Work Text:
König had been watching you, but clearly not closely enough. For every drink he watched or covered, you slipped two more under his notice, and by the time he made it back from the bathroom, it was clear it had been too many. You felt the beginnings of a migraine pulsating and were too hazy to notice as he took your newest drink and poured it out.
"Oh, schätzchen..." he muttered, dipping to lift you from the chair.
"Whadus that mean?" you groaned faintly.
"...Nothing. Let's get you home."
The room tilted as he lifted you, the noise of the bar turning into a dull, distant throb. You tried to protest, but it came out as a weak breath more than words.
König adjusted his grip immediately, steady and practiced, like he'd done this before. His voice stayed low, firm but not unkind.
"Easy. I've got you."
You blinked slowly at the blur of lights above his shoulder, trying to focus on anything solid. His mask was closer now—close enough that you could hear the faint rhythm of his breathing underneath it, steady in a way yours definitely wasn't.
He moved through the crowd without hesitation, shoulder-checking the noise and laughter aside like it didn't matter. People shifted out of his way without question.
Outside, the air hit your face like a reset button—cold, sharp, real. It made your head spin worse for a second, and you instinctively grabbed at his jacket.
He didn't flinch. Just tightened his hold slightly.
"Hey," he said more quietly now, pausing near the edge of the sidewalk. "Look at me."
It took effort, but you managed to tilt your head.
"That's it," he said. "Stay with me. We're going home, alright? What's your address?"
Your head felt heavy, like the question itself was something you had to physically lift and turn over.
"...Dunno," you mumbled.
König didn't react with frustration. He just exhaled slowly, as if he'd expected that answer.
"Alright," he said. "That's fine. I'll figure it out."
You let out a small, confused sound as he started walking again.
"Wha—how?"
He didn't answer immediately. The streetlights passed overhead in slow, blurred intervals, and your thoughts kept slipping between them like water through fingers.
"I've seen you leave the bar before," he said eventually. "I remember where you went."
That should've sounded strange. It should've made you uneasy.
But your brain was too soft around the edges to hold onto that thought for long.
Instead, you focused on the motion—the steady rise and fall of his steps, the way the world didn't wobble as much when you weren't the one standing in it.
"You're... weird," you mumbled after a while.
A pause.
Then, almost quietly: "Ja. I've been told."
You blinked slowly. A building was in front of you now—plain, dimly lit, familiar in the way dreams are familiar. König adjusted his grip again, and this time you heard keys.
"You did know where I live," you said, accusation weak and unfocused.
"I told you I've seen you leave," he replied simply.
The door clicked open.
Warm air spilled out, carrying the faint smell of something clean and neutral—soap, maybe. He stepped inside without hesitation, and the contrast made your head spin less violently for a second.
He moved through the space like he belonged there, even though everything about him suggested he didn't. You noticed details in fragments: a coat hook, a narrow hallway, the soft hum of a refrigerator somewhere deeper in the apartment.
"Shoes off," he said.
You stared at him for a moment, then at your feet, like the concept was newly invented.
"...Bossy," you muttered, but your voice had no real bite.
Still, your shoes came off.
"Good," he said, almost absent-mindedly.
He carried you further in, then lowered you carefully onto something soft—a couch, you realized after a moment of sinking relief. The room tilted less here. That was good. You approved of this development.
Then footsteps again.
König returned with a glass and something that looked like painkillers in a small foil strip. He set them down on the table in front of you with precise care, like everything had a correct place and he intended to respect it.
"Water," he said.
You squinted at the glass like it might be suspicious.
"...Is it poisoned?"
There was a pause.
Then, surprisingly: "If I wanted to do that, I would not have carried you home."
That made you frown, as if you were trying to find a flaw in the logic but your brain couldn't hold onto the thread long enough.
You took the glass anyway. Your hands were steadier than you expected, but the water still sloshed slightly as you drank.
Better.
König watched you for a moment, then gestured lightly toward the tablets.
"Take those."
You stared at them.
"...Why?"
König didn't answer immediately. Not in a way that felt evasive—more like he was choosing words carefully, as if even simple ones mattered.
"So your head doesn't feel like it's splitting open in the morning," he said at last.
You narrowed your eyes at him like this was still negotiable.
"It already feels like that," you muttered.
A beat.
Then, quieter: "Then it won't get worse."
That logic was annoyingly sound.
