#executioner!König

[ghouljams]

Okok idk if you’ve done anything for könig for the medieval au but I can think of no better role for him than the royal executioner. Given a wide berth by all as he is technically forgiven for his job of killing, but beheading a bound prisoner is hardly the stuff of legend, it doesn’t inspire the same awe in folk. König helplessly enamored with a soft maiden reader and well aware of the blood on his hands so he skulks after her, a looming shadow she can’t seem to shake.

I know there's another writer who has an executioner König that I fucking adore, which has made me hesitant to write him in that role. However it's such a good fit for him. My sister is very upset that I made König a hunter and not an executioner, and I have another ask about König being a king put up for our lovely Princess's hand in marriage(Ghost's big mad about that, ahhhh act 2).

But yeah I like König being big and scary, gotta keep the nasty boy nasty. So I'm gonna write something for executioner König

It started so simply, so plainly, that it could hardly even be called unremarkable. Forgettable, was perhaps the better word. König is sure you must have forgotten it, at least.

Executions are an exact science. If you can call it that. There is a certain way that things must be done to ensure that death has been achieved. Rule one: No drinking on the job, not after last time. Rule two: Always aim for the center of the neck, severing the spinal column ensure the pain doesn't last past what is needed. Rule three: Do not hesitate, self explanatory. Rule four: There will always be a lot of blood, it's best to get out of the way quickly once the ax has hit its mark.

König had been washing his hands of said blood in one of the water spouts around town, when he first saw you. Your eyes wide with fear at the sight of him. You looked like the sunset, something painted by the hands of God himself, so soft and radiant as you turned and fled. He looked after you a moment longer than it took you to disappear around the corner before going back to his grim work. He stripped off his mask to rinse the blood from that as well.

This was treated with wax, the blood and water sliding from it much easier than it did his calloused hands. He could never get all the blood off on his first attempt. Maybe he should wear gloves, but he could never feel the ax as well and leather stained. He ran one short fingernail under another to clean the congealing blood out and stopped. König turned to look down at you, your hands clasped together tightly, your eyes still sparkling with fright.

You held your hand out to him, and he tilt his head to look down at it curiously. The familiar scent and off-white color of soap, just a little piece of it resting on your palm. He was careful taking it from you, shaking the water off his hand before plucking it from your palm. Despite his best efforts to prevent you the displeasure a small puddle of red tinged water formed where the soap previously sat.

"Thank you," He mumbled, turning back to his work so he didn't have to see you wipe your hand off.

"I'm sorry," You told him, in so unfamiliar a tone he didn't think he'd ever heard one like it. Pity was something he was used to, executioners were often looked on with some form of it, but this- this wasn't pity. He turned to ask what you were sorry for, but you were already gone. Quick on your feet. Like a little rabbit.

You're jumpy like a rabbit too. Cute. Actually that part might be on him. You may have forgotten your kindness --did you forget? he hopes you didn't-- but König certainly didn't. He's keeping an eye on you. Moving unseen isn't exactly König's strong suit, but he can do it with the right motivation. Motivation like following you around town. He just wants to see you. Wants to see you smile and laugh and hear your sweet voice. Wants to see you interact with normal people without fear in your eyes.

He has to be careful though, the last few times you noticed him you tensed up. Breath held and hands clenched like that might prevent him from seeing you. Sweet scared little thing. Was it the blood on his hands that scared you? The violence he enacted? Was it his size, his strength, the heat of his gaze? Do you imagine his hands on your soft skin like he does?

Well, maybe not like he does. Your imagination is likely less... appreciative than his, more violent. Too bad.

That's exactly why he has to steal these glimpses of you. He doesn't want to frighten you, although you are beautiful even when you look on his in fear. You're so much more without him. To think music could ever sound as sweet as your laughter, that the sun could ever shine as bright as your smile. He tips his head to watch you, a wonder of divine creation, terribly kind in your every movement.

You crouch to help an older woman pick up a basket of heavy produce, wave off her thanks with a smile and settle the goods on a nearby stall. You pull a child out of the way of a cart, and wave at the driver without a speck of malice. Your kindness is rewarded in turn, an extra few apples for your coin, a warm slice of fresh bread for your walk, people stop you to chat with friendly smiles and kind words.

And yet. And yet he never sees you with anyone. Never sees you walking arm in arm with a friend or a lover, even a parent. You're alone in your crowd of kind acquaintances.

He can't follow you when you leave town. There aren't enough places to hide, not enough corners to stay shadowed behind. That doesn't stop him from watching you as you walk down the road. You don't go far, just far enough to find a comfortable place on the stone wall lining one side of the dirt path. You settle your shopping basket on the ground beside your feet and finally look back at him.

König's breath seizes in his chest. You're still so tense as you stare at him, as you unclench one of your tight fists and pat the wall next to you. He glances behind him to see if there's perhaps a friend of yours he'd missed. No, when he looks back you're still staring just as fiercely determined at him as you had been.

He's cautious with his approach, nervous as the way your eyes track his, your head tipping to accommodate his height the closer he gets. Until he's stood in front of you, your wide eyes still blinking up at him. You pat the wall again, wordlessly asking for his company.

"Are you hungry?" You ask when before he's barely sat down. König pauses, watches you bend to pull an apple from your basket. "You've been following me all day, you must be." You pull a knife from your pocket to slice the fruit and König holds out his hand.

"Let me," He tells you. You hesitate, staring at his -clean, he swears they're clean, he'll never dirty yours again- hands. You settle the apple in his rough palm and offer him the knife. König shakes his head, and grips the apple between his hands, twisting it sharply to break it neatly in half. He offers you one.

"Thank you," You offer him half of a smile, take the offered half and bite into it. Clean enough to touch your lips, König thinks. Or maybe you just don't care about the stains. "It's lovely out isn't it?" You make quiet conversation.

"You are," He breathes, and you bite your lip, your smile blossoming around your best intentions to stop it.

Maybe you were alone for him, to give him the space to get close to you. A rabbit baiting the big bad wolf.

#Spec is that you #könig x reader #könig fanfiction #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig #executioner!König #medieval au #Reader absolutely scared shitless of König: I gotta be nice to this guy so he doesn't kill me #König delusional: they're in love with me #cod x reader #x reader #könig mw2

[pettyprocrastination]

The Deathly Devout

Pairing: Executioner!König x Nun!Reader (Medieval au) 

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Religious themes and settings, talk of death, religious guilt, nothing much this is pretty tame. I have very little knowledge of how catholic confessionals actually go especially in a medieval setting forgive me. probably many spelling errors im sorry. 

Author’s Note: was talking to @thesadvampire about @hffhifjou fucking amazing art of the 141 as knights and now we have Executioner!König. This is mostly just a word burst from this morning but I really like this concept and wanted to share with you all 

Tagging some mutuals I think might enjoy this: @sprout-fics @humanransome-note @moondirti @fnny-bnny @yeehaw-djarin @captainsamwlsn

_______________--

     It was quite amusing to see the executioner in the confessional booth. 

     That isn’t to say that he doesn’t visit often, no. If anything it’s the exact opposite, Father Montomgery sees him more than any pious banker or self-hating gambler in the city. But the man was monstrous, broad in his shoulders with thick arms and legs to match, resulting in him having to twist and fold his body to properly fit into the little wooden booth. He could see the silhouette of the poor man’s shoulders hunched in and head tucked low. 

     It almost made up for how absolutely aggravating he was to listen to. 

     “Forgive me father for I have sinned.” 

     “May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you know your sins and trust in his mercy.” 

     König swallows. 

     “I killed a man this week.” 

     The priest, knowing this voice better than others and the hulking silhouette it belongs to, sighs. 

     “The thief, then?” He asks, voice dripping with indifference. “The little painter who was caught stealing?” 

     “Yes father.” 

     The “little thief” has been a blossoming apprentice under a most respected artist within the city, only for the truth to come out that he had been stealing funds from his mentor for months on end.  The king had suggested König simply cut off the painter’s hands and let him live out the rest of his days in poverty. “What better punishment for an artist than a life where he cannot create?” 

     But the end ruling was for the artist to lose his head in the town-square and König’s hands delivered the blade to his neck. 

     “That was simply an act of your work, my child.” 

     “But-” 

     There is a deep sigh from the opposite side of the booth and König falls silent, like a scolded child. 

     The irony isn't lost on the priest, that a man who must associate himself with the macabre so often is incredibly devout in his worship. But the humor was drowned out by how astonishingly self-loathing the poor bastard was. 

     “My child, do you believe our king is the one true king?”

     “Of course father.” 

     “And do you believe our God is the one, true, God?” 

     There’s a garbled noise that comes from the larger man, an incredulous sputtering at how the priest would ever assume he would say otherwise. 

     It makes the man chuckle. 

     “Of course father!” 

     “Then acting out the King’s law is acting out God’s law, is it not?” 

     There’s a pause, the priest can see the man shrink down into his seat even further, if that was even possible with how he contorted the bulk of his body to squeeze into the wooden booth. 

     “I’m not saying you cannot feel-” He waves his hand in the air, despite the fact that König cannot truly see him. “-conflicted, about your career. It’s not one that comes easily, I’m sure. But it is not one that makes you a monster, despite how many people would try to have you believe that.” 

     “Yes father.” 

     The man’s voice is a shred of what it should be- all but a trembling whisper that makes even the exhausted priest frown. 

     “Being an executioner isn’t an easy job. But it’s one that is needed nonetheless.” 

     König says something softly to himself, but the priest cannot be bothered to ask what. 

     “For your sins I-” 

     “Actually, father-” the wooden step creaked under his weight as he shifted on his knees. “There’s something else.” 

     “Oh?” 

     “I’ve been having impure thoughts about a woman.” 

     “Oh.” 

     The priest blinks. He had never heard the man speak of any sin aside from the violence he acted out on the King’s word. Truth be told he had begun to think the lad was so devout such a concept was all but foreign to him. 

     But this?

     “I’m listening, my child.” 

     This was far more interesting than listening to him bemoan about a town square beheading. 

     “She is-” König chews on the inside of his cheek, chipped teeth digging into the formed scars he has had since childhood from the nervous habit. “Promised to somebody else.” 

     The priest hides a snicker behind a well placed cough. 

     “Married?”

     “In a manner of speaking, yes.” 

      “I haven’t…acted upon them.” The man who has killed week after week fiddles with his hands, face turning bright red as simply speaking of his attraction toward the woman. The priest couldn't help but wonder who she was. Whether it be a kind tavern girl who ignored his gaze each day he walked by or a local prostitute that urged on his affection as long as he could afford her time. 

     It’s no secret that few women would concern themselves with the local executioner, if not even look him in the eyes. 

     “She’s a good woman of proper virtue, I would not sully her name in such a way.” 

     This poor bastard. 

     “Is she beautiful?” 

     “I’m sorry?” 

     “The woman you speak of, do you find her attractive?” 

     König swallows. “Yes, incredibly. Her smile rivals that of the sun and-” 

     “That’s more than enough.” The priest grins into his hand as the airy tone the executioner’s voice took on, like a poet reciting his latest venture. The man was properly lovesick, how charming. “I do not believe you have committed any sin in appreciating a woman’s beauty.” 

     “I haven’t?” 

     “Admiring a woman’s beauty is like admiring a piece of art, is it not?” The priest offers. “You are simply taking in the art that God has created with his own hands, my child.” 

     Before König has a chance to respond, through the lattice he sees a flash of white through the corner of his eye. A soft voice humming a tune fills the air, echoing through the church hall like a well-respected hymn. In a panic, König begins to stand his full height before he is halted in his tracks as the top of his head slams into the confessional roof. 

