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msriri030 · 3 days ago

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Saving by a Hare:

Mobster! König x Doctor! Reader

tag: Stranger to lover, afab! female but trying most to gn idk

You walked back to your small clinic after making a house call to an elderly couple. The streets were serene, wrapped in a pristine blanket of fresh winter snow. A soft breeze carried the faint scent of pine and cinnamon from a nearby café, blending with the crisp chill of the air. Yet, your mind was miles away.

The couple’s gratitude lingered in your thoughts, their warm smiles and kind words a gentle reminder of why you had chosen this path. In a world where you often faced indifference—or worse, outright hostility—moments like those made it all feel worth it. Despite the challenges, there was purpose in what you did, and that was enough to keep you going.

As you walked, Your thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a small cat, sleek and gray, slipping out from the shadows of an alleyway. It meows softly before weaving between your legs, its tail flicking playfully. You crouched, extending a hand with a soft smile, but the cat darted away, disappearing into the dark alley.

“Hey, wait!” you called instinctively, curiosity tugging at you.

The alley was silent, the air colder here in the absence of light. Your breath puffed visibly in front of you as you trailed the cat’s paw prints in the snow. But something unusual caught your eye—a patch of crimson staining the pristine white.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. Red snow. The metallic tang of iron wafted faintly in the air. Blood.

The doctor in you overrode every other instinct. You bolted toward the source, boots crunching against the snow as your mind raced. Someone was hurt. Someone needed help.

As you turned the corner, you saw it—a large male figure slumped against the wall, motionless. Blood pooled beneath them, painting the snow in a macabre contrast of red and white.

Your heart pounded, but your hands steadied as you dropped to your knees beside them. "Hey! Can you hear me?" you called, already reaching for their pulse.

As a doctor, you were bound by one unshakable rule: to save a life, no matter the circumstances. And right now, you were prepared to do just that.

The pulse was slow but steady—a small relief that eased the tight knot of anxiety in your chest. You let out a soft sigh, your breath visible in the icy air. Your hands moved with practiced precision as you assessed the situation.

The man’s face was partially obscured by a makeshift balaclava, one crudely fashioned from a torn shirt. It clung to his skin, damp with sweat and streaked with traces of blood. You instinctively reached to remove it, thinking it might help him breathe more easily.

But as your fingers brushed the fabric, a sudden movement stopped you in your tracks.

His hand, rough and trembling, shot up and grabbed your wrist with surprising strength for someone in his condition. His grip wasn’t crushing, but it was firm enough to communicate a clear message: don’t.

His head tilted slightly, icy blue eyes locking onto yours with a piercing intensity that sent a shiver racing down your spine. Despite his battered state, his voice emerged steady, edged with a cold sharpness that only deepened his aura of danger.

“What do you think you’re doing, kleiner weißer Hase?” he asked, the German words slipping out in a tone as cutting as the accent behind them.

You straightened under his scrutiny, meeting his gaze despite the unease clawing at your chest. “I–I mean no harm,” you replied calmly, refusing to waver. “I’m a doctor. I was trying to remove this to help you breathe. Do you know where you’re bleeding from?”

For a moment, his eyes narrowed, and you thought he might ignore you altogether. His grip on your wrist tightened briefly, but then, slowly, it loosened. His gaze shifted, the icy edge softening, though his expression remained distant—haunted, almost lifeless.

“Doctor…” he muttered, his voice low and strained, as if the word carried more weight than it should. “A little Hase like you should leave. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me. Men like me only have one ending. The kind reserved for mobsters. So go. Pretend you never saw me.”

His words hung in the frosty air, heavy with bitterness and self-loathing. Your jaw tightened, the weight of his resignation settling over you, but you weren’t one to back down.

“I will not,” you said firmly, your tone unwavering as you met his distant stare. “I am a doctor, and you are not a dead man yet. So I’ll ask you again—do you know where you’re bleeding from?”

Something shifted in his expression. His eyes widened just slightly, caught off guard by your defiance. A bitter smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, fleeting but noticeable a glam of life in his eyes.

“Stubborn little Hase, aren’t you?” he murmured, the faintest trace of amusement cutting through his somber tone before his features darkened again. “Fine. Lower left side. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You nodded briskly, already moving to assess the wound. His words lingered, though, like a shadow curling in the corners of your mind. Whatever weight he carried, it was more than just physical—burdens you couldn’t begin to imagine.

Carefully, you lifted his shirt, exposing the bullet wound oozing dark, viscous blood. Without hesitation, you reached for the tools you’d gathered: a pair of tweezers, a needle, thread, and a bottle of alcohol. The chaos surrounding you melted into insignificance as you focused, your hands steady despite the urgency clawing at your nerves.

“Okay, hold still—”

“König,” he interrupted, his voice low and gravelly as he offered his name. His icy blue eyes never left yours, watching you intently, as if assessing whether you were friend or foe.

“Okay, Hold still, König” you instructed, reaching into your bag for your tools.

He grunted, his lips quivering faintly. “I’ve been still this entire time.”

Suppressing a smile, you worked quickly, sterilizing your tweezers and cleaning the area around the wound. “This might sting,” you warned.

He didn’t flinch, his jaw tight as you began extracting the bullet. His muscles tensed under your touch, and a low groan escaped his throat, but he didn’t move an inch. His control was unnervingly precise, a testament to the kind of man he was.

You gripped the tweezers and leaned in, the edges of your vision narrowing as your focus honed in on the task. With painstaking care, you maneuvered the tweezers to locate the bullet. König’s muscles tensed under your touch, his jaw clenching, but he stayed perfectly still, his control unnervingly precise.

As the metal object came into view, lodged deep within the torn flesh, you adjusted your grip and pulled. Blood welled around the wound, and König let out a low, guttural groan, though his body didn’t move an inch.

“It’s almost out,” you murmured, more for your own reassurance than his. With one final tug, the bullet slipped free, clinking faintly as you dropped it onto the snowy ground beside you.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Glancing up, you saw König watching you, his expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps relief, perhaps trust.

“Now the hard part’s done,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. You grabbed the needle and thread, preparing to stitch the wound. “Just a little more, and you’ll be good as new. Well, almost.”

König let out a dry chuckle, though it sounded more like a sigh. “Good as new, Hase? I think that ship sailed long ago.”

“I don’t,” you replied, a gentle but firm conviction in your tone. “I believe you’d be lovely company to have around.”

Your words caught him off guard, and his lips quirked into a faint, almost disbelieving smile. He let out a low chuckle, this one lighter, more genuine than before. You couldn’t help but smile back, though your focus quickly returned to the task at hand.

With careful precision, you finished stitching the wound, your hands steady as you tied off the last thread. Grabbing a clean cloth, you cleaned the area around the stitches and reached for the bandages.

As you wrapped them around his waist, your fingers brushed against his skin, warm and solid beneath your touch. Despite the lack of defined abs, his build was undeniably strong, and you couldn’t help the slight blush that crept up your cheeks.

König noticed immediately. His icy blue eyes studied you with quiet curiosity before he asked, his tone calm but with a hint of amusement, “Are you okay, Hase? Your face is red.”

Your head shot up, and you stammered, “I’m okay! I’m fine!” You quickly glanced away, fumbling for an excuse. “It’s just… the cold, that’s all.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if he didn’t entirely believe you, but he didn’t press the matter.

“We should call an ambulance,” you said, reaching for your phone. “You need proper medical care—”

Before you could dial, König’s hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing your wrist. His grip was steady, his calloused palm warm against your skin.

“No, Hase,” he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of urgency. His icy blue eyes bore into yours, more serious than before. “But… Can I call someone? Just for a moment. With your phone.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the intensity in his gaze left no room for argument. Slowly, you nodded, handing him your phone.

As he dialed, you shifted awkwardly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You tried not to listen, but his deep voice made it impossible to tune out. After a few rings, a man’s voice answered, sharp and suspicious.

“Hello? Who is this?”

König exhaled through his nose, the faintest edge of irritation in his voice as he responded, “ Horangi. It’s König.”

A brief pause followed, the silence thick with tension. Then Horangi’s voice returned, his tone a mix of disbelief and reprimand. “König, what the hell happened?”

“I got shot,” König admitted, his voice lower now, almost begrudging.

“You what? Damn it, König. Where are you?”

“I’ll send my location,” König muttered, groaning lightly as if he were already bracing for the lecture he knew was coming. He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before returning his attention to the call.

“Can you pick me up?”

Horangi sighed audibly on the other end, muttering something under his breath in Korean before replying, “Fine. But you owe me for this. Stay where you are. I will be there in a few minutes.”

König ended the call and handed your phone back to you. “Thank you, Hase,” he said quietly, his tone softer now.

You studied him for a moment, unsure what to say. He seemed more tired than before, the weight of whatever world he lived in pressing heavily on his broad shoulders.

“You have a friend coming?” you asked gently, trying to gauge his condition.

He gave a small nod. “Yes. He’ll be here soon.”

Silence stretched between you, broken only by the faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional gust of wind that rustled through the alley. Your eyes lingered on König, studying his face—the sharp edges softened by exhaustion, the weight of something unspoken behind his icy blue gaze. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life he led, what kind of dangers waited for him beyond the walls of this quiet alley.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and gravelly, pulling your attention back to him. “It’s cold. You should go home, Hase.”

You straightened slightly, meeting his tired gaze with quiet determination. “No. I need to make sure you get picked up safely.”

A deep, amused chuckle rumbled in his chest, surprising you. It wasn’t bitter like before, but rich, almost warm. “You’re protecting me. That’s ironic,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you puffed them in mock frustration, gently swatting his uninjured arm. “It’s my job,” you retorted, voice firm despite the blush creeping up your neck. “Would you do the same if you were in my shoes?”

König’s smirk lingered, but his expression softened as his gaze rested on you. For a moment, he didn’t reply, his icy blue eyes searching yours, as though your question had struck deeper than you’d meant it to. Slowly, his hand lifted, calloused fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

The gesture left you momentarily breathless, and silence stretched between you once more, heavy but not uncomfortable. You both sat there, the world around you fading into the background, neither of you daring to break the quiet.

Then, suddenly, the sharp screech of car tires shattered the stillness, yanking you back to reality.

