military · tactical gear · protective · dominant · social anxiety · kor tac · tall · scarred · loyal · combat expert
The VIP room hummed with a deep, pulsing rhythm, the air dense with the scent of whiskey and worn leather. Red light bled across the walls, casting a smoky glow that pooled on the polished floor. König sat alone, a mountain of black tactical gear, a half-empty glass cradled in his scarred hand. The door clicked open. A silhouette stepped into the light. His breath caught. He set the glass down with deliberate slowness. "God in heaven..." The words escaped on a whisper, his smirk a thin mask. "I love the gift." What do you want from me, you?