#i still enjoy cod

[toshidou]

Wait you’re really over COD?

not really, i still play the game with cas, i still love the characters. sadly i don't pick and choose how long i get to enjoy something with as much vigour as previous months, once my brain latches onto something i find it hard to redirect my attention elsewhere. hence the pedro pascal marathon i've been dealing with for the past couple of weeks.

if i had a pound for every fandom ive ever been in, or every hyperfixation i've ever had, i'd be a very rich bitch, let's put it that way.

so anyway, i'll still be here, enjoying cod fandom content, and i'll try to write whenever i get the chance. but you might see me yelling about other things too, that's all.

#anon.exe #idk #i kinda find it all a little dramatic sometimes #this isn't directed at anyone #especially you anon #but like #so what if i have another interest??? #or something else takes up the forefront of my mind? #im not 'abandoning' anything #i still enjoy cod #i like talking about the characters with people #but right now i'd rather scream about oberyn martell - agent whiskey - or javier peña LMFAOOOO #it is what it is #i've given up making myself feel guilty for being unable to retain interests anymore #it's exhausting

[bluegiragi]

the prettiest pets you'll ever see (happy valentine's day!)

nsfw version on patreon

#would literally any of you believe me if i said i did this as an anatomy study #hoping to god tumblr's guidelines dont slam me for this #theyre wearing clothes tumblr!! what else do you want from me!! #i honestly didnt believe that this brainrot would last until february but what do you know #im still in the trenches with these three #please enjoy #and treat them well <3 #soapbox #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #konig #cod mw2 #giragi art

[toomanywordsnllines]

Back when I tried to come up what Ghost would look like under his mask and this was the result! Very happy with it however... I see him a bit less twinkish? now so perhaps this was when he was younger and less swole

#manyrambles #manysart #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty ghost #simon ghost riley #I still enjoy the shaggier hair and the absolute exausthed eyes

[cerise-on-top]

what if the 141 boys had a ridiculously tall husband. like. a little bit taller than konig, probably. and he's really scary to people, actually!!!! but not his s/o , nuh uh, he's disgustingly sweet to his beloved.. sorry i'm rambling, i think (jokes and idiocy aside i adore your headcanons <3)

Hey there! Thank you, that's very kind of you! Also thank you for sending in a request for a male reader, you're one of the first ones and I was very excited to write about a male reader for once :D

TF141 With A Very Tall Husband

Price: He didn’t really think he’d ever be dating someone much, much taller than him. Sure, he doesn’t particularly mind, but he’s not short either, with him standing at 1,88m himself. It makes him feel small at times, especially if you’re pretty muscular too. He doesn’t get insecure about it in the slightest, oh no, but it’s weird to be so much shorter than your loved ones. However, he’s pretty used to scary people by now. Ghost isn’t exactly a delight to have around at first when you don’t know him either, so he knows how to deal with scary people. Might ask you to tone it down a little bit when you’re scaring other people too much, he doesn’t particularly wanna attract attention like that. But you being a sweetheart towards him? It melts his heart. He knows what you’re like towards people that aren’t him, so it makes him smile that you’re willing to do just about anything for him just to spend some time with him. You wanna trim his beard? There’s a good chance you’ve got some experience with that anyway, so he really doesn’t mind it as much. Hell, he probably trusts you more than his own barber at times. Besides, it’s a nice little bonding activity. If you have a beard then he’ll offer to trim it for you as well. Price isn’t really opposed to being the little spoon, or just being held in general. Quite the opposite, you being this tall sometimes puts him in a cuddly mood where he just plops down into your arms. Gently scratch his scalp and there’s a good chance he’ll even fall asleep on you. He’s so used to being everyone’s protector, it feels nice to be protected for once. But he won’t always settle for being held either, it’s his job to make you feel safe and sound as well, and thus he will take on the role of cuddler as well. Will fight you for that role, actually. Price is a real sweetheart towards his loved ones as well, so I think the two of you would fit well together. His mere presence demands respect in the right people, which can sometimes scare others. So, from time to time, you might both scare other people together. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally.

Gaz: He makes so many jokes about you being this tall and feigns being hurt about being much shorter than you are. You’re his behemoth, his leviathan and his ziz. Loves calling you the names of monsters that are said to be pretty big, it’s endearing to him. Besides, you’re scary enough that some people call you a monster anyway, if just for your height. If anyone ever were to call you that in front of Gaz, then they’ll end up with a black eye. No one gets to call you a monster but him. While he won’t always approve of you scaring everyone, Gaz does have a few friends that he wants you to get along with, he won’t particularly do anything about it either if that’s just what you’re like. Might try to make you seem a bit less scary by being a bit more affectionate with you in public. Holding your hand, giving you a peck on the cheek, giving you a hug. Those kinds of things. He actually loves you being this tall since that means you can pick him up and spin him around. He’s not been picked up ever since he was a little boy, so he definitely wouldn’t mind you showing off to him just how strong you are. Is also always looking for an excuse to hold your hand. Oh, seems like he forgot just how big your hand actually is and how much it engulfs his. Remind him for a moment and hold his hand, will you? Gaz is a sweetheart towards his loved ones anyway, if you look past the fact he will sass anyone to show his affection, so he loves that you’re so sweet towards him. Though, sometimes he wishes you were about the same height so you could actually share each other’s wardrobe. But hey, at least he gets to wear your extremely oversized shirts and hoodies, one of his favorite things to do. Another thing he also adores is just sitting in your lap when you’re home together and will also place your hands so that you’re holding him in your arms. If you’ve got really warm hands then he’ll place them atop his thighs to keep himself warm. Gaz isn’t the warmest person out there, but that just means you get to warm him up yourself. Is actually a lot cuddlier because you’re this tall and will become your personal blanket.

Ghost: He feels kind of perplexed about you being so much taller than him. Ghost is 1,95m, he towers over pretty much anyone, so how dare you be so much taller than him. Pretends to hate you being this tall, actually loves it. Sometimes he dreams of sparring with you under the moonlight to assert his dominance, even though there’s really no need to since you’re such a sweetheart towards him. He probably just needs to ask and would get anything from you. He really doesn’t mind you scaring pretty much everyone off, he has the same effect on people he doesn’t know. That just means there’s less people to worry about in his life for the time being. You’ll be spending a lot of time alone with each other that way, which he really likes. Though, maybe don’t scare his teammates too much, he genuinely likes them and wants them to be well too. Though, it’s kind of hard to properly scare them anyway. Ghost is usually a pretty quiet man when there’s no need for chit chat, but he doesn’t mind hearing your voice. In fact, he might get worried if you suddenly stop talking and will ask you what’s wrong. If you’ve got nothing to talk about then he’ll ask some questions so he can continue hearing your voice. He also blushes from time to time when you suddenly give him some sugary sweet compliments. He’s a grown, scary military man, he really shouldn’t be, but it’s just so endearing, especially when you, even bigger and scarier, call him your little honey bunny. It actually motivates him to do house chores. Not that he won’t do them anyway, but you calling him embarrassingly domestic names makes him just a tad bit soft, which leads to him trying to be a good husband. You may cuddle him since he trusts you, but he will also want to hold you from time to time. Life is a constant give and take, so prepare to be cuddled. Won’t particularly ask for cuddles, though, since he’s kind of too embarrassed to admit he’s touch starved. To you it’s blatantly obvious, though, which is why you initiate those cuddling sessions. Ghost appreciates it and sometimes hides a smile in either the pillow or your neck. As long as you don’t see him being silly, all is good.

Soap: He used to hate you being this tall. Soap may “only” be of average height, but he’s the tallest in his family, which he was actually pretty proud of. He towered over his father, even. And then he joined the military, where quite a few people were taller than him. And then you had the audacity to introduce yourself to him. You, the tallest man he’s ever met. It hurt his ego. Ever since you got together, though, he slowly got over it. You’re just such a sweetheart, how could he hate you over something as trivial as this? However, nothing could ever stop him from trying to pick you up and spinning you around. Soap is a pretty strong lad too, he’ll make it work somehow. You will feel tiny and cared for too. There’s a good chance he can’t reach your lips to kiss you. Yes, he could just ask you to bend down, but where’s the fun in that? Climbs you like a tree instead. He’s also always thinking of that one post where, instead of asking their boyfriend, the person should just punch him in the stomach. He won’t do it, but he remembers it every time without fail. He doesn’t mind you being scary either. Hell, Ghost is also a pretty scary guy to have around when you don’t know him and he’s one of Soap’s closest friends. Besides, he knows better anyway. You’re a total goof and the biggest sweetheart this world has ever seen. You being scary towards others just means that he’s got you all to himself all the time. Soap is a clingy guy, so you can expect him to cling to you like a koala from time to time. Actually, that was a lie, you should expect him to jump at you and hold onto you very often. Cuddles over safety. You’re likely also one of the only people on the planet willing to hear him out when he’s talking about his passions. And he could go on for hours every time. Explosives, weapons, whatever show you’re watching together, all is fair game. See, you’re one of the biggest sweethearts to him because you actually listen to him, despite him going into great detail about it all. You may not always be able to understand him when he’s talking chemistry again, but you hear him out anyway, and for that alone you’ve won his heart. He also sits on your lap while talking. You’re his little throne now that he takes immense pride in.

