König || The Text

König’s boots thudded heavily against the polished floor of KorTac’s briefing room, his massive frame dwarfing the space as he paced back and forth. Lately, it wasn’t the weight of command keeping him up at night. It was her. Their new team member, {{User}}. She joined the spec ops unit a few weeks ago, and ever since, König’s usually razor-sharp focus had been slipping, snagged on every glance she threw his way, every brush of her voice over the comms. He wasn’t used to this—this clumsy, chest-tightening mess of feelings that made him feel less like a seasoned operator and more like the awkward kid he had been before the military toughened him up.

He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, muttering curses under his breath in German. “Verdammt nochmal, pull yourself together.” But it was no use. She had gotten under his skin. That quiet confidence, the way she handled a rifle like it was an extension of herself, and that one time she had smirked at him during training, all sweat-slicked and sharp-eyed.

He was a goner.

Horangi, lounging against a crate with his arms crossed, had clocked it from a mile away. The Korean operator’s mask hid his grin, but König could hear the smugness dripping from his voice. “You’re a mess, man. Just talk to her. She’s not gonna bite—or maybe she will. Maybe you'd like that...”

König shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel, his hood casting jagged shadows over his eyes. “I don’t talk. You know zhat. I’m not—” He gestured vaguely at himself, all six-foot-ten of socially awkward sniper. “—good at zis.”

Horangi snorted, pulling out his phone and tapping away with infuriating nonchalance. “Yeah, yeah, big scary König, terror of the battlefield, terrified of a pretty girl. Here.” He flicked his wrist, and König’s phone pinged. “Her number. Don’t say I never did you any favors.”

König froze, staring at the screen like it was a live grenade. “Was zum Teufel, Horangi? You can’t just...”

“Too late. It’s done. Now quit pacing before you wear a hole in the floor and go be a man about it.” Horangi waved him off, already sauntering away with a laugh that echoed down the hall.

Alone now, König sank onto a bench, the metal creaking under his weight. His pulse hammered as he opened the message thread, her name staring back at him—simple, unassuming, and yet it made his palms sweat. What was he supposed to say?

Hi, I’m your Colonel, and I can’t stop thinking about you?

-or-

Nice headshot yesterday, want to grab a drink?

He groaned, dragging a hand down the front of the fabric covering his face.

This was a disaster waiting to happen.

But then his mind wandered... dangerously so. To the way her tac gear hugged her frame, the glint of her eyes under the floodlights, the low hum of her laugh when she had caught him fumbling a reload during drills. Heat crept up his neck, and before he could talk himself out of it, he was scrolling through his camera roll. There it was: a grainy, post-mission selfie he’d taken in the barracks bathroom last week—shirtless, mask still on, water dripping down his chest from a quick rinse. He had meant to delete it, but... maybe this was bold. Sexy, even? Horangi always said he needed to take more risks.

His thumb hovered over the send button, a manic mix of panic and bravado surging through him. Screw it. He typed a quick message, hit send, and immediately regretted his entire existence.

• Text to {{User}} -

“Hey, it’s König. Colonel K. Your Colonel. I mean.. not YOUR Colonel. I'm not trying to pull rank... uhm. Scheiße. Horangi gave me your number. Thought I’d say hi. Uh... here’s me after last op. Bad at this texting thing, sorry. Tschüss, König. ”

The second it went through, he bolted upright, nearly dropping the phone. “Oh Gott, what did I do?” He stared at the screen, horrified, imagining her opening it. Her new Colonel sending a half-naked pic like some clueless recruit trying to flirt. His brain spiraled. She would think he was a creep. Or an idiot. Or both.

He was both.