made you grimace, so unlike the ones left by the others. Did this guy even shower before coming here?

Finally at the door, a little awkwardly, you unlocked it, and ushered him inside, flicking on the light switch.

“Uhm, it's a little small… “ you murmured apologetically, voice trailing off. “I mean, it's a double, but it might not be big enough…”

König surveyed the size of the bed, taking long, thoughtful strides… then flung himself face-first on top of it, sinking into it.

Your eyebrows disappeared into your hairline, jaw dropping to the floor in amazement. His feet stuck out, but he didn't seem about to complain.

“Are— are you okay?”

“Perfekt. I have needed this.”

You crossed your arms, dumbstruck and rendered dumb by this… display.

“O—kaaayyy... I’ll—I'll leave you be then, sir.”

“Ja,” he yawned, not bothering to take off his shoes. You sighed, shaking your head sternly, but decided to hold your tongue.

As you were heading out, you glanced into the room, hovering in the doorframe. “Sleep well, soldier,” you whispered, flipping the light switch. The darkness enveloped the man like a blanket.

…

For four straight days he slept like a log. Literally, because he was like one in length and diameter, but mostly in the figurative sense. Of course, König didn't know that. Yet.

When he awoke, König felt reinvigorated, rejuvenated, revived… all synonyms of said words (he couldn't think of any more — funnily enough, he would use none of these when speaking to you).

The first thing that he noticed when he awoke was that the duvet was tucked in neatly into the covers around him, and that his boots were off.

He noticed that his rucksack was next to his boots second. Even if you were someone strong for your size, he doubted that your strength really could make up for your height — the footage of you struggling to lug his bag up the stairs brought humour to him. Or, maybe he was underestimating your strength, and you were stronger than you looked. Still, he found humour in the idea regardless.

Thirdly, the curtains were drawn tightly closed, but daylight penetrated unrelentingly through the material regardless, giving the impression that the room was feebly glowing with white. Heavenly.

Was this heaven? It sure felt like it. Surely, a few more moments of blissful shuteye would—

Wait. What day was it?

Springing out of bed, sprinting downstairs, he was about to rush outside…

…when he halted in his tracks halfway.

What the fuck was he doing? He was a fucking Colonel. Who fucking cares what fucking day it is. The idiots on base should be glad that he's even there, regardless of how belated his entrance is. Honestly, at this point, he's considering this his own vacation in the semi-countryside. He deserves it, after three months of doing his utmost not to let himself or his comrades die.

Walking down the steps, he overhead a familiar sound: the running of water, and humming. Humming a different tune this time.

Having woken up alert, not groggy like he had been that late night/early morning, he could appreciate the sound now.

In all actuality, that hummed tune was nothing extraordinary — quite frankly, it was one of the most ordinary songs he could have heard.

Clearly, you must not be a good singer; otherwise, your breath would not have hitched in your throat with every high note you'd have to reach. Your song was syncopated, despite you likely not having meant it to be.

Occasionally, you'd sing the words that you'd know — voice off-key and clumsy — then revert to humming once more, stealing quick breaths every once so often.

Then he saw you, and he could put a face to that clumsy voice. It was his breath that hitched in his throat.

There was nothing particularly pretty or handsome about you, either. From the profile, you were decently average — or annoyingly average — neither exceptionally beautiful nor exceedingly ugly. You were just… you.

And, yet, the sight of you washing the pyramid of dishes precariously balancing on top of each other, singing softly a song so out of tune, so out of sync, was… concerningly domestic.

Just for a split-second, König visualised you as his partner, waiting patiently for him as he was on deployment, and this being the morning after his return, this being one of those precious mornings you two could share. It would be nice to have something to cherish so much.

And as soon as that vision materialised, it disappeared just as soon. Too soon.

A little flustered by what he had imagined, he shook his head, shaking off the remaining pixels of that screenshot until they completely dissipated, disappeared. Now was not the time.

