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notapradagurl7 · 27 days ago

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Ties That Bind. Part Two.

Terry RichmondBillionaire! x Black Fem! Plus Size/Reader.

Summary: Planning your wedding with Terry was incredibly stressful. You had to manage missed calls from family, which you eventually had to block, you talked with your cousin and then Terry’s uninvited family showed up. Once you met them, things got chaotic, and Terry noticed that you were feeling overwhelmed, so he chose to help you cope with the stress in his own manner.

Word Count: 3,536k

Warnings: angst, smut, fluff, dark!Terry, toxic family drama, arranged marriage, fingering, protective!Terry, consensual for both parties, stressed out reader, Use of AAVE, oral sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, confession, violence, threats, Terry putting the his family in place, use of the n-word, Terry’s POV.

( Series Masterlist ) ( Part One. )

A/N: Here is part two and Terry’s POV is included, let me if you want to be added to the taglist, Don't forget to leave a like, comment & reblog to support, or you can always ask for a request, Enjoy! ❤️

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque

@playgurlxoxo @babybratzmaraj @becauseimswagman1

@superheroprincess22 @pocketsizedpanther @beenathembo @brattyfics

@hxneyclouds @yassbishimvintage

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky @euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @miguelspvssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest- @tforpresz @uniqueoutlierblog

@dxddykenn @dpennedit @secretlifeoofmarpessa

@westside-rot @mymindisneverhere

@mind-somewhere-else

@kindofaintrovert @aquarising03

@5starr-staciii @pickuptruck01 @henneseyhoe @irlvampfairy @browngirldominion

——————-

You.

Terry’s fingers fit seamlessly with yours as you stood together on the beach, where the dark sky transformed into brilliant shades of pink and orange. The orange-ish sun illuminated your dark brown skin and the glimmering ring on your finger, while the chilly waves lapped at your well-groomed feet, anchored in the sand.

Your eyes flickered toward the golden ring on Terry’s finger, you smiled at him.

The past few weeks were incredibly stressful; the colors were off, the caterers prepared steak instead of homemade pizza, which added to your frustration.

It was a series of mishaps from the wedding, but Terry was resolute in improving the situation, so he invited you to his private beach at his home close to Louisiana.

“You good, baby? Talk to me," Terry asked gently, turning to face you.

You sulked at the tall man dressed casually yet fashionably in sage green, which matched your own sage green dress and sandals.

As you turned to look at those green hazel-ish eyes that bore into your soul deep, feelings of anxiety and uncertainty began to invade your thoughts.

"Terry, it's been overwhelming lately, with everything that is going on in wedding, it's moving so fast, baby." You admitted with an unsure tone, your hands snaked to his muscular arms.

Your eyes looking into his eyes searching for clarity, and reassurance. His face softened at your expression, he pulled you close.

And you forgot to mention the multiple missed phone calls from your family about not being invited and calling you selfish, you were only close to your cousin Jayla. She was one of the only sane that you can talk to.

“It's okay, honestly I've been feeling overwhelmed too, my family called and said they are showing up without telling me shit,” admitted, his voice low and husky, his hand gently cupping your face.

Your phone buzzed, and you fished it out of your pocket. It was Jayla. Your thumb pressed the button and held it close to your ear. “Hello? They're doing what? How the fuck did they even get the address?”

The conversation concluded with the press of your thumb, your lips tight in frustration. Why on earth would they show up after you had severed ties and declared you didn't want to see them anymore?

No, no, not them. Was this punishment? Nope, no you're talking nonsense, you didn't deserve this. Nobody does.

"They're coming tomorrow, Terry. They're driving down from Chicago." You blurted out, shoving your phone in your purse.

His eyes hardened, a dangerous glint flickering in them. "They are?"

You nodded, "Jayla called, she said they wouldn't take no for an answer. They even booked a room at the hotel far away from your house."

Terry's jaw clenched, his grip on your face tightening slightly. "They think they can just show up uninvited? In my fucking house?"

You saw the anger simmering in his eyes, a primal instinct that made you both afraid and strangely aroused.

"I know, Terry. I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't listen."

Terry shook his head in disagreement, not wanting you to feel like it was your fault. He kissed your forehead lovingly and looked down at you in concern.

“It’s not your fault that all of this shit is happening, don't worry princess, I’ll handle them,” he reassured with a firm tone.

The two of you walked quickly back to his black Cadillac XTS hand-in-hand, you heard Terry’s breathing increase but then suddenly it stopped. You were getting worried about everything.

If there wasn't one thing, it's another thing after that.

You approached the vehicle, and he opened the door for you like the gentleman that he was, you settled in, and he gently closed it shut. He circled the car and got into the driver’s seat, closing the doors and then locking it.

Thankfully, the windows were tinted and you had some privacy. He turned to you, his voice low and seductive, "But first, let's forget about them for a while."

You nodded in agreement, your fingers gripped his chin and leaning in to the scent of his cologne, black cherry and sandalwood. Kissing his lips passionately before pulling away.

He pulled you closer, his hand slipping under your dress, tracing the curve of your hip. You shivered, a wave of heat washing over you. You climbed into the backseat with him quickly.

"Let's focus on us," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear.

He guided you towards the plush cushion, his hand firmly on your lower back, urging you to lay back. You obeyed, your heart pounding in your chest. “Good girl,” he praised.

Terry knelt in front of you, his eyes burning into yours with desire. He reached between your legs, and rolled your panties off with the flick of his wrist, his fingers sliding their way between your folds. “Mmm, I've been waiting to touch you gently,” he whispered, his tone deep with a hint of rasp.

“You don't have to be gentle, just touch me please,” You

You gasped, arching your back as his fingers began to go in and out of you, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Your essence trickles down to his wrist, making his black Rolex watch glisten, “Oh fuck..Terry…ugh,”

He looked down at you, and hovered over you, his eyes dark and intense. "Your pussy is already gripping my fingers, feel so good," he murmured, his voice rough yet audible.

Terry loved the feel of your pussy gripping his long thick fingers, he couldn't wait for his dick to be hugged so tightly, his bulge grew bigger and harder in his pants, he groaned raspily at the squelching sound, Terry desperately wanted to feel that love that he is feeling right now.

It was almost as if you felt the same energy from Terry, he was upset but he didn't want you stressed out about anything. You had to talk to him about it until his thumb flattened on your clit and thrust his fingers faster, “Ah! Oh my god! Terry!”

