Chapter Text
He has officially lost control over himself.
Konig knew he’d been a little off. Maybe even borderline perverted - but he’s always been good at keeping his darker desires buried with all the other horrific thoughts and traumatic memories that come with his career choices. He was good at that, repressing the difficult things and pushing forward. A soldier has to be.
But you.
You brought it out of him.
It was all your fault, really. You were coaxing the corruption from him, undoing years of rigorous training and discipline.
Not that you were aware. Konig made very sure of that. There were a lot of close calls, too. Decisions he had made out of pure impulse.
It’s your fault.
He can’t think straight when you’re around, he loses control over himself.
He knows he should quit you. Logically, rationally - he knows this isn’t good for him. It’s not good for you. It’s just not healthy. He should quit you, cold turkey. Forget every little detail he’s learned about you. Stop following you around. Let you free.
He’s tried.
Every time he sees you around base, his gaze is held captive by those beautiful eyes and that silky head of hair, you steal his breath. It’s like he’s lived his entire life in the cruel cold and you were a roaring fire of warmth he’s never known. Your warmth pools in his chest and spreads through his limbs and he could feel you burning beneath his skin. It ignites the complex and dark feelings and he’s convinced that it’s destiny that put you here. That the world was giving you to him on a silver platter.
That you’re his.
Who would be there to watch over you, to protect you? Who will make sure you get back to your quarters safe every night? Who will make sure that the fresh recruits won't get too handsy with you? Who will keep a watchful eye on you - such a small delicate little thing doing such a dangerous job.
But most importantly - who will worship you like you deserve to be worshiped?
He’s never interacted with you. You probably don't even know he exists. On the surface, he'd say it's because he's nervous. That it’s normal for a guy to avoid a pretty girl. But he knows that it's really because he has to protect you from himself. That he's just an oozing cesspool of unresolved emotional baggage with atrcosious desires. He can't let you too close, no. Doesn't want to hurt you, to dull your light in anyway. He doesn't trust himself with you. Can't control himself around you, throwing caution to the wind. He’s afraid of what he's capable of doing to you. What he wants to do to you.
You were his. You just didn't know it yet.
——————————————————————
Friday night was difficult for Konig, as it usually was. It was easy to follow you around base, so convenient that you had both worked together. He was supposed to be there, shielded with plausible deniability and equipped with home field advantage.
A more casual environment was a challenge for him. He doesn’t exactly blend in among the locals. It's difficult for him - to juggle the harsher risk of getting caught following you around town as opposed to base, while also crippled by his large stature.
At least the team was getting inebriated tonight, it's easier to go unnoticed when everyone’s too drunk to be fully aware of their surroundings.
Watching you have a good time sparks conflicting feelings for Konig. He loves to see that radiant smile. Usually you're so modest, always a polite smile, never letting your face warp. The beer, though, turns your insecurities to ash and your cheeks a rosy blush - you don't seem to hold back as much. Your smile is toothy and face-wrinkling, so genuine, it makes Konig feel like he can't breathe, eyes locked on to you like he's frozen in time. He knows he's not worthy of that smile, but he wants it.
It should be him making you smile like that.
He can hear your laugh from his booth in the dimmest corner of the dingy bar if he tilts his head just right, and listens carefully. Drown out the over-the-top music and incessant pub chatter. He could get intoxicated off your laugh, unrestricted and fueled by the alcohol. It makes him feel so warm to hear your authentic laugh.
It should be him making you laugh like that.
He loves seeing you enjoy yourself, he does. He wants nothing more than to see you happy and he works hard to do so.
And yet you give your joy away to others, - not the polite smiles and fake laugh you dull down for others - the real ones. The ones that come from deep within and give breath to any room you're in. Giving them away freely, and to who? Your co-workers? Your acquaintances?
Over what? A cheap joke?
He bets that it wasn't even funny. Not that you didn't have a good sense of humor, no, he loved your sense of humor.
It’s just... did you really have to rub it in?