This time, he wasn't going to frighten you, Gott forbid all of those plates would come crashing down like an avalanche of porcelain; it would save breaking his back, secondarily, but primarily, he didn't want you to snap out of your trance, so innocently focused at the task at hand, only to react so strongly like you did the last time.

So he contented himself with waiting, despite hovering a little too awkwardly in the doorframe, unsure of what to do with himself.

After turning off the tap, you sighed — an anticlimactic conclusion to your encore — before drying your hands with a teatowel. Now was the time to introduce his presence.

Coughing quietly to draw your attention, König announced: “Guten tag.”

Whipping your head so quickly towards the source of the voice your neck nearly had whiplash, your eyes widened.

Sighing a sigh of relief after recovering from your surprise, you smiled politely.

“You're awake! Thank God. I was beginning to think that you had died or something. How are you? Do you feel better?”

It's been a while since anyone had asked him that.

“Oh— ah, Gut. Thanks.”

There was something so appealing about your face that König couldn't place; so easy on the eye.

Awkwardly adding: “I slept… well. Very well. The bed was the most comfortable I've ever slept on in ages.”

“I mean, I figured — what, with you there for so long!”

You laughed, and he swore he was floating. “I swear, you must have been hibernating or something. I was hoping that there wouldn't be a corpse I'd have to dispose of. But, you are okay, right?”

His hoarse voice had a hint of a morning rasp in it, as he whispered a quiet: “What… what day is it?”

“Day?” You looked to the side, thinking. “Uhhh, let me think— Tuesday, right? I think it is, anyways? Well, you arrived on Friday, so nearly four days a—”

“Scheisse.” König's voice was monotone. “I was supposed to brief subordinates. They were meant to commence training on Monday.”

You gasped. “Then why are you still here?! Go! Look, it's only two days—”

“Nein. If I am going to be late, I might as well be fashionably late. I hate it there. I am treated like I am elderly and coaxed to do paperwork when I am in my prime age for fighting. I hate it.”

“You sure do hate your job, it seems,” you mused. “How come?”

“I do not. I hate the people. I am a soldier for that precise reason, and I always get reprimanded for my brutality, when it is a thrill to me. Did I say I hate it?”

“...Oh. O-okay...”

You shifted from leg to leg, twirling your foot into the floor awkwardly, not knowing what to do with this information.

“...Well, how about some breakfast?”

He blinked. “Breakfast?”

You laughed. “Don't you know how a B&B works? Breakfast is included, you know.”

“Oh.” He blinked again, enlightened. “OK. I won't be long.”

“Please, take as long as possible.”

“How thoughtful of you,” he said, pleased.

“I mean— it gives me more time to prepare the food — which, by the way, what would you like? Any preferences? Allergies? I tend to hand out a menu, and offer a full English, but this situation is a bit—”

“Everything,” he interrupted, assertive. “And anything.”

“Mmmkay,” you mumbled. “I'll do what I can.”

“Thank you. Will be seeing you.”

The “will be seeing you” sounded a little too ominous for your liking, despite seeming to have no ill intentions. Goosebumps formed on your arms, but you skillfully hid your trepidation with a warm smile.

König walked up the stairs, leaving you behind to mournfully look into the fridge, praying that there was food enough to feed this guy.

(...This giant. Mutant, perhaps. It was hard to believe that this unit was even human.)

You were thankful for the fact there seemed to be enough food. What you were not thankful for was that it'd only be enough for one meal, or two if you scavenged for some more ingredients out of the cupboards.

A carton of 16 eggs, a jug of milk, two hams, a loaf of bread, some fruit, some vegetables, some leftover pastries… all fine and dandy; alas, this guy was probably going to chug the milk straight out of the jug and likely had some weird fixation with eating the raw egg yolk, as if it's the ultimate forbidden protein source, or something. Maybe you were prejudiced, based on your current experience with three out of four of the other soldiers not knowing how to make pancakes. The clean-up afterwards made you seriously consider abandoning your B&B and hiking to the next country by foot.

