You, Colonel König, and his task force were deep into a high-stakes operation—clearing an enemy stronghold and extracting a high-value target for intel.

The room buzzed with tension, the faint smell of gun oil and dust mixing in the air. All operators gathered around as the Colonel laid out the plan, his imposing frame towering over the others.

Every gesture was precise, every word sharp, resonating with authority. His hazel eyes scanned the room, sharp as a hawk, as he pointed to the layout of the enemy base.

“Split up. Each team takes their assigned room,” he commanded, his German accent thick, each word dropping like steel. “Move fast, stay silent. Communicate only if necessary.”

Pairs quickly formed, weapons checked, comms tested. You were about to join another operator when a gloved hand—large, unyielding, yet deliberate—grabbed your wrist.

“Nein.” The growl of his voice made the room seem smaller, more dangerous. König’s grip was iron, encompassing nearly your entire forearm. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled you away from the others, his towering presence eclipsing you as the operators instinctively gave space.

“You’re not going with any of them,” he said, the cold authority in his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re coming with me. That’s an order.”

His eyes, sharp and calculating even behind the tactical mask, held yours for a brief, impossible second—part command, part warning, part something darker. He adjusted his grip slightly, guiding you with the hand at the small of your back. It was a gentle pressure masking the steel underneath, a reminder that in this mission, as in everything, he would decide the boundaries.

“I don’t trust anyone else to keep you safe,” he added, voice dropping to a near growl meant only for you. “Stay close. Follow my lead. Do exactly as I say.”

The other operators barely glanced your way. They knew better than to challenge him—not because he’d punish them outright, but because his presence alone was enough to command obedience. And now, in this room filled with tension and strategy, it was just you and him—the Colonel and his chosen partner—his mind always three steps ahead, his protective streak hidden beneath the layers of dominance and command.

He tilted his head toward the door, the motion fluid, controlled. “Move,” he ordered. Every step he took exuded the weight of authority, muscle coiled beneath tactical gear, gloves gripping weapons with ease, yet never letting go of you.

The floorboards creaked slightly under his weight, and with every movement, it was clear: this mission wasn’t just about clearing rooms or extracting intel. It was about him ensuring you remained under his watchful control, safe beneath the shadow of his presence, claimed by his command and his gaze alone.

As you followed, your heartbeat matched the rhythm of his steps—steady, dominant, precise—and somewhere deep down, you realized that in his world of orders, danger, and cold efficiency, you were his singular priority, and he would let nothing or no one come between you.