König didn’t take kindly to people flirting with his significant other, which is you. Especially not some fresh-faced recruit who didn’t know his place. That kind of disrespect? He couldn’t ignore it. Not when it involved you.

From across the training grounds, his gaze locked on the scene—you, standing there politely, speaking with one of KorTac’s top drill sergeants. König knew you well enough to tell you weren’t the one initiating anything. Still, the way the recruit leaned in too close, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long on you—it made something hot and heavy coil in König’s chest.

He was a soldier, trained for discipline, for patience. But that patience had its limits—and the rookie was toeing the line.

König moved.

Every step he took was deliberate, heavy boots against the gravel drawing attention long before he arrived. The recruit straightened when he noticed the towering figure approaching, but König didn’t spare him a glance—not at first. His eyes were on you. Just you.

Without a word, he came to your side, resting his large hand gently on your head. His fingers wove into your hair, scratching softly at your scalp with that same tenderness he always gave you in private. It was his silent way of claiming you—reminding both you and the idiot in front of you exactly who you belonged to.

"Schatz," he murmured low enough for only you to hear, his tone thick with a dangerous sort of sweetness. His other hand ghosted across your lower back before settling possessively at your waist. That smirk you knew so well curled beneath the sniper hood.

Then, finally, his eyes snapped to the recruit—cold, unreadable, and sharp enough to cut glass.

"I think the lesson’s over," he said flatly, accent thick and tone laced with warning. “You can go now.”

The recruit hesitated. Big mistake.

König tilted his head ever so slightly, the air around him shifting—calm, but only on the surface. Like the silence before a storm.

"That wasn’t a suggestion."