Before you could react, König’s instincts took over. His arms shot out, pulling you close against his chest in a swift, protective motion. His body tensed, shielding you from whatever unknown danger might be approaching.

“Stay down,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding.

The tension broke only when a familiar figure emerged from the shadows. Horangi appeared, sprinting toward you both with a practiced urgency, his sharp eyes narrowing as they darted between you and König.

Without missing a beat, Horangi waved over two more figures trailing close behind him. They moved with the same calculated precision, their presence commanding despite the chaos lingering in the air. One was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a sharp jawline and dark eyes—Oni, you guessed from the way he carried himself with silent authority. The other, slightly shorter but no less imposing, had a cocky smirk that seemed permanently etched on his face—Hutch.

“You’re reckless, König,” Horangi muttered, crouching beside him while sparing you a brief glance. “Is this what you call lying low, boss?” His voice carried an edge of exasperation, though there was an unmistakable undercurrent of concern.

König didn’t answer immediately. He shifted slightly, loosening his protective hold on you but not letting you go entirely, as though reluctant to leave you vulnerable. “I didn’t plan for this,” König grumbled, his voice gruff but steady.

Oni stepped forward, his piercing gaze briefly flicking over König’s wound before settling on you. His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t speak, his silence unnerving yet oddly respectful. Hutch, on the other hand, let out a low whistle, his eyes darting between you and König with an amused grin.

“Well, well,” Hutch drawled, his tone teasing. “Didn’t know you had a personal medic, König. Gotta say, she’s a bit of an upgrade from the usual lot we deal with.”

Your cheeks flushed at the comment, but König shot him a warning look that shut him up immediately.

“Enough,” Horangi snapped, his tone sharp as he straightened. “Let’s get him out of here before we draw more attention.”

After Hutch and Oni helped König into the car, he leaned back against the seat, exhaustion pulling at his features. You stood by the door, briefing Horangi on König’s condition—quickly summarizing the severity of the wound, the care you’d provided, and his current state. Your voice was steady, your professionalism cutting through the tension like a beacon of calm.

What you didn’t notice, however, was König watching you intently through the tinted window. His icy blue eyes had softened, their usual sharpness dulled by something almost foreign: quiet admiration. He listened to the cadence of your voice, his gaze lingering on your focused expression. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself a moment of calm. There was something about the way you carried yourself—gentle but unwavering—that disarmed him more thoroughly than any weapon ever had.

As you finished and dismissed yourself, König’s eyes followed you. The faint breeze caught your white lab coat as you walked briskly toward your clinic, the fabric fluttering like wings in the wind. The image was seared into his mind, reforging the thought he’d had before—kleiner weißer Hase.

When you disappeared into the crowd, König’s lips twitched into a rare, almost wistful smile. For a moment, his icy exterior melted, replaced by something warmer, something yearning. A quiet vow slipped past his lips, too low for anyone to catch but himself.

“The hunt is on, Hase.”

Oni and Hutch exchanged a glance from the front seat, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and silent amusement. Horangi, leaning against the car, raised an eyebrow at König but said nothing. The three of them, seasoned in the ways of König’s unpredictability, decided it was best to leave him to his thoughts—for now.

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part 2

kleiner weißer Hase: litte white bunny

Hase: bunny

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serialkilluh1996 · 3 days ago

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𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒™

König x Female-reader with glasses; sfw, fluff

Inspo from @amaranthinespirit (link contains NSFW towards the end)

König loves having a girlfriend with glasses. It was like a little bonus in the package of dating you. And there were so many things he loved about it.

The way the light would bounce off of them, subtly blinding him any time you'd try to talk in the sunlight. He'd just grab your chin and turn your face at an angle, in which you'd giggle at what you thought was a romantic gesture. He was just trying to avoid being blinded.

He cant deny he loved the way they'd slide down your nose any time you argued because of how fast you were talking and how you'd shove them back up with your index finger before continuing to nag and fuss at the poor man, who could only stare in guilty silence the whole time.

He doesn't argue with his girl. You tell him to shut the fuck up, and he does.

But that doesn't mean he won't get his lick back. Like the times you'd be eating dinner together, and he'd see your glasses sliding, so he just...takes them off. Holding them by the lenses. You know, like a fucking psychopath, leaving his big fingerprints in your field of view. Or other times when he felt more...childish, hiding your glasses in his pocket and helping you look for them hours at a time.

"You're such a clumsy girl, liebling. How can you lose your eyes?" He teases as he slides them carefully back to where he stole them from. "Oh! I guess you passed them die first time." He giggles, taking in your disheveled and frustrated state. All in shambles from stressing over the missing frames. "You're a bitch, König." You scold him, taking your glasses back.

But one of his favorite ways to tease you was getting extremely close, either trapping you in the corner of the couch or pinning you to the mattress, breathing like heavy heaving mutt, his breath fogging up the frames in an instant. "You're fucking creepy, you know that?" "....awwww, what'd I do this time?" He leans in closer, pressing his mouth against yours, spreading to get every crevice of your pretty lips against his own.

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akingdomscrypt · 3 days ago

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Make a Mercy Out of Me

Part Five

Pairing : König x male reader (slow burn)

Word Count : ~6.75k

Summary : time to put those skills of yours to the test

Warnings : none? don't think. Maybe a slight dissociative state briefly. Very brief.

A/n : working on a few other chapters for this series at the moment too, dk when those will be posted tho. Also didn't know what to title this ch, so that'll probably change.

---"a test: p1"---

Without that looming feeling of betrayal lingering at the forefront of your mind, your thoughts have been a lot more clear lately. You're able to return to your normal self; to analyze your situation and puzzle out the best way to handle it.

This wasn't any average operation, not often did they send soldiers like you so far from the Nest. Perhaps this meant your past transgressions had finally been forgiven; that they no longer held them over your head, suffocating you with the palms of guilt clamped tightly over your mouth.

And with that fog finally lifted, you began to plot.

A switch seemed to have flipped in the other soldiers ever since you had chosen to come back to them, instead of choosing the obvious way out and abandoning them back at that train wreck of an operation.

You were still under intense supervision, always a shadow hovering over your shoulder, and you were only granted access to a few areas of the compound, but it was better. It showed some level of trust, or maybe not trust, but a common ground laid between you and the other five.

A mutual understanding of, though no one was overjoyed by it, this was the only viable option.

You'd been allowed a shower, even, now dressed in an everyday, military-esque outfit. Sure, it was.. a little big on you, but they hadn't had your size, and it was nothing a belt fastened snug around your waist couldn't fix. Though it was certainly nothing like what you used to wear; somewhere in your mind, a feeling of.. longing.. for your old home festers.

Comforted only by the idea that you would someday make it back there. Alive.

Your injuries had been healing well, too. No longer limping so much when you walk; gaining a bit more mobility in your shoulder. Your bandages were cleaned and inspected everyday—courtesy of König. And, all around, you were treated fairly well.

None of them had even hinted at torture, especially none of the kind you had been trained to endure, though you were certain it was likely to have been a topic at some point. As you were pretty sure people who took prisoners didn't also let them wander around their base.

You had never seen any of the captured prey leave in the same state they had come; not that any of that was your concern. You were just a soldier, a pawn, and that part of the operation wasn't any of your business.

It wasn't only König who was in charge of your person, though the man was your main babysitter, sometimes it was one of the other three. But that only really happened when the big man himself had other duties to attend to.

The only one who never watched over you was the captain, their leader. You hardly even saw the man walking around, and you assumed the guy was likely just busy taking care of bigger shit than you.

It wasn't easy to gain the- well, perhaps not friendship, but you were on better terms with the rest of the team.

What was easy happened to be picking up on each of their mannerisms and speech patterns, figuring out who favored who the most, and becoming that person around them. For example, the way you acted with Soap was different to how you behaved around Gaz, and so on.

König was more difficult, or rather, König saw more of you—the real you—than of what was probably in your best interest. You weren't sure what it was, but there was something that made it more.. difficult to put on that one-man show for him.

While the giant fit in with the team, there was a little something there, between them. You'd say a rift, but that was too strong. They watched over him the same way they looked over each other, but there was still something there. You were probably right to assume König was a recent member, while the others had most likely known each other for several years longer.

That curious little part of you, that often is what had gotten you in trouble so much in your younger years, rose its head at the string left dangling in front of you once more. You wanted needed to understand what made up each member of the team, who they were, what made them tick. Weaknesses and strengths, the do's and don'ts.

That was the assignment.

But when it came to König? There was something more. An itch you couldn't quite scratch, something constantly nagging at the back of your skull. Urging you to dig deeper, to take a better look. To find out everything.

The big and small. The information you needed to gather for Viktória, yes, but more. The little things they didn't need to know. The ones you could hoard and keep all to yourself. Could wrap up in a neat little box with a bow, then put that box in a safe that only you held the key to.

You just needed to come up with a way to pick the meat off his skeleton and suck the marrow from his bones without having the favor of his own claws and teeth turned on you.

“You are much more.. pleasant, when you are quiet.” König voices from where he sits on the bench beside you, the sound pulling you from your own, far more peaceful, thoughts.

You snap your head up to face him, but the man doesn't even glance up from where he's sharpening one of his blades. This one a more ornate piece, marginally different from any you've seen him holster on his person. You doubt the pretty little thing even needs to be sharpened, likely never even used; you file that curiosity away for a later date.

You had been staring up at the sky, admiring the cloudless sky, a soft, muted blue, almost grey, stretching for as far as the eye could see—which meant a lot, coming from you. It has been a while since you have last been able to simply sit and enjoy the comforts of the natural world- all abruptly ripped away by the giant, irritating babysitter to your right.

Your eyes narrow, staring at him a few prolonged seconds later before giving an annoyed huff and returning to the sky above. Winter was settling in now, the trees barren, the earth below dry and cracked. All other vegetation was gradually becoming yellow-toned and dormant as the days passed.

You were not planning on indulging in.. whatever the man was trying to goad you into, but you just couldn't seem to keep your mouth shut around him. Unable to help yourself as you grumble a low, “there is nothing to talk about.”

“That so?” König must've finally looked away from his knife, and you can almost feel that familiar, intense gaze burning into the side of your masked face. “You barely scraped past death twice recently, one would think you had much more to say.”