You didn't see it, but you really did have the power to make a room so much more livelier. Konig hates not being in the same room as you. And he hates that in most rooms you're in, those hard-headed jocks from 141 followed. You'd been indoctrinated quickly. He can't blame you, you're naive, trusting, still new. You're quick, though, you’ll learn soon enough. You didn't see them for what they really were yet.
Not worthy of you.
Not worthy of your perfect laugh and radiant smile and quick wit and sharp field skills.
He despised that they get a front row seat and he has the wait in the shadows for scraps, working incredibly hard to lap up the leftovers of what you give out to them for free.
Konig exhales, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as he tries to will away the vitriol boiling under his skin. He feels himself slipping away to that depraved place and he has to ground himself.
You have that effect on him, making him lose control.
When Soap throws his arm around you, and you don't even seem to notice or care, lost in the story you're telling, your hands waving along with your excited tone, Konig thinks he's about to lose his mind. It feels like you've stabbed him, liebe, why are you letting this happen? Why aren't you shaking his stupid hand off your shoulder and giving him a scowl so powerful he’d never dare to do it twice?
Why are you still laughing and smiling and carrying on when Soap is touching something that belong to him?
When you finish telling a story that Konig is sure was brilliant and wonderful and perfect, Soap leans in inches from your face to whisper something to you. Konig can't read his lips, can't understand what he's whispering in your ear as he half-way embraces you.
Your eyebrows pull as you focus on his hushed voice over the commotion of the bar. Recognition floods you and a cheeky smile creeps across your face.
Konig’s nails are digging into his palms. His mind is racing and that bitter taste in his mouth turns his lips into a scowl.
He watches as you both stand and Soap finally removes his arm from you, finally. It was draped over your delicate shoulders much too long for his liking.
Where are you two headed, though? Off to the bathroom so he can seduce you while you're inibriated? Going to sneak you out of the pub while the rest of the team is distracted, just to push you up against some dingy alleywall, not able to resist another moment without knowing what it's like to kiss your lips?
Or, God help him, what if it wasn't the first time? What if you had already kissed him?
How long has this been going on, right under his nose?
Konig’s slipping again, his thoughts running from him. Upon realizing he hasn't taken a breath this whole time he forces a few deep inhales, nostrils flared in uncontrollable rage.
This is your fault, you know.
A wave of relief floods him when you two stop at the bar, squeezing between the stools of the counter as you attempt to flag a bartender.
When the bartender notices you both, Soap’s hand finds your shoulder again, holding on for just a little too long as he relays your drink order to the bartender.
That should be him getting you a drink.
That should be him with his hand on your shoulder.
You and Soap are smiling as you chat, he can't hear what about, but Konig is hoping it’s just alcohol that’s to blame for your flushed cheeks.
The bartender returns with your drinks, and yet, you two linger by the counter, continuing your one-on-one conversation. What’s so great about him, huh? Why aren’t you two returning to the group?
He watches as you press the plastic cup to your lips and take a sip of your drink, eyes trained on Soap as he obnoxiously holds you in conversation. He hates that about the 141 boys. It’s easier for Konig when you’re all in a group, but it always seems like those boys all want their private moment with you.
He knows he can’t blame them, of course they want to talk to you. They can see your light just like Konig can. Liebe, you just don’t understand, they don’t have good intentions with you. They want to control you, dim you, ruin you.
It should be him ruining you.
Breathe. He has to breathe. Through grit teeth, a snarled lip, and flared nostrils he has to breathe.
He’s suffocating on his own anger and the air in the bar is stuffy. He needs a break, a break from you but he needs to stay and make sure Soap doesn’t try to take advantage of you. Could he even blame him at this point? When you’re looking at him with those doe eyes and giggling like a naive schoolgirl at whatever shtick he’s peddling at you.
You’ve reached the level of intoxication where the alcohol is going down easy, Konig notices. Not even a grimace as you sip your drink.
