wildechildwrites

[wildechildwrites]

[wildechildwrites]

relationships and jobs are temporary. your shitty unpopular tumblr blog is forever

#me blowing off my friends to write smut <3

[wildechildwrites]

me having a new idea for a relatively short fic:

[wildechildwrites]

Feb 2024

A phantom memory huh

[wildechildwrites]

dirty hands.

[wildechildwrites]

Attitude Adjustment

Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Light angst, violence

No use of Y/N

Summary: Ghost beats the shit out of you no I will not elaborate

A:N: Ghost's hands are rated E for everyone

AO3 Link: Attitude Adjustment

You're sitting in furious silence during the mission debrief, Gaz and Soap shooting you sympathetic glances that you pointedly ignore, Price's anger filling the room like natural gas, smothering you. Ghost leans against a wall, shadowed and silent. 

Price finally dismisses everyone else with a bark, and you’re left alone with your fuming captain and his silent lieutenant, haunting your peripheral. 

“You ignored a direct order.” Price’s voice is gruff, leaving no room for argument. You know you should apologize, but you can’t stomach it. Not when you saved his goddamn life.

“You think I was just going to let them kill you?” You ask, indignant. Price glares at you.

“I think, corporal, that you ignored a direct order from your commanding officer.” Price’s tone is sharp and dismissive. 

"You put yourself and the rest of your team in danger. You could've been killed. You almost were."

“But sir–” You object, still trying to justify yourself. If he would just listen– Price shoots up from his desk, stabbing a finger towards the door. 

“Don't fucking argue with me," He growls, chest heaving. "Get out."

You stand, stunned, feeling your traitorous tear ducts begin to sting. Ghost has offered nothing, and you catch his cold gaze before spinning around and storming out, slamming the door behind you. 

You knew you were out of line, had vaulted out of order the moment you ignored Price, the moment you ignored every instinct the military had beaten into you, but it wasn't fair. He would’ve pulled the same stupid bullshit if the situation was reversed. You scrub angrily at your eyes, potent rage bubbling in your chest. He was singling you out on purpose, angry at you for something he would’ve excused had it been anyone else. You turn a corner, stomping down the hallway. 

Soap is lingering near your room, acting far too interested in the leaky ceiling tiles. He spins around to face you when he hears your footsteps, opening his mouth to say something, but you cut him off before he can speak.

"Just don’t Johnny.” You snarl, aiming for a biting tone. It comes out as a plea, and the Scotsman gives you a pitying look that just stokes the rage curling in your chest. He steps in front of you, trying to slow your momentum, and you purposefully slam your shoulder into him, ignoring him as he calls after you.

You make a beeline for the gym, heading for a punching bag. Your fingers are numb, and you can’t stop shaking, so you throw yourself at the bag, hurling punch after punch. 

“Price ripped into you good.” Ghost calls out from behind you. You jump, throwing him a sour look over your shoulder in response. You hadn’t heard him come in, unsure of how long he’s been standing there.

“You ripped into him right back.” He observes. His gaze is cold, prickling along your spine. You bite your tongue, landing a hard kick on the bag. 

“Heard you also barked at Johnny.” He adds, as if an afterthought, his tone deceptively casual. You know then that you’re in real trouble. You’d been a bitch to Mactavish, and now Ghost was here to defend his honor. You roll your eyes, giving yourself that small amount of defiance before turning to face him. 

He’s wrapping his hands, standing on the sparring mat closest to you. He cocks his head, eyes flat and expressionless, but the challenge is clear. You're angry enough to take the bait, abandoning your punching bag. 

Ghost wordlessly gets into a fighting stance. You mirror him, waiting for the lecture, and the first blow almost knocks you on your ass.

You’ve sparred with Ghost before, but you don't think he's ever hit you that hard. It's staggering, and you double over slightly. Simon doesn’t give you a second to recuperate, throwing another punch. You barely dodge it, sliding under his arm, aiming for his ribs. You’re sloppy, and he blocks you, adding a shove to throw you off balance. It’s a dirty move, one that pisses you off even more, and you’re back on the defensive, protecting yourself as Simon throws another punch, harder than the first. You block it with more success, then move closer, aiming low. He blocks you again. 

You’re panting, already exhausted from the mission, heat in your cheeks, anger building. Ghost has the advantage, twice your size and fucking mean, and you’re just trying to defend yourself. That’s all you’ve been doing all fucking day, defending yourself from your own goddamn team. 

