Chapter Text
It started with a ring—an impulsive little purchase that turned into a problem.
You hadn’t thought twice about sliding it onto your finger that morning, but by midday, your skin had swollen, trapping the metal band in place. Soap and oil failed, and tugging only made things worse. A coworker suggested the fire station, and though you felt ridiculous, you went.
That’s how you met him.
König was the last thing you expected. Towering, broad-shouldered, built like a soldier—but strangely gentle, his voice a warm, accented murmur as he studied your swollen finger.
“No need to worry,” he had reassured you, his massive hands somehow impossibly delicate. “I can take care of it.”
And he did. Not with heavy-duty tools, but with patience, a length of dental floss, and a technique so clever it made you stare. You barely had time to thank him before he had to hurry out, your finger free but your heart… not so much.
At first, you tried to be realistic. A firefighter? Come on. It felt like the setup to every romance cliché imaginable. The strong, stoic hero, the fawning civilian, the inevitable whirlwind—only to end with him slipping away into a life of late-night calls and distance.
You told yourself it wasn’t a thing. And yet you baked a batch of cookies to thank him, brought them to the station under the guise of being polite. You told yourself you weren’t flustered when he accepted them with visible surprise, staring down at the container like he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of kindness.
He asked for your number—to return the Tupperware, of course—and you gave it to him in hopes of more. The next day he was calling you, asking where you could meet up. But you were busy with work, and despite your disappointment, told him it could wait until you had time to swing by the station to retrieve it. He asked where you worked and you took it for small talk, getting so flustered that you returned the question. The unexpectedly light laugh that came out of him made your cheeks burn.
It was hard to get back to work after that; your mind drifting as soon as you tried to get something done. You watched the minutes tick by, and just as the clock hit lunch time, your phone rang again. It was none other than König, waiting outside with your Tupperware. Things took a minute to click in your head. You blurted out something incoherent about how he shouldn't have—he tried to assure you it was fine—and promised you'd be there rapidly—he wasn't in a rush.
Yet you still took the time to fix your hair in the reflection of your laptop.
When you stepped out, you were met with a smile that nearly made you trip over your own foot—when was the last time someone had seemed so happy to see you? let alone on a monday? You awkwardly made your way to him, taking in how small the container looked in his hand.
“I take it you like my cookies,” you blurted out as he handed it to you, fingers briefly brushing yours.
His eyes crinkled with a smile and you melted. “They were great. Never had homemade ones before.”
“You're joking?”
He shook his head. “But that was perfect for a first time, so thank you.”
Your palms felt slippery against the glass container. You wanted to keep the conversation going, but you didn't trust yourself to do anything but nod. Checking the time, he announced he had to go back, and you realized that might be the last time you saw him. As you parted ways, it finally hit you that you'd never asked for his name. You stopped dead in your tracks.
“Wait!...” You didn't have a name to yell out, but he still turned around. You rushed back to him. “What's your name?”
“König. And you?”
You answered, too rattled to pick up on his mistake—your number was already saved under your name in his phone. Your own embarrassment was so strong that you didn't realize his body held the same tension as yours. Ears flushed, he finally managed to get out the words he'd been rehearsing the whole way there. He wanted to take you out for coffee.
You accepted with barely concealed excitement, still smiling as you parted for real this time, bonded by the promise of next time. You had to calm down. It was just coffee, something casual with some guy you'd met less than a week ago.
Except it wasn’t.
It was three hours of easy conversation, of learning that beneath all that muscle was a man who was thoughtful and kind, a little bit awkward, and so genuine it made your chest ache. It was an impromptu dinner date two days later, a kiss by the end of the week, the feeling of falling before you could stop yourself.
It should have been alarming for things to go so fast, but it felt all too natural to put on the brakes. Like it was simply meant to be.
—
At some point over the past few months, it had become routine. Staying at his place even when he wasn’t home, making yourself comfortable in the space that had gradually become as much yours as it was his. It happened fast—just like everything else between you—but never in a way that felt rushed. One day, you realized his apartment no longer felt like his place. It felt like home.
So now, you were always here when he returned, waiting, welcoming, ready to wrap yourself around him the second he stepped through the door.
Tonight was no different. König came home after a grueling 24-hour shift, the weight of exhaustion heavy in his steps. But the moment he stepped through the door, his eyes found you—and everything else faded.
“Hi liebe,” he murmured, his voice thick with fatigue and something softer, something warm.
You didn’t hesitate. You stepped into him, wrapping your arms around his broad, sweat-damp frame, pressing your cheek to his chest. He exhaled sharply, the tension melting from his body as he buried his face in your hair. You didn’t care about the sweat, the soot lingering on his skin. All that mattered was that he was here, safe, with you.
It was the same every time he came home, no matter how many shifts passed, no matter how many times you waited up for him in the quiet warmth of his apartment. He always came back to you.
You tugged him toward the bathroom, and he didn’t resist. You had never thought you’d be the kind of person to share showers with someone, let alone find something so intimate in the simple act of lathering soap over their skin. But with König, it felt natural, easy. Right.
He let you take care of him, standing still as your hands worked over his back, washing away the remnants of the day. In return, he did the same for you, slow and careful, his touch lingering, his lips finding your temple, your cheek, the slope of your shoulder. The two of you spoke in hushed voices, sharing pieces of your day between kisses, between gentle touches that never pushed, never rushed. Just being together was enough.
When you finally stepped out, wrapping yourselves in towels and each other, he was already pulling you toward the bedroom. You knew he was exhausted, but that didn’t stop him from kissing you, laying you down on the bed and trailing slow, lazy kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. It was never rushed, never frantic—just soft, unhurried affection, his lips pressing devotion into your skin as if reminding himself that you were real, that you were here.
“König,” you murmured, threading your fingers through his damp hair, tugging lightly. “You need to sleep.”
He hummed against your skin, a sound of protest, but his movements were already slowing. “Mmh, a little more.”
You shook your head, smiling as he pressed one last lingering kiss to your lips before finally resting his head on your chest, his sheer weight pressing you deep into the mattress, arms curling tight around your waist as he melted into you.
His breathing evened out quickly, his body heavy with sleep. Your hands moved without thinking, tracing gentle patterns along his spine. You had learned by now what he liked. You started slow, your nails dragging lightly over his back, tracing the ridges of muscle, mapping the shape of him in careful, soothing motions.
König exhaled sharply, his breath hitching in a way that made your stomach flip. His fingers twitched against your hip before tightening, his grip wordless but needy. A shudder rolled through him, something caught between a sigh and a groan.
You kept going, your fingers threading into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He shifted again, pressing closer, as if trying to crawl beneath your skin, as if your touch was both unbearable and irresistible. His body slackened further, the tension unraveling from his muscles, even as his grip on you remained firm.
The way your nails ghosting over his back made him shudder, the slow scrape of your fingers through his hair making his breath hitch. It was a contradiction—you could feel the tension coil under his skin, a shiver rippling through him as if your touch was both soothing and unbearable all at once. It lured him toward sleep, yet something about it kept his nerves on edge, kept him anchored to you even as exhaustion pulled him under.
Just as you started to drift off, his voice rumbled against your skin, barely more than a sleepy mumble. “You can wake me up, you know. If you need anything... important.”
Your laugh was quiet, fond. “Sleep, big guy. We’ll see about that later.”
And with that, he let go, surrendering to the pull of rest, safe in the knowledge that when he woke, you’d still be here.