You stared at the tablets again, then at him. He stood a short distance away now, not looming, just present—like he was making a point of not crowding you. The mask made it harder to read him, but his posture wasn't tense. Just steady. Patient.
"...You always like this?" you asked, words slurring slightly at the edges again.
"Like what?"
"Bossy."
A faint pause.
Then, almost dryly: "Only when someone is trying to drink themselves unconscious in front of me."
That made you blink, processing slowly.
"...Rude," you decided.
"I've been told that as well."
You huffed something that might've been a laugh, or might've just been air leaving your lungs incorrectly. Either way, it didn't last long before your head reminded you why you were here.
You picked up the tablets at last, examined them like they might reveal hidden motives, then swallowed them with another sip of water.
König nodded once, like that solved a problem.
"Good," he said again.
Then he turned slightly, glancing around the room as if checking invisible boxes only he could see. You watched him move, your thoughts slowing even further, like sinking into thick fabric.
"You don't talk much," you said.
"I talk when it's useful."
"...That's boring."
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly: "You talk too much when it's not."
That should've stung. It almost did—except your brain was too tired to properly form offense.
Instead, you leaned back into the couch cushions, letting your eyes half-close.
"Mm," you muttered. "You're still weird."
"I know."
Silence settled after that. Not uncomfortable. Just... there.
König didn't leave. He stayed where he was, not watching you in a way that felt sharp or invasive, just present enough that you didn't have to wonder if you were alone.
The room stopped spinning so much. The pain in your head dulled into something distant, like it belonged to someone else.
After a while, your voice came out smaller.
"...You gonna stay there all night?"
A brief pause.
"If you need me to," he said.
That should've sounded strange too.
But instead, it just made the room feel a little less heavy.
Your eyes drifted, unfocused towards the couch you were laying on before your head lolled towards his again. A blink.
"Why aren't you sitting down then?.."
There was a beat of silence before he answered, like the question hadn't quite been what he expected you to focus on.
"I am standing," he said simply.
You squinted at him, as if this was a flaw in his reasoning.
"...That's not an answer."
A faint shift in his posture—almost like he was considering whether this mattered enough to explain.
"It's easier to leave quickly if I need to," he said at last.
You frowned at that, processing it slowly.
"Leave?" you repeated, like the word didn't quite fit in the room. "Why would you leave?"
Another pause. Longer this time.
His attention flicked briefly toward the hallway, then back to you.
"People get sick after drinking too much," he said. "Sometimes they need space. Sometimes they don't want anyone around."
You blinked at him.
Then, after a moment of very serious thought: "I don't think I want you to leave."
The words came out simple. Unfiltered. Heavy in a way you didn't seem to notice.
König went still.
Not visibly dramatic—just a quiet, noticeable shift, like something in him recalculated.
"...Alright," he said after a moment.
That was all.
He walked a few steps closer to the couch, then—after a brief hesitation that looked almost unfamiliar on him—he lowered himself into the armchair nearby. Not too close. Not far.
Just there.
You watched him do it with slow approval, like this was an important negotiation finally resolved. But the way your nose scrunched up showed you weren't entirely satisfied. You squinted at him.
"I can't see you if your that far away" you murmured.
There was a short pause after your complaint—like König had to process whether that was an order, a request, or just drunken logic spoken out loud.
Then he exhaled quietly through his nose.
"...Alright," he said again.
The chair scraped softly as he adjusted it, dragging it a little closer to the couch. Not directly beside you—still angled, still leaving space—but close enough now that you didn't have to strain your eyes to make him out clearly.
Satisfied, you gave a small, approving nod like you'd personally overseen construction.
"Better," you mumbled.
"I'm glad it meets approval," he replied dryly.
Your eyes tried to stay open, but they were losing the argument. The room had finally stopped spinning entirely, replaced by a heavy, sinking stillness that felt almost like floating.
"...You're kind of nice," you said suddenly, like it had just occurred to you and surprised you more than anything else tonight.
There was a pause so long it almost felt like he hadn't heard you.
Then:
"I'm not," he said simply.
You frowned again, even slower this time.
"That's rude," you decided.
You shifted slightly on the couch, pulling the blanket that you hadn't even noticed over yourself a bit higher. Your movements were slower now—heavier. The edges of your thoughts kept softening, like wet paper.
König watched without comment as you settled.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It felt structured, like he was deliberately keeping it from becoming uncomfortable. The hum of the apartment filled it instead—quiet appliances, distant city noise beyond the walls.
Your eyelids kept trying to close on their own.
