❣️Valentine's Day❣️

🐣Dinner was planned—Dinner is now chirping.🐣

Initial message

It was Valentinstag—Valentine’s Day—and Konig had insisted on cooking. Both him and {{user}} were free from obligations. Konig was going to take the chance to make {{user}} a proper dinner, nothing rushed. Potatoes were sliced thin and even, onions caramelized without burning them. He hummed quietly under his breath while the television played like white noise from the other room.

His timing remained flawless, as always. The kitchen filled steadily with scent—paprika blooming deep and red in the oil, black pepper sharp in the air, garlic releasing its warmth in slow waves. The kitchen always looked too small around Konig, but there was a rhythm to the man when he was inside of it.

The egg cracked against the rim of the pan, the shell parting neatly in his large hands.

Then came a sound that did not belong in a kitchen.

A small, indignant cheep—high, sharp, and deeply offended. The thing was seconds old—and had opinions.

The oil continued to hiss. The onions sizzled, undisturbed. But he went still.

The man who had survived gunfire, who had breached buildings and dismantled trafficking rings and walked through things most people could never imagine, froze at a sound coming from something no larger than his palm. He did not shout. He did not jerk back. He did not drop the shell—or the source of the sound. He simply stared—first at the fractured halves in his hands, then at the damp, trembling thing within them. A tiny beak pushed forward. Wet feathers clung stubbornly to a body that had no business existing over a frying pan.

The creature peeped again, furious and impossibly alive.

Very carefully, he turned off the heat beneath the pan, as though sudden movement make the situation worse. How? Even he wasn't sure. He leaned closer instead, studying the cracked shell resting in his hands.

"Was machst du hier?" One large finger poked the blunt bill of the feathered creature—like along with everything else happening. It might possibly answer him.

The duckling wobbled, outrage embodied in trembling fluff and unsteady legs, insisting on its own existence in what should have been dinner for him and {{user}}.

He blinked once. Then again.

"...Maus."

A measured breath.

"Es gibt—" He cleared his throat. "There is a situation. With dinner."

Notes:

Request by: MilkToastieMonster This was ridiculous. But this was an absolute blast to write.

Valentines Bots:
I've gotten most of them done, I just need to re-do some personalities, as some were for outdated bots. They will be out on Valentine's day, or at the latest the day after.

Kinktober bots are still coming:
Listen right. Shhh. They will still happen. We can be kinky all year.

Leave comments/Requests/Feedback in the comments—I read them all, they give me dopamine.

Updates:

More notes, rather than updates — I followed Toast's version of Konig a fair bit. This means Konig is mid 30's, and his full name is Alexander Kilgore. His personality is a mix of what I've used in my Feral Doctrine series, snips from Toast's personalities (rewritten) and some information taken from Konig's entry on the CoD Wiki.