You kick him hard in the stomach. Ghost seems unaffected, those cold eyes unreadable. You throw another punch, putting all your weight into it, and he grabs your arm, using your momentum against you, flipping you over his shoulder. You slam onto your back on the mat. 

“What the fuck Si-” you snap, and he kicks you in the ribs. You scramble backwards, trying to regain your footing as he advances on you. 

“Price is too relieved that you’re still alive to give you a proper punishment for insubordination.” He says. "I have no such scruples." 

Ghost’s blank expression doesn’t change, not even when he slams his boot into your shoulder, sending you tumbling onto your back again. You glare up at him, your chest heaving.

“Fuck you.” You spit.

“You need to remember who your superiors are,” Ghost continues evenly, ignoring you. 

You go to stand, and he knocks you over once again. You practically snarl at him, shooting out and grabbing his leg. Using his body weight against him, you bring him crashing down onto the floor next to you, then slam your knee into his stomach, knocking the air out of him. Your victory is cut short when Ghost grabs you and flips the two of you over, pinning you to the floor with his body weight. 

“You scared all of us,” he says. His eyes are still flat and cold. “Pull something like that again, I’ll pop your shoulder out of socket.”

You grapple against him, cursing, but he just tightens his grip, pinning your arms. It hurts, your shoulders and ribs screaming, the air being crushed out of your lungs by the weight of the giant man on top of you, but you keep fighting him.

“Get off,” you rasp. Ghost leans down, his face inches from yours.

“Are you done being a brat?” He asks lowly. You manage to twist one of your hands enough to dig your fingernails into his stomach. In response, Ghost grabs your wrist, pulling your arm behind you with enough force to wrench your shoulder. You’re completely immobilized.

It’s all too much. The exhaustion and pain, the anxiety of the mission, the humiliation of being reprimanded, the indignant rage that’s been bubbling inside of you. Everything comes crashing down, tears you’ve been fighting all day suddenly pouring out. You let out an involuntary sob, and Simon lets up, just enough to allow you to breathe, keeping you pinned beneath him as your tears build up steam.

“There’s our girl,” he says, his gravelly voice uncharacteristically soft, almost frayed. It only makes you cry harder, keening wails muffled by the large man on top of you.You're confused at the sudden switch, overwhelmed and disoriented. He rubs comforting circles into your wrist, and you’re falling apart, coming unspooled.

You sob until you run out of tears, your cries trailing off into sniffling, and only then does Ghost let you up. The anxiety and anger is gone, leaving tender exhaustion, the soreness from the fight a tangible sensation, grounding you. 

“I think a hot shower is in order, corporal” Ghost says gently, helping you to your feet. You’re wobbly, trailing after him on unsteady legs as he leads you to the locker room.

He leaves you to it, disappearing back into the gym, and you strip, letting the warm water wash off the rest of the day, standing under the stream until your eyes are drooping. 

To your surprise, Ghost is waiting for you when you get out, eyes closed, head resting against the wall. He looks tired, his dark circles a bruised shade of purple, showing through the half smeared off black paint. He opens his eyes, expression unreadable, and you sit down next to him.

“Apologize to Soap, will ya? He’s gutted. Sensitive, that one,” Ghost grumbles, rolling his eyes, but there’s real warmth behind the gruff, dismissive tone of voice. “And the next time you want a lashing, come straight to me instead of stomping about.” 

Heat rises unexpectedly to your face, and you open your mouth to protest. 

Simon holds up a finger, silencing you before you can say anything. 

“Don’t fight me on it, we both know that’s what you needed. Price would've gladly taken you over his knee, but I figured you’d bite our heads clean off at the suggestion."

Your brain short circuits, your mouth opening and closing wordlessly as you stare at Ghost. He holds your gaze unflinchingly.

“I should, um,” you stutter, stumbling to your feet, “I should go find Soap.” 

You practically run to the doors, and you swear as you step into the hallway you hear quiet laughter, echoing behind you.

#if I say this is a vent fic are yall gonna be weird #looney tunes pt 3 coming soon promise #ghost #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #reader insert #ghost/reader #simon riley x reader

[wildechildwrites]

Gaz being the pretty boy of the 141 but also the “gets super dirty all the time even when theres no dirt around” kinda guy.

Like yeah, hes pretty when he cleans up, but that man loves getting rough and tough in the dirt, pulling soap along with him to play fight in the mud and dust.

Give me pretty boy gaz who also likes getting dirty and needs to be hosed down afterwards!!!

