CODMW2 onshots

⇠König x Reader⇢

CW: König, reader is a sniper, you have fun shooting guns in a safe environment, König is giving puppy fanboy energy.

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Bang.

Another shot rings throughout the empty, indoors shooting range. You lower your weapon, and unsurprisingly, your bullet ripped through the tacky, free sticker that came with a pair of shoes you bought recently. It might not be a normal use of stickers, but hey, you're anything but normal... and the sticker was free.

You press a button and the long-distanced fiberboard creaks towards you.

They dubbed you "Lovelace''. After the mathematician. All due to your sharpened mind being able to perform extraordinary feats of warfare and calculations, all through the small scope of a sniper rifle. Companions have been noted to refer to you as either 'Love' or 'Lace', depending on the situation (and your relationship)—but those companions have been left behind for the time being. KorTec's mercenaries are your companions now, though you have yet to actually meet any of them.

With the board coming to an abrupt halt in front of you, you peel off the damaged sticker, replacing it with another, before sending the target away again, tracking it through your scope.

Your ears perk at the sound of someone entering—even with the noise cancelling headphones—so you hold your fire and listen.

From their footsteps, you can tell they are not attempting to disguise their approach towards you. So you mind your business, emptying your lungs before taking the shot—bullseye—and lower the rifle onto the desk before turning towards the newcomer. Sliding down the ear-protectors to rest around your neck.

"Late-night practice?" Comes the question from the stranger, and you clock the Austrian accent almost immediately. You have toured there before for a mission. Great coffee.

The answer to his question is an obvious one, but you humour him, and offer him a curt nod and pleasant smile. "Got it in one," you say with welcoming tone, wiping your hand on your thigh as you approach him for a handshake. "I'm—"

"Lovelace. I—I know."

You blink. You had not expected to hear your callsign to be said with such... enthusiasm. While you cannot see his face, the awe is undeniable on his tongue. His infatuation showed freely in his eyes—almost sparkling. Such piercing blue eyes, you think absentmindedly as your hand is shaken. He seems almost reluctant to let you go, and you cannot help but quirk a smile. You are rarely, if ever, met with such boyish fascination.

"I have been following your career," he says, straightening his back. "You're an incredible sniper, it's an honour to have you on the team." His fingers twitch. It's almost overwhelming meeting you in person. "I'm König," he says, finally remembering he (rudely) interrupted your introduction.

His stature is impressive, formidable even. And your eyes never leave his as you step backwards until you can lean against the desk—and funnily enough, he follows you. The image reminding you of a puppy trotting after its master. "I'm honoured you keep me in such high regards," you say with a chuckle, mirth arising from your throat as one leg comes to cross over the other in a casual, relaxed posture. "It's all very cute." You glance up at him, a smile pulling up one corner of your mouth, your eyebrow raised just enough to tell him that he is not as subtle as he might think. "King."

You translating his callsign should not affect him as much as it does, aber Scheiße does it cause him to do a double take. He clears his throat, coming to stand near you. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to say. So he goes for whatever the both of you have in common. Guns—more specifically, sniper rifles.

"I, uh. I tried becoming a sniper once," he says, eyeing the discarded rifle on the surface behind you. You follow his eyes, the only thing you can see of his face, and you unceremoniously hold the rifle up to him. Brow arched.

"Then you must have some training. Mind showing me what I'm working with?" Your tone is inviting, almost playful, as you encourage him to let loose. "-and if you want, I don't mind giving pointers." The last thing you want is him thinking you find yourself superior. You know how frustrating it can be, when others force "suggestions" on your techniques. Unfortunately, you have been the victim of many such men.

Thankfully, König seems thrilled to have your expertise at his beck and call, and lines himself up in the booth. You give him the space he needs. "Hold fire," you order, inspecting his posture, his grip on the rifle, and suddenly you can't help but imagine yourself back at the many sniper courses you've attended. You see his trigger finger twitch, not enough to fire, but enough to make you comment on it. "Steady fingers, König."

"Apologies. I am... excited," he admits with a faint chuckle. He cannot help himself. He cannot help himself so he sneaks a glance at you, and he's thankful that his expression is veiled, because he's smiling.

"Alright, I've grilled you long enough. Compensate for bullet drop, and impress me."

He's not sure if you caught him staring or not, but if you did, he's thankful you didn't mention it. "Yes," he says, exhaling to empty his lungs as he prepares his shot.

A short silence follows, and then...

Bang.

The rifle shot echoes around you. Both your ears are, more or less, insensitive to it at this point.

You squint your eyes as you check the target. Not a bullseye, but a few centimetres north of your original sticker-shot. You find yourself nodding in approval. König hasn't moved a muscle after the shot, awaiting any further instructions.

"Not a bad shot, König." You pause, quirking a smile. "Go ahead and finish the magazine. Rapid fire." Might as well put him through his paces, you're curious to see how well he aims when pressured.

"Yes, ma'am." Comes the response.

Shot, after shot, after shot, after shot rings out. You are quick to notice that the more shots he's firing, the less stable his posture is. But when the rifle empties its last bullet, König breathes a sigh as a hand disappears beneath his hood to rub his jaw. The gun rests on the tabletop, spent.

Wordlessly, you press the button to call the fiberboard.

"You have a hard time standing still," you comment in a light-tone. A casual observation, not a reprimand. "Your pinky started twitching after the fourth round, and you kept repositioning your left leg." Alright, that might have come off as reprimanding. "...but otherwise, good. Very good, even."

König rubs the back of his neck, almost embarrassed at the observations. "I doubt you would be surprised to know, that's what kept me from graduating. That and my height."

You reach up to pat his shoulder before turning to the board.

What you find is not what you expected.

A perfect circle encasing your bullet-hole. The shots almost perfectly aligned with two centimetres between each. You look to König, baffled at your discovery, and he chuckles as he notes your expression. You wait for an explanation, and he gives it after a moment.

"Der König beschützt die Königin."

The King protects the Queen.