"No," you mumbled at them, as if they were misbehaving.
Your head lolled to the side as if trying to come up with something new to talk about so you wouldn't lose your internal battle with your eyes.
A heavy blink "Your hot too"
For a second, the room didn't respond at all.
König didn't move. Didn't speak.
Just a faint shift in the air—like even he needed a moment to decide what, exactly, he had just been told.
"...You are not thinking clearly," he said at last.
His voice was steady, but there was something carefully placed in it now. More deliberate than before.
You frowned at him from the couch, as if offended by the implication.
"I am," you insisted weakly. Then, after a pause that didn't help your case at all: "I think."
König didn't react the way you seemed to expect—not with teasing, not with agreement, not with anything that gave your half-lidded statement a place to land. Instead, he just stared at you for a moment longer than usual, like he was making a decision about what part of that sentence actually mattered.
Then he moved.
Not toward the comment. Away from it.
He picked up the glass again and checked it, even though it was already empty, as if giving his hands something sensible to do.
"You are tired," he said simply.
You frowned harder at him, offended on principle.
"I'm not—" you started, but the rest dissolved into a yawn halfway through.
That didn't help your argument.
König set the glass down again with quiet finality.
"Ja," he said. "You are."
You blinked slowly, trying to hold onto your thoughts, but they kept slipping away like they didn't want to be involved anymore. The couch was too comfortable. The room too warm. Your head too heavy.
You pointed vaguely in his direction.
"Your dismissing my opinion," you accused, though it came out soft and unfocused.
You frowned weakly, like your point wasn't being taken seriously, but it didn't have any force behind it anymore.
"You are hot" you repeated stubbornly.
König exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, like he was mentally recalibrating every protocol for this kind of situation.
You were drunk. You were confusing. And you were calling him hot with the sincerity of a sleepy child declaring that clouds looked like ducks.
He didn't know how to handle it.
Not because it flustered him (though something in the back of his chest tightened briefly), but because this wasn't part of any mission debrief or tactical scenario he'd ever trained for. This was uncharted territory: private homes, dim lights, soft blankets... and you saying things that made no logical sense except in your hazy little world where alcohol erased filters entirely.
"You're delirious," he finally said aloud, voice low and even as ever but just the faintest bit strained beneath it all.
You squinted at him from the couch, clearly unimpressed with that conclusion.
"I am not," you mumbled, though it lacked any real conviction.
A heavy blink as you dramatically pointed your finger down into the cushion you were laying on. "Come here"
He hesitated because this felt dangerous for his self-control (which had never been tested by someone being sweetly demanding while looking so damn small and soft)
A muscle twitched faintly along his jawline beneath the mask
König didn't move. Not because he refused, but because something in his training screamed that this was a breach of protocol. He wasn't supposed to get close to people like this unless it was tactical necessity or immediate threat.
But you weren't threatening. You were... inviting.
And worse, you looked small under the blanket, your face half-buried in the cushion as if already halfway asleep yet still stubbornly demanding his presence beside you.
The mask hid most of it, but his breathing deepened slightly behind the fabric.
He exhaled.
Then slowly rose from the chair.
Each step toward the couch felt deliberate - not hesitant exactly (he never hesitated on missions), but cautious all over again for reasons that had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with how soft your voice sounded when sleepy and drunk at once.
When he reached you...
You reached up first.
Your hands rose, slow and clumsy as they grasped his mask just enough to pull it down and kiss the side of it "Mwah"
You retrieved your hands and pulled the blanket up snuggly. You turned your back to him like you'd got what you wanted and now just could sleep.
König froze.
Not dramatically, not visibly stiffening like a statue. Just... the world narrowed to that one point where your lips had pressed against the edge of his mask.
A soft mwah sound in a quiet room, and it short-circuited something in him.
He stood there beside the couch now, tall and broad as ever, but suddenly very still. His hands hovered slightly at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them anymore. The mask covered most of his face but did nothing for how wide his eyes had gone behind it.
You kissed me...
No one kissed him on missions. No one kissed him at all unless it was brief protocol during undercover operations (and even then they were actors). And certainly no drunk person who'd been carried home because they couldn't walk straight just... did that so casually after calling you hot twice?
And then turned over? Like nothing happened?
Like you hadn't just rewritten every rule he'd ever followed about personal space and professionalism?
For several seconds König simply stared at your back as you curled up under the blanket like an innocent child preparing for sleep after committing emotional sabotage on a highly trained soldier's composure.