[wildechildwrites]

fic planning be like:

[wildechildwrites]

a man with brown eyes has me acting foolish

[wildechildwrites]

[wildechildwrites]

🧢🥹

[wildechildwrites]

[wildechildwrites]

i love your looney tunes series so much already

like König really took one look at us and went “their big wet eyes and loser boy personality have captivated me” /ref

Anon you get me <3

König spends all his time wondering what the reader is up to, painting an idyllic picture of our life, imagining dancing with us in the moonlight

Cut scene to the reader, the personification of the 🥺 hamster, who just tripped on their untied shoe laces and called their boss mom accidentally

#konig x reader #listen a lot of us are losers lets be honest if you met the hottest largest man youd ever seen do you really think youd be smooth about it?

[wildechildwrites]

Sweet Wine and Rain Checks

Pink Mugs and Painful Expressions Part Two

John Price/Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Smut and the softest Captain Price

No use of Y/N

Summary: You invite John over for dinner and he wants to return the favor

Can be read as a stand alone :)

A/N: I swear this was going to be a slow burn but we all deserve to have Johnathan Price hopelessly head over heels romcom love at first sight in love with us honestly.

AO3 Link: Sweet Wine and Rain Checks

You had invited Price over for dinner, and he was raised better than to arrive empty handed. He came bearing flowers and a bottle of sweet wine, and the smile you graced him with when you opened the door could've put a perfect summer day to shame with the way it warmed him, inside and out. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he returns the hug as best he can with his hands full.

"Thanks for coming over," you say. You're nervous, verging on giddy, your flat much neater than he'd seen it last. Something delicious smelling is simmering on the stove, and there are candles on the kitchen table. 

John sits while you whirl around him, a tornado of productivity, haphazardly plating food and spilling sauce. He thinks you’re lovely like this, nose scrunched and brow furrowed in concentration, like the salad you’re tossing is a bomb you’re trying to disarm. When you finally sit down, he pours you a glass of wine, and you laugh, settling into yourself.

“I’m always paranoid that I'm going to burn something or use sugar instead of salt when I cook for others,” you say. John quirks an eyebrow, putting a forkful of food in his mouth with an exaggerated amount of cautiousness as you giggle, rolling your eyes at him. The food is delicious, and John proves it by eating two servings. 

He starts the dishes without you asking, dodging your attempts to fuss him out of the kitchen. A dishrag thrown over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up showing off sturdy forearms, two hands on his hips as he tells— orders you, really, to get out of the kitchen. You refuse, lingering just out of reach. Warm light bathes you both in a sunset glow. You tell him about your day and ask about his, and when the dishes are done and dry, order restored to your kitchen, you lead him to the couch. 

You put on a movie, something John's seen before but can't quite remember, an old classic that reveals your nostalgic side. He wraps a strong arm around you, an action more confident than he feels. He wonders if you can feel his heartbeat pick up when you lean in, warm head against his chest. You smell wonderful, soft and warm. 

Halfway through the movie you’re dozing off, head nodding as you curl deeper into his side. John reaches for the remote and turns the movie down, gently pulling you into his lap so he can lay down with you. Your weight on his chest is comforting, and soon he feels himself following you into unconsciousness.

It’s dark and his back hurts. You’ve shifted, your legs wrapped around his, your head on his chest, and John makes a mental note to never tell you that you drool. He sits up, trying not to jostle you, but you open up your eyes, looking up at him sleepily. 

“What time s’it?” you murmur. John checks his watch. 

“Just past two, love.” He lifts you off his lap, watching you yawn. “I’m goin’ home, you get yourself to bed.”

He stands, and you let him help you to your feet. 

“Do you wanna see me again?” You ask, your voice scratchy from sleep. Your eyes are droopy, staring up at him, fingers still intertwined with his own. John wonders if it’s possible for his chest to get any tighter, and briefly considers the possibility that he’s having a heart attack. 

He swallows the feeling, instead smiling at you softly. “How about I host next week? I can’t promise I cook as well as you do, but I’ll keep it close to edible.”

You smile back then reach up, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him down for a kiss. Your lips are soft, your mouth warm, and John places a gentle hand on your face, thumb tracing along your jawline. The night is warm, but the dark street is a painfully lonely contrast to the bright interior of your flat. John keeps an eye on your window until he watches the warm yellow light flicker off. 

The night before you're coming over, he gets the call, a mission that needs to be handled by his team immediately. He’s told to report early the next day. It’s late, nearing two in the morning, but his bags are packed and he's got an itch under his skin to see you. John loads up his car and heads to your flat. He can imagine you kicking him out, sending him away, put off by his bizarre behavior and the late hour, but he follows the impulse, letting muscle memory pull him back into your orbit. He knocks firmly on your door, hiding his nerves. 