König on the other hand? He had already decided that he would never abandon this B&B. Your B&B.

He was making himself quite at home. Everything in this bedroom was so homely, and, come to think of it, it was exactly what König needed; a change of scenery. To be home. It was just a shame that he had not a place to call that — for now, at least.

Feeling refreshed and looking fresh out of the shower, he half-heartedly dried the mop of hair on his head. Slipping on some shirt he dug out of his bag, he cursed when he wore it back-to-front, and slipped it on again.

Finally dressed with no further discrepancies, he stole a glance of his profile in the reflection; grimaced; then quickly slipped his signature veil over his head. The thing was falling apart at the seams. He would fix the stitching when the night came.

As soon as he opened the door, an intense aroma — aromas — overwhelmed his olfactories. His stomach growled, and König remembered that it must have been almost 6 days since he had eaten.

Approaching footsteps drew your attention to the masked man advancing, so you turned off the running water, and dried off your wet hands, to pull out a chair for him. At least the largest load of the dishes was tackled; the rest could be put on pause. You didn't exactly find the prospect of more washing up promising.

“Hey, welcome back. I hope your shower was good!” you chimed, a cordial smile gracing your face.

The smile became lopsided as you followed the man's unspeaking gaze towards the food you prepared for him.

“O-oh, yeah— well, uhm, I didn't know what you'd like, so I put together all the scraps and then some to make you breakfast,” you said, rubbing your nape. “Come to think of it, is this even breakfast at this point? Is it lunch? Brunch sounds better, but it's past noon to call it that…”

König had tuned out your ramblings — not because the sound was like white noise; because he was mesmerised by the platter of food:

An omelette, colourful with diced peppers, tomatoes, and sautéed mushrooms, cheese melted on top of it, and presumably mashed together with mashed potatoes; a poached egg (which, by the looks of it, went wrong — but was still appetising nonetheless) on top of an avocado, tomato, onion corn, cucumber, and rocket salad; a fried egg in a bacon barm, with a toothpick through it and, also melting with cheese; two sausages, sprinkled with crispy onions, more mushrooms, with a ramekins of beam on the side. If that wasn't enough to whet his appetite already, the sight of two croissants and two muffins — warm, and fresh out of the oven — buttered and smeared with jam, and the fresh bowl of fruit, then he was surely salivating.

He was salivating. Coughing into his hand, he discreetly rubbed the drool off his chin with the hem of his mask.

“Mein Gott— this is—”

Amazed, he sat down in the chair that you pulled for him, in a daze.

“Scheisse.” His throat was dry. “Are you an angel, by any chance? Is there something that you've not told me?”

Laughing bashfully, you waved a dismissive hand, swatting the blush away from your cheeks.

“Aw, you're so sweet! I'm flattered.”

“No, really,” he insisted, the eye contact he was making with you intense. “If that's the case, maybe I should make you my own personal maid turned housewife. You'd fit in my suitcase, nicht?”

Your laughter became awkward and strained, yet you forced yourself to keep your eyes trained on his. “Ahhh, nah, ha ha… I'm not flexible like that. Such a shame, ha ha ha…”

His eyes crinkled in a smirk, and with the way that they did you instantly knew that he was taking the piss. “I'm joking. You can relax. I am sincere when I say I have no such ill intentions.”

“Wait— your… mask.” You gestured to the veil. “Would you, uh… rather I look away as you eat?”

Surprisingly — surprising himself more than he did you — König shook his head instinctively, decisively.

“No. I do not mind. I will only mind if you try to look under it.”

Holding up two placating hands, you reassured him that you wouldn't, and that seemed to please him.

After that, aside from the clinking of cutlery on plates chewing on crispy, crunchy food, it was silent.

The man appeared comfortable in your presence, and was too focused on his food. Still, out of consideration for keeping his identity private, you stared at the chipped paint on the wall that you hoped he hadn't noticed. You would paint over it at some point.

