puppet

18

[d1g1-swirl]

Intro + Masterlist

Hi Papas, my name is Puppet and write cod fanfics in my free time :)

This is an 18+ blog, please respect that :)

Feel free to DM or ask me anything! Ill write a "do write" and "doesn't write" list as kinks/ideas appear! Ill try to write for all characters!

let me know if anything doesn't link right!!

Masterlist:

SFW/Fluff = ꨄ︎ Angst = ✿ NSFW = ☆

Simon 'Ghost' Riley: simon x medic!reader ꨄ︎

hockeyplayer!teen!simon ✿

blunt!simon ꨄ︎

existential!simon ✿

NSFW Simon ☆

Simon quits smoking :) ꨄ︎

John 'Soap' MacTavish: johnny's journal ✿

in the clurb we all famꨄ︎

Boudoir Wedding idea? ☆

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick price x gaz who is dating price's daughter ꨄ︎

influencer!reader x Kyle Garrick ✿

Task Force 141

Tetris on the Captainꨄ︎

[rawme-price]

Inspired by [this] post by @total-killer-brainrot

Imagine sharing a wall with ghost now that you practically live on base, walls too thin to really keep any privacy, right?

You hear everything that happens in ghosts room, and sometimes you can even hear when he's watching a nature documentary at three in the morning.

"Fuckin' hell..." it also means you can hear him pleasure himself.

You know that ghost has a fleshlight of some sort he uses, and christ you can't help but imagine what it he looks like using it. Wet squelches and grunts travel across your wall, accompanied by the occasional "yeah, there you go, love. Jus' like that–" when he gets really into the fantasy.

You've seen ghosts cock before, impossible not to when you work with him so often.

Thick, physically heavy with the way it hangs between his legs even soft. There's the faintest thatch of dirty blonde hair, cute when paired with his loose foreskin. A nice rosyness—

"Fuckkkk!! Yeah, yes—" ghost grunts, and you imagine his back arching off the bed with the sheer pleasure in his voice. What you wouldn't give to see him all flushed and desperate. "Mghhh–! Ahhh–!!"

Ah, a quick one today. The thought makes you flush, both embarrassed and oddly proud that you know exactly how ghosts day has been based off the sounds of his jerking off.

You settle in to hear him clean up and....oh? No sound of drawers sliding open, or water running in his bathroom, or...anything. a quick zipper, the latch of his door.

...no lock.

Ghosts fleshlight....freshly used...sitting in his unlocked room.

You shouldn't. It's an invasion of privacy. Its fucking perverted. Its disgusting and will certainly get you killed if anyone finds out.

....you stand up. Your impulse control has never been great.

[d1g1-swirl]

The rec room was a dangerous place to fall asleep, with how mischievous the sergeants are. Unluckily, Price was their victim. He was slept like the fucking dead, no matter how many things were stacked on him; a potted plant, a couple of pans, 5 heavy ass books, etc. The three sergeants started getting worried

"Is he breathing?" Kyle turned to Soap and asked. Roach shrugged but Soap kept piling things, how the hell he found a keyboard was beyond Kyle's pay grade and care. It had been around 3 hours now, Price was barely visual under the mountain of shit on top of him

[soilents]

I may of sent this before but my wifi was messed up so I don't know if it went through, but!!! Can you draw 141 doing communal shower antics and maybe if you'll be soooo kind to bless me with some gaz stuff just doing anything on duty love him in your style, keep creating😘

doing anything but showering

“there’s no picture.” “never.”

Some gaz doodles!!

a very huge hello to my gaz fans 🧢

[crashingcryptid]

Johnny saw them when scrolling through tiktok during his downtime. He wasn't on it often or for very long since Kyle insisted it rotted his brain. That's when he scrolled across a small jewelry company that made pride flag rings.

He stares longingly at the bands, thumbs swiping through their collection eagerly. He hadn't realized that there were so many. There was even one for Simon. "Kyle, my pretty boy, what about these?" Johnny rolls onto his belly, pinning Kyle underneath him.