Your hands held on for dear life on the armrest of the seats, your hips rolling with that torturous pace, your walls clenching around his fingers, the metal his of gold ring inside you sent shivers through you, “Give me more of that good shit, doll,” he coaxed seductively.

His fingers curled at that sweet spot, you cried out wildly and clutched your breast in your hand, “F-fuckkk! Terry! More please! Baby!” You screamed loudly, he pecked your clit and then sucked your nipple roughly, tears falling down your cheeks.

Those green eyes of his watched your pretty face contort in pleasure, your essence wetten up his seats but he didn't care, it would get cleaned up anyway, his mouth sucked roughly around your areola, and his thumb flickered your clit, “This is all mine?” he asked.

“Yes, all yours..so gooddd,” you babbled with neediness, he continued to pleasure you, his fingers moving in a rhythmic pattern, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. His mouth trailed kissed along your dark brown skin, moving your box braids out of the way. Kissing your lips again.

"Terry," you moaned, your voice hitched and body twitched weakly. "I'm gonna—"

He silenced you with a kiss, his lips moving over yours with a possessive hunger. He continued to pleasure you, his tongue swirling with yours, his fingers hit that spot and curled up in a “come here” motion with quick precision. Biting down on his lush lips, making you cry out his name. “There you go, my beautiful wife,” he soothed with a devilish smirk.

He called you his wife, those words made you bust a nut quickly, your back arched over the seat and stretched out your feet.

Your essence poured onto his fingers, as you came undone, your body trembling beneath him. Terry watched with a smile pulled his fingers away, leaving a trail of moisture behind. He leaned back, his eyes filled with a primal satisfaction.

"That's it, baby, Let me see that beautiful face." he said, his voice husky, his hand gripping the back of your neck, pecking your lips passionately.

You opened your eyes, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Terry smiled, a slow smile that sent a shiver down your spine. Licking his fingers clean, he hummed softly, “You taste amazing,” he told you.

He leaned down and kissed you again, a long, slow kiss that tasted of salt and sweat, your essence.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good tonight," he whispered against your lips. "You won't be able to think about anything else."

You knew he meant it. Terry Richmond was a man of his word, and you were about to experience the full force of his desire.

Or were you? You had to face his family and your family at your house, tonight was gonna be very different and difficult.

The air hung thick with tension as you stepped into Terry’s family home, the cacophony of laughter and shouting nearly drowning out the thumping of your heart.

His family was a swirling storm of noise, each voice a stark contrast to the calm you'd found in his embrace just hours earlier.

Terry’s father, Theo, he stood there in a black suit beside his wife, and his dark brown eyes bore into you, his face twisted in anger, his slim loafers clicked on the marble floors. His light brown skin shone underneath the lights. He was 5’9.

Terry’s mother, Tiana stood in between his father and Tristan, her brown skin and dark brown eyes, dressed in a light purple dress and sandals on her feet. Standing at 5’5.

Tristian, he was slim yet not muscular like Terry, same complexion as his younger brother, his green eyes locked onto the woman who stood next to Terry,

As the man turned around, a loud voice boomed, “Terry, you decide to rush into the family business with this stranger? Let me guess she wants all our damn money?” It was his father, contempt dripping from every syllable.

“Don’t call her that. She’s not a stranger; she’s my fiancée,” Terry snapped, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through the room like a storm brewing.

Your heart raced as his mother stepped in, her eyes pleading for peace. “Terry, Theo, please. This is about family.”

“He doesn’t get to dictate who I love!” he shouted, defiance etched on his face.

You felt out of place because of the volume getting louder and louder, you needed a place to mute

You glanced around, feeling the weight of their scrutiny, the judgment clouding the air until Terry’s mother’s eyes landed on you, as if she was calling out to you.

As you walked alongside Terry’s mother and pushed the doors open, the turmoil of their dispute faded into silence; their voices grew louder as you moved outside to the backyard, feeling the soft green grass beneath your sandals and a gentle breeze on your face.

You let out a trembling breath, feeling as if you could finally find peace.

“My apologies for the way that my husband was speaking toward you and the yelling doesn't help either," Terry's mother spoke up,

"I'm guessing that Terry and his dad never saw eye to eye, and Tristan was always the one to be the golden child?” You guessed in a soft voice, your heart still racing from the confrontation inside.

Tiana nodded, her expression softening. "You’re not wrong. Terry has always been different in a good way. He has this fire inside of him that scares Theo, and his father doesn’t appreciate that."

You glanced back toward the house, where the shadows of Terry’s family loomed large and menacing, their voices still echoing in your ears. "I just want to make this work, you know? I love him," you admitted, your voice softened.

Tiana studied you, her dark eyes searching for something. “And he feels the same way about you too, my dear. He loves fiercely, Terry told me about you on a phone call yesterday, he was determined to be yours,”

You appreciated her warmth, but the thought of Terry facing his family's wrath made your stomach twist. “I just don’t want to lose him.”

——————

Terry.

He stood in the main spacious living room of the house, his gaze narrowed in frustration. He felt the tension hanging heavy in the air, shifting from him and back to his father.

Theo’s harsh tone cut through the air like a knife. “You think you can just bring this girl into our lives without any consequences? You’re disrespecting everything we’ve built!”

“Don’t you think that the reason I joined this business and married Y/N is because it was my choice? I didn't do this shit for money or to get your attention?” Terry shot back, his voice filled with rage.

Theo shook his head from side to side in disapproval, crossing his arms, “Keyword you are her fiancé, you are not married yet, son,

Tristian stepped aside, giving his two-cent in the situation. But Terry interjected quickly, “From what I know, once we get married I’ll have the business,

“Terry, why can't you just admit and accept that I'm the one Dad’s gonna choose for the business hm? You're gonna take the easy way in by marrying a random bit—”

Terry's punch landed on Tristan's cheek, causing blood to ooze from his mouth and mark his light brown skin.

Tristian winced and swore in agony as he fell onto the white marble floor, sliding with a screech before his head collided with the wall, resulting in a loud thump.

“Don’t you ever talk about my wife like that, nigga,” Terry shouted with malice, shaking his hand to ease the pain after hissing.

He watched you stand frozen in the doorway, heart racing and pulse quickening as you processed the chaos unfolding in front of you.