“Just.. lucky, I suppose.” You grit out, one word in particular leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as it was dragged past your teeth. Surely there was nothing lucky about having one's hands bathed in the blood of a dear friend. Frowning, you look back at König once more, “thought you didn't want me to talk?”

“Is just strange, is all,” the man shrugs, “you were in the blast zone of not one, but two bombs, and survived.”

You scoff, “where are you going with this, König?”

“Only curious.” He assures. “Once is a little weird, but passable. But twice..? It just makes a man wonder. Not to mention the instances of before we found you..”

The only reason you were allowed outside happened to be thanks to the man seated next to you, it is for that reason alone you don't rip his throat out for disrupting this scarce opportunity of peace—or at least your fucked up definition of it.

“If you have something to say. Say it.”

What was with all this lead up? Couldn't he just spit it out already? This was getting boring. Fast.

“Don't waste our time with this whole,” you wave your hand at him vaguely. “‘Say everything but what you mean’ thing you are doing.”

The others must have decided that you could not possibly escape with the big guy saddled up beside you—even though, up until now, he had not been paying an ounce of attention to you. You, too, had few doubts that König could easily wrangle you.. considering the events leading up to now.

Not that you planned on leaving anyway, not when you had only recently regained your purpose.

“Why you?”

That causes your thoughts to come to an abrupt halt, opening and closing your mouth a few times, brows furrowing as you ask a suspicious, “sorry?”

“Why you?” König wonders aloud once more, as if saying it twice is going to magically make it make more sense. He must notice your confusion, because he grunts and expands on the inquiry.

“We thought we were tracking a new entity when the first trail we caught of you went cold, but then we noticed a pattern.” He says. “Every single hit they made, both fatal and not, was in a city or country you had previously been in.”

You frown, favoring to keep your mouth shut this time around and listen.

“Then we noticed something far more intriguing. Slowly but surely, with every hit they made,” Keeping the knife in hand, König holds up both forefingers. Slowly bringing them together as he spoke. “They got closer and closer to where you had last left a body.”

Finally, his fingertips touch, and the man looks down at you. “Until the most recent hit, which was right beneath you. Truth be told, our original goal wasn't to get you, we had not even been tracking you at that point. That was until we got tipped off that you may be there, and with the bombings lining up so perfectly, it was worth a shot.”

He puts his hands down, resuming his previous position. Looking at you, those intense, oh-so-curious blues once again aimed and focused on you. Something in your body twinges, but it's not injury related, so you opt to ignore it.

“So all of you are under the assumption that I am somehow involved?”

König appears to think on it for a moment before deciding on his reply. “Well.. yes and no.”

“At first we had the idea that maybe you and them were working together, maybe they were a sort of “clean up” crew. Someone to provide distraction while you slipped through our fingers. But after this more recent attack.. with how close it had been to you, we are now leaning more into the idea that you are the.. target.”

“The target?” It makes sense, when you think about it. When it had happened, you had thought it had been König's team, trying to flush you out or something; which worked, but also made their job harder to a degree. Besides, aren't these ones supposed to limit civilian casualties?

“Ja, the target,” König says. “No one in their right mind would willingly put one of their own in such danger like that. The point of this hit, after looking at the finer details, was to kill you, and no one else. It does make us wonder how they knew you'd be there, at that time, in that specific spot.”

It made you curious too, and a bit confused. If someone had been after you, the others would have known. Someone would have pulled you off duty and back to the Nest, they wouldn't have left you to wander blindly, to walk into traps that they were aware of.

Though, you suppose, it did make for a great distraction while you fled the crime scene. Not that you needed the help.

Viktória had mentioned that they had intended for you to get caught, that that had been the goal of sending you there in the first place. But she had also let slip that, whatever damage you had taken, had simply been collateral, and she had also seemed surprised that you had survived.

At the time you assumed that the point was for you to die, for your thread to be severed, another loose end tidied up with a big red bow on top. But your handler had seemed so damn relieved when you answered the call, which led you to believe the bombing was not on their part.

If not your own organization pulling the strings, not König's team, then who, or what, was behind all of this?

You get cut out of your thoughts by a relatively new, but familiar, voice shouting at the top of their lungs. Or maybe that was just your enhanced hearing.

“König! König’s sidekick!” Soap calls as he makes his way over, the noise sharp enough to make you wince. The newcomer greets König with a nod and pulls your attention with a heavy, but probably not malicious, kick to your boot.

“Captain wants us to test yer skills, runt,” you glare up at him at the nickname, scowling behind your mask. There's no real heat behind it, and you didn't exactly hate it, but you felt the need to put on a show as if you did. You and Soap got along decently, despite you still, technically, being an enemy.

…and you weren't that small..

The other men around you were just unnecessarily large.

König doesn't appear surprised when you glance over at him, though that veil covering his face doesn't assist you in deciphering his feelings much. So you assume he already knew about this.

“C'mon you two, up,” König is already packing up his knife and sharpening tools, so you figure this is unavoidable. “Ghost and Gaz are already there, we're just waitin’ on you two rascals. So enough ‘a this weird bondin’ yer doin’ and lets goooo!”

With that Soap turns and is on his way, leaving König to presumably know where to go because you sure as fuck don't. There are only a few places you are allowed to go, and their version of a training sector definitely isn't one of them. Until now.

It's been a few weeks since you've last been able to freely move and keep up with your self-assigned, intensive training routine. One you usually do in the comfort of a rundown hotel room or in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the calm, steadying atmosphere of trees and soil.

Given your healing injuries and lack of recent practice, you doubt that you'll be at your top performance during.. whatever this is. The others likely don't even expect you to fare much above average, given the current state of your body, but there's still a part of you that feels the need to prove yourself.

Even if they currently had no idea what your given status was. They didn't know you as P-107, they knew you only as Mouse.

It was time they knew what they were really dealing with; all those years of training and experimentation finally out on display.

To show them what it truly means to be a Predator such as yourself.

König and you arrive shortly after Soap presumably does, the latter already chatting away with Skull Guy™ and Gaz. They all turn to you when König and you enter.

“Sergeant,” Ghost nods to König, then narrows his eyes at you, “Mouse.”

You tip your head slightly in greeting, feeling oddly exposed with them all staring at you like this.

“Stop intimidating the poor bloke and get on with it, Lt,” Soap huffs, nudging Ghost's arm with his elbow.

Ghost doesn't seem to pay Soap any mind, still locked in you with a certain look in his eyes that you could only describe as distaste, despite not knowing much about the lieutenant.

That little staring contest goes on between you two for a few prolonged moments longer before the man eventually just grunts a low, barely audible sound and moves on.

“A’right, runt,” seemed as though Soap wasn't the only one privy to calling you that. Great. “Seein’ how this has become long-term for now, we need to make sure you can keep up in the field. Now, König and Garrick said you performed decently on that last op, up until the very end, so this is just to get a feel for where you'll place on the team temporarily.”

You briefly wonder what they would do with you after this was over—if you didn't already have a plan to betray them first, at least.

“Go ahead and get warmed up. We regroup in ten.”

You may be on a bit of a time crunch, but you take your time enjoying the stretch and slight burn of your muscles after having not used them to their full capacity for what is nearing almost a month now.

As you prepare your body for whatever they are about to put you through, that familiar calm, silent headspace that always greets you in times like this, begins to settle over your mind like a blanket.

The other's, apart from Ghost himself, take the time to get their own little warm ups in, and all too soon the lieutenant is calling you back.

“First we will be testing how well you can hold your own against each of us, starting with Sergeants Garrick, MacTavish, and König, then finally myself, understood?”

You nod in place of a verbal response, feeling as though your mouth itself has been sewn shut. Another sensation that always seems to accompany this mindset, turning you more into a humanoid creature than an actual person. Something that appears and feels like a human, but acts nothing like one.

You will not disappoint Her, nor your handler, not again, not after what you did all those years ago. You have something to prove, and you will not be outmatched by a few nobodies such as themselves.

“Good. First up, Sergeant Garrick.” You had been standing a little apart from the group, and Gaz steps out from the pack with a nod to you before making his way to the large mats set out not too far from where the rest stood. “After you get through each of us, we'll move on to the agility course outside. Unless you're too tired, then we'll go ahead and move that to tomorrow.”

Your legs carry you over to join Gaz near the blue mats, Ghost's words background noise as all your focus pinpoints on the prey man before you. Gaze locked solely on him, categorizing every miniscule movement Gaz makes, analyzing his stature and running various predictions as to what moves he could possibly make.

Some part of your brain registers that Ghost is still speaking somewhere to your right, yet not a single word he says breaks through to your consciousness until that countdown, and subsequent, “Go.” rings clear. Then you're on the move.

This is the same man who had rammed the blunt end of a gun against the back of your skull; the only member of the team who had been fast enough to not only keep pace, but he was quick enough to get an advantage over you. You, a man who has been trained to deal with matters far worse than this your entire life.

Gaz had caught you in a bad state back then; delirious from blood loss and exhaustion, and even then you had almost escaped. You were better than that, stronger than they all thought you were.

You act first and hit hard. Past experience has taught you how quick your opponent is on his feet, and you will not be beat again.

It's over faster than it started; meeting in the middle, followed by seamlessly ducking under Gaz's arms when he reaches for you. A quick pivot of your right foot and an attack from the back.

Using your weight and the momentum carrying your body, it's easy to bring him down. Barreling into him from behind and latching on—hands on his shoulders and heels digging into his hips—, but jumping off right before the other lands.

A small huff of air is all the noise Gaz makes as he comes face first with the foam mat below, just barely getting his hands in front of himself before his face can make contact with the floor.

But it's not over. Your prey opponent isn't immobilized yet. He's still an active threat.

You don't give him a chance to recover; don't risk the possibility of him getting back up and giving you any trouble. In a split second you're on his back again, trapping his forearms together in both hands—curse these men for being buff as fuck—and pressing them uncomfortablly high to his upper back. Just shy of dislocating both shoulders if Gaz struggles too hard, and the man beneath you seems to know this. Relenting into a defeated limp with a slow exhale.

You're used to your prey giving you more of a fight, familiar with the grapple for control and venomous spats that comes with a situation like this, but that doesn't come. And the man beneath you isn't prey like all the others had been. Yet.

