25 year old âŒđ⌠ăShifteră âRavenclawâ â Requests ⌠Closed⌠â
â Asks - Closedâ
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Yandere / Obsessive / Dark / Themes alert. The photos I use (except for some photos
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đ·ïžI write in yandere and normal genres. I try to answer your request as quickly as I can. But you should know that sometimes I reply late. I write for the characters in the list. But feel free to write requests for characters that are not on the list. As long as there is information about the character you want, I will write your request. When writing requests, please make sure you write them descriptively. Be sure to use punctuation marks when writing your request.đ·ïž
It's jarring when a companion's voice doesn't fit her face. SweetDream lets you tune both during creation, so the voice she calls you with actually suits the person you designed. That harmony is easy to overlook and impossible to unhear once it's right.
It's another sign of the platform's quality. Everything is meant to fit together, looks, personality, voice, calls, into one coherent companion. On sweetdream.ai your AI girlfriend feels like a single person, not a pile of features.
Iâve been rewatching httyd 2nd movie and I love toothless interaction with cloudjumper ! Would it be ok if I request platonic toothless concept being very attached to a storm cutter reader (maybe reader very motherly and we know toothless met hiccup when he was also a kid , maybe reader fits the parent void in his life ) please if thatâs ok with you ; if not no worries ^_^ hcs please:)
I can try, sure, still not the best with dragon/dragon pairings đ. I did get more motivation for this after playing a HTTYD Roblox game that's official though... I find that game fun. I'm not proud of this... but I tried.
"Yandere!" Platonic! Toothless with Stormcutter! Reader
(Mini HCs - Dragon x Dragon)
Pairing: Platonic
Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Reader, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Clingy behavior, Blood, Murder, Territorial behavior, Using the term yandere VERY loosely here, Dubious companionship.
Honestly I can think of some cute scenarios with this.
I still struggle to write yandere dragons towards other dragons, but I'll try my best.
Stormcutters are intelligent and confident dragons that often act as guardians.
They are quite rare from what I've seen in the series so these aren't dragons you see often.
They often express curiosity, observing both dragons and humans.
So I can definitely see Stormcutters being parental... especially like what we see with Cloudjumper towards baby Hiccup and Toothless... somewhat.
Toothless could probably have met you in the dragon sanctuary like with Cloudjumper.
You act like a guardian over other dragons and respect Valka for caring about you and the others in the flock.
Who knows, if you want to add more characters maybe you're close with Cloudjumper, mate or not.
You end up meeting Toothless probably when Hiccup is introduced to the sanctuary.
Toothless is an incredibly intelligent dragon, similarly to Stormcutters.
So you two will no doubt interact well, similarly to how he does with Cloudjumper.
I feel like Toothless isn't a very intense yandere in this situation... anything I come up with is just dragon behavior?
Toothless seems extremely excited around Cloudjumper.
I imagine you're curious about the rare Night Fury... since he's also a rare dragon.
Maybe you even try to take Toothless off Cloudjumper's claws since the other Stormcutter seems displeased around the young dragon.
Most if not all yandere dragon behavior is animalistic in nature and territorial.
Which... I wouldn't even really consider yandere?
Dragons are naturally possessive or protective when they deem something as theirs.
Toothless would probably feel the same towards you the longer he's around you.
Toothless hasn't really had parents.
The Night Fury species has been hunted to near extinction by hunters.
He hasn't exactly been... raised.
Hiccup became one of his only companions who he truly called family.
He... hasn't exactly had a dragon parental figure.
Yet when the Night Fury meets you?
He keeps excitedly bounding around you growling playfully as you watch him curiously.
You don't pay him much mind at first, quietly grumbling at him as you walk around the sanctuary Valka lets you stay in.
However... Toothless still settles beside you, looking up at you with wide expectant eyes.
I feel like Toothless is mostly just going to be clingy.
Especially if you begin to reciprocate some affection.
Eventually Toothless may grow on you... leading to you nuzzling the Night Fury or draping a wing over him.
Toothless takes this as a sign you accept him as family... which soon means you can't get rid of him.
Imagine Toothless getting clingy with you to the point Hiccup and Valka can barely separate you?
You're a big dragon... which means you have a pretty big nest...
Yet you unfortunately find yourself sharing the space with a certain Night Fury sneaking his way into it.
Poor you is just trying to sleep upside down... only for Toothless to paw at you with a small whine due to not getting your attention.
Poor you feels like you're babysitting a hatchling....
You can probably try to roar or get him to back off... but Toothless then just follows at a distance.
You may even leave the sanctuary to hunt... only for Hiccup to have to hold Toothless back from following you without a rider.
Hiccup definitely has to supervise Toothless since the Night Fury is attached.
Hiccup's a skilled rider... so I think he can definitely see your irritation with his dragon.
Your tail flicks, you keep trying to isolate...
Then there's Toothless rubbing against you like a cat... trilling excitedly.
Perhaps he's a little too excited to find a dragon like you.
I feel like you'd be a mentor-like figure to Toothless... when he isn't being clingy.
In return... Toothless tends to get overprotective.
When other dragons, even if they're part of the flock, it usually leads to Toothless growling a bit and sitting in front of you.
Once again... I think dragons are protective of family.
Not even Hiccup can get him to leave you alone.
I feel like Toothless isn't extremely violent... but may snap or shoot a plasma bolt as a warning to other dragons?
Hiccup scolds him... but is usually met with a disgruntled grumble from the Night Fury.
I feel like you can try to ignore Toothless... but he'll find a way to get your attention eventually.
Maybe by nipping your tail or something.
Toothless is easy to manage as you're the bigger dragon and can typically keep him in line.
But I feel like where things would get bad is when he becomes the 'Alpha' at the end of HTTYD.
Then you can't ignore him.
It takes one roar and you're meant to bow.
Toothless would of course never hurt you.
He's mostly just overprotective as you're seen as a parent to him.
If you want him even worse and more protective... maybe you get severely injured during the final battle against Drago?
Sure, Toothless becomes Alpha...
But you're now being looked after by other Dragon Riders to check if your wounds will heal properly.
Toothless is naturally on high alert.
The dragon rushes to your side... nudging your head with a concerned grumble.
He never leaves your side long after that.
Hiccup can barely even get him to fly until you're healed.
The only time Toothless leaves you is to give you fish he caught, the smaller dragon hunched over with a small whine as he watches you.
Toothless often sounds his time curled up against you, quietly listening to your rumbling breaths.
He never really leaves your side after that.
Nearly losing you makes him hover around you like a little bodyguard.
Anyone too close makes his eyes narrow before lunging with a growl, mouth crackling with plasma.
He holds back enough to not draw blood...
But if he was pushed to it?
Then... maybe they were asking for it by getting so close.
Wherever you go, Toothless follows.
In his eyes... you are family... you are his parent like Valka is to Hiccup...
Now... Toothless will never be alone if he keeps you safe.
If anyone else comes to threaten such a decision, dragon hunters for instance...
Maybe Toothless won't bother holding back anymore.
Imagine it... how horrifying it would be to see Toothless covered in blood after an attempt to protect you.
You may not care too much... dragon and all that...
But the humans around you too...?
They're starting to see how far this connection has gone... Toothless has changed since meeting you...
No one will be able to get close enough to stop him either... not if they want to be a bloody mess too.
ă»Confident, loyal and joyous. He makes every day feel special.
ă»He's quick-witted, yet wise. Playful yet graceful. A walking contradiction ... or is he made of magnitudes?