Antsy as you anticipated his answer, you were nervously strumming your fingers against your knee. “...How is your breakfast?”

He was chewing the food slowly, eyes closed, enjoying the tastes. Swallowing even slower, he finally whispered a shaky: “Fantastich.”

Your face lit up, and you couldn't contain your excitement.

“I'm so glad! I hope it's enough. I-I mean– you know what I mean! For a big guy like you, this must be a snack. If this hadn't been so short notice, I would have prepared something more.”

He hummed appreciatively, appreciating every bite of food and devoting more time than he usually did to eating: usually, he was the type to shovel food by the mouthfuls and set his plate aside with his mouth still full; but, to König, it would be disrespectful to do that. He was holding your culinary skills in far too high of a regard to do that.

After he had finished, he pushed the plates aside, satisfied. “Gott. That was delicious. Maybe I will smuggle you inside my suitcase after all.”

He laughed, and dismissed your concern with a shake of the head. You furrowed your brows sternly, unamused, and collected the dishes, eyes widening; the plates were totally clean, not a crumb of food left.

You were beyond pleased. To describe your joy would have been impossible…

Yet, you had to wash all of those dishes. Again. Maybe you should seriously consider getting a dishwasher, but it was… oddly satisfying, to say the least. It was quite calming: the running water; the rubbing of the porcelain; the bubbles. And it was most satisfying seeing the plates in the rack stacked nicely.

“Every time I see you, you are washing dishes,” König pointed out, observing you from the few feet he was away.

You laughed at that. “Well, that's just how it is when you've got four adult men eating at your place, plus other guests. Trust me, this load isn't even half of what I wash most of the time.”

“Where are they now? The men, I mean.” he inquired, inquisitive.

“Gone,” you shrugged, elusive. “They always make a short stay anyways; they have places to be.”

“I see. Who are they?”

You bit your lip, wavering in your hesitation. “I'm… not in the position to divulge.”

“I don't see.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “They're soldiers. Just like you. They returned from deployment not too long ago, and are regular guests at my B&B, I guess. Not much to it.”

König let out a snort. “Regulars?”

“I don't know how else to put it!” You groaned, holding up your hands in exasperation. “Anyways, long story short, they returned from deployment, landed here, and seem to keep landing here, even though their barracks are miles away and this place is nowhere near any of their stops. Sure do wonder why.”

“I do not wonder; it's because your bed and breakfast are excellent, and you are an excellent host.”

Not knowing how to respond in your bashfulness, you contented yourself with washing the dishes, prolonging the process for as long as possible.

Time decided to defy you, and you were done in a matter of minutes.

“Well then. I better give you the payment, yes?”

The man pushed his chair aside, and sluggishly rose to his feet. “How much do I owe you?”

Cheeks still rosy, you considered for a moment. “Well… for four nights, it'd be £355.96, but given that you took my bedroom — by far the premium room — I gotta slap onto that an additional £50.”

“Still, since you were basically hibernating for three of those days, why not make it a nice and round £400?” You winked, smirking mischievously.

It took you a few seconds of him staring at you in order for it to register that he seemed to catch on to this revelation, and was appalled.

“Wh— what are you looking at me like that for?”

“I am… sleeping in your bedroom?”

“...Yeah? Look, it's not even a big deal. I don't mind, really! I'm happy to accommodate to your stay—”

“Scheisse! You should have said something, verdammt!”

“Like what? Tell you to shoo in the middle of the night and have you wandering around, only to end up sleeping on some bench? No! Besides, I've made the basement quite cosy, so no one is losing.”

Grumbling angrily in German, out from his wallet, he pulled out a crisp, crumpled — yet fat — stack of a wide array of notes, foreign currency from more than one country. “And I am in debt to you by how much again? Four hundred of those pounds?”

You nodded, smiling sweetly. “Y-yeah!”

“I have not the correct currency for this country, unfortunately.” He was apologetic, rifling through the stack and skimming through it. “Will this suffice?”