You open the door, your eyes hazy, your hair messy, and John wishes he could take this moment and frame it. Instead he captures it in his fluttering heart, locks it away. 

"I know it's late," he says quickly, "but I've just been called out for a mission and I wanted to— I had to say goodbye. I'm not sure when I'll be back."

You say nothing, still half asleep, just yawn and open your arms invitingly. He sweeps you into a tight hug, nuzzling his cheek against your hair. John lifts you off the ground and spins you around, shutting the door.

You let out a happy noise, high in your throat, and mumble against his chest. “You should leave more often if I get hugs like these.” 

He laughs, and you giggle with him as he pulls you in tighter, crushing you against him. He wants you to feel his heartbeat, wants to feel yours, to know that you’re real, that there’s blood and bones and you’re not just some lovely dream. 

John pulls back and kisses you, harder than the times before, wanting to taste you, to have something to hold onto when he's alone, breathes deep so he can remember the way you smell. You’re minty from your toothpaste, clean from your shower, and he thinks how desperately he wants to be here forever, in your beautiful flat, flowers he bought you sitting on the kitchen table, two sets of dishes in the sink. 

You pull back from him, your cheeks flushed and your lips swollen. “Come to bed, John,” you say shyly, and Price is certain that he’s dreaming, that he’ll wake up alone in his cold flat, but your soft hand in his own keeps him tethered, an anchor in his stormy sea. 

You pull him down with you, tossing his hat away haphazardly, your arms snaking around his neck. He’s desperately trying not to crush you under his weight, trying to hide the lightning bolt of want he feels, hovering over you. You're beautiful like this, too tired to be self conscious, staring up at him like you need him just as bad as he needs you. 

“You’re a vision,” he murmurs, just to watch you blush. He kisses along your jaw, nipping at your neck, and you gasp, pulling him closer to you. He feels like he’s going crazy. He wants to touch you everywhere, lets his hands wander, trying to maintain a level head, resisting the urge to pin you down and consume you entirely. He pulls off your shirt, humming lowly when you let him, when you lift your hips so he can pull off your sweatpants. He kisses down your chest, pausing to suck at the soft skin of your breasts before continuing lower. He nips at your hip, using a large hand to hold you down as he sucks a bruise into the stretch of skin next to your hip bones. You squirm and whimper at the sensation. He wants to taste you, wants to feel you cum on his face, so he pulls your legs apart, scraping your sensitive thighs with his facial hair, placing gentle kisses along your legs. He pulls your panties off and you���re suddenly shy again, legs closing slightly. 

“You alright, darling?” he asks, and you nod, looking down at him with wide eyes. John moves his hands to your thighs, spreading you open. He eats you out like it’s something he needs, sloppy and slow, wanting to be able to remember the taste of you. Your hands are in his hair, egging him on, and you moan when he slips one thick finger into you, finding a tempo that makes your thighs shake. He pulls you over the edge, keeps licking until you're squirming away from him, weak hands attempting to push his shoulders back as you stutter out a soft "w-wait w-wait." 

His beard is soaked when he pulls himself up, kissing you and laughing when you scrunch your nose at the moisture. He reaches down to quickly undo his belt, and you lean up to pepper soft kisses across his nose and cheeks as he awkwardly shoves his pants down and off.

 You both let out a breath when the head of his cock bumps against your clit, and he thrusts his hips lightly, dragging himself across your wetness. When he catches against your entrance, he leans down and kisses you passionately. John watches your face as he slowly slides into you, watching you wince at the stretch when he's fully inside you. He gives you a moment to adjust, kissing you softly, tongue moving against yours. He feels you start to squirm, searching for friction, and he thrusts into you.

"Oh sweet girl," he groans, dropping his head into your shoulder. He's fucking you open, soft and slow, noises slipping out of him with ever thrust. John places soft kisses on your shoulders, nipping at your collarbones, making you gasp. You've got your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close, and for a moment there's nothing but you two, nothing but warm skin against warm skin and the sweet things he whispers, the feeling of you clenching around his cock. John feels himself coming undone and speeds up, making you moan as his hips slam against yours. For just a few moments, he fucks you like he wants to break you, and you feel yourself being pulled over the edge again when he reaches a hand down to rub your clit without losing his punishing rhythm. He calls out your name and you feel his hips stutter, his dick twitching as he cums.