That realization shocks your system and with a sharp inhale you release your grip, rolling off Gaz and standing upright in one smooth motion. You don't look down at the other as you reach out a hand, offering to help him up, surprised when he takes it.

“Seems I underestimated you, eh?” Gaz’s voice breaks through your thoughts, the tone reads as friendly, if a little out of breath. And with the help of your hand, he's standing up straight beside you. “You were pretty out of it back then, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised.”

With a friendly pat on the shoulder from a heavy hand, the man takes his leave to stand by the others. Soap is up next.

Gaz had broken you out of that mindset briefly, but now that the stakes were up once more, it quickly flooded back in. Jaw set, eyes locked on your new opponent.

He's just barely shorter than Gaz, and definitely the most visually muscled out of the group in comparison to his size.

You go through the motions again, take stock of how Soap holds himself—right foot slightly out further than the other, posture held firm but fluid enough to absorb any impact that may happen head on—, the little tells you can pick out here and there.

Now that Soap has seen you against Gaz, they all have, you can't use the same strategy on him. You have to recoup and adapt, take him by surprise.

Your strategy with Gaz had been shock and speed, with this one you just want to avoid being caught. Once trapped in that cage of muscle there would be no other out beside lowly moves that, likely, wouldn't pass in front of this team.

As you assume they held some sort of defensive attitude towards their lower halves, not much of a concern for you. You could handle pain, have had much worse, and were fully sterilized. So that wasn't a problem either.

By the time Ghost once again commands you to begin, you easily hop into defense.

You two circle each other, neither taking the first strike but wound tight and ready to spring into action at the first hint of movement.

Soap makes the first move, lashing out with a fist coming up on your left. A hit you just barely doge at the last moment with a quick hop away.

Then it's circling again, a length of time that goes on far too long for the impatient man in front of you. Always so eager to jump in head first, you've noticed.

You have the upper hand for the most part, dodging and weaving whenever Soap strikes, trying to wear him down. Looking for a weak point. But by now you both are beginning to grow impatient, all of your muscles tensed and coiled to attack.

Slowly but surely, you begin to rush, circling tighter and tighter, gradually closing in on your opponent.

But you should know better than anyone else; nothing else is more unpredictable than a cornered animal.

Which is why the sudden launch your way, thick arms wound tight around your torso, locking in your own arms, restricting you, shouldn't have been a surprise.

Given the shocked yelp you let out, it definitely was.

The tackle sends you both rolling into the group, Soap's arms stiff and an unbreakable force securing you in place.

And that is when the panic sets in. That's when you give fully into nothing but the pure instinct that had been drilled into you. Wiggling and struggling against him, making it as difficult as possible for your enemy to keep a sturdy hold on you.

Grappling and heavy breathing as you two roll around on the floor, neither holding the upper hand until you manage to knock an elbow into the side of his head. His hold slackens just the slightest, but it's enough for you to break free and squirm away.

Only to quickly return.

Springing into his back before he has the opportunity to roll over, but even with both hands, you know you wouldn't be able to hold his arms securely. Unable to hold him down the same way you had with Gaz, you come up with the next best option.

Strangulation.

Or, not really. If this was a proper fight, you'd have cut off his air and snapped his neck. But that's not what this is and you have to settle for squishing his head in one of your arms while the other hand steadies yourself on the mat below. His arms trapped beneath your knees.

You hold him there for a good few seconds, tightening your arm whenever he tries to move.

3..

4..

5..

And that's time. One call from Ghost and you release the sergeant. Rolling off him similarly to how you had after your fight with Gaz, albeit a little slower than last time. And very pointedly ignoring the dull ache in your mostly healed wounds.

Panting softly beneath your mask, you do the same as you had done to Gaz, holding your hand out to help the other man up. That hazy mindset takes a moment longer to dissipate this time.

Soap takes your hand and pulls himself up with a grunt, releasing your hand with an energized, “Woo! Looks like you've got some fight in ya after all, runt!”

You shake your head at his playful demeanor, but only you know about the secret smile beneath the cloth.

Still primed for your next fight, you stand there, waiting, as Soap takes his own leave back to stand between Ghost and Gaz.

“O’right.” Ghost calls, nodding in your direction. “Let's take a quick five, then it's back to the mats, yeah?”

Giving your own signal of acknowledgment, the tension in your shoulders lessens slightly, that background irritation of your injuries returning with a vengeance.

You stretched your arms high above your head, releasing with a heavy sigh before walking over to where the others are.

Two down, two more to go. But, for now, a break. Some time to prepare yourself before facing off with the next two.

Soap had been a struggle, the only reason you got away with Gaz was by surprise, how would you fare against the other, much bigger, members of the team?

Fuckfuckfuck.

König hadn't cared for the thought much yesterday, when Ghost had brought the topic up with him. Had asked if he thought you were ready for something this intense. And given how you had gone into the field with them not too long ago, König has assumed it would be fine.

And it was.

You didn't seem to have much of a struggle, at all, really. So why the hell was König's mind having- having not so.. great thoughts.

Thoughts that centered around you specifically. And how you looked when sparring against his teammates. Of course.

You were still his enemy, technically; simply one that shared a mutual goal with them at the moment. And when the time came, they would cut their losses.

This was supposed to be professional. Just you and his team, one ending in mind. A plan set in stone.

The feeling König got when he let the idea of you squirming beneath him fester was, decidedly, not of the professional variety.

Your speed with Gaz had been impressive, and König had tried to focus on that. On logic and fact, that your skills were on par with the team. That you were a valuable tool to be used.

How you acted with Soaps was even better—that glazed over, near feral look in your eyes..—, then it was over, and with it came the realization that he was up next.

It wasn't that König didn't think he could take you on.. because of course he could! You may be fast, but he was much bigger, and definitely stronger. Had proved as much when he had lifted you up by only the arm without any struggle all those weeks ago.

So it was definitely not about physical capabilities. No.

It was the places his mind drifted to when concerning you; when wondering just how much of him you could take—andtakeandtakeandtake—before you broke. Before you shattered beneath him—and let König put you back together again.

He wasn't sure he was thinking about sparring anymore.

A five minute break, five minutes to get his ducks straight and in order. To remind himself just what this was; a test, and you were simply a means to an end.

König's ducks were so, so far out of line, and now his five minutes are up. And now you're by the mat. And now he is too. And now Ghost is giving him a weird fucking look. Verdammt!

You don't look any more phased than you had when up against Gaz or Soap; so to say, you didn't look like you gave a single fuck. As if all of this was no problem at all for you.

You were just staring at him. From past experience, that was already enough in itself to unwound König in record speed.

König isn't thinking when Ghost calls out the command to begin once again, all of his attention focused in solely on you, and only you.

He saw you narrowly escape that man from back in that little town, was there when you somehow managed to hear a damn ticking time bomb that König himself couldn't hear even when standing right next to it, and now he had seen you defeat not one, but two of his teammates—which.. should probably- definitely concern them all just a bit. So, surely, he should have some sort of advantage here.

König has seen you in action, but you have yet to witness him. He wasn't going to let those intruding thoughts from before get to him; he was going to do his damn job and be done with it.

He just had to touch you first.

But, see, that was another problem, he didn't want to. Which was odd, considering just how much he's been touching you since you two met.

This was.. different, and König chooses to willfully ignore the teasing his team has put him through as an explanation for his odd behavior. As he could say, with definite, absolute certainty, that their suggestions—stupid ideas, inklings of something deeper than what should exist between reluctant allies—were completely and utterly false. It was just jokes, just friendly banter amongst teammates.

There was not an ounce of truth to it.

A sudden burst of pain on his left flank shocks König out of his thoughts and he hops back at the same time that you return to circle him once more. It wasn't a complex move, and had been a hit he could have easily dodged if he hadn't been distracted. You had only caught him off guard because he was stuck in his thoughts-

Ah. The team was going to give him hell for this later.

The next hit you swing his way König seamlessly avoids with a smooth step to the side, returning with a jab of his own. Aiming straight for a heavy strike to the abdomen. Not too hard, he's not really trying to hurt you, but he also wants to get this over as quickly as he can. The longer he's in this mock arena with you, the more time he spends so close to you, the greater the opportunity his mind has to spiral.

The hit lands and you stumble, the breath forced out of your lungs, and now is the perfect time to tackle you and end this right here and now- but you don't react as you should.

You recover quickly, getting back into position, gaze still locked in him.

What.

That's not how the human body works, König would know. He's done this hundreds of times before; the body has dozens of weak points that are easy to exploit. A mean punch to one of those areas should've been a quick take down for someone of your stature, one that left you gasping for air; leaving just enough time for König to restrain you.

While König is busy trying to figure out the logistics of whatever the fuck that was, his feet moving on their own, you're going in for another hit, but this time he catches on. At the last moment he steps aside, not giving you the opportunity to back out, flipping around and slinging an arm around your waist.

König wastes no time, throwing you to the ground, with probably more force than necessary, and jumping on you. He can't let you get up, can't let you recover again. No. He has to end this.

Of course, you don't make that easy for him, squirming and flailing beneath him whilst he struggles to get all of your limbs under control. Grunting now and again with every thud of your fist and kick of your boot.

And König swears on his own sanity, that you fucking growl at him, and in the moment his mind produces a picture of a tiny snarl on that face of yours. A small huff of laughter escapes him at the idea, a traitorous part of him finding the image cute.

It would be so much easier if you would just stop moving. You don't grant him that generosity.

It's becoming quite the.. problem. To focus on anything but your body beneath his, almost entirely forgetting that you two are supposed to be sparring at the moment. And that you aren't alone right now.

God help him, König hopes they don't read too much into this interaction as well.

He doesn't have to see it from an outsider's point of view to know this doesn't look entirely.. professional right about now. His larger body positioned above yours, your legs locked around his waist, the heels of your boots digging into his back- trying to flip him, König knows. Hands scrabbling at his chest, the way you're squirming and bucking beneath him like a feral bull.. it all would read very alternatively in an entirely different situation.

Fuck him—or you, he isn't picky—, König's breathing is growing a bit heavier as time wears on, his body a little warmer. Both could be written off as exertion from the struggle, but König knows damn well they aren't.