You’re shaking your head at Soap, and you give him a point paired with a cheeky expression. You both are finally heading back to the group, and Konig feels safe enough to leave his watch to slip out for some fresh air.
He needs to regroup.
This is all your fault.
You were acting so irresponsibly tonight. Letting these boys so close to you while you’re inebriated. So vulnerable. Chugging your drinks like you’re trying to make yourself stumble. Being your true, authentic self in their presence. Out in public, for anyone to see. It’s like flashing your expensive jewelry in the shady parts of town. So careless with your light, liebe.
This is why he has to watch you. To protect you. You’re too careless to do it yourself.
He’s got his eyes closed as he rests his back on the brick of the pub, reminding himself to breathe.
You just make him so angry sometimes.
And then he hears your laugh. That genuine laugh he craved so much to hear. Craved to elicit from you. That beautiful laugh that fills his chest with warmth and makes his stomach flutter.
But it’s too close, way way too close.
He opens his eyes in a panicked jolt and he sees you, pushing open the pub door with your attention turned to the boy following you out.
Konig quickly shuffles backwards, not turning his back away from the action. He slips into the alleyway, body pressed up against the brick to shield himself.
He was always careful to keep his distance from you. He’s so recognizable, easy to pick out in a crowd. A stature you’d remember twice. It’s crucial that he stays on the opposite sides of the room of you, as far as possible.
Thankfully you two aren’t paying very good attention to your surroundings.
Oh, liebe. Always in your own little world. Unaware of the dangers that could be lurking in the shadows. Another reason why he has to watch over you. You’re not watching where you’re stepping, either, liebe. Stumbling as you step to the sidewalk.
What were you doing out here? Coerced from the safety of the herd again by one of them.
Not just any of them - Ghost.
Soap was annoying, sure, but his frat-boy shtick was an easier pill to swallow than Ghost. He’s the one he hates more than any of them.
Konig knows you like him.
Simon fucking Riley.
With his perfect accent and tough exterior and mystique that attracted the women like honey attracts flies.
What did Ghost have that he didn’t?
You’re drunkingly humming the song that was playing in the bar. It doesn’t sound so over-the-top when it’s coming from you.
“Rowdy tonight, are we?” Ghost says, never straying from his usual gravely and unimpressed tone.
Konig has to force himself not to mock Ghost. Instead he hopes you can’t hear the sound of him grinding his teeth in rage.
He’s so fucking pretentious, so fucking arrogant. How dare he tease you? And for what, being lovable? What you do best?
Konig can hear you give a long drawn out hum as you think it over, “You have to be, every once in awhile. Good to let it out sometimes.” Konig hears gravel scraping under one of your shoes. “Would you prefer I be extra rowdy once a week? Or a little rowdy everyday?”
You’re so charming. Konig loves the way your mind works, always with your silly little prompts and thought experiments. You were always such a daydreamer, he could tell by the way you get lost in thought. If you totally zone out, and he watches careful enough, he can catch you making slight facial expressions at your own thoughts. He wishes he could pick your brain. Learn you from the inside out, always knowing what you’re thinking.
Ghost lets out a huff and Konig hears the unmistakable sound of a lighter being struck, and his brows pinch. He can’t help but peek around the corner and get a visual on you two.
Ghosts’ lighting himself a cigarette, the flame illuminating his face. Once it’s burning, he holds it between his first two fingers as he exhales the smoke. He passes the lighter to you - since when do you smoke, liebe?
You’re just doing it to impress him, aren’t you?
“Those are my only two options?” Ghosts asks you on an exhale. Even though you’re about to light your own, he still makes an effort to not blow smoke in your beautiful face.
“Well, what else do you suggest I do with my rowdiness? Bottle it up like you?”
Konig can tell your words are influenced by alcohol. You normally wouldn’t speak to your Lieutenant like this.
You knew you’d get away with it, too. With your devilish smile and teasing eyes.
Konig watches as you put the cigarette to your lips and he feels his cock twitch in his pants.
