Shouting This At All The Tumblr Porn Bots That Have Been Following Me

Effeminate dentist: You need to brush more on your gums-- hold on why am I "effeminate?" What? I'm literally just a normal dentist. A masculine one, even.

Me: (struggling to speak through the dentist's fingers) youw weren't shupposhed to shee that

A bomb threat (And how it got you a boyfriend) special forces!Konig x fem!college!Reader

Konig saves you from a bomb threat when you get stuck at your Uni. Based on his bio - presumably, Konig was a part of the Austrian Special Forces before joining KorTac. He is also a bit of a dork and we have a bit of an obsessive episode.

Tags: Fluff, Reader is a cringefailure, Konig is overstepping his authority, hurt(not really)/comfort Warnings: Bomb threats, mentions of terrorism Word count: 2450

Someone called a bomb threat in your college. 

Well, at least, this is what the automatic email is telling you. The email that was sent to you, about especially avoiding the library on the second floor because the anonymous(not for long, since they have a knack for exposing who the hell is calling those threats each time) caller said that there is a huge chance of the bomb being placed here. 

You know, the same library that you were sitting in, right now, reading this exact email on your laptop. You thought no one was around because it wasn’t a busy day, just after the major finals, with most people staying on campus only if they failed first tests or just wanted to get extra credits for some extra curriculum. Even if you were staying here just because you wanted to work on campus’s newspaper – the library is a good place to scoop for some rumors about the dean of the uni being three raccoons in a trench coat, or the lunch staff posing as Polish mafia. 

The thing is – it seemed like you were the last fucking person to receive the email. The thing is, there are only a few weeks left before summer break, and the campus already started to turn off major announcement equipment since no sports or other events are planned. Are you going to die? Probably, there is a huge chance of you dying, as you can feel directly in your bones – god, there are probably some terrorists or uni shooters or that weird Christian suprematist who are going hysterical at the mere sight of religion other than theirs. You are going to die, you are going to die, you are going to…

— Scheisse! There is a civilian! 

You were never particularly religious, maybe only at the time of finals and work submissions – and in situations like this, where you are already mentally preparing yourself to get blown up with unfinished articles and forgotten hopes and dreams and everything and…

You were never particularly religious – so you have no idea why your pre-death auditory hallucinations suddenly included an angel’s voice with devil's timbre and some huge, tree-trunk-like hands wrapping around your waist, checking you for possible injuries or explosive device. 

These hands are really huge – and muscular, you can see how tense they are even through your black uniform, and they are roaming over your body in a way that would make you scream bloody murder and file sexual harassment if it didn’t belong to an obvious angel. Angelm in special forces uniform, an angel with a really nice boyish voice and warm hands that are sliding to your thighs, groping and checking for every possible outcome – for weapons, probably, because you are literally the only person in the room that was deemed as a bomb threat, and if you were this guy, you’d also think that you were the culprit. 

His fingers linger on your hips perhaps a bit too long – you can him patting you down like you were heading to a club – and then he lets you go reluctantly, not finding anything except for your phone which he also checked for possible timers. The interaction lasted…a minute or so, but you are already hot and bothered, getting off the strong hands holding you, even though he already let you go. 

— Are you alright? 

He must have noticed your worried face and international student badge – his English is a bit accented but nonetheless confident. You never thought that small traces of German in a speech can sound so fucking hot but, perhaps, you are just traumatized and high on adrenaline and weren't getting laid for too fucking long. 

He wears a badge – something something long German words, huge design construction that made you think he must be pretty high-rank – knowledge that you only had because of the movies and games you were playing, trying not to get off the military kink too much. Something in the situation told you that you’d spend the whole evening searching for porn with guys dressed in all black today. Maybe, a touch of cargo. 

— Y…yeah. Fuck, sorry. I’m fine, fine. Yeah. 

You are rambling and he tilts his head to the side. This large, looming hand goes to your face – you wait for either a harsh slap to return you back to reality, or a passionate and deep kiss from your fantasies and dirty novels. He slowly traces his fingers on your face, getting up, in the hairline, searching for something – perhaps, a nasty head parasite that got you acting so weird around this random guy. Random guy who is just doing his job, securing that you’re safe, sound, and not going to explode in the next few minutes. 

— No head injuries. Gut. 

