#and he doesn't even despair or rage | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

helloilikepurple · 4 months ago

Text

DC X DP - DeAged

The Nasty Burger explosion took a lot from Danny.

Stopping Dan meant nothing when Danny lost everything. His friends, his parents, his sister, his teacher - all gone. Danny, desperate to not become Dan, fled. He would not let Vlad destroy the only thing he had left; himself. He didn't turn human again if he could avoid it. Let Danny Fenton die with his family.

He did what he could, trying to keep it all together. Avoid Vlad. Catch havoc-wreaking ghosts. Try to not have a panic attack every time he saw his reflection. FentonWorks became out-of-bounds. No one was sure how to turn off the portal or any of the house's defence mechanisms so it was taped up instead.

Danny kept the GIW away. They wanted his parents' research, even if they had to bend the law to get it. Danny would not let them have it. Never.

But the GIW was persistent and Danny weak from nearly two months of being Phantom and nothing else. He was so tired. Tired from grieving, from fighting, from wandering around, completely lost and alone.

The GIW got a lucky shot in. Danny went down. He woke up, still ghost, somewhere white. He'd trained himself not to have to turn back. He was grateful he did.

The GIW studied him. Danny did not have the energy to fight back. The will to survive. Curled up in his cell, bloody and becoming less human with every passing day, Clockwork finally intervened.

He could not let the future High King wither away into nothing.

With Nocturn's help, he whisked him away. His world was dying anyway. With no one to maintain the portal, it would soon overload and explode. The radiation would kill all life on Earth, leaving nothing behind, and taking with it the potential for new life. One world among infinite realities meant nothing. But Danny, as High King, is a singularity. A unique existence, only found in one reality. Clockwork, for the sake of everything that lives and dies, could not let Danny fade away.

Danny slept at the Far Frozen, dreaming of his family, his friends, and the stars he would one day rule over. He healed, wounds knitting together into scars and fractured core slowly, ever so slowly, repairing itself. A future Ancient, bound to protect all that is and will be, was bound to be very badly hurt from such a loss.

Clockwork only wished he could have done more, but to remove Danny too early would have spelt disaster worse than the deaths of billions. This boy would someday be someone he'd proudly call his grandson. Seeing that future alone was enough to make his own core ache for the young one.

The Infinite Realms wept for its child, still but a babe yet having suffered so much. It embraced its future King, blessing him with its loyalty and adoration. The ghosts of the realms, spread far and wide over distant realities, timelines and worlds, felt the loss too.

Danny healed, unaware of how loved and precious he was to so many - how far he was from alone. The dead's sudden quiet unsettled many. Enemies froze in the silent mourning, animosity forgotten. Raging wars came to abrupt ends. So many, unable to bear the ever-reaching, unidentifiable pain in the air killed themselves. Good, kind people cried alone.

Magic users, like Constantine and Zatanna, hid, waiting out the Infinite Realm's despair for its child. No one spoke of it, for fear of disrespecting the dimension between dimensions. But they hid, and they waited, and they couldn't help but worry for themselves and everything and everyone else.

Danny got a lot of visitors. Ancients, regular ghosts, crowded around his bed, gifting him blessings and support. Danny slept, he healed, and his world died, taking with it all he'd known. He wouldn't remember or know of any of this when he woke - even the memories of his pleasant dreams will have left him. He'll awaken and think himself entirely alone.

But he'll know, someday.

Clockwork will make sure of it.

---

Danny doesn't know where he is or who he is.

He has a vague idea. His name. His life and his death. But so much is so distant, like impressions on sand, washed away by the ocean. He knows he should be bigger. He knows this isn't home. He knows there is no home anymore.

He knows there are people he misses, but he doesn't know who they are or where they've gone. He knows so little yet so much. White walls and orange hair, green (toxic, writhing green) and hazmat suits, white and black and orange and blue. Expensive, Packers-branded cologne, burning flesh, the scream of an alarm and laughter and fear and hope and love and pain and loss. Disjointed flashes, snippets of another life.

And this isn't familiar - this city and these people. These crowded, filthy streets aren't home, but there's no home anymore so of course they aren't. And maybe Danny should be afraid. He doesn't know where he is, or how he got here. There are people, so tall, walking around him not sparing him a glance. It's loud and smelly and so much to process all at once.

But Danny doesn't care because he's so tired, and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep the day away. But he doesn't have a home, so obviously he doesn't have a bed either. He looks around for somewhere else to sleep, rubbing at his chest subconsciously as he does.

There, a building, on the other side of the road. The windows are tinted, but the doors open and Danny, through the crowds and passing traffic, catches a glimpse of what has to be a couch. Maybe the people that own the building will let him sleep on their couch for a little bit.

So he crosses the street, sticking close to the legs of some lady with skinny heels that go tap-tap-tap so the cars don't go because they can't see him. The lady turns to go a different way after but it's okay because Danny is in front of the building now.

He pushes the door open and slips inside. It's quieter inside, and warmer. Danny wasn't cold outside but in here there's a nice heat that makes him feel even sleepier. He looks around at the fancy chairs and potted plants and lights, and is happy to see there are couches. Long couches, with lots of pillows and space for him to spread out.

He walks up to the desk. He's too short to see over it, and it makes him kind of angry because he's sure he's supposed to be taller. But he figures maybe he remembers wrong because people don't just shrink. Except, he's a halfa so maybe ghosts do?

"Hello?"

There's a lady here too, behind the desk, but unlike the one he followed across the street she has short, curly hair. Danny wonders if she's wearing skinny heels too. Leaning his head back, he can see her look up, glance around, and then look back down.

Danny pouts. Did she not see him?

"Hello?"

He waves an arm this time, reaching as high as he can to catch her attention. She finally sees him, eyes widening in surprise. "Oh, sorry! Hello." She has a nice voice.

"Your voice is pretty."

She smiles, and Danny decides her smile is nice too. "Why thank you. You have a pretty voice too. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Can I please sleep on your couch? Just for a little bit."

"Of course you can. Would you like a blanket? I could fetch one for you from the staff room."

Danny shakes his head. "I'm okay. Thank you."

"Alright. But if you change your mind, do tell me."

"You're very nice."

"Thank you, but it's really no problem. Not much to do today anyway."

"You should sleep too then. Sleep is good."

She giggles. "That is a very good idea. I just might take your advice." Danny nods. He has lots of good ideas. "Okay. I'm gonna' go nap now. Bye-bye."

"Sleep well."

There are a few couches, and for a bit Danny's not sure which one to sleep on. He chooses the one with the most pillows. It's very comfy, and the pillows are nice too. He puts one under his head and hugs another, curling up around it. He falls asleep in seconds.

When a toddler with black and blue eyes asked to sleep on one of the couches on in the reception hall of Wayne enterprises, May had assumed he was one of Bruce's boys. He certainly fit the type Gotham's favourite playboy liked to adopt, and it wasn't unusual for his wards to show up out of the blue.

Once she found Tim Drake passed out on the floor under her desk. Apparently, he'd been hiding from Dick who was visiting from Blüdhaven and forgot to bring his coffee with him, consequently falling asleep while he waited for her to arrive so he could ask her to go pick some up for him. That had been an interesting Thursday morning.

On another memorable occasion, Cass, Bruce's only official daughter, and her girlfriend Steph had shown up, said hi, went upstairs, then came back down after about an hour, giggling as they ran out with a wave goodbye. Not even ten minutes later, Bruce himself stumbled out of the elevator, absolutely covered in purple glitter. May remembers raising an eyebrow and asking if Bruce wanted her to have another suit brought in.

He'd ended up collapsing on one of the couches with an exhausted sigh, and said he'd have Alfred pick him up instead. He left a sparkly trail behind him when he walked, and the couch he sat on had to be replaced because, even after numerous cleaning attempts, no one could get the glitter out. He had glitter in his hair for months afterwards.

So, May hadn't bat an eye when the little boy came in. Well aware Bruce had several meetings scheduled that day, she sent him an email saying one of his kids was taking a nap in the reception hall and resolved to look out for the boy herself. Throughout the day, she made sure to check on him often, making sure no one picked him up ran (this was Gotham after all).

He slept soundly for most of her work day, barely shifting. She ended up putting a blanket on him herself during her lunch break and leaving him a water bottle and little snack for when he woke up. She also made sure security kept an eye on him whenever she left for whatever reason.

It was well into the afternoon when Bruce finally replied to her email and asked if his kid was still sleeping downstairs. She said yes, and not long after he arrived on the ground level. He walked up to her desk and asked if his kid had caused her any trouble. She smiled and assured him no.

Then Bruce asked where Tim was.

"Sorry? Tim isn't here today."

Bruce frowned, looking just as confused as she felt. "My apologies. You said one of my wards was asleep here. I assumed it was Tim."

"Oh! No, no, it's not Tim. Well, I don't actually know his name but the little guy has been here since this morning." She gestured to the toddler in question.

Bruce turned around, saw him, and frowned. "He's not one of mine."

"He's not?"

"No. Are you sure he's not an employee's child?" He kept his eyes on the boy, eyes narrowed in thought.

"Yes, I am. Only three employees brought in their children today, and all of them are ten or above. He can't be older than five." She frowned now too, turning to her computer to double check. "I'll send out a company-wide email to be sure. I should have done this sooner. I'm sorry, I was just so sure he was under your care."

"It's alright, May. I'm not upset. I'm just worried about him. When about in the morning did he get here?"

She glanced up, but Bruce was still looking at the sleeping boy. "A little after nine."

"And he's been sleeping all that time?"

"Yes, as far as I'm aware."

"Alright. Thank you for looking after him. I'll take it from here."

"Of course, sir. I'll reach out to you if anyone identifies him."

He nodded appreciatively and walked over to the boy. She watched, frustrated with herself. She's worked as one of Wayne Enterprise's receptionists for over four years. She should have known better than to just assume some random, black haired blue eyed child was Bruce's kid. She should have at least reached out to make sure that was the case.

She sighed as Bruce knelt down by the couch and gently shook the little boy awake, resting her head in the palm of her hand. This poor child. His poor parents. They must be worried sick.

She has to make this right.

---

#dc x dp #dcxdp #danny gets deaged for his own health #bruce adopts him #danny's memories are messed up because he's little #danny wakes up and calls bruce “daddy” cause he looks like jack #bruce has a heart attack #alfred raises an eyebrow at bruce when he comes home with danny #"another one #danny wants to be astronaut #dick tries to adopt danny hismelf but bruce got first dibs #danny is adorable #danny phantom #danny fenton #nasty burger explosion happened #orphan danny

1K notes · View notes

dceasesd · 5 months ago

Text

why juni ba’s the boy wonder has my favorite jason characterization of any contemporary comic run: a needlessly in-depth analysis (pt.1)

oh boy oh boy am i excited for this one buckle up boys it’s gonna be a long one. analysis under the cut (WITH PICTURES!!)

i, like many others, have many thoughts and opinions about juni ba's the boy wonder that i'd like to express. i was having trouble formatting my rant, though, so i decided that it was easiest to just address some of the common complaints i've seen about the comic and jason's characterization and insert my ramblings throughout it. so far i've seen three main complaints:

the typical boiling down of jason's character to "the angry one"

his lack of strategy going into the fight with the demon is out-of-character

the neighbor's kid interaction

to start with the first one-- when introducing jason's character, in both the second and first issue, ba uses the descriptors "coarse", "bitter", "hardened", "brash" and, of course, "rageful".

so, yes-- i understand where people are having issues with this characterization. however, even if it's overplayed, it's still important to remember that jason is angry, and is driven, in part, by his anger at bruce and the joker. and, as ba highlights, he deserved to be! completely erasing jason's anger is just as bad as defining him with it.

i also don't think it's wholly accurate to say that ba is boiling jason down to just his anger. it might seem like that when only considering the dialogue and narration, but jason's behavior in the comic doesn't perfectly align with how the narrator describes him. while the narration describes him as "rageful" and could be an instance of generalization, jason's actions throughout the comic are more aligned with two other emotions/motivators: fear and despair. we never see jason get actually, properly angry; the closest we get is when he's seemingly annoyed by damian (which i believe could be performative) and when he becomes violent, accidentally hurting damian.

