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latenightdaydreams · 5 months ago

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Hi!

What about a pervert!König that finds a tiny!reader? Like small. Doll size? But König is sexually attracted to her and wants to keep her as a little toy? AHHHH sorry if it’s dark I just can’t stop thinking about it🤦🏾‍♀️

I love your writing! Thank you💛

Thank you!!💖

König x Doll Sized!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

Part 2

>cw: fem/afab, power difference, masturbation, voyeurism, confinement, non-con.

1.6k word count

Once König retired, he purchased land in the countryside of Austria. His new goal in life is to live a life of peace and comfort. Near his home, there is a small stream next to a field of colorful wildflowers. It’s like a little slice of heaven on earth; especially when he found you.

König found you walking in the field. He nearly stepped on you the first time. You’re tiny, like a living Barbie doll. After a few visits, you trusted him, coming closer to him to talk to him. You show off your little crafts that you make with what nature gives you.

You’re precious and have become somewhat of an obsession for König. Every day, you’re the first thought on his mind. To hear your tiny voice, see your eyes sparkle, just to be in your presence is a gift.

Today he packs a bag with doll clothes he recently purchased for you, a few sweets that you always request and lunch to share with you. This is his daily routine, eventually hoping to get you to trust him enough to willingly enter his home.

König arrives at the field and sits, opening up a picnic blanket before setting things out. In no time, you show up. The giant man stares down at you with a cheerful smile, moving over on the blanket to make room for you.

“Hallo, y/n!” König can’t control his excitement with you. “How have you been since I saw you last?”

“König!” You return the warm smile. “I’ve been well. How about you?”

His eyes travel up and down your body as you were a purple doll dress he gave to you yesterday. You’re so tiny, yet so curvy. He fantasizes about what you would look like with no clothes on nearly every second of every day. Do you look like a human woman?

“Well…” His gaze lingers. “I went shopping for you again.”

“You’re so sweet.” You smile while watching him dig through his bag.

König turns to you, holding a doll's bikini and another dress, but pink this time. You squeal with excitement as König hands them to you. He studies you, wishing you’d try them on in front of him.

“Do you like them?” He asks while handing you the bag of sweets.

“I do!” You pivot your attention to the sweets, tiptoeing to peer into the bag.”

“Can I show you photos of something I’ve been working on for you?” König asks while taking his phone out.

“Yes!”

He opens his photo app to show you photos of a dollhouse that has been transformed to look like a modern, cozy home. König has been working hard to make it a lure to get you interested in a visit. As you look at the photos, he watches your face closely, trying to read your reaction.

“You did this? For me?” You gaze up in awe at your kind giant friend.

“All for you. For whenever you want to visit, you can have your own space to not feel overwhelmed.” He says so innocently.

“Wow…I would love to see it sometime.” You gaze at the image of the small closet with clothes he’s picked out for you. “All that’s for me?”

“Well, you are the only Fae I know.” He chuckles.

“Fae?”

“Like… tiny person. Not exactly human. It’s a compliment. They’re beautiful, just like you.”

A small blush appears on your face when he calls you beautiful. He’s your first human interaction. For centuries, you’ve been told to avoid them, but König has shown you that not all humans are the same.

König lets the silence linger in the air for a brief moment before testing the waters once more. “Like I said, anytime you want to come over. I’d be happy to have you.” And he means have.

You look around at the flowers before turning back up to him. “I’d like to go now. For a short while.”

König’s eyes light up. He tries to suppress his excitement to not scare you off. With haste, he packs up his bag again. One of his large hands opens up on the blanket. “I can carry you since it would be a long walk for you.”

There is a look of hesitation in your eyes as you gaze down at his large calloused hand.

“I promise, I won't drop or squeeze you.”

With his promise, you sit in his palm. The feeling of your warm miniature body resting on his palm felt…his mind began to wonder what you would feel like sitting on other parts of him. Once you are comfortable, he stands, pulling the blanket up too.

Each step is taken with the utmost care to make sure he doesn’t trip and drop you. You look down from over his fingers and feel nervous being so high up. König’s heart is thumping in his chest at the thought of finally capturing you. Months of getting close to you have all paid off.

Inside his home, it feels massive to you. He closes and locks the door behind him, the latch making a loud clicking sound. “This is my home.” König speaks softly as he walks you around the first floor before bringing you upstairs.

“This is my office,” he opens the first door for you to look into, “then right over here is the bathroom.” König stalls in each room to let you look around. He watches as you look around in wonder.

There is one more door at the end of the hall that he opens. “This is my bedroom.” It’s simple but neatly organized. König isn’t a very materialistic man and it shows. He walks into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. You can hear the sound of the lock again, but think nothing of it. He walks to his bed and places you on it.

The soft surface under you is comfortable as you let yourself fall back onto it. A laugh comes from König as he watches you enjoy his bed. “This bed is so comfortable.”

“Then you’ll love yours.” König holds his hand out to grab you. Once you sit back down on his palm, he turns, opening his closet door. The closet looks more like a small bedroom, even complete with natural lighting. You look around, eyes falling to where the doll house sits in the corner. Slowly and gently, he sets his hands on the floor for you to get out and walk to it.

König stands back up and closes the door behind him as you rush to the dollhouse and explore it all. You run up to your own bedroom and look into the closet at all the clothes. “Why don’t you try some on?”

Without a second thought, you strip from your purple dress exposing your body to König for the first time. König would feel his cock instantly harden. You look beautiful, exactly like a woman. As your attention is focused on picking out an outfit, König shoves one hand into his pants and leans back against the wall. He grabs his cock and strokes it as his eyes are glued to your breasts bouncing and ass shaking. What does your pussy look like? Taste like?

You hear a loud huff coming from behind you. Slowly turning around to see König in the corner masturbating to you. You rush to put your dress back on, but he steps forward.

“Nein, stay like this.” His voice is shaky from pleasure.

König can sense that you’re uncomfortable. He kneels down and undoes his pants, quickly pulling out his cock. His other hand reaches out to try and touch you, but you recoil.

“Don’t make me get the jar.” König’s voice deepens.

A shiver runs down your spine. The jar? You look at him and realize he is exactly like every other human. All the stories about their perversions are true.

König watches as you just gaze up at him with an untrusting look. His breathing gets heavier as he looks at you. “Lay on the bed.”

You stand for a while before deciding to comply, his eyes following you like a hungry dog. As you lay down, he looks over your body with an intense gaze. “Touch yourself.”

For a moment you think about it, maybe if you just play along, he’ll let you free and then you can just hide from him forever again. You spread your legs open and begin to circle your clit. König watches in awe as his moans get louder.

Your body is perfect. If you were human, you'd be his perfect woman. He wants to run his tongue all over your body, touch every inch, but that can wait. For now, he will accept this...for now it's enough.

“Y/n.” He whispers before he sits up and cums on you.

Thick warm globs of sticky whiteness fall on your stomach and breasts, also scattering along the floor and bed. The smell overwhelms you, it’s repulsive. König looks at the mess he’s made and it only arouses him further. You look gorgeous soaked in cum.

König stands up and puts himself back in his pants, leaving you in there for a moment. He comes back with a towel and begins to clean the floor around you. “Clean yourself with the blanket, I’ll wash it.”

You comply and clean up, getting dressed again in your purple dress. Acting as calm as possible you smile up at König. “This house is beautiful, thank you again. I think I’d like to go home now.”

“This is your home.”

“No—”

“Ja, es ist.”

Your stomach churns. “König.” You say in a pleading tone.

He stares down at you with a serious glare. Without a word, he slowly stands up and turns away, walking out of the closest and leaving you trapped within.

Part 2

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kneelingshadowsalome · 9 months ago

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Salome!

"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats

"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please

This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.

I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.

"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."

"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"

That’s it. Thank you.

I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....

Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷��️

CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.

König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.

His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.

It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.

But some still believed.

When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.

But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.

His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.

This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.

Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.

And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.

People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.

But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.

His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.

He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.

“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.

He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.

The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.

“I have to go back,” he says.

A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.

At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.

Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.

But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.

He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.

She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.

He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.

Had he ever felled a tree?

Did he like squirrels?

Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?

She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.

Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.

So of course he showed her.

She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.

And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…

Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.

He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…

She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.

She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…

Oh, he can’t talk about it.

It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.

No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.

He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…

He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.

He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.

The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.

She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.

He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.

There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.

He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.

His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.

So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…

He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.

It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.

And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.

He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?

But in the morn, König is gone.

His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.

The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.

Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...

#könig x reader #könig x you #mythology au #arthurian au #historical au

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 2 months ago

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Official Cinna October Writing Challenge

Sooo, I know that kinktober is like the big thing to do for fanfics during October, buuut I kinda got started thinking about it way too late to start it. I also am in graduate school, so I’m already crunched on time. But I still wanted to do something special for october.

Here’s the agenda :) Also, I’m being so fr please let me know any criticisms or suggestions!!

♡ Vampire - Satoru Gojo JJK ♡ Oct. 1

♡ Werewolf - Suguru Geto JJK ♡ Oct. 4

♡ Sacrilege - Kento Nanami JJK ♡ Oct. 7

♡ Zombie - Ghost COD ♡ Oct. 10

♡ Eldritch Horror - König COD ♡ Oct. 13

♡ Witch - Shoko JJK ♡ Oct. 16

♡ Monster - Ryomen Sukuna JJK ♡ Oct. 19

♡ Demon - Sylus L&DS ♡ Oct. 22

♡ Merfolk - Toji Fushiguro JJK ♡ Oct. 25

♡ Fae - Zayne L&DS ♡ Oct. 28

♡ God - Ares (no fandom associated) ♡ Oct. 31

#jjk #jjk fanfic #COD #call of duty #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads #lads zayne #ghost cod #konig cod #kinktober #october writing challenge #writing challenge #jujutsu satoru #jjk sukuna #jjk toji #jjk nanami #jjk x reader

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maelstrom007 · 1 year ago

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Fae!Konig is a horrible gremlin man and deserves to be bullied (affectionate)

how its going in the fae!könig corner rn

#fae!könig #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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ghouljams · 1 month ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/blacktabbygames/765421029538578432/enough-of-ppl-asking-if-beak-how-kiss-you

this is one of the fae

Roach and König that's who it is

Roach has to hold your face still, his fingers squeezing your cheeks to pucker your lips so he can keep from startling you when his mandibles graze your skin. His tongue pushing out past the jointed jaw to invade your mouth, lick at your teeth and taste the way you slide your tongue against his in return. Eager to feel the vibrations in your throat, the softness of your skin, you yield to him so easily. Unguarded. The way he feeds you his spit makes your head spin. You're not supposed to eat anything the fae give you, but surely this is different. Surely this is nothing more than a possessive sweep of his tongue. Surely...

König sometimes(often times) is simply too big to kiss you properly. It's easier to tip your head back and slip his long tongue from beneath his hood. It's an eager thing too, squirming and desperate to force it's way past your teeth. He invades your senses, looming over you, closer and closer, as his tongue pushes deeper and deeper. You can almost feel the tip of it flicking against your esophagus, so far behind your ribs you don't have the muscles to gag. Maddening. Your lips stretch wide around his tongue, your body held in place like a sword swallower, cautious movements, as if any breath could pierce your diaphragm and leave you permanently breathless. He doesn't pull back until he's tasted the acid bite of your stomach. What was that old adage about feeding cats?

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #gary sanderson #gary roach sanderson #gary sanderson x reader #roach x reader #roach cod #roach call of duty #roach mw2 #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig mw2 #fae!roach #fae!könig #1fae1 #fae au

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gauloiseblue · 7 months ago

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réchauffer un serpent dans son sein

(König × Angel!Reader)

[TW: rape, non-con, obsession, desecration of a sacred body]

Inspired by this and this posts

There's a saying that woods aren't what they seem. Wander too far, and you might get lost. But if you listen to the rustles, and follow the low whispers between the trees, you might stumble upon an unearthly place. Where the time seems dilated, and the space distorted.

If you're just a small child, there's a chance that you'd never come back. The Fae loves little humans, and it's not a surprise when many of them were lost in the forest.

When he's just a young child, he often heard about the missing cases. Another day gone, another kid disappeared. It's so common back then, that every parent would keep their kids away from the forest. Including his.

But still, the wonder of it got the best of him.

One day, when his parents were a bit careless, he slipped from the back door, and walked into the forest.

In the mind of an adult, his action might seem unreasonable. But at that time, he could only think about the sanctuary. The hidden place for ethereal beings, that the kids in town often whispered about.

The track to the place was steep, and he struggled to get through it. But once he arrived at the creek, all of his fatigue strangely disappeared.

He followed the stream, dipping his feet into the cool water. He took a sip of it, and tasted the mineral so sweet, he hunched down to drink some more.

Upstreams, the brook widened into a pond, with high, flowering walls of waterfall.

The sight of it was nothing he'd ever seen, and would continue to haunt him for decades. His pupils were blown, as they took in the beauty of it. He slowly walked further, until he reached a boulder near the cascade. It was at this moment, he found the trace of divinity.

Upon the big rock, he spotted a golden flow. It's not until he pulled it, that he recognized the shape of it. What's on his hands was a weightless veil—a Celestial veil.

And he was right, because the moment he lifted his head, he saw a figure on the cliff.

She's a pure being, glowing softly with her hair flowing with the stream. She's sitting on the protruding stone on the wall, washing her hair before her feet. The flowering tree did little to cover her body, and his eyes burned, as if he's looking right at the sun. While it should've been obvious by then, the little him couldn't comprehend what he saw wasn't a human. She's never a human.

It took a minute for him to close his gaping mouth, and a little more for her to notice his presence. And when she did, gone was her smile. Since what came after was a terrified gaze that pierced his heart, as if she saw something vile, repulsive. Something that's him.

She came down from the waterfall, and landed softly as if she's unbound from gravity. He clutched the veil tighter, while she approached him like one would to a beast.

"You shouldn't be here." She whispered, "This is not a place for you."

"Are you a Fey?" He asked, eyes fluttered with innocence and curiosity.

She opened her mouth, before she decided against it.

"You should go home." She muttered, before extending her hand towards him, "I'll guide you back, but please, return the veil to me."

"Why?" He pushed on, "Why should I give it back? Do you not want to take me?"

"No, I'm not—" She bit her lip, "Please, I won't harm you."

"How do I know if I can trust you?"

"You can, because I'm not a Fae." She pleaded, "You should leave, before they see you."

"Then what are you?" He tilted his head, "An angel?"

She froze, eyes widened as if he's holding a knife to her chest. He wanted to reach her hand, to offer some kind of comfort, but a sudden wind blew from the forest. It was so strong, that his clothes fluttered against his body.

"They're here." She mused, her voice filled with dread.

He gasped when she pulled him by his hand, and goosebumps broke out all over his body. He shuddered at her touch, and his legs gave out. She staggered when he fell on his knees, before she bent down to pick him up. In the corner of his eye, he saw a strange shadow standing between the trees.

She tried to take the veil from him, but his grip on it was too tight. Caused by a combination of shock and bliss from receiving an Angel's touch.

"I'm sorry." She murmured, before she cupped his chin and pressed her lips against his. Right at that moment, he felt Heaven on the tip of his tongue. His eyes rolled back in head, and his body turned limp in her arms. If her touch weakened him, her kiss could paralyzed him.

In the midst of haze and rapture, he felt the veil slip from his hand, before the breeze turned into gusting winds.