     “My son?” 

     “Ah, apologies father! But I have to leave because of-” 

     The priest nods. “Yes, yes of course.You are absolved of your sins, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.” 

     The final word is drowned out by the slam of the confessional door opening the man’s thundering footsteps receding from the booth. 

     The executioner stands to his full height as he exits the church. He shields his eyes as he steps outside, suddenly overwhelmed by the burst of sunlight. 

     In his haste, he did not see the figure at his side. 

     “Good morning to you, König.”

     The man jumps, twisting around to face you where you stand at the bottom church steps, broom in hand and a smile on your face. 

     “Ah! Yes! Good morning to you as well, sister.” 

     “A lovely day, is it not?” 

     Heat creeps up the back of his neck and he struggles to find the words he wished to speak to you. But you, ever patient and kind, wait without judgment. 

     “Yes, quite lovely.” 

     As König stares down at you, his heart beating as he watches the sun shine on your figure and your smile, he finds himself thinking of the Holy Father’s words.

     “You are simply taking in the art that God has created with his own hands”

     What beautiful art indeed. 

#executioner!König #könig x reader #König x you #König x female reader #the priest is like. super chill because König comes in EVERY WEEK and hes like YES i KNOW YOU KILLED SOMEBODY WHATEVER MAN #but also said priest is most likely corrupt and gambles and takes bribes and shit. so he doesnt really give a fuck #but anyways. konig big soft for nun gal #konig x reader #konig x you #konig x female reader

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I thought maybe you would like this

https://www.tumblr.com/pettyprocrastination/719951043429105664/the-deathly-devout

Holy Christ anon... And holy shit @pettyprocrastination !!!

I would read a 20 chapter slow burn romance with this premise, I was squirming through the whole thing. The internal conflict + the subtle, latent corruption kink in this story ahhhhh 🫠

Also I'm sorry for being thirsty again but this artwork titled Blasphemy by Eliran Kantor came to mind.... [NSFW]

#answered #fic rec #executioner!könig x nun!reader #it ended all too soon #felt like screaming honestly

[martuzzio]

The King only in name

Check out more Medieval 141 here

#call of duty #medieval 141 #my art #call of duty konig #the two knights on either side of Konig are random knights #I think I want them to be Archer and Toad #the married duo :D #Reminder: König is a knight from another country #That uses an axe as his primary weapon #because he was originally an EXECUTIONER #My sweet baby boy

[albertwhisk3rs]

HAIIII I'm. I'm looking for a roleplay partner... * Glances to the side, fiddles with fingers nervously, dramatic gulp * /silly

So uhhhm here's an intro to me and to what I am looking for !!!!!!!!!!!!1!11!

My name is Tommy/Jack

I use she/pup pronouns

I am a minor (15-17) so NO WEIRD STUFF !!! RAHH !!!!!!!!!

I have a lot of ocs that I use for oc x canon, more on that later-

I am aroaceflux pansexual

I LOvE SILLY KITTIES !!/!!1!!1!!//!!?!!

Okay ermm rp info ;3

This may sound a bit CRINGE but I'm looking for an oc x canon rp kinda sitiation 🤠

The fandoms I am in and the characters I am looking for

- Resident Evil (Albert Wesker (THAT IS MY MAIN ONE I WOULD LIKE TO SEE HIM MORE THAN OTHERS☝️☝️☝️), Karl Heisenberg, Ethan Winters, Leon Kennedy)

- Red Dead Redemption 2 (Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde)

- Detroit Become Human (Connor, Nines, Gavin, Hank)

- Dead by Daylight (Trickster, Executioner, Ghostface, Mastermind (ofc), Singularity (dont.... dont ask....))

- Slashers (Michael Myers, Brahms Heelshire, Billy Lenz, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Ghostface)

- GTA V (Trevor Philips, Michael de Santa)

- Saw (Mark Hoffman)

- Regretevator (Mach, Pest, BIVE :333:3:3:3)

PLS DM MY MAIN ACCOUNT @fastfoodmascot TYSVM<33333

(Pls know i dont accept 1 liners)

#rp #rp request #resident evil #resident evil rp #albert wesker #karl heisenberg #ethan winters #cod #cod mw2 #cod ghosts #simon ghost riley #König #captain price #keegan p russ #red dead redemtion 2 #arthur morgan #john marston #detroit become human #connor rk800 #rk900 #the wolf among us #bigby wolf #dead by daylight #the trickster #the executioner #ghostface #slashers #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse

[octopiys]

I wanted to publish the story here as it's become something I've loved writing so far :)

Find the desc. here

The Terrible Fire of Old Regret (It's Honey on My Tongue)

Pairings: SoapGhost, GazRoach

Word count: good question

Cw: blood/violence, minor death, lots of world building, allusions to Ghost's backstory

The day was cooling as the sun set, casting orange across the kingdom. He could see it from his frosted over window, in the tallest tower that he had insisted on staying in. It was his favorite place, his favorite perch, the cold cobblestone placed by builders belonging to kings from centuries past. Horse drawn carriages dotted the town, tiny lights that moved in and out of the castle's stone walls.

The wind blew through the tops of the trees, twisting the smoke from stacked chimneys down in the village, people doting about in long skirts, or tied up pants, retreating into the calm warmths of their cottages.

The baker to his bakery that smelled like sugar and bread.

The weaponsmith to his home of metalworking, to a wife who was as equally enthusiastic.

The knights to their quarters, letting their swords down, leaving the polishing for the morning.

The tapestries here were that woven by his mother, a Lady past, lost to illness in the young years of plague. It was a nasty thing, that clouded and bubbled like a swarm of enraged wasps. It was not only his mother who shared these tapestries, some belonged to another woman, torn gone to battle. She was a soldier, or at least, under a guise, leaving behind a son only a few years older than he.

His name was Kyle, but John called him Gaz. It was a childish nickname, with a story too long to tell, but it was simpler this way. They had grown up together, under the Ladies and Lordships of the King, but in the span of two years, their lives changed.

Kyle had just turned four, starting to drive his mother up the wall. Like his father, she had charged off into the war, one started long ago from the eastern european waves of the Umbra Comitatu. She was lost in a fight they knew they wouldn't have won from the start. She was a Lady very close to the King, and he had sworn to her dying breath to take care of her son, who was waiting in his cottage for parents who would never return.

It was not a known fact that King Johnathan Price could not have children. It often skipped a few generations, but he knew the issues. It was not because he didn't have a queen by his side, he was above that. But there were some ins and outs that he had taken. With His Ladyship's passing, the King stayed true to his word, taking in her young son, Kyle. This solved half of his issue of having an heir, and being able to pass on his knowledge and legacy to another.

Underneath King Johnathan's wing, lay a different, equally strange boy.

John was very young, maybe one, almost two, when the plagues had come and stolen his mother from him. Another trusted Lady in the King's cabinet, but she was no soldier. Instead, she was far from it, specializing in the arts. She had an eye for detail, coming in handy with cartography, but she spent her days specializing in weaving. Magnificent works of hers dotted the walls of the castle where they had stayed. Her very soul had been woven into the cloths of drapes, cloaks, carpets, or other royal items. She was known across the kingdom for it. And she had left behind a son with no father to his name.

While Kyle had taken after his mother in swordsmanship, the younger son, John, with an equally stupid nickname of Soap, had taken up artistry. Now, he had no hand for weaving, couldn't get himself to focus enough to stay still, but he had a very delicate eye for detail. He involved himself more in sketches, drawings and paintings, that kind of artwork, but that did not mean he wasn't skilled in other fields.

When you are the King's sons, he trains you to be the best. And you are the best.

Just above his private guard that he had dubbed the One-Four-One.

Soap never really knew why it was called that. Maybe it had something to do with ranks and numbers, or the certain kinds of people inducted into the knightly force. He didn't understand it. But he loved to watch the soldiers train beneath his window, how they sparred against each other, bloodthirsty and ruthless, yet not drawing a single scratch beneath the armor of their opposition. It was mesmerizing.

The clang of swords against another, the dull thunk of fists against leather, the sounds of battle enthralled him. While Gaz, his brother, was more interested in the actual battle, Soap took up a different skill.

A new development on the horizon, something that King Price had gotten his hands on early. Gunpowder.

Soap had discovered that when you set fire to it....

God, it was wonderful.

That's what actually set him into his father's good graces.

"You're zonin' out again, Soap, chin up." Gaz threw a pillow at him, snapping the man out of his thoughts.

"Ayeeee fock off fer once, Gaz, ah swear, ye can never mind yer own-" Soap threw the pillow back at him without noticing the door had opened, and the pillow smacked the King across the face. It fell limply as the boys scrambled to their feet.

"Sh- Sorry, Father, we didn't see you come in." Gaz tried to cover for him and Soap did his best to agree. Price frowned, and discarded it, kicking the pillow away.

"Boys... I'm not sure what I expected." The King's low voice grumbled as he looked around their room.

Two beds sat at opposite ends of the room, large wooden posts stretching from the floor at each corner of the bed, barely missing the high ceilings. The beds themselves were curtained in red velvet, a royal color, emblazoned with the royal family crest, something they had come to accept as their own. Their room was actually pretty messy, clothes strewn about from a trunk that Gaz was desperately trying to pack. In the morning, he and Price would travel to their soldiers to give a bit of an energy boost.

The war had turned wayside a fortnight ago, when the rain had slicked the mud too far down, locking the enemy in the high ground. They had lost many men to the waves of arrows fired from places they couldn't see or reach. The King had only returned yesterday to retrieve Kyle, and head out again.

The mood slipped from in between their fingers quicker than watery dirt, more oily than blood, as Price scratched his beard, scraggly and unshaven.

"We're leaving at dawn, son. I thought you'd be more prepared than...." His eyes scanned the room once more. "This."

Gaz's face went hot with embarrassment. "Yes sir, I was almost done, but- er- Johnny was helpin' me reorganize, sir, you know, to get more room-"

"I was! Gotta- gotta fit in those.... maps...." Soap internally punched himself for speaking up, but still stood at attention as the sunset blinded him.

Price sighed, weary with loss and exhaustion, but he didn't question it. Soap noticed then that the King was still wearing his uniform, splattered with mud around the boots, and many dark stains that he didn't want to imagine the grief that sank into the fabric. Johnny tugged at the end of his sleeve anxiously. A loose thread. Unravel.

Unravel.

Unraveling.

"Johnny!" Gaz snapped on front of his face and wideyed, Soap looked back up.

"Sorry- what-?"

"Did you not-" Price groaned into his fist before cooling it off. "Tomorrow you meet with Lady Laswell to discuss your duties in our absence. I fear we may be gone longer than we wish, and I want you to be prepared for anything. Can you handle that?"

Johnny nodded, puffing out his chest, like he was bigger than he actually was. More to be proud of. "Of course, sir."

Price tipped his head, a smile crossed his face, the first gentle thing in weeks. "I expect you to see us depart in the morning." He looked between the two of them. There was a deep emotion in his eyes, shrouded in shadow and blood.

It was pride and fondness, he'd realize later, that filled the thick silence, seeping from the King himself. There was a final nod of his head, and Price adjusted his hat. "Good night, boys."

"Good night, Father."

"Fare thee well, Dad!"

Price paused in the door, giving him an odd look. Soap just happily waved in response.

The door shut with a slight slam, as doors did back then.

Johnny was suddenly hit in the face with a pillow. Again.

"You dumbass, this is why I do the talking!! Now I'm gonna be scolded the entire ride there, Soap, why-" Gaz collapsed face first onto his bed, still grumbling to himself.