even in this instance, though, he is not driven to this violence by rage, but rather fear. so, while ba states in the narration that jason is driven by his anger, he contradicts himself by highlighting how jason's sadness and terror motivates his character. this could be interpreted as lousy writing on ba's part, but i'm not going to attribute the paradox to that inference. to me, it actually represents a critque of the "jason is the angry robin" generalization, because it calls to attention the discrepancies between how one is described versus reality, an issue that jason both faces in the comics (bruce using him as a cautionary tale when dying WASN'T HIS FAULT) and outside of the comics, as mentioned previously.

furthermore, this highlights the difference between what jason believes about bruce's perspective and bruce's actual perspective (according to damian). jason believes himself to be a "failure", but damian refutes this by describing his conversation with bruce concerning jason, a conversation that does not align with jason's belief. if you couldn't tell by now, perception versus reality is a BIG theme in this comic (and for jason's character in general!)

i was really fascinated by ba's take on jason, because it veered pretty far from a lot of contemporary comics, most of which do, unfortunately, play with the angry robin jason generalization. they've been doing a bit with his fear, too, which has either been pretty fun or the most awful thing ever (i'm looking at you zdarsky. gotham war was fucked up), but what makes ba's jason stand out to me is how he grapples with his grief.

this boy is so sad. ba's jason might actually be the saddest rendition of him i've seen in canon content. we've seen jason grapple a little bit with the despair rooted in his death and resurrection, mainly in lost days, where he cries 3 (?) times, fresh out of the pit and very traumatized.

even in this comic, though, he reacts to his grief with anger more prominently than sadness. that obviously doesn't mean the despair isn't there, though-- anger is just an easier outlet for it (which i could really get into the masculinity aspects of that, but then this would be wayyyyyy too long).

ba's jason, though? that motherfucker is so. sad.

christ he's depressing. AND THAT'S SUCH A FRESH PERSPECTIVE!!!!!!! THANK YOU JUNI BA!!!!!!

now i'm pretty sure some people would argue that this rendition in out of character because he's so sad. to me, though, he's still the same jason; he covers up his sadness with anger and pettiness, redirecting his own insecurities onto those around him to mask his true feelings.

ba quite literally illustrates this in the comic. whenever he is being his snide, normal self, he has his red hood mask on; but when he actually opens up to damian and expresses himself truthfully, the mask is off. ba is highlighting how the classic jason anger and bitterness is, in part, a performance and coping mechanism.

this post is already too long, so i'll go over the two other critques in a different post, which i will link below (eventually). if you guys have any thoughts you'd like to share or discuss, my dms and asks are completely open! if you made it this far, i hope you enjoyed my ranting. look out for another post soon! :))

part 2 / part 3

#using my english major for evil #this is very different from stuff i usually post so i hope you guys like it #i had a blast writing it #dc comics #jason todd #batman #dc #robin #red hood #batfamily #batfam #damian wayne #red hood: lost days #the boy wonder #juni ba #dc meta #jason todd meta #the boy wonder meta

785 notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 8 months ago

Note

I have this idea for a post but I feel like you would do it justice.

Basically, Danny is yeeted through a dimensional portal and reincarnated as the clone son of Tim and Connor(from when Tim cloned Connor during his death). This little shit wakes up after that, when Connor has already been found, as a six year old gremlin with a need for chaos.

Que pranks!

I don’t have much more than that so I will leave this in your capable hands.

-🎃

"Master Bruce, if I have to remind you to fix your tie one more time, Gotham will be without its protecter for many months to come!" Alfred snapped - actually snapped - from where he was attempting to reorganize the entirey of the Emberald Sitting room.

Right now, he moved all the furniture and all the wall directions. He was just adding some tastefully done flower pots to make the place look inviting but also regal.

It had been six hours, and from the looks of it, Alfred had not found the balance he desperately wanted. He started over four times. His patience was all but gone.

Bruce's hands snap to his tie, scrambling to get it set just right. He moves it only slightly to the left - not making much difference - with a nervous smile. Alfred's teeth snap shut with a click, and his eyes blaze with frustrated rage as he rounds the coffee table toward the billionaire.

Bruce looks to be holding back a scream.

Dick winces, sinking into his chair lest the aged Butler turns his ire onto him. He knows why this evening has to be just right. Especially to Alfred, but gosh, he could not handle how terrifying the butler could be.

It's just for one dinner and one evening. Dick tells himself. Once Alfred can finally say he married one of us off, things will return to normal.

"Honestly! If you didn't walk around looking like an unkeept vagabond all the time, maybe there would be a Lady of the House by now!" Alfred sneered at a pale-looking Bruce.

Or maybe Timmy bringing Kon over to announce their engagement means Alfred will try to marry the rest of us off harder. Dick despairs as Bruce endures another tongue-lashing. He wants to go help, but if he moves even an inch from his seat, Alfred might realize Dick is still in the room.

He can't afford to anger the beast any further.

"And you, Master Dick!" Alfred suddenly rounds on Dick, pointing one long finger into his face, with narrowed eyes and the grim reaper at his shoulder. Oh, dear.

Thankfully, that's when the doorbell rings. At once, Alfred's face clears into an excited smile. "They're here! I'll let them in right away; you lads, gather the rest of the family. And remember, we must make a great impression! Tonight is the night we invite Mister Kon into the family!"

The butler doesn't quite skip out of the room, but the bristle walking with a chipper head turning is the close that Dick has ever seen him do.

"I'm so happy for Tim." Bruce mutters,"but I can not handle any more reminders that I haven't had a spouse."

"Tell me about it," Dick sighs, following after his father into the hallway and down to the dining hall. He can distantly hear Alfred opening the door and greeting the two. "A hour ago, he made seven passive agressive reminders that Tamaraneans propse with a dinner and a mock battle. Seven. I mean, how does he even know what Tamaraneans do when courting?"

"It's Alfred." Bruce tells him, taking a seat at the head of the table. Dick sits in the chair to his right as the oldest and First Heir- considering the reply. It makes sense.

Damian, Cass, and Duke walk in, not even a moment later. All are dressed better than any gala Bruce could have dragged them off, too. He is rather impressed that Damian is a red suit that makes even Bruce pale in comparison. Then again, he is the only one besides Alfred who has an eye for such things.

"Has he already proposed, or is he doing it at dinner table and were all supposed to act supirse?" Duke asks while sitting down. "I want to know what kind of face I should have prepared"

"The clone has asked Father for his blessing in his courtship with Timothy. He knew we would have figured out his plans when that blunder. It is no surprise." Damian huffs. Dick knows he's just upset that his big brother is going to get married and move out soon. He's adorable when he's territorial.

"I can confirm that Kon hasn't asked yet." Steph announces, strutting into the room in all her purple gown glory. Behind her, the Row sbilings wander in with matching celtic blue suits, making Dick grin. It's always nice to see people appreciate the best color. "Tim isn't the type of person to not show off his ring whenever he has a chance."

"I've always wanted to see a real-life popersoal!" Jarro gasps, flying into the room with his own little suit on. It's a nice black with green undertones just like Bruce's.

He lands in the miniature chair with a dinner dining set Alfred had special ordered for him.

It sits on top of where a regular dining set usually is, always the second chair on Bruce's left, because he is literally the favorite. Bruce denies it, but they all see the tender smile he throws the floating star.

The Wayne kids know. Jarro is too precious and hilarious, so none of them mind that he's the favorite. In fact, Dick has half the mind that he's the favorite of the majority of the family.

Jason leans over to pat Jarro's head, grinning when the little starfish swears. He adores when the kid randomly curses out of Aldred's hearing range.

"Shh, they're coming!" Cullen says from where he was lingering by the door, hoping to see Tim and Kon. He always looked up to the older boys as someone who had been forced into the closet for his own protection.

Seeing people like him helped ease the fear, and Dick feels his smile wideing when Cullen scrambles back to his seat. He's so excited he's practically in the Speed Force.

Alfred opens the door first, stepping to the side to allow the guest to enter first. Dick feels himself sit up straighter, the moment really setting in, Kon is going to propose to his younger brother.

His little Timmy is growing up-

"Wow, this place is big!" A child says, running into the room. Who the heck is he? "It's amazing, Dad!"

"Slow down. You don't want to fall." Tim laughs, rubbing the stranger's hair with a soft smile.

"It's okay, Dad. I'm strong!" The boy flexes his tiny arms. Tim laughs again as Kon crouches down to the little boy's height.

"Woah! Look at all those musceles. You're going to help me protect your dad, son?"

"Yeah Pa, I'll be the strongest super or robin ever!"

"Tim? Who might this lovely chum be?" Bruce cuts in, voice slightly strained. No one calls him out on it since they are staring wide eye at the tiny little boy who looks like an exact copy of Tim at age five.

Dick knows because he was one of the few in the Wayne's who saw Tim at that age. He's practically a clone to oh no.

Dick thinks he's having a heart attack.

Tim looks up at them before a brillient glowing smile breaks across his face. "Everyone, Kon and I have an announcement to make!"

Kon wraps an arm around his waist, sending adoring looks to man in his arms before they both hold up their left hand.

There are twin silver bands on both of their fingers. "We got married in Las Vegas, and we have a son! I like you all to meet Danny Drake-Kent! I made him when I thought Kon was dead."

"I am Danny, clone of Kon-el and Tim Drake. Fear me if you dare!" His voice squeaks. Squeaks.

Scratch that, Dick knows he's having a heart attack.

You can hear a pin drop in the silence his announcement cause, as Danny puffs up his chest and floats a few inches off the grown.

Oh, great heavens, Dick is an uncle.

"A fellow clone, son!" Jarro cheers from his little table. He slams two of his star points on the table to a beat that he speaks to. "One of us. One of us."

Danny's blue eyes land on the star fish and widen. He raises both arms into the air chanting back. "One of us. One of us. One of us!"

"It's awesome is what it is!" Steph cries, jumping up from her seat. "Hi, Danny! I'm you, Auntie Steph! I'm the cool one."

"Isn't this lovely? Master Tim not only has a husband but a child as well. Unlike some Masters." Aldred doesn't quite glare at Bruce, but he doesn't have to. The Waynes know who he means as Bruce wince.

Danny pauses in his chanting to look her up and down, staring pointily at her plum colored dress before humming. "That's a bold statement for an eggplant."

Steph gapes at him as Tim roars with laughter.

Oh, Dick is going to love this kid. He leaves his seat, trying to get to his nephew as the rest of the family attempts to do the same. Damain makes alarming threats to Kon, letting him know he would easily take him out if he detects a hint of mistreatment to his brother and new nephew.

The Waynes act like they can't hear the threat because they all have their own versions of the shovel talk prepared. They just have to get the clone alone.

It's a nice dinner.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Super Robin #Part 1 #Kon/Tim #The family were ready for a announcement #Alfred is stressing about marrying off his the Waynes #Dick's pov #Danny is Kon and Tim's son with no memories of his past life #Meeting the family #Yeah Kon and Tim elopped #Tim was in a crazy era

1K notes · View notes

star-har · 4 months ago

Text

nightmares

| satoru gojo x reader | fluff |

gojo is dreaming - at least he thinks he is. it all feels too real; the weight of your collapsing body in his arms as you cripple to the floor; the warm gush of blood leaking from your side, staining gojo's skin like a nightmare; the sound of your heart coming to a dull throb where he presses his fingers to your pulse.

"stay with me, baby," he whispers into your hair, dragging your nearly limp body down where you're concealed from prying, dangerous eyes.

"you can do it, stay with me."

"is everything okay?" you barely manage to speak around the knot in your throat, clutching onto gojo's shirt like a lifeline.

the sheen in your eyes tells gojo you already know what's happening. knows your heart hasn't stopped because of gojo's lips on your skin. but you remain in denial, searching gojo's gaze for confirmation that you'll be okay.

"you're okay," gojo mutters immediately, quick to comfort the frantic look crossing your face as you turn to look at your bleeding side. "fuck— you're okay." he's not sure who he's talking too; the raging voice in his head or the love of his life draining away without him.

he tries to hold them in— the tears. digs his teeth hard into the inside of his cheek to drive the burn behind his eyes elsewhere- anywhere. but god is it difficult to maintain his composure, with you like this.

"i'm not going to die, right?" you whisper the words, tone desperate and hopeless, silently urging gojo to meet your stare.