He must've blacked out during the flight, because the moment he opened his eyes, he's already in the arms of his parents.

Their tears had wetted his clothes, and his mother raised his head to see him. He couldn't hear the whispers from people around them, but he caught some of the repeated words. 'Lucky', 'missing', '3 days'.

When he laid on his bed, he traced his fingers on the place she had touched. His arms, his cheek, his lips… The caresses of her fingers still lingered on his skin. He wanted to meet her, to be touched by her again. Alas, he's prohibited from going to the woods.

He was screaming, crying, begging for his parents to let him go. But they didn't yield, they wouldn't give in.

At night, he'd curl up under his cover, as quiet sobs escaped his lips. With his fingers dug into his skin, in a futile attempt to preserve her touch. Yet no matter how hard he clung to it, the heavenly mark would slip away from his hands.

It's not until a half year later, that he finally got the chance to leave home.

He could remember the route like it's the back of his hand; see the big tree, and follow the stream. And when he found the brook, he let out a sigh of relief.

Yet it was short-lived, since the river went on. He didn't see any sign of sanctuary, no flowering trees, no sweet smell in the wind. He bent down to taste the water, but quickly spit it out. It was awful, it wasn't as pristine as he had before.

He looked up, trying to find any sign of the heavenly garden, but there's none. There were only grey clouds, and yellowing leaves upon him.

Faintly, he could hear chuckles and amused whispers from the forest. He turned his head towards the woods, and saw the moving shadows behind the trees.

'... the boy comes back for her…'

'... how cute…'

'... he didn't know that…'

'... she left…'

Perhaps if he could stop for a moment, and listen to them, he could see that his search was hopeless. But he was stubborn. Even after he walked through the creek, and found no flowering waterfall in the upstream.

That night, he's found by the townsman near the river. His eyes were red, and his hands were dirty with soil. The villagers escorted him back to his home, where his parents waited and prayed. They rushed to hold him, asking why he left, where he'd been, but he stayed silent.

He was bedridden for the next several days, from drenched clothes and sorrow he had yesterday. He remembers the weight in his heart, and the seeming emptiness within his chest. Of course, a young boy like him hadn't understood the heartache, but even then, he knew the sole cause of it was the Angel.

He pulled the blanket to his chest, gripping tightly as he sobbed. Why wouldn't she take him? Why wouldn't she look at him?

The questions would linger in the back of his mind, because the moment he looked in the mirror, the image of her flashed before his eyes. Why wouldn't she look at him? Was he so hideous, that she's terrified upon seeing him? If so, why would she kiss him?

He tried to ask the questions to his parents, but what he received weren't answers. Instead, they told him it's just a dream, because Angels didn't exist. He tried to tell the other kids around him, but he quickly learnt that no one believed him. No one found his story plausible, rather, they called him a liar. As a result, that name stayed with him throughout his school years.

On one day in October, as he hid behind the tree in the school yard, he vowed to himself to never tell a soul about his Angel.

While he kept her existence from the others, he still tried to seek her in the forest. When he grew up into adulthood, his parents ceased to worry about his whereabouts. For a reason that he's rarely home. When he's 18, he went down the path of the army. Which granted him more freedom to continue his search.

Of course, he had considered giving up and turned to worldly pleasures. But nothing could compare to her kiss.

It's a wonder how a single encounter could lead to a lifetime obsession. All his efforts, all his knowledge about the forest's paths were the result of a single desire—to see the Angel again. Yet after miles of walking through the woods, exploring every inch of the forest's paths, he found none of her. Not a single trace of her and her existence. Whenever he went back, empty-handed, he couldn't help but feel helpless. As if he's still the little boy who cried by the river.

The emptiness he felt isolated him from his peers, because he knew no one would understand him. When he agreed to the missions that required him to fight in the forest for months, many of his comrades questioned his decision. When he refused the comfort of the night women, the other soldiers would look at him strange. When he's lost in his thoughts, with his eyes fixed on the flowing river, his colleagues would whisper behind his back. Indulged themselves with rumors and speculations.

For a decade, he kept himself at a distance from the others. Until one night, when the alcohol loosened his tongue, he told the story of his past to his fellow soldier. For the first time in his life, someone listened to him without a frown.

"I know someone who knows about these things." He told him, "But I don’t know if he's willing to talk."

He sat up straight as he leaned forward, "Tell me."

His friend hesitated for a moment, before he cleared his throat. "He lived on the outskirts of town, just a bit further in the woods. Sometimes he's in the town's market, selling furs and meats from his hunting." He then leaned closer to say something in low tone, "But there's a rumor that he's selling other things, if you ask the right question."

"What's the question?"

The man shrugged, "I never asked."

He sighed, rubbing his face in frustration. "Alright." He retorted quietly, "Where can I find him?"

The next day, he visited the address his friend gave.

It was a 20 minute drive from the city, and the trip was slowed down since his house was off the beaten path. When he arrived at the driveway, he noticed a man by the house, bringing the axe down as he splitted the log.

As he approached the man, he sensed a piercing gaze on his face.

"What do you want?" The man scoffed, as he made no effort to hide his hostility.

"Someone told me you knew about the creatures in the forest."

"Deer?" The man sneered, "I can sell their pelts for cheap."

"No." He looked him straight in the eye, "I want information about Angels."

The man went quiet for a moment, before he shook his head in a jeering manner. "Another stray from the asylum."

"I'll do anything in exchange for the information."

It seemed to pique him, as he put his mocking facade down.

"Are you from the church?"

"Military."

"Why does a man like you want to know about Angels?"

"It's for personal reasons."

He grinned at him, showing yellowing teeth behind his lips. "You saw one, didn't you?"

He stayed quiet, and the man shrugged.

"It's not my business anyway." He mused, "I don't mind giving you information about Angels—for free, but I'll give you something better if you help me." He smirked, "I'll tell you how to catch one."

—

He stands on the edge of the dark woods, peering into the thick forest, where his first mark once resided. There's a quiet wind that carries the words from the past into his ear.

'... the boy comes back for her…'

He closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, savoring the smell of the forest.

"First, you have to disguise yourself." The man spoke while he packed up the hunting tools, "Those creatures have a sharp sense of smell, and human's scent is very distinct. So you have to wear their skin to mask your presence."

"What about deer skin?"

"It won't work." He said, "You have to take it from their kin. But there's one creature who has a strong smell, just like a human. It's so strong that it puts other creature's guard down."

"What is it?"

The man smirked, before a familiar name slipped out of his tongue.

A damp musk mixes in with the woody smell, and his grip on the prize tightens. The unearthly cloak feels heavy in his hand—a reminder of his hunt that's still fresh in his mind. The owner of the robe lays down at his feet, with its head far from where he stands.

An iridescent blood drips from his hand, and into the ground below. Painting the grass with luminous hues. He lets go of the iron machete, which falls with a loud thud. It's a wonder how a pure metal could kill the unassailable.

He had seen this creature many times in the forest. The first time was when the Angel touched him, and the rest when he searched for her. It took a form of moving shadows, and he only saw it in the corner of his eye.

"Believe it or not, Faeries were once considered as the guardians of the forest." He chuckled, "It's because the forest is their home, of course they'd be protective over it. They're very territorial after all."

"Is that why their scent can lower other's guard down?" He asked the man, while handing the fangs of the beast. "Because they smell familiar?"

"Correct." He responded, "But acquiring it isn't an easy business, because they're half-immortal. You see this scar? I almost lost my arm because of it."

"Did you kill it?"

The man sneered, "Who do you think I am?"

"Who do you think I am?" He mused, unconsciously repeated the words from his memory. He scoffs, as he realizes how far he has gone for a single obsession. Killing a forest God just to wear its skin, so he can catch the Angel off guard.

