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after-witch · 2 years

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Absence is a House So Vast [Yandere Soldier Boy x Reader]

Title: Absence is a House So Vast [Yandere Soldier Boy x Reader]

Synopsis: You're assigned to guard Soldier Boy at a secluded house. The assignment turns into something much more.

Word Count: 3651

Notes: Yandere/yandere behavior, abusive relationship, physical and emotional abuse, misogyny

Soldier Boy was dead. That was the official line that Vought, the media--and most importantly of all, the government--was sticking to; and it was the line you were sworn to uphold, even under pain of torture and imminent death.

But he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even asleep, anymore; or whatever counted as “asleep” in the semi-frozen state they’d put him in after the incident at Vought Tower. No, he was alive and as well as could be. If “being kept in an isolated cabin away from civilization, implanted with exploding trackers in case he tried something, and kept company by a rotating team of agents” could be considered well, anyway.

Being part of the rotating live-in guard watching over the defrosted Soldier Boy wasn’t exactly the type of job you thought you’d be assigned, especially given your light track record with the Secret Service. You were meant for reconnaissance, light missions, in-and-out actions that kept you moving.

This mission was static. One place, the same length of time, and the same essential experience: Soldier Boy wanting to know if you’d brought him his snacks (you had); Soldier Boy staring at the TV for hours, or attempting to use the kid-protected tablet the agency gave him for entertainment; Soldier Boy getting bored, demanding to be let go, and you reminding him of the deal he made with the government in exchange for being taken out of stasis.

He remains here, incognito, away from everyone else--and in return, if the government ever needs him to quash a Supe in the name of American safety, he’ll step up to the plate. You weren’t there to see his expression when they told him “It’s the least you can do to serve your country.” But based on the months of interactions you’ve had with him, you imagine that expression was somewhere between indignity, prideful acceptance, and are-you-fucking-kidding-me-with-this-shit.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Soldier Boy, it’s that he still clings to that past as an American Hero. Like a security blanket. You’re not sure how much of it he actually believes. You were briefed on his real actions--some legit, many of it staged--and you think it helped you gain a deeper understanding into his worldview.

He’s not a nice person, exactly. He’s killed people. But there were worse Supes to be stuck in a cabin with for 2 weeks on end, weren’t there? And you know that a lot of what is being put out on the TV is bullshit, Homelander-approved Vought propaganda designed to inflame the masses.

So you pick and choose what you believe and after a few weeks, you don’t give him the cold shoulder, like the others say they do. You talk to him. Why not? He’s not going anywhere, you’re not going anywhere. It would be inhumane to keep him socially isolated. And you’re not inhumane.

He even has--you would never admit this to anyone else--something charming about him. You can see why he had so many women falling at his feet back in his multi-generational heyday, though you’re sometimes reminded of when those generations fell when he makes low-voiced, teasing comments about you cooking his food or cleaning up after him.

Today, you’re not thinking about any of that. Today, you’re actually not thinking about Soldier Boy much at all. That’s because a new book in your favorite series came out, and you’re currently curled up on the lounge chair in the living room, lost in the pages while some inane game show Soldier Boy turned on drones in the background.

“You gonna answer me, sweetheart?”

His voice finally pierces through your book-induced haze, and you blink slowly, pulling yourself out of an engrossing story to find him staring at you from the other side of the room.

“Sorry,” you say, reflectively. “What did you say?”

He regards you with something of a half-smirk, and you can’t deny that understanding of what made him so appealing at the sight. He’s really damn handsome.

“I said, what’s a pretty gal like you doing with her nose in a book all day?”

It’s cheesy. It sounds like something from an older Hollywood movie. But it makes your cheeks heat up to be called pretty, anyway.

“I like books,” is all you come up with, holding the cover almost protectively.

“Yeah?” He seems interested, almost. “So what’re you reading?”

You hold up the cover. It’s a fantasy series.

“Why don’t you read it to me?”

You search his face for signs of teasing, but find none.

“Why?” You ask.

He shrugs and crosses the room, plopping himself down on the couch closest to your chair.

He gestures towards the TV. “Why? Because I’m bored and I like the sound of your voice, and there’s only so much of this shit I can watch every day. TV used to be a hell of a lot better, I’ll tell you that.” He pauses. “Pardon my French.”

You shouldn’t. You were briefed on how to avoid getting too close with the subject under you care. That’s one of the reasons why everyone was rotated out every 2 weeks.

But… he does look bored. And he asked politely. What’s the harm in it?

You open to the page you just finished and begin to read as he leans back on the sofa, kicking up his feet.

Your first kiss with Soldier Boy is a mixture of sweat and heat and shame and fear; fear that he’s doing for ulterior motives, fear that the agency will find out and you’ll be fired---or worse; and fear that you’re just a fling, just something he’s doing because he’s bored. Like flipping through TV channels. Like listening to you read a book.

When you pull away, his mouth is still close, his scent--some generic aftershave the agency picked up--overwhelmingly intimate. You stare at his lips to avoid looking him in the eye.

“Soldier Boy…” you begin. “This isn’t…”

“Ben,” he says. “Call me Ben.”

You look up at him. His gaze has softened from its earlier hunger, and there’s something gentler and anxious in them. Something that makes you think about how he sometimes cries out at night (he denies it; you stopped bringing it up); about him bitterly telling you about the Crimson Countess, about his disappointment in the fact that his only son was a shitbird like Homelander.

Something that makes you forget about your fears about your job and his motivations entirely.

“Ben,” you whisper.

His name is sweet on your lips, and your first kiss with Soldier boy is not your last.

The relationship has to come to light eventually. All things do. You sit in your superior’s climate controlled office, your hands tucked under your thighs, like a nervous child brought to the principal’s office. There’s a solid pit in your stomach that has only grown since you received the phone call to report in.

You could be fired. You could be arrested. Those are the good options, truth be told.

But instead of reprimanding you, they tell you that your intimacy with Soldier Boy is actually an asset for the agency. He’ll be easier to control, if he’s connected to someone. They’re going to pull the other guards now, and it’ll just be you. Your apartment is already being packed up.

You swallow thickly and thank them for their decision. The pit in your stomach doesn’t go away when you get back to the cabin, where Ben is waiting, pacing around the living room, a beer in one hand.

He looks up when you enter and scans you over with his gaze. Checking for bruises, maybe; he’d prepped you on what to do if they started interrogating you, and you reminded him that you were a trained agent, after all. But you tell him that they didn’t hurt you. They’re letting you stay, in fact. Your stuff is coming soon.

His smile is full of disbelief and relief, and he pulls you into a jovial hug and spins you around in a silly motion, making you feel giddy and ridiculous. And that pit in your stomach finally dissolves away, leaving you light and breathless in his arms.

It’s not a great day.

He’s irritated. It happens, you remind yourself. He’s cooped up here in this modest cabin, unable to interact with anyone but you. There’s only so much entertainment to be had, especially when he’s never gotten the hang of the newer technology installed here, and even when he does, it usually leads to him getting aggravated about something in the news. Reversals in politics. Articles about toxic masculinity. He has no shortage of barbed words “for that dumb shit,” and it’s almost better when he’d rather do something that doesn’t involve his minor connections to the outside world.

Still. He’s bound to get irritated. You know this. It’s understandable, it’s okay, he’ll tire himself out.

That’s what you tell yourself as he paces around the living room, a light scowl on his face.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” You ask, trying to keep your tone soft and amiable.

He stops in his pacing and you can see his face scrunch in annoyance.

“It’s that fucking pill thing they gave me. It’s not working right.”

Your brows furrow in confusion.

“Pill? What pill did they give you?” If they’re drugging him, it’s news to you. Well. Aside from the bennies that they supply him now and then for good behavior.

“The--you know.” He gestures broadly to the coffee table, where the solidly built children’s tablet is sitting. “The fucking pill… tablet thing.”

“Oh,” you say, and you can’t help your smile at his mix-up or the teasing tone in your response.

But it was the wrong thing to do today, when he’s so wound up, so agitated. You recognize that in a flash when you see his nostrils flare as he huffs a hard breath out his nose, just before he yanks the tablet up from the coffee table and chucks it at the wall.

You hear the glass screen crack, splintering--so does the drywall.

“Fuck,” he says, sitting himself down on the couch. He runs his hands through his hair. “Sorry. Got a little too pissed there.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, rabbit-like. He’s never gotten aggressive in front of you like this before. Maybe a little too heated when he’s ranting about all the restrictions or annoyed with changes in the world, but…

You glance at the gaping hole in the wall and make a mental note to call someone to get it fixed.

“It’s… okay,” you say, voice placating. It’s not okay, and you know that. But you can’t blame him, exactly, for getting agitated. You shouldn’t have made fun of him, you reason to yourself. You know better than that.

“I’m just going to run a few errands. I’ll be back in a few hours at most.”

He can’t go into town. He can’t go into town and he hates it. He doesn’t hate you. No. But he hates his situation. You can’t blame him, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need to get groceries, you need to get supplies and--truthfully? You need a break from his constant presence, always demanding attention from you. Affection and otherwise.

“No, you’re not,” he says, and his voice has taken on such a matter-of-fact tone that it takes you aback for a moment. “I don’t want you going today. You can scrape together dinner with what we have in the kitchen.”

You press your lips together.

“Ben. Seriously. It’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal!”

You don’t expect the outburst and you flinch back, just a little. The drywall is patched up, but you’ll always notice where the hole was. Your mind flashes back to that, yes, and other incidents as well. The way he got annoyed when you brought up an old boyfriend, but he was allowed to bring up his past lovers all he wanted. The way he hated it when you played on your phone, or if the shows he watched used too much modern technology. Most of the time, you watched reruns of shows he liked before he was taken or movies set in those eras--he likes to point out the inaccuracies.

He steps closer to you. Your hand is on the doorknob, the other at your waist, resting loosely on your post.

“You are not leaving me today.”

You smile, and try to make it warm.

“I’m just going to get groceries,” you say, softly. “C’mon. I’ll bring back takeout. What do you want?”

You don’t expect it when he grabs your upper arm, gripping with enough force for soreness to radiate immediately. You don’t expect it, and you don’t know how to respond, other than the instinctive way your body jerks and your mouth inhales a short gasping breath.

“I want you to stay home today.”

“Let go.” Your voice wavers. But you remember who you are, and your training. You’re not some helpless lamb, are you? You tilt your chin up and say with more confidence: “I’m going to run errands today, and that’s final. Let go.”

He regards you for a moment. And you think he might do what he’s done before, when he goes too far. You think he’ll let go and apologize and make it up to you by being extra sweet the rest of the day.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, you’re slammed against the side of the wall, breath knocked out of you.

His finger is in your face and he talks down to you, keeping you in place with a tight grip that makes you remember in a single gesture who he is, what he is, what he can do.

“I. said. no.”

He holds you there for a few more moments. Until your body is shaking from the shock and you’re looking submissively down at the floor, your courage stuck in your shoes.

“You gonna listen?” He says.

You nod, feeling numb.

He lets go.

You wipe your nose and keep your arms clutched tight around you as he puts his arm around your shoulder, anger drained from his body, acting like he didn’t just slam you into the wall.

“C’mon, sweetheart, I bet you can whip up a great dinner with what we have. You can go… Goggle it or whatever the hell it’s called.”

You nod, feeling the phantom pain of his grip on your arm.

He’s been through a lot. That’s what you tell yourself for a few weeks afterward. He’s been through torture. Real torture, torture that should have killed him a thousand times over. He never told you all the gritty details--”That’s not stuff for a lady to hear,” he said, when you got bold enough to ask--but you’d read about it from the agency’s files.

So when he tells you to stop talking about guys’ you’ve been with in the past, because he doesn’t want to even think about you being with anyone but him, you do.

When he gets rough and tells you to stay in every time you run to do errands or God forbid, enjoy a day outside the cabin, you start to go out less and less. You have the agency delivery groceries and supplies instead. You watch movies with him, and not at the theater. It makes him happier to have you here, and when he’s happier, he’s less prone to pushing you around.

Sometimes he holds you and you think he might cry, but he never does. It’s unmanly in his eyes, probably. He has a lot of hang-ups about stuff like that. It’s the moments when you’re holding him that it’s easiest to remind yourself that there’s a reason he acts the way he does, and you should be patient.

That’s what you tell yourself for a while.

And then he slaps you across the face, hard enough to send your head smacking into the wall. Your jaw aches for two days.

And you stop telling yourself all those things.

You tell yourself, instead, that you want to leave.

“You’re not leaving.”

You have a large purse in your hand--just the essentials and the sentimental things that fit inside. Your plan was to head into town under the guise of running errands, call the agency, explain the situation, and get the hell out.

The plan didn’t get as far as the front door.

He knew. You don’t know how, but as soon as you announced you were running to town to grab some steaks for dinner while they were on sale, he just knew.

So you admitted it, because you weren’t dumb enough to lie to his face when he’d figured you out.

“Ben,” you say, because you don’t want to hate him, and you don’t want him angry. You just don’t want to be hurt anymore, either. “I’m sorry. I--this just isn’t healthy for either of us.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that psycho-babble bullshit. It’s not me, it’s you,” he mocks. “I’m not stupid. You think I’m stupid?”

You meet his gaze.

“No, I don’t think you’re stupid.”

He makes a grab for your purse, and you let him, because you don’t want to start a fight.

“Then why the fuck did you think I’d believe that you were running to get some steaks with a purse stuffed with all this?” He opens it up and begins pulling out everything you’d carefully tucked inside. A change of clothes, your phone--it falls on the floor with an unceremonious thump, thankfully protected by your case--and some trinkets and a necklace that belonged to your mother.

“Ben,” you say again, trying to keep him calm, ignoring the own stressful beat of your heart. “I just didn’t want to start a fight, okay?”

“What?” He raises his eyebrows, looking defiant, targeted. “You think I’m a psychopath? You think I’m gonna--what, hit you? Kill you?”

Your expression must shift when he mentions hitting you--but you have hit me, your face says--and he shakes his head. There’s an almost pleading look on his face and you hate it.

“C’mon. It was one time. One time. And I apologized after.” It wasn’t just one time, and he didn’t always apologize, but you don’t correct him. “But I warned you. You got too sass-mouthed, okay? I don’t know why women today think they can just--”

Something in you bursts and you clench your fists tight as you snatch your emptied purse from his hands. The patience and care has fallen from you, replaced by a hot ball in your stomach, something built over the past few weeks every time he yelled and gripped and hurt.

“This isn’t the fucking 1940s or the 1950s or the 1960s or--whatever the fuck decade made you think you have a right to boss me around. I’m not going to stay here and be treated like this. You can complain about it if you want, have a tantrum, I don’t care. But I’m leaving.”

“The hell you are!”

He grabs your upper arm and squeezes, and this is where you would normally cave in, but you can’t. Not today. Not if you want to really leave. So you grit your teeth and keep his gaze, defiant on the surface and terrified underneath.

“You’re not leaving me,” he says, almost a murmur, as he releases your arm.

He keeps on talking as you crouch down on the floor and begin to replace all the items he pulled from your empty purse.

“Everyone else left me. I fought with those guys, fucking tried to take them under my wing, fucking loved them.” There’s a pause. “Well, some of them. And you know what I got for it?” You don’t answer, because you just want to get packed and get out. “Years of torture is what I got. And now, when I’ve found someone that I care about, that I want to stay with me, you’re just going to leave?”

You want to dissect the disbelief in his voice, the hurt and anger and entitlement all wrapped into one horribly complex package. But then you look up, muscles tense and chest tight, and your body flinches in horror. You see it--a sight you’ve only seen one other time, surprisingly early in your relationship, and which you managed to soothe. It made you prideful at the time.