"no- no." he says the words firmly, as if the mere thought of you living today will manifest this reality to diverge it's path. but even then, gojo can only hold in so much. "fuck, no baby. you're going to be just fine— just hold on. nanami will be here soon, just please—"

the first tear falls when gojo meets your stare, defeated and utterly devastated to find the previous presence of fear and despair vanquish from your eyes.

instead, gojo finds understanding. understanding as you come to terms with what's happening, come to terms that this will likely be the last time you'll ever see your husband's face again because nanami is still fighting the special grade, hands full. he won't be able to help.

and gojo hates it. he loathes it. how you've accepted your fate before gojo can even comprehend what's at hand- your beautiful life.

"stop— stop looking at me like that. please." he begs, turning to bury his face into your neck. he doesn't want you to see him cry, not now- not when this may be your last... "stay with me. please. don't leave me, baby. you're all I have left."

he chants the words like a mantra, urging the universe to hear his pleas, begging to the gods he'd never cared for to save the one person who made his life worth living.

it's hopeless, he knows this. but he can't help it.

"it's okay, "toru," you whisper with a smile, a hand sliding in his hair to urge him to meet your gaze.

"everything's going to be fine. don't worry."

he believes you. every single limb in his body does. you could tell him the world was ending and he wouldn't hesitate a second before shipping you off of earth. you could tell him that he was dying and he'd spend the last few expecting minutes kissing you for however much time he could.

it's only natural his body responds this way— because you're you.

but fuck— it hurts. hurts because everything in him is screaming it won't be okay, but he can't show you that.

not when you were always being okay for him.

so he only holds you close, peppering kisses into your hair before your heart manages to wring its last few beats.

ーーー

gojo snaps awake with a gasp, throwing himself abruptly out of bed as he clutches his sweat-drenched shirt, fisting the fabric to his chest as he attempts to calm his racing heart.

a dream— that's all it was. right?

he reaches for you across the bed, seeking the warmth of your body and the steady thrum of your heart— only to be met with cold.

your side of the bed is empty, sheets ruffled - cold.

"baby?" he climbs out of bed, being met with utter silence.

he stands there for a moment, clutching his fists by his side, silently urging for any sign of you to present itself - a floorboard creak, the soft hum to a song as you prepare tea, your cat's paws scratching the floor as it follows you aimlessly in your wake.

nothing. not a sound.

usually, gojo likes the quiet. likes warming up with you on the couch as he dozes off with you reading on his chest, likes brushing your hair as you sleep soundly - that's the only quiet he can stand.

his heart crashes to a halt, a ringing sound reverberating through his ears, growing louder with each repetition. the walls seem to squeeze him in, trapping him inside.

it had felt so real, his supposed dream, that he begins second guessing himself. he's always confused dream with reality, once waking up from one with your baby sleeping in his arms to find with a break of his heart she had never existed. it felt so real, so gutting- like now.

it was a dream— it had to be. it was. because fuck

"toru?"

your voice — that's you.

his gaze flies from his shaking hands to find you at the doorway, frowning up at him, your cat purring soundly in your arms, asleep.

gojo acts quickly. in two, long strides, he's got you in his arms, tucking your frame into his chest and away from the rest of this cruel, undeserving world.

"satoru?" your voice drips in worry, your cat clambering away from your embrace before you return his hug with your own desperation to learn the reason behind your husband's abrupt reaction. "what's wrong, love?"

gojo shakes his head slightly against your neck, finding the consistent beat of your heart against his chest like an angel's melody to his soul.

"just stay-" his voice shakes, wrapping you too him impossibly closer, heart to heart. "don't you ever leave, y/n."

you realise quickly what's happened- gojo knows this because of how you're hand has fallen beneath his shirt, gliding your smooth palm along his back in comforting circles, smoothing fingers over the scars that lay there.

he knows you, more than he ever could anyone else. knows the slightest shift in your voice means you're upset, knows when you walk slower it's because you haven't slept.

knows when you come to trace his scars, it's because you want to ground him. want to show that you're real— you're here and you're not leaving.

"I'm here, 'toru," you whisper into his shirt, placing a kiss where your mouth meets his shoulder. "i'm never leaving. never."

he hums a weak mhm into your body. "promise?"

"oh, baby," you whisper. "of course. you could never make me leave. love you too much too do that. promise."

he believes it. every limb in his body does. it's only natural.

after all— you're the one truth that gojo finds won't ever fail him.

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo saturo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen

671 notes · View notes

regulusrules · 1 year ago

Text

A very long meta explaining why the confession scene in Good Omens is the best that has ever been written and performed on screen

First of, the scene begins with two different realisations that makes each of them believe that their dynamic will significantly change (Crowley wanting to confess his love and Aziraphale wanting to break out the news about heaven). This, you can see, creates an unprecedented shift in their energy, makes them super excited (Azi) and super nervous (Crowley) to break the news to one another. And despite the two matters being drastically different, when Aziraphale begins his revelation we don't get the Miscommunication trope where Crowley listens to the offer and passively retreats back his emotions. No. He is steadfast in his resolution, in his love for Aziraphale.

And that right here is king attitude no.1, because even if Aziraphale just threw something so godforsaken on him, he won't allow himself to be cowardly or let go of the one person he loves more than eternity. Crowley still bares his heart, still lets it all out, because he will not lose Aziraphale in his naivete of still believing that Heaven is good and Hell is evil. (I write this with supreme detachment of my own beliefs lol) He tries to make Aziraphale understand that sides didn't do them any good the past 6000 years, that the only solid foundation they ever had was them, and that Crowley would rather have them than have everything.

The way you hear Tennant's voice breaking when he said “And we spent our whole existence pretending that we aren’t”, is the perfect reflection of how Crowley genuinely despairs the time they lost and wouldn't have any more of it. And even with how bare and raw he's feeling with revealing all this, he still goes on. He still tries to tell him and I would like to spend our whole existence together, but struggles and struggles because he's strung wide open. But he keeps trying.

Now you see here a moment of disbelief on Aziraphale's behalf, because he doesn't understand why Crowley would refuse going back to heaven with him when all Aziraphale remembers of Angel!Crowley was how utterly bright his eyes shone when he lit up the stars and surely Crowley must miss that too? He wants the same thing Crowley is saying, just in a different dimension. The “I can make a difference” immediately changes to “We can make a difference” because that's all what’s ever been for Aziraphale; them changing the small engines of the world according to their partnered will. He is genuinely benign and not ill-intentioned when he says “Nothing lasts forever”, because he truly wants a better life for them, a better existence. And that's when it gets better: Crowley has his walls back up, he's walking away, because he can't bear that he was never enough as he is for Aziraphale. That he was never worth reciprocation.

But Aziraphale doesn't let him leave.

And that is king attitude no.2, because he doesn't want Crowley to leave when things are strewn all over the place that they don't know where they stand. All Aziraphale ever wanted was for them to stand on the same ground. He asks him to come back to him but hides it by finishing it with “to heaven!” because the whole conversation is going too fast for him, and he's undergoing a religious crisis of sorts that does not end in 6000 years, yet even so he still doesn't want to lose Crowley because he's everything he has and he can't do it without him and “I — I need you!”

And that's when it gets reaaally interesting. Aziraphale's expression then turns from sorrowful desperation to rageful desperation, because he's baring his heart and Crowley is walking away from him. Their solid ground is completely shaken when he says “I don't think you understand what I'm offering you” because he's trying to be subtle about his love for Crowley and still direct as much as he can, but Crowley responds with a condescending “I think I understand a whole lot better than you do” and if this isn't peak human beings in their arguments, I don't know what is. Because we all think we are so misunderstood every time we get into an argument with someone we love, and we absolutely despise it when we feel patronized, so it's no wonder Aziraphale bitterly says “Then there's nothing more to say”, because if Crowley understands, truly does, then he'd see right past his fear to how much he loves the ground Crowley walks over.

And on the other hand I don't believe Crowley truly meant to be patronizing, but in a desperate last attempt he wanted to make Aziraphale understand what he is trying to say, what he spent his entire eternity feeling for Aziraphale, what Aziraphale would be giving up if he goes to heaven. What their life sounds like with no nightingales.

“You idiot, we could've been.. us” is the very culmination of love confessions. It took every single emotion and equated it. Tennant's delivery of it was unsurpassed in the way that it truly covers everything. And the way he grabbed Aziraphale, not entirely lovingly but desperately and angrily and, honest to God, awfully, is the reason why their kiss is so perfect. No queerbaiting, no beating around bushes. It is raw and sad and giving and agonising. Crowley wants to say see what you're giving up? See what we can have? And all Aziraphale thinks is how could you lay this on me now after everything, after every chance we could've been something, after me loving you from the first time I've met you. He's angry towards himself too, because nothing he can offer Crowley will be good enough that he chooses him instead of his choices. Sheen's choice in making his character grab Crowley's shoulder and let it go and then grab it once more in desperation is so unexplainably perfect of how much Aziraphale wants to hold onto Crowley.

But in the back of his mind, Crowley isn't choosing the same. Instead, Crowley's choosing to run from something that no doubt will rebound in their faces. They are angels and demons of heaven and hell, how could Crowley expect they could run and hide without being a repercussion later on? At least what Aziraphale is suggesting ensures that they will have a high position of power, enough to make them together, enough to make them happy, but instead, Crowley is walking away.

And when Crowley lets go of him, not the other way around because of course it is Crowley who must let go and detach from the utter pain that pierced his heart, you can see his expression being one of defeated longing. He sees all expressions passing across Aziraphale, sees how torn apart the other man is, too, and awaits just a semblance of anything they could work with. But instead, Aziraphale's face closes, and he tells Crowley “I forgive you”, and Crowley thinks this must be his second falling, because he's never felt more pain. “Don’t bother”, he says, yet still waits for Aziraphale outside and doesn't leave until Aziraphale has left him. Because in the end, Crowley would always be there for Aziraphale, even if he doesn’t feel worthy of it.

And that, my beloveds, is why eternity will remember this scene.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #david tennant #michael sheen #good omens meta #LJ metas #regulusrules metas

2K notes · View notes

lillithsalvatore · 3 months ago

Text

million dollar man

pairing: royal!jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

summary: the price of loving a million dollar man, a prince

warning: modern royal au!, mention of cheating, angst, minor dni, cursing, asshole jace (?), cried. like and reblog are appreciated!! my 1st imagine, please be nice!!

---

"Did you fuck her, Jace? Answer me!" you demanded your soon-to-be-husband, your voice trembling with anger as you stared at Jace, eyes burning with rage. In your hand was a newspaper from a well-known publication, which you held up in front of him. A news about him with his 'childhood bestfriend'

When Jace finally confessed, nearly shouting, "Once, just once, and I fucking regreted it" your heart tightened. His admission felt like a powerful blow to the trust and pride you had invested in him. Your anger intensified, but beneath it all, a deep sadness began to take hold of your mind.

"Once?" You gave a bitter smile. "Even once is fucking enough to destroy everything we had, Jace."

Jace looked at you with regretful eyes, but that only made you feel more exhausted. "Do you know? I trusted you more than I trusted myself. And you betrayed that trust for a moment of weakness."

"Y/n…" Jace began, trying to approach you, but you raised your hand to stop him.

"Don't!" you choked out, but your voice remained firm. "Don't make this worse Jace”

You took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. "I loved you sincerely, but love cannot continue when trust has been shattered."

Finally, you turned away, heading toward the door,

"I hope you never make anyone else feel the way I did."

Jace stood there, frozen, feeling the pain in every word you spoke. He realized that you were not just angry about the betrayal, but also about feeling disregarded, pushed aside in a relationship where you had poured all your heart and soul.

"Y/n, I'm sorry, —" Jace said, his voice trembling, but you couldn't bear to hear any more. Apologies at this point only deepened the pain.

"Don't apologize, Jace," you replied, your voice breaking with sobs. "Sorry doesn't change anything. You chose her over me, It's always been her, Jace."

You could feel Jace's hand still holding yours, but now, that warmth no longer provided the comfort it once did. Instead, it only reminded you of the times he wasn't there for you, when he chose to protect someone else over you.

“Please don’t do this, please let me fix it” He begged

"I tried so hard, Jace. I gave you everything I had, but you chose her, even if you didn't realize it," you said, your voice now filled with nothing but exhaustion and despair.

Jace didn't know what to do, what to say to fix his mistake. He could feel everything between you falling apart, piece by piece, with no way to put it back together.