ă»As your husband, he loves being in your company. He spends as much time as he can with you.
ă»Glorfindel loves when you braid his hair; your soft hands moving through his golden strands as if they were made of silk.
ă»Many people think he is the dominant one in your relationship. But what they don't know is that Glorfindel would get on his hands and knees for you.
ă»He always carries a rock you gave him when you first started courting. He has an array of them now. Never once throws them away. What you give to him is precious.
ă»His height is ridiculous. 6"6 or taller. You look like a dwarf in comparison. But you feel so safe, even just standing next to him.
ă»You often go on picnic outtings. Food and beverages, all neatly packed in a basket.
ă»Hand in hand you walk.
ă»Your littler legs moving faster than that of your husband's.
ă»But you're both in a happy mood, having woken up well past sunrise, in each other's arms with nothing to worry about on this day.
ă»That's how it is with Glorfindel ... well ... when he isn't needed and whisked away on some risky quest.
Survives Because Of Pure Luck (You) x Is The Pure Luck (Glorfin)
"Why are you babying me" (You) x "Because I know you like it" (Glorfin)
 Love Language Is Physical Touch (You) x Is Touch Starved (Glorfin)
đ·đđđ đ»đđđđ
Soulmates/Bonded Pair
Unbreakable Bond
Slow Burn to Unshakeable Devotion
đ»đđđđ đșđđđ
I Need You by James Newton Howard
Tristan & Yvaine by IIan Eshkeri
Gwen & Arthur by Rob Lane
đđđąđĄ / đđđčđ
ă»Large, thick, and heavy. His cock is just as beautiful as he is.
ă»Sculpted almost, it's difficult not to stare everytime he takes his clothes off. But he is the most beautiful specimen you have ever seen in your life.
ă»But don't think you're getting away with it. He comes over to you, standing you up and starts to undress you.
ă»You may have insecurities but Glorfindel chases them away. "What folly," he says. Kissing your neck, your chest, and nipples.
ă»All insecurities melt away once you're in your husbands thick, tanned arms.
ă»Glorfindel likes to watch you as you sit in his lap, both naked, while you whimper at his size. His large cock inside of you was almost too much. And yet, you kept rocking back and forth, up and down.
ă»Feeling him and the stretch he gave you. It was a mix of pleasure and pain.
ă»It felt too good, and you did your best to stay quiet, but your little moans and huffs made your husband fuck you a little harder.
HOW THEY COURT YOU⊠HIGHTOWER EDITION âč àŁȘ Ë
ORMUND HIGHTOWER
âą He listens when you speak during councils or dinners, asks your opinion even when others overlook it, and remembers every answer.
âą He wants a wife who has a brain to match her beauty.
âą He begins treating you as his equal early on. Preparing you to be a Lady of Oldtown.
âą He introduces you to household staff by name, explains which bannermen are loyal and which require careful handling, and even asks for your opinion on charitable matters.
âą During your walks he speaks about the Citadel, the Starry Sept, the harbor, and the Hightower itself.
âą He is loyal from the start. If a lord insults you, Ormund wonât make a scene. He will make sure he pays though.
âą Invitations stop arriving for that man. Trade agreements suddenly become more difficult. By the time you notice, your honor has already been quietly avenged.
âą Once he is comfortable with you, being with you is one of the only times he feels as though he can truly relax.
âą Behind closed doors, the weight of command slips from his shoulders. Heâll loosen the collar of his tunic, pour the two of you wine himself instead of calling a servant, and ask how your day was first.
âą His proposal isnât a huge spectacle, but it is truly sincere and he makes sure that it holds a lot of meaning to the both of you.
GWAYNE HIGHTOWER
âą Gwayne is a true gentleman by nature.
âą He always offers his arm before a walk, stands when you enter a room, pulls out your chair, and never allows you to walk nearest the street or the edge of a battlement.
âą He falls first and everyone notices except you. The servants catch him smiling whenever you enter a room.
âą He enjoys dancing with you, even if heâs not exceptional at it. During feasts heâll always ask for at least one dance.
âą He has a great sense of humor and finds joy in making you laugh.
âąHe believes family is important and makes sure to get to know and become close with yours early on.
âą Before every farewell he makes certain you know exactly when heâll return. He never leaves after an argument without making peace first.
âą He is very attentive with letting you know he is always thinking of you.
âą Brings you little gifts/trinkets from his travels. Wildflowers picked during patrols, a ribbon from Oldtownâs markets, polished seashells from the Reachâs coast.
âą Whenever duty separates you, the first raven you receive is always from Gwayne, usually ending with: âUntil I can say these words in person again⊠know that you are missed.â
Ormund discovers his wifeâs secret journal, revealing your hidden desires. Your restrained marriage ignites into a fierce, intense connection as he claims you fully, blending passion, power, and vulnerability in a charged, private moment.
đđđđđđđđ; dark!ormund, possessive behaviour, explicit sexual content, this is intense and fuck, very, very much explicit, so minors dni.
I wrote this whilst waiting in court, do not blame me, I was bored.
Ormund Hightower did not mean to find it.
The library was his sanctuary, not yours. You preferred the gardens, the solar, the bathhouse with its steam curling against the stoneâanywhere the books were not. And yet there it was, tucked between a crumbling copy of The Seven-Pointed Star and a history of the Conquest he had not opened in years.
A small leather-bound journal, soft from handling, smelling faintly of jasmine and something warmer beneath.
Your scent. He knew it the way he knew prayer.
He pulled the journal free and the spine fell open in his palm, as though it had been waiting for him. The pages were filled in your looping, impatient hand, you had never taken to the septa's lessons on penmanship, and he meant only to close it, to set it back, to forget he had ever held it.
Then he read the first line his eyes found.
I dreamt again of his hands. Not the careful ones he offers me at table, not the ones that brush my cheek like I might break. The others. The ones he keeps locked away when he thinks I am not looking.
His breath stopped in his chest.
He read on. He could not have stopped if the library had caught fire around him.
Tonight at supper he did not look at me once. Not once. He spoke of tariffs and the harvest and whether the new maester would arrive before winter, and I sat across from him and wanted him to push the plates aside and take me across the table like a man takes what is his. I wanted the wine to spill. I wanted to feel the wood against my back and his weight pressing me into it until I could not breathe for wanting him.
The words blurred. He blinked, and the ink sharpened again, merciless.
I have been his wife for two years and he has neverânot onceâ
âFuck,â a single line remained below, and he did not finish reading it.
He closed the journal.
He set it on the table with a care that surprised him, given the way his hands were shaking, given the way the blood had gone from his face and returned somewhere lower and altogether more dangerous. He stood very still for a moment, the way a man stands before he does something he cannot undo and then he let out a breathless laugh, rubbing a hand across his face.
âYou fucking little minx.â
Then he went to find you.
You were in the solar, as he had known you would be. The afternoon light came through the narrow windows and caught in your hair, and you were bent over some needlework you did not care about, your needle moving in that restless, impatient way that meant your mind was elsewhere. You did not hear him come in. You did not hear him cross the room.
You heard nothing until his hand closed in your hair, not gently, because that was not what you wanted, âYou are a rather good pretender, my little sweetling.â
You gasped as the needlework fell, and your head was snapped back with a violent jerk, forcing your spine to arch and your throat to expose itself to the harsh afternoon light. A sharp cry of shock escaped your lips, but it was quickly stifled as he tightened his grip, winding the strands of your hair around his fist to ensure you couldn't pull away.