The confidence you had felt moments ago was replaced by a surge of anxiety.

All eyes were on you walking back inside the house once the room fell silent.

“Get the fuck up, Tristan,” Terry growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to disrespect her in my house. Not now, not ever.”

Tristan scrambled backward, wiping blood from his mouth and staring at his brother with anger and disbelief. “You’re insane, Terry! Do you think you can just bring her into this family and everything will be fine? She’s just a distraction.”

You stepped forward, heart beating like a drum, ready to defend yourself. “You don't know shit about me, I'm not a distraction,” you retorted, your hand resting on your chest.

Terry was fatigued from constantly arguing with his father and brother; the back-and-forth was exhausting both mentally and physically.

If this pattern was going to continue every time they communicated, Terry knew he had to put a stop to it once and for all.

“Look, if you can't accept her then you can't accept me, you didn't do it when I was a kid, you're not invited to our wedding, just leave," Terry shot back.

The tension in the room escalated, and you could feel the unease in the air. You stood by Terry’s side and gripped his arm tight, “Terry why can't you reconcile with him,” you whispered, your eyes on him.

“I'm done playing nice, I can’t keep doing with him, Y/N, I know that I'm gonna run this business myself. You don't need to worry about me sweetheart," He reassured you with a kiss on your forehead.

Truth is, you were worried about Terry. You wondered if everything was going to be okay, doubt crept in again, You had to tell him.

“If that's what you want then throw it away, after everything I did for you, this is how you repay me?” Theo shot back, his eyes flickered toward the two of you.

“You chose Tristan and not me, all that does is drink, waste your money and give it back, but me, I did everything right and it still wasn’t enough for you,” Terry trailed off with anger, his eyes on his father.

Theo listened intently to every word that his son was saying to him, cutting him deep yet he still persisted. His eyes softened at Terry, feeling his heart break.

“Okay, okay, you're right about that, Tristan used to be the golden child but he wasn't like you, I didn't want you to suffer like I did in the business, I'm sorry Terry,” Theo apologized with a strong tone.

Terry’s eyes widened slightly at what his father was saying, that was the first time he apologized.

“D-dad, you don't mean it—” Tristian spoke up until Theo interjected quickly by holding his hand up.

“I do mean that shit, Tristian, you're not good for the company, Terry, if you ever want to talk again then let me know,” Theo told him, turning his head to the side.

Once his family left out of the house, locking the door behind himself. You stood there with a saddened expression. He hugged his mother goodbye.

The two of you entered the bedroom, he sat down on the edge of the bed. You walked toward him and your hands rested on his shoulders with his hands on your thighs, bringing you closer to him. Leaning close between your breasts, relishing in your warmth.

“Terry, before we go to sleep, I've been having doubts lately baby, family is important to me but it feels like we’re standing at the edge of a cliff. I love you, I do, but all this drama…it’s heavy. I don’t want to be the reason you lose your family, but I also can’t let them disrespect me and us,” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly as you looked into his intense green eyes.

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to relieve the tension that had been building for weeks. “I get it, I really do. I love you more, I’m not trying to put you in the middle of this. But my family…they don’t deserve you. They don’t see you the way I do.”

Your head tilted with a slow shake, “Your mother accepted me and that's enough but, Terry, I just…I don’t want you to have to choose between me and them. That’s not fair,”

You wanted to believe him, but the weight of his family’s disdain felt like a noose tightening around your throat. Your grip tightens on his shoulders, bringing him closer.

He stood, moving closer until the space between you vanished. His arms wrapped around your waist. “Listen to me, Y/N. You are my world. I don’t care if they accept you or not. You’re not just some girl I’m marrying. You’re my future. My wife. The mother of my kids. They’ll have to deal with that.”

You looked up at him with a small smile, his words brought comfort to you, but still, there was your family coming for you. Ugh, you'd almost forget about them.

“And you know that my family is coming here too but they don't know where you live, we have to face them too, shit,” you retorted with a eye roll.

“I'll protect you, defend you with my life from them, you don't owe them shit, sweetie, I faced my family and I face yours too,” Terry replied with a head shake, reassurance in his tone.

“Thanks for everything, my love, Come here,” You whispered seductively, moving your finger in a ‘come here’ motion.

After that, the two of you kissed passionately, making love for the rest of the night. Knowing that it wouldn't mend anything but it felt right, you wanted to feel every inch of him. Eventually, everything will fall into place for both of you.

—————-

#black!reader #black fanfiction #black!fem!reader #terry richmond x black! fem plus size reader #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond smut #terry richmond #notapradagurl7 #aaron pierre fic #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre

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hvnlygrl · 25 days ago

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jj and his gf who has really bad sensory problems, especially at night when they're going to sleep her shirt always bothers her and she gets so fusturated but jj always knows what to do for her

or with loud noises!!! i feel like he'd be the type to practically whisper you to sleep at night because he knows sometimes all the noise is just way too overwhelming

it’s all too much (can’t get enough).

pairing — jj maybank x fem!reader

word count — 1.7k

warnings — overstimulated reader, reader has a panic attack, fluff, super comforting jj, talk of diagnoses and doctors, mentions of throw-up. hurt/comfort.

synopsis — when everything gets to be too much for you, jj becomes the only thing you can stand, and the one thing you crave more than anything.

notes — this is such a wonderful request as someone who struggles with this on a regular basis and relies on my own bf to calm me down and be my peace and my center to ground myself. i love this sm! i hope you enjoy <3

you weren’t sure when it started; the constant overwhelming feelings that consumed nearly every waking moment you had throughout the day. one doctor said it was normal for a girl your age, especially given the things you’d been through, another said that it was due to an anxiety disorder, and one (though you knew this one was totally full of shit) tried to blame it on obsessive compulsive disorder with a hint of autism.

you had no clue when it got this bad, but you knew that it was reaching the point of becoming unbearable. being in crowds, or anywhere where the background noise was louder than the noise in your mind, made you feel like you needed to puke. clothes that were too tight or too loose, too coarse or too soft, too thick or too thin, drove you nearly to the brink of insanity. it was, as you described it, as if you were completely uncomfortable in your own body at all times.

hearing people hum, sing, tap, or breathe drove you up a wall, and that was on your best day. it was the thing you hated most about yourself, honestly. you hated that you were so easily agitated, and that you couldn’t help the outbursts that came with it.