"Y/n, I—" Jace started, but you interrupted him, pulling your hand out of his grasp.

"I can't stay here anymore, Jace. I can't keep going like this. I guess that's the price of loving a million dollar man."

"And I giving this ring back to you, I hope you'll find someone who deserve it" You turned away, moving towards the door, trying to leave this suffocating space before your heart completely shattered.

Before opening the door, you looked back at Jace one last time, hoping he would understand what you couldn't put into words: that you had loved him deeply, but you couldn't stay with someone who no longer belonged to you.

And then, you walked out of the apartment. As the door closed behind you, you felt a profound sadness but also a sense of relief, as if a great burden had been lifted. The tears had dried up, leaving a void in your heart, but it was a necessary emptiness, allowing you to move forward, to find yourself again and rebuild your life from the ruins.

And though the pain was immense, you knew you had done the right thing. You chose yourself

Jace might realize his mistake, but it was too late. The love and trust you had given him were no longer intact. Now, you had to seek happiness for yourself, a happiness unbound by emotional scars.

And so, you moved on, looking toward the future, knowing you deserved a true love, a love that would never betray you.

#house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon imagines #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x y/n #jacaerys velaryon modern au #modern!jacaerys velaryon #harry collett #harry collett imagine #harry collet imagines #harry collett x you #harry collett x reader #harry collett x y/n

389 notes · View notes

perfectlysanexd · 2 months ago

Text

I haven't done one of these kind of posts in a while, but the expressions in Rebirth were top notch, and I wanted to talk a bit about and analyze Sephiroth's different smiles, both pre and post Nibelheim.

Nibelheim itself is difficult to gauge, because SOLDIER Cloud is actually Zack, and furthermore, some of it is definitely his own wishful thinking. But one thing you can say for sure, is that they portray that Sephiroth, despite being so emotionally weary, still summons up the energy to smile at his friend.

As soon as he turns away from Zack, his smile falls, and he doesn't give one to the Mayor at all.

However, when he turns back to inform the men that they're free until sundown, he summons up another smile for them. I don't think that he's just attempting to keep their morale up, he genuinely has affection for Zack, and cares for the others. He respects them for their service, putting their lives on the line for what they think is a good cause, and Sephiroth—as we saw in Ever Crisis—learned to be a compassionate person, who cares about the lives of others, even enemies.

Of course, he's deeply distressed during this time, the despair is eating him alive. Even Cloud acknowledges(despite having not known Sephiroth on a personal level) that he just wasn't himself once they arrived. But I'm not going to talk about my theories on all the Jenova stuff right now, that's not the focus here. Even at the window, you can tell he's feeling off, but when he turns to Zack, he attempts to smile again.

Sephiroth has never enjoyed his fame, and as we learned in Ever Crisis, he didn't choose it; Shinra made up bogus achievements and declared him to be a hero before even his first field assignment, as part of their recruitment campaign. Can't argue with results, I guess—it certainly got Cloud to join up out of hero worship, right? In EC, Sephiroth admits that all he ever wanted was to be normal, something that he knows he can never have. How sad...

So when this man wants to take his picture, it's no wonder that he's over it by then, and tells him no. And rather politely, too, all things considered. But even before that, he smiles and tells Zack that as long as he does his job, their young tourguide will be safe.

But as soon as he turns his back and walks away? Yeah, that smile immediately fades.

Which certainly doesn't change when the guy takes his picture. But of course, when Zack asks Sephiroth to pose for one, he just can't say no, even though he's not super happy about it. Anyway, he continues to smile at Zack for the duration of their journey up Mt. Nibel, making an effort to talk and even cracking a couple jokes, just trying to be a good leader and keep them in good spirits.

And of course, there's the very sad bridge part, where you can tell that he's genuinely upset that he failed to save the other infantryman that got washed away. He searches for him, but comes up empty-handed. Still, he smiles for Zack and teases him about a performance assessment, since their morale is quite low now, but they need to keep going.

Honestly, the Nibelheim part of Rebirth really did an excellent job of portraying Sephiroth's inner struggle. For reference, there are only 3 points in Remake, I think, when Sephiroth drops his ever-present, sometimes affectionate(towards Cloud) and often unhinged, smile: First, it's replaced with sheer rage as he kills President Shinra.

Second time, is when Aerith has a Cetra moment and suggests that his entire existence is "wrong".

And the third time is when he holds out his hand to Cloud at the Edge of Creation, and is rejected by him.

Anyway, back to Rebirth. Ignoring the bizarre smiles he showed us as Nibelheim was burning, as if he was in a trance and just not all there(that's a subject for a different chat), post-Nibelheim Sephiroth's smiles are interesting, too, if we consider what kind they are, depending on who he's dealing with.

For people he hates, like Tseng, it's much more unhinged looking, and very cold. You can tell there's a certain measure of satisfaction from shanking him, haha...

For someone like Aerith, who...I wouldn't exactly say that he hates her, but she's definitely in the way. I would almost say that he considers her to be actively preventing Cloud from recovering his true memories, leading him to remain as merely Sephiroth's "puppet", but that's a theory for another day. He looks at her coldly, as well, but it's a bit different. There's a bit more respect there than there was for Tseng.

And then there's Zack. Actual Zack. I feel like, deep down, he still cares about him, and has no intention of killing him. I almost sense a little...regret? Maybe? Hm. It's definitely a bit warmer of a smile. And of course, although he had many opportunities to get rid of Zack, he doesn't. Instead, he sends him off into the space between worlds safely.

And of course, last but certainly not least, is the way he smiles at Cloud. I know, I know. "But Sane, you like sefikura, so you're biased!" Look, I won't deny that. However, when you really look at it and compare his smiles, which is what this is all about, his truest smiles are always saved for Cloud. He has 2 different "flavors": pure affection and cruel affection. (There are also a few pity smiles, I think.) The former is used most of the time, whenever Cloud is in his sight, and the latter is used during moments when he's trying to control/influence him. I would almost say that he's...satisfied, yet regretful at the same time?? Like these:

And now, let's contrast that with his more genuine, affectionate smiles for Cloud... (The first shot here ⬇ can be contrasted with the shot 2 up from the bottom there ⬆, as the one above is when he's calling Cloud his puppet, and the one below is when Cloud goes to attack him and he opens his arms wider for the incoming uh...embrace.)

Remake had many interesting smiles from him, too, but that will have to be a different post, as this already has 30 screenshots. Anywho, you're free to draw your own conclusions, and not everyone reads faces in the same way, so maybe I'm nuts. Who knows? Either way, I hope you enjoyed this random, indulgent, very long post, haha. If you made it to the end, you're awesome. 💕

All screenshots were taken by me on my PS5. I won't ask for credit on them, since literally anyone can take an identical shot if they pause at the right second. (The exception are the 3 Remake shots, which were taken on PC with mods and the freecam. For those, I would appreciate credit if you use them anywhere, since I don't watermark them.)

#sephiroth #final fantasy vii #cloud strife #sefikura #rebirth

225 notes · View notes

wonton4rang · 6 months ago

Text

Kiss and make up ¡!

pairing: bnd legal line x gn!reader

warnings: smut +18, some toxic behaviour (ig idek atp), cursing, unprotected sex (be safe y'all 😔) and I think that's about it, lmk if I missed anything.

genre: smut. ♡

summary: how would be make up sex with boynextdoor members (legal line - everyone but woonhak)

note: I was going to post an ask I got ready for today but tumblr kinda glitched and it delete half of it so I need to re-write and edit it again :'( please enjoy this as an apology <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

sungho; make up sex with him can be overwhelming, and it most likely will, there could be two reasons for it: he is sooooo sorry for everything that he keeps whispering little "sorry, baby" into your ear or he's still kinda mad and just fucks you out of despair. either one you will feel so good and full that you will forgive him for anything you got mad for in the first place. it was sungho and his strong body and gifted cock against you, tbh who would go against that? his pretty foxy eyes looking down on you with so much appreciation, his lips glossy due to your own saliva and his hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat. he was so hot and it was just a small disagreement anyways, nothing you guys couldn't talk about after you were stuffed full like a pillow.

riwoo; i see him into some dynamic type of sex, nothing crazy but something that would consume lots of energy, like fucking you in some odd yet pleasant position with no rest, your knees numb and your arms trembling, but when it's make up sex he would be the sweetest and most cliche person, laying you on your back and caressing your cheeks while he left a trail of kisses all over your face, neck and your collarbone, mumbling how pretty you were and how much he hated to fight with you. he's just so sweet and good for you :(( you guys definitely talk about things and get to a solution together, it might be even faster than with other members since i feel like riwoo will understand and make his point clear so that it can be solved accordingly and fast.

jaehyun; he's crying. but not like a few tears shed, he's crying his eyes out whenever you guys have an argument about anything and everything and he really doesn't wanna see you afterwards because he feels so wronged. but when you knock on the door of your shared bedroom after giving him some space, he would make a light pout, looking away so you can know that he's still mad. it only took you two minutes of "baby, I'm sorry, it was not my intention to yell at you. It's not your fault that I'm stressed and I'm sorry I let it out on you, can you please forgive me?" and he will, cause jaehyun is like a little puppy to you, he would never say no, better yet, his answer was "i forgive you, y/n, how 'bout I help you getting rid of that stress, hm?" and then he made you come around his cock twice, giving you a third orgasm while eating you out and softly giggling at your wasted look, kissing you before helping you get a relaxing bath and then tuck you in bed.

taesan; I think I've said this before but I don't see him as a highly sex-drived person, not really understanding all the hype about it, yes, it was good and he loved to fuck you and make love to you, but it was not his top priority. yet I do believe he has his triggers. so when you guys got into this heated argument he realized something: he found your angry self very appealing, the way you yelled at him and pushed his chest making him grin a little bit at the fact that he could tower you and stop you in any moment but you felt that you controlled him. the whole discussion was about some girl that held his arm earlier and he did not move her, you were furious cause you knew how much he hated physical contact with most people and letting that random girl do it like that? you raged. "is this funny to you?" you said, getting him back from his thoughts. "she's no one, love, but I can show you why you are mine right now" you were confused, not following his words are they were so out of place. "you're so hot when you get cold" was the last thing he said before taking you into a deep kiss that ended up with you crying out his name while he made love slowly to you, pounding your cunt full while his soft and wet lips kissed your face. taesan was yours, all yours, no else mattered to him, he did not have any interest in other girls. it was you, you were his one and only.

leehan; where do I even start? he would listen to everything you have to say, quietly nodding to the points you're making and chewing his cheek to avoid saying anything stupid that would interrupt your failed version of an apology, because right now all he can think about is the away your boobs wiggle under your loose large tshirt with every move that your hands do, your tights looking so pretty that he couldn't avoid staring and you noticed, snapping your fingers in his face and rolling your eyes when he just smirked at you, throwing his hair back and sitting comfortably in the couch before spreading his legs a little bit. "if you're so sorry you could show me with actions, y/n" he was so cocky that you couldn't even be mad at him, straddling in his lap and moving your panties aside when he took his dick out and aligned it with your soaked entrance. "you're going to fuck me so good, aren't you, baby?" a soft kiss was pressed in your lips and he leaned back to let you ride the shit out of him. the so called argument long gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you guys enjoyed!! <33

#boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor scenarios #boynextdoor smut #boynextdoor x reader #leehan smut #leehan x reader #jaehyun smut #jaehyun x reader #riwoo smut #riwoo x reader #taesan x reader #taesan smut #sungho x reader #sungho smut

330 notes · View notes

cosmicanakin · 8 months ago

Note

Hi, can you do an imagine about pranking vinnie, and telling him to try not to annoy you today, please

★ PRANKS.

੭୧ . . . vinnie hacker x female!reader.

ᯓ you prank your boyfriend by telling him not to annoy you and it backfires, which wasn't what you expected.

warning(s) angst┆pranks┆emotional distress┆crying. 𓇼 thank you for requesting anon babe ! i'm sorry if it wasn't exactly how you wanted it but i hope you enjoy <3 mature content!

　✧⠀ ⠀⠀　𓈒　⠀⠀ ⠀૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ꪆৎ masterlist.

you wake up feeling mischievous, plotting a prank to play on your unsuspecting boyfriend vinnie. thinking up the perfect plan to really mess with him, you can't help the smirk forming as he slowly stirs awake.

leaning over, you whisper in his ear "good morning baby." however, your usually sweet tone holds an underlying edge of irritation that has vinnie blinking in confusion. before he can say anything, you continue in a clipped manner.

