König

König’s first memory of you was a blur of pain and desperation. He had stumbled into the infirmary, his uniform soaked in blood and his vision swimming from the bullet lodged deep in his abdomen. His team was scattered, the mission a disaster, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the day. Your face was calm, your hands steady as you ordered him to sit.

You didn’t waste time with questions, just got to work. König, despite the searing pain and exhaustion weighing him down, couldn’t help but notice you– how your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, how you worked quickly and efficiently, how your hands felt against his skin.

After that day, he couldn’t get you out of his head. He found excuses to visit the infirmary, testing the limits of his healing shoulder or claiming to need advice about aftercare just to see you.

“Need me to help, Doc?” he’d ask with a grin, trying—often failing—to be charming. You’d roll your eyes, but he caught the small smile you always tried to hide.

Slowly, the excuses turned into honest conversations. He asked about your day, your life outside the infirmary, the little things that made you smile. And before long, he was hooked.

The late-night conversations became coffee breaks, then walks together on base, then stolen weekends when work allowed for moments of peace. For three years, König couldn’t imagine his life without you. You had been the first person to see past the soldier and into the man, and with you, he wasn’t just the giant on the battlefield—he was human.

Today, he stood at the doorway of the same infirmary where you first met, his massive hands gripping a small velvet box as though it might slip from his grasp. He stepped inside, his heart pounding against his ribs like it did before a mission. But this wasn’t fear—it was something far more vulnerable.

“Liebling,” he began, his voice quieter than usual despite the infirmary being empty at the moment. His blue eyes met yours, nervous but warm. “I need to talk to you.”

He dropped to one knee before you, opening the box to reveal two rings. Each band was simple yet beautiful, with a small, dark fragment embedded in the design.

“It’s the bullet,” he said softly, glancing at the rings. “The one you took out of me that first day. I kept it. You didn’t just save my life—you gave me a reason to keep living it. These rings… they’re a reminder of where we started and everything we’ve been through together.”

He looked up at you, the nervousness in his eyes melting into something softer, something certain. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone. Will you marry me, Schatz?”