"Buzz off ye prick! At least ye get to go somewhere!" He tossed a couple things into the case.

"But maps? Maps!? That's the best you got!?" Gaz turned around, pushing himself out of his warm covers to finish packing his things.

"Maps are important, Kyle!" He threw a wad of paper at the man for good measure.

The morning came too quick.

Soap was unprepared. Gaz was not.

The older prince was already up and dressed by the time Johnny came to, pulling himself out of his restless slumber.

He wore a sage green top beneath his armor, the family crest riding on his breastplate. His pants were checkered, two different shades of brown, thick enough fabric that the illnesses of the battlefield wouldn't attach themselves to him as he set foot down. Was his hair neat enough? Did his hair have to be neat for battle? He didn't think so. It was too late, anyways.

The sun was rising.

"Johnny!" Gaz hissed. "Wake up!"

"'M awake, I am-!" Soap insisted, sitting up and almost falling out of bed in the process. "What....?"

Gaz tossed a shirt at him. "Get dressed, I think we're supposed to be in the courtyard already, we gotta go! Help me with my trunk-"

"Shite, hold on-" Soap stumbled out of bed, tugging on a shirt, and a hopefully decent pair of shorts. Trying to step into both of his shoes, he grabbed one end of the trunk. "C'mon, help me out!"

Gaz lifted the other end, and the brothers staggered out of the room.

Twenty minutes later, they had gotten it loaded up into the carriage, and now they waited on Price in silence. They dare not look at one another, their fear of sudden loss paralyzing.

Not once in twenty two years had the brothers been separated. Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true, he means separated to this extent. No contact. Looming threat of danger and death, with a risk too great to comprehend.

Now of course, it could go completely fine. But they've seen enough to know that they wouldn't scrape by unscathed. Fate had too much on their shoulders, like the sky of Atlas, bearing down to force them to hold it.

The castle doors opened, and out walked the King. Guards stood at attention, and even the Sons stiffened in alert. He had worn his deep blue overcoat, hidden beneath the sheen and shine of his silver plated armor. His sword hung on a high belt at his side, the Price crest branded into the center of his chestplate. He wore no crown, a man, a soldier, with only titled above that. Titles were no savior in the face of an enemy, only more words that delayed your inevitable downfall by seconds.

You could tell by his stature that he was royal. Knightly, at least, his aura was powerful, confident. Unwavering, just like his loyalty. The king was a man of his word. He'd never leave one behind.

He stopped in front of his two sons, like he was taking in the sight. It was a somber experience, and Soap's heart was heavy with fears and sorrows he did not dare let escape the cavity of his chest.

His heels crunched on the rocks and gravel beneath them as he approached Soap first.

In a sharp move, the King had wrapped both arms around him in a proud embrace. Johnny fought to hide the tremor in his hands as he reached to return the gesture.

"Father-" His voice wavered and he swallowed nervously. The heated feeling in his stomach that twisted his intestines into knots was worse today than usual. Anxiety. Doubt. He hated it.

"Don't worry, son. We'll be back before the stress of the throne turns ya grey." Price whispered, giving him a rightful thump on the back.

"Ah'm not gonnae turn grey, old man. Ye take yer chances with it first." Johnny returned with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. The sun had barely crossed the horizon now.

Price took a few steps back. "Kyle, this is Sergeant Gary Sanderson. He's one o' the few soldiers we're taking with us. He'll be with you when I won't be. I trust you'll get to know 'im well." At his introduction, a soldier around their age stepped forward with a bow of his head.

He had brown hair that darkned at the root, with a crooked smile, and pale green eyes. The most noticeable thing about him was the jagged, forked scar that ran across his face, starting at the center of his cheek, drifting across his nose, dipping into his eyebrow, and settling beneath his eye. It was like some beast had raked a claw across his face, and Sanderson had don't no better to mind.

His eyes were soft, but hardened in a way that Soap only ever found in knights. War, he had decided, was the cause of that ravaged, rugged look. Not completely lost, not yet, but having seen just enough to prove themselves wrong.

Kyle introduced himself with a warm hand and a nervous smile. Price clapped him on the back, before giving Johnny a knowing look.

"Lady Laswell awaits you in the great hall. Try not to be upset with her." The King warned in a steely voice, plunging his heart even further.

What trouble had he gotten himself into now?

"Alright, soldiers, load up." Price commanded, and a few choice kmights began mounting horses, or loading themselves into carriages.

Except for Gaz.

"Don't do anything too reckless without me, brother." The eldest said with a lost laugh in his voice, avoiding eye contact.

Soap challenged this by giving him a bear hug. "How cannae? Yer takin' all the fun with ye!"

Gaz actually laughed this time, pulling away before giving him a serious look. "No, really, don't burn the castle down, okay? We only get one."

"Yesh, yeah." He waved him off. "Go kill some Shadows fer me, aye?"

"Expect nothing less, Soap!" He called as he climbed into the carriage, where the King awaited him.

He heard the horses begin to trot, and Johnny turned away.

He didn't watch them leave.

The mirror was broken. Not that it had been much of use, anyways. It was always thick with grime and dust. No one ever had enough time to clean it. The floorboards still creaked in the same way as when he was a squire, however long ago that seemed.

The bed groaned as Sanderson woke up. The crack in the window eased a breeze, blowing cold into their room. He rubbed a hand over his face in the dim lighting of the knights' quarters. Something shifted off to his left, startling him.

"Good mornin' to ya, Riley, scared the shite outta me-" The young man feigned a hand over his heart after practically jumping out of his skin as the Knight Lieutenant moved around in the shadows, getting ready for the day.

"Morning, Roach." He mumbled, a voice deeper than you'd expect for someone of his stature.

The Lieutenant was tall and built out, covered in scars from war and past fights. He often wondered how he got the majority of them, but had never chosen to ask. He was not a social person, but he still spared enough conversation to speak with Gary. So he counted that as a win.

Riley had light brown hair that reached past his shoulders, but most of the time he had it tied up behind his head, moving as he moved. He had only ever seen it cut short once, right after Sanderson himself had joined the ranks. He had been captured by the enemy during the very start of the war, before he had earned the legendary title of the Ghost. And they had cut his hair, a symbol of power, torn away forcibly by the enemy. He was one of Price's closest men, and something had broken inside of him by the time that he had gotten close enough for rescue.

But for now, it was at it's regular length, tied back behind his head, back behind the mask that concealed the lower half of his face.

If his sharp eyes could glow, Sanderson was very sure they would be doing so in the dark of the morning. It was one of the only noticeable features on his face, set aside the jagged scars that crisscrossed his crooked nose, broken one too many times in a fist fight.

The real terror was the black, painted fabric of a mask that the Knights Lieutenant wore. Covering the bottom of his nose, down to his chin, this was his casual day's wear. It was hand painted, a thick, nontoxic material, the same shade white as a bleached skull left out in the sun for too long.

You can understand his sudden fear, being the first sight he saw as he woke.

"Remember your orders, Sergeant. Wouldn't want you to miss that opportunity." Ghost muttered, standing to move out of his way.

Roach's eyes widened as he launched himself out of bed, grabbing a day shirt, and the chain he wore as armor. Sitting at the end of his bed, he struggled to pull on his shoes in his sleep muddled state. He could tell that the Lieutenant was conflicted between feeling jealousy, or pride. He had made Roach the knight that he was, but was worried at the outcome of this mission. They didn't know how long he would be gone, accompanying the King and the Crown Prince to the battlefield, the front lines. It was Roach's chance to prove himself. They both knew Ghost would've been better in this position, but still, it was his chance.

Ghost knew, of course, that the Sergeant would be great at it. It was a big deal. He was a great fit.

"Sword." The older man grunted, holding out the sheath that Roach had almost walked out without.

"Shite, thanks-" He fastened the sword to his side, pausing in the doorway. "Oh, and Riley-?"

The man stopped what he was doing and looked up. Roach gave him a smile. Soft, forgiving. Warning.

"Thank you, sir."

The sun crossed the horizon, and Riley was alone in the quarters again.

"So... Why's your name Roach?" Gaz asked, leaning closer to the silent knight in the carriage with him.

"Gaz..." Price mumbled, lifting a hand to try and ease his spout of questions.

"It's okay, sir, I don't mind! A lot of us in the Knights' Quarter have nicknames like that. Codenames, you know? In case somethin' goes wrong, we can still write letters without givin' away someone! It was the Lieutenant's idea." The Sergeant said with a shrug. He looked, and sounded, younger than Soap.

"My brother and I have something similar." Gaz said happily, not failing to notice how he had danced around the question, both answering it and not. He looked out the window, drumming his fingers on his leg excitedly. War was not something to be excited about, but he was eager to get out and do something, something good. "So I assume you've trained with Lieutenant Ghost?"

Meeting with Lady Laswell was.... expectedly unexpected. He had pushed away the thick feeling that gathered in his throat at the leave of his father and brother, the silence almost deafening the castle, making it seem colder than it usually was.

The great hall was quiet for once. It was a sight he didn't welcome. His steps echoed on the cold flooring, and he pulled his coat tighter around himself. The fires weren't lit, he noticed with a pang. At one end of the table sat the Lady, pouring herself over papers, scrolls, and maps. Her short hair was pulled back.

She was a progressive woman, motherly in an unmotherly way that he liked. He knew she had favored Gaz, as most did, but they still got along well. He enjoyed her. She wore pants, instead of skirts and dresses.

"Oh, Prince John, nice to have you finally join us." She was an older woman, older than Price, but not by a decade at most. Her face was lined, but not at a faraway look, with graying hair and piercing eyes. She was unmarried, but he saw the way she looked at the castle nurse, and the way their touches lingered.

He didn't judge in any way, was happy for her, silently. He didn't understand the attraction to women when the men were right there, but that sent him under a spiral of thoughts he was unprepared for.

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Lady Laswell, g'morn to ye."

She gave him a smile, and stepped away from the table. "This is Lieutenant Riley, but you can call him Ghost. Ghost, I believe you've met Price John....?"

She appeared to be speaking to no one, until he turned around, immediately facing a very tall man's chest, and he jumped back, surprised.

"Creepin' jesus, ye just sneak up like that? That's fockin'-"

"John."

"Sorry, ma'am." He smoothed himself over and took a step back. Soap stuck out a hand with a bit of a hesitant smile, before he faltered at the sight.

The knight was tall, bigger than him in almost every way. He had wideset shoulders, the crest of the castle worn on his over shirt. He wore executioner's gloves, it didn't match with his outfit, but Soap did not dare tell him that. He was... intimidating to say the least. But the most eye catching part about him was not his cold, fixed glare, but the mask he wore. The black fabric really tore everything else away. A distractor. It was painted so very realistically, the lower half of one's jaw, dried and whitened, he couldn't help but admire it.

His eyes were hidden, almost veiled beneath a black paint substance that glossed over his skin. The famed Lieutenant Ghost looked nothing like what he believed him to be.

Ghost eyed him coldly. "Close your mouth, your majesty." He looked up and away from him, clasping his gloved hands behind his back. "You'll catch flies."

#call of duty #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #incorrect quotes #ghostsoap #captain john price #alejandro vargas #alerudy #phillip graves #call of duty roach #kyle 'gaz' garrick #gary roach sanderson #kyle gaz garrick #joseph is alive but yall wont see him for a bit #könig is an executioner #Knight!Ghost #Prince!Soap #Prince!Gaz #kate laswell #King!Price #Knight!Roach #gazroach #ao3fic #world building #im so excited

[comfortless]

I already sent you an ask today so hiiii

(Alright so now I hopefully have your attention, imagine: ancient settling, mercenary könig is made prisoner and enslaved and reader, a cute noble girl, buys him to ☆have fun☆. He doesn't mind at all.)