#cod #cod x reader #john price #john price x reader #price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #I doubt anyone cares but I HC Soap to be 1.78m and Gaz to be 1.81m I just forgot to mention it #m!reader #I know I'm biased but I feel as though I'm actually more willing to write about male readers than fem readers #90% of all things I see in this fandom are with a fem reader there's barely anything for male readers #still thinking back fondly on that one time I got a request for a ftm reader #but that was an eternity ago and I feel as though I'd write that request better now and with more content #I tried to write a lot for this because I was really looking forward to it #besides it was a pretty cute request too. I've actually got a request that's similiar to this one too #it's with Laswell and a reader that's roughly as tall as König #and then I've got something for Nikolai and Price as a couple #I'm gonna write some HCs for that alone and then write some more with added reader as a bonus #I know I never mentioned it anywhere but I do try to be a reader centric blog. but I can write charxchar as well #I just haven't done so since middle school I think #wait no I've written charxchar not too long ago for madcom and tf2. good times #not sure if I'll continue writing today though. I started a new anime and I'm enjoying it a lot so I might watch that instead

[s0fter-sin]

it takes far too long for soap to realise ghost won’t touch him anymore

he doesn’t avoid him, which he considers no small a miracle given how he usually treats his emotions, and he’s too busy being thankful to notice. thankful he didn’t run from him, thankful his simon has returned to him, no matter how changed he is from the man he knew. ghost doesn’t shy away from his touch so long as he knows it’s coming and he spends long nights just tracing the scars on his newly bared face; following half-remembered tracks and memorising new ones

but ghost never reaches back. he’ll press into his hands like a starved man, melt beneath the smallest of touches but he never initiates. and now, his regular touches have disappeared; no longer does he clap him on the back after a job well done, doesn’t cheekily nudge him after making a recruit shit themself just by giving them a look and soap hadn’t realised how much he’s come to rely on them until they stopped. how much he’s grown to care for ghost the way he used to care for simon

he can’t confront him about it; ghost’s fight or flight always firmly tuned to flight when it came to matters about himself. soap would’ve if it meant fight; if ghost would just put his hands on him again, he’d take his violence with the passion of a lover, wear the marks he left behind with grateful pride. but he remembers the look on ghost’s face when he’d ripped his balaclava off, when he’d stripped his barrier and his protection and spat, “i ruined you the moment i touched you!”

so soap waits. he waits for ghost to crawl into his bunk, to take off his mask and surrender himself to his touch; a touch that seems to burn as much as it freed. and instead of taking his face in his hands and worshiping it the way he has every other night ghost’s come to him, soap takes his gloved hand in his own

ghost flinches, the preemptive bliss fading from his eyes as reluctant fear takes its place. soap brings it up so it hovers between them and already feels him edge backwards. he doesn’t let it stop him and gently tugs his fingers free of the glove one at a time until his hand is bare to him; visibly shaking in the dark. soap brings it towards his face, holding firm when ghost tries to yank it back and presses into it; his breath hitching as he finally gets the touch he’s missed for years

“stop, john,” ghost whispers and it hurts to hear the pain in his voice; closer to begging for the soft touch to end than he’s ever been under torture

“no,” he refuses, pressing a kiss to the centre of his palm

his eyes shine in the dark, arm twitching as he fights himself; pulling back against his grip and leaning into him in turn. (how can he stand to put his mouth on him; can’t he taste it? the dirt and decay that lives under his skin? the maggots that swim in the slow beat of his blood; the rot he’s been trying so hard not to spread to him but he’s weak.) “you don’t know how broken i am. i’ll ruin you, john.”

soap kisses him again; thick, phantom blood coating his lips. “i’m not letting you slip through my fingers again,” he promises, swallowing it down. “i’ve missed you too much to be afraid of getting cut, simon.”

#surprise! its a continuation! #im a little less sure about this one but hey what can you do #also peep my ugly ass hyperlink bc idk how to do the nice fancy links and cant be assed googling it #honestly bless curiouscat bc ive been dropping these into random peoples inboxes on codtwt and its been going swimmingly #obviously the people that follow me follow me for mha so i dont expect them to care about cod #but this way it still gets to people who will enjoy it and that makes me happy #maybe ill make proper threads out of them one day #whos to say #coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt #talk to me ghost #soapghost #ghostsoap #09 soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap cod #ghost cod #cod mw2 #we’re a team. ghost team #save post

[wttcsms]

horribly short summary of what im trying to accomplish here, but if you were to read a fic featuring character, a soldier honorably discharged and is officially off the battlefield and yet he can’t seem to shake off the war from clinging to his body, and he’s basically a bit of a mess and feels incapable of returning to ordinary life and there’s you, the sweetest thing in the whole world, and he keeps trying to tell you he’s no good and you’re there to help him with everything (and it kills him a bit, to see you wasting your time to help him, and it kills him because he feels like he shouldn’t be the type of person who needs help) and !! just slowburn and falling in love and just read the tags for the vibe ok, who would it be for

#i was originally thinking ghost from cod since hello there’s so much source material to work with #and the fic would suit him nicely but also idk if i have cod readers left on my blog #so any characters are fine like an aot character would also prob fit the bill for this #but ive just been thinking abt everyone who’s analyzing hozier’s snippet #with how he takes his coffee black and his whiskey neat and how this girl is too sweet FOR HIM #as in… not being deserving of something so nice #and feeling that way but also showing how in the healing process - in the process of getting better - #we start to discover that we are allowed to enjoy and indulge in nice things. that we also deserve to live a life full of sweetness #and it’s a bit serious since it will touch on ptsd; on survivors guilt #and the fic is long - spanning from getting together to him having kids w u #& how even after all this time sometimes the war is still fresh as ever on his mind #and just !!! it’s a lot #also that Taylor line that’s like ‘is it really your anxiety that keeps you from giving me everything? #‘or do you just not want to’ + ‘you wouldn’t be the first renegade to need somebody’

[decojellyfish]

Baby Got The Flu :(

This a just a little drabble, but I am currently working on other fics as well!

I hope you enjoy this, if you have any constructive criticism, feel free to comment! And if you have any requests, feel free to submit them!

------

Gaz x Sick! Reader Warnings: Brief mention of vomiting near the beginning (but that's it) SFW ~ Fluff! Pure comfort fluff!

───♡───────────── Beginning When you come down with a pretty bad cold, you are suffering. And Gaz hates seeing you like this. His lover was in pain, whimpering, too hot and then too cold, joints aching. It tears him apart seeing you like this.

He makes sure that you have all the stuff you need, want, and desire. Water, a hot beverage (tea, cocoa, hot lemon water, you name it, he’s already making it), a stuffed animal if you sleep with one, and all the pillows and blankets you could ask for. If you have long hair, he will tie it back to make sure it doesn’t cause you to overheat. If you end up throwing up for whatever reason, he will be right by your side. A bucket in hand if you couldn’t make it out of bed, a towel ready to clean up your mouth and chin once you’re finished, and a loving hand rubbing your back as he gently soothes you with his soft words.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just a little flu, that’s all. I know it’s not fun, but it’s only temporary, love. You’ll get through it, I know you can…”

Will have throat lozenges right on the nightstand (in your favorite flavor, of course), next to a bottle of Tylenol and cough syrup. When you need a little spoonful of the syrup, he will have water right by him once you’ve finished swallowing the medicine. He knows how much you hate the stuff. Once you get the medicine down, he’s already got the cup of water ready at your lips so you can get the bitter, soapy flavor out of your mouth.

He’s also 100% willing to feed you while you’re sick. He’ll put on a show or a movie you like and he’ll just spoon-feed you whatever desired soup you asked him to pick up. You’d be tucked in, nice and safe, sitting up on a pile of pillows he had set up beforehand. He would also have a separate towel ready in case he accidentally spills a bit on your chin. When he sees that you’ve fallen asleep after finishing up the soup, he’ll close the curtains to the windows in your bedroom, turn down the volume on the T.V., and make sure that you’re as comfortable as possible before going into the kitchen and making dinner for you both.