He leaned down, his breath hot and smelling of iron and leather against your ear. He didn't speak, as the silence of the room was now filled only by your ragged, panicked breathing and the soft thud of the embroidery hoop rolling across the stone floor.
With a sudden, cruel tug, he pulled you further back, forcing you to look up at him. Your eyes were wide, shimmering with a mixture of terror and a dark, forbidden thrill that you couldn't suppress. He stared down at you, his expression cold and possessive, his eyes scanning your trembling form. âDo you have any fucking idea what you have just done to me?â
Without warning, he shifted his weight, slamming you forward against the heavy wooden table. The impact knocked the wind out of you, and the scattered threads of your needlework clung to your skin like webs. He didn't let go of your hair, using it as a handle to keep your face pressed hard against the wood.
His other hand moved with predatory speed, gripping your hip and bruising the flesh as he hauled your backside up and back, pinning your chest to the table.
âOrmund!â
The rough fabric of your gown bunched up around your waist, leaving you vulnerable. He pressed his hard, demanding heat against the curve of your ass, letting you feel the rigid length of his cock through your clothes, marking you as his before a single garment had even been removed.
He bent lower, burying his face against the curve of your throat where the pulse hammered wild and frantic. He inhaled, deep, deliberate, the way a man drinks when he has been dying of thirst and the scent of you flooded him.
Jasmine and the faint salt of fear-sweat, because beneath it, the unmistakable honeyed musk of your arousal, already blooming between your thighs because of what he had done to you.
âFilthy,â he breathed against your throat. The word was almost a prayer. âYou filthy little whore.â
You made a sound, half sob, half something else entirely and he felt your body shudder beneath his hands.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the grin that spread across his face was not the grin of the careful husband who brushed your cheek at table. It was something older, something that had been locked away in the same place as the hands you had written about. It was the grin of a man who had found what he was looking for and meant to take it without apology.
He had no intention of being gentle. âGo on, admit it. Tell me that this isn't what you wanted? Tell me that you have not imagined me bending you over a godsdamned desk like some fool desperate to get his cock wet?â
The hand in your hair twisted, wrenching your head to the side so that your cheek ground against the rough grain of the table. You whimpered, a real sound, not one of your careful sighs at supper and he felt something savage and satisfied curl through his chest at the sound of it.
âTwo years,â he said, and his voice was low and rough, nothing like the voice he used in the great hall. âTwo years you've been writing that you wanted this, and you never once had the courage to say it to my face.â
His free hand found the laces at the back of your gown and pulled, not carefully, not with the patience of a man who yearned for his wife's desperate mewla.
The laces did not give so much as surrender, threads snapping, fabric tearing, the sound obscene in the quiet solar, cool air hit the skin of your back and you arched against it, because at that moment, Ormund didnât give you a moment to recover.
He reached down, his fingers hooking into the fine silk of your undergarments. With one violent, decisive rip, the fabric tore, the sound echoing like a war horn in the quiet solar. He didn't care for the cost of the lace, he only cared for the access it granted him.
He shoved you further onto the table, sweeping a vase of lilies and a stack of parchment to the floor with a crashing thud. He didn't let go of your hair, keeping your head pinned, your cheek pressed against the polished oak. He could feel you trembling, a fine, rhythmic shudder that told him you were terrified, but the way your hips instinctively tilted back toward him, seeking the friction of his cock, told him you were starving.
âYou wanted this,â he snarled, his voice a low, guttural rasp. âYou sat across from me and fantasized about me breaking you. You wrote it down like a little secret, thinking I would always be the gentle lord.â
He released your hair only to slam his hand down onto the small of your back, pinning you flat. His other hand reached between your legs, his fingers diving deep into your soaking heat. He didn't tease, not now, not when he ached to devour every inch of your skin as he drove two fingers inside you with a brutal thrust that forced a loud, sharp scream from your throat.
He felt the tight clench of your walls around him, the desperate, wet grip of a woman who had been dreaming of this violation for years.
âLook at you,â he hissed, his fingers curling and pumping inside you with a ruthless rhythm, stretching you open. âDripping for me. You're nothing but a craving, aren't you? A little hole that needs to be filled by a man who doesn't care if he hurts you.â
He withdrew his fingers with a wet pop and moved with a sudden, predatory urgency. He fumbled with his breeches, freeing his cock, thick, pulsing, and engorged to the point of pain. He didn't use any lubricant other than the overflow of your own arousal.
He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving marks that would turn purple by morning. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance and, without a word of warning, drove himself home in one singular, devastating plunge.
You shrieked, your fingers clawing at the wood of the table, your back arching violently as he bottomed out inside you. The impact was jarring, a collision of flesh and bone that left you breathless. Ormund groaned, a sound of pure, possessive triumph, as he felt your tight heat wrap around him, squeezing him with a desperation that nearly broke his resolve.
He didn't give you time to adjust. He began to fuck you with a savage, unrelenting pace. Each thrust was a claim, a violent punctuation mark to the silence of your marriage.
He slammed his pelvis against your ass, the sound of your bodies collidingâslap, slap, slapâfilling the room. He was no longer the husband, but rather now he was the master, and you were the vessel for every dark impulse he had suppressed for two years.
âTell me,â he commanded, his voice shaking with lust, his teeth sinking into the soft meat of your shoulder, drawing blood. âTell me you're my whore. Tell me you want me to ruin you.â
âYes!â you sobbed, your voice broken and high, your head tossing from side to side. âPlease... Ormund, please! Fuck me... break me... yes!â
The admission acted like fuel to a fire. He reached around, his hand finding your clitoris and grinding against it with a cruel, heavy pressure even as he continued to hammer into you from behind. The dual stimulation was too much as you began to peak, your internal muscles pulsing in violent spasms around his shaft.
Ormund felt his own climax rushing toward him, a tidal wave of heat and aggression. He gripped your hair again, pulling your head back so he could see the agony and ecstasy etched onto your face. He accelerated, his thrusts becoming short, sharp, and punishing, driving you further and further into the table.
âYou're mine,â he growled, his voice thick. âEvery inch of this filthy, wanting body is mine.â
With a final, guttural roar, he buried himself as deep as he could go and erupted. He felt the hot, thick jets of his cum flooding you, filling you to the brim, marking you internally just as he had marked your skin.
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, his chest heaving, his weight crushing you into the wood, letting you feel the slow, rhythmic throb of his cock as it began to soften.
He didn't pull out immediately. He leaned down, kissing the back of your neck with a sudden, jarring tenderness that was almost more frightening than the violence.
âI read your journal, my sweetling,â he whispered, his voice returning to that smooth, noble tone, though the edge of cruelty remained. âAnd I think we shall spend the rest of the evening ensuring every single one of your dreams comes true. Whether you can stand for it or not.â
Ormund didn't let you linger in the afterglow. He withdrew from you with a wet, sliding sound, leaving your legs shaking and your pussy leaking his seed across the polished oak of the table.
Before you could even draw a full breath, he gripped your arm and hauled you to your feet. You stumbled, your ruined gown clinging to your thighs, your body humming with a mixture of exhaustion and desperate, lingering hunger.
The look in his eyes, cold, commanding, and utterly possessive told you that the game had only just begun.
He spun you around and marched you toward the nearest stone wall, his grip on your arm like a shackle. When they reached the cold masonry, he slammed you back against it. The impact jarred your teeth, and you let out a small, startled whimper, your palms flattening against the rough stone for balance.