Have a good day!

anon whoever you are… every message that you have sent has been like you putting a clawing animal in my brain. all of these concepts are so good. sorry it took me a bit to get around to this one. <:•)

captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au (so: gender role nonsense), slightly mean slightly pathetic König, very brief mentions of violence/beheading, masturbation.

“That one.”

You hear yourself speak without thought. Your voice is shy, almost. It’s unbecoming of your station to seem so meek… even as you eye the men lined up before you like cattle prepped for slaughter.

Prisoners, they were. All apart from the one you had chosen would be little more than toys for the executioner after what they’ve done: to think that such a little band of mercenaries would even be planning for a siege… ridiculous. Most of the men have already had their hair cut cleanly away from their necks in preparation for the blade that would be slicing past each vertebrae and layer of muscle to chop away their heads.

This one is saved only because he’s been stripped of his armors, and though his face is rather rugged… there’s strength beneath his skin and such a deep misery in his eyes it sets your chest ablaze with pity. He could be useful, a willing servant if you could only save him from what terrible thing haunts him.

Maybe it’s the old wounds that flare his skin with the raised flesh of scar tissue, perhaps it’s the harelip or the wild thing set between his thighs where he’s forced to kneel. It catches your eye, that last one…

The prisoner’s jaw sets when your finger does point his way, blue eyes narrow just a fraction as realization settles in the pit of his stomach. No freedom to be garnered here, no love, nothing but that blade he had intended to use against you sworn to you instead. If the giant spit at your feet then, it would be expected, welcomed almost with the way your chest roars with sympathy.

He only stares.

You pay off his captors with a few silver coins and watch as they lead him bound to your side. His arms are tied too tightly before him, muscles slack with exertion after trying to fight the ropes for what must have been hours. Whether he sees you as savior or something revolting remains unknown. He doesn’t speak, not even as a servant leads him into the back of your carriage and you step inside after him, holding up the middle of your gown as to not sully it with the dirt and old blood splattered over the stones layered for street.

When the horses begin to move you give the man a proper once over, hiding your smile beneath a handkerchief, free hand curled into the lap of your skirts. He’s not just tall and broad, but incredibly well endowed. Not just sad and downtrodden, but pissed, though the only tell remains his shaking fists. His gaze never meets yours for longer than a moment before it settles back to gaze at the passing tall grass and sheep prancing about the fields, but each time that it does… there is no denying the mixture of confusion, maybe even attraction upon his face.

Your home was something this giant had never had a taste of prior to you: a castle atop a hill, charming and stone with its high ramparts and blunt roof. You didn’t need his confirmation in words, though you do ask and get nothing in turn.

The carriage pulls you right through the gate and it is almost cute the way that this man’s eyes seem to wander as he takes it all in. There are other servants tending to the sheep and horses, the smell of fire and the chiming of blade meeting blade ringing out as men spar, there are cats to keep away pests and modest but cozy homes, a tavern, an inn all beyond the wall. A small city of your own: all for the perfect little noblewoman that you were.

The only thing that you lacked was the trained sword of a man to ensure your safety, and now you had that, too.

You explain to him his place here, the role that he would take for the price you paid as you both disembark from the wooden carriage. He would be fitted for armor donning your family’s crest come the morning, whipped into obedience should he dare raise a hand toward any one here. You even think to warn him of the executioner’s sloppy work, how he may even live with his head chopped only halfway off should you request it…. some horror you had heard one of the travelers speak of.

As the weeks pass, König does begin to settle immensely. His speech is disjointed and parsed, his mother tongue muddled with your own language in a way that is cute… terribly, horribly cute.

He’s intelligent and strong: spends much of his time out amongst the lower men aiding with the animals and teaching them the deft way he swings his blade. It is an art form in its own right, the way that he paints the air with swift strokes… For a woman to fawn over a man’s swordplay was absurd, but it was impossible not to enjoy when he taunts and jabs the way that he does.

He rarely wears that armor the blacksmith crafted for him, both a flattery and an insult. You don’t mind watching him best smaller men in solely his trousers, pressing their faces into the muck while he barks his insults to them in words they can not understand. To you, now, when he flashes the most beastly of grins in your direction and utters the words, “Verpiss dich.”

You aren’t even certain why you stand there rather than hissing out orders to have him taken away. Your stupid corset feels too tight, gown too small, and your chest aches. There's not been a thing you could do to have this man do more than simply tolerate you. He sleeps within his own room in the castle, eats his fill and then some, you talk to him and layer your words with praise. He has not once been punished for anything. Not even now.

“Come here,” you demand without thought, walking down the staircase to cross the yard with your hands balled into delicate fists at your sides.

Your giant only looks confused for a moment as he clambers off of the man he’s just wrestled to the earth and rights himself. His eyebrows raise, his nostrils flare… and then he laughs. At you like you’re the most puny of rabbits, hardly a threat. Your betters would have laughed too at just how fragile you sound, on the cusp of tears over what? Some ridiculous little crush on a captive soldier??

He eventually does as you ask, stomping over to stand before you- not kneel, he never knelt. If his height and stature were meant to intimidate… your god would have to forgive the thoughts that muddle your head then, like filthy water as you drink him in.

“Was…?”

So you explain to him as best you can just how insolent he’s being, how horribly he repays your kindness, how he would be dead on some shrouded mountain pass or have his body tossed into the river if not for you. You explain your heart out when tears come to your eyes and spring forth as your chittering continues, and you don’t even know if the moron can understand; he only stands there with the wildest grin on his face when he sees you beginning to sniffle and sob.

“Was?,” he demands again, blunt even as he takes your face into one of his large hands, turns your head to brush a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying?”

“You need to learn your place!” And you know you’re being a hypocrite, that a proper lady should never allow a man to touch her like this, look at her the way that König does. You should call for a servant to have him dragged through the yard and whipped… or worse, but your voice only comes in a crestfallen whisper.

He shrugs those massive shoulders, rolls his neck and huffs a breath as he gazes down at you before his hand falls to his side and he merely walks away. That’s it.

Though you had the hopes that your warning had been taken seriously, the days following seem even worse.

König abandons his duties and takes up the most horrendous idea of courtship that he can muster. If courtship is even what it could be considered. It is more like a direct taunt, a jab now that he’s been made perfectly aware just how fragile the maiden he was sold to guard is.

He takes liberties once you’ve bedded down each night, your dresses stripped away to be replaced with a plain linen gown with nothing beneath: your only protection in the form of the wooden door between you two because König is no protector.

It always starts with the sound of spitting into his palm, then a drawn out sigh that rises to a near-animalistic groan. Sometimes he speaks, other times the soft, wet sounds rise in tempo until all that comes from his mouth are sharp hisses and whines.

This night proves to be the worst.

The wood creaks under his weight as he leans back against the door, stroking himself to the thought of you behind it. He makes it apparent when he breathes your name, low and shaky as you squeeze your eyes closed and pretend to not hear the words that follow.

“Scheiße… bet you’re tight,” he hisses between his depraved whimpers, the slick sounds increasing even as he rights himself to stand proper. You can almost hear the way he salivates, can almost imagine the way his jaw must fall slack and his eyes go dazed as he pleasures himself… you squeeze your thighs shut.

“Ja… you want it too, huh…” The bastard is most assuredly imagining you, knelt before him with the most helpless, reverent gaze as you plead for him. It should make you ill, yet it only stokes a fire in your belly, one that bridges between rage and need. “Ich will dich ficken…”

Your breath comes to a halt when your hand drifts beneath your thin gown, forcing yourself to listen as he brings himself to ruin in the halls as your finger presses to the spot that demands attention most of all. A fragile, shaking circle before your breath already begins to catch.

“Bitte…”

The brute sounds so helpless now, no longer the horrid thing that ordered you to “piss off” or scowled in your direction. He doesn’t know a thing about love… about how one should yearn for a maiden, only of spilling blood and seed. It’s only in the quiet of the night when the rest of the castle sleeps does he allow himself to be even this vulnerable… only his vulnerability seems even more terrifying.

His groans morph into pitiful sighs as he no doubt slows his motions, drawing out an impending orgasm in the hope that you will crawl to your door to let him in and fuck you rough on your bed.

“Just let me…”

Your thighs tremble as you weep between them in longing. The sooner it’s over the sooner you can close your eyes and drift back to sleep, no longer needing him the way he seems to need you now.

Your motions grow more heady, the patterns traced quicker and more deliberate as the heat rushes down further like the most vast wave of pure fire… When you tense, when your lips part to allow a low murmur of pleasure to slip from them, you’re met with laughter from the other side of the door.

“Ja… my lady… you do want it,” he hums as you draw your covers up and over your head in shame. You hadn’t been that loud, surely… but the way that he follows after, coming undone himself with a loud grunt as though it were some ridiculous competition…

“Let me fuck you next time,” he rasps, panting soft as he leans back. Depraved as he was, you were certain he was probably admiring the pearly paint he left along the stones. “That is my place, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

[hffhifjou]

RAHHHHH EXECUTIONER KÖNIG

continuation of the 141 knight au

#him pickin flowers to give to his holy lady 😌 #ADORABLE BABY #ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 #könig x you #könig #könig fanart #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig cod

[lycheedr3ams]

Death's Angel

Part 4: Staking Claim

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: virgin!reader, oral (f,m receiving), cunnilingus, choking, slight masochism, pussy slapping, slight degradation, p in v sex, hand job, konig is demanding & a perv, dub-con if you squint, slight humiliation, slight ownership, mentions of breeding, cuddles & fluff at end (lmk if i missed anything)

this is one of the many filthy smut chapters to come!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

I just wanted to thank everyone for your support with this fic! I spent a lot of time on this chapter, I hope everyone enjoys! &lt;3

not proofread

.......

series inspired by the art below!

you could barely process the next few seconds. the moment konig heard your words, challenging him to completely ruin you, he picked you up like you were nothing but a feather and threw you onto his bed. he really did try to be gentle. the bed creaked when you landed, and you laid there, contorting your body in an unintentionally seductive position, as you stared up at him with eyes that betrayed lust and fear. he stalked towards you laying on his bed as you waited with bated breath. he now stood right at your feet, which slightly dipped off the mattress frame, and stared down at you. his breathing was labored as he stared.

"what does a princess even want with an executioner?" he asked as he climbed over you on the bed. you now looked up at him with your head against the mattress.

you blinked, appalled by his question. wasn't it obvious? it was how he was everything you were taught not to be. how he sweated and grunted and chopped heads off while you lazily picked fine fruits off of silver platters and slept in a down mattress. how he was dangerous and free and unrestrained while you were duty-bound and predictable and soft. how he lived his life, not caring about others' opinions of him, while you were always under a microscope. you couldn't breathe free, you couldn't sleep soundly at night, you couldn't just take whatever you wanted, like he could. it was how he was the rabid wolf while you were the pampered lap dog. it was how he was death and you were a sorry excuse for life.

but all you could manage to say was -

"i like fire."

his large hand flew up to your neck and wrapped around it so easily. he could easily crush your windpipe and kill you, and it made you soaked. he applied gentle pressure to the sides of your neck with his fingers. he leaned down until his hood brushed your bare neck.

