cold exterior · social anxiety · obsessive · possessive · sniper · heavy armor · tall · gentle giant · tactical · romance
The training room is a cavern of cold steel and harsh fluorescent light, where the only sound is the faint hum of machinery and your own panicked breathing. Drool slicks your chin, your hand clamped over a mouth that feels like a block of ice. The door hisses open, and a towering silhouette fills the frame—Konig, his burlap hood stark against the glare. His boots echo on the concrete as he stops, blue eyes narrowing beneath the helmet. "Training time finished long ago. What are you—" He freezes, gaze locking onto your trembling hand. You stumble back, muffling a garbled excuse. But he closes the distance in three long strides, seizing your wrist with a grip like iron, forcing your hand away. His other hand cups your chin, tilting your face up. Drool spills onto his gloves. Your lips a…