Ormund stepped into your space, his massive frame blotting out the afternoon light. He didn't touch you with his hands this time, but he pressed his chest against yours, pinning you firmly to the wall, his hard, semi-erect cock rubbing against the damp silk of your dress.
âYouâve spent two years pretending to be the dutiful, delicate lady,â he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous vibration against your skin. âAnd you've spent those same years writing filth about your husband in a leather book. I think it's time we reminded you of exactly what you swore to me before the High Septon.â
He reached up, his hand wrapping around your throat, not to choke you, but to tilt your head back, forcing you to look into his eyes. His thumb pressed firmly against your windpipe, just enough to make you swallow hard.
âThe vows,â he commanded. âEvery single one. Recite them. Now.â
You trembled, your breath coming in shallow hitches. âOrmund... please...â
He tightened his grip on your throat, his eyes narrowing. âDo not 'please' me. Recite the vows, or I will find a much more painful way to make you remember them.â
Tears of arousal and fear pricked your eyes as you began, your voice shaking. âI... I take you to be my wedded husband...â
âLouder,â he snapped, his other hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hoisting it up and hooking it over his hip, forcing your legs open and exposing your dripping heat to the cool air of the solar.
âI take you to be my wedded husband!â you cried out, your voice cracking.
âAnd?â
âI... I promise to honor you... to cherish you... in sickness and in health...â
As you spoke the words of devotion, Ormundâs hand moved from your thigh to your center. He didn't use his fingers this time, he used the heel of his hand to grind hard against your clitoris, crushing the sensitive nub against the stone wall. You gasped, your words dissolving into a moan.
âFinish the vow,â he hissed, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear.
âIn... in poverty and in wealth!â you sobbed, your hips bucking instinctively against his hand. âUntil death do us part!â
âAnd the vow of obedience,â Ormund reminded you, his voice dropping to a guttural rasp. He released your throat only to grab both of your wrists, pinning them high above your head against the stone. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours, though he didn't kiss you. âThe one where you swear your will is my will. Your body is my property. Your pleasure is my gift.â
â... I swear my will is yours,â you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut, your body sagging against him as you surrendered completely to his dominance. âMy body... is your property.â
âGood girl,â he breathed.
He shifted his weight, his hand sliding back down to grip your ass, lifting you entirely off the floor. He pinned you against the wall with the sheer force of his body, his cock positioning itself perfectly at your entrance.
âNow,â he growled, âlet's see if you can recite the prayers to the Father while I fuck the lies out of you.â
The cold stone bit into your back as he pressed you harder against the wall, the heat of his body searing through the thin fabric still clinging to your skin. You gasped, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips as he lifted you higher, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. Your breath hitched at the pressure, at the promise of being filled, claimed, taken.
He didn't push inside, not yet. Instead, he held you there, suspended between the rough wall and his iron grip, his eyes boring into yours. The dark intensity in them made you feel small, worshipful.
âPray,â he commanded. âThe first one. You know it.â
Your mind was hazy, drowning in the scent of him, the weight of him, the ache between your legs that pulsed with every heartbeat. You swallowed, your throat dry.
âOh Father, who watches from the sky...â you started, your voice trembling, barely a whisper.
âLouder,â he snapped, his hand coming down on your ass in a sharp crack that echoed off the stone. You cried out, your body jolting against him, the sting blooming across your flesh like fire.
âOh Father, who watches from the sky,â you repeated, your voice stronger, steadier, even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. âGuide my hands, guard my heart...â
He thrust into you with one brutal, seamless motion, burying himself to the hilt. Your words dissolved into a moan, your head falling back against the stone as he stretched you, filled you, claimed the deepest parts of your body. He didn't move, just held himself there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing inside you.
âAnd I will walk in Your light,â you gasped, forcing the prayer out through ragged breaths.
âDon't stop,â he growled, his hips beginning to move, slow, devastating with each stroke as his cock dragged against your walls, pulling pleasure and pain in equal measure. His grip on your wrists tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh like brands. âPray.â
âAnd I will walk in Your light,â you repeated, your voice breaking as he picked up the pace, fucking you harder now, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the space between your broken verses. âI will kneel... before Your throne... and offer... my devotionâoh, gods, pleaseââ
He slammed into you, cutting off your plea. âFinish it.â
âOffer my devotion... until the stars... fall from the sky,â you sobbed, your body arching into his, your cunt clenching around him as he drove you toward the edge you could feel building, coiling, unbearable.
His forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged. âThe second prayer. Now.â
âFather of storms, Father of steel,â you began, the words scraping out of your throat like glass. âHarden my spirit... make me... unbreakable...â
âGood girl,â he hissed, his rhythm faltering as his own release approached. âOne more verse. One more.â
You clung to him, nails raking across his shoulders, your body trembling on the verge of shattering. âAnd when I fall... let me fall... upon Your mercy...â
He came with a guttural groan, his hips driving deep and holding, his cum flooding you in hot, thick pulses. You shattered, your climax tearing through you like a crack of lightning, your vision white, your scream swallowed by his mouth finally claiming yours in a bruising, possessive kiss.
When he broke the kiss, you were limp in his arms, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Your eyes were glassy, your body slick with sweat and his seed dripping down your thighs.
He pulled out slowly, watching you wince at the loss, and lowered your feet to the ground. You sagged immediately, your knees buckling, but his arm kept you upright, pinned against his chest.
âYou will learn,â he said, his voice low and rough, his hand stroking your hair like you were a thing to be soothed. âEvery prayer. Every verse. Every word of submission. And you will mean them all.â
You nodded, your lips parted, your mind empty of anything but the taste of him, the feeling of being owned so completely that nothing else in the world mattered.
He tilted his head towards the bed, âNow pray to the Mother for mercy, for I will have none. You little fucking vixen,â Ormund murmurs as he smooths down your hair, tilts your chip up and huffs, âsuch a good girl, my sweetling. You will never, ever, keep your thoughts from me again, do you fucking understand?â
You nodded, the movement small and unsteady.
âYes,â you whispered.
Ormund searched your face for the slightest trace of defiance. Finding none, the hard line of his mouth eased, though his gaze remained unwavering. His hand lingered against your cheek for only a heartbeat before he let it fall.
âGood,â he said quietly. âI would sooner have your honesty than your obedience, sweetling. Remember that.â
Your throat tightened. Shame, relief, and something far more complicated tangled together until you could scarcely breathe. You lowered your eyes, unable to bear the weight of his stare.
âI understand.â
âYou will not hide from me again?â
âNo.â
The answer came without hesitation this time, and he gave a single curt nod, as though the matter had finally been settled. The silence that followed was heavy, but no longer sharpened into a blade.
It was the silence left after a storm had spent itself, leaving only two hearts to reckon with what had been said.
Summary || After yoyr father dies, you are called back to Kings Landing by your mother. Your husband is not willing to let you fly to war.
Reader is Viserys and Aemma's daughter (Baelon's surviving twin), and she was raised by Alicent.
This entire piece is inspired by the Ormund series by @darktargslut pls go read their stuff it's superb
The parchment in your hands brings news of dread, the familiar handwriting of your mother causing your stomach to flip dangerously.
'I regret to inform you that your father was taken by the Stranger as of last night.
Viserys expressed his wish for your brother to succeed him, though, as we all know, Princess Rhaenyra and her husband will dispute this with all their might. Mistakes were made in the hours following your father's death, ones made in the youthful naivete fueled by a want of revenge.