The sight is an unmistakable warm, golden, deadly glow in his chest. His breath coming in deep, painful bursts. His face scrunched in pain and anger, torture in his eyes. His voice comes out ragged and pained and terrifying.

“You’re. Not. Leaving.”

He’s going to explode.

In an instant, you drop your purse, contents forgotten. Your arms wrap around him and you pet his back, his cheeks, pressing kisses feather-light to his skin.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you say, soothing, stroking his shoulders, trying to get him calm. “It’s okay, you’re okay…” You take his face in your hands and make him look at you, talking like you would to a feral animal, voice soft and comfortable. “I’m here, Ben. Look at me, Ben.”

It takes a while, but the glow eventually fades, sapping out of him like thick water.

He collapses on the ground and you go with him, holding him still. His arms cling around you, tight and unforgiving, but not in anger this time.

“You can’t leave,” he says, voice muffled into your shoulder. You can’t tell if he’s commanding or asking or pleading, and you’re not sure you want to know.

Instead you think, right now, if he would let himself, he might cry into your shoulders.

“I won’t,” you whisper, and your plans drop at the doorway as they’ve done every time. “I promise.”

Maybe if he cried, it would be easier to pretend that this is okay.

#yandere soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #yandere the boys #yandere #afterwitch writes #fab five freddy told me everybody's fly

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autumnworld19 · 1 year

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If nobody has noticed yet, but I’ve developed a new obsession. Soldier Boy from The boys, like he is just so…🤭

#autumnworldblackgirl #the boys #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #yandere soldier boy #WHERE ARE THE YANDERE SOLDIER BOY #tw yandere #yandere blog

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whore-ibly-hot · 10 months

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Yan!Soldier/General x Fem!Reader

'His little bride.'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, power dynamics, mentions of sa, p-in-v sex, mentions of war and military, implied violence, threats, possible dub-con as reader does not know the full story behind our yan's goals, female and male genitalia, female reader, pet names.

(AN: Not me coming back from the grave to drop a horny fic and this disappear again. Gonna go eat some pumpkin roll.)

Part 2 here

The sound of papers shuffling and a heavy sigh pierces the usual quiet of General Fritz's office, which is only occasionally broken by you dusting or rearranging one of the many books on the various shelves that lined the room. It's been 3 weeks since the invasion of your small town of Cyril, and the few civilian homes not destroyed in the invasion have been turned into functioning barracks and homesteads for the troops that now occupy your town. While not ideal, the army Fritz serves aligns with the beliefs of your villages people much more than the opposition, and while they are still invaders, many believe them to be the lesser of two evils. You remain as quiet as you can as Fritz attends to his work with a furrowed brow.

General Fritz, while known for his excellence in military strategics and his translation skills, seems to be struggling with the morning's crossword puzzle. A man of 42, he has served in his countries army since he was just 15, leaving his family's small farm and quickly rising through the ranks. He's a scarred man, with many gashes, stubble, and hair that when not in public is rather unkempt. Despite the things he's seen, a kindness remains in his bespectacled eyes. He gives up on the crossword puzzle, allowing the paper to fall to his desk with a 'plop!'. You glance over at him, and approach.

"Sir, is there anything you need, you seem a bit, well, stressed." You say, trying not to impose but express concern. When the troops arrived, many men were recruited, and many girls had to seek jobs. Some had to turn to unsavory means to get by, but you were lucky, you supposed. You were scouted out to serve as a guide and servant for the general, to both give information and serve his needs. While the thought of serving a strange man, one much older than you at that had frightened you, he was nothing like the other soldiers you had seen. He was polite, careful not to scare you off, provided you with good quarters, and never laid hands on you. All in all, the situation would have been perfect, had you not missed your family's bakery from which you were taken. For reasons you didn't fully understand, he never wanted you to travel far beyond his estate and into town.

He sighs. "I am fine, my dear girl. Just dealing with some disputes at the border of the county. Nothing you should concern yourself with." He says. He looks up at you, his glasses reflecting the light of his desk lamp. "Would you mind drawing me a bath, my dear? It has been... quite the day, and I think I need some time to relax." You quickly nod, and scurry off to the master bedroom, entering the attached bathroom and beginning to fill the tub with hot water. After some time, Fritz enters, looking as though he is fighting the urge to ask a question. "I... I hate to ask this of you, and say no if at any point in my asking you are uncomfortable or find me uncouth, but-" He hesitates. "I am very tired, and am currently dealing with some rather serious pain in my legs. Past wounds, you know. Would you be offended if I asked for your assistance in bathing?" You blush a little, but a part of you knows he won't try anything. You have noticed he seems to be limping a little more than usual, his mobility decreasing. Plus, you can tell he's only asking because he must, as the look of utter shame on his face suggests this is the last thing he wished to ask of you. "Of course, sir." His breath hitches, but he nods. As he begins to remove his more civilian garb, as he did not wear his uniform on this day, you try to avert your gaze. Still, you catch a glimpse of his pronounced muscles, littered with the occasional scar or blemish. You swallow heavily.

He slides down into the tub, his tensed muscles visibly relaxing as he lets out a groan. "Hmm..." He glances at you. "It's okay to look now, my dear. Sorry to have upset you." You shake your head, as if to assure him that you aren't bothered. He looks at you softly as you go to grab a sponge, a small part of him disappointed that you won't be using your bare hands to lather soap onto him. He shakes this thought off quickly. 'Shame on you!' He scolds himself 'Thinking such thoughts about your sweet servant girl. God, I'm acting like a recruit visiting his first whorehouse'. He is disappointed in himself, but tries to rationalize it by being innocent. Perhaps he just wanted to feel your hands on him, for comfort, for something different. One of the things he likes most about you is your hands. He noticed them when you first were sent to his mansion, much more timid then. You shook his hand, and his large, calloused and veiny hands, rough from years of labor and fighting, practically trembled at the feeling of your soft ones. As he grew to know you better, he would watch as you worked, your delicate hands dusting a vase or folding a sheet. He quickly decided any hard labor around his home be delegated to cadets and privates, when they would make the occasional visit, and sometimes as a disciplinary action. He wanted to keep your hands like you, soft and warm.

"Sir?" Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "Uh- Yes?" He stammers, readjusting his glasses (which oddly enough he always kept on for bath time.). "I was wondering... if I may take a bath sometime soon?" You ask timidly, causing him to frown. "Have you not been able to take one?" He asks. He doesn't remember ever giving such a command, and he would never deny your basic needs. "Well, one of the privates told me that the recruits shower schedule is twice a week, and that I should probably adhere to that at your house." You explain. Fritz grimaces. Of course some recruit would find it funny to torment the General's beloved servant. The soldiers where allowed two showers a week, but you were no soldier. You were a servant. His Servant. His.

"No, my dear, you may bathe whenever you see fit, that rule only applies to my soldiers of low rank. I imagine that young recruit may have been trying to have a laugh at your expense." He huffs. "Please, if you ever see him at the estate again, alert me to him, alright?" You nod, a little put off. You've never seen Fritz truly mad at one of his soldiers, he doesn't even get grumpy often, but now... he's scowling, as if that cadet had come right up to him, spit on his boots, and insulted his mother.

His eyes suddenly flash with a different emotion, as a thought crosses his mind. He bites his lips, trying to keep away the thought, but it's too tempting. "Perhaps..." His hand grips the porcelain edge of the tub. "Perhaps it would be easier for you to bathe me properly, if you were closer." He mumbles, avoiding eye contact. You tilt your head. "What do you mean, sir?" You ask naively. "Well, I just think, you could get a better position to clean me if you were to join me, i-in this bath, I mean." You blush wildly, and he begins to stammer, coming up with reasons it's a good idea. "For one, it would help you to apply the pain balm to my leg, and-" He's out of breath. "And taking a bath now, together, would ensure you are free later if I should need you." He risks a glance up at your face, feeling his turn red to match your own. You swallow. "I... I suppose that would be okay, sir." You mumble. You can't imagine he would hurt you, or try to take advantage of you. If that were the case, you imagine he would have had his way with you already. Besides, you can't deny how you failed to avoid looking at him when his disrobed before his bath. "Just, look away while I undress, please." You say, beginning to undo the corset of your servants attire. "Of course, anything to protect a ladies modesty." He says, quickly using his free hand to shield his eyes.

You slip into the bath water, and he looks up as he hears the water splash upon your entrance. You both remain silent, and you bathe him gently. He holds back sighs of pleasure, as you have forgone the sponge, and now use your bare hands as he had dreamed of moments ago. "Sir?" you break the silence. He lets out a "Hmm?" In response, eyes still closed in satisfaction. "May I ask, why do you never let me go into town? I wish to see my family, and the bakery." You ask. He seems to tense a little, the veins in his arm more prominent. "Because I simply don't have the time to venture there with you right now." He explains. "Yes, but I grew up there! I'm fine to go by my own." You say, a little annoyed he seems to think you're some helpless maid. He lets out a long exhale, before sitting up a little. Even like this in the bath, he towers over you. "It's not you I'm worried about, little one. I'm sure in town, before me and my men arrived, you could hold your own. But you couldn't against my soldiers, and-" He hesitates to tell you this, a part of him not wanting to scare you. "I don't trust half of them around a sweet thing like you." He sighs. You furrow your brows, your face upset. "You mean, like?" You can't bring yourself to say it. He nods. "I prevent it in every way I can, for all women. I do not allow it, but I cannot be everywhere, and the leaders above me do not permit me to dismiss a single man for a transgression like that. We need all the men you can get for the war." He makes a bold move, to cup your cheek. "But, rest assured, I won't let a single one of them lay hands on you. I just fear something could happen outside of my estate, that I could not control." You gulp at the notion, and nod. He sees the sorrow on your face, and strokes your cheek once more. "I will try to take a small holiday, a day or two perhaps, and I will take you to see them, alright?" He feels his heart speed up when he sees the light return to your eyes.

"Oh! Thank you, sir!" You look as if you could cry. He smiles and nods. "I, I must confess, I hope to go sooner rather than alter, I had wished to speak to your father." He says. "About what?" You feel a little fear knaw at you, and you gasp. "Wait, sir, no! He's much to old to fight, and-" Fritz cuts you off with both hands on your shoulder. "No, my dear, no. I'm not going to draft your poor father, do not worry. I would not want to do anything that would worry you so much." He coos, then avoids eye contact again. "I had wished to speak to him. The last time we spoke, we made a deal that you were to work for me as a servant girl, but..." You nod for him to continue. "I have found that house chores and labor do not suit you." You frown at his words. Had you not been doing a good enough job. "I'm sorry, sir, if I've not been performing well, please don't fire me. My family needs the money." He seems shocked once again, and laughs awkwardly. "God, I do seem to be bad at saying what I mean, don't I?" He shakes his head. "I mean that I think such things are below you. I... I should like to take you as my bride, if you and he should permit it." Your eyes widen. You hadn't expected that. What would he have you do as his bride? He senses your nervousness, and continues. "I assure you, it can have as much or as little intimacy as you wish. You needn't even act as a proper wife to me, I just-" He seems to be struggling to explain. "I just want you to be safe, and comfortable, a-as you have made me feel since you began to serve me." You feel your heart flutter at his words. "Since you arrived, you've been so sweet. Doting on me, caring for me, helping me with the daily crosswords." You laugh a little, and he smiles. "I want nothing more than to ensure that I get to enjoy that everday, and more importantly," a slightly darker tone ebbs its way into his voice. "I want to ensure that no other man does." You're a bit put off by the shift, but only nod.

"I should like to, sir." His head snaps up, his mouth hanging open slightly. "I'll admit, I always wanted to live in a fancy house like this, and the company isn't half bad either." You admit, shyly looking up at him. He is elated, his form almost trembling. "Do you mean it? Truly? You wish to accept my proposal?" He gasps. You nod. He lunges forward to hug you, causing the water to surge forward, but stops just short of you, remembering your nude form rests below the soapy water, as does his. "Ah, um." He coughs awkwardly. "I must ask, if we are to marry, and you do enjoy my company, would you be okay with the typically romantic things? I know people usually court first, but seeing as we've spent all this time together already." He says. You think. "Like kissing, and holding each other?" You ask. "Yes, like that sort of thing." He affirms. You nod. "I'm fine with trying it, but I need to tell you something." He nods for you to go on.

"I'm sure you know, we are a little reserved and conservative in our town. As a traveling man, and a general, I'm sure you have had your share of, um, intimate encounters. I was always told to wait, however, and I may not be what you are used to." You look at the water, trying to fight the insecurity gnawing at your heart. He only shakes his head quickly. "No, no, my darling girl! How could you ever be anything but perfect to me?" He asks, caressing your shoulder blade with his thumb. "I would be honored, if you would have me, to teach you about the more, intimate affairs of marriage and courting." He says. "I must admit, I'm afraid that I wouldn't be enough to satisfy you as a man, or a husband." He confesses. You gasp, and cup his face. "Why, sir?" You implore him to confide in you. "My dear, you are a mere twenty-three years of age, and I am forty-two. I'm practically twice your age. Besides being an old man, you had to help me with this blasted leg into the tub. I'm practically a cripple..." His insecurities begin to flow out as he confesses. You gently tuck your head against his shoulder. "No, sir. You are enough for me. You are a general, and a kind man. You have always treated me with respect. If I didn't think you were enough, I wouldn't have said yes to marrying you, would I?" He nods reluctantly. "No, you wouldn't have. You've always been a smart girl." He admits. "I'm willing to learn, as long as you show me, sir." You whisper.

He blushes, but takes this as a sign. "Well, seeing as we are due to wed, I don't see the harm in teaching you a few things now..." He says, pushing forward a little so your smaller frame is up against the slanted back wall of the tub. "Are you alright with this, you may tell me at any time if you want to stop." He says. You nod. "Words, my dear, please. I want to hear that you understand." He pushes. "I understand, sir." You say. He shakes his head as he plans a kiss on your forehead. "Call me Fritz, my little bride." He coos. "And since you are to be my bride, I hope you won't mind showing me what's been hiding under that uniform I gave you?" He asks. You blush, but slide a little further up the tub, parting your thighs just a touch, so he can see the bush of hair between them. "I haven't shaved, sorry." You say, a little embarrassed. He only chuckles, and shakes his head. "My dear, I've gone months without a shower, and shared a restroom and barrack with 27 other men. A little hair won't scare me off." He looks longingly. "Besides, it's what's under it I'm interested in." His hand suddenly comes to your inner thigh, the sensitive touch making you gasp. You've never been touched up there, much less by a man so strong. One of his large, calloused fingers comes to part your lips, exposing to your future husband your dripping, virgin holes. He lets out a wanton sigh at the sight.

"So beautiful, and untouched?" He asks. You gulp, and nod. "It is my honor to be the first and last man to pleasure your sweet little sex." He says. He traces that finger up and down you're folds, making sure you are properly teased, and getting a feel for you. "So wet, and not just from the bathwater, it seems." He whispers. "Is this how you planned to lose your purity? To a man twice your age, and an invading military officer, no less?" You blush in shame. "I didn't think of the specifics, just... just wanted you to have it, sir..." You whine. His grins grows, and he lets out a groan as he latches his lips to your neck. He licks and kisses up and down your neck, until he finds a spot that makes you let out a beautiful whine, causing him to nip at it. "Do you think your father would be less likely to accept my proposal if he noticed you covered in marks of love from me?" Fritz asks, and you only giggle a little. He finger wanders up to touch the pearl of your sex, making you gasp. "Oh, Fritz... what are you doing?" You ask. "Just finding your pearl, my dear. I want you to cum at least once before I take your virginity. I want to please you, my darling girl." He kisses your cheek, before he presses another finger against your pearl. He rubs in soft, slow circles, trying a few different angles before he finds one that pleases you, which he discerns from the moans you let out. "Fritz, mm-" You moan. You can feel a slow heat spreading, as something in you builds. "Please, a little faster?" You ask. He tuts, and looks at you. "Can't you be patient?" He teases. "No, wanna finish..." You mumble. "Want you in me, I-I wanna be your little wife." He almost chokes at your pleas, the words going straight to his cock. He didn't think you could arouse him even further, but you always did exceed his expectations. He quickens the pace, and you can feel your orgasm approaching. "Yes, Fritz, Yes. Please, make me cum." You beg. "You want to cum, cum so I'll put my manhood into you? Want me to make you a proper little wife for me?" He edges you, and as you nod and agree profusely, you feel that wave wash over you. Your pussy convulses around nothing, as you let out a whine that sounds like music to him. This beats his visits to the royal opera a hundred times over.