Kyle grunts in mild irritation, but he looks at the phone screen shown to him. "Rings? Not very tactical, MacTavish." Kyle teases as he presses a kiss to Johnny's bicep.

"Could put em on chains. Carve our initials in the band. Leave em safe at base when we go on deployment so no one finds em." Johnny explains, lazily rutting his hips against Kyle's. He wasn't even needy. He just needed to move around.

"Thought of everything, huh?" Kyle softly sinks his teeth into Johnny's muscle, chewing and suckling as he thinks it over in his head. "You really want em, love?"

"Mm, want a reminder of you every day." Johnny assures quietly as he orders the rings.

"Whose the third ring for?"

Simon stares at the ring and simple silver chain sitting in the box. The colors faded from orange to blue, which he strokes his thumb across before he tucks it into his shirt. He stares at the note alongside it.

Kyle's neat handwriting paired with Johnny's sappy wording. "Love you, L.T. In this life and the next."

[chortlebot]

remake of this classic

[bittersweetlyblue]

soft!ghost who doesn't like rookies, not because he thinks they're incompetent, but because experience has taught him that getting attached to people in this line of work rarely ends well. he's watched too many names disappear from rosters, attended too many funerals, carried too many regrets.

so when you arrive on the task force, younger than most of the team and still carrying a little bit of optimism in your smile, he decides immediately that he's keeping his distance. he keeps conversations short, answers questions with the bare minimum, and never lingers when you're around. from your perspective, he's intimidating and impossible to read. from his perspective, he's trying very hard not to care.

soft!ghost who starts noticing things about you long before he realizes he's paying attention. it begins with small observations. the way you always thank support staff after missions when everyone else is too exhausted to think about it. the way you stay behind to help clean equipment without being asked. the way you quietly check on injured teammates before worrying about yourself. they're tiny things, insignificant to most people, but ghost catches every single one. eventually he finds himself looking for those moments without meaning to, and every time he realizes he's doing it, he gets irritated with himself. noticing people is dangerous. noticing leads to caring and that he can't afford.

soft!ghost who develops the habit of searching for you after every mission without even realizing it. the helicopter lands, the team begins unloading, conversations start up around him and before he's consciously aware of it, his eyes are already scanning the crowd. he's looking for your face. looking for confirmation that you're walking under your own power. looking for proof that you're still here. only once he spots you does something in his chest finally relax. then he carries on as normal, pretending he wasn't worried in the first place.

soft!ghost who starts taking care of things for you in ways so subtle they're almost invisible. you'll struggle with a stubborn strap on your gear and somehow it'll be fixed the next time you look down. you'll misplace a piece of equipment and find a replacement waiting beside your bag. you'll forget your gloves before a training exercise and discover an extra pair sitting exactly where you need them.

for weeks you assume it's coincidence until one day you catch him adjusting something on your vest before a mission. when you thank him, he simply grunts and mutters something about you being a liability if your gear falls apart. but the slight embarrassment in his posture gives him away.

soft!ghost who slowly becomes the person you gravitate toward without either of you planning for it to happen. during long flights, you find yourself sitting beside him because his presence feels grounding. during late nights at base, you end up working at the same table. somehow there always seems to be room next to him even when every other seat is taken.

one day he notices the pattern and comments on it in that low, gravelly voice of his. when you immediately start apologizing, convinced you're bothering him, he looks genuinely confused. somewhere along the way your company stopped feeling like an inconvenience and started feeling like something he quietly looks forward to.

soft!ghost who listens to everything you say, even when you think he isn't paying attention. half the time he'll barely respond while you're talking, offering nothing more than a grunt or a short nod. naturally, you assume most of your words go in one ear and out the other.

then weeks later he'll casually reference something you mentioned once in passing. your favorite snack. a childhood pet. a movie you love. details so small even you forgot mentioning them. and every single time it catches you off guard because nobody has paid attention to you that closely in a very long time.