This man would do anything in his power to heal you as fast as possible. If just looking at you causes him this much pain, he can only imagine how much it hurts you to have to deal with this sickness. ;0; ───♡───────────── End

#gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #cod x reader #gaz cod #gaz garrick #fluff fic #sickfic #dont worry babygirl #even though reader is gn #i will still call reader babygirl #please enjoy #:3 #:) #thank you guys for liking my pervious fic btw #means a lot to me #<3

[reveluving]

boom boom boom boom

(I want you in my room)

blame this hc

#this week's been crazy yall #wanted to get this out asap while it still lives in my mind rent free #but my head kinda empty <3 #but at least you know what's coming! #commander graves #commander graves x reader #graves x reader #phillip graves #jeff sadecki #jeff sadecki x reader #cod mw2 #yellowjackets #warren kole #its more hc-ish but i hope yall will sti enjoy it #kay bye i wanna sleep #make it double series

[keys-hellscape-1020]

Cod Boys as Animals

A/N: I thought this would be a fun writing exercise and I’m a monster fucker so bonus points. I’m very willing to write more on this idea.

Contents: Canon typical violence, talk of torture but not shown, talk of stalking very lightly shown, talk of murder very lightly shown

————

Ghost- Black Panther

Known for their ability to stay hidden from view and blend in with the shadows, Ghost fits in with these black beauties perfectly. Panthers do not chase their prey. Instead they choose to stalk them slowly. When their prey looks back at them they stop moving, blending in with the shadows. You will not know that Ghost is stalking you until his jaws are around your throat and your blood is staining his teeth.

Sometimes he draws the hunt out, teases you with his presence. A clawed hand curled around a doorframe in the dark of night that disappears when you blink. A silhouette out your window when you’re trying to sleep. Ghost lives off the sweet smell of your fear and he will milk as much of it from you as he can get. And when the fear runs dry? You’ve served your purpose, and the hunt is over.

Soap- Spotted Hyena

Spotted Hyenas are pack hunters and Soap is only one man, yet that does not make him any less deadly. A persistence hunter, he is not afraid to drive headfirst into a herd of his enemies, explosives and gunshots going off to force them to scatter. Once they’ve scattered his choice of prey will not be able to escape, he will follow them through thick and thin, desert and sea. He will keep hunting them, making his presence known, he will not let them rest. Once he finally catches his prey, it’s a blood bath, with little left to identify the body after.

An extremely smart individual, Soap will find and exploit all your flaws. Your pride, envy, everything and anything will be used to draw you into a weak position. Soap knows everything that’s wrong with you, and he plans on making it so much worse. Don’t worry however, he’ll make everything all better. Before he leaves you alone once and for all.

Gaz- Peregrine Falcon

The Peregrine Falcon has many strategies it employs to achieve it’s hunts. It’s preferred techniques however are rapid dives, fast-paced pursuits, and other impressive maneuvers. While Gaz does tend to prefer quick, practical hunts, he can’t deny that when he knows he’s good at something he’s just needs to show it off a little bit. He won’t drag anything on nearly as long as Ghost or Soap, but he can’t help playing with his food on occasion.

When he’s not sniping his enemies from afar in one clean shot, he can be found in close quarters with his enemy. He’ll be right on top of them, twirling around and around while he watches them be oh so clueless to his true intentions. He doesn’t have the sadism of Ghost of the bloodthirstiness of Soap, he simply wants to see the shock in their eyes as the person who was wining and dining them all night sinks a knife into their chest. He has the pretty face and the charisma to pull such stunts off, so why not put them to good use on occasion?

Price- Nile Crocodile

A large, fearsome beast, that simply waits for it’s prey to come to it. It does not bother with the hunt, it has no need to. Patience will be rewarded. That is also Price’s motto. He can’t get the enemy today? He will in a month or two. Everything is a matter of time, and Price has plenty to spare. He has dedicated his entire life to hunting down those who deserve it, no need to try and rush when he has years ahead of him.

Best hope this man does not set his eyes on you. You can struggle, thrash, bite, claw, whatever you like really. He’ll let you go without a fight because he knows that in the end you will always come desperately crawling back to him, try as you might to avoid it.

König- Komodo Dragon

A fierce predator with absolutely no sense of calm, Komodo Dragons are capable of killing prey twice their size. They are the largest living lizard on earth, and while they mainly hunt by ambush they are also excellent swimmers and fast runners, leaving no chance of escape for their unfortunate victims. König is similar in that he is larger than almost anyone he meets on the battle field, and he has the strength and speed to show for it.

Truly he is comparable to a force of nature, as even though he does not share the Komodo’s poison bite, the wounds he inflicts on his prey are certain to kill them sooner rather than later. Although it is certainly preferable to die quickly, as living with the wounds you are certain to sustain from this man would be a fate you would not wish on your worse enemy.

Alejandro- Grey Wolf

Grey Wolves are a pack animal, they work together to bring down animals much bigger than themselves. Alejandro is nothing without his pack, he needs them like he needs water. He would not be what he is without them, but they would not be what they are without him either, without their leader. Alejandro however is not an “alpha”, he listens to his team, coordinates them, makes them the dangerous force they are. Make no mistake however, Alejandro is still vicious by himself. He can and will kill and maul and eviscerate anyone who gets in his way without a second thought. He does not make the smartest choices when it is only himself at stake, but he will always make the best possible choices for his team. They are his everything.

You best hope you’re not in his sights, the best case scenario for you would be the entirety of Los Vaqueros coming for you instead of just Alejandro. If a Vaquero finds you the outcome will likely be kinder, a simple shot to the head or other vital organ. If Alejandro finds you and none of his men are at stake, you will be begging for the pits of hell.

Rudy- Black Mamba

Black Mamba’s only use their most lethal weapon, their venom, out of necessity. This tends to be when they are hunting, as they are very shy creatures and they try to stay away from conflict as much as necessary. While this is not necessarily true for Rudy, he dives headfirst into danger when needed, he is not a hunter. He does not stalk, torture, or anything of the like as often as most of the other boys. However this does not mean that he doesn’t do it.

Rudy is a force of nature, one that only comes out when the people he cares for are at risk. He prefers to only do what is necessary, not to go overboard. However when the people he cares about are in danger, torturing someone until they cannot even remember their own name is absolutely necessary. One that he will do with pleasure. No sin is to heavy for Rudy when his loved ones are on the line.

#key writing #this was so fun #it kinda transformed from what I originally intended but eh whatever #I still enjoyed it #modern warfare x reader #call of duty modern warfare #mw2 x reader #mwii #mwii ghost #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #könig x reader #rudy x reader #alejandro x reader #cod x reader

[random-lil-illing]

save me mitchell... mitchell save me...

time-lapse under the cut :]

#my art #art #digital art #finished art #fanart #cod #cod fanart #cod aw #cod advanced warfare #advanced warfare #call of duty fanart #call of duty #jack mitchell #jack mitchell fanart #cod mitchell #cod mitchell fanart #jack mitchell cod #i swear i have an obsession with a new cod character every week... #first keegan... then hesh... then roach... then kick... now mitchell.. not complaining obviously but still #also i started playing advanced warfare recently :3 my current fav characters are ilona and mitchell #live laugh love scary women and socially awkward “men” (men is said in air quotes bc mitchell is transmasc non-binary to me) #(it's actually canon they told me so themself) #anyway #enjoy the burnt food #<3 #can't decide if i want them /plat or if i want to BE them

[toshidou]

woe to the deer who is courted by the wolf . . .

pairing // könig x f!reader

word count // 7.2k

tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader, vampire!könig, predator/prey kink, mentions of blood and injury, minor elements of horror (very minor), slightly misunderstood lonely vampire könig, unprotected sex, stomach bulge, rough sex, creampie, biting, blood sucking, blood play

an // after battling with writers block for over a month, who would have thought it'd take a blood sucking giant to free me from the shackles of having no inspiration? anyway this is the most i've ever written in one day, which is only slightly concerning. bone apple teeth!

thank you to @erosology for beta reading this, and forever being my number one hype man ;-;

Pale moonlight peaks through a frame of eerily still clouds, reflecting off the polished black steel planted in the ground at your feet. You can hear the whispers of your friends behind you, a little too old to be snickering and giggling behind the palms of their hands, although you’re entirely too old to have taken their bet in the first place. 

It started off as a simple reunion between old friends, a short trek into once familiar woods to the spot you used to set up base for the night, roasting marshmallows over a concerningly large campfire, sharing cliche horror stories whilst swaddled in blankets. This very night had gone about the same, until someone brought up the old manor. An imposing house that watches over the village that surrounds it, well kept and suspiciously pristine, withstanding the tests of time despite the fact that not a single soul has ever been seen to enter or leave the premises. 