As you pant, coming down from your high, Fritz holds you in your place, rising a little out of the water himself. You blush, as his erect manhood becomes visible. He's well groomed, and while the tip isn't pronounced, there's a curve to it that makes your mouth water. "Well, do I seem up to your standards, my love?" He asks. "More than that, Fritz. You're so pretty..." While it seems like nothing to you, these words strike him hard. He's never been called pretty before, and hearing it from your soft lips wipes the lewd grin off his face, replacing it with momentary shock. He pulls himself to you, his chapped lips colliding with your soft ones. You squeak, but melt into it. He tastes like earl grey tea and the occasional cigars he would smoke, but only when stressed. You both gasp as he pulls away, needing air. He places many small kisses on your face, making you smile as you look up at him. "My sweet, sweet girl. Always so kind to this old man..." He murmurs. As he does, he rolls his hips forward a little, allowing the underside of his manhood to rub against the length of your sex. "I'm going to be gentle, alright? It might hurt a little, especially with me being quite a bit larger than you. But I promise to take it at your pace, alright?" He asks, his hands resting gently on your waist. You nod, and feel his hard tip prod a few times at your aroused pearl, before moving down to line up with your entrance. He warns you a little, before gently pushing the tip in. You wince, and he continues to soothingly rub your waist with his thumbs. He moves himself out, then rolls his hips back in, a little deeper with each thrust. It hurts, but the relaxing warm water helps, and it's not as bad as you thought it would be. "Feels okay, darling?" He asks. "Yes..." You respond, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. As he continues, the pain subsides, and he begins to quicken the pace when he tells you this.

"God, Fritz. You're big, s-so big..." You moan, his hips causing your ass to bounce back and forth off the wall of the tub. "I' feel 'mazing." He huffs. "So tight, and warm. My girl, letting me take you like this, getting you ready for our wedding night." He feels himself harden even further at the thought. "Y'know, I think it'd be a shame not to share how sweet you are, how caring." He says, his hips now pounding at your cervix. "W-what?" You ask. He had made it clear earlier he didn't want to share, so despite the pleasure you are confused. "Saying you'll make a good wife, but I think you'd make a better mother." He moans. You gasp at the thought. "All swollen with my baby, my child. Letting me care for you for once, instead of helping me walk cause of my leg, I'd get to help you around..." He thrusts grow more erratic at the idea, and you feel yourself about to climax once more. "Let me, my love, please. Let me fill you with my seed, my children. Let your fiance make you a mommy..." He begs. Just as you shout an agreement, you feel yourself convulse around him, causing his breath to hitch. He groans. "God, gonna finish to now, going to give you my babies..." He shouts. You feel a warmth flood you, as he sprays hot, white ropes of cum into your womb. You both pant, taking quite some time to recover.

Being the strong man he is, he bounces back quite quickly, while you are so tired you can barely move. "I'm sorry, my love." He coos. "Perhaps I was a bit rough for your first time..." You shake your head. "Mmm, no. I-I felt good, just, I'm just tired." You yawn. He chuckles. He cleans himself, and you, before draining the tub. He grabs both of your clothes as he carries you past your servants quarters, and into his room. Helping you to redress in your undergarments, he lays you down. You sigh as your body melts into the luxury sheets. He sits beside you, gently stroking your face. "Get some rest, my little bride." He whispers, before departing back to his office. He heads to the front door, and picks up a letter dropped off from the courier. Inside the envelope is your father's response, from a proposal sent several days ago by Fritz. Once again, though this was his third and final time asking, your father once again denied your hand in marriage to Fritz, saying he would never marry his precious girl to an invader. Fritz grimaces, as he had not wanted it to come to this. Sighing, he writes two more letters in response. One to your father, stating his intent to take your hand either way, and another to his second-in-command, ordering a man to be jailed for treason and defying military orders. The first letter reads as follows.

Dear sir,

As you are well aware, this is the third time you have rejected to allow me to take your daughters hand in marriage. While i understand your hesitation, I do what I do only to provide her a safe, comfortable life, which I do not believe you could have provided her, in your town which my men overtook in merely three hours. I could not imagine if a man worse than I had set his sights on her instead. Rest assured, that in light of your soon-to-be imprisonment, I will care for her. She has developed a reciprocation of my feelings, and despite your refusal to wed her to me, as I write this she lays in my bed, beginning to bear my child. I wish that you had been understanding, and done what was best for your daughter. Now, she will marry happily, but have no father, and the blame lies only on you.

-Fritz, General of the Northern King's forces.

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xblood-sugarx · 4 months

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neck kisses hit different. that is another fuckin level of affection, in my opinion. especially from a vampire. the option to bite is there, and he kisses instead

#his soldier ୨♡୧ #obsessive love #obslove #yandere bf #yandere boy #obsessive love disorder #yandere boyfriend #yanderecore #lovecore #vampire bf #vampiric #vampirism #vampires #vampirecore #vampire #vampire lover

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yandere-writer-momo · 5 days

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Yandere Head Canons:

Love After Death

Yandere Skeleton x Fem Reader

I’m obsessed with Kate Bush’s song ‘Army Dreamers.’ So I decided to write a story about a soldier who died during a war, but he came back to life just to fulfill his promise of coming home to his lover…

There was a Great War many years ago between monsters and humans. A war that took countless innocent lives all due to the human’s greed. A war that took the life of your lover, Zered. Your childhood sweetheart.

Zered was a young sorcerer from the magic tower. A prodigy and pioneer of magic with a heart of gold. He was the man you had planned to spend the rest of your life with. You wanted to run your fingers through those blonde curls until the two of you were balding and wrinkly. To look into those sea foam eyes until you couldn’t. To press soft kisses against his full lips until your lungs burned. You loved that man more than anything in this world… but the war took him from you.

Zered may have died a hero of the empire, but you couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped its fingers into your heart. Your beloved was no nothing more of a war story. A great sorcerer who was able to take down the dragon enemies to give time for reinforcements to arrive. A war hero. And they couldn’t even bring a single remain of him back to you…

You sighed as you sipped on some homemade ale. Your eyes glanced at the sun’s rays that danced across the hay fields in sorrow. This was the cottage the two of you were going to live in for the rest of your days. The one you’d start a family in that was now cold and empty. It didn’t matter that the sun hit it perfectly each time, Zered wasn’t here.

You rock back and forth in the rocking chair. The birds weren’t singing their melodic tunes like they normally did. Which was odd. Why weren’t the birds singing- you almost screamed when you see a dark figure slink through the meadow towards your cabin. What on earth was an undead doing here?!

You quickly sprang up from your chair and fell over since you were a bit tipsy. Crap. Crap. Crap! You needed to head inside before that creature got to you.

You let out a shrill shriek of terror when the skeleton stood in your porch. Its red eyes stared into your very soul as it tilted its head to the side. Oh god… this was it. This was the end. You were going to be ripped apart by this hideous creature-

You went still when the creature threw itself into your arms as it released weeping noises. The skeleton whined and shook as its arms wrapped around your body in a tight hug.

“H-home. I… home.” The skeleton’s voice was a spin chilling rasp. A small tuft of blonde on its head showed that it was once human.

What did it mean by being home- wait. This cousin possibly be?

“Zered?” You gasped when the skeleton pressed its teeth onto your cheek like it wanted for press a kiss against your cheeks. “Zered, what happened?”

“Home… home.” Zered was barely to rasp out legible words. The skeleton cupped your face in its palms. “Love you… I home.”

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intynidad · 6 months

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yayayayayayayya!

Imagine a Soldier, a DILF,Huge, muscular, and so intimidating! But there are a few drawbacks.. He is VERY possessive and overprotective! (Yandere)

He can’t see you with another man! Or even the thought of a man breathing in your direction is enough for him to throw a sharpened knife at his head.. Even women are rivals to him.. He is a MaleWife! I’m his free time he wants to take care of you! like imagine the pink frills and bows but with camouflage pants and dog tags..

And the way he looks at you.. with so much adoration and love.. Even after transforming into a beast a few moments ago and glaring at the one who dared to even look at his sweet darling!

Scary dog privileges!! A huge almost 7 foot man stalking behind you with a preditorial gaze.. Sending death glares at anyone who passes near you..

you don’t know how he is so stealthyfor being so huge..

Has a huge and muscular body! So he has huge hands and arms.. With lots of bulging veins!

(Imagine grabbing his moobies after a hard day of work.. He would moan and whimper like a bitch in heat.. a string of Thank yous coming out his mouth..)

I imagine he has a hidden piercing probably on his tongue.. but no one knows.. except you.. but isn’t noticeable because he wears a balaclava at work!

Petnames!: Darling, Sweethear, Angel, My love, Princess, Lovely

It took some time but i really like how it came out owo

I got a little lazy on the end but is still good

TW: yandere behavior, description of violence(not towards reader), use of pet names (sugar cube and darling), female oriented reader ??? Tell me if i miss anything owo

Enjoy !

War was not kind to anyone.

First, your father was drafted to fight on the front lines. He tried to write every time he could, but one day, you and your mother stopped getting any letters. That's when you knew it - that your father was dead.

Your now-widowed mother was absolutely heartbroken. You tried to initiate a conversation, saying, -"Hello, Mom,"- but were only met with silence. This is how things have been going since the news of your father. It’s been a lonely and difficult time for your family.

You often found yourself staring out of the window, watching the seasons change. The world outside seemed to carry on as if nothing had happened, while inside your home, there was a void that couldn't be filled.

You saw how the war started to consume your little neighborhood, first your father, then your mother, and now your friends.

"I can't believe it," you said with a shaky voice. "You can't leave me."

You clutched the small phone in your hands while the other person on the line gave a low chuckle, full of sadness. "I know, I know. It's not like I want to."

"Dylan, please," you begged, your voice choked with a sob. "You're sick. You can't go to fight."

"I can't just stay still while the war consumes our lives, sugar cube," Dylan replied with determination. "Listen, I'm going to do everything I can to stay in contact, but I refuse to stay still while our enemies burn our homes and kill our people."

You understood his sentiment, but the fear of losing yet another person you loved was overwhelming. The war had taken so much from you already, and you didn't want to lose Dylan as well.

"Dylan, promise me you'll be safe. Promise me you'll come back," you pleaded.

"I promise I'll do my best, sugar cube," Dylan said softly. "And I promise we'll be together again when this nightmare is over."

As the call ended, you clutched the phone tightly, tears streaming down your face, thinking of the destiny of one of your closest friends. With your vision blurry, that's when you saw it:

[Be the hero of our heroes!]

[Become a war nurse and help today!]

——-

The training was fairly easy, but the hardest part was saying goodbye to your mother. It wasn't because of the response she gave you, but rather the lack of it. The war had taken so much from her, and you leaving to join the medical corps was another sacrifice she had to bear in silence.

After three months of training and preparation, you reached your destination - the front lines. Well, it wasn't exactly the front lines where bullets flew, but it was a place where you felt like you were helping. The makeshift field hospital was a hive of activity, with wounded soldiers being brought in, and the dedicated medical team doing their best to save lives and ease suffering.

Your heart swelled with a mix of fear and determination as you donned your nurse's uniform. You had a newfound respect for the doctors and nurses who worked tirelessly in these conditions, and now, you were one of them.

Every day, you encounter injured soldiers, each with their own story of bravery and sacrifice. You offered comfort, administered care, and listened to their fears and hopes. It was a harsh environment, but the camaraderie and shared purpose among the medical staff gave you strength.

As you continued your work on the front lines, you knew that this was where you were meant to be, where you could honor your father's memory, support your friends, and be a beacon of hope in the darkness of war.

That was until one particularly slow day. Well, as slow as it could be in a war hospital. You were preparing some medical supplies for the medics to take to their respective camps when a superior of yours called you.

-"Y/N! Could you come over and take care of this new patient? I'm kinda busy right now,"- the woman said in a calm tone.

-"Sure, just send them back here, and I'll take care of them,"- you responded.

Her tone was pretty chill, so it was probably just a bruise or maybe a cold. You were preparing some medicine and band-aids when you felt a small tap on your shoulder.

-"I'm sorry to keep you waiting; please have a sea-" When you turned around, you were shocked to see a man - no, a practical giant - towering over you.

The soldier was immense, with a rugged face that bore the scars of battle. He had a stern, almost intimidating expression, and it was clear that he had seen his fair share of combat. As he hunched down to enter the tent, you couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and trepidation.

-“Captain Samuel Reynolds, a pleasure to make your acquaintance"- he said in a deep, gravelly voice. His uniform was tattered and stained, and he clutched his side in obvious pain.

-"Y/N,"- you replied, trying to regain your composure. You quickly gestured for him to sit on one of the makeshift beds. As he eased himself down, it became apparent that he was wounded, a bandage around his abdomen stained with blood.

-"I heard you're the best nurse in this place,"- he said, his voice filled with both gratitude and a touch of humor.

You blushed at the compliment. The reality was that you were just doing your best, like all the others in the medical corps. You started to assess his injuries, trying to hide your nervousness as you worked to remove the soiled bandage.

-"You've been through quite a lot,"- you commented as you cleaned the wound.

Samuel winced, but he nodded. -"The front lines aren't a picnic, that's for sure. But I've seen worse."

As you stitched up his wound and administered medication, you couldn't help but feel watched as his gaze practically pierced through you. But you continued to do your work, focused on providing the best care you could.

-"Okay, that should do for the bleeding, Mr. Reynolds. Let me go grab some bandages and some painkillers for you,"- you said.

His response caught you off guard, -"...why?"- Samuel said, almost confused about your reasoning.

-"Because, um, you are hurt?"- You stammered, wondering if you had said something wrong.

-"Thanks for the offer, sweetheart, but this pain won't kill me. Plus, there are some other people around that probably need those painkillers and bandages more than me,"- Samuel said matter-of-factly. He expected it to be the end of the conversation. You would probably tell him okay and assign him a bed, and that would be the end of it.

But you surprised him with your firm resolve. -"No,"- you said.

-"Thanks, so I will be going to my bed, then,"- Samuel was more than confused when he registered your words.

-"Wait, what?"- he asked.

-"I'm sorry, Captain, but with all due respect, I will not allow you to do that,"- you said firmly.

-"Do what?"- Samuel was clearly taken aback.

-"I'm sorry, but as long as you are here, I'm in charge of you, and I won't let any of my patients go suffering when they can perfectly take some rest and medication,"- you said, giving him a small, determined smile. It was clear that you weren't going to back down.

Samuel's eyes met yours, and he seemed to be processing your words. His tough exterior had met its match in your unwavering dedication to your patients' well-being.

As you delicately applied pressure to his wounds to wrap them up in bandages, Samuel couldn't help but feel his heart skip a beat. The way your hands worked so skillfully and delicately had a calming effect, and he found himself strangely drawn to your touch. It was as if your care had the power to make his pain vanish.