soft!ghost who becomes increasingly protective of you without realizing how obvious it is. if someone talks down to you during a briefing, they're suddenly met with ghost staring them down until they rethink every decision they've ever made. if training gets particularly rough, he's nearby before anyone else notices you're struggling. if missions become dangerous, he somehow always positions himself where he can keep an eye on you. not because he doubts your abilities. in fact, he trusts your skills completely. but because the thought of something happening to you makes his stomach twist in a way he doesn't know how to handle.

soft!ghost who worries about you constantly but disguises it as irritation. he'll shove a bottle of water into your hand and grumble about dehydration. he'll remind you to sleep, complain when you skip meals, and silently leave painkillers beside your coffee after a rough training session.

every act of care comes wrapped in annoyance because genuine tenderness feels foreign to him. everyone on the team notices what's happening. soap especially finds it endlessly entertaining. meanwhile ghost remains completely convinced that nobody has figured him out.

soft!ghost who discovers he likes making you laugh far more than he should. after years of operating in environments where humor is usually dark and fleeting, your laughter becomes something he craves.

he'll make dry comments under his breath just to see your smile appear. sometimes he'll deliberately set you up for a joke, pretending not to know exactly what you're going to say. and every single time you laugh, his eyes soften in a way that would shock anyone who knew him before.

soft!ghost who starts lowering his walls around you one piece at a time. not all at once, and never intentionally. it happens in fragments. an old story from childhood. a memory from before the military. a quiet confession shared during a sleepless night. every piece of himself he offers feels carefully measured, as though he's testing whether you'll hold it gently. and every time you do, every time you listen without judgment, he finds it becoming easier to trust you with the next piece.

soft!ghost who realizes he's fallen in love with you during the most ordinary moment imaginable. not during a mission. not after a near-death experience. not in some dramatic cinematic revelation. he's simply watching you laugh with the team one afternoon, sunlight spilling through the windows, your smile completely unguarded. and suddenly it hits him. hard.

after years spent surviving, after years of keeping everyone at arm's length, you've somehow become the person he searches for first in every room. the person whose happiness matters to him more than his own.

soft!ghost who takes months to say "i love you," even after he knows exactly what he feels. the words sit heavily in his chest because loving someone means risking loss, and loss is something he's intimately familiar with.

but eventually you say it first. softly. without expectation. and for a moment he just stares at you. then he reaches up, cups your face in his hands, and rests his forehead against yours. when he finally says the words back, his voice is so quiet you almost miss it. but you've never heard him sound more sincere. as though those three words are the most precious thing he's ever been trusted with.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

taglist: @fiercetigerpoison , @irelands-reading, @aiwlotrkaeya , @angel06babysworld , @sorqenlos , @britishaccentsrhot , @fandom-fxcker , @upintheclouds19 , @dustie-faerie , @lvrlindaddy , @snoos-stuff , @missycreeper , @vergol , @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction , @snore-3 , @bonjourjiminie , @d1g1-swirl , @tessakate , @xncasi , @mayo-n-ketchup , @my-therapist-hates-me , @mary7ys, @httpsluvr , @multi-fandomreaderwriter , @prettyprincessgirl444 , @buckethat12 , @drewsbby , @cozyteabag , @whitemelanin , @ch3rrygirl3 , @shitaaba , @joelmillrenthusiast , @imjustaprettyyprincess , @livlovesfastcars , @simple-mex3 , @konigsdoeeyedbaby , @goatife19 , @cococococ , @junglewoos , @pyschicstorms-world

[akidfrom03]

Who has custody of Gaz in MW4?

Laswell

Nikolai

Voting ended onJun 1

[rawme-price]

Something about gaz having erectile dysfunction after his RTI training....

And it's embarrassing, right? He's not even thirty and has a difficult time getting it up, what kind of person would want to sleep with him? Much less date him?

But he just....can't. No amount of the hottest porn or vain attempts to pleasure himself go anywhere, and the doctors tell him it's purely psychological but if he goes to psyche for that then he's surely getting benched from the field.

So he just...ignores it. Even when he meets you.

You're the hottest thing he's ever met, and everyday gaz wakes up astounded that you actively chose to date him. You don't push him to perform in bed, though not for lack of desire for him if the sloppy make-outs and rough grinding in supply closets is anything to go by.