As he walks through the path, he drapes the heavy cloak on his shoulders. Putting the deer's skull mask on, before pulling down the dark veil to cover his face. There's no way of telling if the disguise works, since human's noses aren't as sensitive as theirs. But when he tastes the water, he knows he's on the right track.

"Angels rarely change places," The man claimed, "Once they found a good place to stay, they'd stay until they had no choice but to leave." He then added, "If you saw an Angel somewhere, then it's possible you'd see them again at the same place."

"Then why couldn't I find her?"

"Because they hide from humans." He answered, "You could see them when your heart was pure. Oftentimes, kids were the ones who could see them, because their hearts were still pure." He let out an amused snort when he saw the look on his face, "I can understand why she went into hiding. You don't hide your infatuation."

The brook is still the same as he remembers. With flowering walls and waterfalls. His heart beats so loud against his ribcage, that he's afraid the Angel would hear it.

He sucks in a breath, before marching deeper into the pond.

Behind the large boulder, he sees a blinding light reflecting from the water. His eyes narrowed at the sight before him, before a figure began to form at the heart of the lights.

An Angel.

"How do you subdue them?" He asked the man, "If you can't take their veil?"

"That's easy." He replied, "Drench them with blood." He laughed when he went silent. "I didn't mean their blood or any kind of blood, but the blood of the innocent." He rummaged through his cupboard, before he pulled a jar of crimson liquid. "It's a bait for vampires, but you can use it to suppress an Angel."

He furrowed his brows, "How does that work?"

"I'm not sure myself." He scratched his chin, "But there's a theory that Angels are the protector of the innocents, so having their blood on them means they fail their duty. And if they fail their duty, well, you can guess what'd happen to them."

He feels the heat begins to pool in his groin, as he clutches on the blood jar. She's so pure, so unassuming, and he'll be the one who defiles her.

With his strong hand, he hurls the container towards her. It shatters upon contact with the rock, just an inch away from her body. She didn't have the time to react—nor make sense of the situation, as the crimson blood rained on her.

He doesn't waste any time as he runs to her, catching her by her arm. She shouts at him as she struggles, but she's become as weak as a human. It doesn't take as much effort for him to drag her to the shore.

"Stop!" She screamed when he pinned her down by the neck, "This is heresy. You can't do this."

"Should've thought twice before you kissed me." He snarls when she begins to kick her legs around, "Your kiss is a mark, isn't it? You've marked me as yours from the start."

"It was for protection." She declared with a trembling voice, "You couldn't possibly fend yourself from Fey, I had to do it to protect you."

"Don't deny it." He growled, as his grip on her tightened. "You chose me."

She whimpers when his hand locks in around her delicate neck, and she tries to push him away by his wrist. "I didn't. I never chose you."

He goes quiet for a moment, staring at her struggling form. The splatter of blood has painted her body red, staining her radiant skin with mortal essence. A perfect picture of sacrilege.

"I want to be good for you," He spoke as he shrugged the cloak off him, "But you leave me with no choice."

Her eyes widen in terror as she watches his hand descend to her stomach, before it travels down to her thigh. "No. No! Stop!" She cried out when he pried her legs open, before lodging his hips in.

"I heard an Angel can't feel pain," He sneered as he slipped his pants down, "Shall we put it to the test?"

Her scream falls to deaf ears as he rubs his cock against her tender hole, giving himself a few strokes, before pushing his member in.

"The most common method to catch an Angel is to steal their veil—or what we often call as their 'wings'." The man lifts his finger before he could interject, "But, they can always leave once they find their wings back. So it's not a reliable method."

"Then how do you keep them from running away?" He frowned.

"There are a few ways to do it, but it all boils down to the same thing." He took a drag of his cigarette, before puffing the smoke out of his mouth. "Make them commit a sin."

He throws his head to the back, eyes roll up as he lets out a loud groan. Her hole is tighter than normal humans, but the friction of her walls sends him into a delirium state. He almost slips into blackness, if not for the flailing legs against his shoulders.

"Scheiße." He hissed as he thrust himself into her, "You feel like Heaven."

She lets out a broken sob, as her face contorted with pain. "Please—" She begged, "You're hurting me."

"Am I?" He drank the sight of her, before he slipped his hand between her folds, "I'll make you feel good."

There's a bump right above her stretched hole, and the protruding lump feels like a little pearl on his thumb. And when he strokes it, it begins to throb against his fingertip.

"Once they're close to falling, their halo will be visible to human's eye. When that happens, you should pull it off their head."

A flash of light goes off in front of him, and he shuts his eyes from the bright blaze. It flares for a few seconds, before a ring of light materializes above her crown.

He stares at it with fascination and awe, and his grip begins to loosen up from her neck.

She gasps when he touches her halo, before his fingers wrap around the ring.

There's a hard resistance when he tugs on the halo, as if it's bound to a strong magnet. Her hands shoot up to grab his wrist, clutching onto him with a painful grimace on her face.

A doubt crosses his mind when the divine ring wouldn't come off of her, no matter how hard he pulls it. But with every slam of his hips, her halo begins to budge slightly.

"Because once they lose their halo,"

He presses his lips against her ear—whispering filthy things, while he rubs her clit mercilessly.

"Give in." He growled into her ear, "Give in to sin."

"N-no—"

"You have no choice." He retorted, as he pounded his cock into her harder, "Give in to me."

"They can't go back to Heaven."

She screams, as her halo starts to bend.

"No, no, no—! Stop this madness! Please—"

"It's too late." His lips curled into a cruel smile, "You're not going back."

Her walls begin to pulsate, and he feels a cold rapture creep up along his spine. He groans as she squeezes around him, sucking his cock deeper into her. Tears start to wet her cheeks, and he bends down to catch them with his tongue.

A wretched cry echoes through the forest, as the halo slips away from its anchor. He loses his balance, as it crumbles into dust the moment it leaves her crown, while the rest of it flies away with the wind.

Her body trembles from both shock and worldly pleasure, and a sharp moan leaves his mouth when her walls clamp onto his cock. Shoving him into a state of bliss, as he fills her up with his seeds. The foreign sense of fullness causes her body to curl up, and she covers her face as she begins to sob.

He doesn't let her mourn, since her loss is a blessing for him. He laps her cheek, tasting the saccharine drops that escape her eye. Even when her glow has fading, she still feels as heavenly as before.

"At last," He grinned, as he felt his cock throbbed at the thoughts of the future. "You're finally mine."

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #konig x reader #könig cod #konig mw2 #yea. i have a corruption kink. what about it

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comfortless · 1 year ago

Text

Outside

but you’re mine (chapter 2 of ?)

🌱 PAIRING: König x fem!reader

🌾 CONTENT: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fae au. blanket warning for death, violence, very light horror elements <— comes with the territory; all of this being said it’s still cozy and sweet here!!, not even remotely canon compliant, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter specific warnings: ambivalence, pining, vague mentions of murder/abduction, very slightly suggestive.

🍃 NOTES: this is so much later coming out than i hoped it would be— apologies! wc: 7k.

<- prev ; next ->

Sleep addled eyes open to reveal the orange glow of a hunter’s moon, soil and clover beneath your nude flesh, the tickle of a dead fern rubbing against your bare calf as a gentle breeze pulls dying leaves from trees and leaves a wake of goose pimples on your flesh. Beneath the light of the moon, you gather your bearings well enough, the velvety dark creating illusions dancing at the corners of your vision. The shadow of the large antlers of an inquisitive buck pacing about, a woman swaying as a giggle escapes her parted lips, the sound of a pan flute playing some lively tune somewhere off in the distance.

As you sit up, taking in what you’ve believed you’ve just seen, it all quiets. The forest is as silent and still as always. Eyes wide and panicked heart palpitating wildly, you think to cover your most vulnerable parts with a cupped palm and the cross of your arm over the swift rise and fall of your chest.