However, the sensation of your fingers on his skin made him nervous. His heart raced, and he couldn't quite understand why he felt this way. Samuel, a battle-hardened captain, suddenly felt a wave of discomfort.

-"I'm sorry, but are you okay?"- you asked, looking into his eyes as you reached your hand to his forehead. -"You're a little bit hot."

-"I'm f-fine,"- he stammered, full of shame. How was it possible that he was suddenly stuttering? What was happening to him?

Samuel couldn't quite comprehend the mix of emotions he was experiencing. Here he was, a soldier used to facing danger and making difficult decisions, and yet in this moment, your caring presence and gentle touch had him feeling vulnerable in a way he had never felt before.

A couple of weeks passed, and you continued to care for him. It didn't take much time for Samuel to realize that he was in love. A cold-blooded soldier had become completely enamored by a tiny (in comparison to him) nurse. He couldn't help but follow you with his gaze as you waltzed around the hospital, tending to the wounded and offering comfort with your warm smile.

He felt a profound happiness with you in his life. The war, which had taken so much from him, had also given him something unexpected – love.

One day, when his wounds were practically all healed up, he went for a run around the hospital perimeters. Part of it was to use some of the energy he had built up during his recovery, but deep down, he also wanted to make sure you were safe.

During his run, he stumbled upon a small river with water lilies floating on its surface. They were small in comparison to his massive hands, delicate and beautiful, just like you. Samuel found himself captivated by their fragility and elegance.

He decided then and there. He would confess his feelings to you when the sun went down. Those lilies, a symbol of the tenderness he had discovered in the midst of war, would be his gift to you. They represented the love that had grown in his heart, unexpected and pure, just like the delicate blossoms on the river.

He advanced with a spark to his feet, feeling his heart sincronice to each step he took.

At the entrance of your “office” (it was just a big tent but you liked to call it that) , he called out to you, -"Um, Miss Y/N, are you there?"- He couldn't help but feel a certain nervousness in his voice. It was an unfamiliar feeling for him, like he was a teenager again, not a battle-hardened soldier.

When he didn’t hear anything he decided to just enter and wait for you.

It was weird. You usually would check for medical supplies and then come back to your tent to put on your uniform and THEN start the day…not like he had your whole schedule memorized of anything.

He started to worry. Maybe you had been distracted or were in some kind of danger. The concern for your well-being began to overshadow his initial nervousness. He scanned the tent, looking for any signs of where you might be or if there was trouble.

He bolted to his feet again running to the “hospital”, full with worry.

When he got there he asked to another nurse if they had see you

-“oh, Y/N. O boy let me tell´ya. They been all lovely dovey with somebody on the back”-

-…what- Samuel felt his heart freeze

The nurse continued without noticing -“ya’ apparently it was an old friend of them. Let me tell’ya boy. The moment that guy enter she almost fainted of happiness. She was like “omg its been so long and””-

Samuel stopped listening half way through. He didn’t care about that guy.

He cared about you.

Who was this guy

How do you know him

He was dangerous?

Was he an enemy ?

He walked with a heavy step. Until he hear a small voice sniffling.

Samuel froze. It was you.

-“aww don’t worry sugar cube. I’m alright told ya’”- a voice he didn’t recognize talked to you

He cringed at the nickname the stranger gave you. Sugar cube

Yes you were sweet and all of that but he had no right to call you that.

-im sorry Dylan is just that *sob* the tears don’t stop- you responded

Dylan huh…where did he heard that name before.

He peeked a little and what he saw made his blood boil.

You were there with tears staining your beautiful face. And that disgusting man was kissing them away. Like he had any right to do that.

He continued to observe in silence.

He saw how this man sat you on his lap while kissing you.

At this point the lilies were long forgotten crushed to mere crumbs into his hands.

And when he saw Dylan slowly caress your leg he couldn’t stand there any longer.

He opened the curtain that separated you three and walked with a heavy step.

-“may i know what you are doing, soldier?”- his voice low and authoritative

Dylan that was not paying attention, bolted his head toward him and with super speed put you down on his side

-S-Sir i'm sorry is- Dylan tried to explain himself while he brushed up his uniform

-“I don’t want to hear it,soldier. Identify yourself and your section”-

-“Dylan Ramirez sir. I just got transfer to site 2-A sir.”-

Ah. That where he knew him. He was a new transfer to HIS section.

-why are you in this stablishment and not reporting to me of your arrival- samuel said with maybe a little to much volume

-“i wanted to say hello to nurse Y/N sir. She is an old friend sir.”-

Friend…he didn’t believe that bullcrap

-i want you out and to run 10 laps around the perimeter.NOW-

And with that Dylan rise to his feet and run towards the exit.

You that were looking at the whole exchange. Felt slightly intimidated. Like the first time you met Samuel. He been so nice with you that you forgot that he is a high rank in the troops.

When your two sights encounter you couldn’t help but look to the ground.

-“are you alright?”- say Samuel on a voice much, much softer than the one he used with Dylan.

You didn’t say anything.

-“is just that…I heard you cry and got worried”- that was partially the truth but he was sure you wouldn’t mind.

-“yea i apologize for the whole scene…Mr Samuel”- you said with a hint of shame on your voice

-“you don’t have to apologize for anything,darling. Is just we are going tomorrow to the front lines again and maybe im a little nervous”- another half truth but alas it was for the best.

-“can i ask you to do something for me?”- you said, still looking at the ground

Oh if only you knew what he would do for you

-whatever you need-

-Please take care of Dylan on the front lines. He is a very important person to me-

Why. Why he was such an important person to you?.

Why does he had that he didn’t?

Why you looked at them without fear and when you looked at him your gaze was on the ground?

Why

WHY

-“sure. Ill make sure Dylan is taken care of”- samuel say after a moment

-“thank you”- you said with a small smile

…..

He still though of that small interaction. He almost felt a hint of guilt for breaking his promise. Almost

He choose Dylan as his second in command to investigate a supposedly abandoned enemy base. That way they could maybe find supplies or a hint to end this war.

He had done this dozens of times.

The feeling of the bone breaking and the warmth of the blood on his hands. But the adrenaline on his veins this time made it a little different. Almost like if it was more personal.

If he had to compare Dylan to an animal it would probably be a deer of some kind.

A frail and sickly one but still a deer

First it was a shoot to the leg. He screamed in pain as he fell to the ground but we both knew that nobody would come.

Then Samuel stepped on his hand with all his force. It made a crack that send a pleasant chill to his own spine.

The beating continued for a while. For too little time on Samuel’s opinion and if Dylan had the ability to speak he probably said it was for far too long.

But no one can really talk with a broken jaw and without a tongue.

When he came back to the base. Nobody question the story of an ambush.

Nobody question that fact that his knife was missing.

Why would they?

After all he was the first in command. He was the commander Samuel

But the acting when he came back to you was supreme. Maybe he should had been an actor instead of a soldier but anyway.

You cried and screamed and punched the air.

It did broke his heart that you looked so sad. But don’t worry he would be here for you as long as you need him

And you wouldn’t need anybody else.

#soft yandere #yandere #writing blog #yandereoc #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere story #yandere!soldier #yandere male #yandere thoughts #yandere boy #yandere x darling #y/n #reader

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yanderemcu · 3 months

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Yandere Bucky Barnes Alphabet

A=Affection (How do they show their love for you)

Cuddling,hand holding, kissing,hugging, hair playing,arm over shoulder

B=Bound (How much do they share with you)

Hes not that open with most people but with you he told you everything once you fully love him back

C=Cruel (How do they punish you)

Spanking,holding you with his metal arm,silent treatment

D-Desire (How long until they take you)

8 months

E=Even (To what level are they dominant)

Same level as you

F=Future(What are their future plans for the two of you)

Get married and have a cat

G=Gifts (What do they give you)

Old stuff,CDS,clothes,sweets,blankets,flowers,stuff animals

H=Hell (Worst experience with them)

His angry moments, his nightmares,his punishments, when he's Winter Solider

I=Insane (How insane did they get because of you)

9/10

J=Jealous(How easily do they get jealous)

Very easily. Glares at anyone near you besides Steve

K=Killing (How do they handle killing)

Uses his metal arm. Becomes the Winter Soldier

L=Language (What is their love language)

All of them

M=Manipulation(What could you do to get your way)

Show him affection, be nice to him or comfort him after a nightmare

N=No (To what strength would they go for you)

He'd do anything for you

O=Obsessed (How obsessed are they with you)

10/10

P=Pet names(What do they call you)

Doll,doll face,hunny bun,baby,angel face,beautiful, Darling,dove,kitten

Q=Quit (How would they act if you died)

Stays alone,broken. Doesn't talk to anyone

R=Runaway (What are your chances to get away)

He'd be heartbroken and promise himself that he'd find you again

S=Stalking (How good are they at stalking you)

8/10

T=Type (What type of yandere are they)

Jealous,Possessive, stalker,Obsessive, clingy,sweet,caring, Overprotective

U=Unique (Different from other yanderes)

He's a bit old fashioned

V=Vine (How would they feel if you fought back)

He'd hate himself and blame himself

W=Will (Would they do anything against their loves will)

X=X-Ray (How much do they keep hidden from you)

A little bit. His past,Hydra and Winter Soldier

Y=Yearning (How much do they want you)

4/10

Z=Zzz (How do you two fall asleep together)

Holds you with his metal arm

#yandere #yandere bucky barnes #yandere marvel #yandere mcu #yandere boy #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #marvel #mcu #sebastian stan

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throwaway-yandere · 2 years

Text

His Closest Childhood Friend (Yandere!Diluc x Reader)

A/n: had to rewrite the last part cause OneNote said "ah yes we don't need that" lol anyways here's part 3/3 of Soldier, Poet, King. If I ever write more about this au, they will be what-if scenarios (because the end could honestly go in different ways, it's not like someone can "win" in this yandere harem). Sorry for the delay @leftdestiny-posts ;-;, hope you like it!!

Mostly gn!reader but there are some chess terms I can't change ;;-;;

An unreliable synopsis: There's a reason why Diluc is called the Uncrowned King of Mondstadt, care to take a guess?

Cw: Yandere!Diluc. (Bodily harm/burns?) Implied yan!Childe and Thoma.

Parts:

Soldier, Poet, King (You're here)

----------

If you asked Diluc who (Y/n) was, his reddened face will sputter an inadequate explanation before excusing his flustered self out of the room.

If you asked (Y/n) who Master Diluc was, they'd simply pause and say he's someone they used to be friends with.

Used to.

Diluc noticed everything about you. From how you part your hair, how your eyes crinkle at the sound of the ocean, how your eyes sharpen in deep concentration while playing chess– every little detail about you is stored in his brain. He doesn't understand when and how he gained his hypersensitive tell-spotting, all he knows now is that he is fixated. Too obsessed to turn away, but also too hyperaware of how dangerously stalkerlike he had become.

Diluc only sets his hooded, almost honey-coated gaze on you. To this day, people have questioned how you managed to overlook the perpetually lovelorn parasitic expression on his face whenever you pass by, but they have never taken into account the hurtful things Diluc says.

You two bicker daily. You, the knights, and his brother were the only people who he showed this attitude with. People mistakenly believed that his "nagging" and your complaints were just a normal aspect of an Imunlaukr-Ragnvindr friendship dynamic, and Diluc made the same error. He thought he could get away with being aloof for long enough.

That's how it was until one scorching Sunday afternoon.

"Diluc, listen to me." You spoke. He immediately noticed how your face was creased and your frown was a hair lower than before. Even so, he appeared as if he was more focused on pouring himself a cup of juice. Diluc cannot contain his heart once he looks at you straight in the eye. Fortunately, no one else was inside Angel's Share to mock him--

"I don't want to be friends anymore."

Diluc's eyes widened and he spilled his drink.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

He hastily cleaned up the spillage before staring at you, bewildered.

Did you find out? Shit. Fuck.

This can't be happening.

"I talked with a friend of mine about this and he was right." You continued. "I shouldn't continue being friends with suffocating people. You're too critical. Too cruel. I can't stand you anymore."

"And trust me, it hurts for me to end our friendship like this since we've known each other since we were kids, but please, please don't contact me ever again."

Diluc closed his eyes and breathed in.

He wasn't listening to you anymore, and for once, your voice became nothing more than background noise to him. He's drowning out all your reasonings and facets for breaking up your friendship with him.

"It's Fixer, isn't it?"

"And yo– What?"

"It's Fixer." Diluc sucked a deep breath between his gritted teeth. You gulped. His voice was nothing short of menacing. "Your pen pal. He's the one who fed you all these lies, didn't he?"

How did he know about Fixer?

"Lies?" Diluc was being the most threatening he's ever been, and although you forced yourself to scoff, it's clear that it was affecting you. "How is any of what I said lies? You talk shit about me every day. You barge into my apartment every Saturday just so you can complain about how I live my life– You're the one in the wrong here! You should be, I don't know, self-reflecting!"

"Am I? Am I in the wrong, now?" His right eye twitched. "Look at yourself. You live poorly and it reflects on your appearance. You're mentally unstable, (Y/n), and you refuse help from professionals–"

"Oh, shut up." Your eyesight started to get misty. Why is he making this all about you? "You and I both know that the therapist you recommended was a piece of shit!"

Diluc bit his bottom lip. That was his fault. He wanted a prop that will make you see all the good sides in him, and it backfired greatly. He takes full responsibility for that. Diluc would never seek to harm you truly, please have faith in that.

"Fine! That's true. But you're the one who still refuses to get their act together. You live and breathe like a homeless man in Dragonspine!"

Something inside of you snapped.

For a moment, you both paused, but not to catch your breaths. Diluc meant it when he can read you inside out. And what you're thinking right now is a terrifying notion.

"(Y/n)... Don't..."

"Maybe I should... Maybe I should do as you say this time. It's what you want to happen, right?" You laughed emptily.

"(Y/n)..."

"It's a good idea– a GREAT idea, even, Diluc." You shook your head with a mischievous grin. "I mean, I'm a social outcast at this point, so why not just embrace it, hmm?"

Diluc's knees weakened and a lump in his throat emerged. His stomach churned as he tried to quell the evergrowing unease that wrecked his entire body.

No one was thinking straight.

"Don't be stupid. You won't survive a day in Dragonspine."

"I know." You said. "But at least there would be one less problem for you to worry about, right? One less troublesome citizen in Mondstadt for you to care about."

His breath hitched.

Diluc heard a yelp.

He pulled back.

Diluc touched you. He didn't process what he had done but he grabbed your wrist and there was a burn mark where he singed it. Diluc looked down at the palm that betrayed him and the fumes that came from it only proved his guilt.

A shiver ran down his spine.

The burn marks on your skin were in the shape of his fingertips.

It was a second-degree burn.

You must be in incredible pain by now but you didn't show it, and that made Diluc all the more anxious.

"(Y/n), wait–"

Your cheeks were wet as you faced him. Whatever physical discomfort you were feeling at the time was overridden by malice.

Overridden by anger, overridden by betrayal, overridden by spite.

"Hah." You laughed bitterly.

"Compared to being stuck in a bar with you, looks like I'll be safer in the mountains after all."

No words came out of his mouth. The outcome of this argument had been decided long before he tried to get you to stay.

It was a stalemate.

You stormed out of Angel's Share afterward and that was the last time you and Diluc had a proper conversation. The people Diluc deemed most important leave him, and that is no longer a rumor but a promise after you walked out that door. Since then, you actively avoided the general public– avoided him.

Diluc started donning thick black gloves after that incident. It's impossible to convince him to take it off in public.