"still like fire?"

you looked up at him. "yes."

he held your neck firm as he moved his hood up slightly with his other hand to kiss you. but this wasn't the type of kiss you see in fairytales, the chaste type of kiss that princes give the princess after they've won the battle or killed the dragon. no, this was a kiss that was needy, lustful, a kiss that promised ruin and death, a kiss that stung so sweetly, a kiss that you were never meant to receive. but you received it and gave it back to him tenfold, your wet lips haphazardly gliding against his own. your arms timidly wrapped around his strong torso while your thighs seemed to open on their own to allow him closer to you as he devoured your mouth. his tongue slipped inside with a groan, and you couldn't help but whimper as his hand closed tighter around your neck.

this was the filthiest thing you had ever done, and it was just a kiss so far. your mixed spit dribbled down the sides of your mouth and down your neck, and you could feel his calloused fingers digging into the sides of your soft neck. and you could certainly feel his throbbing length pressing up on your crotch as he began to slowly grind on you. he eventually released your neck when you both gasped for air, and he readjusted his hood. he dropped his head down until his clothed nose rubbed right against your own.

"you have five seconds to get this dress off before i tear it apart," he growled.

you gasped, hopped out of bed, and undressed as he commanded. you normally wouldn't have been like this: so willing, so easy. you'd never even been touched by a man like this before, but the urgency and power in his voice didn't give you any room to think of disobeying. not that you didn't want this. no, you wanted this more than anything. besides, how would you explain why you suddenly had a dress that had been ripped to shreds? that a bear came and clawed it? perhaps your parents would believe that sooner than they would that their executioner corrupted their daughter in the bowels of the castle.

you let your nighttime dress drop to the floor with a quiet thud, and felt yourself become every shy as konig raked his eyes over your mostly naked form. he didn't say anything about your panties, and you were nervous as it is, so you kept them on. but you weren't wearing a bra, so your boobs and hardened nipples were bare for him to see.

he reached out his arms and dragged you by the waist to stand in between his legs at the bed. he wasn't gentle with you by any means. his hands gripped your waist tightly before that same pressure was applied to your breasts. you moaned breathlessly and shivered as he lifted his hood up enough so that he could take one of your hardened nipples in his wet mouth. you placed your hands on his shoulders for support as you swayed from the pleasure he was giving you. his wet, lithe tongue swirled around your nipples before sucking on them. he grunted like an animal starved against your breasts, and you pressed your thighs together as you bit your lip.

"lay down," he rasped as he half threw you back down onto the bed. you squeaked but followed his command. before you could get adjusted lying down, he yanked your panties off and didn't even bother taking them off your ankle before he spread your legs wide open. you hid your face as you blushed, but when you peeked out from between your fingers, you saw how hungrily he was staring at your pussy. his fingers dug into your thighs as he pressed your legs farther apart so that you were completely exposed to him. you blushed as you lost control of your breath. he examined your pussy like it was the last thing he would ever do. he couldn't help but stare at your perfect clit, your folds, or your cunt that was weeping and eager to take him in. it made your face so red that you had to turn your face to the side. your movement shifted his eyes towards you.

he got closer to your heat and lifted his hood so that he could access your most private area while keeping himself concealed. you couldn't stop the loud whine that escaped you when he ran his tongue over your pussy, purposefully widening it so that he touched every crevice. he didn't give you any time to adjust before he devoured your cunt like a man starved. the sounds his mouth was making were downright obscene: he slurped and sucked and grunted against your pussy as he probed your clit with his tongue and sucked on it hard. you squirmed and tried to push him away, but he held you open for him.

"stop moving," he grunted against your pussy before sliding his tongue into your soaking heat. your back arched as his silky, wet tongue probed and caressed your walls. you clenched around his tongue, and he couldn't help but groan as he thought about how it would feel when you clenched around his length. he placed his hands on the back of your knees by your thighs and pressed you open so he could access your wet cunt better. you gasped and shivered as you approached your orgasm on his tongue.

there was no way he was a virgin, because he ate your pussy so well, knowing exactly where to lick and when to suck, when to lap at you and when to do little kitten licks on your clit. your thighs shook under his massive hands, and you squirmed.

"konig! I'm -" you gasped before reaching your orgasm on his insatiable tongue. this wasn't like the orgasms you've had as you fingered yourself in your room, with your hand over your mouth so that the knights on patrol wouldn't hear you. this orgasm was completely shattering, and you clenched hard around nothing as konig sucked your clit as you rode out the waves of your pleasure. but he didn't detach from your clit, and you feebly pushed your hands against his head.

"too much! can't!" you whined. he finally removed his mouth from your cunt, but not before he lapped the juices that dripped out of your pussy. you lay back on his bed, breath ragged, sweaty, and very red with embarrassment as he stared at you, hovering over you.

"my turn," he said with almost a playful glint in his eye. you were confused, but you couldn't say anything before he manhandled you so that you were lying with your back on the bed and your head hanging upside down over the mattress. your eyes widened as you found yourself face-to-face with his massive erection. he pulled his pants down impatiently and threw them somewhere on his floor before he grabbed himself and brought his cock closer to you.

"open your mouth," he said as he pried your mouth open. he then grabbed your tongue and pulled it so that it was sticking out over your bottom lip before slowly easing his hard cock inside your mouth. he groaned the moment your soft lips wrapped around his length, and he pushed it halfway into your mouth. it was fucking huge, and tasted like salt and a little bit of sweat, but the feeling of the thick veins running through it pushing perfectly against your lips made up for the taste.

your throat bobbed, not quite used to the intrusion, as he stilled and groaned and enjoyed the feeling of your warm tongue and lips on his erection. he then, surprisingly gently, grabbed the sides of your head before slowly thrusting his length halfway in and out of your mouth. you needed some relief from the growing pleasure you felt, so you inched your hand down yourself as konig continued to use your mouth, and you stroked your clit. his eyes were currently closed, lost in the pleasure of your warm mouth, and you moaned against his cock. the vibrations sent shivers through him, and when looked down to see that you were pleasuring yourself, he bent over slightly, swatted your hand away, and rubbed your clit fervently with his index finger.

"you like sucking my cock, don't you?" he teased, and you could hear the smirk on his face. still rubbing your clit, he caressed your weeping cunt with another finger but didn't put it in.

he continued to thrust in your mouth, and his groans were like nothing you have ever heard. they were guttural, primal, and so overwhelmingly masculine. you came again on his finger, and he slapped your wet cunt, causing you to jump. he laughed quietly.

"does the princess like being handled like a common street whore?" he asked as his voice dipped several octaves. you were ashamed at how much that made you moan around his length. he grunted and his cock twitched before he extended your throat with his large hand and released his semen deep down your throat. you could feel the hot thickness of it sliding down your esophagus, and you coughed when he finally withdrew. but his length wasn't softening. was that even possible, you wondered?

when he caught you staring at his cock as you sat up, he laughed darkly.

"like what you see, princess?"

your eyes flicked up to his. "please, take your shirt off."

konig wordlessly removed his shirt, making sure his mask stayed on, before he threw his shirt on top of his discarded pants. you could now see him in his full glory, and oh did his body portray his profession. his biceps were so cut and thick, with prominent blue veins running over them. his chest and abs were defined, as were the deep ridges of his v-line. his thighs were thick and looked as strong as stone. if you didn't know any better, you would've thought he was a statue in the art wing of your castle. but your favorite part was the trail of thick hair that led down to his cock.

"you're...amazing..." you said breathlessly.

he looked like he could pounce on you at any second, like a spring just waiting to recoil.

"konig, i've... never had sex before," you admitted as you looked away from him nervously.

his energy, his demeanor, suddenly completely changed. his eyes grew dark, and his breathing almost stopped. he shook with how much he had to restrain himself.

"face down, ass up," he rasped. you were caught off guard, not expecting him to just completely breeze by that important detail, before you obeyed. you were glad for this starting position, since your face betrayed your embarrassment you feared you would never recover if he saw.

you could hear his feet padding against the cobblestone floor as he approached your exposed cunt. he slapped it again, and this time it stung. you whimpered. konig seemed to like giving you a little pain, since your whimper was met with a chuckle.

"i will take care of you, princess. just keep your ass nice and high for me," he whispered as he placed one hand on your hip and the other around his cock. you suddenly felt the tip beginning to penetrate you, and you clenched up.

"relax," he said as he rubbed his thumb in circles over your hip. "be a good girl for me and relax."

it was like konig had flipped a switch in your brain you didn't even know you had. you relaxed your walls and gasped silently as he slowly eased his hard length into you. you grasped onto the sheets at the intrusion.

"sc...scheiss," konig stuttered as he felt your wet walls take him in perfectly. he didn't let you get adjusted to his length before he grasped your hips with both hands and set a slow yet steady pace, thrusting in and out of you. his heavy balls slapped your clit with each thrust, and you moaned into the mattress.

"don't fucking hide from me," konig growled in your ear as he yanked your head up with your hair. the room was instantly filled with your moans and mewls. he held onto your hair and hip as he began to fuck you brutally.

"i never said i would be gentle," he said with a slight laugh in your ear. he seemed to be enjoying this, corrupting you and taking your first time in secret in the untouchable part of your castle.

he grunted loudly each time he sheathed his length into you, and your moans turned into barely audible screams. he was fucking you like a rabid animal, like it was his only mission to breed you and chase as much pleasure as humanly possible. it almost stung with how hard his balls now slapped at your clit, and you clenched around him.

"so fucking tight..." he rasped as he went back to holding your hips firmly in his hands. he manhandled your hips back onto him as he thrusted into you at the same time, making the experience so much more heightened.

"fucking. smiling. at me." he said with each hard thrust through gritted teeth. "tempting. me. this. whole. time." the sound of his skin slapping your own was like the steady rhythm that accompanied your loud, unrestrained moans.

"coming to my fucking room," he slurred as he continued pounding you. "following me."

you moaned and whimpered, feeling very self-conscious and embarrassed at his words. it didn't help his dick was filling you up to your skull.

"saying you can handle fire," he said in between grunts and groans. "you've...no idea..." he said as he thrusted "what you've...gotten yourself...into."

he was right, and you couldn't give a damn right now as his cock perfectly stroked your walls. he was just so deep, and hard, and you could see stars each time his tip kissed the entrance to your cervix. but your loud, guttural moans told him all he needed to know.

you knew his grip on your hips was going to leave bruises, and you didn't have the mental capacity in the moment to think of how to explain to the servants who bathed you where those marks came from. but you couldn't care less as konig claimed you again and again and again with his cock.

"take it," konig growled before his hips came to a halt, and he released his hot, thick load inside you. pregnancy chances be damned, all you wanted was his semen inside you. it was like setting a fire in your core, a fire that you never wanted to go out. he pulled out with a hiss, and you collapsed onto your stomach on the bed, panting and spent. konig also was catching his breath when you felt a gentle caress on your back. you jolted at the touch, feeling a bit overstimulated. he pulled his hand away.

"i'm not done with you yet, princess," konig whispered against the sweaty skin of your back before he kissed down your spine. you shivered at the feeling of his warm lips gliding over your skin, all the way down to the top of your ass.

"can't....take anymore," you murmured tiredly. konig exhaled against your back.

"you have hands, don't you?" he asked, only half teasing. he rolled you onto your back and laid next to you in bed. he wrapped his large arm around you, holding you in close to his side, and wrapped your hand around his semi-hard cock. he threw his head back as you began to pump him. you nuzzled your lips against his hood, and he eventually got the hint and lifted his mask up slightly so that he could capture your lips once again. he pulled you closer to him by your neck as his tongue invaded your mouth. his hips bucked up into your hand, and you squeezed him. he groaned in your mouth.