throughout your school years, as it worsened, you lost friends one by one, until all that was left were the pogues and your boyfriend, jj. not like you needed anything more than them, but still.

you had no idea how jj could put up with you being this way, especially for so long, but you were extremely grateful for him. part of you, deep down inside your heart, was petrified that one day he would have enough and realize that he could do so much better, but for now you were willing to bask in each and every moment you got to have with him.

jj, however, felt the same way about you; he was terrified that you’d wake up one day and realize how broken he was and how unfixable his soul would forever be.

you were both idiots, admittedly, because each and every one of the pogues could tell just from the way that you looked at each other in docile moments that there was absolutely nothing either of you would take in place of the other.

since your relationship started with jj, your anxiety got significantly better, with fewer outbursts and a generally happier state of being becoming your new normal. he grounded you to reality, kept you sane and helped you accept yourself for what you truly were. with jj, you never had to hide anything, never had to mask any emotions or thoughts (no matter how dark or upsetting they may be). you knew he would never judge you for anything you felt or thought, having dealt with his own fair share of breakdowns during his time alive.

when you were crying to the point of hyperventilating over your crop top shirt being too constricting, he would give you his flannel to change into. when your shoes became too tight around your toes, he would pull your favorite slippers from his bag. when your food was too slimy or too crunchy, he’d swap dishes with you. anything to keep you happy, and anything to let you have as close to a normal experience as possible.

jj was a saint, truly. everything he did, he did through his love for you, never once questioning whatever was bothering you, simply just finding the best fix or alternative to calm you back down. it was beautiful.

however, as much as jj could do, he couldn’t always fix the problem. some things were still too far beyond anything he could ever understand, and in those cases, he would just hold you, doing his best to keep you contained and feeling as safe and comforted as possible.

panic attacks were nothing new to you, a weekly occurrence since you were a small child. they stemmed from severe ptsd from your childhood, you knew that. that knowledge felt like it should be enough to be able to push through them when they happened, but it never was.

a sharp pain in your chest, your internal temperature reaching record-breaking highs, your head spinning and full of loud disturbing thoughts, your breathing becoming erratic and your body trembling. you felt like you were going to puke and pass out all at the same time.

the first time it happened around jj, he thought he was going to have to bring you to the hospital or call an ambulance.

the two of you had gotten into a slight, meaningless disagreement over something completely irrelevant. he got a little too loud and before you knew it you had a hand clutching your heart, panting like a dog at the park as you backed as far into the nearest corner as you could. the walls shifted around you, inching closer and closer with every rapid breath you took. you tried to take deeper breaths, attempting to slow your heart before it exploded in your chest, but you couldn’t. you began crying, eyes wide with a thousand yard stare, seeing everything and nothing all at once.

jj watched you for a moment, in terror as he panicked, completely unaware of what was happening or what he should or could do about it. “y/n? what’s happening, baby?”

“i-i-” you struggled to catch a breath that would reach your lungs, “i can’t-”

“are you-what do i do?” he moves toward you, hands extended out warily, “what can i do, baby?”

you turned your head up toward the sky as you slid down the wall until you reached the floor. your eyes were pinched shut, as tight as you could get them, as if that would be enough to throw you back to reality. your arms wrapped around your knees tightly, one hand gripping the other as they wrung themselves together. “water,” it was a whisper, your vision full of black spots when you opened your eyes. this one was particularly bad for some reason, bringing you to the verge of passing out. “please.”

“water,” jj repeats, immediately jumping at the opportunity to help you, “uh, uh,” he searches frantically for a cup from the cabinet, realizing that all of the cups are dirty in the dishwasher, “shit!” he goes to wash one before remembering that you had put a few bottles to cool in the fridge when you’d gotten home earlier that day. “stupid,” he cusses at himself as he sprints to the fridge, rummaging through it until he finds one, perfectly chilled just for you.

he returns, finding you taking deep breaths while humming to yourself softly. it’s rhythmic, though a song he’s never heard before. it’s the song your dad hummed to you when you had the same attacks as a child, he’d hold you, placing a cold washcloth on the back of your neck as he hummed, telling you to rub at the inside of your palms softly to the rhythm. it was an old trick his own mother had done for him when he was a child, and it worked like a charm for you most of the time.

jj returns with the water, moving slower when he approached you, “i got your water, baby,” he speaks softly, his voice tender yet still slightly panicked. “can i get you anything else? do you want a hug or-”

“can you get me a washcloth, please?”

he nods and immediately moves toward the bathroom.

“wet it with cold water,” you call out to him, just loud enough for him to hear it.

jj follows the instructions, wringing it out in the sink before bringing it back to you. he sits on the floor next to you, mimicking your pose as he watches you intently.

you take a sip from the bottle before you drop your forehead to rest on the tops of your knees, the washcloth resting on the back of your neck. you continue taking deep breaths as you hum the tune once more, drawing shapes and massaging the insides of your palms.

after a few minutes, your breathing returns back to normal, your heart rate dropping back to an acceptable rate again. once you feel alright, you turn to look at jj, his concerned blue eyes tugging at your heart.

“are you okay? did i do something? i’m so sorry-”

“it was a panic attack,” your voice is soft, filled with shame as your gaze flutters between his eyes and his necklace. “i get them a lot. sorry you had to deal with that.”

“no, no don’t be sorry,” he places a ringed hand on your shoulder, “that wasn’t your fault, baby, don’t be ashamed of that. i’m just glad i could help you. i know what to do for next time, don’t even worry about it, okay? i was just really worried about you.”

“i know, i’m okay now though,” you nod, your heart warming at his words, “thanks for taking care of me.”

“of course, y/n,” he scoots closer to you, letting you rest your head against his shoulder, “you’re my girl, i’ll always be here to take care of you, babe.”

you smile, though he can't see it, “i love you, jj.”

“i love you, y/n,” he repeats, placing a tender kiss to the top of your head. “anything else i can do for you?”

“i could use a nap,” you huff softly, “that took a lot out of me.”