The Hand has done his best to keep it quiet, but news from Storm's End has already traveled quickly. Aemond has caused havoc that cannot be redeemed. With the death of one of her children, Rhaenyra will surely seek to strike back at us.
I fear you are no longer safe in Oldtown, My Sweet Daughter, and urge you to mount Silversmoke and return home at once.
The Dowager Queen,
Alicent Hightower'
Your fingers tremble as you crush the parchment, rising from your chair to toss it in the glowing hearth of your chamber. Your breath is quick; the feeling of anxiety mixed with suffocation has swallowed you whole. The grief of learning your father was dead had been enough, but the promise of war had caused a certain coldness to settle in your bones.
You glance at the little boy who played and babbled on the floor, your son, and you know that his life could be forfeit during this war. He was not Ormund's heir, but he was your child. The one you labored for two days to deliver, the one you loved with every fiber of your being.
Aelyx would be the target of those you called family.
The door opens suddenly, and you flinch as your husband enters the space, his brows stiff.
"You received word from her Grace?"
Ormund's question is swift, leaving you no room to deny or avoid it.
"Aemond has done something grave," You begin to say, looking at your husband with wide, terrified eyes. Ormund was leagues older than you, yet he asked Alicent and Viserys for your hand. The man had been old enough to be your father, yet you would have done anything to get away from King's Landing. You had been under no pressure to provide an heir, yet your loneliness had left you desperate for one. "My mother asks for me to return to the Red Keep; she does not believe that I am-"
"That you are safe here?"
Ormund's tone is louder than you are used to. He never raised his voice at you, always gentle when handling you, as though you were a little bird in his large hands. You recognize the look in his eye; the same look he would give your other suitors while you were still being courted by him. His possessive nature was that of a holy one; you had always known this.
"Husband,"
"Moira, please bring Aelyx to the nursery," Ormund allows your servant to enter the room. He picks up the two-year-old, bouncing him slightly before handing him over to the maid. The boy babbles sadly, his big brown eyes darting to you as he makes grabby hands in your direction.
Your heart throbs as Ormund closes the large mahogany door behind the servant, your boy whining as he could no longer see you.
"Why did you do that?"
The question leaves you shortly after Ormund turns around to face you.
"You will not be leaving Oldtown."
Ormund speaks with such finality that it causes you to second-guess yourself.
He towers over you, his hands coming to cup your cheeks. Ormund's thumbs stroke over the soft skin of your cheeks, a gentle smile pulling at his lips as he glances down at you.
"I love you," Ormund muses, and you can feel the threat of tears starting to well up in your eyes. Despite the age difference, you found much comfort in Ormund Hightower. You had married him out of affection, not out of any political advantage. Your mother trusted him, as did the Hand. Your father, of all people, had agreed to the match. "I worship you, as you well know. Despite how I may feel about them."
Ormund held no love for your house, you knew. You could not say you blamed him, but it hadn't stopped him from courting you, nor marrying you and having a child with you.
"My love for you is holy, something to be coveted. I must protect it."
Your husband's lips press heatedly against your own, and the tears finally spill over, because despite everything; you are scared.
Scared to lose everything that brought you happiness, everything you had built with him. If this war came to pass, your uncle would target the Hightower's with a quickness, your own son among them. You were emotionally dependent on Ormund, leaning on him like a spiritual figure of sorts.
You were terrified of what may now come.
You allow your husband to lay you in bed, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, and you cry and sob into your pillow. Despite everything, your father was dead, and you had not allowed yourself to grieve him properly. As you cried yourself to sleep, Ormund pressed kiss after kiss to your knuckles and face, and ince yoyr cries subsided, he departed from the room.
Directing his attention to the knight standing guard at your door, he smiles.
"Bar the door until I return and do not let Lady Hightower leave her quarters."
Some short imagines of being the lover of those in House Hightower
Dark! House Hightower/Reader
Age gap imagines with my favorite house <3
Dark! Otto Hightower/Rhaenyra's Twin! Reader
â± The younger twin sister of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you had taken more after your mother. Gentle and quiet in nature, you had developed into a wallflower of sorts, often overshadowed by your sister and forgotten by your father. Whilst Rhaenyra paraded around as heir, you are left to your own devices, and you much preferred it that way.
As did your father's closest companion.
â± Otto Hightower watches as you grow from an anxious young girl to a delicate and elegant young lady, and he finds himself enraptured by you, as taboo as it may have been.
While your sister fled to Dragonstone, you remained in King's Landing, too worried about your father's condition to leave him alone. You don't marry due to your delicate health, and your days are spent in the library or in the sept, and it absolutely sets Otto aflame.
â± Otto had no intention of finding love or lust after the death of his wife. Otto seems to find both in you as he snakes his way into your personal life.
You feel the grip of Otto's fist as he bunches up your gown, and you pray that no one enters the library as you whimper gently into the pages of your beloved book.
You can feel the hardness of his cock through his breeches, crying out as his thick, ringed fingers press into your cunt.
You knew Ser Otto to be an honorable man, but this was the farthest thing from honorable.
"M-My Lord," You stumble over your words, shivering at the kiss he pressed against the nape of your neck. Otto groans against you, a certain revulsion taking his mind. He had not felt lust overtake him in nearly a decade, and here you were, tempting sin from every inch of his being. A woman no older than his own daughter, a princess of the realm.
It was debauched.
It was vile.
It was arousing.
Otto thrust forward, his cock bottoming out with a roughness no one would expect from a man of his station. He'd have to manipulate your dying father into marrying you to him; that much Otto was sure.
Afterall,
You couldn't have any bastards running around, now, could you?
Dark! Ormund Hightower/Targaryen! Reader
â± You were the last child of King Viserys and Queen Aemma, your twin brother dying along with your mother. You'd never met Aemma Arryn, and no one ever spoke of her to you. She existed as a ghost in your childhood, and you knew that your older sister blamed you to some extent.
Rhaenyra could not love you fully, but you had a family.
Alicent had raised you alongside her own children, loving you deeply.
So, when her cousin asks for your hand, there isn't much hesitation from your mother's side.
â± You meet Ormund on an occasion when he comes to King's Landing, and before you know it, you are being courted by a man old enough to be your father. Ormund is older, yes, but he is kind, and he shares your dislike for your home. You never felt welcome in the Red Keep, and Ormund offers you a way out.
He's the yearning type, pining for you in a way he knew was not appropriate. You were so gentle, pious in a way that aroused Ormund to no end. He wanted you carnally, yes, but also in such a pure way. Ormund wants to worship you; he believes that you deserve it more than any god could.
â± He marries you as quickly as possible, thinking that your union is preordained despite the age difference.
It didn't matter that he has been married before, it didn't matter that you were leagues younger than him.
Ormund wanted you.
So, he took you.
Ormund's hands are gentle as he holds your cheeks in his palms. A gasp leaves his lips as he catches your eyes glancing up at him. He can feel your tongue, your throat, your teeth. It's all too much to bear, and he's vaguely aware that you aren't married yet, and that he is corrupting you. A sin more egregious than murder, he would say.
Normally.
Your lashes flutter softly, and Ormund groans into your mouth; his fingers slip past your ears to cup your nape to keep you in place as he kisses you deeply. You're inexperienced; it's obvious in the way you move your lips uncertainly against his own, and how your hands fist his shirt anxiously.
