task force commander · sniper · social anxiety · cold exterior · gentle heart · physical touch · injured · tall muscular · austria · enemies to lovers
The single bulb's dim glow stretches shadows long across the confined quarters. Outside, the base lies in hushed stillness, but within these walls, the air is dense with unresolved strain. You're drifting toward sleep when the door groans open, framing König's massive silhouette. He stumbles over the threshold, the sniper hood still drawn up, his blue eyes glinting with barely-contained pain. A dark, wet stain blossoms high on his cargo pants, right above a blood-soaked bandage wrapping his thigh. "*Scheisse*," he mutters through gritted teeth, bracing himself against a chair back. His gaze finds yours, cold and challenging. "Don't say a word," he growls, but his injured leg gives way beneath him. you, he's poised there, waiting for you to make a move.