“yea, i’m sure it did,” he affirms, “let’s go take a nap then.”

jj helps you up from the floor, an arm slung over your shoulders as you both make your way down the hallway and into the bedroom. he pulls back the covers for you, turns the fan on, and the lights off. he even brings your water that you forgot to grab from the living room and places it on your nightstand.

jj slides into the bed beside you, allowing you to get comfortable on his chest as he lies on his back. he rubs a hand on your back, humming the tune you sung earlier softly, putting you right to sleep. he silently prays that you’ll rest as much as you deserve, and that for as long as you’ll have him, he’ll be able to help you more than he could today. he also vows to never be the reason you feel like that again if he can help it.

-> back to masterlist

taglist — @rubiehart @ji4ra4l1f3 @baebankz @sarahsangelicdoll

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tallykale · 3 months ago

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episode 19

as you can probably tell, i've thought a lot about what post-canon one would look like in my vision... i've said before that i have issues with straightforward fix-its, and i do genuinely love the tragic open-ended conclusion that the series has, but i... am not immune to playing with characters like dolls LOL

here's some writeups about where everyone is at mentally in these pictures. please please please PLEEEASE feel free to ask me more about this cuz i love talking about my beautiful mind palace

charlotte: somehow the most optimistic person in here, mostly out of necessity. when she died, she saw parker leading her out of a cave as her waiting room and was about to take his hand when airy respawned her, so she has a brief moment of bonding with bryce when he talks about the waiting room and seeing stella. with the knowledge that there is potentially a way to get out (bryce and liam being the proof) and the fear of rotting away again she is by far the most actively motivated to help liam figure out the computer. a lot of her days are spent talking to liam over the mic and writing out the code in the dirt so she can try to understand it. she still has to push against her natural misanthropy (and often shouts at liam or bryce for being fucking stupid and useless) but both working on the code and helping amelia give her something concrete to focus on outside herself. she wants to get home so she can make amends with her friends. charlotte is scared of dying! she's really genuinely horribly scared of dying and has awful vivid nightmares about rotting away. she often pushes amelia into talking about her life which causes some tension, but it's because she really hates seeing amelia lose herself like that - a metaphorical rotting away of the self.

subway seat & atom: not on the same level of pure existential depression as the batch 1 contestants, but they both feel the hopeless mood pretty harshly regardless. subway feels very lonely as the only hidden object still 'awake', and likes to carry whippy creamy around rather than just leave him sitting on the ground constantly. tray is too big and unwieldy for him to do that with, but he 'hangs out' with her anyway, talking to her and whippy creamy in the hopes that it'll get them to want to wake up again. atom doesn't talk much, but he still carries his piece of grass. he's definitely the person who's the least affected by the prospect of being stuck on the plane forever, since he… doesn't really perceive existence in the same way as everyone else? he's an atom. but his time in the competition definitely made him view everyone else as friends, and he feels even more powerless than usual in the face of this incomprehensibly difficult problem.

amelia: falls into total hopelessness when bryce rejoins, basically seeing it as the final sign that they're never going home. still calls everyone their competition names (she actually gets into a big fight with bryce about it lol). she gets really clingy and dependent on bryce when he first comes back but it crashes and burns pretty quickly when, during an argument, bryce tells her how much he wishes he could just go back and never have let liam in and forgot about everything… which really sucks for amelia to hear, given that she's part of that everything. after that, with bryce isolating himself, she's kind of reliant on charlotte to keep her going. she blames liam for airy dying and secretly kind of thinks he killed him but just isn't telling them… she also doesn't really believe there's any way of getting out and is just kind of waiting around to die of, like, old age i guess. after how long she's been here, amelia is convinced that she has nothing to even go back to and frequently forgets details about her life. regularly cries and hates being alone. the shift markings on the side of the water tub have changed from being a way to keep track of time and stay sane to a horrible reminder of how long they've been here and how much longer of an eternity they have before them.

bryce: hates himself and liam and airy and the plane and his entire stupid fucking life. bryce is really, really fucking pissed off at liam for losing the notes and letting texty die and every other mistake he's made, and isn't shy about telling him that. as well as being angry, he's also incredibly miserable, because he was finally starting to turn his life around (he quit drinking after the plane) and now it's all for nothing - and even worse, those 7 months he spent getting better were 7 months he did nothing to help the rest of them, especially amelia. he's horribly guilty about that, and that he didn't tell amelia about the fake votes before he was eliminated… but finds it easier to just let liam take the heat for that one at first. after he fights with amelia about it he becomes a bit of a hermit, hanging out by himself next to the plug, and never responds when liam tries to talk. contemplates suicide regularly but pretty much the only option is drowning himself, and the idea of that still scares him more than staying like this forever. would kill for a beer.

liam: tortured by horrible guilt every day over a million different things. these include getting bryce pulled back into this (plus delayed guilt over getting him for real killed), letting texty die and not saying anything about the charger, not telling amelia that everything was fake, knowing that charlotte is going to die if he doesn't get really smart really fast… he's frequently gripped by fits of rage where he almost smashes the computer and has to hobble around outside with the axe for a while to blow off steam. he has really bad nightmares and dissociative episodes, made worse by the isolation and spending hours in a dark cave. liam really wants to fix things with everyone but genuinely has no idea how to start that conversation. he assumes airy killed himself (and views it as an unforgiveably cowardly move) and directs a lot of resentment towards him. he has a lot of things he wants to say, especially to bryce, but the fact that he cant talk to anybody one on one makes things difficult. spends a lot of time just reading through the code, too afraid to actually make any changes in case everyone explodes, but talking it through with charlotte at least makes him feel like he's doing something. more than he would like to admit, liam catches himself staring at the plane as if it's a simulation or a livestream.