"so gut," he whispered against your lips. you pumped him faster, your lips never detaching from his, before he came all over his stomach with a groan. you both lay panting once again, you trying to catch your breath from the kiss and him from his orgasm. you pulled your hand away from his softening cock and laid it awkwardly on the side of your body.

konig rolled slightly over and picked up a cloth that was lying by his bed on the floor. he wiped his stomach clean, and then sat up.

"spread 'em," he said as he grabbed one of your thighs and held it up and open.

"wait, is that the cloth I gave you?" you asked him, blood rising to your cheeks.

"ja," he said simply before gently wiping your cunt clean.

"that...that cloth was...to wipe your sweat, or something..." you murmured as you watched him clean you.

"it's mine now. i can use it how i please," he said before he threw it back on the floor. he laid down next to you once again. you cuddled up into his side nervously and hesitantly laid a hand on his chest. he wrapped his arm around you and held you close by your back.

"don't tell anyone about this, ja?" he said against your scalp.

you nodded. "of course."

"you are mine now," he declared. you looked up at him, your cheek resting on his chest and your brows lifted in confusion and disbelief.

"what do you mean?" you asked, your voice rising in pitch a bit.

"you are mine." he repeated, and he didn't speak for the rest of the night. eventually, you got up out of bed and sheepishly put your clothes back on while konig admired the view, still laying down with his hands behind his head. he laid on his bed, completely naked, like it was the most natural thing in the world. the man oozed confidence. when you stumbled a bit as you walked, he chuckled quietly. you rolled your eyes at him.

"well...goodnight, then," you said awkwardly as you turned to go to his door to leave. but he got up suddenly and placed his hand on your shoulder. you looked back at him, confused, before he lifted his hood slightly and gently pecked you on the lips. and so you left his room feeling giddy, sore, and much too obsessed with the executioner.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome, @plumdreadful, @dumb-dumb-idiot-girl, @elichisstuff, @konig-breedme, @tr4psta, @cutiecusp, @konigsleftkidney, @local-vampire-s1ut, @ihaveaproblematicbrain, @twice360noscope

#cod mw2 #konig #konig call of duty #konig imagine #konig fic #konig smut #konig cod #konig x reader #call of duty mw2 #konig mw2 #konig headcanons #konig modern warfare #konig x you #konig x y/n #konig fanfiction #call of duty #call of duty mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 #mw2 #könig cod #codmw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw x reader #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mwii

[wordstome]

the execution of lady jane grey

I got drunk and Tiktok showed me history_alice's video about this painting by Paul Delaroche. And since God has cursed me for my hubris and my work is never finished, have some medieval executioner König x fem mc. Also, Lady Jane Grey was executed by Mary Tudor (Bloody Mary), not by Henry the VIIIth (the one with the six wives), but I blended the stories just because I can.

1.3k words

König doesn't ask questions.

It's never been his job to ask questions. The king points, and he does the dirty work. Most of the time, he takes pleasure in it: thieves, rapists, murderers, they all answer to his justice. And sure, a true loyal citizen might argue that he's simply enacting the king's justice, but it's König who swings the axe, is it not? In the end, König decides their fate.

In theory, anyway. In practice, this is simply his job. He keeps his head down and does what he's told. He stays quiet about the king's secret executions, the ones that happen in the dungeons instead of out in the open courtyard where the smallfolk gather to watch. It's hypocritical, honestly. They all look at König like he's a monster, some spectre of death among men, but when there's a public execution to be held, are they not the ones clamoring and pushing to be at the front?

There are some times when the king's executions are more...dubious. An advisor who voiced dissent one too many times. A thief stealing barley from the royal stables to feed his family, made an example of. A young man, just a boy really, accused of murdering four grown men—convenient, considering all four men's wives had been found in the king's bed at some point or another.

Those are the executions König prefers not to think about. The ones that haunt him in his dreams anyway. Those are the ones that make him yearn for his days in the army: when the people he killed were as faceless as his hood was to them, when he didn't know them and didn't have to think about the loved ones they left behind. König's never claimed to be a good person, the opposite in fact. But sometimes when he brings the blade down, he imagines a different, more royal neck on the block instead.

He feels this way now, as he watches her make her way to the block.

She's ethereal in her petticoat, the soft silken material reflecting what little light there is in the cold stone room and bathing her in a warm glow. Gentle and obedient into her own grave.

The king's wife. Sent to the block for treason, of all things. But everyone knows the truth: he's only killing this poor woman because he plots to put his latest mistress on the throne. Just a few weeks ago, this sweet young thing was the king's main obsession. She stood no chance at all, the daughter of a local lord currying favor with royalty. And now, she's being put to death through no fault of her own. The injustice grinds König's teeth, and takes his mind to a dark, dangerous place.

If she was his, he would never so much as let another woman cross his mind again. He's seen her about the palace grounds, with her beautiful bright eyes and lively smile, skirts trailing behind her like the tail feathers of an exotic bird. Just watching her had made him feel young again, no longer the brutish old soldier everyone averted their eyes from.

He's only spoken to her once, but he'll never forget it. He had been in her way, but she was the one who apologized. Most people would have seen the hood and backed away in fear, but not her. He watched, frozen and unable to say a single word, as she curtseyed and looked at him with, of all things, a shy curiosity. For one still, breathtaking moment, he held her gaze in his, and he felt like they were the last two people remaining on earth.

Then her lady in waiting had touched her on the elbow, and the spell was broken as they continued on their way. But König had never forgotten.

That same lady in waiting is here now, eyes puffy as she holds the queen's elaborate dress and jewelry in her lap. She had chosen to take it off, so as not to stain the expensive fabrics with her blood. How can she be so considerate of others, when the whole world has failed her so?

She turns to him, trembling like a little bird, and meets his gaze. The words come out before he can help himself.

"I beg your forgiveness," he blurts out, and almost immediately mentally scolds himself. What right does he have, of all people, to ask for her grace?

"Of course, sir," she says, her voice clear and sweet. Surely, he can't feel any more wretched than he does right now...and then she speaks again.

"I only pray you dispatch me quickly..." She turns a fearful eye to the wooden block, sitting almost innocently on top of the straw laid down to soak up her lifeblood. "Will...will you take it before I lay me down?"

"No, madam," he whispers.

She nods, and with a sudden streak of iron will, ties the blindfold about her head. König knows this is a kindness: she'll never see him coming. And yet his heart aches to see her cover up those beautiful eyes.

A loud sob comes out of the lady in waiting, watching her young mistress fumble around blindly. König's heart shatters when she lets out a little cry of confusion as the lieutenant of the prison rushes to hold her steady. "What shall I do? Where is it?"

König feels a sudden streak of anger, at the gentle way the lieutenant lowers her to the ground. The man clearly knows this is wrong, and yet will not lift a finger to help her.

Guilt strikes him yet again as he remembers that neither is he.

Or is he?

He stares down at her, this vulnerable little lamb sent to the slaughter, her pretty neck exposed for his blade, and he knows what he has to do.

The lady in waiting cries out in anguish as the blade lowers to the queen's head, causing her to gasp as the cold metal brushes against her skin. But instead of cutting her head off, König slices through her blindfold with a deft precision.

"What is the meaning of this?" The lieutenant demands as the queen scrambles from her kneeling position. König offers his arm, and she takes it, her hands warm against his sleeve as she stands up. The confusion is writ plain on her face, but her eyes shine with an innocent hope that only steels König's resolve.

"You," König says, pointing his axe at the lieutenant, who shuffles backwards nervously. "You will tell the king that she has been executed. If he asks for a body, find one: I don't care which one. And if you tell anyone what happened here today, I swear to you that I will water the earth with your blood, and the blood of every family member in your line." His eyes narrow at the lieutenant. "Do I make myself clear?" The man nods, stuck still with terror.

The queen's lady in waiting rushes forward, pressing jewels into her hands. "My lady, you will need these," she says urgently. "For wherever life takes you next." She gives König a determined look. "Take care of her, sir."

The queen's eyes go wide and round as she looks up at König. "I don't understand."

He kneels to her height, taking her hands in his. "I am taking you away from this place," he tells her, his voice low and urgent. "But you need to trust me."

She closes her eyes, and takes one deep, trembling breath before opening them again. "I trust you."

"Good." She yelps as he picks her up in his arms, hands instantly darting about his shoulders. "I am sorry, my lady, but we don't have much time."

She giggles, giggles, in his arms. "I don't mind," she says, with a mischievous little look that invites trouble. God, he is utterly fucked, isn't he?

"I can give you time, but not much," the lieutenant says. "Go!"

König doesn't need to be told twice.

To be honest with you, I have no idea what this is. I wrote this in, like. An hour. I think a demon possessed me. I don't think I'm going to write more of this au, but who knows!

@danibee33 @kneelingshadowsalome @crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @mantishymns @lexuria

#könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #könig x reader #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #könig x you #konig x you

[gremlingottoosilly]

you know the scene in Kingsmen where the princess being held hostage tells the secret agent that if he saves her she'll let him do it up the ass and the guy blinks at her a few times before going "...I'll be right back" and then saves the day and comes back to her cell with wine?? yeah that exact scene but with König and Hostage!Reader

König promises himself that he didn't join the special forces for any of this. He just wanted to get out of the house, he just wanted to save people, he just wanted to protect his country...well, this is exactly what led to him being balls-deep in a woman he literally saw for the first time.

He knows it's wrong, you're barely consenting because you were scared, terrified, almost dead at the hands of some terrorists, and your promises to let him do anything with you just because he showed up in the room, full of hostages, wearing a hood and looking like an executioner...he knows exactly how he looks like, and he doesn't even want to ask what happened to you before if you're so quick to promise your body in exchange for safety(

He can't afford to be soft, his comrades are somewhere in the building too - securing the last of the terrorists while he, literally the CO of the entire operation, is spreading some civilian girl's ass on his gigantic fingers. You're whining, he can see it's not entirely comfortable for someone as soft and fragile as you - he whispers sweet apologies in your neck. Next time, he promises to himself, he will get you a proper lube and spend at least an hour, softly stroking your insides and spreading you on his dick like a good girl. He is mesmerized by the sight of his fingers disappearing in your tight ass, aided only by his spit and a bit of the natural lube your pussy is leaking on the ground.

— Es war schön für mich. Du weißt nicht was gut für dich ist.

— S...sir, I don't speak German. — Calm down. Relax for me, ja? You're a sloppy mess when he finished with spreading you like this - he wants to dive tongue-first in your holes, both of them, lick and suck until you're crying his name and rank like a good girl, but you're on strict timing, and he still wants to have some time to at least attempt at being soft. You don't deserve to be fucked like this, bend over some rubble, with his hands kneading the meat of your ass he guides his tip inside, but he whispers sweet apologies between your shoulder blades, pressing slowly until you're succumbing to him fully. You whimper when you feel the stretch - he knows he is big, perhaps too big for you, the lack of lube makes you even tighter. He almost can't move, almost feels like forcing his shaft inside of your tight, warm asshole, and he doesn't want to be a monster for that sweet girl that offered herself to him. — Ich lass dich so nicht gehen süße. Hiernach nehme ich dich mit nach Hause. He whispers dirty promises in your ear when he plunges in, taking off sobs from your mouth. He covers it, and allows you to chew on his hand like a kitten, promising that he will be softer, gentler, more kind next time. This is about his pleasure, of destroying your hole with all his might - you whimper from pain and he feels almost ashamed for taking a pretty girl so roughly, but he needed this. König strokes your clit softly when you start to cry too much - he isn't a bad guy, he needs you to relax as he presses his other hand on your tummy, feeling the outline of his dick. With every move, he can see it a bit more - god, you're perfect, taking him like this, with barely any lube, tense like he is forcing you for it... You will make a good wife, he thinks, not even bothering to stop himself - god, he knew you for a few minutes tops, when you begged him to save you when you gave the promise to give him your ass a prize - he didn't need that, of course, but he likes to reap the consequences of his great life choices. He isn't even embarrassed when the heat of your ass and softness of your buttcheeks meeting his pelvis made him cum so quickly - he needed this, so no one would ever think what their colonel was doing while everyone else secured the perimeter. He whispers some praises in your ear, nibbling on it like he is allowed to leave marks, helps you get on your feet, and makes your clothes intact. You are left with a sloppy feeling of his cum slowly spilling from your aching ass, your clit throbbing from the pleasure he never finished giving you - you whine a bit when he gently presses his forehead against yours, chuckling softly under that scary hood of his. The adrenaline wore off finally, and you started to get second thoughts of the whole ordeal. — Don't worry, Schatzi, once this is over, we're going home. Perhaps, it was safer to side with the terrorists. 

