Listen, I don’t know if you’re writing for König now— but I feel like the presence of two masked figures (König and Ghost) is just begging for some fics full of jealousy; Ghost doesn’t like someone flirting with his girl, and he especially doesn’t like someone with goofy ass drapes over their face trying to flirt with his girl either.
But— it’s just a thot. A Thursday thot.
I do not currently write for Konig! (Nor shall I start as of yet, bc I have wayyy too many unfinished projects and refuse to indulge in additional distractions) However, I can make time for a little Thursday Thots drabble for you, anon!
He's touching you again.
Ghost sees all, with his tar-dark stare, burning, scorching into your skin as Konig hovers beside you. The Austrian soldier's hand hovers over your shoulder, the touch hesitant, fleeting but there all the same.
It's a dangerous proximity, one that Ghost would normally tolerate from a lesser man. Usually his size, his dark, looming stature is enough to ward off any potential suitors towards you, chasing them away like an abraxas curse. They see his eyes, the way he clings to shadows and lures you there- keeping you safe.
Konig, however, seems to not see that silent rune, or has decided to foolishly ignore it. He hovers at your side, hip nearly bumping yours, one massive hand planted on his other side as he leans over the map, lit by the dusty Uzbekistan sun. He dwarfs you in comparison, and Ghost can't help the prickle of awareness that comes with the advantage the Austrian has in height, pure, rippling mass.
"AQ forces will be rendezvousing here for the pick-up." You declare, pointer finger stopping on part of the route below you. "There's not much cover for us aside from the poppy field nearby, we may need to..."
Granted, Ghost isn't paying much attention to you either. Not with the way he's so damn distracted by the hulking soldier beside you, the way he's not looking at the map at all. Konig's eyes linger on your face from under his hood, and at this angle Ghost can see the way they flicker over your scrunched brow, your twinkled, focused gaze.
It's almost adorable, the way you're so oblivious. You seem not to notice the men around you, not with the way Konig clings to your side like an affectionate, stray tomcat. Nor do you notice Ghost's eyes as he leans on a wall within the shadows of the rubbled building, gaze menacing like the sharp glint of a blade.
"What about here?" Konig asks, and his other hand follows yours, stopping to point out a ridge that is perfectly unsuitable for the purposes of this extraction. His voice slurs low over the vowels with his accent, and you seem to be so distracted by his query you fail to notice the way his hand secures on your shoulder as if to maintain his balance at your side.
No, instead you shake your head at his question, humming a low, displeased note in your throat, ignorant to the Austrian's hand across your opposite shoulder, placed firmly against your form.
"No, we could make it happen if we had an additional sniper, but considering it's just the three of us-" You pause, sucking your lower lip between your teeth, fingers tapping the aged wooden table you're braced on. "Then again, I could do it, set up a spot and provide suppressing fire while you two-"
"We aren't leaving you behind, Maus." Konig rumbles, and his voice is deeper now, spoken in a tone just for you.
You blink, turn then, and seem to at last notice just how close he is, staring up into his gentled eyes hidden underneath the mask.
That's it.
"A word, sergeant." Ghost growls, and your eyes dart to him, wide and caught off-guard. There's a flicker of awareness there, one summoned by the recognition of his tone- dark, low like thunder. A warning.
"Konig." You say slowly, eyes not leaving Ghost, as if tracing a wolf in the woods. "A moment, please?"
"Of course, Frauliene."
At last, he steps away from you, practically having to peel himself away from your side. When he strides towards the entrance, broken glass shatters under his massive feet. He pauses there, casting a lingering glance to you, then to Ghost- only to see the poisoned, dripping stare levied at him.
Strangely, he holds it for a moment, refusing to look away. Yet just as ire simmers higher in Simon's blood he turns, vanishes beyond the boundary of the doorway.
It's only then that you turn to Ghost.
"Care to explain what that was ab-oof!"
It takes Ghost two short strides to close the distance between you, reaching out a single, black gloved hand to drag you forward, into his front. It's a gesture he normally wouldn't indulge in, this blatantly outward display of his affections. Yet the prickle of something that feels shamefully like envy itches under his skin, chafes at his bones until there's a rawness there, an itch to have you closer.
"Simo-" You try, face muffled into his vest.
"He can't have you." Ghost murmurs darkly, a thumb digging into the soft part of your skull at your nape. You whine on instinct, the sensation grounding, possessive in a way that leaves you reeling. For a moment your hands flutter at your sides before lifting, gripping at his sleeves rolled at his elbows. Ghost only drags you closer, tilting his head downward into your hair, where he grows a promising affirmation, his words the boundary of that abraxas that keeps you to him.
"You are mine."
918 notes
·
View notes