“Stop fucking moving,” he grunts, low enough for only you too hear. The last thing he needs is for the rest of his team to catch into what's going on—if they haven't already. “You've lost, it's over. Just accept it already.”

“Over my dead fucking body,” you snarl right back, wiggling one of the arms he'd finally caught out of his hold once more.

Everyone is smaller than him, it's nothing new- so why does it feel so much different with you?

You're his enemy, König should be having entirely contrasting feelings on this situation. He shouldn't be.. shouldn't be enjoying how much smaller than him you are, how perfectly you fit underneath his hulking form.

All the people König has ever met have been small compared to him, but none of them have made him want- want. That's it. Yearning. Wanting. For things he refuses to name even to himself, in the safety of his own mind.

Admitting it would mean defeat, in a whole different context. And König isn't ready for that just yet. Ever.

He needs an out, and König gives it no thought before simply releasing his firm holding and dropping down onto you like a dozen sacks of potatoes. Or maybe more, it's not like he'd know his own body weight in potatoes.

“Mmph-!” Crushing you beneath him, there's no way you could escape that. Why hadn't König thought of it before? Could've saved himself so, so much turmoil.

“Time.” Ghost says, and König could've sworn he detected a hint of amusement in that gruff tone. He's never going to live this down..

He pulls himself off of you, shaking himself out before simply reaching down and grabbing you by the arm. Yanking you up and placing you on your feet, only letting go once he's sure you're steady.

You don't say anything, merely glaring at him, but König ignores it. Stomping away back to his place beside Ghost.

“Distracted, König?” The Brit says as soon as he's close enough. And, yep, that's definitely humor in his lieutenant's voice. Damn him.

“Shut up.” He scoffs, sending daggers Ghost's way with mental power alone.

“Wasn't sure if I could call time or give you two some privacy.” König was going to end him. Dishonorable discharge and such be damned, he was going to murder his lieutenant.

“Shut it.” He continues on his way, choosing to stand beside his fellow sargeants instead. Which he should've known would, also, be a bad idea.

Today was definitely not König's day.

“So,” Soap hums, his time casual but König can see that damned spark of impish glee in his eyes. “That how you treat all your “subjects of interest” or just him?”

Gaz doesn't add on, but König can tell he's enjoying this almost as much as Soap is.

“Shut it, Soap.”

“Think I ‘eard ya whisper somethin’ to him too, mind fillin’ us in?” Who is he kidding, Soap has never heeded his warnings. “Or is it just the runt yer keen on filling?”

König groans, Gaz trying his best to stifle his laugh.

“I don't know what you think you saw-”

“Oh, König, pal, we don't think we saw something. It was clear as day. Too bad Ghost called it, I wanted t’see how it all played out!”

“C'mon, Soap, you must be outta your mind,” Gaz cuts in, and for a moment he thinks the man will get Soap to drop the subject. “With that size difference? Don't think the poor little guy would make it out alive.”

König mentally jots down both of their names on the list he just made up after Ghost's first quip.

“Ha!” Soap laughs, nudging his partner in crime. “Good one, Gaz. But I rest my case, who said the runt would be on the bottom anyhow?”

König is out into a shocked silence, staring at the Scot wide-eyed, the tension only broken by Gaz’s bubbling laugh.

Letting out a deep breath, König grumbles, “I harbor a deep dislike for the both of you.” and is endlessly thankful he had decided to keep his hood on. It did well to hide the furious blush warming his face at the moment.

Drawing his attention away from the two idiots beside him, his gaze falls on you. Ghost is speaking, and despite knowing he won't be able to make anything out, König strains his ears to try and listen in.

It yields nothing, of course, but worth the try anyway. Ignoring whatever weirdness that hard sparked between the both of you during your fight, König was eager to see how this next one would play out.

Now it's time they put you up against The Ghost.

@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog @gloma08 @mikahrh @in-down @hauntedapplefarm @mello-life69 @unkn0wnd3ad @tayaisback @starre-eyes @gabbvr-dog @suhmie @lazyrel @spiritzofthedead @yeonpm @its-ares @k1ssesofdeath @ravagerdogz @embry-garrick-ravengard @the-spartan-himself @justacreamcheesesandwich @dilf-lvvr @tukus13 @literallyrousseau @olibird

#call of duty #male reader #cod x male reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #reader insert #gay #<3 #könig call of duty #konig cod #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig x male reader

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fishsinsareacknowledged · 2 days ago

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Stuck between two large men. One an enemy and the other an ally but in the dark you can't tell who's who unless you reach up to feel a ghost or t shirt mask.

The mission was going as well as it could've, neither teams had gotten to take a shot nor injure another. Then a fucking nuke ran out or some shit because next you know it you're getting shoved in a utility closet with your lieutenant. You two weren't alone.

Guns were drawn faster and put down at the same speed. An unspoken truce as ghost stuffed you into the closet, pressed up against König as Ghost forced himself in. The door shut only after your lieutenant pushed behind on you. His back to you as a pair of large warm hands pulled you further into the small space.

"Do not scream soldat, but you are bleeding", a familiar voice calls out behind you. The voice of nightmares turned calm was almost pleasant to your ears, quiet unlike his usual loud and boisterous attitude.

He was right though, you could feel blood pour down your face, hissing in pain when König's hand reaches up to inspect the wound in the dark. You didn't even notice when he discarded his gloves.

"Ghost, your Sargeant is bleeding-"

"Bloody hell, I know."

"Do you have supplies."

"..."

"You owe me one."

There's a click of a hatch and quiet shuffling as both of you wait in bathed breath. A hand pulls you by your head against König's chest, some cotton to your wound that both hurts and heals. When you wake up again, you're back at base, a nurse calling Ghost to the room.

They're just glad you made it out alive.

#cod #call of duty #hcs #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig #könig mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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laduenadelswing · 2 days ago

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I was wandering what would happen if 141 and KORTAC actually needed to work together and the reader gets caught in the crossfire

Chapter 1

The grimy, war-torn streets of an unnamed city were a stark contrast to the pristine training grounds the operators were used to. The 141 unit, a force renowned for their lethal efficiency, found themselves in an uneasy alliance with the Kortac unit, a military force known for their brutal tactics and unwavering loyalty.

Price, the grizzled veteran, eyed König, the stoic Austrian - German leader, with a mix of respect and caution. "We'll work together, but on our terms," Price stated in a tone which was so polite, it could kill people.

König, unfazed, responded, "We share a common goal. Eliminate the threat." His tone was cold, his eyes piercing, the accent dripping.

The two leaders, despite their differences, knew they had no choice but to cooperate. The enemy was a formidable foe, a shadowy organization with global reach and deadly intent.

Meanwhile, Soap and Ghost were paired with Roze and Horangi, a formidable duo in their own right. "Let's hope this goes smoothly," Soap muttered, his Scottish brogue thick. Roze, ever the enigma, simply nodded.

Horangi, a master of stealth, moved silently through the city's labyrinthine streets, his senses heightened. He didn’t care about the obvious tension between the unity’s as long as he got paid. "We must be cautious," he warned. "The enemy is everywhere."

In another part of the city, Roach, Hutch, and Fender were working with Calisto and Oni. "Let's get this over with," Roach grumbled, eager to get into the fight. Calisto, a skilled brawler, grinned. "I'm ready."

As the sun began to set, the 141 and Kortac units prepared for their assault. The city was about to become a battlefield, and the fate of the world hung in the balance.

The tension in the air was palpable as the 141 and Kortac units returned to their base. The initial victory had been hard-fought, but the enemy was far from defeated. The aftermath of the battle, however, was marked by an unexpected confrontation. As soon as they returned to the base Ghost and König almost started a fistfight.

Now, the simmering tension boiled over.

"Your reckless disregard for strategy almost cost us the mission!" König accused, his voice sharp.

Ghost, his eyes narrowed, retorted, "Your rigid adherence to the plan nearly got us killed, mate !"

The two men squared off, their fists clenched. Soap, ever the peacemaker, stepped between them. "Ghost, you wouldn't hit a Colonel, would you?" he pleaded.

Ghost paused, taken aback. "He's a bloody Colonel?" Ghost asked, his surprise evident. Even the skull mask couldn’t hide his disbelief.

The tension between Ghost and König hung heavy in the air, a silent threat of further conflict. Just as the two were about to exchange another heated word, a new voice cut through the tension.

A young, energetic figure stepped into the room. It was you, the Codename was Ace.

Ace was the newest member of the unit, exuded a confidence that belied their youth. You didn’t match the vibe of neither 141 nor KORTAC. You weren’t wearing military close, your open hair cascaded over your shoulders, you had a phone in your soft hands and a soft smile on your red lips. Black sunglasses perfected her look. Ace looked like she came out of a holiday resort and not a military mission.

"Sorry for letting you guys hang on the battlefield," You announced, a mischievous glint in your eye. "But I got the information we need. König, ich glaube, dass es für unsere Mission wichtig sein könnte. König I beliefe this could be important for our mission.“

König's gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. His rigid posture relaxed slightly as he turned his attention to the newcomer. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, a flicker of something akin to fondness.

Ghost, however, was quick to notice. A spark of interest ignited in his eyes as he observed the interaction between König and Ace. It was a fleeting moment, a glimpse into a side of König that few others had seen.

As Ace continued to brief the team, Ghost couldn't help but wonder about the newcomer. Who were they? What was their connection to König? And why did the stoic German seem so different around them? Was it only because she spoke the same language?

Comments and criticism are appreciated 🫶♥️

#x reader #call of duty #könig call of duty #cod mw2 #könig fanfiction #könig x you #ghost fanfiction #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig #simon ghost x reader #task force 141 #kortac #heisacolonel?!

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machveil · 2 days ago

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got distracted while listening to asmr, here’s the daily König sketch!! what’s the guy listening to? hmm🎶

#art #sketch #doodle #fanart #konig #könig #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig fanart #cod #call of duty

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ghouljams · 11 hours ago

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the retinue konig brought with him must be sending back their own increasingly panicky letters begging for bee to be packed up and sent over

Lmaoooo

One aid is just writing increasingly desperate pleas that you come and stop König from doing whatever it is that he's doing.