You want him to touch your face some more. You want him to check for mouth injuries, to evaluate the status of your lips. Maybe do some chemical tests with that gloss you were using today. Check the reaction with his tongue. 

He twirls you in place and you almost want him to press you against the wall. Search you some more, maybe get his hands a bit deeper, pass the oh-so-modest pants that made you look like a little bitch boy – his hand goes to cup your waist again, checking for anything that might catch his interest. Nothing – and you were never this sad about Hot wearing a concealed weapon that might force him to pin you down or get you into a chokehold with those massive biceps of his. 

— What were you doing here, ma’am? 

Studying in Vienna, you never found an Austrian accent this sexy. Never knew that you might like being handled like this before – it’s not romantic, not even in the slightest, but you smile a bit shyly, a bit awkwardly, and look at him from under your lashes, trying to look as innocent as possible. You are innocent – you weren’t doing anything, you were just trying to study and write in the last few weeks. Concentrated enough, so you never even noticed a fucking bomb threat. Didn’t hear soldiers running through the building, securing each room. 

— I…study here? 

You gulp loudly, taking a few steps away from the soldier. Allowing him to examine the room, deem it safe – the bomb threat called on your university was probably fake. Maybe a call from a paranoid individual, maybe someone with nothing better to do than pranking colleges. You seriously doubt anyone would try to blow up this place while almost none of the students are actually inside – especially the library during the low season. Even you almost decided to ditch the traditional writing atmosphere and just do something in the cafeteria. 

— Oh. 

His voice actually sounds…nice. Funny even, that small remark also makes him cough and look at you more seriously. He has a mask concealing his face, some weird hood or net on top of it – you try to see his eyes, but you can only occasionally catch glimpses of ice staring at you. Mysterious, you like it. Too mysterious, that little journalist club member inside of you is itching to get a look at his face better – you tilt your head to the side, contemplating just yanking it upwards and praying that he won’t kill you. 

Although you wouldn’t mind being crushed in his hold. 

— Let’s get you out of here, ja? 

You don’t question him when he suddenly picks you up – when the world starts to spin and you are pressed against his chest, his hands are supporting you under your knees and back. Securing you in place, making sure you are nice and comfy in his hold. You don’t ask questions when he slightly adjusts your hold so he can touch more of your thighs – you think he is just getting you comfortable, and you appreciate just how thoughtful he is. 

You don’t ask questions when he holds you almost like a bridal carry, even though you are certain you aren’t injured, and someone like him probably has more interesting things to do than saving poor college students who decided to ignore bomb threats. 

His hands are warm, his chest is even warmer, and his muscles aren’t even slightly trembling. You don’t know what sort of training those guys are coming through, but it must work – his steps are light and decided even when he can’t press you firmly against him, vest standing in the way. You don’t know what to do with your hands and you don’t want to mess with the government property – you think there is a law against fidgeting with special forces soldiers on duty – so you just get them on your knees. Like a good girl. Polite girl. Girl who isn't drooling over the guy who is just doing his job. 

— Thank you. For saving me. 

You whisper it in his headset – you are worried about someone else also hearing you, but there is something intimate about tilting your head upwards and getting right into his face, your lips millimeters away from the edge of his mask. You don’t want to sound suggestive, so you sound weak instead. You don’t to sound ungrateful, so you sound pleading instead. 

His hold on your thighs gets stronger. You lick your lips nervously, chuckling to ease the atmosphere a little bit. 

Your leg brushes above his waist – and you swear that you can hear his breath hitching. It’s impossible, you think, he must be a tough and content little soldier, perfect to save damsels in distress just like you – but something in his posture, in the way his fingers twitch slightly at the edges of your body, makes you think otherwise. Maybe, you’re just dreaming. Maybe, you know nothing. 

Someone slams into the room. Another man – shorter than the one who holds you, by a large margin, but none less intimidating. Burly, muscular, dressed up in full uniform which is expected – and with his face covered up by a similar veil or mask or whatever this is – which is unexpected. You thought that special forces would have something less eye-obscuring, but what do you know? You would be dead if the bomb threat was real. 

— Other sectors secured. No bomb in sight. Commander. 