You just seem to know, and the thought of that stresses him out even more.

It's not until he confronts you, asks why you never pressure him for anything more than the hand and mouth he's willing to offer, that he calms down. Because you just shrug and say "we all have our things, kyle. Honestly you could just be in the same room as me and I could get off."

Then, you pause and narrow your eyes "...Is there something you want to try? To help you get off? Or something you miss?"

Which is how gaz ends up wearing a silicone 'sleeve' over his soft dick, one you had helped him pick out to most closely resemble what he looks like hard.

You're lying on your back for him, too excited to see the joy on his face at finally being able to fuck you properly to go for your usual face-down preference. The sleeve is textured enough he can vaguely get some stimulation, but he's more focused on changing his angle until he hits that spot that makes you tense and moan.

"Fuck, love, I've been dreaming about this since I met you," he confesses, eyes glued to the sleeve— no, his cock— thrusting into your entrance. Voice warm and thick with arousal.

He's soft the entire time, but that only means his stamina is as long as he can keep moving, fucking you into overstimulation because he's missed this so much. Sex like this is such an intimate act he hadn't realized he'd been missing.

Afterwards, when gaz snuggles up to you in bed, all his focus is on you. For once, he doesn't feel broken.

[d1g1-swirl]

The idea of bridesmaids giving Johnny boudoir Polaroids of you during your wedding is so yummy to me

[meebles]

In love with the concept of Ilya pretending he doesn’t understand English when someone asks him some fuckass question that he doesn’t want to answer. Especially post-TLG.

Ilya gets pulled for a live post-game media scrum, and instead of being asked about the two goals he scored or how cohesively their team played that day, he gets asked the umpteenth question by some smarmy sports reporter about his and Shane’s relationship, with thinly-veiled jabs about how having two married queer players on their team must be bad for their locker room.

And Ilya loves being able to openly talk about Shane and their relationship, but he’s so sick of this offensive line of questioning. So instead he just makes his innocent-confused-puppydog face and replies in rapid-fire Russian. The reporter is thrown off and repeats his question, but Ilya just replies in Russian again, going on and on until the reporter gets flustered and gives up.

Later when the internet translates what he said, it’s something along the lines of, “I don’t understand such idiotic English questions, but if the sports reporter wants to ask questions about the sport he’s paid to report, I can answer those,” and then it’s just him praising his teammates on how well they’ve been playing.

Harris is also sick of the invasive questions, so he doesn’t throttle Ilya over it. Shane thinks it’s absolutely hilarious. He’s later asked about his husband’s “behavior” by some reporter in the states. He also plays dumb and does the same thing as Ilya, but in French.

[scourgie]

i need to project my migraine into simon riley

[adelineriley999]

simon accidently yelled at you

The apartment had gone unbearably quiet after he yelled.

Not the comfortable kind of silence either. Not the kind Simon liked after long missions where the world finally stopped demanding things from him.

This silence was wrong.

You stood by the stove with your back turned, shoulders tense, blinking rapidly like if you just tried hard enough the tears would disappear before he saw them.

Too late.

Simon stared at you like he’d just watched himself pull a trigger he couldn’t take back. His chest rose once. Heavy.

“...Fuck.”

The word came out under his breath, barely audible.

You wiped quickly at your face. “It’s okay.”, you whispered , hurt and embarrassment blooming in your chest.

It wasn’t okay.

And Simon knew it immediately because your voice did that tiny shaky thing it only did when you were trying very hard not to cry.

He felt sick.

The kind where the person you love looks hurt because of you.

Simon took one cautious step forward. Then another.

“Love.”

You shook your head without turning around.

That hurt more than the tears.

Usually when he came home, you gravitated toward him automatically. Hands on his chest, arms around his waist. Soft little smiles like he was something worth waiting for.

Now you were standing as far away from him as the kitchen allowed.

Because he yelled.

Because he came home carrying all his anger and dropped it right at your feet.

His jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?”, you mumbled, trying to smoothen your voice.