#hfjone #charlotte stern #amelia euler #bryce hansen #liam plecak #hfjone subway seat #hfjone atom #feels wrong to tag whippy creamy and tray but theyre there too.. sort of #my art #kind of proud of these i dunnooooooo i had fun playing with a new brush and light and whatnot. Whatever. Go my scarab

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ireneaesthetic · 27 days ago

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Pointing out little moments and details of scenes that need to be remembered.

lake scene • episode 6

before diving into it, bare with me! the lake scene wouldn't be the lake scene if it wasn't for edvin and omar fr: the uncut version of the convo wilmon has was 8 minutes long and all improvised when it was shot. edmar just got told to say what they thought wilmon wanted to say and boom! this lake scene happened. no one is doing it like them.

oh alice is the cherry on top - the 'oh alice we're growing up', the melody fits the setting and the warm colors just right. the perfect song for the perfect scene.

talking about song - wille's song was written right after this scene as lisa said: 'i could see simon walking back home that night, sitting down by his keyboard, birds singing outside, the sun already up and finally it dawning in him: it shouldn't be a revolution to love someone'. do what you want with this info!

without further ado, let's get into it :)

the little smirk after wille stumbles is cuuute. terms are not the best but it still takes something so simple to lighten the mood.

wille's carrying his blue blanket with him can only mean they went to his room to take it before heading here - and so in the time between scenes they talked and thought about the lake to forget everything, planned to bring a blanket to lie down on and enjoy the sunrise, just the two of them :')

you can see the weight of the situation suddenly hitting him.

it's so bittersweet - the lake has always been their happy place but the mood is much darker now, they're sharing what they think is the last big moment together at sunrise.

they try to keep the convo as light as possible but they know too well how much this hurts.

the single tear streaming down.

the different reactions are what get me the most: wille seems almost relaxed in letting the emotions take over compared to simon who's very controlling over it - he blinks and bites his lip trying to stop more tears from falling, he averts his eyes.

simon's not so accepting whilst wille looks resigned.

the scene makes the best out of the limited time bc nothing feels rushed at all: there's no music at first to create that alone time intimacy properly and it keeps getting better with the camera focusing on the way they look at each other shot after shot.

wilhelm breaking the silence with it takes a fool to remain sane is the sickest thing isweartogod.

such a monumental and fond throwback. it's the first memory they have of each other but it's also the first one we have of wilmon too. it brings everyone back to that very first time.

this shot is incredible. young royals will always hold a special place in my heart and i want to remember wilmon just like this.

you would never tell they saw and touched and explored each other's body more than once by the way they're both so shy to undress and wilhelm has to tear his eyes away from simon.

they're still my favorite losers <3

it's also the first time simon undresses himself without wille's help. i think the essence is - to be completely bare and show the most vulnerable version of themselves, to get rid of all the layers and weights they carry around, to let it all behind for this one last time together.

the sparkle in simon's eyes when he looks at wille is so sweet. it's more of a bitter taste that comes with this scene, but in a list of moments that are a perfect example of how much they simply enjoy each other's company, this is definitely one of those - simon says 'when it was us it was good' at the end and it is very true.

all i see here is the plain and simple version of them, they feel so much and everything about this scene is telling us that they just needed to found the right place and the right time to let it out - the nostalgia, the sorrow, the sadness, the silly energy too. it's all so pure.

'they undress, they walk down into the water naked, and they are rebirthed'. lisa once described this moment using these words and they're probably the most accurate. it reminds me of the thing i wrote earlier - taking the white clothes off feels like freeing themselves of every burden and then stepping into the water as a form of sanctification of it.

whether you see it in a religious or a non-religious way, it is a very beautiful image.

the eye contact game is going stronger than everrr.

they're too pretty to be real ugh.

the splash of water :')

this is extremely beautiful and the transition between the two is perfectly made.

it's such a loving gesture - we can't really tell which one of the two is done before but it's the fact simon does it twice that matters: he follows the instinct to do it once but it's still not enough so he feels the need to do it again.

this shot was one of the stills that came out for promo before the season's release and i remember being completely blown away by it.

i claimed it and said this scene would be one of the core ones of the show and well, i guess i was right!

the whole water sequence is a visual representation of simon getting further and further away from wilhelm. both times he turns around to look at him tho - it's not what he wants to do but he has to do it for their sake.

also! one pov is from into the water and the other one is from the shore. idk if it's casual or hides an actual meaning but it's fun to point out sooo

too many single tears were shed for my fragile heart to handle.

this pretty much sums up the way i felt at the end too.

pain is written all over simon's face but i was not prepared for wille's sobs and his shoulders uncontrollably shaking. stab me.

he just keeps watching simon slip through his fingers and he's left to wonder what's supposed to happen now?.

from wille's words - 'how can you just be over me? i thought it would be us' - we learn that he's convinced simon is already over them and he's alone in struggling to accept it and move on (oh if only he knew).

he breathes but this is more of a this is it sigh - now it's time for me to learn how to let him go.

#no words can express how it felt to watch this in a room full of fans and with the cast #it truly meant the world to me #core memory 💌#young royals #young royals analysis #yr s3 #lake scene #wilhelm x simon #wilmon

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mochinomnoms · 2 months ago

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Yuu asking Jade what he wants for his birthday present and he just brushes it off as if hes happy with anything they give him but on his mind he's like: "you. I want you."

He's such a freak 😞

A freak in the sheets and a freak in the streets. He's just a freak in general you look at that man and tell me he's sane.

Worse part for Yuu in PTM is that if they complain to anyone, they're just like "...yeah, and?"

Deuce is sympathetic, but similar to Ace, he's not sure what else you'd expect. The raunchy thoughts are perhaps a ("gross" according to Ace) surprise, but it's one of the Leech twins. They're bound to have some weird thoughts floating in their heads.

Riddle doesn't want to hear it, neither do the others. Malleus is always willing to give you an ear, but even he isn't sure what words of advice to give Yuu. Well, that's not necessarily true, his advice is to tell Jade it's bothering them and to ask him to stop.

Yuu doesn't want to do that (and comes up with a million excuses as to why), so instead they just stare wearily at Jade with his stupid smile as he imagines them tied up with a big, pretty bow.

"...You sure you don't have something in mind?"

You. "No, I'm quite looking forward to what you come up with. Do suprise me!"