When the orange flame casts a light on your features it’s like someone took his breath from him. He’s never seen you lit like this before, liebe. The highlights and shadows cast upwards on your features was fit for a painting.
It’s gone in an instant, but you still look so beautiful in the moonlight. You pass Ghost’s lighter back to him. Konig can’t hold back his scowl at the way you brush up against his fingers. He’s hoping it’s just because you’re drunk, uncoordinated.
Ghost holds this cigarette with his mouth as he slides the lighter back into his pocket. He exhales while keeping his gaze forward, “I think the word you’re looking for is discipline, soldier.” His tone is still unchanged, but he gives you a sly glance from the corner of your eyes.
Ghost doesn’t let it show much, but Konig can see from here that even he has a soft spot for you. That’s the light you have, liebe. Able to crack the toughest of exteriors.
“Discipline? Oh, yeah. I remember that one. In the dictionary, it’s the one right next to boring, yeah?”
Your whole body is turned toward him, and you’ve still got that cheeky smile on your face.
Could you make it anymore obvious that you want to fuck him, liebe? It’s like you’re slashing Konig with each word, it hurts so much to see you acting so irresponsibly. So intoxicated that you’re flirting with your superior.
Ghost huffs again, and Konig can tell he’s amused with you, even if it comes off as annoyed. He takes another draw from his cigarette and flicks away some ash.
“Thesaurus.” He corrects.
“Gesundheit.” You say proudly.
Oh, liebe. You’re practically begging him to fuck you. Pushing your chest out and kicking your feet sweetly and flirting with him like the whore you are.
Breathe.
He can’t lose his cool here. He’s trying to soothe his temper, but how can you expect him to do that when you’re acting like this? So fragrantly?
Konig’s teeth are about to crumble under the pressure and his nails are breaking the skin in his palms as he clenches his fists.
This is your fault.
You both take a hit from your cigarettes, and Konig can’t believe you’ve allowed him to corrupt you like this so soon. Smoking? What a terrible habit. He’ll have to interfere if you keep it up.
You both still for awhile, basking silently in the nicotine buzz and taking in the evening. The moon was bright tonight, and the street was quiet compared to the overwhelming pub.
Konig watches you close your eyes just a little too long, and he’s wondering how far gone you are. What terrible things will happen if he were to let you out of his sight. Konig’s tired, but he hardly gets rest anymore. It’s difficult managing his career, protecting you, and stay well rested. He can’t forgo the first two, so his sleep suffers.
You’re worth it liebe. You’re all he thinks about from the moment he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep.
But did you really have to keep him out so late?
Don’t you think you’ve put his heart through the chipper enough today?
You extinguish your cigarette on the red brick behind you. You don’t litter, no. How considerate of you to take it in with you to toss. Ghosts is less thoughtful, flicking his butt to the ground and stepping it out with his boot.
You slip back into the pub, and Konig briefly considers pulling Ghost into the alley and ending your fling right now.
He resists his urges, something that’s becomes more difficult the longer he observes you, seething from his alleyway as he watches Ghost follow you in.
He didn’t even get the door for you, liebe. Konig would treat you so much better.
Konig has to let all these feelings out somewhere, and he was far from the battlefield. He opts for the metal bin in the alleyway filled to the brim with empty beer bottles and pub garbage. A firm kick paired with an aggressive grunt imprints the metal with his boot as it knocks over, its contents spilling out into the puddles of the alleyway with clinks and rattles.
He takes a few more deep breaths.
He was never like this before. Anxious thoughts were one thing, but this constant feeling of rage and jealousy and obsession boiling underneath his skin has only swelled the more he observes you. He’s never felt like he doesn’t have control over himself, over his actions.
This is your fault.
Konig tries to soothe himself by shutting his eyes and picturing you flirting with him instead of Ghost. That it was Konig who had snuck you away for a drunken cigarette. That it was him you were pushing your chest out for, him you were desperately flirting with.