It should bother him, Ormund thinks.
It should bother him that he is corrupting such innocence, taking your first kiss under the moonlight in the royal garden. It should bother Ormund, but it instead arouses him, his cock straining against his pants as his tongue slips past your lips and teeth. It isn't the first kiss you deserve, he knows, but he is losing his composure.
You gasp suddenly as his tongue runs over your own; the sensation is odd, yet not entirely unpleasant.
You pull away, then. Your voice is shaky as you pant from the lack of oxygen, suddenly hyperaware of the public setting of your encounter.
You are the very image of innocence, and it sets Ormund on fire.
He wouldn't take you tonight; he had his limits. Ormund would not debase you in such a manner; he was still a man of faith, as thin as his patience was being stretched.
It kills him to escort you to your room, kissing you goodnight, yet he does it without complaint.
Because a woman such as you deserved to be worshiped, not ravaged.
Dark! Gwayne Hightower/Lady! Reader
â± No older than Gwayne's oldest nephew, you are a close companion of Daeron's, and you constantly have Gwayne questioning his morals.
A soft, gentle lady from the House of Ashford, you were a sweet little thing. Intelligent, yet naive in many ways. It came with your age, Gwayne thought, but you were a loyal friend to his beloved nephew. Daeron adored you, as did many others in Oldtown where you had been sent to Ward all those years ago. Four years Daeron's senior, your friend remained protective of you, much like a dragon would be over its treasure.
â± Gwayne hates himself for being so attached to you. You were younger than him, a sixteen-year difference enough to make him feel just a little bit gross. Yet, he cannot stop himself from vying for your attention...
You are a gentle creature, Gwayne knows. He isn't used to the gentle hands or soft words that you offer him without thought, and so you often have him reduced to a fluttering mess of obsession.
It is you who has Gwayne wrapped around your finger, and the knight can no longer imagine his existence without you taking a vital part in it.
â± Gwayne's love isn't intense or overstimulating; it is gentle and overcoming. He loves much in the way that he serves honorably. A knight's duty is to protect the innocent, and that is how Gwayne approaches your relationship.
He protects every aspect of your being, whether you believe you need him to or not.
Gwayne holds your hands tenderly, pressing his lips against your knuckles in a gentle gesture of pure devotion.
He can see your embarrassed expression, and it sets him alight with a certain fire he could not put into words even if he tried. He can feel your fingers tremble slightly as he holds them. You are a nervous creature, unable to help yourself at the feeling of his smooth lips pressed against your skin.
The intimacy of kissing your hands has Gwayne flushed down to his bones, yet he remains still, ignoring the arousal that stirs in his loins.
Gwayne glances at you as you whisper a simple utterance of his name, the syllables smooth against your tongue.
If you'd let him, Gwayne swears he'd worship you like a god. It may have been sacrilege, but a part of him didn't care. The Seven had nothing on his religion, the holy arousal that flowed through his veins instead of blood whenever you were near, whenever you allowed him to touch you like this.
Ser Gwayne was your devoted lover, in every sense of the word.
Dark! Alicent Hightower/Lady! Reader
â± Alicent, who develops an unhealthy infatuation with one of her ladies-in-waiting. You are similar in age to Helaena, yet you chose to serve the Queen instead. You found a similar spirit in Alicent, looking up to her more than you could put into words, and Alicent enjoyed your company greatly.
You follow Alicent around like a duckling who had imprinted upon someone, and she finds it so enthralling.
â± Alicent had been powerless for such a long time, never having had anything to call her own, so when she has you, she feels a certain power in her veins. You are willing to stay by her side, rejecting plenty of marriage proposals so you could continue under her watch. You would need her leave to marry, and you find that Alicent does not find any man worthy of your hand or womb.
Alicent does not know that she sees you in a romantic light until after Viserys passes. In some twisted way, she thinks of you as a sisterly companion. Her jealousy, she thinks, is due to her not having any friends at court. Alicent cannot bear the idea of you leaving her, especially not for some man.
â± It's only after you come to comfort her in her chambers after her husband dies that Alicent's self-control snaps like a thread under a candle.
Two bodies melted together against Alicent's bed, a mess of gowns and misplaced undergarments. Alicent moans above you; a gentle whimper leaves her lips as she humps softly against your thigh, her fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. Her hips are stuttering, and you can feel the sticky wetness swear and drip against the soft flesh of your thigh.
Your own thighs tremble, your queen thumbs at your clit, and Alicent presses her lips against your own to stifle her own moans of pleasure.
It's a feeling of sweet relief, Alicent having never felt so satisfied a day in her life.
She had taken you much in the way men took their wives, and it was so...
Arousing.
Your nose bumps against her own, and you shyly grip at the dark green fabric of her gown, keeping it pulled past her hips so she could continue to hump at you like a depraved dog. Alicent can feel her core throbbing intensely, and she knows that she wouldn't trade this for anything.
She'd dreamt of this, she admits to herself. Dreamt of bending you over one of the wax-riddled sept corners, riding your backend like some sort of common whore.
These fantasies had resided in the darkest part of Alicent's mind, only allowed to surface in the quiet moments she allowed herself, usually in the comfort of her bath.
She intended to make the most of it now that she finally had you.
Criston Cole is such a realistic character because I, too, would become a munch if Alicent were my queen.
Pairing:Â soft Dark Matt Murdock | Daredevil x (female) Reader
â¶Â This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.
More at Masterlist
SUMMARY: Mattâs overwhelming protection has you frustrated.
WARNINGS: Toxic Relationship; Implied Stalking.
AN: Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated, thank you. Enjoy đ€
--
âUgh. Youâre so infuriating, Matt.â
Your frustration is received with a humorous chuckle as Matt folds his cane and places it on the small coffee table. âYou think I canât defend myself.â
âI didnât say that.â Matt softly refutes.Â
âYou said Iâm weak.â
âFragile is the word I used, not weak.â he corrects you. He plops down on the couch and pats down the spot next to him. âCome sit with me.âÂ
You ignore him, crossing your arms as you stand.Â
âIâm not fragile. Or weak.â you hiss.Â
Matt raises his hands on the air, showing his palms.Â
âAlright. Duly noted. Now come sit, Iâve missed you and I wanna cuddle.â
âMatt.â You groan, blinking away tears of exasperation and frustration. âIâm so sick of this. You have no right to follow me wherever I go. This is why I donât tell you anything, who I go with or where I go because you donât know what privacy means. You canât just do that!â
âHas it occurred to you that maybe I ran into you by coincidence? How can you be so sure that I was following you?â Matt questions you, lips curling into that arrogant half-smirk you despise so much.Â
âMatt. Iâm not in the mood.â you curtly interrupt him, patience running on thin ice.Â
Matt sighs. âCâmon, donât get so worked up over this.â
âWell, whose fault is it?â
âFine. I wonât follow you anymore.â Matt relents, sounding as truthful about it as a pathological liar can. âSatisfied? Now come here and give me a hug.âÂ
You chuckle, a bitter and unamused sound.Â
âThatâs what you said last time and the time before that and before that as well. You just wonât change, wonât you?â
You shake your head and look away, quickly swiping away a tear that insisted on escaping from your eyes. The sound of a small sniff is all it takes for Matt to get back up on his feet with a groan.Â
âSweetheartâŠâ
You bat his hand away when he reaches for you, turning your back on him before going to the kitchen. Matt trails after you as you search the cabinets for a glass.Â
âPlease, letâs not argue. Itâs pointless and-â
âYouâre the one taking this too far, Matt. You have control issues or maybe trust issues and- â
âOkay, alright. Youâre right. Maybe I do.â he relents, but you know his admission is but words meant to placate you. Thatâs what he always does.