But that didn't stop Diluc from worrying. Every time he was far away from you, it seemed as though he was counting his breaths and breathing manually. He still manages to slot time in his schedule to look after you. From afar, of course. At this point, he is assured that you are aware of who the Darknight Hero was. Your irrational disdain for the icon contained the same venom you spare for him. Diluc can't and won't stop you from disparaging him. He was adamant that he deserved it with how he treated you.

In his vacant hours, Diluc crawls to his bed and hugs his pillow. Sometimes his fingers will grasp it in desperation, other times he would slowly caress the pillowcase and pretend that it was your back. These actions were coupled with deep breaths, and inevitable moments of indecent thoughts would emerge. The image of your inviting eyes and soft lips haunted his feverish dreams. Naturally, there are moments when he was unable to endure the coldness of being alone in a king-sized bed.

So he stalks you in the guise of "patrolling".

News that involves the Knights of Favonius travel fast, and it's no longer just a passing rumor that they will return this week. The gossipers have already chanted their "I told you so!"s before the cavalry battalions stepped foot inside Mondstadt's gates.

And you were secretly there too. It's kind of cute that despite ranting on about spending the rest of your days in an isolated Mountain, you broke that promise to see your favorite cousin.

Diluc frowned. At this point, Diluc wished you rode off Varka's coat-tails instead if it meant dissuading your aspirations will turn out like this. His relationship with the knights and your cousin may be strained, but it's still part of his duty as a Ragnvindr to treat the grand master with the utmost respect.

Even when that overprotective titan does make a habit of interfering with your relationships. But it's a reasonable vendetta. You would have been blissfully riding on horseback beside the grand master's steed if Diluc hadn't discouraged you from pursuing knighthood.

Seeing you scurry in the dark was the highlight of Diluc's day, but he raised his chin and pretended not to notice your presence. He's a renowned figure who can't hide behind the barrels as you do, so he ought to at least formally welcome Grand Master Varka Imunlaukr--

"You should watch what you say, Miss."

Diluc stopped from his trail. He had not heard it recently but there was a certain familiarity in that voice.

The scent of embers wafted in the air.

And when the smoke cleared, only one figure remained standing firm whilst the other cowered in fear.

Diluc clenched his jaw.

It was "Fixer".

"O-Oh I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to come off that strong! I'm just saying you should be careful what you say next time! You never know if you're hurting someone already." The blonde green-eyed man babbled and shrank in an attempt to make himself look small, but the observers already know how much of a threat he truly poses.

"R-right..." Marjorie whimpered.

"Tch." Diluc unwittingly bit his nail.

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it.

He believed that he made a sizable arrangement with the Tianquan to stop the majority of ships that boarded Liyue till the next month. How could Thoma possibly get here? Diluc couldn't help but feel incredibly frustrated at every sacrifice and work he made to postpone your reunion. Thoma's here, walking around with his unbelievably chipper self, so what had it all been for?!

Thoma terrified Diluc. Compared to "Ajax", he can't get rid of him by just calling him "Tartaglia" in a "slip-of-the-tongue".

But Thoma is a target now. Diluc would've gladly taken Childe as his ally to avoid the chance of Thoma winning you over, but he would rather die than be in cahoots with the Fatui. Diluc knew how in sync you two were as kids. He could not compete with what is called "natural chemistry".

The key difference is that Thoma can stop himself from hurting others, but Diluc can't help but burn you in one touch.

Diluc bit his bottom lip.

It was an irritating scenario. He could accuse Thoma of destroying private property, but that would make him look callous right away. And that's not something you want to be viewed as next to the kid who just got back in town. Diluc sucked it up and let Thoma babble on.

What happened next was a blur.

Thoma attempted to make small talk with Diluc, but one of his conversation starters triggered something that made him space out.

Diluc only realized he was already home when his butler Elzer jolted from how loud he closed the door. His mood only worsened as he glimpsed at Kaeya waiting for him on a prowl. The captain is keenly aware of Diluc's foul mood when it comes to knighthood. Diluc makes the effort to remind him in almost every interaction.

His brother gave him an omniscient smile.

"Poor Diluc... Did the grandmaster spew a long-winded Knights of Favonius hiring ad again?"

Diluc snarled. "On the contrary, I haven't encountered him."

Kaeya raised an eyebrow teasingly. This should be fun for him. Diluc had yet to kick him out. "Oh? Then why the long face?"

"You know why, Kaeya."

It's because he became so engrossed in his feelings that he failed to remember his responsibility to look after you.

Diluc leaned his head on the doorframe. He overlooked the fact that you were suffering as a result of hearing Marjorie's insults, and he should've tried to help.

He got too busy after finding out that Thoma warranted a room in Goth Hotel and he will be set to stay for two months at most, much to Diluc's dismay. He could stoop low and ask Kaeya for a scheme, but Inazuma's Tri-Commission had some cards up their sleeves. How on earth did Thoma receive a Lordship's protection? The uncrowned King of Mondstadt certainly has a pitiful lack of influence. It's petty, but he forced the hotel to raise its prices in retaliation.

Kaeya laughed. "Heh. Course I do. It's just more satisfying to hear you admit it."

The white-haired butler chimed in. "Pardon me, Master Diluc, but what should we do with the... "pest" that's lurking in Dragonspine? He seems to be getting close to (Y/n)."

"Damn it."

Diluc slammed the wall with his clenched fist. The impact didn't break anything, but the entire manor heard his outburst.

He can't touch Childe.

"Ajax" and Thoma are the only support systems you have left, and Diluc is not a horrible man to selfishly take that away from you.

You're in a fragile mental state and you need someone to talk to, and Diluc is not the right person for the job. His conversations with you frequently turn sour. Crepus brought him up to be a gentleman, yet out of concern, Diluc subconsciously uses harsher language towards you. His wit and sarcasm stand in the way of his desire to be more open. Unlike Thoma, Diluc has trouble finding the perfect words to say. Should he attempt to divulge Ajax's secret identity, you'll just come to hate him more.

Diluc loves you. And he doesn't want to see you break further. This is the least selfish wish he has.

The butler no longer tried to fish out answers while Kaeya snickered. The look on Diluc's face showed that he was back to another round of self-depreciation and Elzer didn't want to deal with the same song and dance again.

Elzer figured that it was his time to leave and let his brother handle this alone, but his master kept talking.

"Thoma's back home too."

Elzer's mouth opened in shock while Kaeya looked indifferent. It's no surprise that he already heard the news. He likely sent Huffman to solve Marjorie's problem.

"H-Huh? Mister Thoma?! I thought the ships in both Doorman port and Liyue harbor can't set sail here?"

"No shit," Diluc muttered in a low husky whisper as he removed the scrunchie that held up his high ponytail. "He must've had connections with the Tri-Commission in Inazuma. Should've guessed that sooner. A pen name like "Fixer" should've set some alarms straight off. There's a high chance Thoma became a bigshot in his father's hometown."

"Right... "Fixer"." Kaeya hummed. He propped his head up pensively.

Diluc is more than familiar with his sworn brother's body language. Whenever Kaeya relaxes into this particular demeanor, an idea would be set in stone, for better and for worse.

"You know Diluc... having a Fixer wouldn't be so bad... It would surely solve your pest problems, wouldn't you agree?"

The two were silent as they tried to decipher what the captain was attempting to insinuate.

Ahh... He's right.

Diluc smiled subtly and crossed his arms.

Kaeya can be pretty useful sometimes.

"Hah." Diluc nodded with an airy chuckle "I get it now. I can't believe I didn't think about it sooner."

"This situation is an easy Scholar's mate all along."

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

A masked figure dragged Thoma away closer to Dragonspine's Outskirts in one fell swoop.

The stranger did not speak. He forced him out of the area silently and with ease. Thoma couldn't identify who it was as a golden owl-shaped mark covered his visage. Additionally, his dark cape aided to conceal most of his features. Looking up in a worm's-eye view was no help at all.

"W-Who are you?!"

The stranger glared down.

So, Thoma did come to Dragonspine. How desperate and gullible. Diluc should pay Charles extra for leading him here.

Thoma trembled. He wasn't sure if the temperature or the red glint in his opponent's eye was what caused his body to react. He crept backward as the man with the mask towered above him.

"I-I have a vision!" Thoma proudly proclaimed. "I'd think twice if I were you."

The stranger knelt to his level and yanked him by the collar. Both immediately cast fire in their palms, and that instance made Thoma falter. They're pyro vision users, yet he doubts he could put up a fight with someone twice as physically built as he is. Thoma tried to conceal his fear with a brave look, and the stranger kept quiet about how Thoma's fire was gradually fading.

"Tsk."

The stranger dropped his hold on him.

"How ungrateful. I just saved you."

The man turned his back and slowly started walking away. He raised his hand and beckoned Thoma to follow.

Thoma scrambled to get his bearings and stood up.

"E-Excuse me?"

"That Snezhnayan man you saw just now," The stranger lit up a nearby torch and continued.

"That was Tartaglia, Number 11 of the Fatui Harbingers."

"A Fatui Harbinger?"

Every alarm in Thoma's head blared in a second.

"(Y/n)!!!"

That blue-eyed man was a harbinger?! Why are you hanging out with him?! That's too dangerous! You need him NOW--

"Stay put." The stranger commanded, and the authoritative flair in his voice froze Thoma in his place. "The... fisherman is not yet aware of this fact."

"Then we should get there and tell them!-- Mmph!"

The stranger pulled him by the collar once again and covered Thoma's mouth.

"Not yet."

Diluc won't let you know just yet.

Or at the very least, he won't let Thoma play the hero.

Thoma squirmed and broke free.

"Neither of us is fully capable of tackling him head-on." The stranger said.

"But (Y/n) is in danger right now!" Thoma tried to pry his arm away from the stranger's hold but his resistance was futile. "We have to save them--"

"If you do that, Tartaglia might just put an end to their life right then and there. Do you want that to happen, Mister Thoma?"

There was a tight feeling in Thoma's throat.

(Y/n)... dead?

It was just a few sentences, but it was enough to make Thoma feel like vomiting. That made the stranger satisfied. It looks like he won't need to bluff in extreme detail on what the consequences may be.

Manipulating Thoma was disgustingly easy.

"But..."

The stranger fished out a pen and paper from his robes before handing it to him. Thoma looked down at it and sent him a quizzical look.

"If you want to save (Y/n), you can always do it through words, Fixer."

A king's moves may be restricted, but that doesn't stop him from letting others do the work for him. Diluc Ragnvindr is the Uncrowned King of Mondstadt. A mere soldier and poet are nothing but pawns to him.

It's the perfect crime. Diluc still can't believe he hasn't thought about it sooner. It's almost too easy. He only needs to utilize four moves in his plan, truly reminiscent of a Scholar's mate. Sending Childe a forged sparring request 'sent' by Varka, setting up a one-sided meeting where Thoma spies on you and Childe together, manipulating Fixer to expose him, and...Well, there's no need to dwell on that for now. The last step will be the most difficult but Diluc must make sure the third step is a success first.

After all, the uncrowned King is still searching for his Queen, so keep stepping forward.

Please, come back to his side of the chessboard, (Y/n) (L/n).

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 6 months

Text

Headcanon: Soldier Boy as a father

Pairing: Dark Soldier Boy x (female) Reader

▶ 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

WARNINGS: Implied Noncon/Forced Pregnancy.

Please, reblog and give me feedback.

Let me know your thoughts on this and please leave a comment or an ask, I feel like you guys are very silent lately 🥺

From the first moment that Ben holds the little baby in his arms, his whole world transforms radically.

The feeling of finally being able to see and touch the child he wanted for so long is indescribable. The love blooms in his heart wildly like it’s a force of nature.

The tiny boy feels so fragile against his muscled arms, not even the size of his arm. His eyes half-closed and mouth open as he soundly sleeps.

His skin is all wrinkled and bloody, but Ben swears it’s the most beautiful sight in the world.

It finally feels like everything in his life makes sense, all the pieces clicking into place. In that moment, Ben knows everything he did to get to that moment was worth it.

All the screaming and pleading, the tense moments where you’d cry your eyes out in despair because you didn’t wanted Ben.

The times he had to force himself on you even though you begged him not to. All of it worth it for the mere sight of his son.

Ben vouches not to be like his father. He’ll do much better.

He tries to be a present father, wanting to raise his son with values of discipline but also with love.

But not too much love, he doesn’t want his kid to be a complete pussy after all.

He does install real man's values into his kid. To be brave, to never lback down from a good fight and to always speak his mind out.

Very toxic misogyny mindset, basically.

Father-son bonding time means taking the kid to some low-level missions, teaching him how to maintain his calm and how to deal with bad guys.

Although you freak out about him taking a small toddler to risky situations, Ben knows that your son is a strong supe. Not to mention that he wouldn’t actually let anything happen to the kid.

Another thing he teaches to your son is to always protect you.

“Listen to me, buddy. When dad is not around, you’re the man in charge, got it? That means mommy is your responsibility and you take good care of her. Don’t let her talk too much to strangers and if any man gets too close, just throw him a punch.”

And then of course Ben is gonna want more kids. He wants two more, at least.

Even if you don’t want more, it doesn’t matter cause in the end, Ben always gets what he wants.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #dark fic #the boys #soldier boy x reader #dark!soldier boy #soldier boy x you #dark soldier boy #dark soldier boy x reader #dark soldier boy x you #yandere soldier boy #yandere soldier boy x reader #yandere x reader #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: dark content #tw: toxic relationships

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76lonelyspoons · 1 year

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HELLA IMPORTANT QUESTION??????

Would y'all send shit if I started a blog solely dedicated to writing for Seven Soldiers Klarion? No hate to YJ Klarion I'm just biased.

I could write for other DC characters, but I would mainly focus on SS!Klair cause there isn't a whole lotta content for him

Can't say I would be super good at it, but everyone's gotta start somewhere lol

But yeah please comment and lmk that would be slay ok luv u bye

#No hate im just biased #seven soldiers klarion #klarion bleak #klarion the witch boy x reader #klarion bleak x reader #klarion x reader #klarion #klarion x y/n #klarion headcanons #yandere klarion #yandere klarion x reader #dc comics #plz comment #comment please #love u

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hunnieknight · 1 year

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"The Rooster's Little Chick" (+Art)

You are Pulcinella's precious grandchild. The Rooster brings you-the little chick- out of the coop to his field, and of course, he regrets it. A continue from this

GN! Reader, all Harbinger except Signora and Scaramouche, timeline after signora's funeral and before Sumeru event, mention of Signora's death and Scara's betrayal, reader is called using 'Master' by Pulcinella's underlings, age-gap , bit of comedic/crack, hints of yandere, borderline possessive, implied stalking and obsessive behaviour.

Note : Pulcinella able to control cryo in this hc. I DO NOT SPEAK RUSSIAN

Series II Series III

_________

Hatching

Pulcinella thought you both can bond together as grandpa-grandchild after this meeting. So he just asked you to pick him up while making sure you got his fatui emblem and his feather so you can get past the soldiers.

Pulcinella thought since you are so normal and regular, he can let the other Harbingers see you eye-to-eye.

Boy, for years working with them...he should've known.

You caught their eyes at first glance, but not because they are smitten, their dirty side of sick curiosity and pure dominance is what drove them to you.

What? you think because you are Pulcinella's precious grandchild they gonna treat you better? No no no, you are merely a blood child from their co-worker. They are going to treat you nicely only in front of your grandpa. Behind him? You are a little plaything, little baby chicken away from its protective rooster.

But Pulcinella knows. He knows his co-workers are psychos.

So as a good grandpa, he didn't hesitate to THREATEN the others if they hurt you in any way possible. Showed off his cryo power, he will make sure being frozen to death is the kindest mercy they will ever get if you got hurt.