How you managed to find yourself out in the dark, nude as any animal, is beyond your comprehension. Rationalizing seems futile, since you arrived not a thing has made any sort of sense to you, anyway. Inexplicable things happen, and frankly, it’s becoming quite the nuisance. Whoever has done this, dragged you from your bedroom to leave you in the darkened forest, can very well bet on the fact that they’ve made an enemy out of you. You stand to your feet, brushing dirt and fragments of leaves from the backs of your thighs and rear before concealing yourself once more.

What started as a series of harmless events seems to steadily build like a symphony as the days pass, and you only find comfort in knowing that it’s yet to reach any sort of crescendo. In your previous life, occupied by a mundane job and gray city skylines, if anything were to occur like this you would think your sanity had slipped. Convincing yourself you’re deluded wouldn’t change much here. You’ve tried already, only to find a man you’ve yet to properly meet curled against you in your own bed.

That night, only a week ago, felt like a distant memory now. He hadn’t been back. You had told Kate about it, of course, and in turn she spoke of her nightly visitor too. Someone who called himself John, who kept a cigar on his person when he anticipated speaking with her throughout the night. A loyal friend he was, she had told you, but you hardly had anything kind to say about the monster who had appeared from no where to steal your things, leave a dead bird in your bed, and invite himself beneath your blanket in turn. The only positive you could think of was that he had returned your lily in better health than it was when it had initially vanished. Kate hadn’t seemed particularly concerned, these things don’t usually harm humans in their own realm. It would give too much away, and they liked their secrets, their games.

Vulnerability looks sweet on you as you stumble about, careful to avoid the jagged edges of broken twigs and loose rock against your soles. You’re hopelessly lost, and god only knew how far from home you truly were. A part of you doesn’t want to play, to give whatever did this the satisfaction of seeing you break down as you spend your night desperate to return to shelter. It’s strange to feel such fear and anger at the same time, the sort of complex mixture of emotions that had you gritting your teeth as tears stung the corners of your eyes.

“Alright, come out, already! Take me back!,” You shout in a moment of weakness, realizing you’ve not progressed whatsoever. You could have sworn you’ve passed this same crooked oak twice already, it’s trunk bending so oddly it resembled someone kneeling in prayer. The air only seems to grow further still at your outburst, and your mind supplies a thought that rids your anger and only increases the fear. You shouldn’t have done that. How could someone so helpless be making demands to something capable of doing something like this on a whim, after all?

To your horror, your exclamation is answered by the metered sounds of footfalls in the darkness, heavy and deliberate. The worst of them only liked to come out at night, Kate had warned you over tea the morning after your visitor had made his appearance. Not all of them, but most. Some were perverse, foul-tongued and inhumanly horny. Some were volatile and quick to anger. Some were simply hungry, luring people out just like this to drag them back to whatever pocket of unreality they had stalked out of to bring so many just like you back to devour in the comfort of their lair.

The sounds draw nearer, coupled with a deep intake of breath, no doubt to take in your scent. It’s the gnashing of teeth that spurs you to run, clamoring through prickly nettles, shredding the soles of your feet on pine cone and loose stone. It gives chase, maneuvering with ease through the woodsy terrain, uprooting bushes and tearing through clover beds in its wake.

“Come…” The voice is a warbled mockery of human speech, fluctuating in a tone that seems it’s speaking from its belly rather than its throat. Even a well taught canine could speak better.

“Come...”

A shriek is ripped from your throat when you hear the creature no longer behind you, but in front of you. It chitters loudly, breathes deep once more. You brace yourself for the feeling of clustered, crooked fangs piercing into your exposed flesh, but… that pain never comes.

Your eyelids flutter when you hear an inhuman wail of pain, see the silhouette of two massive beasts scuffling about before you. Some morbid shadow puppet show, filled with grunts and screeches. There’s a distinct, wet ripping noise followed by the blackened spray of entrails hitting the bark of the trees that surround.

The thing that had been in pursuit of you sounds like a squealing pig as it falls into a puddle of its own blood, weakly thrashing about until a prolonged gasp leaves it. Silence would follow, if not for the sounds of your own ragged breathing.

The victor merely rolls his broad shoulders, tilts his head to look at you as you take a step back. You catch sight of a veil hanging over his head, and as your gaze travels lower you see the glimmer of blood on clawed fingertips. The creature from your room, the irony of the thing you had feared so now becoming your savior.

Perhaps seeing how easily he ripped one of his own kind apart should have terrified you. Yet you find yourself oddly consoled, eager to see something familiar in the dark.

“Thank you,” you huff out before you can catch yourself. No thanking them. There’s no taking it back, even as Kate’s voice rings out in your mind, you don’t even make the attempt to correct yourself. In spite of her warning, nothing happens. The man takes a slow step toward you, careful almost, as though the thought of making you flee was something he actually considered. It’s entirely opposite from how you know him to be, forced cuddles and gifts of rot. Still, you’ve been lucky to avoid some grisly end on this night, and the consequences of your gratitude quickly fall from your mind just as a tear slips down your cheek.

He seems lost in thought as the glow of blue irises lock onto you, reflective under starlight visible through the holes torn in his veil, before he removes the cloak covering his body and places it gently over your shoulders. His hands linger as he gently strokes your arms only to reluctantly draw away.

“Reizendes.” You don’t need to ask what the word means, the way his gaze softens as he stares down at you tells all. It’s the same look you saw Ghost give to Johnny’s grave. Albeit, a little less tame. His stare isn’t just appreciative, something carnal lurks beyond those eyes.

You don’t know why this man, this creature, is drawn to you. Why he looks at you the way that he does, why he came here to save a defenseless human woman. There’s so little reason, so little time given to be worthy of such a strange devotion. Simple curiosity seems an impossibility, Kate’s been here longer than you and she didn’t seem to know just what you referred to when you described him to her. There’s a pleading in your tear-filled eyes as your gaze meets his own. Why me?

The man takes another step, lowering himself just enough to look into your eyes as his widen. It’s the first time you’ve been face-to-face, somewhat. His hand raises, claws drawn inward toward his palm as he considers reaching for you, though he drops it back to his side the moment you dart your tongue out to nervously wet your lips.

“I need to get home.”

“Ja. I will come with you.” He says it as though it’s the most obvious thing to suggest, the only logical way to end a night like this.

“That wasn’t an invitation.”

His eyes seem to crease at the corners in amusement, you imagine a sharp-toothed grin beyond the fabric hiding himself away from you. “You have already slept with me.”

Your reaction seems to be exactly what the fae expects, your lips parted and face warmed from embarrassment as your eyes go wide in surprise. “What— no, don’t say it like that!” To your chagrin, he has the audacity to laugh, a gravely rumble from his solid chest. A pretty sound, a haunted church bell, something you can’t place.

“You can stay with me.”

“Why would I do that?” You’re glaring at him, but you get the sense he knows there’s no bite to your harsh look whatsoever.

“You owe me, ja?”

You’re caught in a strange stasis between comfort and disgust, really. Your room’s felt colder at night since a week ago, even with your window shut tight, curtains drawn, and every blanket you owned piled atop you, none of it could bring back the warmth you felt tucked against him. Yet, here, beneath a pumpkin moon, you still can’t put together what exactly he is and your mind is like a banshee, screaming out for you to leave. Even with his cloak pulled tight around you, fur lining soft on your flesh, you still shiver from the breeze. The running, the confusion and fear. The defiance is clear in your eyes, but the exhaustion is evident everywhere else, from the rapid rise and fall of your chest to the blood staining your bare feet.