#mochi asks #jade leech x reader #jade leech #ptm

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trans-axolotl · 4 months ago

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content note: this post talks about eugenics, incarceration and institutionalization, and violent ableism

tangent from that post because i didn't want to start writing an essay on someone else's post and this is about a conversation i had irl this month, not intended as a reply to that post. but i actually feel very complicated about the idea of whether or not we should be pushing for more "accessibility" in jails and prisons and psych wards and institutions. i put that word in quotes because i don't think there is ever a way that being incarcerated is actually accessible to our bodies and minds; it is a disabling experience on so many levels. i'm not going to list out all the reasons why on this post; i've made so many posts talking explicitly about the harms of institutionalization before and i don't want to do that again right now. Talila Lewis has given several interviews about ableism, incarceration, and disability that are really worth reading and go more in depth into what that violence looks like. Liat Ben Moshe has also given another interview about disability and incarceration that goes over many of the same topics. given that these places are intense sites of violence towards disabled people, it feels difficult for me to claim that they could ever truly be accessible in any meaningful sense of the word.

what's also true right now is that institutions and prisons are incredibly inaccessible for physically disabled people in particular. i've been arrested with a wheelchair, i've been institutionalized with a feeding tube on top of that as well, i've been held on medical floors for psych treatment before, and i know very well exactly how bad it is. i've watched myself and so many other physically disabled people almost die in these places because of sheer neglect. i have physically disabled neighbors who were killed in these places. it is so dangerous for physically disabled people who are locked up in these places, yet at the same time, often psych wards are so inaccessible that physically disabled people just can't even be admitted because wards refuse to take people with mobility aids, medical devices, specific types of medication or care needs, if you have some kinds of terminal illness, and on and on and on.

what's also true is that when these places are so inaccessible that many physically disabled people are excluded and unable to even access them in the first place, it doesn't mean that we then somehow access other types of care instead. it just means that we're also discarded and left to die. this also is a really similar dynamic for a ton of other marginalized groups that get excluded from psych care--many of my comrades who are people of color have also experienced this same type of denial of care. initially i think that can seem like a confusing contradiction--how is it that psych wards are locking up some people up against their will but refusing to take in other people? but when you start thinking about the underlying logic at the core of these systems, it makes sense.

psych wards operate under this idea that madness must be cured by any means possible, up to and including eradication. institutions are a way of disappearing madness from the world--hiding us away so that we don't disturb a sane society, and not letting us free again until we either die in there or are able to appear like we've sufficiently eradicated madness from our mind. preventing physically disabled people from accessing inpatient treatment is operating under the same assumptions--except that this particularly violent convergence of ableism is happy to just let us die, both because it eradicates madness from the world and because they view our lives as unworthy of living in the first place. eugenics is still alive and well in the united states and it's still fucking killing us; both inside institutions and outside of them.

i would never tell someone that they're privileged for getting institutionalized--i think that would be a cruel thing to say to someone who has just survived a lot of violent ableism. and at the same time, our current systems of mental health care are set up in a way where not being able to access inpatient care can be a deadly logistical nightmare. there are some partial hospitalization programs that have such a long waiting list that you can only really get in if you just got an urgent referral because you're getting discharged from inpatient care--how the fuck are physically disabled people supposed to access those programs? if you need meal support for your eating disorder 6 times a day and the only places that offer that are residential treatment in a house with stairs, what the fuck are you supposed to do? if noncarceral outpatient forms of treatment like therapy, support groups, PHP programs, peer support funding, etc etc etc are often prioritizing people who have recently been discharged from inpatient care, how are you supposed to access any type of mental health care at all? (to be clear i know that not all forms of outpatient care operate in this way, but a lot of state run/low cost programs that accept Medicaid/Medicare operate in that way, and i've seen it cause enough barriers that i know this is a very real problem.)

so when i think about what it would take to actually ensure that physically disabled people can access mental healthcare, there's a lot that comes up for me. on one hand, so much of my work is about tearing down institutions and ensuring that no one is forced into these places to face that type of violence. on the other hand, so many physically disabled people need care right now, and we have to figure out some way of making that happen given the current systems we have in place. i will never be okay with just discarding physically disabled people as collateral damage, and any world that we're building needs to be one that embraces disability from the beginning.

i keep thinking about the concept of non-reformist reforms that gets talked about a lot in the prison abolition movement. the idea behind non-reformist reforms is that usually, reforms work to reinforce the status quo. they're usually talked about in liberal language of "improvement" and "human rights", but when it comes down to it, they're still giving more power to harmful institutions and reinforcing state power. an example of a reformist reform is building a new jail that is bigger and has "nicer" services. or when the cops in my city tried to get funding for more wheelchair accessible cop vans. these are reformist reforms because when it comes down to it, it's still giving more money and legitimacy to the prison system and increasing the capacity to keep people locked up--even when people talk about it using language about welfare for prisoners, that's not actually what's happening. having more wheelchair accessible cop vans would be dangerous for the disabled people in my city--it's helped us out a LOT that it's so difficult for the cops to arrest multiple wheelchair users at once.

non-reformist reforms are the opposite of that--they're reforms that work to dismantle systems, redistribute power, and set the stage for more even more dramatic transformations. They're sort of an answer to the question of "what do we do right now if we can't go out and burn down all the prisons overnight?" Examples of a nonreformist reform are defunding prisons, getting rid of paid administrative leave for cops, shutting down old prisons and not building new ones, etc. they're steps we can take right now that don't fully abolish prisons, but still work to dismantle them, rather than making it easier for the system to keep going.

so, when we apply this to the psych system, what are some nonreformist reforms that could help make sure that all disabled people are having their needs met right now? Some ideas I'm having include fixing the problem of PHP/outpatient care requiring referrals from inpatient, increasing the amount of Medicaid/Medicare funding for outpatient mental health care, building physically accessible peer respites that allow caregivers to stay with you if needed, increasing SSI/SSDI to an actually liveable rate, creating more disability specific mental health resources, support groups, care webs, and a million other things we'd probably need to actually get our needs met. non-reformist reforms for people in psych wards right now might look like ensuring everyone has 24/7 access to phones and internet, ensuring that disabled people have access to mobility aids in these spaces, making sure that there's accessible nutrition for people with dietary restrictions and/or feeding tubes, and more.

when i see people saying that we need to ensure that psych wards or prisons are made accessible it makes me feel nervous. i worry that the changes required to do that wouldn't actually provide care to disabled people, i worry it would just make it easier for increasing numbers of disabled people to get locked up and harmed all while people claimed it was a success story of "inclusion." i worry that it would just continue to cement carceral treatment as the only option for existing as a disabled person, and that it would make it harder for us to live in our communities, with the services and adaptations we need. when i think about abolition, i'm always thinking about what can we do right now, what do disabled people who are incarcerated and institutionalized need right now, what can we do right now to ensure that everyone is surviving and getting their needs met. i'm not willing to ignore or discard my incarcerated disabled comrades in the moment because of my dreams for an abolitionist future, i'm always going to support our organizing in these places as we try to survive them.

overall i guess what i'm saying is that i think making inpatient psych care accessible would require dismantling and fundamentally destroying the whole system. I can't imagine a way of doing that within the current system that wouldn't just continue to harm disabled people. and that as a psych abolitionist i think that means we have a responsibility to each other right now to fight for that, to understand that physically disabled people not being able to access mental health care is an incredibly urgent need. I refuse to treat my MadDisabled comrades as disposable: our lives are valuable and worth fighting for.

i'm also going to link to the HEARD organization on this post. They're one of the few abolitionist organizations that does direct advocacy and support for deaf and disabled people in prisons. if you or one of your disabled community members ever gets incarcerated in jail/prison, they have a lot of resources. donate to support their work if you can.