"i'm already annoyed so don't bother me at all for the rest of the day, okay? i mean it." his eyebrows furrow, clearly taken aback by your sharp words. searching your face for any sign that it's a joke, hurt washes over him as you give no indication you don't seriously want space.

"okay..." he says hesitantly, hurt flickering in his eyes as he climbs out of bed. part of you feels guilty seeing how your prank is already affecting him, but you're determined to commit fully to the bit. hopefully he'll catch on soon that you're messing with him.

throughout the morning, vinnie keeps his distance as asked, seeming uneasy and unsure what to do to not annoy you further. any attempts at jokes or affection are met with exaggerated irritation, cementing in his mind that you genuinely need space from him.

it grows harder to maintain your façade as his usual cheerfulness fades into guarded silence. by midday, remorse is gnawing a hole in your gut seeing how dejected vinnie appears. when he recoils from your touch with worried eyes, you can no longer take it.

"vinnie, i need to tell you something," you start, grabbing his arm as he tries to walk away. he pauses but doesn't turn, shoulders hunched in defeatedly. "this was all just a stupid prank baby, i don't actually want space from you."

whirling around, hurt and anger flash across his features. "a prank? i thought you were seriously pissed off at me! you had me questioning everything all day," he shouts, hurt turning to rage the longer he processes how badly you messed with him.

"i'm sorry, it was just a joke. i didn't mean to actually upset you,” you scramble to apologize but he brushes past, heading for the door. "where are you going?" panic surges through you, worrying you may have broken the fragile trust between you.

"i just need to be alone for a while, i can't even look at you right now," he spits venomously before slamming the front door behind him. collapsing to the floor, you pull your knees up to your chest as quiet sobs escape your lips.

hours pass with no word from vinnie, your texts and calls going unanswered in a painful silence. night falls heavily, adding to your despair wondering if you pushed him too far this time. just as you're about to give up hope, the door creaks open slowly.

lifting your head, you see vinnie standing uncertainly in the doorway, eyes puffy and red-rimmed from his own tears. without a word, he crosses over and falls into your waiting embrace, holding on for dear life. neither of you speak for a long while, simply taking comfort in being close again.

finally, vinnie pulls back enough to look at you with watery eyes. "i'm still so fucking mad at you but i love you too much to walk away. just promise me no more stupid pranks, okay?" he pleads brokenly.

"i promise, i'm so sorry sweetheart. can you ever forgive me?" you ask, cupping his face gently. he nods, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips in acceptance of your apology. holding each other tightly, you both silently vow to communicate better to avoid such hurt in the future.

your love proves stronger than any misstep could fracture, bonding that transcends fleeting fallouts. here in sanctuary of each other's arms rediscovered, all remnants of shadows melt under floods of forgiveness' warmth. two souls learn as one, growing through missteps refined to blossoms entwining roots anchored in understanding deeper than any sea. this you vow eternally, to cherish the blossoms arising where hearts intertwine.

#꣑୧ writings.#vinnie #vinnie hacker #vinniehacker #vhackerr #vinnie hacker angst #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker blurb #vinnie hacker x female reader #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker smut #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie imagines #vinnie x female reader #vinnie x reader #vinnie smut #vinnie angst #vinnie hacker fanfic #vinnie blurb

410 notes · View notes

wiltedprayers · 4 months ago

Text

thinking about how both band of brothers and generation kill end with the soldiers playing a sport together and how entirely different those two scenes are.

in bob the baseball game is meant to symbolize the unity that has come to pass between the men — they all have gone through something so specific together, a bond is created — and it's all about their war ending. the scene is nicely lit, it's the focus of those few minutes, the men are joking around and being at ease with each other (they're enjoying themselves), the officers watch on delighted and even hopeful. it's the middle of the day and the sun is shining. the descriptions of the soldiers' lives after the war do not leave room for despair (if one of them had hard times afterwards and separated himself from this idea of 'brotherhood,' it's mentioned very briefly and given no consequence). the officers announce the war is over and the joy goes on. it's, by all possible means, a happy ending.

in generation kill, it's not like that at all. there's uncontrollable rage in the football game. officers and enlisted soldiers alike playing against each other, both of their attitudes violent. it's a display of pure aggressive masculinity with muscles, multiple insults thrown around, unhinged bravado, and a lot of anger. the sun is setting. there's two moments where a genuine fight breaks out: one between officers and another between fellow soldiers; there's no sense of unity, of 'brotherhood' — these are men who are angry at the world, themselves, the people they're fighting against, the war, and even their teammates. the scene is also cut and mixed with the moment wright leaves, watching wounded men be taken out along with him. it ends with rudy and ray's fight: it's an effort to gather all of that learned & lived violence and take it out on someone else — ray calls rudy something along the lines of 'ptsd psycho' when he's clearly the one breaking down, leaving the game. overall, it's a rabid scene, and it ends in pure despair.

in band of brothers the last words spoken in the baseball scene (and the whole show if you don't count interviews/internal dialogue) are "war is over." according to the scene, the war is over so they should get to celebrate, live in the sunny day and be able to find company in each other. in gen kill, their war is also over but their game doesn't feel like a celebration, nor it shouldn't. after ray's outburst someone says, "maybe we shouldn't play a football game," while some are enjoying the fight. ray leaves the scene almost crying after taunting rudy for his lack of masculinity throughout the whole thing. it's not a comfort at all.

both shows are fundamentally different, yes. but I think these scenes, which are both near the very end of their respective show, demonstrate exactly the message/themes of each production and you can make these comparisons precisely because of how dissimilar they are. it's a stark contrast, and the scenes convey the shows' spirit extremely well.

#band of brothers #generation kill #hbo war

218 notes · View notes

hikarry · 11 months ago

Text

Badass Aziraphale is fun. We love to see him with all the divine wrath and playing the protector he was meant to be, blinded by love and duty. Eyes everywhere and flaming sword at hand ready to smite or confront anyone that dares step his way

And that's the version we see the most in the fandom. Vengeful angel Aziraphale Guard of the Eastern Gate raining righteous fury over anyone who dares harm Crowley

It's beautiful. Poetic even. I love it

BUT

There is nothing in this whole fandom that's more powerful and gorgeous than protective Crowley

That man knows what is like to lose the love of his life. He has lived it, for as brief as it might have been. All the despair, the lost of hope, the absolute loneliness. He has been there and that's a place he refuses to go back to

All the fear turned into rage. Ready to burn down Heaven and flood Hell to protect his angel. He might not be the strongest and he might not be a match for more than one archangel at a time, but he would rather die than let anyone take Aziraphale away from him again

He would become so blindsided by terror he wouldn't stop to think about the consequences. His only target is Aziraphale and Aziraphale only and he would pull any stunt to make sure he was safe and, do you wanna know the best part? This is canon

We have snippets of protective Crowley all throughout season 2 but this scene? Oh boy, this scene

Crowley doesn't trust Gabriel. He tolerates him because he promised Aziraphale he would help, but he is on high alert

As soon as Shax shows up and threatens Aziraphale, he redirects his fear turned rage towards his main target: Gabriel. Because this is his fault. Beelzebub is looking for HIM. They/Heaven indirectly threatened Aziraphale with being erased from the Book of Life because of HIM. If something happens to Aziraphale because of this stupid charade he got himself involved with because he promised to protect Gabriel, Crowley will hold no punches

He's already full to the brim with the stunt Gabriel pulled during Aziraphale's "trial". Oh no, Crowley hasn't forgotten his words and his righteous smile while he condemned the man he loves to death even though some years have gone by and he is still furious about it

He is a wrong step away from exploding and destroying everything that presents itself as a threat to Aziraphale in the moment.

He is so scared of everything (Gabriel, Beelzebub, Shax, Heaven in general, the Book of Life) that he spends most of the season compressed like a spring ready to pounce at the minimal real show of danger

The only reason he leaves Aziraphale with the demons in the bookshop to go and try to figure out what the absolute fuck is going on is exactly because the demons can't enter said bookshop and he trusts everyone present not to be stupid enough to let them in (I'm sorry, Maggie. I still love you babes)

The worst part is: all his fury, all his rage and fear are useless in the end because Aziraphale walks into the danger willingly and Crowley would face anyone that tried to hurt his angel, but the angel himself

Don't get me wrong, he sees the danger. Maybe a tad to late. After the demons are gone and so is Gabriel and Beelzebub, he let's his guard down and allows himself to truly relax, planning their little breakfast at the Ritz

Because he thinks it's over. He was completely blindsided by Metatron. He himself says "Go angel. No problem. Can't get weirder than whatever the fuck just happened". Oh my poor sweet summer child

But he does see the danger eventually and goes on high alert again, but it's too late. He would never hurt Aziraphale, but he pulls all the weapons on his arsenal to try and stop him from going where he can't follow. Where he can't protect him

And he fails. Like he always feared he would. Not only showing his hand to Aziraphale in a desperate attempt to protect him but also losing him in the process with nothing he can do about it but watch his angel go until the very last second

#im feeling angsty today dont @ me #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #david tennant #michael sheen #anthony j crowley

554 notes · View notes

its-avalon-08 · 4 months ago

Note

Can you do a fluffy and angsty fic for Lando after Austria, his girl comforting him. I'm surprised there aren't more after what happened under the tags but the only ones that were there are smut, which I don't really want to read I want fluff and angst.

look at you now (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - tears, comfort, negative self talk

The silence in the McLaren motorhome was deafening. Lando slammed the door shut behind him, the force echoing through the sterile space. He could feel the sting of Zak Brown's disappointed gaze and the worried glances of the mechanics burning into his back. But all he saw was red. The vibrant blue and red of Verstappen's car that had stolen his dream away at the last corner.

He stormed into his living quarters, helmet flung across the room with a dull thud. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the already distorted reflection staring back at him from the mirror. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he yelled, slamming his fists against the cool glass.

The sound of his own voice startled him, the raw anger morphing into a crushing wave of despair. This wasn't just any race. This one, at the heart of Austria, could have been his. He'd driven his heart out, pushing the McLaren to its limits, only to have it ripped away in a heartbeat.

Just then, the bedroom door creaked open. Y/N, her normally cheerful face etched with concern, stepped inside. One look at Lando's hunched form, and her face crumpled in sympathy.

"Lando," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

He turned, the dam breaking. He fell onto the plush sofa, burying his face in his hands as choked sobs wracked his body. Y/N sat beside him, her arms wrapping around him in a silent embrace. She didn't try to talk, just let the storm rage within him.

Slowly, the intensity of his sobs subsided into shaky breaths. He finally looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. "I messed up, Y/N," he croaked, his voice thick with shame. "I had it. I had the win. And I threw it all away."

Y/N cupped his face, her touch sending a jolt of warmth through his chilled body. "Hey, no," she said gently, her gaze unwavering. "It wasn't your fault. These things happen."

His voice broke again. "But it could have been different. I should have been more careful, should have backed out. Now, Max extends his lead, and all the hard work..." He trailed off, unable to finish the crushing sentence.

"Lando," Y/N interrupted, her voice firm but laced with love. "Listen to me. You drove a phenomenal race. You were brilliant out there. Don't let one incident define you."

He shook his head, the self-loathing swirling inside him. "It's more than an incident, Y/N. It's my season, maybe even my championship dreams, going up in smoke. What if it was all for nothing? What if I'm just not good enough?"

His voice cracked on the last word, a raw vulnerability Y/N had rarely seen. She squeezed his hand, her heart aching for him. "No," she said fiercely. "Don't you dare say that. You are one of the most talented drivers on the grid. This doesn't change that."

He looked down at his trembling hands. "But what if I keep making these stupid mistakes? What if I'm just a glorified crasher?" The words were bitter on his tongue, fueled by the self-doubt gnawing at him.

Y/N's eyes widened. "Lando, stop it! You are not a crasher. You're a racer, a damn good one. This doesn't erase all the podiums, all the incredible races you've driven."

He let out a humorless scoff. "Yeah, a few podiums here and there. But a win? A championship? Maybe that's just a dream for someone else, someone who doesn't crack under pressure."

Y/N's heart clenched. She hated seeing him like this, tearing himself down. But she knew blind reassurances wouldn't work. She needed to reach the root of his despair.

