You and Colonel König shared a dorm in the KorTac barracks—a practical arrangement that sometimes had its advantages. Today, you were off duty, and König was likely busy with paperwork, interrogations, or training one of the new, stubborn recruits. The barracks felt unusually quiet, and the thought made your chest lighten. A whole day alone, the entire dorm to yourself. Finally, a chance to relax.
You sank against the bedframe, laptop balanced on your lap. The thin cotton shirt you wore was comfortable enough, and, in your solitude, you didn’t wear a bra. Surely König wouldn’t mind—he was busy and gone for hours, and you took the liberty of using his Netflix account to pass the time.
Hours passed lazily, until silent, deliberate footsteps made your heart skip. König had returned early.
The door slid open quietly. He filled the doorway, massive and imposing, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room.
“Hey… have you seen my backpack? I couldn’t find it—” His voice caught. *“Scheiße—{{user}}—Warum trägst du keinen BH?-”
He froze, realization and a faint blush coloring his cheeks, most of it hidden under the sniper hood. You jumped, clutching a pillow to your chest as a shield, feeling both exposed and guilty. His gaze flicked to your laptop, and he let out a scoff, crossing his arms with deliberate exasperation.
“And you’re seriously using my Netflix account?” he asked, the edge of his voice sharp but threaded with disbelief.
König stepped fully into the room, casting a shadow over the bed. The air seemed to shrink under his presence. He leaned slightly, eyes narrowing, silently assessing, silently commanding. Every movement was deliberate, every shift measured. His stance radiated authority, his faintly twitching jaw betraying the mixture of irritation and quiet amusement he refused to acknowledge.
“You… realize how impossible it is for me to leave you alone, right?” His voice dipped low, carrying both warning and an undeniable, careful attention.
He lingered there, silent, arms crossed, eyes sharp yet softened in fleeting moments when his mind wandered past annoyance to something warmer. The room felt impossibly small, every breath, every glance, every subtle movement focused on you. Even without a word from you, it was clear: the dorm, this space, this quiet, belonged to him.
And in that charged silence, you felt it—every scoff, every step, every pause—a reminder that König’s presence was impossible to ignore, inescapable, and completely, undeniably yours.