It had been a longstanding dare, an easy way to get someone to down their drink, ‘I dare you to jump the fence and knock on the door’. No one has ever been stupid enough to go through with it, a couple tried, but got as far as the black iron that surrounds the perimeter before they gave up. And yet, here you stand, too many years later, an individual who should be both older and wiser than to commit several crimes for the sake of a stupid bet and childish curiosity, staring at that very same railing. 

You can hardly hear the whispered words of your friends from where they cower behind you, your eyes transfixed on the looming building that seemingly stares back at you from where you remain fixed at the bottom of the hill. Mahogany brick unblemished, barely touched by weather, towers three stories high, trimmed ivy crawling up the walls as though attempting to reach out to the moon that watches over it. Each window is blocked by scarlet wooden shutters, an old-fashioned touch for a house surrounded by new builds; looking at it now feels like taking several steps back in time. 

Not a single spec of light leaks through any crack in the shutters, each room bathed in darkness, the same way it always has. Surely, you think to yourself, surely no one can possibly be in there. Your theory has always been that the house is long since abandoned, its previous owner having died, looked after by a previously employed caretaker who hated to watch a building they loved go into disrepair. And although that doesn’t explain the suspicious lack of activity, it’s the only sane thought that you repeat to yourself as your fingers curl around sturdy black bars, and you begin to haul yourself over the iron fence. 

A moment later, and the dull thud of your feet hitting neatly trimmed grass breaks tense silence, your eyes meeting with several widened pairs through steel bars. It’s the furthest anyone’s gotten, and even now, you feel like you’ve gone far enough. It’s certainly not too late to change your mind, to do the sensible thing and throw yourself back into safety, and just as you’re contemplating backing out of the bet, you feel the hairs on your nape stand on end, a chill down your spine so sharp it causes a physical flinch. When you turn around, you’re met with the very same house, not a shutter or brick out of place, yet something, somehow, feels different. 

It’s like a siren call, luring you from the safety of your friends that remain frozen on the other side, hardly breathing as though they daren’t make a sound, apprehensive eyes focused on your shadowed form as you slowly make your way up the hill. It’s more daunting up close, no longer a silhouette against a twilight sky, now you can see details the distance has never gifted you, the way the wood shutters that plaster the windows are carved with swirls and intricate patterns, how the ivy hides bloomed flowers amongst pointed leaves, speckles of pink and purple that ease the tension that coils your muscles, only bolstering timid curiosity. And now you’re standing within feet of the house, you’re left in awe by the sheer size of it. It never seemed particularly small, not even from the gate, but the front door alone has you gulping down nothing but frigid air. You take a few tentative steps, eyes raking over the magnificent details carved into thick black oak, the centrepiece that catches your gaze being the solid gold knocker that sits just above your head, halfway up the door. 

Two hollow eyes stare back at you, a skull with two rams horns that curl from golden bone, and between its bared teeth lies a ring that rests against ebony wood. It stands out from every other detail of the house, a spine-tingling reminder of where you stand, echoes of the myths that surround this house whispered by your trembling conscience, and yet shaking fingers reach for the ring, curling around cooled metal before lifting it, preparing to knock. 

But you never get the chance, because in true horror movie fashion, you’re met with the slow creak of old hinges as the very door you stand before begins to open, and in the void of black it reveals, you swear you see two pinpricks of red that greet you in the darkness. Your entire body goes stiff, still clinging on to the gold loop of the knocker as though it’ll somehow ground you, yet it does nothing to chase away the overwhelming sense of impending doom that screams at you to turn, to run, to get as far away from this wretched place as your legs can take you.

You turn just in time to hear the worried calls of your friends before the door is yanked wide open, dragging you over the edge of the premises with it and sending you careening onto the floor, sliding against wood and scrambling up only to watch that very same door slam in your face. 

Frozen. Every single part of you remains stock still as you try to adjust to the darkness. Not even the moonlight dares follow you inside, leaving you alone to dart your eyes in the pitch black, searching for some semblance of light you can latch onto. Yet the house offers you nothing, and you can’t help but see red dots every time you dare close your eyes. In the moment of still you’ve been given, your brain reels as it tries to think of a logical explanation for the door seemingly dragging you into the house with no human in sight to operate it, and in your panic, you can’t help but pray that you’ve fallen asleep by the campfire, and this is all an elaborate nightmare you’ll be able to laugh about when you awake.

A creak from behind you sends you hurtling back into reality, a sure reminder that this is no nightmare, not one you can wake up from, at least. Your head whips to the side, terror freezing your muscles solid as you lock onto crimson orbs once again, so bright they can be seen even with the absence of light to reflect off them, your blood curdling in your veins as they remain fixed on you, unblinking. You scurry backwards, the sound of your back slamming against the solid wall behind you echoing through the dark, fingers curling against peeling wallpaper in a last-ditch attempt to find the door handle. 

Your pathetic scrabbling is interrupted by the harsh sound of a match striking against rough material, your eyes drawn to the responding flame it produces, but moreso, the large fingers that dwarf the stick they clutch. 

“What a curious thing you are.”

Each syllable rumbles through very walls, practically shakes the structure of the house, a low timber steeped with an accent you can’t quite place, but certainly isn’t local. You daren’t breathe, let alone move, not even when the ground creaks and shakes with every purposeful, creeping step the stranger takes towards you. The flame grows as the match is brought to a wick, the flame whittling away the wood until all that remains is twisted charcoal, before transferring to the candle, the dying fire roaring back to life, casting a flickering golden glow onto the one holding it. 

You’re met once again with red, but now you can see bleached tear tracks running from shoddy holes cut into black cloth, a mask fit for the monster that wears it, and as they stalk ever closer, you belatedly wonder how they’re going to navigate the stairs that must separate the two of you, certain that even someone familiar with a house must need more light in order to not fall. But they never begin their descent, and it’s only when the flame lies mere feet from you, yet so far out of your reach, you realise there are no steps. You’re face to face with a giant. 

Adrenaline douses you like a torrent of water, your widened eyes alert and stricken with obvious fear, yet you didn’t expect the gentle touch that encircles your wrist, lungs sucking in a stuttered breath as you stare into the hollow red of its eyes. Large fingers draw your arm upwards, moving your frozen limb with ease, until it’s stretched far above your head, your fingers bumping against the smooth wax of the candle the giant passes off to you. Your brain scrambles for words, screams against the shackles of your fear-addled mind, waiting to release a slew of incoherent pleas for your freedom, yet your lips remain firmly sealed.

You feel a weight in your trouser pocket, eyes darting down to see his fingers pushing a box of matches into the gap of the material, only for your gaze to snap back to him as he hunches down, the material of his mask flowing down as his torso towers over you. You’re left caged against the wall, nowhere to run as his face levels next to your ear. It’s silent for a few horrific seconds, until that same spine-chilling voice purrs one single word. 

“Run.” 

It’s as though all your body needed was the instruction, responding immediately as you tear away from him, feet slapping against hardwood flooring as you careen towards what vaguely resembles an entrance way. The flame flickers dangerously, threatening to leave you in the dark once again, your fingers curling around the candle, whispering prayers that it doesn’t snuff out, that it doesn't leave you alone with whatever stalks you in the pitch black. 

You don’t stop running until you reach a hallway, sprinting down the claustrophobic corridor until you finally reach an open door, rushing inside and pushing hefty wood until it clicks in place, sealing you within, safe for now. You hold up the candle to illuminate more of the room, watching as the soft glow bounces off a glinting gold frame and painstaking strokes of oil paint. An obscenely large portrait hangs on the wall in front of you, the image of a handsome man draped in fine purple robes, shoulder length brown hair pushed back with a crown of golden leaves. He sits in a chair, grand and crimson, lined with bronze, legs spread over the expensive velvet, one large hand curled over his thigh, the other propping his head up, his elbow resting against the arm of the chair in a way that can only be described as unbothered, and unamused. But the thing that has you utterly transfixed are the two red irises that stare right back at you, playful and taunting, and hauntingly familiar. 

Surely this isn’t the man under the hood, the one who dragged you into his house and watched you scramble out of his grip the second he told you to flee. Because why would a man so handsome hide his face? Why would someone who looks so young own a house that has stood at the centre of your small village for far longer than you’ve been alive? Nothing seems to make sense, not a single aspect of the past 10 minutes feels real, and you can only hope your friends saw what happened and ran to get help, because you’re not sure there’s a way for you to conquer this man alone. It’s as you’re floundering for answers that you hear a noise from outside the room, instincts taking over as you quickly hide under a small dining table and blow out the candle, praying you haven’t given yourself away. 