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig

[ghouljams]

Are you fucking kidding me???? Like??? Be real??? I have been asking you to write a fucking executioner!Konig for months and all I get is diddly. But some rando asks for a medieval!cod and you headcanon for everyone BUT Konig????? Don’t ever talk to me again. I hope you date goes bad. Karma is a bitch. I hate you.

- 👹

Where's my call-out post bitch? I'm literally just called you about writing fic for you. What happened to not reading your older siblings writing? Huh???

I'm spraying König with the hose right now, are you happy? Die.

König is a hunter. He likes the quiet of it, the solitude. It's easier to think with a bow or a knife in his hands. And it's simple. Hunting doesn't mean he has to talk to anyone, he sells to the butcher, keeps what he wants. The most talking he has to do is when he goes out to buy bread. Past that there's no reason to say anything to anyone.

Not that anyone wants to talk to him anyway. The deadly hunter, the silent giant, he is feared and respected in equal measure. He lives on the edge of town where he won't get visitors and its enough to make him call himself happy. Whether or not he actually is, is up for debate.

He's hunting when he first sees you. You're by the river, doing your washing against the well worn stones. The quiet birdsong and rustle of leaves accompany your humming. He watches you silently from his hide. The sun hits your cheeks through the leaves of the forest, and you're so beautiful he thinks you might be a nymph or some other spirit of the woods. He doesn't catch anything that day, too preoccupied with his silent vigil.

The next time he sees you is further down the river. He'd been careful to avoid the shallow end of it, not wanting to disturb you or his hunt. It's a wasted thought. You've waded out into the basin of the river, your clothes folded neatly on the shore as you slough off the summer heat and sweat. He watches you longer than he should, longer than is proper. He thinks of you later when he's alone.

He meets you a third time buying bread from the only decent baker in town. He's dropping coin into their waiting hand when you come out from the kitchen with fresh loaves. His mouth goes dry as you catch his eye and smile.

"You're in that house on the edge of the forest, right?" You ask, sweet as can be. He nods. "It must be a long walk here," another nod, "and lonely?" He hesitates, you smile a little wider, "maybe I can make a delivery sometime."

"That would be kind of you," he isn't sure quite how to respond, too worried he'll give himself away if he says too much, or too little.

"Yeah? I figure if you see me more often you won't have to spy on me in the woods." Your smile doesn't falter, König leaves quickly.

#Spec i hope your next bowl sends you to the shadow realm #ghoul speaks #sister tag #👹 anon #the real answer is that König is who i spun off into original fiction #hes a king with a terrible curse and a one sided crush on his maid #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig x oc #könig call of duty #medieval au

[pettyprocrastination]

thinking about how executioner!König is absolutely ostracized by society. When not dolling out punishment or death he’s collecting corpses, both human and animal from the roads. He spends every day with the smell of death on his fingertips to the point that nobody will speak to him. Vendors will give him food, but dare not set it in his palm in fear of it being tainted by his touch (and them by proxy) he’s a job they all need (and often watch with morbid fascination) but nobody truly respects the man beneath the hood. 

Until a kindhearted nun smiles at him on Sunday, the lord’s day, and asks if he has come in search of worship. 

#rAAAAAhhhhhhh violence and desire desire and violence religion and passion THEMES THEMES THEMES #executioner!könig #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #König x you

[femoso-seben]

Mini Witch

Part2,

You have no idea where you are. You could smell salty and your hair felt crusty and icky. On the other hand, the little blob, König (it calls itself that you refer it as Takoyaki) was crawling along leading you through the trees and soon onto flat airid plans. The flatness turns dry and sandy and there is the ocean.

The little ugly brat vanishes into the water leaving you on the beat.

You could walk away!

You did.

You could smell the scent of civilization (manure). The small village is quant. You found yourself walking from one shot to another. Your sister had left you a note.

“It is easier for your familiar to protect you if they have a weapon.” You found yourself in front of a weapon smith shop. Nothing struck you until a massive axe, like an executioner’s blade.

You needed a few things and had a few money. You needed food for travel new footwear where and a new cloak for the cold.

As night falls you walk back to the ocean to find your very much unhappy and very ungrateful familiar waiting for you. He transforms into a soggy ass man.

“Here, Takoyaki,” he took the ace and stared at it. He swung it around a few times before nodding like it was for him well.

You spend the night on the beach. The cool air of the ocean keeps the summer heat off you. You awoke feeling slimy and sticky. You look down to find your stupid familiar sleeping on your breast again.

“Perv,” you gran it off your skin and drop it into the sand. He curled up as if you dropped a slug in salt. His eyes open and he glared at you.

You get up clean up your clothes and gather your things, that cloak should be done soon.

“Wohin gehst du?” He asks, I look at him, he’s in his human form. A massive hunk of a man. If he wasn’t a familiar you would have surely pounced on him.

“I bought something wait here.” He sat there and you could have sworn it was pouting.

Something was odd.

Your skin crawled the moment you walked into the Villegas. The air was tense and eyes watched you. They were judging and pointing to you. Fear creeps up your back, you stand out like a sore thumb. You kept your head low and got moving but their eyes never stopped staring at you.

You pick up your cloak and try rushing out of the village. Your heart beat loudly in your chest, and fear gripped your mind… if you had a soul your soul be grasped.

“WITCH!” a man in black yells, all the blood rushes from your face as you feel your heartbeat I your ear. You turn and to your horror men on horseback and bow and arrows are waiting.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

You stare on eyes wide like a kitten, body frozen like a baby deer. You were nothing but a child in the face of adults… even if you were a few centuries older than them. You weren’t ready!

Where were your sisters when you needed them? Maybe you should have traveled with them for the first few trips as they suggested.

Your mind went to your familiar… that little thing can’t save you…

Your hands itch and the next thing you know, staff and hand shooting out magic. Fireballs rain down as arrows fly your way. You ran, shoot magic as you did so.

You had nowhere to go! Your sisters were nowhere to protect you. You're a dead witch running.

As your lungs burn and your angry voice screams for your head and your dismemberment. You only had one way out. That stupid ugly thing.

You collapse onto the sand but you can’t find your stupid familiar anywhere.

You’re going to die.

“WITCH!” You froze and stiffen.

You have no energy left. You turn around and back into the ocean. There is a small line were archer ready to shoot you dead.

Arrows fly.

“KÖNIG!” You shout.

The waters erupted. Tentacles shoot out and you turn to find a large monstrous humanoid tentacles man. The small axe in his hand looks like a toothpick. You cast an increasing size magic on it and soon the axe fit his new size.

He swung it, cutting man and horse apart, blood oozing into the sands.

You fall into his tentacles.

“He is very loyal”

“Maybe having a familiar doesn’t suck…

------------

@milkywayhou

taglist: @maylovesyousomuch, @trgraves-valx1f0r

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #konig cod #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig #konig x you #octopus! konig #octokonig #octo!könig

[1-whore-1]

Some Ren Faire drawing of the boys inspired by the FallenAngel!Ghost art piece.

(All of these were requested by people on TikTok.)

Grim Reaper Ghost and Knight Soap:

Yes, Soap is heavily flirting with Ghost here.

Executioner König:

There’s two versions cause I couldn’t decide which one looked better.

And finally Assassins Keegan and Hesh with the added bonus of our favorite pup Riley:

I have three more requests left so up next are: Alex Keller, Farrah, and Logan!!!!

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #keegan p russ #david hesh walker #soapghost #ghostsoap #call of duty fanart #ghost mw2 #call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty ghosts #riley cod #call of duty dog #what is the tag for the puppy? cause I can’t figure out what tag to use for him. #modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare

[comfortless]

syl im begging on my hands and knees pls pls pls expand on that idea of könig being a warrior rumored to eat womens hearts its like giving scheherazade and i NEED IT

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. vague time period/setting. fem(afab) reader. light descriptions of violence and gore, talk of cannibalism, non-con groping & cuddling, forced marriage.

There are endless tasks to be done and everything beneath a vast blue sky to explore, forgoing those things, the men about your village often prefer to gather for a duel. There are no rules for their game, only that you bring a weapon and thrust it toward the opponent in such a way that it brings you glory, pride, some scabbing mend to a crooked scar.

Except not you, never you. They wouldn’t so much as allow for the women to watch unless sparring for the hand of a weeping bride happened to be the gleaming prize waiting at the end of the night.

Your eyes had witnessed such before, a girl with hair the color of autumn straw that rolled down to the end of her back, whisked away by some man from the sea after he dug his blade into an old farmer’s belly. Her father. A sad thing, but you imagined her life must be much better now. Instead of tending to a mule or pricking her fingers on needles for sewing, she’s off collecting sea shells and has the ocean’s breeze eternally perfumed in her hair. Maybe she cradles a baby on her hip now, plump and cooing happily whilst they watch the waves roll and glitter beneath the sun.

A better life for only the cost of a swift death. It was something that you had always envisioned wanting for yourself, away from this village that reeks of blood, the very place where your options were limited to shoveling after the horses or to die a lonely hag.

That was until the behemoth began to show his face. Not quite his face at all, actually. It changed things for you. Instead of a longing for one of these strong men to carry you off into the night, there sat a creeping terror each and every time he crossed the threshold into the village.

He was rumored to be many things: an executioner from a foreign land, either a lost and wicked saint or a demon made flesh, and worst of them all… a cannibal from out in the untamed downs that crest the mountainside.

The women of the village were frightened by him, by the bulk and height that suggested he was not a man at all, but something far more terrifying beneath that black veil. They hid away when he first arrived, claiming he carried an organ in his hands, chewing away at a still-beating heart with blood running down his fingers. The men remained rigid, but their hands shook when they took up their weapons against him.

And there was no way of knowing then that this man was to be yours.

Time and time again, the giant would win, request a warm meal and a bed for the evening, and would be gone away come morning. He wouldn’t return for months, and the gossip would continue to fester until his return. Then, only then, would lips be pursed in silence and another fool would rush to death in an attempt to win some measure of pride. His opponent would be buried in the very field they would fight in, his bones serving for another layer upon the earthen stage once the worms and rats had picked him clean, and the giant would be back. He was always back.

The town is hushed to silence when his horse is led through the well-worn street. There are lingering observers: the broad stable hand that would not even dare to raise a whip or a dagger to this behemoth, the women of the brothel even shy away from him, and the children who whisper their rumors behind open palms.

He does not stop for any of them, only carries forward with that dark cloth concealing his head.

