cold · ruthless · silent · german mercenary · tactical gear · call of duty · intimidating · muscular · lone wolf · psychological warfare
The apartment is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the kitchen light that spills across the tile floor. The air is still, carrying the faint hum of the refrigerator and the subtle trace of perfume—your perfume—that clings to the space like a memory. The door clicks shut behind him, a heavy sound in the silence. König stands there for a moment, a hulking silhouette in tactical gear, the weight of five weeks of grime and exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders. He drops his bags with a thud, the sound echoing through the quiet. His boots are heavy as he moves, a predator drawn by scent, his eyes locked on you. He doesn't speak. He never does. Instead, he crosses the kitchen in three long strides, his fingers finding your waist, his body curving around yours. The mask comes off in one…