"He's trying to depose the king, would you at least send a letter to distract him? He might stop fucking with this place's politics if you do."

And the responding letter you send?

"No."

You have a lot going on at the moment, mostly and frequently you're having massive bouts of anxiety. You don't have the energy to spend on getting shipped off to keep König on a leash with his advisors scheming something and your bleeding startlingly late...

Oh dear. One of those things you should be very, very, concerned about.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig x oc #f!reader #king!könig #gardener!reader #oc: liebling #ah my favroite grump i have missed you

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p-krasnou-vedbmbl · 21 hours ago

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Пока настроение паршивенькое, решила порисовать что-то прекрасное 🥰

Таким он мне нравится целиком и полностью 🤭

#digital art #арт #диджитал арт #русский пост #art #русский tumblr #русский художник #call of duty #cod #konig call of duty #konig cod #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig #n$fw

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wtfdemother · 1 day ago

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NSFW - MDNI fluff 1:00AM

König would have you cum on his fingers if you’re having trouble sleeping. Only to pull you back into his arms while he peppers your shoulder in kisses and nips.

He feels you relax against him, allowing himself to drift off to the sound of your soft snores, his mind finally at ease now that you’re asleep peacefully beside him.

“Sshhh… Schlaf, meine Liebe. Gute Nacht mein lieber Engel.”

#könig #könig call of duty #könig cod #könig modern warfare #könig mw2 #könig mwii #könig x you #könig fluff #könig smut #könig x reader #könig x fem reader #könig x plus size reader #cod smut #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x you #cod fluff #cod modern warfare

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msriri030 · 12 hours ago

Text

Saving By Hare Pt2: The Love Doctor

Mafia!König x Doctor! Reader

Cw: mention torture and drugs. afab!reader but try most to be gn.

Horangi was walking down the hall when his attention was caught by Hutch and Roze standing in front of a one-way mirror. Curiosity piqued, he asked, "What are you up to?"

"Watching the boss torture an enemy underling," Roze replied, her eyes glinting with amusement as Hutch chuckled happily at the scene unfolding before them.

Raising an eyebrow, Horangi stepped closer to the window. He saw König pacing back and forth, visibly anxious, as he spoke to the enemy, who looked increasingly unsettled. Suddenly, König slammed his hand down on the table, causing the enemy to flinch.

"What’s the torture?" Horangi asked, confusion etched on his face. Hutch smirked, adjusting his shades. "The boss is asking for romantic advice from Deadman."

Horangi sighed, watching König slowly lower himself into the chair across from the captive, his hulking frame almost too large for the delicate wooden seat. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, a nervous habit uncharacteristic of the usually imposing man.

The captive, a wiry man with a bloodied nose, looked utterly bewildered. Sweat dripped from his brow as he stammered, “W-why are you asking me? I don’t—I don’t know anything about dating!”

König leaned forward, his icy blue eyes narrowing as he demanded, “Then what do you know about wooing someone? Surely you’ve liked someone before. Speak.”

The man fumbled, glancing toward the one-way mirror in silent desperation, as if pleading for a rescue that would never come.

Roze stifled a laugh, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. “I never thought I’d see the day. Our Big bad Boss, König,…asking a guy who can’t even keep his own teeth in his mouth for advice on romance. This is priceless.”

Hutch let out a low chuckle, pushing his sunglasses up. “The boss is down bad. I mean, look at him—he’s got the guy more scared of giving the wrong pickup line than getting shot.”

Inside the room, König pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly frustrated with the captive's nonsensical answers. The poor man was a stuttering mess, rattling off clichés like, ‘Buy them flowers,’ and ‘Compliment their eyes.’

König growled softly, not out of anger, but sheer exasperation. “This is useless.” He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, causing the captive to flinch again. König loomed over him, arms crossed, his massive frame casting a shadow over the trembling man.

“I don’t need basic advice!” König barked, his voice deep and commanding. “I need something… meaningful. Specific. If you were trying to win someone over—someone kind, strong, and… special—what would you do?”

The captive blinked up at him, wide-eyed and utterly lost. “I—I don’t know! Cook for them? Write them a letter? Please, man, I don’t even have a girlfriend!”

Horangi, watching from the other side of the glass, finally sighed and turned to Hutch and Roze. “This is pathetic. Should we step in before he kills the guy with his awkwardness?”

“Nah,” Hutch replied with a grin. “This is better than TV. Besides, it’s not like the guy’s bleeding out or anything.”

Roze tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You think König will actually take advice from someone who’s tied to a chair?”

Before Horangi could respond, König’s voice boomed again, shaking the room with its intensity.

"Write what, exactly?" He leaned in closer to the captive, who was now shaking like a leaf. "Give me something better than 'flowers' or 'letters,' or I will personally—" He caught himself, exhaling sharply and stepping back, muttering under his breath in frustration.

The captive, desperate to avoid whatever fate his imagination was conjuring, blurted out, "S-surprise them! Do something unexpected! Something only you would do! Something that shows y-you’re thinking about them!"

König paused, straightening to his full height. His imposing shadow loomed even larger over the man as he stared down at him with piercing eyes. Slowly, a glimmer of realization crossed König’s face. He said nothing for a long moment, then gave a curt nod, muttering, “Hmm. Yes. That’s… something.”

The captive sagged in his chair, relief washing over him as König turned abruptly and made for the door.

From behind the glass, Roze covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “I swear to God, he’s going to come back tomorrow with a dozen roses and a poem, isn’t he?”

Hutch snorted, shaking his head. “If he writes a poem, I’m retiring. I’ve seen enough for one lifetime.”

Horangi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid… like kidnapping them instead of asking them on a date.”

The door to the interrogation room slammed open as König stepped out, his gaze distant, as if he were already lost in thought. He brushed past the group without a word, his broad shoulders rigid and his stride purposeful.

“Yup,” Roze said with a smirk, watching him disappear down the hall. “He’s definitely writing a poem.”

Hutch clapped Horangi on the back. “Good luck keeping him out of trouble. You’re going to need it.”

Horangi sighed again, glancing toward the interrogation room before reluctantly following after König. “This better not end with me having to talk him out of some overly dramatic romantic gesture…”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Roze and Hutch exchanged a look before bursting into laughter, their amusement echoing through the observation room.

It had been a couple of weeks since you last saw König. The memory of that night lingered in your mind, resurfacing at the most unexpected moments. You found yourself wondering—was his wound healing properly? Had he taken care of himself?

The thought gnawed at you as you went about your day, your hands busy with patients, but your mind elsewhere. You had done everything you could to stabilize him that night, yet the worry persisted. Men like him, with their dangerous lives and stoic fronts, weren’t the type to follow medical advice.

You sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you closed your clinic for the evening to grab some lunch. The streets were quiet, the crisp winter air biting against your cheeks as you locked the door behind you. You paused for a moment, glancing down the empty street, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows.

Was he okay? The question echoed in your mind again, and you shook your head with a small, self-deprecating smile. Why do I even care so much?

But deep down, you knew the answer. There had been something in König’s eyes that night—something that stuck with you. A vulnerability beneath the ice, a fleeting glimpse of someone who, for all his sharp edges and danger, carried a burden far heavier than any physical wound.

And now, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just okay in general. You groan in frustration kicking a discarded can. Why?! You just met the man. You sighed. You look at the sky a little bit to ground yourself before continuing along your way. You entered your favorite dinner, Dash out.

The warm, familiar hum of Dash Out greeted you as you stepped inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, a sharp contrast to the biting chill outside. You waved to the staff behind the counter, giving them a tired but genuine smile.

Sliding into a booth near the window, you let out a long sigh and leaned back against the worn vinyl. This was your safe haven—a place where the stress of the day melted away with every sip of coffee or bite of a greasy burger.

A waitress approached, her name tag reading Lisa, her smile as warm as ever. “The usual?”

You nodded. “Please.”

Lisa scribbled on her notepad, her gaze flickering to your face with a touch of curiosity. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind. Long day?”

“Yeah,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Something like that.”

Lisa gave you a knowing nod before walking off, leaving you to your thoughts. You stared out the window, watching the soft, lazy flakes of snow drift down, the streetlights casting a warm, amber glow over the quiet street. Your reflection stared back at you, and for a moment, you barely recognized the furrowed brow and distant eyes.

Your food arrived swiftly, the plate settling in front of you with a soft clink. A classic burger, fries, and a steaming cup of hot cocoa—comfort food at its finest. Lisa let you know the pie was on the house. You took a bite, hoping the familiar taste would provide some distraction, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

The sound of the diner door opening pulled you from your reverie. You glanced up absently, expecting nothing more than another weary worker grabbing a late meal or perhaps a family seeking warmth from the biting cold outside.

But before you could focus on it, a pair of warm, calloused hands gently covered your eyes, halting your sip mid-air. A playful, familiar Scottish lilt followed. “Guess who it is, lass?”

You couldn’t suppress a smile, a soft laugh escaping as you tilted your head slightly. “Soap,” you said, the word slipping out with amused certainty.

The hands pulled away with a chuckle, and there he was—grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off the world’s greatest prank. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned casually against the booth.

Next to him, Ghost stood silently, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the cheerful exchange. He rolled his eyes and scoffed under his breath before turning toward the counter, his gait purposeful as he went to collect the protection money for their boss.

You giggled, glancing back at Soap. “I see you brought Ghost with you on your rounds.”

“Yup, Doc,” Soap said, scratching the back of his neck with mock exasperation. “Didn’t want to, but you know—gangster life’s no walk in the park.” His grin widened, as if the admission didn’t carry the weight it should have.

Before you could respond, Lisa returned, balancing a tray with your pie. She set the plate in front of you with a warm smile. “Enjoy, honey,” she said before bustling off to tend to another table.

“Thanks, Lisa.” You glanced at Soap and tilted the plate slightly in his direction, your voice teasing. “Want some, Soap? Or is gangster life too glamorous for diner fries?”

“Never! That’s like forgetting the roots you came from!” Soap declared dramatically, as if you’d just suggested the unthinkable. “Plus, I love sharing fries with the person who’s saved our arses more times than I can count!”