First Chirp

It "tamed" the others, but not enough to make them back off. They are all curious and truth-seeker at heart.

Pulcinella never gave them your name, Keeping his mouth shut and only calling you "child" or "kid" whenever the others were with him. He makes sure the only information they know about you is you are his grandchild.

Once they eavesdrop and heard how you are "an adult and can take care of yourselves around his co-workers". You can bet those who eavesdrop just giggle and smirk hearing your statement.

But one day a mistake happened, after a meeting, when Childe is the first one to leave the room, his eyes widened in excitement to see you waiting outside the meeting room.

Gloved hands fidgeting with the bag with a Pyro Agent sharing his warmth with you using his pyro delusion. Your head is tucked under the cover of a fluffy hat with Pulcinella's feather, your mouth is hidden behind a scarf, and your red nose and cheek caused by the harsh cold of Snezhaya make you more eye-catching and interesting to him.

The Agent has spilt your name accidentally whilst Childe approaches you. "Master {Name}, would you like me to bring you a spare coat instead?". Both of you didn't realise Childe coming closer, Childe's heart jumped out of his chest after learning your name.

"So your name is {Name}!!!" Childe's loud voice booms around the hall into the meeting room where everyone's still packing their stuff. He smirked towards the meeting room door aaaanddd- "Childe..." there you go. He can't see it but he felt the disappointment in Pulcinella's eyes, hidden by his glasses.

Pulcinella who still standing by the door frame can feel the excitement from the meeting room. His sharp eyes stared at Childe who still smirking and slowly approaching you who froze at the loud call of your name. Now they know your name.

First Flap

Their behaviours are like a paradox. Whatever their doing is always the opposite of their reason. Are you... supposed to feel afraid because they are your grandpa's co-workers...or you supposed to feel frightened because they are THE HARBINGERS.

Huh? What do you mean they are invading your personal time? They just want to make sure there is no betrayal -like one from their own- from Pulcinella's side you know? Just to be safe.

They are not being pushy, they just want their co-worker's sweet grandchild to be safe. They just recently lost someone too not that they care ofc.

Hiding you away is unnecessary and telling you to not pick him up again has shown to be a futile attempt. When your grandpa told you to not go to the Palace, he found you being pampered in the palace hall by Childe who casually just said he invited you to the Palace. He didn't invite you, he stole you. Pulcinella tried to put one or three agents to cover you, but knowing his co-worker, they will not hesitate to deck Pulcinella's soldier just to get to you.

Sometimes you are just a toy. Finding where you are hiding is now a favourite game of theirs, where are you after meeting? Will you be outside the door waiting for your grandpa? Will you be in his office instead all tucked up warming yourself? Will you be in the garden hidden by the white bushes? Or you are in the library busy with books?.

A little chicken hid away in this harsh cold field. The Rooster? Of course, wouldn't hesitate to claw the "eagles" who trying to scoop you up.

Childe felt like he is the most worthy of you. You are not far off from his age and he feels like he has the responsibility of taking care of you as a payment to Pulcinella for taking care of his family. He is the only Harbingers who can interact with you outside the Palace but not for long. Considering he is a debt collector which forces him to travel, of course, he made sure to bring you a souvenir from any nation he visited.

Dottore is one of Harbingers who actively seeking you out. But not directly, he will order his underlings to check if you are in the Palace by yourself. If yes, he will tell them to whisk you away to his lab keeping you to himself. Often ended with Pulcinella having to directly pick you up from Dottore and checked your body for any injuries. Considering he is more hands-on in his experiment.

Pantalone and Sandrone have different approaches. You often found presents sent to your home. From a very fancy scarf and pieces of jewellery to some toys and plushies to really high-quality gadgets. Your grandpa often told you to just throw it away in fear they put some kind of tracking or camera to spy on you.

Columbina is also one of the hands-on when it comes to you. She often whisks you away after meeting, knowing you will be waiting for your grandpa. Of course, she has to race with Childe, seeing Childe just shot up from his seat whenever Pierro ended the meeting. Funny how instead of your own grandpa, it's his co-workers who are more excited to play with you.

Huh, Arlecchino just passed by you, completely ignoring you besides a simple glance. Is she not interested in you? Well, that is good, you heard from Childe she dislikes the businessmen Pulcinella and Pantalone. Either way, you can relax around- Huh...is it you or it seem like you see Fatuis agents a lot in your area now?

Speaking of Pierro and Capitano, they both are so conflicted with themselves. They know that compared to you, they are ANCIENT. The age gap and the generation gap are vast. They will have a crisis because it is their workmate's grandchild. Aren't they supposed to be your second grandpa instead? No no no, that won't do at all. They need to make sure they will be the second in command to take care of you if Pulcinella is away.

PULCINELLA DOES NOT TRUST ANYONE AT ALL.

#harbingers x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #imaginedraw #genshin art #genshin imagines #lol how do i tag these #omg this is taking a long time wtf #genshin x male reader #childe x reader #pantalone x reader #im tired to tag everyone #dottore x reader #columbina x reader

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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

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Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Make Friends 1/4 (Word count 5.4 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

A/N: AU where König (sadly) isn't a colonel and doesn't have a t-shirt as a hood but an... actual hood. Please heed the tags lovelies 🩷

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

No one sees a cleaning lady.

Cleaners are invisible. People remember them only when their desks start to gather dust, when their floors are full of mud. No one sees her except the tallest guy in the building: the guy who everybody seems to ignore, just like they ignore her.

It doesn't take long to see why. He's different, and not just because of the mask he's wearing.

She sees him playing with knives. He throws them in the air leisurely, catches them by the handle, and never misses the catch. He flicks them from side to side, spins and whirls the blades in motions she can't even see because they're so swift.

It's pure magic. And they're not dull training knives; they're sharp as a razor, vicious, tactical – but that doesn't make them ugly. They're quite stunning, and she's caught staring more than once.

His movements are not what she'd exactly call precise and fluid. They're urgent, antsy, made to relieve stress of some sort. He's stimming with the knives. Alleviating pain or frustration. The rest of his body is still; only the ice-blue eyes flicker on the blade as he focuses all his attention on the dance. Sometimes he just stares at them, turns them around as if checking the edge, as if it wasn't evident that they're deadly and sharp. That's how she knows he takes good care of the things he loves.

He's fascinated by them, just like she is. And it's not just the knives; she's fascinated by him.

Others cast side eyes, nervous looks at him. Even some of his fellow operators look at the man like he's a lunatic. And perhaps he is, but she can't help it.

She's mesmerized.

It all changes when she accidentally walks into a meeting room while there is a briefing going on. Apparently, no one considers her a threat or a potential spy because she is summoned in before she rushes to close the door, and so she goes on about her day while the soldiers are already wrapping things up.

The hooded giant is there too, leaning back in a chair too small for him, this time playing with a butterfly knife. It's the smallest, daintiest thing she has yet seen in those hands. He always has gloves on, but that doesn't make the flashy flipping look any less dangerous.

She starts by dusting the side tables so she is not in the way. This time, she vehemently does not want to be seen. Save perhaps by the knife maniac.

The man even helps her with cleaning: he picks up some of the objects he can reach so she can wipe the surface more easily. It makes her cheeks grow hot, but she cannot bring herself to thank him. She doesn't dare to make a single sound while there is a meeting going on and their captain is still speaking, but she gives her thanks through her eyes and her smile, and the man looks at her like she's some kind of saintly sight.

The look in those blue eyes is starstruck. Almost… obsessive.

It should send ice to her stomach. But it doesn't.

He continues showing off with the knife as she moves to the other side of the room. He does it to mess with her head or entertain her, delight her, perhaps - the man already knows she’s intrigued by his vast collection of blades.

It's a bit creepy. The man as a whole is a bit creepy, but she only feels a rush, a high that turns her monotonous work day into a thrill.

"König. Would you mind?"

The sound of the flicking blade stops, and she is possibly the only one in this room who misses the noise.

"Entschuldigung."

He speaks, and the voice sends ripples across her scalp. It's twisted and amused, as if the man gets off on annoying the shit out of his workmates.

"English, please..."

"My apologies."

The blade is tucked somewhere in his pocket and the man named König leans forward on the table. Slightly hunched over like that, he looks even more intimidating than before. The playfulness is gone, and he looks fiercely professional. More shivers are sent down her spine.

König…

König is the reason she still keeps working in this odd little compound, the base of some special operations unit that requires an insane amount of security checks and secret contracts and confidentiality agreements just so she can clean the floors from their soddy footprints.

König is the reason she starts to put on some mascara in the morning, tie her hair in a high ponytail, or braid it in two little braids so she would appear cuter if she happens to pass him by in the hallway. He's the reason she opens not one but two buttons of her blouse before she starts the day. He's also the reason her underwear is soaked in the middle of a boring shift.

He appears in her break room to borrow coffee. And not once, but twice during the same week.

"You're running low again?"

"Eh… Ja."

He's shit at lying, though. She is relatively sure by now that he's here only because he wants to see her.

"I'll bring it back. I mean–I'll buy you some."

He seems a bit shy, like her, and combined with the fact that he still chooses to seek her out already gives her sleepless nights. It makes her far more confident than she has ever been with people.

His accent, his voice, are pure fire. She feels sinful for thinking about how he would behave in the bedroom, how he would talk – after all, it already sounds like he's breathless and strained, already sounds like he's working her open with whatever monster is hidden in those pants a bit too small for him. He walks with a wide lounge, and she just knows it's because he is so big down there.

"You do that," she gives him a particularly flirty smile and revels in how it makes him even more distraught. It's quite fascinating how the same man can exude barely repressed bloodlust one moment and stupefied silence the next.

He returns the very next day to bring her a package of coffee. The same brand he borrowed twice already is set on the table in front of her with tense shoulders. She has seen the man relaxed only when he’s achieved that alluring flow state with his knives.

"Hier."

"Why thank you."

He simply stands there, switches weight from one foot to the other, and shrugs.

"I'll be going then."

But he doesn’t leave. Not right away. He watches her with that icy, burning stare, and she cocks her head.

“Bye,” she chimes with a soft smile – the guy is simply too cute. His restless twitching stops; he freezes where he stands, blinks – and then turns and walks out the door like a robot.

. . . . .

She's not supposed to be here. Or, she is, but he's not.

No one’s supposed to be here when there's the sign on the door. The men's showers are supposed to be cleared once a week for good scrubbing, and she only has 30 minutes to do that. It's once a week, less than an hour, there's a sign, and still, some jerk has to walk right through it.

No one sees a cleaning lady.

No one appears to even care about the fucking sign.

But then she sees who exactly has disrespected her humble position. It's a shock to see that familiar black hood with two eye holes on it thrown on the bench. Next to that, the khaki-colored cargo pants, a black shirt, and those gloves, all in a heap – this guy is not the most orderly, perhaps.

And she takes a fucking peek inside the showers because the door is, for some unfathomable reason, transparent, see-through glass.

The first thing she sees is muscle. Just wet, powerful cords of muscle slapped on the tallest man she has ever seen or would probably ever see.

He's a vision: godly, almost. Then she notices what he's doing.

Of course he has to be fucking fapping on top of everything.

Her throat is dry and her hands are numb as she watches how he leans on the tiles with one hand and works himself with the other. The body hair on the guy is so pale that he basically looks neatly shaved, save for the short hair on the top of his head – the man's nothing but sleek, dripping muscle through and through.

He sounds weak when he's masturbating; the noise that echoes in the showers consists mainly of frail, high-pitched grunts.

She's wet in no time, and it doesn't help that he looks frantic, almost violent, while jerking off. It's a sloppy frenzy, and the sounds of wet, angry slapping make her heart beat so fast that the rush of blood in her ears nearly drowns the noise.

The man has big hands, but his cock still looks massive inside one. She knows she will copy-paste the image of that long cock, slick with water and soap, in her mind over and over again while releasing some tension herself. Of course it's big because he's big, but the length of it is simply outrageous – she cannot comprehend how he can fit himself in his pants, even when soft.

His whole upper body tenses abruptly, like a huge cord of cable; he throws his head back, his hips jerk forward and he goes catatonic – the cum shot that follows would shoot a meter away if it wasn't stopped by the wall. The spurts of his load are equally as fierce as the fap, and she feels faint.

And why the fuck is she even standing here in the first place?

And then he…

He drops his head, turns a little to the side, like he’s known she has been here the whole time.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

She can only see his eyes from behind the arm still leaning on the wall. That heated glare is not furious, but nor is it benevolent: it's simply pure, manic lust.

She turns and rushes from the locker room like she has just seen a monster.

. . . . .

"Hey."

If he's here for coffee or for her, she doesn't know. Or, perhaps she does, but she's also so unbelievably ashamed and embarrassed that perhaps it's no surprise that he seeks her out in the break room since she has avoided him everywhere else for two days.

"Hi."

Her weak voice is followed by silence, and she doesn't turn, even when she knows he's still behind her. Something in the air, some part of atavistic instinct tells her he's standing right behind her.

"You here for more coffee?"

He still doesn't say anything, and she begins to freak out.

"König… I'm–God, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have–"

"Did you like what you saw?"

Her heart shoots up her throat, and her stomach churns, almost starts to eat itself from the pure terror. But it's nothing compared to what he says next.

"I was thinking of you," the calm voice reaches her ears like a tall wave, making her even more woozy than she was in the men's showers.

"I'm– sorry, what?"

"Your mouth… Breasts. If you're tight."

She finally turns, doesn't even try to conceal her horror tinged with incomprehensible, strange lust.

"Jesus…"

The ice between them is broken, but at what cost – and the anxiety she had mistaken for cuteness reveals something psychotic underneath. He still looks at her with the same stare, even when she tries to make it clear that this approach makes her want to vomit. He doesn't move, only towers over her like a hulking shade, and she darts from the break room, completely soaked and on the verge of tears.

. . . . .

There's a knock on her door the next morning, so early that she wonders who the hell could be up at this hour other than staff. It's like… five-thirty. She's so sleepy that she doesn't quite think it through as she throws only a t-shirt on before strolling to the door.

What the f-

König shoves the flowers almost in her face as she opens the door, and she has to yank her head back. All the sleep is gone in an instant, and she curses in her mind that she's standing here in only a tight t-shirt and a black pair of panties.

"I'm sorry. Please, accept my apology," he says like a poorly rehearsed actor while watching her thighs and what's between them. Her nipples shoot up, and not from cold.

"Uh… sure," she tries to sound neutral while accepting the flowers, if not his apology. He takes a step back after making sure she has truly taken the gift, and she instinctively lowers the bouquet down to shield herself from his searing gaze. She knows she's a hypocrite, having masturbated at the memory of him last night. Twice.

He has his hood on, and wears the eternal black shirt, padded gloves and some cargo pants, but there’s also an overload of gear on him. Pouches and pads and wires and ammo - she even catches a grenade or two. There’s a gun strapped to his thigh, and the shoulder pads make his already broad shoulders look even more wide. He looks so… tactical, so in his element that her instincts tell her it wouldn’t do shit to slam the door in his face and retreat back to the safety of her room. This soldier would just barge through the plywood.

And where did this guy get flowers at this hour of the day? No florist can possibly be open. Then she notices they're not exactly the kind of flowers she has seen at a shop.

Has he picked them from outside…?

"I thought you liked me."

His explanation makes her heart melt a little. He's so straightforward, so utterly without any charades or roles, that it makes her feel like she's the one who has disrespected him with her games. After all, she has done nothing but flirted 24/7 with the poor man for the last week. Of course he only thought she was interested.

"I do. I do like you."

His eyes light up with uncontained hunger. "Can I come in?"