You peek out from your window, nursing tea with honey to calm the chill drifting through the air, feathering over your skin. It’s bitter on your tongue, even with the sweet coursing through it. Bitter, when his blue eyes flick in your direction and you feel every inch of your skin begin to prickle and tense.

He’s worse up close like this. The man doesn’t conceal his torso, never seemed to find a need to— no one ever gets close enough to wound him. Not any more, at least, judging by the pasty scars that mar his chest with the biggest being a healed, pinkish blemish that stretches from below his ribs down to a narrow hip. You find the most unsettling part about him is not those marks of violence, but the fact that you can not read his face.

Time slows to a halt as he just stares, takes you in with your cup of tea and the old dress stolen away from your mother’s own wardrobe. And you return it, warily looking him over from his veiled head down to the toes of his boots. After regarding you in the very same way a bored cat would observe an unaware, little bird, he moves along his path with a quiet huff of breath as his face is turned away from you.

There’s a heavy axe strapped to his back that you only notice then. Something new and shiny, glistening in the rays of golden sunlight above. Sharp and wicked, too cruel a weapon to be used in a bout for dinner and a lumpy mattress stuffed with decaying straw.

You could only hope he brought a cloth to clean it once this ordeal was over. Perhaps he truly does use his veil to do so, gets drunk on the scent of blood and gore clinging to it and pleasures himself to the violence as they claim. The macabre tales of this giant only go darker than that. But the tales he lives up to most of all are the ones about his skill in killing.

When night begins to scrape across the sky in dark, drab purple, fate comes crawling throughout the town as though it is nothing more than a famished ghoul.

Your mother storms toward you where you’re sat, preparing for bed. Her face is a mask of pure anguish when she pulls you into a tight embrace. She bawls into your hair, digs her nails into your back as though she would sooner die than let you go.

The men of the town follow behind her, wrenching her arms away from you and pulling you up by the front of your gown. The thin linen tears with the force of rough hands, rips a thick line down your chest that almost leaves you bared to them. Though the hands are eager, the eyes of these men do not shine with hunger, only with fear.

The shouts and cries from your lips are lost to them, to even your mother who wails in defeat someplace behind you.

“You’re plenty old enough to be a bride,” says one of the men, voice like a coiled snake spitting venom. It doesn’t take one of the well-educated people of the capital here to explain just what is to happen to you now.

The giant, the cannibal, saw something that he liked, and decided that you would be his prize. When you’re led to the field, kicking and flailing against the strong arms that hold you tightly in their grip, the sight is enough to tell you just how much that he enjoyed your silent, curious staring only hours before.

He stands upright, silent and daunting above a body that’s been split by the axe still held in one strong hand. The color of crimson cakes his knuckles, crests over his arm and the expanse of his chest, all from the headless corpse lying disposed at his feet.

The scene is what you expected, you’ve heard the words of your people about this beast of a man’s propensity for violence, but no amount of mental preparation could have truly readied you for seeing so much blood. The blood of a man you knew to be good and true, a hard-working blacksmith from the foothills. What a tragic way to go out: fighting for a pouch of coin when this horrible giant must have clearly lost his mind to rut and rage.

No hand comes to cover your mouth when you shriek, and the tight grips guiding you forward only loosen when your man or murderer stalks forward to take his prize. Through your tears, you still manage to make out the lines beneath his eyes, how they fold upward, and there’s no doubt that he’s smiling beneath that mask. A big, ugly grin at the thought of prying open your ribs and helping himself to a maiden’s heart.

He lifts it over his head in a swift motion, and drops it over your own instead, opposite to the hastily cut eye holes to block out all of the hazy, pale light of the moon and flickering yellow-red torches surrounding. Amidst the panic threatening to send your heart fleeing from your chest, the cold trickle of dread that finds itself curling in your belly, you feel two arms hoist you up and settle you over the back of his wretched steed.

“Gehen wir.”

Then, the darkness turns abyssal.

You only pray your body has truly died of fright when you first wake. There’s no darkness, no scent of blood when your eyelids pry apart to flutter. Water laps over your bare thighs, cold enough to force a shiver up from your feet to the blades of your shoulders. But behind you sits fire, a warmth so comforting you would think you’re rested against a stone bathed in summer sun, if not for the softness.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, rationalize just what’s happening, until a hand clutching a scrap of cloth maneuvers up from your thigh to your tummy, lathers you in a soap that smells only of pine. It halts, cinches around your waist when you begin to tense, when he knows you’re truly awake. A pond to your front and a man of horror at your back.

There’s sunlight streaming down from above, painting the clouds in gold. There are birds happily singing from the surrounding trees, and other, unseen animals scurrying through fallen leaves. Serene, pretty, and almost comforting when the wind turns course and brings with it the scent of late-ripening fruit. If the reality of your situation were not so dire, perhaps you would have enjoyed it, being here with a man who killed instead of presented your family with a dowry or offered you some pleasant wedding to dine and drink your fill of berry wine at.

“Let me go.” Your voice is a feigned warning, the mocking growl of a mere pup. You imagine he must keep his weapons close, only offering himself the courtesy of cleaning you so your meat doesn’t taste of dirt or lavender oil when he sinks his teeth into it.

“Süss frau,” he mumbles behind you, presses his head into your hair and inhales deeply as your body only grows further rigid. There’s a pause, before he corrects himself. “Meine süss frau.”

It would help if you knew what he was saying, calm your nerves some, maybe, but each word spoken only sounds guttural and instills further fear. You twist in his grip, hissing small curses that would have left your mother in a rage, but he only laughs at your squirming. Then, he tightens his grip as the cloth is dropped into the pond’s glassy water.

“Take me back home,” you continue to urge, placing a trembling hand over the limb pressing your body further back against him. “Please.”

Your small attempt at pleading is met only with his head dropping to the nape of your neck, a kiss pressed against the flesh there. It warms for him, sends a heat spiking up to your cheeks in spite of the way you still suspect he wishes only to rip your throat open with teeth more akin to a devil’s fangs.

You turn your head, intent on spitting right in this monster’s face, but find only a man looking back at you.

There’s a shimmer in his eyes that almost seems playful, a grin so prevalent there it must cause the corners of his mouth to ache. No blood in his teeth, and though the silvery-blue of his eyes seems distant, they are not cold. The goliath who stole you away stinking of blood and innards isn’t present now, and that seems even less of a comfort. He’s even handsome in the strangest way, certainly not the look of nobility, but none of his features are cruel. There’s a boyish charm to him, perhaps he would have the look of a charismatic farmhand or an apprentice of sorts if not for the scarring.

“Won’t hurt you… too pretty,” he assures, burying his face against the side of your neck. But the bastard does, digs his teeth right in and suckles at your skin when you claw at his arm in surprise. It’s not enough to draw drops of blood, but it accentuates the point that he seems to see you as something of his, a possession of sorts.

There’s a messy patch of drool over bruising skin when he pulls away to laugh at the wounded expression upon your face. He apologizes in a huff of breath as he guides you up to stand at his side. His hands linger too long for comfort when they rest along your waist. Your sullen glare only seems to further endear him. Too much, judging by the way the pillar between his legs bounces thick and hard and proud, throbs when you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze and angrily hiss to him about how a man should treat his wife. Cannibal or not, the beast needed to learn some manners.

Fear still edges its way up your spine, but it diminishes more and more as the seconds pass.

He’s no gentleman when he splashes away the remnants of soap from your body, hands grazing over every inch of your bare skin he sees available to touch. Your breast first, weighed up in his palm with the nipple pinched between his index and middle. Emboldened by your hushed protests, he dares to slip his other between your legs, and only then do you force his hands away.

He certainly bears no resemblance to a proper husband when he hoists you over one shoulder to carry you further into the woods and into his shack, either.

It’s barren and ugly, an unsightly wooden structure decorated only with a thin mattress, a table too small, and blades of many forms. The axe sits proudly below the window, astonishingly cleaned of the gore from the night prior. The veil rests above it on the sill, damp from a cleaning that never should have been. You stare at his belongings for a time when you’re placed on your feet, silently judging the array in search of anything to justify the gossip, only to come up short of anything.

He doesn’t even touch you past the bathing in the pond. You’re dressed in a tunic that fits like a dress upon your form: far too big, long and dull to be anything you would normally be seen in. But there are no tailors this far out in the wilderness, though there’s an apologetic promise whispered to you once he sees you in his clothes. He’ll buy you a new dress upon your first visit to town as his wife, several if it pleases you.

The man leaves for a spell, brings you rabbit to clean and prepare, then busies himself stoking up a fire for cooking. His speech is a little broken when he tells you of how long he’s waited to have someone like you here with him, how he never suspected a woman so pretty would be his wife. And you don’t eat when the meat is fully cooked and placed in front of you both. You insist that you only wish to return back home, to hug your mother and tell her that you’re still alive.

That, he takes insult to.

His brow is pinched when he forces you to sit in his lap. He brings the meat to your lips and presses into your cheeks with his free hand to force your mouth open. There’s nothing romantic or cute about it, about him, but you do glumly settle in his hold when the realization does dawn on you that, though his strength is extraordinary, he is only a man and the only harm coming to you would be between your legs.

You’re drug over to the mattress after dinner by a tight hold over your wrist. The fight hasn’t left you, not by a smidge, even when the loose tunic is lifted over your head with shouts of your displeasure and you’re pressed onto your back with the giant watching you curiously from above.

He pins you there, but doesn’t force his hands down to your sex again. He only sighs when he rests his weight next to you and curls in to lie his head over your breasts.

You’re body remains stiff and rigid as a bowstring. His nearness only sends that same swell of heat back from the pond, brings with it the scent of fire smoke and sweat emanating from him. His hair is long and soft, soft as the kisses he places on the plushness of your tit, long as the drag of a callused palm from your hip up to cup the other.

He offers you no warning when his teeth circle over your nipple, holds fast to you when your back arches and your fingers weave into his hair to jerk him away. The worst part about him seemed to be having a penchant for leaving a mark, and the smug grin that crosses his face when he meets the fury in your eyes with the lust-drunk look in his own.

“Was? You don’t like?,” he grumbles, tracing over the marks of his teeth with his thumb, pressing against and smearing his saliva until you feel your back begin to arch and your breathing grow heavy.

“It hurts.”

He stares at you in amazement for a moment, whether surprised you haven’t made an attempt to flee or startled by the lack of a strike to his jaw after such a thing, it mattered not. Your terrible, ignorant “husband” only seems satisfied with your response. He draws back to sit on his knees before you, sliding his hands along each curve and dip of your body until they rest at your ankles.

“Ja… hurts. I will make it better, meine süße.”

He’s no less brazen when he makes a dive toward your womanhood, lips parted in preparation to breathe you in. Or… taste you in full, whichever option was suited for men who were more beasts than men at all. Maybe that was his only feat of cannibalism: licking at women until they were wet and pliant for him to take entirely. You pry him away with a gasp and a quick shift onto your side, demanding that he not touch you any further.

Again, he laughs, curls behind you and shifts his hips to slot the girth of his cock between your thighs, buries his face into your neck once again. You can feel the grin that stretches over his lips against your skin. When the dark envelopes you both, the quiet crackle of the fire in its pit still showing signs of life, he seems content to just cuddle you close.

Exhaustion creeps its way through your limbs, steals the fight from your voice and leaves your eyelids heavy. You consider waiting it out, listening to his breathing deepen and slow to creep away, but his grip is firm around your middle, so strangely comforting that you do allow yourself to relax. Running could wait until the morning sun rose.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #this has been in my inbox for months i am SO sorry