The fae doesn’t hesitate as he plucks you from the leaf-ridden ground and tosses you over his shoulder as though you weigh little more than a twig. His hand curves over your lower back, keeping you in place. Though you make your displeasure known with a grumbled string of curses, you’re only met with the touch of his clawed thumb flittering along your side as if in consolation. His touch is something that brings you an odd calm. You’ve considered that since your impromptu meeting if he’s got some sort of magic laced into his fingertips, making you pliant, or perhaps you’re a bit more accepting of his strange courtship than you would ever allow yourself to believe.

“You’ll take me home in the morning,” you whisper, a sulky request.

He huffs, his shoulder seeming to deflate almost imperceptibly beneath your bare tummy. “Ja.”

His strides are great as he begins to walk, clearing through the forest with ease, and he’s careful, careful not to allow any outstretched branches to even make contact with your body. He clutches you tighter when the howling of coyotes could he heard in the distance, rubs at your side each time you shiver. How a monster could be so soft, so attentive is beyond you, but subconsciously you begin to relax just a little more with each passing moment.

He places you back on your feet when you reach a small clearing, a circle of trees surrounding and grass that feels pillowy beneath you. His hands move to your hips, pushing you back as a whine of protest leaves your lips before your back hits a soft nest of furs, cleared away of any debris, right below the lofty gaze of the moon.

“I didn’t like the bird,” you speak up as he sits at your side, you pull his cloak tighter around yourself. The fae cocks his head at you, moving a hand far too large to rest on your knee. You’re confused, so confused. You both want to shield yourself from this titan and open yourself up to him, in bloom. Submissive, but withdrawn.

“I will leave deer next time,” he answers, his blue eyes crinkling again as he grins and leans in to nudge his nose against the side of your neck. “Little doe. Like you.”

Your hand rises to press against the front of his veil, to push him back. He tenses for a moment, but resigns only to push himself closer, nosing at the side of your jaw as he grasps at your waist. It’s futile, really, trying to shove him away but you don’t give up as you twist and writhe against him. “No! Don’t leave dead things in my bed.”

He pulls you tightly toward him, just like the night before. An arm tucked under your neck and one hand splayed over your womb. Your battle lost, banner raised by way of fluttering lashes and parted lips.

“Women like fur and feathers, ja?” There’s a lilt to his voice, both amused and desperate as he practically vibrates against you. “I will give them to you always.”

You busy yourself trying to pry his hand away from your abdomen, making a show of nothing as you weakly push and shove until clawed fingers slot themselves between your own. The simple act of holding his hand snuffs out any bit of fight you had left in you, because damn it all, your heart flutters.

“I don’t want your gifts.”

“What is better then?,” he huffs against your neck, the warmth of his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, and you could swear you felt the graze of teeth just beneath his veil. “To fuck?”

You shake your head furiously at his suggestion, pulling your hand from his and wriggling away from him. “Absolutely not,” you hiss, eyes narrowed as you glare at him only a few inches distance away.

He laughs, and to your horror— your excitement, crawls over you, his hands resting on either side of your head. It’s hard to see in the dark, even as your eyes adjust somewhat, but as the veil flutters with his movement, you don’t catch sight of any monstrous face beneath it, only a man. The glimpse is brief, hardly enough to paint a proper picture, before he softly knocks his forehead against yours and brushes against your face. It stifles you, how a man like this, one that leaves gifts of death and has the stature of a beast could be so very gentle.

“I have missed you,” he breathes against your cheek as he lowers himself atop you, and for the first time you’re realizing he’s just as nude as you are, the cloak the only article of clothing between the two of you. But despite the feel of his regrettably impressive manhood against your thigh, he makes no move to ravish you. In fact, he seems content just covering you like a weighted blanket.

You bite your lower lip, chewing at it as an unwanted surge of arousal pools between your thighs, pressed so tightly together it’s almost painful. Unwanted and quickly over looked. This isn’t simple lust, your heart aches.

“You are so soft,” he continues, lowering his head to hook his chin over your shoulder, a hand stuffed beneath your lower back. “Softer than fur. Softer than feathers.”

“What do you want?,” you ask him for the second time since your meeting. It’s not that you don’t have an idea. He makes it painfully clear with the way he showers you in affection and stares at you as if you’re the only star in the night sky.

Still, he humors you with a response, “Keine ahnung.” Follows it up with a shrug of his massive shoulders and a soft whisper, “I don’t know.”

Yet, he dips his head down, with his lips pressed against yours from just beyond the veil, kisses you softly through the fabric as his hand moves to cup your cheek. The urge to tear yourself away is still there, but quieted, lulled into some sort of comfort. You find yourself reciprocating a little dumbly, unsure of just how to properly kiss with the curtain of fabric in the way. The warmth spreading across your face is dizzying, almost. The sole thought of this feeling predestined beds down in the recesses of your brain.

You think to request that he remove what hides himself from you, yet he pulls away before you can murmur it into his mouth.

“Give me your name.” The words are a demand, indefinitely, and with his size it’s hard not to view them in a threatening light. There’s something else, too: desperation. You’ve already given enough, your gratitude, a debt to be repaid.

You’ve thumbed through some of Kate’s books, the ones separated from the stock of romance novels on her shelves. There wasn’t as much material as you had hoped about these creatures, though you supposed that finding truths about what was not even supposed to exist was bordering on the impossible, anyhow. However, one sentiment seemed to ring out as fact between each meager source— giving him your name is reducing yourself to a possession.

“Show me your face,” you counter, to which he shakes his head with a breathy laugh.

“Not on this night,” he whispers. You find him at your side instead, tugging you close as he hums that very same song that slipped you into sleep just like before.

“Then you won’t have my name tonight, either,” you murmur against his broad chest, languidly pulling yourself closer as you toss the side of the cloak over the both of you like a blanket.

— — —

You don’t want to think about it, the tingling on your lips as though it were truly your first kiss, the way your heart stutters in your chest. Speaking of it seemed somehow worse, as if it would breath life into the memory. The way it weighs on you makes it feel as if it’s already something tangible, a snarling black cat with its claws buried into the shoulder of your coat. It’s raining when you pull your car from the driveway, your keys having turned up digging into your side beneath the sheets after the night you willingly spent wrapped so tightly against him. All the gray somehow made the vibrant oranges and reds of the trees seem dismal, too. You entertain the thought that it’s truly the fact that you’re being haunted by something that rips the intestines of creatures out with his bare hands that’s really causing this wave of misery, but something tells you that it’s the attachment you have to such a monstrosity that truly does it.

He’s done something and you just know it, cinched your heart with some otherworldly fairy bullshit, made the weeks waiting for him to reappear seem utterly unbearable. You feel like some poor housewife, loitering around doing menial tasks while your husband is either gunned down in some foreign battlefield or fucking into some pretty lady a sea’s breadth away. It’s been a month and there’s no sign of him, even visiting with Ghost you no longer feel the stares of the unseen up the walking trail. Just nothing but a hollow in the pit of your gut that taunts you with the suggestion that he won’t be back.

You drown out your thoughts on the ride into town with music, skipping every love song that plays on shuffle with a diligent tap of your thumb on your phone screen. You’ve put no effort into looking nice, a t-shirt several sizes too large and pair of pajama pants beneath your coat. Your eyes look deadened when you meet your own gaze in the rear view mirror. A stupid thing about heartbreak, really, is that you don’t even need too much to feel it. A friendship spanning a mere week could hurt just as badly depending on the circumstances. Feeling some affection for something no other person could possibly get their hooks into only to have him vanish like this almost makes the feeling seem justified. Almost.

Kate and Ghost have been good company. You haven’t told them, but there’s an odd sympathy in Kate’s eyes when she looks at you, she speaks with her passerby friend outside rather than in at night now, and Ghost… Well, he appears more often as a devil dog, shows his teeth and keeps his distance from you. You still have talks, from time to time he tells you about Johnny. He tells you that he’s been lost for a time, but he waits there knowing he’ll come home like any good dog would. It’s just the way he looks at you now, like there’s something looming over you that even he can’t properly detect.