You’re not entirely stupid, you know the meaning of red eyes, and although you could attempt to soothe your psyche with whispered lies about contact lenses and make believe, you know better. The thing that chases you is no man, and certainly isn’t human, at least not anymore. And as terrified as you are, there isn’t a chance in hell you’re about to let yourself become this monster’s dinner. 

You sit in the darkness, clutching the smouldering candle to your chest, and wait. Ears alert as you listen for the slightest sound that might give away your hunter, a breath, a sigh, a scratch, you do little more than hope that your hiding spot remains occupied by you, and you alone. 

After a tense few minutes, picking up on no other sounds than the thrumming of your own heart, your fingers slowly make their way to your pocket, gingerly plucking the box out and pushing the case off. Despite the lack of light, and the trembling that consumes your body, you manage to fish out a match, and strike it, holding the newly lit flame to the wick of the candle. 

Bleached tears. Red eyes. Large fingers. Looming body.

“Boo.” 

The scream rips from your throat before your brain can catch up, the candle abandoned as it’s flung towards him in a last ditch attempt to throw him off, knees and hands protesting as they’re dragged along grooved wood, leaving grazes in their wake. The momentary pain isn’t enough to stop you, however, lungs heaving as you tear out of the room, clumsily bumping into walls and ornaments, impeded by the dark, motivated by sheer determination to live. 

Your decision to toss away the candle comes to bite you firmly in the ass the second you find yourself tumbling down a set of stairs, and in a move of sheer instinct your hands attempt to slow your fall, only for the skin of your palm to get caught on a loose nail, slicing the flesh and leaving you wailing as your body finally slows to a stop against the cold stone floor you now find yourself lying on. Every bone in your body hurts, aches, but is overshadowed by the sharp sear of white hot pain as you cradle your torn skin to your chest, warm rivulets of blood oozing down your wrist, tracking rivers of red down your forearm until you hear the steady drip, drip, drip of your blood hitting stone.

A light appears above you, a halo of pastel yellow emanating around black cloth, and within a second, the fight leaves you, slumping further into the floor as you accept your death, hoping none of your friends were stupid enough to follow you only to meet the same pitiful fate. 

“Please,” You mumble, voice finally found, entirely too late, “Just make it quick.” You hear little other than a hushed chuckle in response, a cat toying with its food. 

“I imagine it looks worse than it is, kleine maus.” 

You pause at that, curiosity ebbing through once more. You may not have paid enough attention to languages at school, but even in your state, you know enough to recognise those words.

“You’re German?” You mumble, fear forgotten in your shock-ridden state. The man shakes his head as he crouches next to you, extending his free hand towards the injured one you have secured to your torso, tittering again as you flinch. But you have little other choice than to let him pry your hand away, watching with wary eyes as he examines your sliced skin. He holds the candle closer to the wound, a soft tut passing his lips before he holds the candle towards you, urging you to take it with a gentle nod. 

“Austrian. But close.”

It all feels strange, foreign, as though you’re being lulled into a false sense of security just so he can tell you to run once again, laughing maniacally as he watches you bleed over his floor. The fear returns once you have the candle securely in your grip, eyes locked on the way his fingers curl around the material that hides his face, and begin to remove it. Inches of once cloaked skin is revealed, a defined chin melts away to pursed lips, a smattering of dark facial hair that frames his mouth and curls up his jaw, the material pulled further only to reveal a hooked nose, and two narrowed eyes that reflect the candlelight in a way not dissimilar to precious gems, rich and vibrant. Maybe it’s the shock, or limited blood loss, but you can’t help but marvel at just how pretty he is.

Of course, it doesn’t last much longer, not when survival instincts kick in, the realisation that your bloodied hand is now near the mouth of a creature that lives entirely off the thing that keeps you alive. But the grip on your wrist is ironclad, strong yet not uncomfortably so, a strange juxtaposition between monster and man as he cocks his head at your wound. With a nod, seemingly more to himself than you, you can do little more than cry out as you’re hauled over his shoulder, his arm secured tightly around your waist, the hood forgotten in a small puddle of your blood on the stone flags. 

It’s mere minutes later that he places you down on soft sheets, your body sinking into a plush mattress, left to watch him as he ambles around the egregiously large room, muttering foreign words under his breath as he roots through an ornate chest of draws. You must be in a fever dream, unsure how you went from running for your life, to being patched up by the very thing you were certain would kill you. And yet, here you are, watching as he almost awkwardly sidles to your seated figure, and kneels in front of you, once predatory eyes unable to hold your gaze as he sets out various medical items by your feet. 

“Your hand, may I see it?”

You present your palm to him, watching as his eyebrows knit together, giant hands placing tentative touches against your skin as though he’s concerned about hurting you, the thought of which does nothing to aid your spiralling confusion. But you say nothing, you simply watch as he takes a damp cloth and begins cleaning your cut, fixated on the way his eyes snap to you with every pained hiss and suppressed whine, picking up on the way he ensures each subsequent touch is a tad gentler than the last. It’s not too much longer until he’s wrapping your hand with bandages, making sure the gauze is tight enough to keep your blood in, but not enough to cut off circulation, the type of gentle care you never would have suspected from the giant at your feet. Your curiosity has increased tenfold, not a trace of fear left to lick at your nerves and render you speechless, replaced only by the overwhelming need to know more, to learn everything. 

“What’s your name?” 

It’s his turn to freeze, ruby irises briefly flitting to yours, rounded with surprise, before they snap back down, making himself busy as he gathers up a scattered array of bloodied cloth. 

“I… I have had many. The one most people knew me by was König.” It’s strange, the croon of his voice sounds almost nothing like the one whispered to you in the dark, from low and horrifying, to gentle, almost timid. You’re nothing short of fascinated, leaning forward as you scan over the contours of his face. 

“Why’d you drag me into your house and tell me to run?” 

“Why were you trying to knock on my door?”

Touché. 

Heat licks at the skin of your cheeks at his brazen reminder of your attempted trespassing, your uninjured hand coming to rub at your neck in lieu of a response. After a moment of silence, he sighs, deflating into the plush carpet below. 

“It has been a while since I last had any visitors. Your arrival was… Unexpected. You caught me off guard,” He pauses for a moment, pupils dilating as his fingers curl around the rags he holds in his hand, covered in your blood, “It has been even longer since I have been around fresh blood.” It feels surreal to have it confirmed, that the creature that sits before you is one you’ve seen only in movies and read in far-fetched romance novels. Yet, you feel no fear, that emotion all but vanished the second he halted everything just to care for an intruder's wound.

“My friends dared me to knock.” He cocks his head at that, a single eyebrow arching, bemused at your admission. “It’s been a dare for years, no one ever actually had the guts to do it.” 

“Until you.”

A pause, your head dipping forward in an unsure nod.

“Until me.” 

He’s staring at you unabashedly now, your eyes wandering over the rich details of the bedroom you reside in as an excuse to save yourself from his piercing gaze, an unreadable expression swimming in carmine eyes. 

“I am glad it was you.” 

You hate the embers of arousal that spark at his words, perturbed by your body’s reaction to seemingly innocent words spoken from a man you were sprinting away from less than an hour ago, and yet his eyes do nothing to put out the fire, intense and smouldering. You can’t bring yourself to look away, nor to quash the way your heart flutters as his torso leans closer to your thighs that subconsciously part to make room for him. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, nostrils flaring as sharp eyes zero in on the way your legs spread against silk sheets. 

“And why is that, König?” 

It’s as though you uttering his name opens the floodgates, black engulfing vermillion until only a sliver remains, thick fingers circling your shins as he leers further into the gap your parted thighs created, that same ravening stare that once sent fear trickling down your spine now leaves you gasping for breath for an entirely different reason. 

“Because I haven’t seen something as pretty as you for a very long time, and I don’t know if I have the strength to stop myself again, maus.” 

You couldn’t prevent the whispered whine of his name if you had tried, eyelashes fluttering as you move to curl your fingers in his shirt, giving pathetic little tugs to the soft material of his silk shirt, eyes dipping down to where loose material tucks into black pants. Your back arches, a shameless display of desire as you slide your body closer towards the edge of the bed, and further into his touch.

“Who said anything about stopping?”

Your words remain suspended in the air around you, two sets eyes locked onto each other, blown black with barely-suppressed lust, and yet you don’t dare to make the first move, waiting, wanting for him to shed his timid skin and swallow you whole, become the beast that stalked you through rooms just to feel the thrill of the chase. His hands leave your legs, instead balling up into tight fists against his own thighs, the skin around his knuckles taut as though restraining himself. For a mere moment, you fear he may have changed his mind, that is until he utters the word you craved to hear.