"Lando," she said softly, "where is this coming from? This isn't the Lando I know, the one who fights tooth and nail for every position."

He met her gaze, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. "Maybe I'm not that Lando anymore. Maybe I'm just a disappointment."

The pain in his voice was a knife twisting in her gut. But she knew this wasn't the time for coddling. He needed a reality check, a reminder of the racer he truly was.

y/n's pov

"Lando, listen to me," I said, my voice firm but laced with the fierce love I felt for him. I cupped his tear-streaked face, forcing him to look into my eyes. "This isn't some pit stop gone wrong, some tire strategy backfiring. This is you, deep down, and that man staring back at me is someone I barely recognize."

He flinched at my words, a flicker of hurt crossing his eyes. But I couldn't sugarcoat it. He needed a wake-up call, a reminder of the incredible person he was.

"This self-loathing, this tearing yourself down – that's not you. You're Lando Norris, the fearless racer who takes corners with the precision of a surgeon and the audacity of a daredevil. You're the one who leaves veterans speechless with your talent, the one who brings a smile to every engineer's face because you push the car to its limits and beyond."

I paused, letting my words sink in. His eyes were glistening, but a flicker of curiosity peeked through the storm of emotions.

"Yes, this race didn't go your way," I continued, my voice softening. "But that doesn't erase all the incredible moments, Lando. Remember Miami , the way you battled for the lead lap after lap? Or Sochi, that daring overtake on the last corner that stole the show? You don't define yourself by one mistake."

"But what if..." he started, his voice barely a whisper.

I cut him off gently. "There will be mistakes, Lando. That's part of racing, part of life. But you learn from them, you come back stronger. And that's exactly what you'll do. Because that's who you are. A fighter, a champion in the making."

Taking a deep breath, I shifted the focus. "And beyond the track, Lando? You're the one who lights up a room with your goofy grin, the one who donates his time to charities close to his heart. You're the one who surprises me with those ridiculous flower crowns and remembers the smallest details about my day. You're an amazing boyfriend, a kind soul, and that doesn't change just because of a DNF."

A single tear escaped his eye, but this time, it wasn't one of despair. It was a tear of understanding, a flicker of the Lando I knew and loved starting to shine through.

"You are so strong my love," I finished, my voice thick with emotion. "And stronger than any setback this sport can throw your way. Don't let one race define you. Remember who you are, the incredible racer, the amazing boyfriend, the extraordinary person I fell in love with."

end of y/n's pov

Y/N's words hung in the air, a balm to the storm raging inside Lando. He stared at her, the self-doubt slowly receding, replaced by a flicker of the fighting spirit she'd ignited. He wasn't a failure, and he wouldn't let this break him.

With a surge of determination, he cupped her face in his calloused hands. "You're right," he murmured, his voice raw but filled with newfound resolve. "I am Lando Norris. And I'm not done yet."

Before she could reply, he leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that spoke volumes. It was a kiss of gratitude, of rediscovery, of a love that wouldn't be shaken. He poured his emotions into it, the frustration, the self-doubt, and the overwhelming love for the woman who held him together.

Y/N responded in kind, her kiss fierce and full of support. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, a shaky smile played on Lando's lips.

"Thank you," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers.

Y/N squeezed his hand. "Always."

Settling back on the sofa, he pulled her close, his head resting on her chest. The familiar rise and fall of her breath soothed him, a calming rhythm against the chaos in his mind.

Y/N carded her fingers through his hair, a gesture that always brought him comfort. The soft strands tickled his scalp, sending a wave of relaxation washing over him. He closed his eyes, the sound of her gentle humming filling the space between them.

He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy. There would be more races, more challenges. But with Y/N by his side, he was ready to face them all. He would learn from his mistakes, come back stronger, and chase his dream with renewed determination. Because he wasn't just Lando Norris, the racer. He was Lando Norris, the man who loved and was loved in return, and that, he realized, was the greatest victory of all.

299 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Text

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Get Her Back 4/4 (Word count 7.3 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.

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

The knife still juts from the table.

She touches it often, fondles the handle like it's her lover.

Days pass, and König escapes her stare with raised shoulders and poorly disguised hurt in his eyes. She feels his eyes on her every single time she's not looking.

He breaks into her room every night, but she never wakes up to his presence. The only thing that tells her the man's been there are the fresh flowers on her table next to the knife.

He brings her flowers every morning, just like he promised, and she keeps the blade there to remind him that he's still in her heart. It's like a silent conversation, and it stabs her stomach full of pain.

On the fourth day, he returns her panties. They're covered in dried cum, and at first, it makes her feel disgusted. Then her heart flutters, a warm feeling settles deep inside her stomach when she imagines him jerking himself off to her underwear amidst his knives, with despair and longing coating the air.

For anyone else, it might be a chilling thing to wake up to: to open eyes to the sight of a brutal tactical knife, freshly picked forget-me-nots and some cum-stained lace. But for her, it's a loving attempt to remind her who she belongs to. It's also a sign that the man is trying to let her go and finally obey her wishes to be left alone.

And she doesn't want to be left alone.

He promised she would never be alone.

On the fifth day, there's no flowers, there's nothing. She starts her day with a horrible, awful bawl. Then she puts on a black dress. It makes her look odd, like she's in mourning, but it also gives her… power, somehow. Even if it's another cute kind of cotton babydoll dress, it makes her look more austere.

“König, wait.”

She chases him down this time: runs to his retreating form that stops the instant she calls his name. He’s tense when she walks the last steps to him and hugs him from behind. The familiar scent of tea tree and gasoline and sweat and guns bring a visceral memory of madness to her mind. It’s an ambrosia of crude virility, and she's missed him, God, that she's missed him.

It's also safety. Because no matter what anyone says, he is the only one who knows her, sees her, sees right into her core, her very soul.

He slowly places a hand on hers, the arms that embrace his narrow, treelike middle.

"Engel…"

The voice comes out tight and strained. He caresses her hand with hesitation and swallows.

"I'm confused.. I don't know what you want me to do."

"Come with me," she whispers in his back. He has no gear on, and she can feel his abs through the black shirt, the way his shoulder blades flare against her cheek with shallow breaths. "If you want…?"

"Ganz sicher."

She takes him by the hand and guides him to her room. People look at them with pity and dread, and she feels like they’re in high school where people were divided into groups of popular and unpopular.

She knows where she and König would’ve belonged. Where they belonged now…

And she just doesn't care anymore.

When the door to her room shuts behind him, she feels a little tug near her heart. She had nearly forgotten how big König looks inside her little room, the space she has tried to turn into a cozy home even though she doesn't view the base as her home like the soldiers do. It's just a place for her to reside in when she's working.

But he does not fit into a normal society like she does. The base must be the closest thing to a home for him. Not every elite soldier is a lunatic perhaps, but König certainly couldn't find any other job in the modern world that would cater to his needs without sending him behind bars.

But he was supposed to kill only in the field. Only somewhere far, far away.

Why did you do it?

Why…?!

That's what she meant to ask when they're behind closed doors, but something quite different comes out instead.

"Did you miss me…?"

She stands before him, holding her hands in front of her, looking probably quite silly clad in black.

"I've been in hell ever since I left, Engel."

Christ have mercy…

Normal men just didn't talk like that.

"Will you forgive me?" He looks her up and down, but the calm, proud posture, the way he holds his chin high behind that dark shroud tells her he's not used to begging. She has a feeling that this question is asked only because Soap suggested it would be a good idea to apologize for making her so upset.

"It's not me you should be–" She sighs. "Look… That man had a wife. König, I think he had a kid and everything."

His eyes are covered in a veil of disinterest only she can pierce. There's actually so much going on behind that odd, distanced stare. But what’s horrifying is that he clearly doesn’t agree with her on this matter.

"I kill people every week," he declares. "Just not in the break room."

His logic leaves her wordless for a moment. The officer was not an enemy, he was not part of some foreign military, his only crime was that he was in a hurry…

She has barely even opened her mouth to speak before he finally defends himself.

"How do you know his wife is not secretly happy with the news?"

The question is like a bucket of ice dipped in her head. She had prepared herself for almost anything but this. König only tilts his head and narrows his stare.

"Would you want to be wife to that kind of man?"

Her mouth opens on its own; her jaw would fall to the floor if it could do such a thing. His worldview unfolds before her in full, and it should disgust her: but all she feels is an odd thrill in her stomach from realizing this man is not only possessive; he's also fiercely traditional.

"He just spilled some coffee on me," she whispers in soft, tender horror. "He just happened to have a bad day."

"How many times a week did he have a bad day?"

The defense is solid, even if it's preposterous. The man was rude and disrespectful, yes. To everyone, every day, probably continued the abuse at home, too. But he didn't deserve to be killed for it. Still, König doesn't seem to find any fault in his way of thinking.

"I can tell when people are evil," he crosses his arms over his chest as a final note.

Evil…

Evil.

She's left blinking, then she finds her tongue again.

"You can't just… deal punishment like that," she huffs.

"Why not?"

Jesus Christ…

His arms are still over his chest, and he looks… so big, so powerful, like an omnipotent being.

Probably thinks he is.

"Will you go to jail?" She changes the subject because arguing with this kind of man seems futile. Downright hopeless.

"No," he says with perpetual calm. "Would you want to see me in jail?"

"...No."

He finally unravels his arms and takes a few steps toward her. That swaying lounge is intoxicating and seductive, even when he doesn't mean it as such. It's just the way he walks, but it makes her woozy.

"Engel. You are too… kind for this world."

More odd arguments are laid out before her, more confusion and love and pain. He raises a hand to touch her arm and make his point clear. The weight of him is heavy and adult, his military clothing is in blaring contrast to her tiny, childish dress.

"You don't understand it now, but perhaps someday you will."

The man looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with her. She's a child in his eyes, but something in this lunacy tells her she's dealing with a child, too: a boy who no one ever loved.

"My little angel. Always wearing pretty dresses," he says more softly now.

"I'm not an angel."

"Yes you are," he rules without effort. "And you look good in everything. But you shouldn't wear black."

"Why not…?"

"Because you belong with flowers."

Her heart aches, her eyes prick with burning tears. He's self-aware, that's for sure. He knows what he has done to her, what he is doing to her. And he wishes to spare her from him.

"I thought you liked black," she peeps, her mind and will and defense breaking.

He doesn't say anything, but his hand brushes down her cheek, then cups her chin softly. That same hand must be ironclad when it grips his enemies and brings them to his blade.

"I like this dress," she tries to quarrel, voice shaking.

"And I know a knife that would go perfectly with it."

His eyes are warm. There's even a passing sadness in them. She's relatively sure that he's not talking about butterfly knives any longer – she's almost certain that König hasn't gifted his weapons to any other human being on this earth.

“How about we take off that pretty little dress now, hmm?”

The time for the compulsory explanations is over in his mind, and it’s time for sex. He knows that his exile has ended, that whatever liminal space they walked in for a few days wasn’t enough to rid herself of him. There’s no turning back anymore, and he looks at her with amused hunger when she obeys his suggestion which is, in truth, a command.

Her fingers do not shake anymore as she undresses for him, but a shiver goes through her guts: that stare is a look from beyond. He’s a madman, and falling more in love with her every day, even if the only way he knows how to love is by stabbing people with his cock or his knife.

“Lie down,” he gives her more orders when she stands before him with nothing on.

It’s futile, completely futile to pretend that she doesn’t want this. It’s almost like an act, the way she slowly and demurely obeys his command. In reality, she wants nothing more than to be devoured by him.

He takes his clothes off while she waits for him on the bed like an injured bird. He rips, then throws his gloves off like they have done something naughty, all the while his gaze is fixed on her. She has missed the sight of that faint hair on his abs, missed that broad chest, missed how his muscles bunch even when he gets out of a shirt that weighs practically nothing in his hands.

The long, veined cock flies out from his pants with a demanding bounce that makes her swallow. They form an odd pair on the floor: her little dress and his huge woodland camos. His eyes are surrounded in black paint under the eternal mask, but otherwise, he's the palest man she has ever seen.

Her breasts rise and fall with aroused breaths as he settles himself beside her, naked and blazing. His cock is pure fire when it gets trapped between them, and he's already drooling hot precum on her thigh.