“Stand there acting like you deserve that.”

You finally turned a little at that, eyes glossy. “Simon-”

“No.” He scrubbed a hand down his face harshly. “No, don’t excuse it.”

You went silent. He looked wrecked now. More wrecked than when he first walked in.

Rainwater still clung to his jacket. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but guilt sat on him even heavier.

“I came home to you,” he said, voice rough. “Warm flat, food on the stove, you waiting for me.” He laughed once bitterly at himself. “And first thing I do is bark at you like some miserable prick.”

Your lips parted slightly.

Simon looked away, jaw flexing.

“Spent two bloody weeks thinking about getting back to you.” His voice got quieter. “Then I walk through that door and make you cry inside five minutes.”

The tears you were trying to stop spilled over again.

The second he saw them, he looked genuinely devastated.

Not angry. Not frustrated.

Devastated.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

He crossed the room immediately then stopped himself halfway, hesitating.

Simon Riley, who would walk through gunfire without blinking, suddenly looking uncertain about whether he was allowed to touch his own wife.

“You don’t have to comfort me,” you whispered.

That nearly broke him, his eyes shut briefly.

“Christ.”

He finally stepped closer carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. His hands settled lightly on your arms, almost tentative.

“I’m sorry love,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Ever.”

You looked down, vision blurring, “I know you’re tired.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I wasn’t trying to annoy you-”,you huffed ,choking slightly on the tears.

“I know.” His voice cracked slightly then steadied. “I know you weren’t.”

The guilt in his expression got worse somehow.

“You were taking care of me,” he murmured. “That’s all you were doing.”

You tried to look away again but Simon gently caught your chin before you could.

“Look at me.”

You did. Big mistake.

The second he saw how hard you’d been trying not to cry, his entire face softened into something painfully guilty.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”, he murmured ,gently cupping your face.

“You never yell at me.”, you sniffled.

That one hit directly to the ribs.

Simon actually flinched.

His thumb brushed carefully under your eye, wiping away a tear with absurd gentleness for a man built like a concrete wall with emotional constipation.

“I swear to you,” he said quietly, “the second it came outta my mouth, I wanted to take it back.”

You could hear how honest it was.

Simon wasn’t good at pretty apologies. He wasn’t poetic, wasn’t smooth. But guilt made him painfully sincere.

“I hate that you looked at me like that,” he admitted softly.

“Like what?”

“Like you were trying to figure out if I was angry with you.”

His voice nearly disappeared on the last part. Because that was the thing eating him alive now. The fact that for even one second, you’d looked at him uncertainly instead of safely.

Simon pulled you against him suddenly, firm and desperate, burying his face into your h.air.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly against your temple. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You felt the way he held you tighter after every apology, like he was trying to physically make up for it.

“I missed you,” he admitted in a low murmur. “Missed you so bad it felt wrong sleeping without you there.” His arms tightened. “Then I come home and act like that.”

Your hands slowly curled into his shirt. Simon exhaled shakily at the feeling.

“There she is,” he whispered, relief and guilt tangled together. “Thought I fucked this up properly for a second.” he mumbled ,inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You didn’t.”

“Nearly did.”

And judging by the way he kept pressing little apologetic kisses into your hair like a man trying to repent for his crimes against domestic peace, he was going to spend the rest of the night making absolutely sure you knew he regretted it.

lol yeah i'm procrastinating my long fics TT

[d1g1-swirl]

Yummy papa! We love emotional maturity around here

[d1g1-swirl]

In the clurb we all fam

Soap x Reader

The club was packed, you had been stuck next to a couple making out and a sleezy creepy guy who wouldnt stop handing you his phone trying to get your information.

Who you could only was the couples' friends were leaned back onto you to take photos with the couple as they made out. No matter how much you pushed and shoved you could get them to move, until a hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you away.

You looked to see a woman a little bit younger than you, she pulled you over to her group of girlfriends. After making sure you were okay, she pointed to a table with 3 guys; one with a mohawk, one with an English flag on his hat, and one with ginger hair.

