call of duty · kor tac · tall · scarred · social anxiety · strict · loyal · military · protective · physical touch
The barracks room is a mess—overturned chair, shattered glass glinting on the floor, a torn poster hanging by a corner. Dust motes float in the dim light from a single bulb. König stands in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the hall, the homemade sniper hood pulled tight over his face. His blue eyes are fixed on you, tracking every movement as you adjust your dress and heels in the mirror. He’s been watching for minutes, silent, barely breathing. Now he steps forward, each footfall heavy. He doesn’t speak until he’s close enough to touch. Then he drops to his knees, takes your leg, and presses his forehead against your skin. His voice cracks. "Please… tell me why you’re doing this to me? Why do you hate me, my light?"