And then the lawyer in him kicks in. âBut Iâm just looking to protect you, thatâs all. New York is a big city and Hellâs Kitchen is a dangerous place. So tell me why itâs so wrong wanting to protect someone I care about?â
You turn around and nearly collide with Matt from how close to you he silently managed to get himself.Â
âIâve lived in New York my whole life and I managed just fine.â you say.Â
âAnd then Iâm the one who has issues, right.â Matt scoffs, brown eyes divagating around as he shakes his head. âManaging just fine might be a hyperbolism to say, you know. Especially when you arenât aware of half the shit that happens around you. Or did you notice the sleazy guy that followed you all the way from work?â
You blink, lips parting as your heart begins to race.Â
âWhat? No, there wasnât-â
âYes, there was. I handled him a few blocks before you reached the apartment but you never once noticed him. Not on the street or the subway. So caught up in your own little world, earpods on and watching videos on your phone. Funny, right?â
Matt tilts his head, shrugging his shoulders.Â
âAnd you know what, this wasnât even the first time. Thereâs been so many times you failed to be aware of surroundings. Failed to notice when someone had bad intentions towards you. Like last week you took a shortcut on your way home, but didnât realize there was a guy with a knife in the alley, waiting for you.â
You gulp, faltering in your stance as Matt takes a step closer to you, warm hand cupping your cheek.
âYou need me to protect you.â he affirms like itâs a mere observation, a simple truth that you canât deny. âYou can call me whatever you want, argue all you need but it wonât change the fact that you need me. To protect you from the monsters lurking around, to keep you safe from the dangerous of the cityâ
You swallow back the words that threaten to slip away and Matt leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.Â
âYou need me.â he breathes out, soft lips pressing against your forehead. âAnd the truth⊠I need you just as much as you need me.â
Hi, can ask for romantic hcs of König from Call of Duty?
I remember everyone loving the guy so I just hope I don't butcher his personality. He doesn't have much lore since he isn't a campaign character so let's see how I do.
Okay, König feels a little difficult to write for one reason I found.
He's not playable in any campaign... He's just a multiplayer character.
Which unfortunately means, from what I can tell, he has no canon personality.
His voice lines, from what I've seen, don't seem to have any interactions that give off a palpable personality from what I can see.
His wiki doesn't either.
The most I have is his backstory then guessing.
So if he's OOC or doesn't align with your personal HC... I'm sorry.
König suffers from social anxiety which resulted in him being bullied.
This is one of the reasons the fandom tends to baby him from what I'm guessing.
To be fair... I wouldn't doubt if he was insecure due to his hulking figure.
I can also see him as mostly keeping to himself, yet still knows how to command a room.
He had wanted to be a recon sniper when he joined the military... but lacked the stealth due to his build and inability to stay still.
Instead he was made an insertion specialist, a human battering ram essentially.
From what I'm getting... He's meant to keep attention on him, like a tank due to his size.
It's also noted in his wiki that König tends to intimidate people.
His stature and the fact he never reveals his face tends to scare people.
Which could be another reason he keeps to himself.
People just see him as a beast sent in to catch the enemy off guard.
König is part of the KorTac private company.
Other than that... that's all the canon stuff I know about him.
His personality is never listed... but many depict him as a gentle giant who is awkward but sweet.
Which... I mean... I think at times he could be that way towards someone he enjoys romantically...
But maybe not all the time.
I feel like König takes time to get attached to someone as I see him as reserved due to his past.
It's also hard to tell what he's thinking.
So most of the time he comes across as this hulking shadow that dwarfs you.
Yes, I am aware I mentioned his size a ton, that's because König's size difference with his obsession is a big part of his yandere behavior.
He'd end up fixating on how small you are compared to him.
Now when it comes to you meeting one another... it would most likely be in KorTac.
You're most likely another mercenary that does missions alongside him.
If you really want to do my favorite idea... maybe you're a medic?
KorTac would need medical personnel... so that could work?
König mostly keeps to himself at base and on the job.
You'd probably only ever hear him talk to give orders or point something out.
So while you aren't sure of what's going on under that sniper hood...
It doesn't mean he isn't dealing with some intense feelings.
König may express being comfortable around you in subtle ways.
I feel like a big one for him would be proximity.
He's quiet, always too awkward due to his size and demeanor.
Yet I can see him slowly inching closer to someone he's interested in.
He enjoys your presence and while you don't see the mess of emotions he struggles to control...
You probably do notice him slowly settling closer to you.
Be it on missions or after... he just always seems to be around.
Sure, his presence can be unnerving at times... but you may eventually realize he just gets along with you.
He doesn't even have to say anything... he just likes to sit next to you.
I say being a medic would be an interesting concept as he probably wouldn't mind you touching him... in fact he's probably quietly flustered at the idea.
That's a good thing about his sniper hood, right?
You can't see just how much you manage to affect a giant like him....
König around others comes off like an intimidating and commanding presence.
Others see he has a focused glare, they see him barge through doors with a brutal efficiency...
Hell, he gives good orders too.
But with you?
He's... a different man at times.
He's still intimidating... but he also seems self-conscious when he sits with you?
He keeps acting like he might be bothering you if he brushes against you or his breath hitches when you look him over.
He honestly can't believe how you make him act.
He joined the military to not feel like this.
He was trying to lean into the idea of being this big beast for his team.
Yet you were bringing back that urge to curl into himself when you simply spoke to him or gently touched him.
He originally hates such weakness... but you seem to bring that out in him.
You're so much smaller than him, probably his complete opposite...
Yet you kept making him curse under his breath in German wherever he catches his thoughts wandering.
You would be his weakness... but at the same time that would probably make König want you more since you probably aren't as strong as him.
König is probably a possessive/protective yandere that's also a switch.
He could be dominant with his obsession due to his size and strength... but he could also be a more submissive yandere if you wanted him to be.
I've seen both versions done by different people... so I think how I'd write König is a mix between the two.
He's definitely intimidating most of the time... but with you?
Well... there's times he's gentle and soft around you.
You make him feel less like a weapon, less like a soldier, and more like you can see what's underneath his hood.
Such a vulnerability is initially complicated for him to feel...
But he leans into it with you.
König is not quite a wet kitten as people sometimes depict him as... I think he's strong and able to hold his own for his team.
Yet I can also see him immediately focus on the fact you touched him, tensing quietly before having to go clear his head.
Sure, he's no pushover, but you really do break him at times.
König is protective with you since you're not only part of KorTac... but are incredibly important to him.
Seeing some of the finishers within COD... it makes me think that he'd be violent if anyone got too close to you in combat.
He doesn't mind blood or the fact he has to kill people for a living.
At the same time he hates scaring you.
He doesn't want you to see him as just some giant soldier who could snap bone like a twig.
Every time he checks in with you, sitting beside you, as though silently hoping you don't see him as a monster.
Hopefully you understand... and not see him differently....
Possessive also seems like it would work for him... along with dedicated.
He's a man that would be at your side in an instant if you needed him.
Sometimes you wonder if he's waiting for such a moment... because when you do need him he just... materializes.
For a man built like a tank... somehow he just seems to appear beside you.
Around other KorTac recruits König seems a little... tense.