Your smirk flickered, yet remained flashing. It seemed a lot, but maybe other currencies didn't equate to as much as the Pound Sterling. God, what a chore it will be counting all this…

“Hold on… I can just Google the conversions, and add them. Good thing I've got a calculator on hand for these exchanges!”

After calculating the sums of all the equations, your jaw dropped.

It was over quadruple what you charged him, so you thought you had hallucinated and calculated the sums incorrectly. Maybe your maths wasn't as good as it used to be…

Inputting the numbers into the conversion rates in a different order gave you the same result, however. You were puzzled…

Unless…

“You— you've given me too much? Fuck, hold on another moment, please— I'm struggling to calculate, and I think I'm doing something wrong—”

“How much did it come out as?

“...£1417.”

“That little, it did? I thought it was over 1500. I guess I overestimated. Shame.”

If your jaw hadn't dropped, it was on the floor by now.

“I— what?” You contained your bulging eyes before they popped out. “Okay, u-uhm, you're not making it easy for me to give you back change, are you? I need a few more minutes to—”

“No. That is my payment.”

You couldn't believe in what you were hearing.

“What?! N-no, wait— it's too much! I can't accept this! Look, I—”

“Then I'll be staying for the rest of the week.” He stated, direct. “Consider that the payment upfront.”

Nearing hysterics, you insisted: “But it's still too much! P-please, let me give back the change—”

“Nein. Then I want you to consider the overpayment the tip, yes? For good service. Please.”

Tears brimming in your eyes, your lip quivered a little.

Despite denying him out of principle, the truth was that these sorts of gestures were too generous, and you couldn't handle such kindness. Even with the other four regulars that would slip in extra bills into your purse, this? It was all just—

And the fact that this man was so adamant made you tear up.

“I— o-okay… Thank you…”

“It is my pleasure.”

The fabric of his veil crumpled as his eyes crinkled and cheeks were made visible in a smile.

“I will go to your room and sleep some more, if that is okay with you?”

“Sleep? Haven't you hibernated enough for two consecutive winters?” You joked weakly, still overwhelmed by his generosity.

“True. But I need this,” he said, back hunched over and shoulders slumping. “I will be as fit as a young boy tomorrow, and will resume my workouts! I will be going jogging for most of the noon.”

“You— don't look so old,” you stammered, a bit bashful. “But I won't disagree with you. You deserve the rest, Colonel.”

The nickname amused him. “Don't call me that. At the barracks, yes, but I would prefer it if you would refer to me as König.”

“Okay then, Colonel König,” you repeated, a mischievous smirk on your face.

“You are a devious little thing, aren't you? How cute.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you groaned exaggeratedly, playfully pouting.

“Seriously though,” you began, eyes earnest. “I hope you enjoy your stay. And if you wanna sleep in all day today? Go ahead!”

“Thank you,” he said, relieved. “And you are sure that this is no trouble?”

“None! This is my business, after all. I'm happy to be here, and I'm happy that you're happy too.”

“Well, I will be seeing you. Bis morgen, Süße.”

Offering him another warm smile, König walked upstairs.

The rest of the day went without a hitch. Two guests filled the empty rooms of the previous four, and you booked them in. It was quite quiet, and when night came, the two guests tucked in their beds with a cordial “Goodnight”.

A sigh left you, satisfied that everything was in order, everywhere was tidy, and all countertops were spotless. Checkup done, you were pleased with yourself and your effort for the day.

The bed in the basement was still big; a small single — plenty of space to sprawl all your limbs and sink face-first into a pillow.

That night, however, the bed was strangely bigger than usual.

…

Rubbing your eyes with your yawn as you walked up the stairs to prepare breakfast for your guests the next day, you halted in your tracks.

“Guten morgen.”

The sight of him wearing an apron — your apron — so comically small, was hilarious. If it wasn't so hilarious, you would have been furious at the fact that your favourite apron was splitting at the seams, but as things stood, you were splitting your sides with laughter.