"The guy with the English flag is my boyfriend!" the woman yelled over the music at you "they will watch your drinks and bag, we dont want anything of yours to be stolen!"

After you nodded, she grabbed your shitty cheap beer and purse and dropped it off at the guy's table.

Unfortunately, you got separated from the girls again until the very end of the night. You walked over the table to grab your bag, thanked the guys there for watching it and promptly left.

Your parking garage was only a 5 minute walk luckily, your feet ached from all of the dancing and the new boots needing to be broken in. You quickly walked to the parking garage only to realize it was closed. It was only 1am and you were pissed. You didnt have money for a hotel and you had work at 12 that next day. You groaned and sat down on the curb after banging on the door of the garage for a good 20 minutes. That was until one of the guys from the table, the mohawk one, walked by and saw you.

"Are you okay?" He asked, you huffed and pointed at the closed garage

"motherfuckers closed! its never closed this early" You responded angrily "I cant get ahold of anyone"

He offered you a ride and you had no other choice but to take it. That luckily was a good design later down the road

This is really bad but lowkey i needed it written down. this was very inspired by my first clubbing experience last night, the beginning of the story is something that actually happened to me and my friend and we also got locked out of the car garage (luckily we got in an hour later). And we met three girls that were from Japan and hung out with them. Guys are sleezy boooo. ALSO idk if yall realized but the ginger guy is Roach 🙏

[himbotheninth]

cliff marleau is the kind of homie who shuts down instances of the f-slur by saying shit like "only cocksuckers use slurs, dick"

[notahungrywish]

He would say “kinda sus not to use rainbow tape on pride night dude. What are you fuckin gay?”

If someone comes out to him he’s going to say “oh, you’re sucking his dick in like, a gay way? Not a bro way?” And then he’d say “fuckin right man get that bussy”.

He tries to have a heart to heart with Rozanov once 7 beers in, after noticing that he very obviously fucks guys in the bathroom sometimes when he thinks he’s being subtle. And he’s like “…you know I jacked it to femboy porn once.” And Ilya who is also very drunk is like “👍” and he’s like “and I came too.” Then he goes home patting himself on the back for being an ally.

He’s a problematic king.

[marshgnome]

After finding out what gaydar is cliff loudly points people out on the street that he thinks are gay to ilya. He does not have an inside voice and he points directly at them, so can be heard by anyone in the vicinity saying 'that guy looks gay'. Ilya would intervene but he does quite enjoy showing off his gaydar skills to an interested audience, so he doesn't.

[total-killer-brainrot]

You dropped your keys by the door as you kicked off your shoes. Juggling the grocery bags between your arms as you made your way through the flat. Pausing by the living room entrance when you heard a low groan from the couch. Spotting your flatmates silly hair peeking out from between the cushions.

At first you thought maybe he had hurt himself, then it sounded again. A soft, gravelly moan from deep within his chest. Unmistakably erotic.

"Johnny!" You cried, dropping your bags and storming forward to scold him. "Seriously? On the couch? That we share? That is so gr... gross..."

Your steps slowed as he came into view. Large hand wrapped around his cock. Slick from the precum drooling from the tip. His thick, bare thighs spread across the couch that you had bought. Hair curling from his navel down to his balls.

All that didn't matter. You could ignore it. You knew how much of a pest John was. What you couldn't let slide was the little image on the phone in his free hand. A picture of you. Your bloody instagram. Not even a sexy picture either. Just a picture of you.

Squeezing the base of his cock and letting it slap against his lower stomach he grinned at you. Head rolling back so he could fully take in your stunned and disgusted expression.

"Ahm almost done..."

[konigsfertiliser]

CBF!Konig where the two of you used to be losers and misfits together until puberty hits, and everyone starts to pay attention to him.

cw angst, (implied) sexual trauma, hopeful/open ending bc I'm weak

-

As kids, the two of you spend your lunch breaks in the library munching on sandwiches in that little blindspot out of the librarian's sharp eyes.(The one time he told the two of you off for eating in the library Konig cried, and for a while the two of you spent recess camped up in the accessible toilet, which wasn't ideal, but after some convincing and promises to be extra careful, he eventually agreed to go back to eating in the library. Thank goodness.)