Without waiting for an invitation, he plopped himself down in the seat across from you, stealing a fry with a triumphant grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his antics. As Soap munched happily, Ghost returned from the counter, his dark gaze flicking between the two of you before settling on Soap with a mix of amusement and quiet disapproval.

You looked up at Ghost with a smile, gesturing toward the plate of fries you were now sharing. “Want some?” you offered lightly.

He shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips under his mask as he slid into the booth beside you. “No thanks, Doll,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ll leave the fry-stealing to him.”

Soap, mid-bite, pointed a fry at Ghost. “That’s because you’re no fun, mate.”

Ghost gave him a sidelong glance, muttering, “I’m plenty fun. Just not when it comes to your greasy fingers all over the food.”

The banter made you smile as you picked up another fry, savoring the rare moment of levity amid the chaos their lives seemed to attract. It was hard not to think back to when you first met them. Soap had stormed into your clinic, practically kicking the door down, with Ghost slung over his back and bleeding profusely.

You’d barely had time to process their arrival before Soap started barking orders—half panicked, half determined. Ghost, even in his weakened state, had muttered something about "not scaring the doc." It had been a whirlwind of blood, adrenaline, and sharp commands, but you’d patched Ghost up, and from that moment on, the two had made you an unspoken part of their world.

Since then, they’d drop by every so often—not just for patch-ups, though those were frequent—but also to walk you home after late nights at the clinic or during their rounds collecting protection money for their boss. You knew the line of work they were in was dangerous, but you couldn’t deny the strange sense of security you felt whenever they were around.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Soap said, snapping you out of your thoughts as he stole another fry. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just remembering how we met,” you said with a small smile, glancing between him and Ghost. “And how you two basically barged into my life like a hurricane.”

Soap grinned, unrepentant. “Aye, but a good hurricane, right?”

Ghost shook his head, muttering, “More like a bloody disaster.”

You laughed softly, their easy camaraderie a welcome reprieve from the weight of your own thoughts. Likewise, your presence seemed to brighten their otherwise cold and chaotic world, though they’d never outright admit it. Yet the way they smiled at you in that unspoken, rare softness said enough.

After finishing your meal, the three of you stepped outside into the biting cold. They insisted on walking you back to the clinic—something they’d done countless times before. As the chill seeped into your bones, you tugged your jacket tighter around yourself, but it wasn’t enough to keep the cold at bay.

Ghost noticed, his sharp eyes catching the subtle shiver you tried to hide. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. The material was heavy, smelling faintly of leather and a hint of something clean and woodsy.

“Here, Doll,” he murmured, his voice low but kind in its gruffness.

“No, I—It’s okay,” you stammered, feeling a bit flustered by the gesture. “We’re not far from the clinic. You’ll be cold.”

You tried to hand the jacket back, but Soap looped an arm around your shoulders with a grin, stopping you in your tracks.

“And let our favorite doc get sick?” he teased, his tone playful but firm. “Never! Ghost and I have seen enough blood for one lifetime, thank you very much. Now let’s get to the clinic, warm up with some tea, and then we’ll handle the rest of our business.”

You rolled your eyes with a fond smile but didn’t argue. Wrapped in Ghost’s jacket and flanked by the two men, you felt a sense of safety you didn’t often experience. As you walked, the quiet of the night was punctuated by the soft crunch of boots on snow and Soap’s endless chatter about everything and nothing.

For a moment, as the warm glow of the clinic’s lights came into view, you let yourself forget about the dangers that lurked in their world—and your own. The three of you entered the clinic, the familiar scent of antiseptic and faint lavender welcoming you like an old friend. Without hesitation, you all made your way to the break room, a cozy little space you had managed to make feel homier despite the sterile surroundings.

Soap, ever the ball of energy, immediately busied himself grabbing three mugs from the cupboard. “Tea’s on me!” he declared, his enthusiasm almost infectious as he examined the mismatched cups with mock seriousness.

Meanwhile, you filled the kettle, setting it to boil. You handed Ghost his jacket back, and he took it with a quiet nod, draping it over the back of a chair before sitting down. His tall frame seemed oddly at ease in the tiny space, though his ever-watchful gaze remained sharp, flicking from you to Soap and back again.

“Thanks for lending this,” you said softly, glancing at Ghost as you adjusted your sweater.

He gave a slight shrug, his mask concealing any hint of a smile, though his tone held the barest trace of warmth. “Didn’t want you catching cold. You’d be no use to anyone if you’re laid up sick.”

Soap turned around with a playful grin, balancing the mugs in one hand while gesturing dramatically with the other. “See, Doc? That’s as close to a love letter as Ghost will ever get. Cherish it!”

“Don’t push your luck, Soap,” Ghost muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you set the tea bags into the mugs Soap had placed on the counter. Once the water was ready, you poured it carefully, the steam rising and curling in the air. The quiet hum of the kettle, the clink of ceramic, and the shared companionship filled the small room with a sense of peace that felt rare in their chaotic world

The phone's shrill ring sliced through the comfortable quiet like a blade, cutting Soap off mid-sentence and making Ghost’s gaze sharpen instantly. Pulling the phone from your pocket, you glanced at the screen. The number was vaguely familiar, but as a doctor, you were accustomed to unexpected calls from patients in need.

With a soft sigh, you answered, balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you continued preparing the tea. “Hello, this is Dr. [Last Name]. How can I help you?”

A beat of silence stretched on the other end, broken only by faint, shallow breathing. A chill prickled at the back of your neck. Something about it felt wrong.

“Hello?” you repeated, this time with more authority.

The voice that finally responded was shaky, almost desperate. “Hase? Is this... is this you?”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. “König? Yes, it’s me.”

You didn’t notice Soap’s eyes widened or Ghost’s gaze turned cold as they recognized the name. König—the mob boss who controlled half the city and the territory just down the street from your clinic. A heavy silence hung in the air before the voice whispered, almost painfully, “Yes, it’s König, my Hase.”

You felt a warmth flush your cheeks, but you quickly brushed it aside, forcing your expression to remain neutral. “What can I do for you?”

There was a brief silence, the sound of steady breathing on the other end before König’s voice returned—tentative, yet edged with a quiet urgency. “I was wondering… if I could take you to dinner tonight at the Diamond Petals. Or tomorrow, if you’re not working. As a thank you… for everything.”

The request hung in the air, unexpected. Dinner at such a fancy restaurant? You smiled, a soft giggle escaping. “Yeah… I’d love to have dinner with you. Maybe tomorrow, though—I’ll need to shop for new clothes. I don’t have anything good to wear.”

“Nien,” he replied smoothly, his tone firm yet gentle. “Anything you wear looks like gold.”

The words, simple yet laced with affection, sent warmth flooding to your cheeks. Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could recover, he added, “What about I pick you up and take you shopping for clothes?”

His suggestion caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless, your mind racing to process the unexpected offer. Meanwhile, Ghost and Soap, lingering nearby, exchanged knowing glances. The palpable tension in the air was broken only by the sound of their deliberate throat-clearing, an unsubtle reminder of their presence.

“Sure,” you finally managed, your voice slightly flustered. “I’ll send you the location of my clinic then… see you later.”

You ended the call, the phone still warm in your hand as you set it down on the counter. Ghost calmly lifted his mask just over his nose, sipping his tea with deliberate slowness. The corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, a subtle sign of amusement, while Soap, never one to miss an opportunity, grinned widely.

“So~ you’ve got yourself a boyfriend now, eh?” Soap teased, leaning against the counter with a cheeky tilt of his head.

You blushed furiously, waving your hands in protest. “It’s not like that!”

Soap’s grin widened as Ghost let out a low chuckle. “Aye, Doc. Whatever you say.”

Meanwhile, König stood in the dimly lit expanse of one of his warehouses, the sharp tang of metal and oil lingering in the air. His broad shoulders were tense, his posture rigid as he turned to the scene behind him. Vega and Roze hovered over their latest victim—a poor drug shipper whose trembling form bore the tattooed mark of the 141 on his neck.

The man's muffled gasps and splashes filled the room as Vega pressed his head underwater, his grip merciless, while Roze crouched beside them, her dark eyes glinting with cruel amusement. She glanced over her shoulder at König, an arched brow accompanying her mocking tone.

“So~ what did she say?” Roze asked, her voice dripping with feigned curiosity as she twirled a blade in her hand, its edge catching the faint light.

König’s gaze flickered to the struggling man for a moment, then back to Roze, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, though his voice, when he finally spoke, was calm, almost detached.

“She said yes,” he murmured, the weight of the words carrying an edge that made even Vega glance up from her task.

Roze grinned, sharp and predatory. “Look at you, big guy. Dinner at the Diamond Petals, huh? Gonna make it all romantic?”

König’s towering frame shifted slightly as he took a step closer, his boots heavy against the concrete floor. “Focus,” he said, his voice cold enough to make the room feel even icier. “The questions are not for me.”

Roze’s smirk faltered, and she shrugged, motioning to Vega, who yanked the man’s head back above water with a violent jerk. The shivering victim gasped for air, coughing and sputtering, as König loomed over him, his massive shadow swallowing the man whole.

“Now,” König said softly, his tone deceptively calm but carrying an undercurrent of menace. “Let’s try this again. Who sent you?”

After promising Soap and Ghost that you’d text them after your “date,” you closed up your clinic and waved them goodbye. Their knowing smirks lingered in your mind, but you brushed them off, focusing instead on the evening ahead.

Standing outside in the cool night air, you waited patiently, smoothing down your outfit one more time to make sure everything was perfect.

Moments later, a sleek, black BMW with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. Your breath caught when König stepped out. Even with his mask on, you could tell he had gone out of his way to prepare for this. His broad frame was wrapped in a perfectly tailored black button-up shirt and slacks, the subtle sheen of his polished shoes catching the light.

The faint scent of musk and cedar drifted toward you, the unmistakable aroma of freshly applied cologne mingling with the lingering freshness of a recent shower. You couldn’t help but notice the effort he had put in—it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You instinctively sniffed yourself, worried for a fleeting moment about how you smelled. A wave of relief washed over you when you realized you didn’t smell unpleasant—your perfume still lingered, light and floral.

“Guten Abend,” König greeted, his voice deep and soft as he extended a hand toward you. “You look… breathtaking.”

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you smiled shyly, taking his hand. “Thank you. You look great too.”