“Run.” 

You ignore the lingering ache in your joints, your thighs burning as you dash from the bedroom with renewed purpose, fuelled by the all-consuming thoughts of what’s to come, excited to finally be caught, a far cry from the unbridled terror that sent you scrambling before. This time, he makes no effort to prowl in the shadows, your heart beat soaring as the loud thuds of footsteps echo from behind, the floorboards quaking under your feet from the force of his steps. 

You know there isn’t a chance he’s running at full speed, but even then he catches you almost embarrassingly quickly, built arms encircling your waist and crushing you against his torso, bringing you to the floor in an instant, leaving you to writhe helplessly between his body and the floorboards. You don’t give in, however, limbs thrashing, nails clawing against whatever they can reach, whether it be the arms that pin you down, or the wood underneath you, feigning an attempt to escape. 

That is until you feel two sharp points dig into your nape, not enough to break skin, but the threat of it leaves you frozen under him, a doe caught in the wolf’s jaws. But you don’t fear the bite like wild prey would, somehow, you crave it, to feel his teeth sink into you, to let him lap at your blood and drain you near dry, anything just to feel like you’re his. 

The pressure of sharpened canines begins to lessen, his teeth slowly peeling back from your skin, although anticipating your body to begin thrashing once again. But you remain subdued, the embers now engulfed by crackling flames that lick at your nerves and set your skin alight. It’s only when his hips shift do you feel the tent in his pants pushing against the top of your thighs, your eyes fluttering shut as you push your ass down to grind shamelessly against his cock. 

“Temptress,” The word is almost incomprehensible through the growl that reverberates through his throat, a sound that gives away entirely how affected he is, rough and wanting. “You should be trembling beneath me from fear and yet…” 

His words trail off, a stuttered gasp replaces your heavy breathing when you feel sizeable fingers trailing down your sides before sliding under your body, cupping your inner thigh. Your heart hammers against your ribcage from the chase, now bolstered by the scandalous touch as his fingers skim past your clothed core, only catching onto the way his fingers curl into the material until it’s too late, hardly leaving you enough time to yelp before he’s tearing you bare below him. The tattered remains of your pants are haphazardly discarded, joined soon by the threadbare silk of your ripped panties, one of your favourite pairs torn in half with hardly an ounce of effort. 

“Yet here you are, schätzchen, quivering with need, dripping for the cock of the one that hunts you.” 

The rough pad of calloused fingers swipes against your exposed cunt, unable to suppress the heady whine that leaks past your agape lips, your forehead meeting the hardwood floor with a soft thump. That single touch renders you limp, muscles going lax as you melt into the glide of his fingers as they tease your folds, slowing on every up-stroke to rub slow circles against your clit. It’s maddening, the pace in which he picks you apart, leaving you to grind on his fingers like a wanton whore just to feel the surmounting pleasure that builds in response to his touch. A tut sounds from above, heavy breath cascading over your nape as his head dips down, lips dragging from neck to the shell of your ear.

“What a desperate little thing you are, maus, you know what we call things like you in my native tongue?” Your head shakes, a breathy ‘no’ muffled into the floor, “Schwanzschlampe, cock slut.” Embarrassment mixes in equal measure with arousal, curling one of your arms under your head to hide your face, the action short lived as strong arms flip you onto your back, one large hand gathering both your wrists together and pinning them above your head, exposed before him in every way. It’s undeniably more intimate in this position, your eyes given little other option than to lock onto his as his other hand continues to tease your dripping cunt, carmine swimming with unrestrained desire pinning you to the floor as effectively as his near crushing grip on your wrists.

“You can’t hide your pretty face from me, liebling, I want to see how much you crave my touch.” He presses his forehead to yours, low candlelight from lamps that line the corridor walls glint off the two long fangs that peak past reddened lips with every word spoken. And it’s seemingly your turn to catch him off guard, your head tilting upwards to push your lips to his, swallowing his surprised gasp down greedily, arching your chest to push against his. The kiss is desperate, messy, a combination of saliva drips down your chin, moans and rumbled grunts creating a symphony that drifts down the winding halls of his home. With a nudge, you ensure his eyes are locked to yours as you part your lips, your tongue curling over his teeth before brushing over the point of his elongated canine. 

With a push, you feel the sting as his fang just barely dips into soft flesh, a drop of blood beading at the surface before you push the muscle to his, locked onto the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull, the growl momentarily starting up again before his lips lock around your tongue, sucking at every morsel of blood that springs from the pinprick cut like a man starved. A man that has most likely been starved of blood directly from the source for more years that you’ve been alive. 

If you thought that you’d unlocked the beast within him before, the taste of your blood brings out an entirely new side. His lips part from yours, the crimson in his frenzied eyes transforming before you, as though enriched from just a taste of warm iron. You watch as his pupils dilate and constrict, each push and pull between black and red prove hypnotic as his eyes slowly begin to refocus, the colour to his irises seem dull in comparison to the bright vermillion flecked with gold that peers down at you, still wild with hunger, driven by need. 

The moment is broken mere seconds later when his head drops to your neck, sharpened teeth dragging along the throbbing pulse at the base of your throat, and just when you expect the bite, you’re left gasping for an entirely unrelated reason as your shirt comes apart against sharp enamel, shredded where it surrounds your naked torso, leaving you entirely bare. Yet all it takes is a singular glance to realise he remains fully dressed, not a single article shed. 

“König,” Your voice comes out strained, practically whining as though prepared to beg, “Let me undress you?” 

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking up to you from under his lashes before the grip on your arms lessens, his legs folding under him as he rights himself into a kneeling position over your body. He suddenly seems unsure, maybe a little self-conscious as you lean up brushing your fingers over flowing pristine white silk, taking your time as you unfasten each button, never once letting your eyes stray from his. And despite the hint of bashfulness, he keeps his gaze pinned to you, a wary lion caught off guard by brave prey. 

After the last button falls undone, you let the tips of your fingers trace up revealed skin, before pushing the shirt from his shoulders, and watching as it billows onto the floor, exposing a defined chest highlighted by a smattering of scars that tell stories you could only dream of hearing. He’s nothing short of ethereal, otherworldly in every sense of the word, a behemoth of a beast, with the face of an angel. 

“You cover up a lot for a man as handsome as you are.” Your disguised question prompts a flinch, solid fingers clutching into fists at his side, but before you can rush to amend your words, he slumps, resigned to your curiosity. 

“I have garnered a reputation I do not wish to catch up to me. It is safer to keep myself hidden, maus.” You make a mental note if you somehow find yourself in his company after this night to ask him more, a carnal need to know everything that makes up the being knelt above you. But you tuck them away for now, refocusing your attention to the waistband of his trousers, deft fingers wasting little time undoing the silver clasp and dragging down the zip until the front peels open. 

“Good thing you don’t have to keep hidden in front of me, huh?” Your lips tug upwards into a playful smirk, your hands planting on the solid muscle of his chest before you’re pushing him backwards, letting his legs splay out either side of your now free body before easing both his pants and underwear down the corded muscle of his thigh, marvelling at each inch of skin revealed to ravenous eyes. His trousers join the crumpled mess of clothes that lay scattered across the floor, giving him no time to adjust to his new found nudity before your head is ducking down, tongue flitting out to lick a long strip from the base of his cock to the tip. 

Your enthusiasm is immediately rewarded with a faltered whine, watching from under your lashes as his head lolls backwards, trembling fingers coming to cup either side of your face. He’s big, his cock twitching against the defined muscle of his abdomen, thick and long, and nothing short of daunting. Yet you choose to focus on the way your pussy clenches around air at the mere sight of it, overwhelmed by the knowledge that you’ll understand what it is to be split open by him, to be fucked by him. Your tongue darts out once more to press against the tip, the small cut on the surface only just healed over, your spine shuddering at the dulled sting that follows as you begin to take the head of his cock between your lips, mouth stretched almost painfully around the girth. 

It does nothing to dissuade you, however, tears clouding your vision of his blissed out expression as you swallow him down deeper, hardly taking more than two inches before your throat spasms around him in protest, coaxing a throaty whimper from spit-shined lips that has your hand darting down to your clit, fingers rubbing desperate circles into soaked flesh. 

The following whine that reverberates around his cock swiftly gives you away, crimson eyes focusing in on the way your hand disappears between your thighs, before flitting back to the way your watering eyes remain locked to his, hissing out several curses in German at the sight of your lips wrapped around his straining cock. 