Konig’s mama used to pack him elaborate lunches but he insisted on toning it down so he could match what you were eating too.

You complain about the fact that you begin to need glasses and he doesn't. It's unfair, really, because he’s the one who spends all his time hunched over books or in front of a screen playing games. He’s scarily good at first person shooter games, but he enjoys building the little Animal Crossing island with you too.

And then, one summer, Konig comes back a giant. Konig has always been fit, whether it was from the hours he spent swimming in lakes or pools, or the boxing classes his parents signed him up for to vent some of that anger out. But no one ever really noticed or cared that he was packed with muscle. Well, except you, but no one cares about you, so that didn’t really matter. But now that he has the height to back it up? Whew.

It's the first day of school after term break. You're supposed to be going to a new class with new classmates, and you're looking around desperately for his familiar face. You don’t recognise him at first, because you were looking out for a kid similar in height to you, not a damn mountain. You actually bump into him without realising, but he freezes and doesn’t know what to say to you, so he watches as you mutter an apology without looking and leave.

You were starting to wonder if he was sick since he’s never late when you finally spot his face. You have to rub your eyes and double check to see if it’s really him. When he approaches you, he does so with hunched shoulders, like he’s trying to make himself smaller.

“Hallo,” he says, sounding quieter than usual. To his surprise, you launch yourself at him, because you thought you were going to spend your first day in a new class all by yourself, and your relief is overwhelming.

“You got big,” you say, still pressed against him. Belatedly, you realise you’re talking to his chest. (And you swear, even his chest is bigger than yours now.)

“Sorry,” he murmurs, his hands hovering awkwardly over his back, still so shy with physical touch after years of friendship. “I’ll catch up. Just you wait,” you say. And he hums in assent.

People start noticing him. Girls (and some boys too, when they think no one else is looking) giggle to themselves when they spot him coming down the hallway. He’s not invisible anymore. People stare. People think he’s hot.

Konig, of course, is confused and frazzled about the sudden increase in glances cast his way. You see it in the way his shoulders tense and he tries to make himself smaller because he can't think of any other reason why people would stare.

When he quietly confesses his fears to you, you just sigh and say, “Konig. They think you’re hot.” That sends his mind into a confused sputter for a good five minutes. After which he can only manage a “Ha?” You pet his hand. "You're a certified hottie now."

You don't mention that you've always found him attractive, long before his growth spurt, and long before people started noticing.

During the annual clubs and societies showcase, practically every sports club booth he comes across tries to recruit him. Basketball is especially persistent. He passes all the tryouts with ease, and ends up joining rugby. You join Press, and you don't tell him about the other failed tryouts.

You convince him to not skip social events that his team holds. You tell him to spend at least a few meals a week with his team instead of you. You're happy for him, really, because now he has somewhere he can finally belong.

So yeah, you don't tell him that you feel lost without him, and it's so horribly lonely being without your better half for the first time in years. You don't tell him that you lie awake at night wondering if you're holding him back from truly bonding with his new group of friends. You don't tell him that something green and ugly stirs in your chest when he says someone asked him out on a date.

(Little do you know that Konig is struggling with this newfound popularity too. He doesn't tell you that he always feels out of place with his rowdy teammates. He doesn't tell you that he would much rather spend his weeknights in your living room doing homework or reading a cheesy romance book. He doesn't tell you that he went home and cried after that first date because he didn't know men could say no too.)

By the time he signs on to the military, there's so many unspoken words between the two of you that the physical distance isn't new. It feels like the two of you had been building to this, with the way neither of you dared to voice the things that mattered. So maybe it was best that he was going away, because now you can pretend that the distance was physical instead of emotional.

You tell him you love him before he leaves, and he says the same back to you. It isn't enough to bridge years of growing apart, but it's something. So are your promises to write and keep in touch.

Maybe with time, one or two of you will finally get the courage to address the elephant in the room. For now, you will hold each other close, and silently promise to not let go.