He held your hand for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles before he released it and gestured toward the car. “Shall we?”

You nodded, letting him open the car door for you. As you slid into the plush leather seat, your nerves began to settle, replaced by a growing excitement. Whatever tonight had in store, it was already starting to feel like something special.

As the car cruised smoothly toward the eastern side of the city, you stole a glance at König. His focus was trained on the road ahead, his large hands gripping the steering wheel with a surprising gentleness. The soft hum of the car’s engine filled the silence between you, and you found yourself nervously fiddling with the ends of your sleeves, wracking your brain for something—anything—to say.

Your gaze drifted out the window in quiet defeat, watching as the snow fell in lazy flakes, blanketing the streets in a serene glow.

Little did you know, König was locked in a similar mental battle. Small talk had never been his strength. Socializing, in general, was a struggle, a deep-seated insecurity born from years of bullying and isolation. Even now, he could still hear the mocking laughter of his classmates, and feel the sting of their taunts. The only reason he’d entered the mafia world was because a mobster had seen him, bloodied but unyielding, defending himself against a particularly cruel bully.

König let out a heavy sigh, the sound breaking the quiet tension in the car and catching your attention.

“Sorry, Liebling,” he muttered, his voice low and tinged with self-consciousness. “I am not... how do you say? Good at starting conversations. Sorry.”

His admission was so earnest, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten. You smiled softly, shaking your head.

“Don’t be,” you said, your voice kind. “I’m not that great at it either.”

You hesitated for a moment, then, desperate to keep the conversation going, asked, “What about your wound? Is it healed?”

Your cheeks flushed as soon as the words left your mouth, and you inwardly cringed. Of all things to ask…

König’s head tilted slightly toward you, and even with the mask, you could tell he was surprised—and perhaps a little touched—by your concern.

“It’s much better now,” he said, his tone warming. “Thanks to you.”

You glanced at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile beneath the fabric of his mask. His hand briefly left the steering wheel to tap lightly at his side. “Your stitches—they hold perfectly. You are... very skilled.”

His compliment made your blush deepen, and you ducked your head to hide your smile. “I just did what anyone would do.”

“No,” he replied firmly, his voice softening again. “Not anyone. You cared.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and the comfortable silence between you both felt surprisingly warm. You realized something else now—König had called you Liebling instead of his usual Hase. You couldn’t help but wonder about the change, and the question bubbled up before you could stop it.

“König,” you asked, your curiosity piqued, “What does Hase mean? And... why do you call me that?”

The sudden question seemed to catch König off guard. His face, though still obscured by the mask, darkened in a deep flush. He cleared his throat, a nervous, almost sheepish sound, before turning his attention back to the road as he guided the car into the parking lot of a luxury store.

You watched him closely, waiting for him to speak, the soft hum of the engine accompanying the brief pause.

After a moment, he exhaled, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly as he parked the car. He took a slow breath, as if preparing himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was more measured, quieter than usual.

“It means... rabbit or hare,” he replied, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I called you that because... when we first met, your doctor’s coat made you look like a white rabbit in winter.”

The words were simple, but the warmth in his tone made your heart flutter. You blinked, surprised, but then a small smile tugged at your lips. The idea of him thinking of you that way—fragile, maybe, but also somehow strong—was endearing.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your cheeks warming from his unexpected but sweet reasoning. “A white rabbit, huh? That’s... oddly fitting, I think.”

König shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a faint hint of embarrassment in his posture, but there was something soft in his eyes as he glanced over at you. "I think you were my... safe place. Like how a rabbit would always hide in the snow."

His words settled in the car with a quiet, tender weight that was almost too much to process. You didn’t quite know what to say in response, but the gesture—his quiet affection—spoke volumes.

You couldn’t help but rest your head on König’s arm, a soft giggle escaping your lips. “I’m grateful you see me that way,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his presence. Then, with a playful smile, you added, “If I can say something... you remind me of a bear. You make me feel so safe, and yet, you’re so strong, but gentle too.”

König’s breath caught at your words, and a soft chuckle escaped him, a deep rumble that made your heart flutter. He gently tightened his arm around you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A bear, huh?” he said, his voice warm and almost teasing. “I can live with that. As long as I’m your bear.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection, and smiled. The warmth between you felt unspoken, but it lingered in the air, like a silent promise. As the two of you shared a quiet moment, you stepped out of the car, his hand brushing against yours. Together, you walked towards the entrance of the store, the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet almost drowned out by the beating of your heart.

You entered the store, the soft chime of the door marking your arrival. At first, the clerks seemed uninterested in you, going about their tasks as if you were just another customer. But when they noticed König holding your hand, their demeanor shifted instantly. Their attention focused on you, and suddenly, they began pulling out the most elegant, expensive dresses, each more beautiful than the last. Yet, despite their efforts, nothing felt quite right. You sighed, feeling a little discouraged.

"Why don’t you look around while I talk to the clerk?" König suggested, noticing the frustration in your expression. You nodded, giving him a small smile, and wandered off, leaving him to converse with the store manager.

As you walked through the store, you couldn’t shake the feeling of hopelessness. Nothing seemed to catch your eye. But then, in the corner of your vision, something shimmered—something that made your heart skip a beat. A black silk off-shoulder gown with a striking collar. The material looked luxurious, the color deep and alluring, and you felt drawn to it immediately.

Without thinking, you walked straight toward it, your fingers grazing the fabric.

A store clerk, noticing your interest, approached with a polite smile. "Would you like to try it on, Miss?"

"Yes, please," you replied, your voice filled with excitement and a touch of hope. You couldn’t wait to see how it would look on you.

When you slipped into the gown, it fit you like a glove. The silk hugged your curves in all the right places, the off-shoulder design showcasing your collarbones beautifully. You turned to face the mirror, admiring the way the gown shimmered under the lights. To complete the look, you added red heels, their bold color a perfect contrast to the black silk, and slipped on a pair of pearl earrings and a matching necklace that the clerk suggested.

As you turned to take in your reflection, you caught a glimpse of König in the mirror. His eyes were locked on you, a look of awe on his face. He stood there, frozen for a moment, his usual confident demeanor replaced with something softer. The intensity in his gaze made your heart race as you smiled shyly at him.

“You look... breathtaking, Hase,” König murmured, his voice low and full of admiration. His words seemed to hang in the air between you, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared, leaving only the two of you.

You blushed, clasping your hands together. “Thank you, König. I think I’ll take it, but I can’t really let you pay for this. It’s… 2,500! Not to mention everything else–”

“It is a gift for saving my life, Meine Liebe,” König said softly, taking your hand and kissing it gently. His lips lingered for a moment before he pulled back to look at you, his eyes filled with sincerity.

You looked slightly puzzled. “But the dinner—”

“It was a way for me to try to confess my feelings. I’ve fallen in love with you, Meine Liebe. So now, I will properly say it. Will you go out with me, Hase?”

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you froze in shock. Your heart raced as the realization sank in. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, your mind spinning. He had fallen for you? The man you had admired from a distance, the one who had quietly made an impact on your life—he felt the same way?

You couldn’t help but smile, your voice soft but steady. “Yes,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips, but it was everything. It was the answer you both had been waiting for.

König’s face broke into a smile, his eyes shining with warmth and affection. He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. The world around you faded once again, and for the first time, you truly felt like you belonged with someone.

The car ride was quiet, the gentle hum of the engine filling the space as König drove you to your apartment. The soft glow of the streetlights passed by, casting fleeting shadows through the window. Neither of you spoke much, but there was a calm, unspoken understanding between you—comfort in each other's presence.

When the car finally came to a stop in front of your apartment building, König turned off the engine and met your gaze. The silence stretched for a moment, but there was no awkwardness, only a sense of warmth and connection.

"You sure you're okay?" König asked softly, his voice carrying that familiar concern.

You nodded with a smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Thank you for everything tonight. It was... perfect."

His eyes softened as he gave you a small smile. "I’m glad you think so."

You opened the door and stepped out, pausing as you turned back to face him. “König?”

“Yes–”

Before he could say anything else, you leaned in quickly, pressing a gentle kiss on top of his mask. The contact was brief, but the warmth of it lingered between you, and you felt your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.

"Goodnight, König," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

"Goodnight, Liebling," he replied, his voice filled with something tender, as his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer. He smiled softly, his expression almost unreadable, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable.

As you watched him drive away, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. Tonight had felt like something out of a dream, and as you walked toward the entrance of your building, your thoughts swirled with everything that had happened. You were already looking forward to whatever came next.

Back in the car, König blushed deeply, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. His heart was pounding, and he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He fumbled for his phone and quickly dialed Horangi, his voice nervous.

“Horangi... you won’t believe it... She kissed me...” König muttered, his words coming out in a rush.

Horangi's voice crackled on the other end, a knowing smirk evident in his tone. “Oh, really now? What did I tell you?”

König groaned, his face flushing even deeper. "Shut up... it was... it was on my mask, but still! She kissed me!"

The sound of Horangi laughing loudly was unmistakable, filling the quiet car. “Man, you’re blushing like crazy. Just wait till the others hear about this!”

König sighed, feeling embarrassed but also a little giddy, as his mind replayed the moment over and over.

Extra

Horangi hung up the phone with an amused look, his eyes scanning the group of mobsters who had been eagerly watching him. The tension in the room was palpable as they waited for his verdict. They had been betting on how König’s confession would go—whether it would scare the girl away, make things awkward, or perhaps be the perfect moment for romance.

Horangi glanced around at the eager faces, then with a dramatic pause, he delivered the news.

“She kissed him.”

The room erupted into chaos. Hutch and Roze both slammed their hands on the table, raging over their bet that it would make things awkward. “I knew it! I knew it was going to be awkward!” Roze grumbled, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Verge groaned from his corner, cursing under his breath. “Dammit! I bet it would scare her off. How did I get that so wrong?”

The only one who remained calm amidst the chaos was Oni, who was lounging comfortably on the couch, casually counting his winnings. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he observed the mayhem unfolding around him. He was the only one who had placed his bet on the doc not being scared away—and as the others argued, Oni leaned back, savoring his victory.

“Easy money,” he muttered to himself, not bothering to glance up at the group.

Part 1

Part 3

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