John gets up and gets a towel, cleans you both up. You reach for him, pulling him back into bed and letting him wrap his arms around you. You're still sticky but seem unbothered, exuding contentment as you nuzzle into his chest. He pulls you close, his eyes on the clock near your bed.

When the time comes, John gently shifts you, untangling himself and stepping off the bed quietly. He watches your face as he gets dressed. You look so peaceful, hair a mess and blankets tucked tight around you. Your eyelids flutter softly, and he gently reaches out, placing a hand on your cheek. You nuzzle into him unconsciously, and he feels the iceberg in his chest crack and shift. He picks up his hat from the floor, and quietly lets himself out of your apartment. 

#I know he canonically commits war crimes on the reg but doesn't mean you can't be an old fashioned romantic who gives killer head #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain john price #john price cod #john price x reader #reader insert #really got y'all with that one two posting punch hm konig and john all in one day???

[wildechildwrites]

Necessities.

[wildechildwrites]

Lucky Charms

Looney Tunes Part Two

Konig/Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

No use of Y/N

Summary: You have some more encounters with König, the mysterious man who lives in your apartment building.

A/N: König being unintentionally terrifying is so funny. He’s shy and he’s a giant murderer for hire, excuse him for constantly throwing off the vibe. Let me know if you want to be tagged in part three!

AO3 Link: Looney Tunes

You've got bags of groceries hanging from your arms, pinching at your skin, precariously balanced, a white knuckle grip on the laundry detergent that's determined to slip through your fingers before you reach your apartment. The man steps on the elevator with you, and you can feel your face heating up as he looks at you.

You haven't seen him since the night he'd kissed you, and you wondered if he thought of you everytime he rode the elevator. You certainly thought of him.

He makes no effort to disguise his staring, looking down at you with a flat expression, taking in your overflowing arms.

"I hate making more than one trip to my car," you say, answering the question he didn’t ask, shrugging as much as you can with your arms full. You swear you see his eyebrow twitch.

Amusement? Irritation? It's impossible to read him. Instead, you drop your gaze, feeling his eyes still on you.

"My name is König." He says abruptly. Your eyes jump back up to his face, and it's his turn to look away as you grin, introducing yourself.

When you go to get off the elevator, he plucks the detergent out of your hand, gesturing silently for some of the bags you carry. He follows you to your apartment soundlessly, placing the bags down outside of your door. You throw your 'thank you' at his retreating form, and he doesn't acknowledge it.

Later, when you're putting away your groceries, you say his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue.

One of the lights in the parking garage is flickering again, and you sigh in annoyance as you look up at it. The apartment complex took months to fix the last broken bulb, so you’re unenthusiastic about the prospects of a quick repair. It puts you on edge, affecting the visibility and giving the garage an eerie feeling.

“It’s just like a horror movie,” you mumble to yourself, attempting to break the tension you feel as you head towards the exit. It’s late, your workday running longer than it should’ve, and you can’t help the itch of anxiety crawling up your spine.

You pass an unfamiliar man, standing still in between some of the cars. His eyes are on you, and you grip your keys tighter in your hand, speeding up. You hazard a glance over your shoulder and find he's disappeared, and your eyes search the parking lot behind you.

Distracted as you are, unfocused on where you're going, you slam straight into a solid wall of a person. You let out a shriek, head whipping back around and nearly fall backwards as you attempt to scramble away. Two solid hands firmly grip your shoulders, preventing you from tripping. König is standing in front of you, and you sag against his hold in relief.

“You scared me!” you exclaim, a hand going up reflexively to your chest.

“You should be more cautious, häschen,” König responds, and you swear there’s the faintest trace of a smile on his face, the subtle quirk of scarred lips. “Most people look where they are walking to, not where they are walking from.”

You let out a sigh and roll your eyes with a smile, the anxiety seeping out of your body. “The stupid flickering light really freaked me out,” you say, gesturing at the ceiling. “And then there was a man staring at me, but he disappeared.” König nods thoughtfully. His hands are still on your shoulders, and there’s a beat as you both stare at each other.

König clears his throat. “I will speak to the complex maintenance about repairing the light. As for your mystery friend–” König pulls back and slides one finger across his throat. You laugh at the joke, even though he’s not smiling.

König insists on walking you back to your apartment despite your objections, and although you know you were just being silly, you’re touched by the gesture.

“Thank you, König,” you say, lingering in the doorway, and something in his eyes seems to sharpen when you say his name.

