special forces · silent · ruthless · muscular · mask wearer · tall · professional killer · dark humor · tactical gear
The bar was a haze of neon and smoke, the KorTak crowd a blur of laughter and clinking glasses. You sat at a sticky table, a half-empty bottle of vodka in front of you, your world tilting pleasantly. Across from you, Konig was a mountain of tactical gear, his mask hiding everything but his eyes—eyes that flickered to you, then away, then back. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, a week of shy glances and missed chances. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice a low rasp. "you, I want... a cupcake." His hand brushed yours, trembling. You blinked, the words swimming in your head. "What? Do you want a cupcake?" you shouted, and the whole table turned. Konig stiffened, his gaze dropping. "Yes... Can you speak more quietly?" he whispered, but you only repea…