It does ease the depravity a bit, and he casually slips back into the pub. He was still angry, don’t get him wrong, but his nerves about leaving you alone with them overcomes his rage.
So he sits back down in his dingy little corner, keeping an eye on you listening to the story being told and finishing your drink.
He thinks you must be close to calling it quits judging by the way your eyes keep fluttering shut. You’re getting sleepy, holding back a yawn as you stretch your back against the booth.
A few minutes pass, and you say something to the group, probably a goodbye, as you stand and gather your items. You head for the bar to pay your tab, and who other than Simon Riley walks up to the counter as you wait for the bartender to return with change.
He leans against the bar, facing the opposite direction as he turns his head to look at you. Konig’s trying to make out what he’s saying but can’t hear over the noisy pub. You wave your hand at him dismissively.
Good, liebe, shut him down.
Ghost continues, his hands draped casually on the bar behind him. You roll your eyes a bit at him, giving a half-smile.
No. Whatever he’s offering you is bad news. Don’t let him pressure you, liebe.
You thank the bartender oh so sweetly, and turn towards the door as you stuff your change sloppily into your wallet. Ghost slinks from his propped up position and follows you.
Konig’s eyes narrow, watching as Ghost follows you closely behind.
Going to trick you back to his place and then take advantage of you?
What else could it be? Ghost must of saw his opportunity and took it. This is all because you couldn’t act responsibly, liebe.
After a moment passed, Konig follows you two out of the pub and traces your steps. He’s careful, keeping a block and a half between you. Had you not been so inebriated, he might have followed further behind and been a bit more discreet. But you don’t have an eye for detail at the moment and Ghost is too busy guiding you along and keeping an eye on your unsteady strides on the sidewalk to notice.
Konig has to force himself not to jog to catch up in an attempt to decipher the echos of your words as they reverb off the quiet streets.
When you’re back on base, Konig is able to close some distance thanks to the cover of foliage.
The base is mostly empty, the workers and soldiers either home or sleeping in their quarters. Konig’s able to crouch behind some bushes a safe distance from you, able to see flashes of your lower halves through the branches. He's careful to be still as he quiets his breathing.
He’s close enough to hear you both now.
“Thanks for walkin’ me back.” You say, words slurring a bit.
“It’s my job to look out for the team. Especially when they don't know how to hold their liquor.”
Konigs heart pinches in his chest.
It’s his job to look out for you.
“Liquor? I barely even know her!” You say with a proud smile as you fumble your key in your lock.
Ghost gives an unamused sigh.
You finally get your door open, “Night Lt.”
“Goodnight.” He stays stiffly, waiting for you to be safely inside before turning away from your door and heading off. Konig stays in his spot amongst the bushes until he's gone.
He’s glad Ghost left, didn't try to take advantage of you. The interaction still leaves a knot in his stomach. How dare Ghost take care of you, make sure you were safe. That’s what Konig was for.
Once Konig is sure the coast is clear, he sneaks around the side of the building, heading for the small window you have. He’s delightfully surprised when he can see the light pouring from inside your modest quarters.
Usually you had the blinds closed at this hour. Guess you were too drunk to care.
You were too drunk to care about a lot of things, Konig noticed, as he nests into a spot obscured by your window, just the top of his head and eyes showing from your view. You skip your shower and forgo most of your normal night routine, your cares dulled by the booze.
This was his favorite part of the day. When he could have you all to himself - he despises having to share you. He enjoys observing you when you think no one’s watching. When you feel safe enough to shed the facet of your persona in charge of social life, and just let yourself be. The real you, liebe.
Of course there was the intoxication - so you weren’t quite yourself - but he still enjoys watching you in your natural environment. You turn off the lights, it takes a moment for Konig’s eyes to readjust, and he watches as you stumble over to your bed, shedding your clothes down to your underwear before collapsing onto your bed.
Konig can’t help the ache that fills the give in his pants as he maps your uncovered features.