“I… what?”

“Good morning.”

“N-no, I mean— what are you doing?”

“Well.” He pondered for a moment, then turned to you, expression blank in its confusion. “Breakfast. What does it look like, little one?”

“That's…” You were at a loss for words. “...my job?”

“Ja, I learned. But I wanted to return the various favours you made to me.”

You were perplexed. “I didn't make you any favours?”

He chuckled. “Forfeiting a bed is one of the strongest favours, no? It's the easiest way to bring someone closer — letting them into your bed.”

“Oh my God, will you shut UP about that, PLEASE,” you groaned, embarrassed by his teasing. “And stop wording it like that. You're making it seem as if I brought you into my bed to have sex. So gross.”

“What is gross? Sex, or sex with me?”

“I— oh my God…”

“...Sooo, ha ha… h-how did you sleep?” you innocently asked, desperate to divert conversation onto another topic.

“Well.” König said, thoughtful. “I would have slept better if I had you to cuddle, of course.”

“You'll sleep even better when I suffocate you with a pillow. Then you'll never wake up.”

“Just admit it: you like me,” König asserted smugly. “Don't be shy, schatz.”

“I'm not shy,” you lied. “You're just wrong. I barely know you.”

At this, König cackled loudly, yet not mockingly — just obnoxiously.

“I know you well enough to say that I like you; why not say the same, hm?”

Laughter dying down, König was about to pull out a chair for you when you pulled it out for yourself and sat down without a second thought. A scowl was under his veil, but he didn't point it out.

“I still don't get why you're making me breakfast.”

Balancing two plates on his forearm as he placed a third in front of you, he said: “Hush. Genieße dein Essen, schatzen.”

Pretending you knew what any of that meant, you nodded eagerly, as you had a kid-like grin on your face at the sight of such food, especially being prepared by a hunk as handsome as he.

“König!”

So, why not impress him with your language skills?

“Gracias— fuck! Wait, no… uh—”

“Ah, it is me who was mistaken,” he teased. "Bon appétit.”

Why not? For that reason, you learned…

Rather than there being an awkward silence, König chuckled, and lovingly stroked your hair, careful in his way not to tangle it. Meanwhile, you were redder than the chopped tomatoes on your plate, and to you, this wasn't remotely funny. You just got nervous!

“You are so sweet, schatz. Such a treasure. Never change, ja? Now eat your food before it is cold.”

You huffed, then stabbed a fried egg with a fork, uneasy, and feeling queasy, your mind drifting back to that morning where those other four soldiers absolutely desecrated the pancakes they made and cooked an unholy concoction of raw egg and half-cooked batter. With chocolate chips on top.

Gulping, you opened your mouth, and took a tentative bite.

Eating it… it tasted quite good. Great, actually.

“See? I am a good cook. You would like an extra pair of hands to make your workload more… enjoyable?”

You choked on the egg. “An— extra what?”

“Help, of course.”

“You— you knew what you were doing when you said that.”

“Knew what, little one?”

“Nevermind,” you scoffed. Scarfing down the food was enjoyable indeed. Having had breakfast prepared for you was pleasant, for a change.

His breakfast gave you a run for your money, and you were silently seething.

Admittedly, his breakfast was a “man's” breakfast — hearty, full of food, and abominable presentation, cobbled together. The taste was phenomenal, though — nothing to fault there.

“Finished? Wunderbar. I can cook for the remainder of my stay—”

“Wooaah, there, big guy. Hold your horses. Are you replacing me at my own job?”

You smirked, touched. “I think it's sweet, really, but let this be a one-off, okay?”

König frowned, and even with you not being able to see it, you could sense his disappointment.

“It's not like I didn't appreciate this… but, König, c’mon. This is my job, you know.”

“OK…”

You sucked in a breath. “Another time, okay? When I have no guests. I'll reserve the establishment for you.”

He perked up at this. “OK!”

…

“Why is your Breakfast in Bed named “Royal”?”