“Your mouth… Gott, your fucking mouth,” strong fingers guide your head off his cock, your lips separating from the tip with a lewd pop, strings of saliva and pre-cum connecting your lolled out tongue to his cock. “Need to fuck you, schätzchen, I can’t wait any longer, verdammte hölle—” 

You’re not given any warning before he’s pinning your back to the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest and bending you in half, a feat you didn’t know you were capable of before his strong fingers moulded you into the perfect position to take his cock. Folded like this, you can’t help but feel like a doll in his hands, your height and weight rendered meaningless under the sheer size of the monster above you. Trepidation begins to simmer under the surface of your skin, trying to imagine just how your body could ever make room for him. 

But he doesn’t leave you much time to fret before his head falls to your thighs, thick fingers twitching from where they hold up your legs as his nose buries into your pubic bone. Long strands of brunette block your vision, startling as you register the feeling of something thick and wet pressing against your folds. 

“K-König!” Your cry prompts a responding groan from the man below you as his tongue licks firm stripes up the length of your cunt, glassy eyes drifting up to you as though intoxicated, drunk of the heady taste of your arousal. With a jolt, you’re left helpless to watch as one of his hands slides down your thigh, stuttering through another gasped moan of his name as you feel a single thick digit slide into the wet heat of your pussy, eyes watering at the stretch that merely one of his fingers provides. 

He doesn’t hold up, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking the second he feels your walls clamp around him, slowly easing your muscles into accepting a second finger, distracting you from the momentary pain by lapping his tongue against your engorged clit. But even so, taking two of his fingers feels like more of a challenge than any cock you’ve taken in the past, eyes rolling backwards as he begins to crook them within you, calloused fingers rubbing against the gummy walls of your cunt in a way that has you convulsing around him, warbled sobs hiccuping past your lips as you feel your first climax rip through your body. 

“One more, maus, I need you to take one more so I know I won’t hurt you.” 

Tears track down your face, still processing the intensity that just wracked your body, but you nod down at him anyway, rewarded with a gentle smile and whispered praise as he cautiously eases a third finger into you, pausing the second he hears a pained hiss after the first knuckle. He hums, placing tender kitten licks against your still throbbing clit, letting you push past tender overstimulation to help pull your mind off the burning stretch, refocusing your attention to the pleasure his mouth provides. 

“Doing so well, liebling, almost there…” His words are whispered against your glistening pussy, eyes firmly fixed on yours as he guides you through, until finally all three of his fingers are pushed to the hilt, cooed praise following immediately after. 

“König, need you, I need you inside of me, please.” Your sniffled plea evokes nothing more than a playful smile from him as he cocks his head to the side. 

“Am I not inside of you right now, maus?” His tone is teasing, words accompanied by a wiggle of the fingers that remain buried in your cunt, coaxing a depraved moan from your already raw throat. 

“Your cock, wan’ your cock so bad,” It takes a second to search for the word that sits on the tip of your tongue, your eyes sparking when it finally comes to you, “Bitte, König.”

It’s immediate, the way his fingers pull from your cunt and secure themselves back around your thigh, darkened rubies glinting with that same predatory stare you’re all too familiar with now. He wastes no time as the tip of his cock bumps against soaked folds, your fingers wrapping around his veined shaft as you guide him inside, mouth parting in a silent cry as the tip pushes past the first ring of muscle and leaves you breathless. 

There is no mistaking that three of his fingers gave you a mere taste of the stretch, belatedly wondering how on Earth he’ll fit amongst the tight walls of your cunt, and the other organs that surround it. But by some grace of God, he continues to move, inch after thick inch swallowed by your cunt as though it were made for him, a perfect match, the monster and his plaything, the predator and its ever willing prey. 

A rush of air finally fills your lungs once the dull slap of his hips meets your ass, unfocused eyes widening as you take in the protrusion of his cock, the bulge obscenely large where it stretches out your skin. 

“S’big, you’re so fuckin’ big, what the fuck—” 

Slurred rambles are cut off with a searing kiss, passionate and fiery as his hips begin to draw back, swallowing down frenzied curses as he slams back into you, setting a cruel pace right from the start. You never had a chance, you should have known, and yet you regret nothing as he pounds into your abused cunt, your cervix meeting the tip of his weeping cock with each forceful thrust, thick veins rubbing against the walls of your pussy and leaving you glassy eyed and cock-drunk. 

Mindless babbles flow from drooling lips, your neck drooping to the side as you hope your eyes convey your needs without resorting to incoherent words. But it takes little more than exposing your throat to him before his lips latch onto the flesh, sucking a line of bruises into your skin before finally settling over your jugular, the only pre-warning of the oncoming bite being the scrape of fangs before they’re puncturing skin, flooding your veins with a venom that has your toes curling, fingernails digging into the muscle of his back and dragging thick red lines against shuddering flesh. 

His pace never falters, hips still careening against yours as his lips suck around the two minute incisions, drinking down your blood with a thirst you’ve never witnessed. Whether it’s the subduing poison that flows through your bloodstream, or the shift of hips as his cockhead nudges the walls of your cunt in a way that has stars blooming behind your eyelids, you find yourself hurtling into another climax, whimpered cries and bloodied nails evidence of your earth-shattering orgasm. 

His lips finally part from your skin with a slick sigh, lips painted the most beautiful shade of crimson that drips down his chin, a line that marks your possession, evidence he’s consumed by you, drunk on you. And it’s as you lean down, your tongue dragging against the bloodied stubble of his chin, lapping up what remains of your scarlet ichor, that he finally succumbs to the pleasure, his cock jolting within you as he releases seemingly endless spurts of cum against your cervix, buried as deep within your body as biology will allow. 

Panted breaths intermingle as his forehead presses flush to yours, lidded eyes, now nearly entirely consumed by gold peers at you, an interesting mix of fascination and something that looks almost fond discernible in his gaze. You still have so many questions, intrigued and just a little bit obsessed with the man above you, yet it’s apparent that your feelings are far from unrequited, and one day, every question that burns at your tongue and begs for answers will be satiated. For now, you’ll bask in his looming presence and tender care, grateful to have found him in the first place, however unfortunate the initial meeting was. 

Just as his lips ghost against yours, the distant sound of creaking has you both freezing in place.

“H-Hello? You still in here?”

“... Scheiße.”

#none of these thoughts were in the bible #not a single one #and yet here i am #still sinning #KSDFJSLDF #anyway please enjoy whatever this is #könig mw2 #könig #könig modern warfare #konig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #konig x y/n #könig x y/n #könig x you #könig x reader #cod mw22 #cod x reader #cod x you #☁︎⋅writing

[buttdumplin]

A John Price meet-the-fam special!! This is pure, indulgent fluff.

cw: gn!reader, latine reader word count: 1.2k

When Price first meets your family, it goes over smoother than fucking water over a polished worry stone. It just is. You thought it might go like that, knowing that he’d do practically anything to make himself fit in as seamlessly as possible. But you also knew that bringing home a white guy always comes with a very specific brand of first interactions.

You prep him for the teasing that’s to come, about his accent, about his complexion, about the food he eats. John takes it all in very seriously, nodding along and asking probing questions. It’s all for your benefit, and he’s incredibly mindful of that. You don’t necessarily need to know he’s already got a plan of action, though.

By the time you arrive at the family home, you’re a little stiff, braced for the barrage of probing questions that’s to come. You can tell the family is curious, you see the tías eyeing up and down. But there’s no interrogation this time. Because John beats them to it. He’s polite and answers all the niceties as respectfully as he can. And then he immediately launches into offering up information, as cryptic as it may be. He dons that dimpled smile of his and tells them what he can.

“I’ve been at this job for a while now, but I’m retiring soon. It’s actually my personal life that I'm more invested in improving now.” 

“I’m hoping to buy a home in the very near future. Maybe like this one, a big family place. I’ve been tucking away money for it for a while now.”

“I’ve had to spend a lot of time away, but I’m really looking forward to staying home with this one.”

The tías are swooning when he makes intense eye contact with you across the table as he speaks. He’s not hiding any kind of intentions, from you or them. None of the information is particularly new to you, but hearing him say it out loud? In front of all the people important to you? It’s one thing when it’s quietly discussed in the early hours of the morning. It’s another thing entirely to hear it all said in such a permanent way.

At one point, your godmother, as entrometida as she always is, mentions she’s willing to go shopping with him if he’s ever in need of a ring, says she’s always had a good eye for your style.

“Oh, no. Se lo agradezco, pero ya no va a ser necesario,” he replies with an even bigger smile, and it’s got the women hollering. They’d take a bite out of him if they could. John carries himself with the firm confidence of knowing who he is, and they can see that. They respect it.