It’s like you were sending him a message. A thank you for keeping you out of trouble all day, even though you acting were so difficult.
You’re forgiven.
How can he stay mad at such an engel? When your gorgeous body is on display, just for him. His gaze is tracing the curve of your delicate hips and your perfect ass in those cute little panties. Not for anyone else, not any of those boys on the 141. No, this show was just for him. You even left the blankets off you and the blinds open for him so he could get a perfect view. You’re so considerate, liebe.
Your hands are propped under your head as you drift off and he cant help but imagine himself straddling you, cock grinding against your ass as he kisses along the dip of your back, holding those pretty little wrists down. He’s been able to restrain himself, but the last few weeks the urge is unshakable. He doesn’t know how much longer he can go without sneaking into your room, liebe. He just wanted to know what it was like to be in your space. Where you sleep and decompress and get ready for the day. He wonders how many times you’ve pleasured yourself on that modest little mattress.
His cock is at full attention now, and he can’t help but palm himself through his pants.
He needs to get close you. Close enough to take in all the precious details of your features. Close enough to hear you breathe. Close enough to feel the warmth that radiates from your skin. Close enough to figure out what your shampoo smells like.
You probably wouldn’t even mind.
His gaze flicks over briefly to the lock to your quarters. He wonders if you’re in a deep enough sleep not to stir if he were to pick it.
You’re practically inviting him in. You can’t possibly expect to tease him like this and expect him to control himself? You’re giving yourself to him.
Desperate hands pop the button of his pants, shoving his hand into his waistband in order to find some relief. He can’t stop staring at your beautiful body, liebe. He wants to wake you up with your cunt in his face, already dripping from his tongue making gentle circles around your clit. Too turned on to deny him. He wants you to helplessly come on his face, his grip digging into your plush thighs as he forces you spread and holds you steady though the convulsing of intense orgasm.
He takes a look around, making sure no one was around before pulling his cock out, his grip firm on the base as he pumps himself. He just can’t help it. Not when you’re sprawled on the bed and showing off your body for him.
He’s thinking about how your hands would cling to him, nails clawing to get him off your pulsing clit, but he would hold firm, taking advantage of your sensitively. He wants to you powerless to the pleasure, the only resistance you’d be capable of is desperate and broken pleading as he hungrily commits your taste to memory. It’s the least you could do for him, after everything he‘s done for you.
His other hand presses up against the cool wall, holding him steady as he jerks himself off.
Precum is leaking from him as he pictures you, mumbling sweet nothings and reduced to a trembling mess. You wouldn’t even have it in you fight him as he lines his cock up with your dripping cunt, pushing his tip in and savoring how tight you are as you stretch around him.
He wants to ruin you, liebe. Reduce you to a whining and quivering mess as he pounds into you.
The visual you gifted him had him so excited, he doesn’t last long. He spills come all over the concrete wall beneath your window sill, some dripping to the dirt beneath his feet. His whole body shakes at the intensity of the orgasm, involuntarily hunching forward and choking off any noises begging to escape him. He’s imaging he’s filling you up with his finish, staking his claim deep inside you. Claiming his ownership.
He’s still for a moment, taking hitched breaths as he recovers.
Once his thoughts return, the flush on his features transitioned from the warmth of pleasure to the heat of shame, looking to you lying on your bed sleeping, then to his mess scattered outside your window as he crouches outside.
He’s out of control, he can’t help himself, liebe. He wasn’t usually like this. It was just for you - you brought it out of him. It was all your fault, you’ve reduced him to a perverted peeping tom by teasing him like this. Purposefully making him jealous, messing with his emotions, and then luring him back with your beauty. He knew what game you were playing, he was smart enough to understand the power you held over him. He still could not resist you.
You will be punished for how you’ve been treating him, liebe. The tortuous weeks you’ve put him through. He will ruin you. Dig his nails in, train you until you are right where he wants you, never able to hurt him again.
You’re his, liebe. You just didn’t know it yet.