You let out a snort. “Bed and Breakfast, König. And why? Well… to be honest… the only reason I did was to appeal to the Brits.”

“...Oh. That is the only reason?”

Contemplating it for a moment, you realised: “Yeah… don't get me wrong, I don't worship the Royal family — between you and me, I don't give two flying fucks about the King — but if I'm here, oughtn’t I cater to my target demographic?”

The mug of coffee — with a Union Jack flag and the text “ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴄᴀʟᴍ, ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ᴏɴ ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴇᴀ” printed on it — that he was about to take a sip out of, froze mid-air.

“...King? Not the Queen?”

“She's dead, König. I know that much.”

“...Oh.”

“I… figure you didn't know that much?”

“...No.”

You couldn't hold back a laugh, and burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Doubled over and splitting your side as you wiped a tear, you exclaimed: “Ain't it— funny!? How— how nice of a coincidence it is that— that you, a King, landed at the ʀᴏʏᴀʟ ʙ&ʙ?!”

Yeah, you had Googled what his name meant. Simply out of curiosity, nothing more.

“It must be fate,” König said dreamily, which went unnoticed as you giggled a little longer.

“Ye—ah! Oh my God, HELP— I-I can't breathe... fuck. Who knows? Maybe. Fuck.”

…

Before you knew it, the week had passed.

You took the liberty of doing König’s laundry and dry-cleaning folding the day before, his clothes folded neatly. Rather than wasting time going to the laundrette, you said, you would be more than happy to do it for him.

While awake, you wanted to bake him some pastries and prepare a few plastic containers of food — “...So you won't be hungry. Or go hungry, for at least 2 days or so.”

“At most. Your food is so irresistible that I will not be able to resist eating everything in one sitting.”

“Hey, be my guest! Not telling you how to live your life. 2 hours it is, then.”

König was no longer tired; and, although you were, you woke up earlier than usual nonetheless in order to ensure that he wasn't missing anything. What, with his meagre possessions, most likely wasn't, but the both of you refused to acknowledge anything.

“God — you're, like, almost a week past schedule. What are your superiors going to say about going AWOL?”

“They are not going say anything,” he proclaimed, confident “No one is superior to me, anyways. They will not say anything.”

“You're as full as yourself as the first day we officially became acquainted.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” he said drily. “Did I say I like you?”

“You sure did. Like, a hundred times by now.”

…A hundred times, and he hasn't said “I love you” once. How humiliating it was for König. It didn't seem as if you caught on to his feelings, but that was for the better, he gathered.

“It will be two hundred when I return.”

“Sooo…” A little awkwardly: “Are you going to be a regular guest at my B&B? Asking for future reference, so I know when to reserve a bed for you.”

“Of course. There's no other bed I would like to sleep in than yours, meine liebe.”

Blush erupted on your cheeks like a volcano.

“It would be nice for you to sleep in it and join me, nicht? It is your bed, after all. Maybe you would like the company, and a helping hand—”

“Are you leaving already? Begone with you!” you hissed.

Hopeful:. “...But will you write to me? Send me letters, or a pigeon, or something!”

“I… cannot guarantee it,” he said sternly. “But rest assured, this will not be the last you will be seeing of me.”

“I hope so…” You sniffed. “When will you be back?"

“Soon.”

You gazed in each other's eyes for a few agonisingly short moments — the time was agonising short, this moment was too short. There was more that you wanted to say, more than you wanted to hear from him.

“Well, König… goodbye.”

König snorted, laughing his signature cackle, and you were confused.

“What is the reason for this “goodbye” or these “farewells”? Say “see you”. Or, in German: Ich werde auf dich warten, mein König. That will make me happy.”

“I… am not even going to attempt that. Thanks, but no thanks..”

König patted your shoulder, but he had to lean down in order to do it, and you pouted whenever he patronised you so.

“See you,” you said, eyes earnest. “And I will see you, you fucking bastard; you're so big that I wouldn't exactly be able to miss the mountain on the horizon.”