His hands clenched and unclenched as he glanced around your apartment briefly as if checking for cameras recording this moment (there weren't any).
It was absurd.
And yet...
He exhaled slowly through his nose, a quiet sound that carried more tension than he'd ever admit to anyone else in KORTAC.
Carefully, as if moving through minefield territory without tripping anything dangerous, König reached up and adjusted the edge where you'd kissed him. Not because it bothered him physically - but because something about that small action felt too intimate to leave untouched afterward
Then... very gently...
He lowered himself onto the couch beside you
Not lying down fully (he kept himself upright and aware), but sitting close enough now that one arm could drape along behind your shoulders if he chose to
The space between you shrank from "respectable distance" into "personal" with every inch. You turned at the sudden weight and met the sudden sight of him above you with a heavy blink.
You stared at him like he was something unexpected but not unwelcome - a puzzle piece that had slipped into place by accident. Your expression wasn't romantic or flirty (you weren't coherent enough for that). It was more... curious. Like you'd just noticed an interesting shape in the clouds again.
König watched your face, searching for signs of clarity that weren't there. You looked at him with the soft, unfocused gaze of someone drifting in and out of consciousness, half-dreaming already.
He didn't know what to do now.
Does he pull the blanket up over your shoulder? Does he say something? Does he kiss back?
Kissing a drunk recruit on his couch after she'd called him hot twice like it was a fact and then kissed his mask like an accident.
Absurd. But...
You shifted slightly toward him again without realizing it, drawn by warmth or instinct or just sleepiness pulling everything closer together
And König felt something dangerous stir behind his ribs
Something quiet but persistent that had nothing to do with missions or orders
König stared down at you, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around them like a held breath.
Your eyes were half-lidded, sleepy and soft in a way that made something in his chest tighten. You weren't flirting. You weren't being clever or manipulative. This wasn't some strategic move to get close to him.
You were just... there. Drunk, warm under the blanket, and for some reason utterly unafraid of him despite who he was.
And then you did something unexpected again.
Without warning (or maybe with too much warning if it had been conscious), you lifted your head slightly off the pillow...
Leaned forward...
And pressed your lips gently against his jawline
Right where skin met fabric beneath his mask
A real kiss this time - not on cloth but directly onto warm human flesh.
König didn't move.
Not a muscle. Not even his breath hitched visibly beneath the mask, though it certainly did inside it.
Your lips were soft. Warm. Brief against the sharp line of his jaw where skin was exposed just below the edge of fabric.
It wasn't romantic in any dramatic way - no lingering kiss, no passion or drama - but for König? It might as well have been a grenade going off right beside him
Because he'd never been kissed like that before
Not casually by someone who clearly didn't see him as Colonel König first and foremost... just... him
And worse (or better), you pulled back almost immediately after, blinking up at him with sleepy eyes that showed zero awareness of what you'd just done
Like kissing your commanding officer on duty was perfectly normal behavior.
You had no idea what you'd just done.
To kiss him like that? So casually? Like it was nothing more than leaning over to grab a pillow?
It sent something sharp through his chest - not anger. Not annoyance. Something far quieter and more dangerous: wanting.
And then...
Without warning to either of you...
He leaned down slightly and he pushed his mask up.
Slowly as if giving time for protest (though there was none coming from a half-asleep drunk person)
And kissed you.
He closed the small distance between you.
His lips met yours gently - not demanding, not aggressive, but careful. Testing. Like he was making sure this was real before committing fully.
A kiss that started soft as breath.
Then deepened slightly when he realized...
You weren't pulling away.
Weren't confused.
Weren't resisting at all.
But it felt... right
The kind of right that made his stomach flip.
Your lips moved against his sleepily, responding without thought or hesitation because alcohol had stripped away all filters and second-guessing.
And König?
For once...
He didn't overthink anything.
His lips started moving more firmly against yours, hungry, as if he'd finally just let go.
König kissed you deeper, his large hands coming up to cradle your face with surprising tenderness for someone built like a weapon.
His thumbs brushed lightly over your cheeks as the kiss lingered - slow, warm, and impossibly careful despite how long it had been since he'd kissed anyone
This wasn't a tactical maneuver. This wasn't part of any plan or mission brief.
It was just... wanting you
And when he finally pulled back slightly (just enough to breathe), his dark eyes searched yours beneath half-lidded intensity
You looked drowsy. Drunk. Unaware of the weight of what just happened between them...
But not upset either.