Nope. Big mistake.

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Ok. I'll be going then."

He turns on his heels and is ready to go like nothing ever happened.

“Wha-… König, please, wait.”

He halts on command, turns back, looks at her solemnly. The only thing that gives his confusion away are his eyes, which flicker from her puzzled stare to her mouth, occasionally to the bouquet covering her nether areas.

"Could we just be friends?" She offers him rather desperately.

He merely shrugs.

"Never had any friends."

For some reason, this guy has already started to live rent-free inside her head. She simply can't get him out. And she's intrigued, even when the sanest option would be to stay away from a creepy lunatic like him.

"I can be your friend."

Fuck, what did I just say, what the fuck did I just–

"Sure. Why not," he says immediately. "You just want to be friends?"

She resists the urge to facepalm right then and there in front of him. The guy is not only socially awkward: he's in a state of denial.

Some of his friends – or at least, teammates – pass them by. Kyle, if she remembers correctly, and a Scottish man they call Soap. They both smile at her kindly. It's the first time these men have ever paid her any attention; actually, this is probably the only occasion anyone pays attention to König either. They are both suddenly visible.

"Hey König, don't go harassing our cleaning lady. We got a plane to catch."

König stares somewhere behind her as Soap speaks. His eyes are covered with glass, and she knows that look all too well. The tallest man in the building is dissociating while the two soldiers march by behind him with raised eyebrows and pursed lips: a mocking gesture only she can see.

She watches the scene with an odd pity. It appears they step into existence only when they're together – an unfamiliar setting and an odd couple, the object of ridicule for people who probably claim themselves to be normal.

"I think it would be best, yes," she whispers when the hall is quiet again. She has to start her day soon, and he has a plane to catch - no one else is awake except one hard-working woman and a few operators about to leave on an early mission. She feels the strangest sorrow as she realizes that he wanted to drop by with some flowers and his apology before leaving some place he might never return.

The man gives her a last once-over before taking his leave. He nods slowly, never breaking their gaze: an odd, gentlemanly move.

"Just friends, then."

. . . . .

It is the hottest day yet, and the guy walks around with his black hood even then.

Her new friend.

She's outside, trying to catch some fresh air and sunlight after spending another 8 hours inside a buzzing facility, and somehow, some way, the tall enigma of a man always finds her.

He angles his walk towards her as if he only happened to pass by at the same time she was lounging against the wall and looking at clouds drifting in the sky. In truth, she has an odd, yawning suspicion that she is being stalked nowadays. One of her underwear has gone missing, and she's wretched because her first thought upon finding it gone was the solid assumption that he had stolen them. Which further meant that the man had broken into her room.

But there's also flowers. Every morning when she opens her door, there's a single flower awaiting her. Sometimes, two or three, and not from a store, but from outside, from nature.

He's courting her, and she feels stupidly like a little princess because of those homely yet thoughtful gifts. She doesn't throw them away: they gather on her table, on her window sill, in a little water glass on her bedside table.

She's far too kind, that's what people always say, but she's also neck-deep into this goddamn creep at this point to do anything about it. The building is full of muscled men, men who are decent, and she chooses this… gift-bearing perv to crush on. In her judgment system, she's basically asking for it at this point.

"How are you?"

His accent lingers in the air between them, and she can't help it: it always brings a rush of heat on her cheeks and a rush of wetness down below when she hears him speak.

"I'm good. Just… good. How about you?"

"Sehr gut."

Perhaps the underwear has simply gone missing while washing laundry: it's not unusual when at least 20 people share one washing machine.

And they're only friends. Friends don't steal each other's underwear. Friends ask how they have been, how their day's gone.

"You look nice."

But the summer sun pales in comparison with the heat of that stare. Friends might compliment each other, but they don't look at each other like that.

She feels grungy enough while cleaning, not to mention in the bland, saggy clothes she has to wear every morning, so it can't be a surprise that she likes to put on an effort after the day is done. The citrus-yellow dress she has this afternoon catches his attention like she's a whole circus in town.

"You always look like an angel," he elaborates further, and she has to prevent herself from taking support from the wall upon hearing his compliment.

"Oh.. Thanks," she smiles, and he answers it: the faint creases around narrowing eyes are enough proof of that. "It's so hot… Do you ever take the hood off?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you take it off before bed?"

Oh god.

That sounded weird. She meant to ask if he took it off before sleeping.

Well, 'before bed', 'before sleeping'… What's the difference, really?

Still, he reads into it like a hawk for a seemingly socially graceless case.

"Depends if I'm alone or not," he says. Definitely thinks she's flirting with him again. Talk about sending mixed messages…

Friends, friends. We're just friends.

"Where are you from, by the way? Are you German?"

"No. Austrian."

"Oh. It must be beautiful there at this time of year."

"It is. I would still trade all of Austria for you," he says without any clumsiness, even though the pickup line is awful, one of the worst she has heard – and god, still, those big hands, that fire and ice stare makes her feel high as a kite. The image of him plowing her with the same pace he fucked his hand won't leave her alone.

"König… Just friends," she warns while feeling how another pair of panties is already ruined. She's so wet it's not even funny anymore; it makes her annoyed.

"Ok."

He says ok, but she knows he won't yield. She’s been far too kind for far too long and won't be losing this guy's interest anytime soon.

"How's work?" She tries to patiently show him how to be fricking friends, even if one party is constantly undressing the other with their eyes. As if she's not doing the same…

"You really want to know?"

"Sure."

"Had to scrub intestines from my shoes all night," he says casually. She can only blink and watch how completely distanced and indifferent he seems about something so sick.

"Everything's a mess when you use a knife," he explains further.

"Uh... I'm sure it is."

"Do you regret that you asked?"

"No. Well, perhaps a little."

He crosses his arms over his chest and looks proud; only seems pleased with himself for succeeding in scaring her even more.

"That's why I scrub guts and you scrub floors."

"I guess so," she agrees to his ever-authentic way of saying things how they are. He's a soldier: she can’t change that fact no matter how he or she puts it. Decent guys did the exact same things he did; they just didn't go around telling shy girls about the gory details of their work.

"Do you like knives?"

Nor did they ask things like this. They would ask if she wanted to go see a movie or have a lovely dinner that would end in a kiss and an exchange of phone numbers.

"Um. Yes, I think they're beautiful."

Her response causes a short, deafening silence, a few blinks. The wind catches his mask, but it never rises: she notices he's not only undressing her body, but also her soul with those eyes. Patient, like he knows all her secrets and loves them already.

"What would it take to be more than friends?"

His sudden change of subject is almost as shocking as the devil-may-care account of his work. She is feeling unusually wild; the warm weather and the yellow hues covering the distant horizons make her want to lie down on the grass and pull him on top of her. She thinks of him sliding up the fabric of her cutesy dress, thinks of him opening his pants to get that huge cock out and force it inside.

"Well… You could… Ask me out, for starters?"

"What if you come to my room and I'll show you something," he offers instantly.

As nice and naive as she may be, she's sure the only thing he wants to show her is his cock. Which she has already seen, technically speaking. Which she would like to see again, heaven forbid.

She is slightly breathless and wonders if the heat on her cheeks is visible, if her lips are a bit fuller than usual from her thoughts. Perhaps that's why she resorts to a counteroffer as if she's bargaining here. As if she can't say no.

"Uh.. How about you come and pick me up for dinner this eve–"

"Ok."

He nods with full-blown promise in his eyes and leaves right away, a little too content, and she realizes she has made the worst mistake of her entire life. She will never get a man of his size out of her room if she lets him in and things go awry.

In a hurried decision, she decides she will simply leave him blue-balled at the door. She simply won't go to dinner; she certainly won't let him in. She doesn't have to, even if and when she has to watch him mope for the rest of the year.

She will tell him they're not friends, they're nothing anymore, and that's just it.

She goes, determined and her mind set, to shower, only to notice that she's more soaked than the pool of soap water gathering at her feet. Her body simply betrays her at every turn. Perhaps she should masturbate, just in case, so she won't be weak-willed when he arrives at her door this evening. Yes, that's a brilliant idea, one of the rare good ones she’s had these past few days.

“Jesus–"

By the time she enters her room, wet and throbbing, he's already there.

"How did you get in?"

He shrugs his shoulders like he always does.

"You asked me to visit you."

He doesn't even answer her question about him breaking into her fucking room. He's standing right next to her dresser and a bra she had thrown on one of the open drawers, and she knows right then and there that he's the panty thief.

"Yeah, but… I thought you'd knock or something."

"Sorry."

If you shrug I swear I’m going to…

"Where do you wish to go?"

He's standing there like a contrapposto statue, narrow hips deliciously tilted and with an obvious erection in his pants. He doesn't seem to feel ashamed about it, and it makes her even more wet.

She has a murderous giant in her room, a killer who's visibly turned on by the sight of her underwear, perhaps the lingering scent of her perfume, too… and he's asking where she wishes to go eat tonight so he might have a chance to bang her afterward.

"Do you like Chinese?"

He shrugs as an answer, and she sighs.

"I need to change. Could you turn around?"

The eyes behind the hood regard her with curiosity, but the man does as he is bid. She takes out a floral dress and a more comfortable bra and walks further away to the bed to change. König faces the wall while she gets undressed with trembling hands. She’s sure the man will turn around, march to her, and simply have his way with her before she gets the dress on. Some sick part of her even yearns for it.

But he doesn't. Instead, his head tilts a little to the side, and his hand rises to gently brush the lace of her bra while she's in the most vulnerable position she's ever been with this man. It's an almost equal violation of her privacy as it would've been to turn, but her tongue is tied. And she only now notices he's not wearing gloves.

König is caressing her underwear with no fabric whatsoever between his skin and her chastity, and it makes her breath grow heavy like they're living in the 18th century.

"All set," she says, voice tight, and he lowers his hand and turns as if he has done nothing wrong.

The evening, however, goes far better than she had hoped. Or feared.

He buys them dinner, drinks one beer. They even have a perfectly healthy, civil conversation. She helps herself to a bit of wine to calm her nerves, and they discuss what their dreams used to be before they landed the jobs they currently have.

He reveals he wanted to be a sniper and that he prefers to work alone, but to her question on what went wrong with all that, he merely answers he was 'too clumsy.'

What the man is really trying to say is that he's simply too big. Detectable, loud, and tall.

He hints at being bullied at school and in the army, and she feels even more sorry for him, curses in her mind – if the guy's tactic is to get a girl by being a hot loner with a tragic tale of woe, it sure is working for him.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asks when there's still tension between them, tension that should have melted by now.

"A bit, yeah."

"Is it because of the hood?"

His voice is softer, and she realizes that he's really trying: trying to tone down whatever beast rages inside him, trying his all to be normal instead of some tormented madman.

"No, not exactly," she confesses and feels a sting in her heart when he looks defeated. She almost feels like a bully, too. She wants to take the guy in her arms and shush him to sleep so he would wake up less haunted. But that's not how this goes: she cannot fix him, and even if she could, she has no right to.

He takes her back to the base and stands at her door again. The halls have fallen silent, everyone's asleep at this hour, and her heart is still hammering in her chest.

"Are we still just friends?" He stares at her from the darkness of the hood, shoulders slightly hunched, trying to make himself appear smaller. Less intimidating.

"I…I guess so."

"You think I'm weird, don't you."

His next question is more of a statement. And all she wants to say is no, even if it's a lie. The guy is… not evil; it's just that he certainly isn't sane and sound, either.

"Um… I… Uh-"

"You're the one who watched me in the showers," he points out as if they're keeping score on who's more of a perv.

"Yeah. I guess I'm the weirdo here," she laughs nervously, then almost bites her tongue. He only cocks his head a little to the side and repeats his earlier question.

"Did you like what you saw?"

"Well… yes, ok? I did. Why else would I–"

"It's ok. I understand. I don't mind."

"Well, it was still rude of me to do that." She guides her gaze to the floor, then up at his polar stare that makes her want to swoon in the hopes that he will catch her. "Didn't you notice the sign on the door?"

"I did," he said, and the corners of his eyes slowly gather a few wrinkles. Smiling again.

She shakes her head slowly, scoldingly, and notices how that smile only deepens under the hood. Then his face – or what little can be seen of it – straightens.

"Am I harassing you?"

Wow. Well, at least the poor guy is trying to self-reflect. But something tells her there's more than some new-found awareness of his late behavior at work here.

There's bitterness... Exclusion.

Loneliness.

"No," she tries to comfort him. Another facepalm moment: she is basically telling a stalker she likes being stalked. That this sort of wacko shit was approved of. So this is what it has come to… Years of being invisible apparently did things like this to people.

"Or maybe a bit," she says as a spineless afterthought.

"Do you want me to stop?"

In all honesty, she is drunk on his attention. The obsessive behavior, the relentless wooing, romantic gestures accompanied by a stare that says he wants to plow her until she is a limp heap on a bed stained with tears and cum.

"König… Are you lonely?"

He shrugs, and she wants to grab him. Shake him.

"Are you?" He says with an unusually deep voice.

"...Yes."

Her voice is as fragile as can be, but the hall echoes her confession like it's a loud song. The eyes under the hood look at her softly, longingly: she hasn't even noticed how soft they can sometimes be.

"You don't have to be."

There's simply no use in denying it: she wants this guy to fuck her, no matter how creepy or weird he is.

She grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him inside.

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whore-ibly-hot · 10 months

Text

Yan!General x Reader x Yan!Recruit

'The Little Soldier and His General'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, power dynamics, mentions of sa, masturbation, oral, mentions of war and military, implied violence, threats, coercion, female and male genitalia, female reader, pet names.

(AN: Part two to 'His Little Bride', here by popular demand!)

Part 1 here!

You trod up the stairs, your shoes clacking against the hardwood as you come to the door of Fritz's office, knocking gently on it. "Come in..." Fritz's deep voice calls, and as you enter he peers up from his desk. A smile spreads across his face, as he stands to see you. "Hello, my love..." He says, wrapping his hands around your waist gently. His stubble brushes against your forehead, and you giggle at the feeling. "Fritz, you're tickling me." You playfully smack his chest, causing him to back off. He steps aside, and returns to his desk. Someone coughs awkwardly, causing your head to snap in the direction of the sound. A young man, about your age, maybe younger, is standing by the corner of Fritz's desk, scuffing his shoe against the carpet and trying not to interrupt.

"Ah, my love, this is Johannes, he's the new recruit I mentioned a few nights ago at the dinner. Johannes, this is my lovely betrothed." You smile, and nod in the boys direction. Despite the fact he's probably only 20, a year or two younger than you, he's a giant. He's lanky, standing almost as tall as Fritz. Red curls adorn his head, matching the reddish-freckles that cover his face. "It's wonderful to meet you, ma'am." He stutters, smiling awkwardly. "Johannes, show some respect for the lady, especially an officer's wife. Make eye contact with her, shake her hand." Fritz, urges, trying to suppress a grin and seem stern. You scoff, and roll your eyes. "Johannes, ignore him. He's just trying to stress you out." You assure the boy, and he lets out a sigh of relief. You turn back to your betrothed.

"I don't want to interrupt, I'll leave you gentleman to your work." You offer. Fritz shakes his head, motioning with his hand towards a nearby chair while he sits down at his desk. "No, we were just almost finishing up, you can stay right here." You nod, and sit down. You take a book off of the shelf and busy yourself reading. While you do, Fritz and Johannes lean over his desk, examining some papers as they finish up. Sighing, Fritz places down the papers, and looks up at the redhead.