“Ja, ja, liebe. I will be seeing you. Wait for me.”

…

König was full of energy — dreading the barracks, yes, but rejuvenated by an intense vigour and excitement. Excited for the next mission.

Now, even on deployment, no matter how many of those months would be gruelling and no matter what that he will be eating the worst canned gruel imaginable, he would have some place to look forward to returning — “ʀᴏʏᴀʟ ʙᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋғᴀsᴛ” — and food, homemade. That was a bonus.

Yet, most of all, to look forward to a familiar face; yours.

If what people say about long distances making the heart grow fonder, then by the time his return rolled around, his heart would be yours to keep.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/n — Been resurrected like Jesus Christ to bring this fanfiction to you after 3 months days. How fitting. 😊

This idea only came to fruition because I was Four In A Bed, which is a British TV show showcasing Bed and Breakfasts. 💀,, It could have been literally ANYTHING else, but it's fitting?? 🤨, so, i made i work 😩

I'll be honest, I was kind of unmotivated and have been REALLY struggling to write these past months, but this person somehow singlehandedly gave me all the motivation I've been needing to think of and finish a fic 🥹💓.

Because, like,,, THIS?????? 😭😭😭😭😭

It was such a surprise to wake up to in the morning — especially knowing that I would have to sit an WACK maths exam that day 😩 — and it honestly made my entire week! 🥲💘

I've never had anyone dive SO deep into all the little ins and outs of my fanfiction that I thought no one would consider memorable to bother commenting on. 😭🫶💞💞✨✨💖💓💞✨💕💕

(Sorry to call you out publicly like this LOL 🤖. Wass too shy to msg you, qnd I thought it would be better if i kept this quiet in case u didn't wanna be tagged haha)

Also thank you to this anon for this sweet message. After you sent this in, i was motivated to work HARDER !!!!!! (writing three sentences a day instead of two 😍😍). Seriously though, thank you 🥹🥹💓

////Also, totally irrelevant, but i got the platinum trophy for Ghostrunner 2 !!!!!! 😸😸🎉🎊.. (. 🥲🔫)

////Last trophy to get was the "Godrunner" and i wanted to kms 👍😁

////Beating the Dismantler without dying was the BANE of my existence 🧍🏼‍♀️, and it didnt help that I KEPT DYING UNFAIRLY IN "I Won't Be Back Today" level like BRUHHH 😭😭😭😭, I WOULD KILL ALL OF THE CREEPS I NTHE SECOND PHASE AND YET ID STILL EXPLODE????? AND THEN DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE SEQUENCE AT THE VERY END ,,, THE AMOUNT OF TIMES I DIED TO THOSE FUCKING LASERS AND TJOSE CREEPS ON THE CEILING IS TOO EMBARRASSING TO NUMBER) 😡😡🤬😡😓😟😭😭😭😭,

////, Its ok tho bc i have the bragging rights now — i have the platinum trophies for Ghostrunner 1/2, and hopefully 3 (if it ever is announced 😼) 🤧

//// NOO BC I LOVE THESE GAMES SO MUCH AND ESPECIALLY THE OST BUT THE STORY????? THE GAME PLAY??!!!!! THEFUCKING MECHANICS???!???!?!?!?!?!!!!!!! THE CHARACTERS AND THEIR INTERACTIONS ON THE COMMS??????????!???!!!!!??? JACK HIMSELF????! !!?????!!?!?!??????????... ... And THERES LITERALLY NO ONE THAT PLAYS IT SO IM LEFT DUMPING THIS INFORMATION ONTO MT FRIENDS WHEN THEY LITERWLLY DIDNT ASK LMAO 🤡 — So. I'm dumping it onto you guys instead. 🤯 Srry💔😭 not srry❤️🥵 but i adore Ghostrunner 👾

...

Anyways, I'll go back into hibernation after dropping one (1) fanfiction. I SO deserve it guys... 🥵🥵