He's gentle, kind of. Slides a hand over her shivering stomach, palms one breast, then takes a nipple between his fingertips and gives her a pinch.

“Did you miss me too?”

The hood makes him look like a hangman, and he’s infuriatingly patient now. She expected him to rail her like a sex toy right after the door was closed.

"Yes."

He releases her, and the callous descends with a gentle, deliberate caress to her waist.

"Then you're the first who ever did."

She just might be the first woman he's gentle with, too, and she cannot help but think if it's because of what she said just before he killed that poor man. If the last piece of the puzzle locked in place when he realized how much she admired him. If her confession also made him stake his claim in the loudest possible way, announcing everyone that he's her protector.

It's not her fault that the man's dead, but she should be ashamed: she's wet already when the murderer's fingers delve further down to meet her folds. He disappears somewhere in her wetness, and her thighs rise and drift apart to give him full access.

And it's always like this: she spreads legs for him with a helpless, longing stare, he takes in what belongs to him with dark, pleased hunger.

He finds her clit in no time, drags his thumb over it, and she gasps. Her breaths come quick now, her nipples are shot to the sky and her back is already arching when he delves down and slides one finger inside. It's long and lean, and her cunt grips him like they have been apart for four weeks instead of four days.

He sighs under the mask, just from her greedy response. She wants to touch him too, but doesn't dare to move when he's looking at her like that. He starts to finger her gently, first with one, then two digits while attending to the tight nub on top. And he's good with a knife, quick with his hands, so what did she expect?

But she’s also sad and mad. Because he definitely knows what he’s doing. And it makes her think…

"Have you had a lot of women..?"

Her question is a mouse's whisper. His fingers halt inside her; they spread her with delicious torture.

"A few," he says. "Back in Austria."

He buries his face in her neck and nuzzles his way to her ear. The bag of darkness is soft and hot, but nothing compared to his heated whisper.

"But they were nothing like you."

He punctuates the declaration by curling the fingers inside her. She bites her lip to stifle a filthy, needy moan. He even grinds his hips against her: that cock is like a heated spear against her soft thigh, and more cum oozes out to trickle down her leg.

"How many men have had you, Engel?"

He doesn't ask: how many men has she had. She may not be his plaything, but she is his possession. In his mind, she belongs to him and only him, no matter who has come before. But the murderous passion with which he waits for her answer makes her flustered, and she bolts her mouth tight in an indication that she will not disclose this information.

"Gut. Don't tell. I would kill them all."

Oh.

Oh…

"Would you like that…?"

"No," she whimpers.

"Yes you would."

“I don’t–I don't want you to–”

“Shh.”

He’s working those fingers smooth and quick, and she’s already leaking on his hand, probably on the bed, too… The room is filled with sighs and whimpers and sobs as he fucks her with slick, wet sounds. She's close the edge in mere minutes, but he won’t let her finish.

Instead, he pulls out just when she's about to tighten around him.

"Why-why did you stop?"

"Angel... Take me in your mouth," he rasps, breathless too despite trying to disguise it. She briefly wonders if this is some sort of a punishment. That perhaps she’s ordered to give him a blowjob just when she’s about to come – after all, she has dared to keep him waiting for days.

But that’s not the case, it seems, as she moves with heavy limbs to fulfill his wish.

"Nein… Other way around. I want to taste you."

The perverse suggestion in the break room turns into a reality as she realizes what he wants to do. Her heart is pounding when she crawls on top of him to meet that leaking cock. How exactly is that thing even going to fit inside her mouth?

A sudden shyness takes her as her thighs are forced into a wide-legged spread from straddling the broadest man on earth. She's exposed to the cold air only for a second before his breath hits her. The shortest shadow of a stubble on that usually clean-shaven chin meets her soaked cunt with hunger.

“Ah… Take it– in your mouth,” he moans orders to her folds, and her cunt clenches immediately, just from hearing that accent and that voice.

She moves to give him a shy lick, sweeps a tongue over that tip to clean him from all that precum. He goes tense under her and breathes heavily when she wraps her hand around him, wraps her mouth around the weeping slit.

He tastes of salt and sin, and the minute she tries to take more of him in, he groans with a dry throat. It's a hot, broken breath that travels straight inside her. It’s too much – the position is far too stimulating, it’s over the top wicked.

And then he starts to lick her. It messes up the blowjob that has barely even started. She knows his hood must be almost completely off, otherwise he wouldn't be able to breathe.

"Take a bit more, Engel," he urges between the long slathers that already sound lewd. There's simply no way to take it fully in, he’s far too long for that. The last thing she wants to do is gag on him. But she does a good enough job, tries to concentrate on breathing through her nose as she goes as deep as she can.

"That's…more like it…"

It’s a relieved notion somewhere behind her before he continues with the agonizingly slow licks. Fat and flat-tongued, the work of a famished man. For someone who's so clumsy with social interaction, he’s infuriatingly good at giving pleasure to women. The tip of his tongue grazes her clit, and causes a muffled moan – her mouth is full of him but she just cannot help herself.

And arms of steel close around her middle the minute she whimpers on his cock. They pull her closer to his face – he wants to hear her make noise, then, and her will to compete arises. She wants to make him moan too. She ups the pace, flattens her tongue on him every time she retreats…

"Where did you learn to–nnh…"

She nearly laughs at his surprise, at their silly little competition. He's shocked, probably jealous too, of her past and the imagined cavalcade of men who may or may not have been inside her mouth before him. She swirls a tongue around the tip every now and then, wraps her lips tight around him, and goes even deeper.

"Verdammte Scheiße.. I'm not going to last long…"

Strong thighs around her power up, and he has stopped licking her altogether: he's just panting in her pussy and holding on to her hips while waiting for the upcoming wave.

"You know what to do, ja?" He pants that question like she doesn't know he's about to shoot a load on her tongue soon.

"Don't make a mess," he shares advice with a sly tone to his voice. "Unless you want to clean after…"

He gives a short laugh as if the joke is funny. As if that's a clever thing to say to a cleaning lady. It makes her grip him harder, and he's close, so close: he's not even moving anymore, everything's just completely rigid under her body and inside her mouth.

"I'm fucking–cumming…"

He spills with a long groan, moans against her cunt, cries inside her with pain. The seed is hot and heavy, it shoots right down her throat even in this position. She does the best she can to not make that mess, but it's hard work when a giant cock pulses in her mouth.

"You're perfect, angel," he sighs behind her, tries to feed more of himself inside her mouth by rolling his hips.

The praise makes her pump and suck him even more, get every last drop out, and a tremble goes through her lover. She has to take support from the bed until the earthquakes recede. His cock is a clean mess after, and she's a mess too: overworked, and shy, and victorious.

They're both left panting: she tries to catch some breath there between his thighs after everything, but she's not allowed to rest and recover. The grip around her middle pulls her back, and a breathless man trying to lick her like it's the end of the world is not only far too much, it's unbearable. She's already overly sensitive and needy from the four days of barren grief.

"It's too much…" She tries to tell him, but he won't listen. If anything, it only spurs him on.

"König, I can't," she wails softly while resting her head on his thigh.

"Yes you can."

A feverish tongue dips inside her as deep as it goes. It forces her legs apart, she spreads herself all over his face completely unwillingly. There's no mercy for her as he flicks a tongue over her clit, plunges a tongue inside her as deep as it goes, returns to the nub again – does it again and again and again like it's some secret code meant to break her.

"You like that, huh?" His rough voice is muffled by her cunt, he sounds both parched and wet.

"Hm? Talk to me," he demands an answer although it should be obvious that she's losing her mind from his treatment.

"Yes," she mewls while being spread so crudely wide for him. "I… I love it…"

"Hah. You sound like a little cat," he laughs, pleased, then gets to it again. She's so close now that she can feel the growing waves. Her thighs are not just shaking, they're trembling.

"So pretty and so wet," he comments between the licking and dipping, voice covered with smoke from all the lust. And he's hard again, too: right next to her face, and she could cry actual tears – what if he plans on fucking her too after this? It's too much, she can't even take this, she can't…

But she does.

Her back starts to arch just before the orgasm. She's not weeping yet, but every noise she makes sounds like she's crying her heart out.

"Slow down, slow–down, please…"

She's a one-woman choir of tight pleas. She tries to muffle them by burying her face somewhere in his thighs and musk. The tongue dips in and out like he's a machine and not a man, and the first wave hits unexpectedly, like a searing, white-hot blade.

"A–ah!"

The climax swallows her, she starts grinding against that face without meaning to. He only laughs and buries his nose and tongue deeper into her slickness. The arms around her hold her like iron bars, his breaths hit her along with his tongue like she's strapped to a torture device.

Her cunt is sloppy, and throbbing, and he is a torturer, licks her even when she's lying on top of him in ruin: a devastated, trembling heap of a woman who's lost everything.

"Stop–König, you need to stop…"

Her weak whispers do nothing. His tongue sweeps her from front to back until she's crying on top of him. Frail fingers try to claw his thighs but grasp nothingness.

When he finally relents, he does it with another laugh. Then he gives her a last lick: a total bully, snorts a chuckle when a tremble goes through her entire body from just that single, fat sweep.

"Mmm. That was good. Right?"

"M–mh…"

There are tears in her eyes, but not one comes out. Her pussy throbs and winks with the aftershocks, and his hand moves up and down her back like she's that little cat.

"You're mean," she sobs. Complains.

"Heh… you didn't like it?"

"I did," she sniffs, and his hand moves to caress her thigh.

"I know you did. I know you. Everything about you."

He sounds merciful at last, pats her leg softly.

"Come here. I'll take care of you."

When she turns and crawls back to him, his mask is fully in place. He receives her with open arms and speaks more softly than ever.

"I have to take care of you after. Isn't that so?"

"Yes…"

She holds onto him, because he's the only thing that's solid in her world at this point. His aftercare is the most tender thing she has ever known: her hair is being caressed gently, the tension in her neck and back is soothed with long, loving strokes. He buries his mask in her hair and inhales her after-sex scent like it's a whole offering of incense.

"Angel. You feel like… like it's my birthday."

His statement brings another round of tears to her eyes. Instinct tells her that birthdays might've been the only happy days of the year for this man.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He sounds worried when she's so quiet and timid again. Her heart settles slowly into a warm pool of love, she presses herself against him with fervor, and he squeezes her in turn like she's the most perfect birthday present ever.

"No."

I really needed that.

I need you…

"I will never let you go again," he promises. "Never. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I don't– I don't want you to go."

"Little one. I'm so glad I found you."

He takes her palm and uses it to brush away the hood from his lips. The violent edge is always taken away after sex, and the devouring is gentle, the passion is blunt. His kiss is soft; sweet.

"König…" She's raw and bare in his arms, her adoration reflects back to her from his blues. "Why did you pick me?"

"You're the one who picked me, Engel. I just answered your call."

He takes in the effect this truth has on her, then takes her breath away with another kiss. A small giggle erupts in the lazy afternoon as he threatens to crush her with a bear hug. Her hand steals its way further under the mask: she meets smooth skin and a collection of even smoother bumps.

"Why can't I see your face..?"

"It's not a pretty sight," he sighs. "Father liked to cut me when I was little."

The laziness leaves her body that very instant. The man is detached, distant: as if he's sharing something trivial, the city he grew up in or his favorite subject in school.

She doesn't know whether to feel pity or terror, but what he says next sends even more ice down her spine.

"Now I cut those who are evil."

Everything starts to make perfect sense.

Why he was bullied at school, why people fear him. Why disrespectful, cruel men deserve to be knifed and why women and wives are angels. Why he wears a mask.

It's not sound reasoning, but it is a strategy, perhaps. Survival… A defense mechanism.

And offense is the best defense…

She had been right: this man is incurable, only in ways she could never have guessed.

Afterwards, he shows her his knives.

His room is full of them: combat knives, throwing knives, bowie knives, daggers, bayonets, balisongs, two machetes, a kukri, knives she doesn't even have a name for… There's swords and sticks and a riot shield. There's only one bed, nothing more, not even a nightstand.

And the room is also full of guns.

Assault rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns, handguns; there's scopes, tripods, gloves, gas masks, a ghillie suit, pouches, plate carrier vests, magazines, grenades, even a launcher.

The room is filled with violence.

And she didn't know what she expected.