"Well, I believe that's all of our affairs in order, then?" He asks. "Yes sir! I've sent telegram to the infantry marching down south, and I ensured the diplomats would be ready to speak with you in the morning." Johannes explains, a small boyish smile on his face. Fritz claps a hand down on the boy's shoulder. "Only a few weeks in Johannes, and I think you may be one of the best young men I've trained. I've never seen someone so eager." Fritz compliments. The boy freezes, and looks down as his grin grows wider. "Just... just wanna make you proud, sir." Fritz feels his heart swell at the comment. In the few weeks since Johannes joined up with Fritz, he's been training the boy in every task he can think of, from infantry duties, to cleaning, to telegrams and more. After learning about the boy coming to fight for is family, and learning he has no father, Fritz felt a duty to care for him. He sees a lot of himself in him, and he feels himself get sick anytime he imagines Johannes having to endure what he went through when he first joined, before anyone treated him like he was worth something. Fritz keeps Johannes up at the main house as much as he can, as he's already had to punish several soldiers for picking on the new kid.

As Fritz snaps out of it, he notices Johannes gaze has drifted over to you. You are sitting in the chair, curled up with your knees tucked by your chest, skirt ruffled warmly around you as you read whatever book you picked up from the shelf. Johannes can feel his heart thrumming in his chest, the sounds of the world around him blocked out by it echoing in his hears. Fritz looks once, then twice back-and-forth between you and Johannes. If any other man had dared to gaze at his soon-to-be bride for this long, he would have them sent out on a mission they would surely not return from. However, as he looks in Johannes's eyes, analyzing his gaze, he sees no hint of malice or ill-intent. Johannes looks at you with such innocence, such curiosity that Fritz allows it. Fritz knows that Johannes is looking at you the way he looks at you. "Johannes?" Fritz asks, and the boy practically chokes, coughing as he snaps out of it. His wild and embarrassed expression makes Fritz chuckle warmly. "U-uh, yes sir?" Johannes asks, hand fidgeting with the edge of the desk as he taps his fingers against the varnished mahogany.

"Any particular reason you are staring at my bride?" Johannes shakes his head wildly, pushing his hands out in surrender and almost shrinking in on himself. "No, no sir! I was just wondering what she was reading, not, not looking at her in any way! I respect that she's your bride, and I respect her as a woman- I would never look at a girl like that. My mother always told me-" Fritz cuts him off, leaning forward on the desk and placing a firm, calloused hand on the boy's shoulder, feeling that he now quakes with anxiety. "Private Johannes, please, please calm down. I take no offence, my boy." Fritz gestures to you. "I will admit, I can be the protective type. But I need you to know, the only men who have been punished for trying to corrupt or gaze upon her like that are those who do it with nothing but animal urges in mind. You've seen how the soldiers in town act, around the bars and whorehouses, yes?" Johannes nods. Just the other day, a group of soldiers had tried to convince him to lose his virginity at a local brothel, but he denied, feeling sick at the thought. One of the women standing outside the brothel had touched him through his uniform. He knew one day a woman would do that, but to lose himself this way felt wrong. Especially because he knew many of the women in these places turned to this career only because of the war.

He couldn't stand the way soldiers spoke about girls late at night after an evening of drinking. Whenever they would whistle, or catcall some poor village girl, he was reminded of his sisters, and what his mother taught him about how to treat a woman. That was someones daughter, or sister, and the idea of making any woman feel the way he did when that woman groped him makes him wish that he was strong enough to deal with his fellow soldiers himself.

"Yes, sir." Johannes says. Fritz smiles when he notices the way Johannes frowns, grimacing a little as he recalls. He knows that Johannes feels the same about the urges and actions of those sick men. "Many of those men have tried, would try to harm her in that way." Johannes looks up, shaking his head as his eyes go wide. "No..." Johannes exclaims. Fritz nods gravely, enjoying stoking the boy up a little. "That is one of the reasons I keep her up here, why she is going to be my little bride. She must be kept safe, safe from those who would do her wrong. Even her father wanted to refuse to engage her to me. That man would have rather married his daughter off to some scum from the town than give her to a man who cared." Fritz growls, and the hairs on the back of Johannes neck stand up. Despite this, he stares intently at his superior, finding himself enthralled at the idea of keeping and caring for something, someone so lovely. Someone to protect. "Then how did you get her to wed you?" He asks, curiosity eating him from the inside out until he can't help but spit out the words. "I had her father... dispatched, I suppose. Trying to allow a young lady of this great country to be harmed surely counts as an act of treason." Fritz explains. He leaves out the fact he had your father executed so that any inheritance of yours could be put towards a wedding, but he thinks it a minor detail He glances over to make sure you aren't listening, then leans in close, so he may whisper into the boys ear.

"Now, Johannes. I have a question for you, and I want you to think carefully before you answer." Johannes bites his lips nervously, but waits for his admired superior to continue. "What do you think I should have done in that situation?" He asks. Johannes tilts his head, brows furrowed. "How do you mean, sir?" He asks. "I mean, what would you have done, if a lovely thing like her came along, who you adored and needed to protect, but someone was trying to keep you from her. What would have happened?" He asks. Johannes sighs, his fists balling up tightly. "The truth, sir?" Fritz nods. "I... well, I'm not very strong, o-or brave. I don't have your status, but... I think, I think I would do whatever it takes to keep her. Even if I meant doing something I don't think I'm quite ready for." Fritz pulls the boy in for a hug, and Johannes fear melts away for a brief moment. He hasn't felt affection since he left home, and the only thing keeping him from melting into his general is his shame about being affectionate with another man. Fritz pulls away, and looks the boy in the eyes. "My boy, by the time you are done training with me, there won't be a single thing you aren't strong enough or powerful enough to do, you understand me?" The thought of being good enough fills Johannes with glee. "I understand, sir."

"Good. Now, Johannes, you are a young man. I know by the way you talk, and the way you are that you are a good one. I don't want you learning to copy the other recruits in any task, but especially in how to care for a girl." Fritz explains. "Did your father have time to teach you about these things before his death?" Johannes shakes his head. "I know the basics, sir. My mother told me, and she told me to respect a girl, but... I know very little beyond that, I admit." He says sadly. "Well, I see how you looked at my bride. Look again, you have my permission." The boy looks up, unsure if this is some sort of test, but eventually he glances in your direction. He sighs at the serene girl sat before him.

"My bride was not unlike you a while ago. Innocent, naive. Do you want to protect her as I do, Johannes?" Fritz asks. "Of course, all women should be protected, and-" Fritz shakes his head, cutting the rambling boy off. "No, Johannes. I mean, do you want to protect her, specifically? Do you fancy my bride?" Johannes trembles, his cheeks reddened with a shame so deep feels like he might throw up. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry... I feel, I feel awful." He confesses. "I never wanted to feel like this, I admire you, and I respect you sir, I really do! But when I first arrived at your estate, I would see her around, reading or baking. I'd see her with you and, and god she seemed perfect. So caring, and I was drawn to her kindness in such a hellish place like the war." Fritz nods. "Johannes, you must understand. Other men and boys look at her with lust, desire. You look upon her with a craving, for how sweet she is. You don't want to defile her, you ant to care for her. You are not them. You, Johannes, are like me." Johannes can barely stand the feeling of euphoria that washes over him, the roller coaster of emotions is too much for him. Being told that the man he admires most in this world sees himself in him is enough to send the boy over the edge. "You don't know how much what you've said means to me, sir..." He whispers, looking up at Fritz. "Now, I have a proposal for you, my dear boy."

Fritz pauses, allowing Johannes to collect himself and steady his breathing. "I have taught you many things at camp, including manners. Given your love and respect for my bride, and the importance of me teaching you about all aspects of life, I think perhaps you should allow me to educate you on how to best care for a woman." Johannes chokes oncemore. "As in, giving them gifts, a-and courting them?" He asks, unsure if what he thinks Fritz is implying is true. "Partially. I am simply offering you to care for her. I fear I am not able to spend as much time with her as I want, and I know it's important for you to learn about the things women like, should you find a girl you want to marry in the future." Johannes nods. "Keep her company for a month or so, and when me and her wed, you may go and find a girl of your own, should you desire. But-" Fritz smiles. "Should you find yourself attached, which I would not blame you for, you may continue to live with me and her in our estate." Johannes grins. "Sir, I... thank you." Fritz only nods. "I care a great deal for you, boy, and I'm sure my bride will too. Tonight though, I think if you should want to, an education of another kind is necessary, should you keep my bride company or find another girl." "Do you mean?" Fritz nods. "I will speak to her after dinner, I'm sure she will agree. Meet us in the master suite after dinner, and I will provide you with a hands-on approach to the marital bed."

Late in the evening, Johannes finds himself pacing outside of his General's bedroom, unable to calm himself. Excitement eats away at him, though a small part of himself fears this is all a trick, a test, and that this is simply a way to shame him. He shakes off these thoughts, knowing his beloved superior wouldn't do that. Not to him. He hears the door creak, and he looks up eagerly. "Sir." He greets. Fritz nods his head. "At ease, my boy. This isn't a drill. Come in, take off your shoes." Johannes follows Fritz into the dimly lit room, and gasps as he sees what awaits him. Your lovely frame from earlier, once sat by the window, is now nude, layed on the bed like a present for him. He kicks of his shoes, and approaches. His fear of this being a trap has subsided, now replaced with anxiety that you won't like him, or the way he looks. He swallows deeply.

"Hello Johannes." You greet shyly, not able to fully make eye-contact. When Fritz proposed this to you, you were shocked, as he had always been very private and strict about intimate affairs. Many times when was balls-deep in you, he had growled things about never sharing and owning you. You couldn't deny you were curious what about this boy had gotten him so attached, and you agreed. Now the young private is stood before you, a bulge already prominent in his trousers.

Fritz senses you are a little nervous, and sits behind you, allowing your bare back to lean against his chest as he looks up to Johannes. "Johannes, firstly you must situate yourself. Come, sit down before her." Johannes eagerly crawls onto the bed, looking at his general for further instructions. "You've seen people kiss before, right?" He shrugs. "Yes, sir. My mother and father before he died, and a few soldiers with women, but I've never done it myself." He admits. Fritz nods. "Well, don't over-complicate it, just lean in, ask her if she would like a kiss?" Johannes kneels before you, his locks of red hair almost covering his downcast eyes. "Ma'am, may I kiss you?" He whispers. You blush at his continued formality, but nod. His breathe is shaky as he leans forward, connecting his lips with your soft ones. Much like Fritz, this boy is rough and calloused, with chapped lips. He isn't as hardened as Fritz, but he has the makings of what Fritz is. He moans a little, his hand coming to touch your chest instinctively. You squeak, and he removes his hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He exclaims, looking at you and Fritz, panicked. "No, it's fine, just, caught me off guard." You explain. "I.. I really liked it. You are a beautiful woman, thank you for letting me... y'know, engage in this with you." He whispers. You smile and stroke his cheek. "Of course." Fritz smiles. "Such good manners, private. Exemplary. Now darling, why don't you show him what makes a woman so different from a boy? Give him a look." Fritz urges. Fritz slips his hand onto your upper thighs, spreading them so Johannes can get a look at the bush between your legs. While you had initially been rather insecure about it, Fritz has always assured you he likes you natural. Johannes gulps, watching as you spread your folds with two fingers, allowing him easy access to your holes and clit. You are already wet, the slickness giving your pussy a sheen.

"See that little pearl at the top of her sex?" Fritz asks. Johannes nods. "That's her clit. Girls tend to feel the best when a boy know how to properly service it. Try gently rubbing it with a finger or two." Fritz instructs. Johannes extends to slender fingers to the pearl of your sex, beginning to rub small circles around the sensitive bud. It feels nice, but he's clearly inexperienced, as he doesn't touch you down there like Fritz does. Fritz notices you are quieter than usual, and he uses his hand to guide Johannes fingers. Small circles become the occasional flick, accompanied by a rub to the right side of your pearl. As Fritz moves his hand away, Johannes strokes that special spot, making you gasp. "J-Johannes..." You moan, causing the boy to pause. "No, no, my boy, when a girl feels good like that for you, don't stop. Keep touching her like that." Fritz urges. Johannes shakes it off, nodding. "Yes, sir. Sorry." He continues his ministrations. You whine, feeling his slender hands roll your clit, building you up. "G-god... A little faster, please." You beg. Johannes looks to Fritz, who nods. The boy speeds up, and soon you feel yourself about to cum on the privates fingers. "Ah... oh god, Fritz, gonna cum', he's gonna make me cum..." You groan. The moaning of his name with your erotic expression sends Johannes over the edge, and he gasps as he feels a convulsing. He looks down, and a wet patch is appearing on his pants. As you cum, he looks ashamed. "Sir..." He whimpers, and Fritz looks at the boys predicament.

"It's fine, my boy. Sometimes it comes early when your new to this, besides..." He places a hand on your chest, helping work you through your orgasm. "It's hard not to, looking at such a lovely girl..." As you come down from your high, you pant, shuffling forwards. "Thank him for being good with you, my girl." Fritz says. He was always one for manners. "Thank you Johannes." You say. "For what?" Fritz pushes. "For making me cum, for making me feel so good." Johannes can feel himself hardening again. "Now, Johannes, I'm sure she's eager to return the favor, so I want you to undress." Johannes hands shakes as he tries feebly to undo the buttons of his trousers. Eventually, he gets them off, springing free his cock. It's not the longest you've had, but then he isn't fully hard yet. "Darling, why don't you show Johannes just how thankful you are." You press a kiss gently to the red tip of his cock, watching as it twitches. He is clearly sensitive. You stroke it once or twice, teasing it until it's fully erect. "Does this feel good?" You ask. Despite being engaged to Fritz, you are still rather inexperienced. Johannes nods, then cuts off when you place your lips around him, taking his cock into your eager mouth.

"Oh, Oh god, sir!" Johannes whines, looking at his superior. He can feel the warmth of your mouth engulf his cock, your tongue rubbing ever so slightly along the prominent vein that runs on it's underside. "Don't be afraid to buck against her, just be sure no to damage her throat. She still struggles with taking a man fully." Fritz explains. At this, Johannes begins to gently thrust himself in and out, causing him to grip the sheets of the bed. "So good, ma'am. Please, uh... d-deeper, take me deeper." His little whines make your core throb, and you move to try and move him just a little further in, his tip rubbing the back of your mouth. He can feel his orgasm approaching, and calls out for Fritz. "Sir, I'm gonna cum again, am I allowed to-to, do I have your permission to-" He can barely ask, his legs shaking. "Of course, but ask her, she'll be the one to taste you." Fritz says. Johannes groans, and looks down at you. Tears prick the corners of his eyes. "Please, please ma'am, lemme cum inside, your mouth feels s' good. You feel so good, please!" He's begging now, the tears flowing freely. You bob your head, nodding, and the sight of your pretty face taking his cock with such ease sends him over the edge. "Ma'am, god, I'm cumming! Cumming in your mouth, shit..." He whimpers, feeling your mouth continue to suck him while he fills you up. He whines at the feeling of being practically milked by your tongue and soft lips. As he lays back, You swallow, and look at your betrothed.

Fritz is grinning, with one hand already unzipping the front of his trousers. "Felt s' good, sir." Johannes whispers, his cock now limp between his shaking legs. Fritz nods, grinning at how fucked-out his young subordinate is. "You did well, Johannes. So respectful and obeidient, servicing your superiors bride at his request." Johannes has to resist gasping at the praise. "Now, this last part is reserved for me, but you must watch and learn. It will be of use to you some day." Johannes watches as you lay on your stomach, innocent eyes looking up at him as you smile, while your fiancee slips out his reddended cock and lines it up with your pussy, caging you down beneath him as he prepares to take you from behind.

"Watch how a man gives his little bride a baby, Johannes..."

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