Your solitude helps on dreary days like this, when you can’t pry it out—him, clawing at the corners of your mind.

The town feels just as hushed as everywhere else in this place.

A small street houses old buildings nestled tightly against one another, the brick crumbling and some corners blackened as though some angry soul had tried to burn it all down. It’s the kind of place that feels haunted, you think as you park your car on the mostly empty street, catching sight of your reflection in a shattered window. The thin blue curtains of the building billow outward as if beckoning to you and you tear your eyes away immediately. You don’t want to see anything again. Not him, not another giggling and twirling through clusters of bramble and fern. None of it. It’s decided, a bitter force of your own will.

Yet, when you step foot into the old bakery your mind races with his gift, his promise of more and… would it really be so bad to get him one too? A proper offering, not one that harmed a single living thing. Something soft, like your shared kiss. You step to the counter, noting how coldly the older woman just beyond the pretty cabinet of glazed buns and slices of apple pie eyes you. These days, you don’t feel welcome anywhere, caught in a loop of misplaced pity and loneliness. It’s one or the other, sometimes they overlap.

You pay for a coffee and a sugar bun, tucking the brown paper bag holding it into the deep pocket of your coat before you head back outside and choose to have your coffee on a bench. The wind and rain have lessened, somewhat, falling into a mere drizzle and a featherlight breeze instead. The sound of the earth is much more pleasing to the ear than the void of silence you’ve felt lost in.

Approaching footsteps draw your attention as you take a sip from the paper cup. Your eyes meet a sincere face as he steps towards you, looking a bit uncertain. A cop, no doubt. Perhaps even a rookie. He doesn’t have the hardened face of the standard city police, just a polite smile across his lips, a sort of kind twinkle in his eyes.

“Mornin’,” the cop says to you as he stands to the side of the bench. It’s nice to see someone normal, not unearthly. You offer him a slight pull of your lips, a half-smile.

“Good morning.”

“Kyle Garrick,” he introduces himself, offering his hand out for you to shake. You accept, shaking it twice before drawing your hand back. You hesitate for a moment, but inevitably give the man your name in turn. He is just that, you realize, a human man. “Haven’t ya… well, you’ve seen the news, yeah? Shouldn’t be out on your own like this.” You shake your head slightly, the hand wrapped around your coffee cup falling into your lap. The officer goes on to explain that disappearances occur somewhat frequently around this place. He has the courtesy to spare you the bulk of detailing the state these folks come back in, but your mind can fill in the gaps well enough. Dragged into the dark, a lair filled with teeth. It almost happened to you.

He looks down at you a bit sympathetic for a moment, before he brings himself to continue on. “Not tryin’ to scare you. Just want to make sure you’re aware.”

A shaky sigh leaves you before you bring your cup back to your lips, a long sip lost in thought before you meet the officer’s brown eyes once more. “I’ll be careful,” you respond quietly. “Can’t say the thought of dealing with a serial killer sounds fun at all.”

That earns you a laugh from him. It sounds sweet. Maybe you’re not the most trusting, but Kyle seemed like a good man.

“Can’t say for certain if we’ve got a serial killer at all, but ah— I shouldn’t be tellin’ you all of this, yeah?”

“Sounds like you’re trying to scare me off.”

“No, not at all,” he responds with a shake of his head. “Don’t fret too much. Probably just the grizzlies, the wolves… you know how nature can be.”

“Cruel?”

“Not quite.” He pauses as his brow pinches in thought. “Just… hysterical.”

If only he knew. You don’t have the gall to tell him that what he’s in pursuit of likely wasn’t an animal or a person at all, but some other thing. Kate probably would have outright, you imagine, but you’re not Kate.

He tips his head at you, tugging his black cap down by the brim. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

You nod him off in reply. The wind was starting to pick back up, the sugar bun in your pocket growing cooler with each passing breeze.

— — —

Kate’s been absent more often lately, a small pile of sticky notes left on the countertop all with hurriedly scrawled out ‘Be back soon!’s. When you arrive home, it doesn’t come as a surprise to you to see yet another stuck onto the refrigerator door with the same words written over the blue paper in black ink.

Visiting Ghost proved fruitless. The cemetery was completely empty. It was rare that he wasn’t stationed there, seated like a statue amongst the rows of headstones. Waiting around for him to return seemed irrational. Though he tolerated you well enough, Ghost was an enigma, and seeking out his company felt almost pathetic on your part.

Your hands clench at your sides as you walk the trail back home.

Your frustration is misplaced and you know it, but you’re exhausted with the same scenery. The same four walls surrounding you, the dreary little valley town, the cemetery. When things happen here they spark up your adrenaline in a way nothing else ever could, the high far better than any vice or pleasure you’ve ever accepted. The reverse is a pensive, horrid wait and coupled with this longing, it’s become unbearable.

Kate and Ghost had their secrets that you choose to leave well alone, and you… You realize you’ve got your secrets too as you place the sugar bun on your windowsill as a small offering for him.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he had said.

“I miss you,” you breathe out into the empty air, staring out the window as the rain begins to pick up again.

The sugar bun is gone the following morning and you find flowers in your bed. A bouquet of harebell and Queen Anne’s lace haphazardly tied with a short length of twine.

Late November drags itself in silently. The glass of your window is frosted most mornings, a hand print far too large left against it from the outside. Otherwise, everything is just quieted. Though you’ve rarely seen much wildlife around the house, it seems even more desolate now.

You help Kate set up a Christmas tree in the corner of the den, right by the hearth. The baubles and lights adorning it bring a warmth to you that seems uncanny this time of the year. You stray from your room more often, finding it nice to sit by the warmth of a roaring fire with one of her books in hand. (She tells you that John kindled the flames each time, yet you’ve still never seen them.)

Though you bide your time during the day, nights are your favorite. You leave gifts of honey and small stones, you wake to them gone and often in their place, blooming flowers tied with thin lengths of string. Flowers from someplace far away and less cold, someplace that doesn’t exist for you.

“Leave it alone.”

“Have you ever left it alone?”

Ghost huffs, ears flicked back and eyes narrowed. Try as he might, looking intimidating as a dog was just… impossible for him at least, especially now as he stands on his back legs, paws resting on your windowsill as he inspects your new gift, some strange cluster of unnaturally red pearls and flowers so golden they didn’t seem real. He sniffs at your gifts, black lips drawn back in a very canine expression of disdain. Perhaps you would still think him entirely cute, harmless, if you didn’t know what he had the capability to look like.

“I just want to know… where they’re coming from. You should know.”

“Why would I know what you’re invitin’ in?” Ghost counters as he places his big paws back onto the floor before padding over to your bed and jumping up to snuff at your sheets.

“I just thought I would ask.”

His diligent sniffing pauses for a moment, and you swear you see some recognition in his dark eyes. It’s distant, well guarded, but you feel certain he knows something that he just refuses to tell. The dog falls entirely silent, and you know you’re not getting another word out of him. Not tonight at least.

You had invited him in in hopes for answers, not for more questions, even explained in depth what had occurred that night in the woods. If your eyes were filled with tiny stars as you recounted it all, he hadn’t said a word to acknowledge it.

“Leave it alone.” Ghost repeats when he meets your eyes, dreamily thinking back to him again. Always, a constant gnawing at your mind. “It’ll want more.”

“My name?”

“More.”

“I don’t understand. You don’t want anything more from me, John doesn’t want more from Kate. Why would he be any different?” It sounds pitiful, even to yourself. You wouldn’t know more than Ghost, you’re just desperate. Desperate for the same thing as the fae you spent your nights missing.

Ghost barks out a laugh, surprising even to your own ears. He doesn’t need to say a thing. Black shulk, harbinger of death. A friend, for now, but he knows you’re reckless, knows your time will come eventually. It’s the reason he exists.