You're eating cereal on your couch, watching cartoons when you should be sleeping. It's a childish habit, but after a long day, you're feeling sentimental and too burnt out to process anything with substance. Scrolling through your phone, half paying attention, you almost miss the soft knock on your front door.

König is standing outside, his face obscured by something that looks like an executioner's hood. The gear he's wearing makes him seem even more massive, a mountain of a man standing in front of you.

"May I come in?" He asks, his accented voice low, and you're so caught off guard by the request that your jaw drops.

König stares at you and you stare back, contemplating the matter.

You probably shouldn't let him in, this hulking monster in a mask. You don't even know him really, only interacting a couple of times. He's kissed you, and it was a knee buckling, eye rolling kiss, but does that necessarily grant him access to your apartment?

Your logistical side loses when he lets out a sigh, a huff of air that borders on a whine. You step aside, waving him to the couch as you go to the kitchen to grab another bowl of cereal for him. You want to know why he's here unannounced, but you're unwilling to disturb the delicate balance between the two of you, so you say nothing. He pulls off the mask, eyes on the TV.

“Looney Tunes?” he asks, his voice amused. Daffy Duck lets out a shriek in the silence between you two, and you snort.

“Call it a guilty pleasure,” you reply. König’s eyebrow twitches. You offer him the bowl, and his large fingers brush against yours, shockingly warm and rough. His eyes seem to glint at the contact, an almost avian intensity that makes your skin flush.

You sit down a measured distance away from him, and go back to eating your cereal, attempting to display a level of casual that you do not feel. König seems unaffected, sprawled on your couch, crunching away like he does this every night. He's got his boots on still, tacky with a dark liquid you think could be blood.

"Uh… not that I don't appreciate the company…" you begin after a beat of silence, turning to face him. It's the first time you've seen him really smile, and a part of you is unsure if you like it, the almost predatory glint of teeth.

"I just wanted to see if you'd invite me in." He responds to your unspoken question, his voice rumbling deep from his chest, and there's a sharp edge to his words that make the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

There's a beat, and your expression must tip him off to your discomfort because his eyes widen.

"I didn't mean– I am sorry I misspoke– sometimes my translations are–" he's stammering, and you instantly relax, feeling guilty for your involuntary reaction.

"No! No it's okay I was just… surprised. I'm glad for the company" You say in a rush, your voice unnaturally high. "You're always welcome to come over."

He smiles again, softer than before. His eyes haven't quite lost the cutting focus, but you smile back, relaxing a little as he takes another bite of cereal. You fall back into companionable silence.

It's late, and you're starting to fade, eyes drooping, curled up into yourself. König hasn't moved from his post on the end of your couch, his empty bowl still cupped in one hand, and you drowsily wonder if it's a military habit, the way he sits with perfect stillness. You stifle a yawn, and he glances over at you without moving his head.

"It's getting late," he says quietly. You watch as he rises in one fluid motion, large strides leading him with a seemingly practiced familiarity to your kitchen. He places his dish in the sink and reaches for the soap. You sit up.

"It's alright, I'll wash the dishes tomorrow," you call out, wiping your eyes, and he nods. You stand as he heads towards the door, your legs slightly unsteady.

"Thank you for the cereal," he says quietly, a hand on the doorknob. You think there is a light dusting of pink around his ears, but it's too dark to really tell.

You smile at him. "You're welcome."

König pauses, turning towards you.

You idly wonder if he'll kiss you again. He looks down at you with an inscrutable expression, bringing a large hand slowly up to your face, the ghost of his fingertips skimming your jaw. You let out an involuntary gasp at the contact, your skin electrified, and he drops his hand.

He opens the door, and you notice his fingers are still curled, as if he's cupping the sensation of your skin against his, holding it in his palm.

"Good night little rabbit," König whispers, a silhouette in your doorway. "Catch you later."

○○○●●●○○○●●●○○○

Taglist:

All for you @whos-fran my beloved (the first person to ever ask to be tagged)

If anyone else would like to be on the taglist for part three reply or reblog this post :)

#pls pick up what I'm putting down with catch you later we all know he didnt just seamlessly insert an american phrase into his vernacular #konig/reader #konig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #cod mw2 #cod x reader #konig: do you need me to kill that guy for you? because I'll snap his fucking spine under my boot no hesitation #reader: hehe youre so funny #also I wrote a much darker version of this that I might publish later but some of you make him so mean and it makes me sad #I'm unhappy with how it came out but maybe if I keep writing one day it won't suck

[wildechildwrites]

141 141 141 141

#cod mw2 #tf 141 #hehehehehe