Originally this could be explained as insecurity due to his past.
But around you... it's more like he hates the idea of no longer being the center of your attention.
This is even worse if you're a medic.
Something as simple as tending to a wound makes König glare at whoever is receiving your care, making them shrink.
König essentially acts as some scary dog to everyone else in a room.
Although... with you he seems eager for you to notice him.
I feel like under the right circumstances he'd be putty in your hands... but most of the time he tries to be a soldier who gets the job done.
König could sometimes be a clingy yandere too.
I feel like this is more likely in private and if you're together though.
He likes the way your body fits against his form... it makes him feel like you're both safe...
Which makes him want to keep you there forever.
I feel like König can be soft... leaning into your touch or murmuring about how he feels about you.
Yet if you ever tried to leave him or something made him think he was going to lose you...
It's then I feel like you'd see that commanding Colonel persona come out.
His tone is deep, a rumble that makes your spine shiver.
He may even show such a side to tease you, he does enjoy how small you look compared to him...
Sometimes making you tremble is worth it... unless you start actually getting upset...
Then he immediately swaps back into comfort by pulling you into his arms.
König is a man capable of easily removing anyone he doesn't like around you.
Could be a simple order... or maybe an execution...
But he'll always try to justify it to you.
He can be intimidating, or he can be gentle.
He's got the strength to make sure you don't leave either.
He won't hurt you, not intentionally.
Sometimes he is even extra careful, he wants you to know you're special to him.
So sometimes he's careful, his touch comforting...
But other times it can easily become suffocating when he holds you tight, as though to make sure you never leave him.
König can either be a tame yandere... or a super intense and dangerous one.
He tends to swap between the two depending on his mood... or how you want to see him.
Essentially... König can be two things for his obsession...
He can be a sweet lover who wants to hide you from the world, who craves your approval as though he can't live without you, who wants to be your sweet comfort and worship you...
Or he can be your worst nightmare, your warden, a beast let off his leash who will only be soothed when he has you in his arms again.
yandere Erik Lehnsherr x reader: Erik is determined to make you return his feelings, no matter the cost.
Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, 18+ only.
You woke up late.
The clock on the bedside table read 11:37am. Sunshine seeped in through the blinds, casting shadows around your room. Your eyes widened as you attempted to move, but were unable to do so. Your heart sank at the realizationâwhat were once straight, solid bed posts were now tightly wound around your wrists, keeping you subdued.
It shouldâve been impossible. You had to have been dreaming. You had to have been.
As you squirmed in discomfort, you couldnât help but wonder how youâd gotten such a good night of sleep this way. Just how long had you been tied up like this? More importantly, how had someone even managed to get your bed posts to bend in that way, to curl up like a snake?
You attempted to pry yourself out of the contraption, but you flinched in pain every time. After several minutes of struggling, you exhausted yourself. You clenched your eyes shut and sighed in defeat. And then, you heard it. Clear as day. A manâs voice. You opened your eyes to see him, tall and handsome in a brown leather jacket and jeans.
âIâm sorry about the restraints,â he said casually, as if apologizing for bumping into you on the street. âIâll take them off. Couldnât have you flying away on me during the night, could I, spatzi?â
âWhatâs going on?â you asked, your breathing suddenly becoming rapid, shallow.
He chuckled, ignoring you. He approached you slowly, carefully. You flinched away from him as he placed his hands on your arms. There was a flash of something in his eyes as he looked at youâpity, maybeâbut he quickly regained focus towards the task at hand. With a flick of his fingers, he unwound the bed posts from around your wrists, setting you free. You still didnât move an inch.
A mutant. There was a mutant in your apartment, and there was nothing you could do about it.
âLetâs have a look,â he said, reaching forward to grab your wrists. You tried flinching away, but he simply tightened his grip. âYouâre all red.â He frowned, his gaze meeting yours. He placed his hand against your forehead and through your hair, pushing it away from your eyes. âYou have brushburns. How long have you been awake?â
Your eyes shifted towards the clock, then back to him. âAround five minutes.â
âYou did this much damage to yourself in just five minutes?â he asked, smirking at you. It was certainly odd, but his tone wasnât necessarily malicious. He was amused, like youâve done something silly. And maybe you had. You clearly werenât going to get out of your current predicament on your own, as hard as you may have tried. âDetermined. I like it.â
âWho are you?â you asked. âWhatâŠwhatâs going on?â
He frowned again. âYouâre shaking.â
âIf itâsâŠif itâs money you wantââ
âAh. Money,â he echoed, rolling his eyes. âRight. You think thatâs what I want?â
âIf youâre going to hurt meââ
âHurt you? I wouldnât hurt you,â he said, pausing to chuckle to himself. âWell. Not in any way you wouldnât like.â
Regardless of his intention, his words only seemed to fill you with anxiety. He gave you that sympathetic look again, kneeling down next to the bed where you were sitting. He grabbed onto your shoulders.
âLook, I know youâre afraid. But I need you to be brave for me, alright, spatzi?â
You stared at him in confusion. âYou keep saying that. Spatzi.â
He moved to hold your chin in his hand. He studied you carefully, staring at your eyes, down towards your lips and back up again. âLittle sparrow.â
âHow did you get in my room?â
âThe same way I get into any room. Through the door.â
âPlease donât toy with me,â you said, your breathing ragged.
He stared at you for a moment, as if surprised by your words. He smiled warmly at you. A real smile, not an amused one. âIâm not toying with you, Iâm playing with you,â he said reassuringly, although you didnât feel very reassured. âThereâs a difference.â
âHow did you do that to the headboard?â
âYou ask a lot of questions, donât you?â he sighed. âBut I wonât fault you for it. I suppose I would, too, if I woke up like this. Itâs jarring, Iâm sure.â
âIâll give you anything you want. Please, just let me go and Iâllââ
âEnough,â he said, tightening his hold on your chin. âNot that I donât enjoy hearing it, but I think thatâs enough begging for today. Youâre just going to exhaust yourself.â
âPlease, sir, if you just let me goââ
He raised his eyebrows. âSir. Very polite of you,â he said, grinning. But then his face hardened. âBut no. This ceaseless begging ends now. I wholeheartedly promise you, I donât intend on letting you go. And Iâm not one to go back on my word.â
You were both quiet for a while, staring each other down. He let go of your chin and stood up, walking towards your dresser. He picked up a small metal jewelry box, tracing the edges with his fingertips.
âWho am I? What do I want? Thatâs what youâre wondering, right?â he asked. âThis is nice, by the way. Antique?â
âIt was my motherâs,â you said shakily.
He opened the jewelry box, and suddenly the rings inside began to float. You stared at him in shock.
âWas. You lost her, right? Deeply saddening. Iâm so sorry, my dear. Losing a parent, I know that kind of pain.â
âHow did you know that?â
âIâve been following you for a while now.â He inspected your rings carefully, turning them over midair. âAre these all family heirlooms? Some look newer than others.â
âPlease just tell me whatâs going on.â
The rings slowly went back inside the box and it proceeded to close on its own, settling back down on the dresser. He looked at you, nodded. âSince you asked so nicely. My name is Erik Lehnsherr, and Iâve known you for a very long time.â
Hi dear. I'm sorry, I didn't quite understand what you meant. I shared a post about Yandere/romantic Sultan Suleiman (Magnificent) and you want to see more? If so, could you share the link to my post? I don't remember which post you were referring to. I'll see what I can do when my requests are reactivated. I'm not making any promises.