The tías, predictably, also do everything they can to keep you two physically apart. You’re put on comal duty, keeping you in the deep corner of the kitchen where he can’t reach you. John himself doesn’t try to reach for you, wanting to spare you the godforsaken “chiflando y aplaudiendo” even at your big age. So he keeps busy by setting the table, asking only where he can find the cups and tableware. They all ooh and aah.

“Ven? Ni se le tuvo que pedir,” they shout at the tíos, pointing at John’s busy hands.

A few questions do pop up once dinner is set. Do you eat this kind of food? Have you had this before? Do you like it? Tíos razz him into adding more and more salsa on his food, and John, knowing full well how it all ends, goes along with it. He’s managed to build up some tolerance that he’s quite proud of, but there is no way that’s saving him. He knows what he’s in for. A single bite and his face turns so red it’s almost purple, his coughing making it hard for him to get water down. The tíos laugh and he’s smiling along with them, the tías rushing to get more water and napkins and a cup of milk because “I heard this helps white people?” You swap his plate out for a new one while they’re all caught up with John, taking a few bites of food to try to match it to the dish he had before. 

A bubble of softness blooms in the room. The tías are cooing over him, consoling him after his “brave attempt.” The tíos take turns patting his back, smiling down proudly at him for having met their challenge. He smiles back at you from across the table, knowing full well what you’ve done to his food, spotting a few more veggies than he’s originally served himself. The tablecloth is long, surely they won’t spot him gently nudging your foot with his own. 

When your godfather invites him out onto the porch for a smoke, John knows it’s his time to shine. He asks you to stay inside with a wink. He brought those Cuban cigars with him for a reason, he’s sure he’ll make it through. You hold him at the door for a second longer, just enough to give him a tender kiss before sending him along. Neither of you missed the way your godfather so clearly recognizes the way John moves, his own military past helping read further into the man you’ve brought home. You know there’s a good chance of this not going perfectly. 

Ignoring the calls from your tías, you crawl to sit below the window that lets out right behind them. They both let out soft grunts as they settle into their chairs, a long hum of appreciation from your godfather clearly signaling John has opened the cigar box for him. It’s silent for a while. The only sounds come from the lighter and their soft exhalations. Then a soft rustling begins. It’s not the trees, it’s too muted for that. It’s not gravel, they aren’t going anywhere and they certainly didn’t make their getting-up grunts. No, it’s their clothes. Because they’ve come up with hand signs on the spot, across languages, so you can’t listen in. 

There’s some chuckling, surely that’s a good sign! But the low sigh coming shortly after isn’t very encouraging. You try to make sense of it somehow, but there’s no distinct rhythm to it. And suddenly you’re twelve again and trying to sneak a peek. You may not need a stool to help you, you’re tall enough to see through the window on your tiptoes. Maybe if you do it slowly, they won’t notice. So slowly it goes, your knees creaking as you inch up. Their rustling continues; good, they haven’t noticed. Yet as stealthy as you try to be, they’re both looking directly at you as you finally get eyes on them. Their smiles all too knowing. You godfather winks at you, clicking his tongue fondly. He holds a hand up before you can say anything, groaning a little as he rises. He takes a beat to look down at John. You’re all frozen for a moment. And then your godfather’s hand comes down firmly on John’s shoulder, giving him a sturdy shake. 

“Me meto antes de que la vieja huela todo este humo,” he says. It’s done. No disaster, just acceptance.

When you turn back to John, he’s already got a mad grin on his face, “See? This old white boy’s still got some moves.”

AN: I am buckled the fuck in for all this latine reader content, so yall will be seeing a whole lot more of it. Thank you again to @mikichko!!! For your support and encouragement, and your incredibly generous feedback. I'm doing this to feed us both.

Let me know if yall wanna see anything with latine reader in particular!!

#captain john price #price x reader #price x latine reader #latine reader #cod x reader #cod x latine reader #cod #my only non poly fic to date lmao #but maybe if you squint there's still room for it #and price's spanish?? fucking delicious #uses it so deliberately too #mans knows exactly what he's doing #i didn't realize this would end on the line it did and it made me fucking CACKLE #hope yall enjoy!!

[avianii]

vaguely irritated every time I hear someone call my life depressing

#got it like 50 times this past week from multiple people and im like #bitch what the fuck #just because i complain about my life all the time doesn't mean i hate it? #i mean have you HEARD me bitch about CoD? AND I STILL PLAY IT #sure maybe if *you* were living like I do maybe you'd be depressed #which #skill issue tbh #get on my level #YOU CANNOT MATCH THE VIBE OF A 2AM CRAM STUDY SESSION #it is simply too powerful #anyways #i apologize for the rant #“go do something fun” well WHAT IF I ENJOY SCReAMING AT MY PHYSICS TEXTBOOK #no genuinely tho #so long as i actually get it in the end lol #the feeling of solving a problem you've been stuck on for hours or being able to just blaze through mcqs is unparalleled #besides maybe when im on like a 20 kill streak in CoD and keep getting to throw attack helicopters at people #i do realize how nerdy this sounds lmfao but yknow what. deal with it (⌐■_■)

[shinmiyovvi]

Playing with some concepts for Ji eun's outfit

#cod zombies #codz #cod zombies oc #codz oc #original character #shin's bimbinis #gong ji eun #primis ji eun #I am enjoying her new look #just need to deal with the coloring #no equipment for now since I'm still dealing with the color #Still debating if I should shade the colors here or not #Also scarless Ji eun is giving me blursed

[cerise-on-top]

hi there! I was wondering if you could write how Farah would react if the reader got hurt because she's the commander of the ULF?

(Btw you are feeding the Farah lovers! Remember to take breaks and such if needed! 💞💞)

Hello! I'm glad to hear that! I do love writing for the girls, after all! I love them dearly and I'm glad you all do too! And I will take breaks if I need them, don't worry!

Reader got Hurt Because of Farah

I think that, although Farah is a very reasonable person and always uses her head instead of her heart, you getting hurt would be one of the few times where she would act out of emotions rather than rational thought. She can’t usually afford such a thing, no matter how distressed she may be, so it basically never happens. But the person who hurt you will come to regret ever getting close to you. She won’t go after them guns blazing, no, she’s way too smart for that. But that person will be dealt with, either immediately or after a while. Farah doesn’t forget, her memory is far too good for that. If she can see your attackers face, good. That way she can either immediately go after them or track them down by memory alone. But if she can’t see it then she’ll spare no expense in finding out who it may have been. It might take a while, but she’ll get her revenge. In fact, you getting hurt would be another big reason for her to fight her war for peace, because in her ideal world, no one gets hurt. Not you, not her brothers or sisters. However, whoever hurt you won’t live to see such a utopia. Farah won’t torture them, but she’ll make quick work of whoever they may be so that they won’t hurt anyone else near and dear to her. But of course, all of this goes once she’s certain you’re alright. Farah will call the best medics she has to make sure you’ll make it, that you’ll end up in as little pain as possible during your recovery. She won’t particularly have the time to be by your side throughout it all, but she’ll come visit you whenever she can, maybe even bringing you a recovery gift or two in the process. Always has someone check up on you. Someone she trusts will come in every once in a while and ask you how you’re doing to give her a report on your status. Yes, she may be on the frontlines fighting a war, but she always needs to know how you’re doing or else she’ll get even more nervous than she should be.

#cod #cod x reader #farah karim #farah karim x reader #the cod women lovers seem to have found me and liked me enough to want to request something from me. lovely #I am once again really tired today. work was rough and I ate some fried calamari today. the portion was so big and I'm stuffed #now I'm super tired but I have to wait until 21:20 until I can go to bed #at the time I'm writing this it's roughly 17:00 so I still have to pass a lot of time until I can finally sleep #anyway I don't have much to say as of right now #might mess around and finish the other two requests I have in my inbox today so some time will pass #I never would have thought I'd ever get into CoD but here I am and I am enjoying myself greatly #it never occurred to me before that it might have a storyline. and now I've been writing for that silly game for roughly two months now #time really does fly by. I got into it last summer actually so I haven't been a fan for too long #it's been fun. I got back into writing. but I only lost my writing spark because of vocational school. vocational school sucks so bad #had no time whatsoever for anything. had to study the entire time and had no time for my hobbies #god I'm looking forward to my apprenticeship leave exam so i never have to go there again #but enough about me on this post. sorry!

[calkale]

Finished the last two missions in mw2 2022 ✌️

#i wish this tweet was real #ghost team is now my least fav cod mission :/ #i loved the game up until ghost team #countdown also sucked #that might partially be because i wasnt happy after playing ghost team #but still didnt enjoy it :/ #other than that tho i really liked it #cartel protection and alone were really fun #and kill or capture was a really good starting mission #strike doesnt really count as the starting mission so its kill or capture