He gives you a nod when the recognition floods your face, and almost sympathetically places his massive head in your lap.

Tonight’s the first time he allows you to pet him, trailing your hand down the length of his spine as his wiry fur parts beneath your fingertips. He’s colder than you would expect, colder than the bite of winter outside. You ask him, again, to tell you about Johnny, and in turn, he tells you he’s on his way home.

The chill of Ghost’s stiff body is replaced by the warmth of the fire in the hearth as you lead him back to the door to let him roam into the night after little talk, little introspection.

But something is better than nothing.

The smell of coffee pulls you from sleep, Kate’s humming could be heard from the kitchen, a soft song, one you had heard her play on her record player some nights when sleep dodged you. It’s mornings like these that remind you of just how peaceful things could be here. She hadn’t even seemed to mind how you had fallen asleep on the couch, or Ghost’s dirty paw prints tracked across the hardwood floors. As you stretch and pad over to greet her, a mug of warm coffee is pressed into your hands and she smiles.

“I’ll clean the floor,” you murmur into your cup, a bit sheepish.

“Why? He’s got two hands, doesn’t he?”

You could never grow tired of her laugh, not hers. It’s sweet and so gentle, it almost reminds you of his. There’s love there, an affection born of two lonesome souls finding solace in one another through silly talks of monsters and shared cups of comfort. Kate really has become family to you after only a few short months.

“I suppose so. Want me to drag him back?”

She raises an eyebrow at that, flashes you an unknowing smile, to which you immediately shake your head.

“Oh, come on!”

“I’m teasing you,” she says, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know you’ve got someone else in mind.”

“How did—”

“Ghost.”

You place your mug on the countertop, looking utterly flabbergasted at the fact that he of all people would run telling your roommate about your infatuation with some suspicious stranger. Your face warms, a swell of embarrassment rising from your chest to your temples. It’s not petty, really, he might have your best interest at heart if he truly had one at all, but you weren’t quite ready to tell Kate about the strange gifts or the depth of your longing after a simple kiss. It was more than that, the danger you had been in, the way he had saved you. It felt like much more.

“I should have told you about it all,” you respond tinily.

Kate shrugs her shoulders a bit, idly tapping at her mug as she studies you. You’re stuck feeling like a child again, telling your guardian about some silly crush at school. Thankfully, she doesn’t pry. The look she gives you merely suggests that she wants you to be careful.

— — —

Careful isn’t what you would have called yourself when you pried open your window in the dead of night. You remembered the kneeling tree, the way it slumped over in its prayers to the earth and if you could just find it again, perhaps you could find him. The air outside was frigid, but you prepared as well as your impulsivity would allow; several layers of clothing and a blanket pulled tightly over your shoulders. It isn’t snowing, not so early into the winter here, yet the ledge of the window is still slippery with frozen condensation. You manage to keep yourself stable as you make your descent, grappling at the wall of the cottage to keep yourself upright.

You leave the window open, the light of your table lamp bathing the room in a warm glow, so inviting you nearly forget your motivations to crawl back in. Before the thought takes root, you turn on your heel and storm out into the dark forest.

Nights are a bit more lively, you find. A woman sings someplace far off, an eerie song telling the story of a carriage traveling a dangerous road, something long-forgotten and old. Hoofbeats thunder past you, accompanied by a breeze that chills you down to the bones, yet nothing could be seen, even with the glow of your phone’s flashlight lighting your way. When you do see something, it’s limbs are all crooked and long, mouth wide and filled with sharpened teeth. Its fur cascaded down its back, brown and covered in a light dusting of moss. It merely scuttles past you without a word or so much as a glance.

You know better than ever that this is dangerous, of course, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back. Some part of you believes that if danger comes, he’ll be there to fight it off, time and time again, just like the last.

The bent tree is still in its place when you arrive and try to retrace your steps from that night. Several meters to the left, a desperate sprint forward, and… just as anticipated, your light illuminates the darkened splatter against the bark of the trees where the fae had torn the other apart before your very eyes. There is no carcass, of course, the dried blood is just confirmation that you’re on the correct path. You turn to your right and set off in the direction that the man had carried you.

The glade is empty of pelts when your arrive. In place of the makeshift bed you had shared are only fallen leaves. You expected warmth, the familiar greeting of a figure too tall and broad to wrap you up in his arms, careful with his claws. Careful with you.

You’ve been holding back tears since he disappeared, little exchanges of gifts doing nothing to protect your heart from the weight of what you feel. When you begin your walk home, the dam breaks. Your face is cold from the wetness, the chill of each gust of wind. Heartbroken after a month, but shattered in the winter, unfortunate and weary, perhaps it was best to follow Ghost’s advice and leave it alone. Curious whispers fill the night air, another song and giggles and chimes start up in the distance. In better spirits, maybe you would have followed the sounds of the gathering, lost yourself in silver tongues and mischief.

Your window comes into view after some time, you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been out in the cold, but you’re excited to return to your bed, to creature comforts. You reach your hands up to the windowsill, fingers curling over the inward slab of wood as you try to pull yourself back in. Your leg kicks at the side of the house for purchase, only to find none. With a small yelp, you fall onto your rear.

Sneaking out was for children with curfews, not an adult— why hadn’t you just used the door? You’re beating yourself up for your own silly decisions, trying to climb up again when a pair of strong hands reach behind you to tug you back against a firm chest. Your breath catches, panic settling in your guts until your side is stroked with a touch so tender a new wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Little one…,” a voice coos behind you, a veil pressed against the back of your head as he lowers himself down to your height, his arms still curled around you protectively.

“Where have you been? I… I missed you, and you didn’t…” You trail off, feeling so small, so caught up in your own feelings. The sentence is left unfinished as you twist around in his grip to wrap your arms around his middle, face buried into his chest.

“You told me not to come to your room.” He sounds confused, hurt. He tilts your head up to catch your eyes and his soften in time with just a look.

You hadn’t expected him to take the comment about an invitation so literally. His consideration almost stings. The words were said with conviction at the time, assured that you hadn’t wanted a monster in your bed, but couldn’t he see how that had changed? Hear how your heart fluttered now? He’s different, so unlike you in a way that confuses and enraptures you, some long-forgotten god out of touch with human conventions.

“I liked your gifts this time.”

His grip around you tightens momentarily, as though trying to embrace you further, pull you deeper into his chest to keep you locked tight in his heart entirely.

“I loved yours, little one.”

“Tell me who you are and you can come in whenever you like,” you huff out in promise, a cloud of your own breath puffing between you and the broad chest you had grown to admire so.

He curls a hand at the nape of your neck, cradling you against him as he lowers his head to kiss you through the veil once more. It’s warm, even as your blanket slips from your shoulders and falls to the ground. The fur of his cloak drapes around you in a better replacement as you return his affections. The kiss is just as chaste as the last, but the sentiment in it far out measures the contact.

He’s still yours. He never truly left.

“My name is König.” He tells you as he pulls away to carefully lift you from the ground and raise you up to the windowsill with so little effort it makes your knees weak. You pull yourself in and turn to look back at him. His gaze is adoring, yours must be too. You feel the way your eyelids slacken, the smile pulling at your lips.

You accept your blanket from him as he offers it and slot your fingers between his once the cover is cast aside. His hand covers yours almost entirely as it curls over yours. The claws look even more wicked in the low light of your room, but you don’t fear him. Not even a little. This time is so much different. It’s scarier to imagine spending another night without him wrapped around you.

It’s not the flowers, the furs, or the feathers that you want. It’s shallow kisses and blackened claws and the feeling of having a titan at your beck and call. It’s the way your heart flutters and your stomach twists with the thrill of falling in love that you long for.

“Come in, König.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #konig x reader #König #Konig #cod fanfiction #call of duty

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