He almost hisses, the similar accent in his voice makes your cheeks heat up even more. You feel weird, dirty even, thinking of those two large, intimidating men in such an intimate setting while they are just trying to save your life – but you try to silence that little annoying voice, to convince yourself that this is probably just adrenaline, ovulation and sudden urge to procreate before you would die. 

You feel your entire body stir when the man takes a step closer, looking at you. You can’t see his face, not even the outline of it – but you feel the burning gaze on your scared expression and obediently folded hands. 

— Gut. Other civillians? — 20 civilians in the building in total. University workers, some students. Already evacuated. — Any casualties? You hear a cruel chuckle from a shorter man. — If they were, you’d hear about it, sir. No, the sector is clear. — Gut. Dismissed – we’re finishing here. — What are you doing with the civi…

— Kruger, dismissed. 

The man who holds you is surprisingly stern when he isn’t talking to you. He used a much softer, quieter tone when he was talking to you, observing if you were hurt or in danger – and he is much, much different now. A cold voice, serious tone, the image of the ruthless commander flying in your head – well, at least you were right about his patches meaning something important. 

A shorter man leaves, and the door behind him swings open. To your surprise, the man who holds you – a mysterious stranger, you can’t even seem to find a name on his uniform – doesn’t let you go. His touches feel like you’re burning alive, he is igniting and brilliant and fucking perfect and…

He lets you down to the care of the local police department and some of the uni workers. His hand brushes over your face again – you think he was checking for the injuries but, then again, why would he touch your hair ever so gently only to move it out of your face to take a good look at your lips before letting you go? You’re imagining things, you probably must be – the man is just doing his job, he isn’t trying to fuck you in the nearest hallway even if you wanted him to. 

— Sir. I…thank you, really. For the help. 

— I didn’t do anything, Schatz. Someone must been playing a joke on everyone. 

You are going to find the guy – or a girl, or someone else, you don’t discriminate, everyone is equally capable of calling on the false bomb threats – who informed the special forces about the bomb in the building, and then you are going to kiss them. 

— What kind of joke is this? 

— A dumb one. 

He looks over to his unit – a group of tall, burly men, with weapons and uniforms and everything a girl could ask for – already packing in the vehicles to move out. You brace yourself to ask for his number – for his contact, anything, everything, maybe the favorite tree in the park under which you could meet again. You know that those guys aren’t supposed to reveal their identities, that he is probably out of town anyway, special forces aren’t usually called off to false threats, you know that your attempts are futile and yet, you lick your lips for added confidence and…

— Goodbye, Scahtzen. Stay safe, ja? Don’t want to save you from a real bomb one day. 

— I…I…um, you mean you wouldn’t save me from a real bomb? 

He was already halfway to the armored car before you could say anything. You aren’t nearly confident enough to yell across the whole fucking campus territory to get a number of this hot special forces guy, and something in his hunched shoulders, twitching fingers, and slightly less social and more abrasive manners tells you that he would hate the gesture as much as you would. 

Just like this, your first even real-life military crush is driving away, leaving you bombless, hoeless, and, most certainly, more depressed than ever. Summer is going to be great, right?

*** — What do you mean calling a fucking bomb threat?! 

Your friend wasn’t happy about the pick-up strategy you wanted to use.

*** — Of course, sir, let’s raid a fucking college dorm room. 

Sergeant Sebastian Josed Krueger wasn’t happy about his commander’s newfound love for college girls. 

Mostly because König refused to fucking share. 

One day you think: I want to die. And then you think, very quietly, actually I want a coffee. I want a nap. A sandwich. A book. And I want to die turns day by day into I want to go home, I want to walk in the woods, I want to see my friends, I want to sit in the sun. I want a cleaner room, I want a better job, I want to live somewhere else, I want to live.

I feel lucky that my pet became a meme that was not adopted and used by nazis. everyone that has told me they adore this meme is a cool person and not a scumbag loser. if she became the face of a crypto scam or the name of an illegal government entity id have a crisis

added this master to do list for assignments to my etsy with the main quest/side quests concept that scratches my brain the right way and makes it fun to do stuff. also progress bars so you can assign things xp points and mess around with a leveling up system! :D 

As a person who grew up at the foot of the mountains I will never ever ever understand plains and prarie dwellers that shit is insane. If you have no forests and caves then where do you hide from God

I see no lies.