Some "Hot Gun Babes" wall calendar and a few pocket knives? That he would play by the rules and keep weapons and gear where they were stored instead of in his fucking room?

He gives her his third gift that pairs well with her black dress, or any dress, for that matter. Another knife, but not the kind he kills people with, nor the flimsy kind used for entertainment purposes.

She receives an automatic switchblade, simple but pretty. The double-edged blade looks almost feminine, the way it curves into a sharp, dainty tip. The handle is made of sturdy, polished wood; it's incredibly beautiful and so dark it's nearly black. The knife is only a threat when it's flicked open: all in all a piece that isn’t what it seems.

"Hier. Good little blade. Would take it wherever I go."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, Engel."

She kisses him after his gift. She kisses the white scar on his jaw, lifts the mask a bit more, and he doesn't stop her. He doesn't stop her, not even when she finds more keloid cuts and kisses them too.

And he's… simply a man.

There's a human under all that darkness.

It's not a pretty sight, perhaps, but for those scars, she couldn't love him more.

"You're not afraid of me," he sounds surprised when she takes in the violence done to his face with tenderness in her gaze.

"No."

He's speechless. The barricade covering his eyes is permanently broken, and she can see him, all of him.

She falls to her knees and opens his pants, gives the man another round of love. He looks at her with pain and pleasure; a pale, adoring god. Strokes her hair gently while she gets drunk on him like a succubus, wants him to spill that white on her face and all over her pretty black dress.

"Cum on my face, König."

She looks at him with angel eyes while saliva and drool make a rope from her mouth to his throbbing cock. But there is nothing left of the celestial, nothing more than a sweet, fallen angel, and a safe space just for her and him.

"Please…?"

Ruin me.

He hesitates a few seconds, then grabs his cock in an iron fist like it's heavy artillery.

"Whatever my angel wants, she shall have."

. . . . . .

He brings her flowers every morning and fucks her every night.

Sometimes he catches her when she's outside in the sun, reading a book or watching the clouds. He carries her off to the woods and takes her against a tree like they're the first man and woman on the earth after tasting the forbidden apple. They share a few hushed laughs and more than a few desperate kisses under the hood, then he brings her back to earth, straightens her dress like a gentleman before leaving to have a date with death.

He takes her out to eat sometimes, takes her to the shooting range. Calls her his little Wildkatze when she takes a liking to one of his shotguns. He takes her hand when they stroll through the grass and sings an old love song from his homeland. He has a beautiful voice, especially when he forgets he's in company. Or perhaps she's just special like that…

They share a secret language in the base. Whenever he sees her, he draws his knife and throws it in the air ("I miss you") or twirls it around ("The things I will do to you tonight…"). Sometimes, he just places a hand on the handle of the cruel blade. That stands for 'You're mine'.

It's the closest thing to I love you before either of them have spoken the actual words. Or then it's the closest thing to I love you he's capable of.

She gives him a small smile in return, puts a hand in her pocket and fondles the gift she carries everywhere she goes. He knows it's a nod to his secret messages. It stands for 'You're my everything'.

She keeps the switchblade with her even when she's wearing a dress after work. Red this time, the color of passion.

She wants to surprise him: König always comes to her before nightfall, but this time, she wants to go and visit him. She wants him to take her in the middle of black steel and acrid gunpowder while she's dressed in blood.

"Be a darling and fix me a cup of coffee, will you?"

She's stopped by Phillip Graves of all people. Another man who has never paid her any attention. Apparently, red cloth is the same thing for evil men as it is for the enraged animals in bullfighting shows.

She does stop, but she doesn't obey his wishes. She just stares him down like he's filth: another thing she thought she could never do.

I'm not your coffee girl.

"C'mon honey. I've had a bad day." The man only seems to feed off from her silent scorn: like it's some dark game they're playing now. "You could make it so much better."

For fuck's sake…

Here is a man who disrespects everything about her: her position as a cleaner, her value as a woman, her rank as a shy being who is too kind for this world. She's simply a doll who doesn't know how to kill, who doesn't know how to say no. This man however, won't take no for an answer.

"I'm not here to serve coffee," she says with pure ice.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. And I'm off duty, too."

"Thought we could have a little chat, you and I."

"Why?"

"You seem like an interesting woman."

He seems pleased with the fact that for some reason, she's still here, that he has her attention. Thinks he's winning her over with some yucky flirting.

"And wearing a red dress like that…" He tsks, as if it's a crime for a woman to wear red. "Red can drive a man crazy, darling."

She understands why she has been invisible to everyone except König up until this point.

Because deep down, she knows if she would carry herself in full, show herself to the world as the woman she truly is, she would instantly attract love, and power, and hunger, and lust.

"I'm going to go now, sir."

"Tell you what. You serve me that coffee and I'll let you go."

She catches sadism in that stare. And to think she had always found Graves to be somewhat… arrogant, perhaps, but not cruel. The man obviously has a Napoleon complex, but he was not supposed to be sadistic.

How wrong she has been.

She knows she could just get out of the situation by filling that mug the bastard can't fill himself because of some stupid need to have a powerplay moment with an innocent little girl who happens to wear red.

But she doesn't want to. König would have ripped this guy's head off by now.

"I'm off duty," she repeats.

Fuck these men who are always looking for a plaything.

Graves rises from the chair. She's both cold and sweaty by the time he has taken a step, two, three.

But men are a bit stupid sometimes.

They think dresses don't have pockets.

When he takes the fourth and last step, with joy-tinged cruelty in his eyes, she flicks the knife out and open, and simply stabs him in the supposed direction of the organ called heart.

It feels thrilling, pure power: to sink that knife there and catch a man – a soldier of all people – unawares.

So this is what it feels like…

The hurt in his stare doesn't necessarily come from pain, but from the realization that he has made a huge miscalculation.

He looks down at the small knife that will be the end of him, then at her, the woman he thought was just a simple, shy cleaner he could bully into submission.

"You fucking–bitch," he gasps. Weakly.

By the time she pulls the knife out and stabs him again, she's somewhere far away. It hits him in the stomach, and he still doesn't do anything about it, and that's the moment she finds pity, and mercy, and horror.

She turns and stumbles, then runs from the room, unsure if the thump on the floor behind her is real or imagined.

"You fucking whore…!"

The shout is real enough though, and she runs, runs, with a sharp little knife in her hand for what seems like an eternity. That flight is a prolonged medieval torture moment that ends in front of König's door.

Her titan is as calm as ever when he opens the door, and tilts his head when he sees she's breathing fast.

"I think I killed Phillip Graves," she informs with eyes wide.

He blinks, then immediately looks at her hand, the knife, the blood. She goes to him, lifts a hand to his shirt in a desperate attempt to find support. There's not even that much blood. She thought killing would be much messier.

König said it would be messy.

"I… He…"

Her hands won't even shake. All her senses are blown wide and sharp, she sees everything, hears everything, but her hands won't shake.

Is she a psychopath?

"I killed Phillip Graves," she repeats, looks at his chest, clutches at the knife, clutches at his shirt.

The door behind her closes, and König takes hold of her shoulders with warm, warm hands.

"Well done, Engel," he says with such joy, such unbound pride that it snaps her back into reality.

Her jaw starts to tremble, her teeth clatter, she raises her eyes to him…

"He… He wanted coffee, and to talk, and he liked my dress, and–"

"Did he touch you?"

He asks it like it's far more important than what she has just done. She has to shuffle through her memory, but she finds no recalling of Graves laying a single finger on her.

"No."

He was about to. Right?

He was. He threatened me–

"Don't shed tears for him," König says as he looks down at her with mesmerized awe and infatuation. "I can promise you he doesn't deserve them."

Then he hugs her, squeezes her and just holds her, and she's still holding on to the murder weapon.

What will everyone say? What will my friends say?

"My little angel is good with a knife," the titan laughs proudly somewhere high above her.

People have killed each other since the dawn of time.

These things happen.

I'm not the first murderer on this planet.

"My poor little… He was a bad man, Engel. I promise you that."

It's not a big deal. He was a killer too.

He could've died in the field…

"I'm going to jail," she whispers on his shirt. She wants to let go of the knife, but fears it might hurt him or her when it falls.

And she remembers she's not dealing with normal people.

"They will kill me for this," she says with distant realization.

"No they won't," he strokes her hair like she's the best pet he has ever had. "I will take the blame. It was my knife, ja?"

She pushes herself away to look at him, then nods slowly. Her jaw just won't stop trembling.

"Good girl," he pulls her against him again, so fondly that it forces out a whimper.

"Mh."

"Come here," he coos while already holding her so impossibly close. He's surprisingly good at this: at comforting her. Or then it simply feels uncommonly good to have someone sturdy to hang on to while her life and identity are falling apart.

"I'm not sure if he's dead," she whispers when the embrace lingers on. König breaks the hug immediately.

"You didn't confirm the kill?"

She must look like a shy cleaner again, because his resolve is stone cold and solid.

"Engel, I will go and finish it. Where is he?"

She tells, because he would find out anyway. He would start a manhunt and cause even more ruckus.

But when his hand reaches the doorknob, when he's already about to go and finish her crime on top of taking the full blame for it, he turns.

"Do I have your permission?"

Her jaw slowly stops trembling, and a soft sweetness spreads through her heart. The elite soldier, the mass murderer, asks for her permission.

She is more than just special…

"Yes," she whispers, and he gives her a curt nod before storming out the door.

And he's not living in the 21st century.

Instead, he walks in the world of gladiators, rages in a blood-drunk arena, lives in a time where killing was the norm. He solves problems with physical force: it's just that simple. There is no complex society, there are no rules other than the rules of the heart and the loins.

Anyone who disrespects her will get the blade, anyone who might take her away from him will make him do whatever is in his power to prevent it.

And he has the ultimate power: the power of violence.

He comes back surprisingly clean: only a tiny speckle of blood on his camos and some vivid-colored grime on his hands.

"Done."

She nods with solemn silence. She's done, too. Done with everything, because everything's gone. No matter how high the sun is, she will walk in darkness from now on.

"I believe you Engel. He swore he didn't touch you."

And God.

She might be special, but a dying enemy's, a man's word is more worth to him than hers. As if she would try to protect Graves from his wrath by lying.

And Graves wasn't even dead…

But he is now. Probably tortured too to get the truth out about not soiling her with his paws.

"Did anyone see you..?"

"No. But they will know it was me."

It's another gift to her. Another murder. And her purity, intact, in exchange for a compliment, a testimony of his character during a lazy coffee break. For a few kisses on his scars of abuse. For letting him fuck her like a beast.

Her gifts are burning tears, soft flesh and tight little cries…

His gifts are cold, black steel, hot, white cum and a stream of crimson blood.

"Thank you…"

"I would do anything for you." He bows his head, a little nod to inform her that he is hers to command. "Anything you want, just ask."

She's at home in hell, filled with guns and knives and a fallen god. She knows he will take her again tonight, just like he has done every night in the past weeks. In every position imaginable, grunting, howling, panting, laughing how sweet she is, asking if she likes what he is doing to her. She has always whispered yes through tears of hot joy.

Sometimes, they come together and their gazes lock, and it feels like drifting into a starless space with him. He strokes her hair and coats her with whispers of love before they fall asleep. They always curl up together in the cover of womblike darkness, with soft little smiles on their faces, safe from all evil.

"Can you keep me safe…?"

It's a sad little question, but she doesn't feel weak. She knows he is lost in her too: especially when she's wearing a dress the color of blood, especially when she looks at him like he's her God.

"Please keep me safe."

He comes to her carefully, answers her summons. She's pulled into a familiar embrace, and she doesn't even think about Graves anymore: she thinks about whether König will take her on the bed that smells of acid sweat or on the wall next to the gun rack.

"Always, Engel. I promise."

She holds the most powerful weapon in her tiny little hand. A dark, fallen titan who has risen from the depths of the earth to pledge himself to her, body and soul, while her innocent little dresses flutter in the wind and make everyone believe she's a victim. But she doesn't feel sorry.

Because it's just like he said.

They belong together, she and him.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Taglist:

@ghostinvenus @konigsleftkidney @stillinracooncity @valenspuppy @koionthewalls

#könig x reader #könig x female reader #könig x you #könig smut #könig fanfiction #könig #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #konig x reader #könig mw2 #call of duty #mw2 x reader #yandere könig #könig imagine #just friends #just friends fic

2K notes · View notes