#personal #psych abolition #survivingpsych #ableism #psych ward tw #eugenics tw #disability justice #antipsych #antipsychiatry #prison abolition #i just have a lot of thoughts about this all the time. it makes me so mad how often the answer to things is just #'we don't care if disabled people live or die.'#and how many systems are set up based on control. coercion. fear. instead of care

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badlydrawnronpa · 7 months ago

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hi anon ty for sending the message! I did look through their blog and they very obviously use AI - I would've published the ask normally to let other people know but I decided against it in the end because after a closer inspection I noticed that all commissions are fake (besides being fake art I mean) and they're not actually scamming anyone because. uh. literally most of the blogs I saw interact with them are empty rp blogs that are blatantly controlled by them and one of the commissions I saw on their patreon was for a defunct ohsc rp blog from 2014??? Which honestly was really funny.

so yeah, they're very much not pulling any money from that, and on top of it all they posted pics of themselves sooooo yeh, not going to blast them on a blog with a big following for trying the 'i dont use ai im a real artist' but ultimately not scamming anyone out of their money. They're also not the best at like... hiding they're using AI because you can see their traditional art in other posts, and the style or experience level doesn't match at all.

I will post some of their AI stuff underneath the read more and point out the inconsistencies tho, to help out other people in spotting out ai shit (esp non artists that might have an harder time figuring things out). If you find out the original user that posted these, please don't harass them, be civil.

BTW I'M SAYING THIS NOW: if you see something I point out and say ''ah, I do that, I'm in trouble" - no you're not, if you actually draw the stuff yourself. You can see when an artist's work (and mistakes!) are genuine. Beginner's mistakes can be made by experienced artists too, but if you look at their entire body of work you can see when something doesn't add up.

to start off, I saw anon calling them out on this one so I'm just reiterating some of the points, but here's some junko 'art' they made

when confronted abt it, they said that the fingers look weird because they can't control their shaky hands and drawing small is hard. anyway if you draw digitally you can zoom in on the canvas and work on a detail as big as you need, so that excuse doesn't hold

this other post was basically what made me just say 'yep thats ai' and it was just the second 'art' post I saw from them

while taken alone they could've been a little harder to spot as AI, with them all bundled together you can easily see they came from the same prompt; the user tried to justify the inconsistencies saying it was because they were 'experimenting' with the design of their oc and gundham's scar but I'm telling you now, no sane artist fully renders four pieces that are basically the same concept while changing the design of the character just slightly in every single one of them. anyway, here's the breakdown of every piece:

another that was way easier to break down because it's so full of inconsistencies the moment you really take a look at it

also let's be real if you render art like that you're not gonna put a bright purple unreadable text on your supposed vtuber "art"

let's end this with the AI "commission" that could be harder to break down as AI if seen in a vacuum now, shall we? esp because our friend, the fucked up melty finger, isn't there

I honestly had to look for a while at this one because if you had shown it to me and I didn't see the other stuff this person posted, I could've just chalked up a lot of these mistakes to human error. Tangents between lines, scribbles for details, forgotten uncolored sections is all normal stuff. BUT we know this person used AI in all the other posts, so we know what to look at:

again, some mistakes the AI does can be also mistakes actual artists do: be sure to check the other art the user makes before throwing accusations

they also posted a fake speedpaint that is so embarassing it made me laugh but if I start pointing out inconsistencies in an AI speedpaint we're gonna be here for a long time, so.

TL;DR AI 'ART' SIGNS:

The classics: hands and fingers don't make sense, there's additional weird lines and they melt into other part of the drawing

long hair strands and other long or flowy elements can suddenly disappear behind objects and not reappear where they should

jewels, intricate details, hairpins and other accessories bend and melt into each other and other part of the design

the resolution of the image is very low and/or grainy - a lot of artists post lower res pieces online, but again: look for a pattern and combos of all the other signs

inconsistencies between multiple art posts, character designs constantly being different, sudden art style changes - while this can also be found with real artists, this is an additional tell of someone using AI, when combined with the stuff I mentioned above. humans mistakes usually have a reason for what they happen, AI makes them because it doesnt understand what it's doing most of the time

#admin post #so srry this is a long ass post #at least no real money was involved with this user but still sucks ass

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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 years ago

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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

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sweetbans29 · 6 months ago

Text

Overprotective - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: 3 times you navigate her need to protect you (based on THIS request)

Warnings: Protective CC, mildly suggestive in the first one

Word Count: 3.5k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Protective CC would be superior. Also used piece of a movie to help with one of the instances, see if you can spot it.

The First.

You don't know how you got here. Everything happened so fast, you couldn't comprehend the events that were unfolding in front of you. One second you were sitting at the lunch tables with your friends, the next you had milk going down your back and you see your best friend launch herself at whoever who did it.

See high school wasn't your friend. You remember all those movies about the outcast getting bullied by everybody who thinks they're anybody? Yeah, that's you. Walking through the halls of your school with a walking target on your back. A target that just magically appeared one day and has never left. Forget the fact that you were at a religious school, it was almost worse than if you went to public school. The girls here were a whole new level of mean.

There was only one thing that kept you sane and that was your best friend. That is your best friend and crush for the last 4 years. A crush that you swallow down and will take to your grave to never see the light of day. You had met the brown haired girl at an AAU tournament. You loved going to AAU tournaments and would spend a majority of your time in gyms with your mom was a coach and your older sister played. It was crazy how every bone in her body was athletic and every bone in yours was not. She took after your mom while you took after your dad. Going back to the brown haired girl, you were sitting and watching the team your mom coached when a ball came flying your way, hitting you straight in the head. The brown haired girl came running over, apologizing immediately. Once you got over the pain, she introduced herself and you did the same. Little did you know that the beginning of your friendship was a foreshadowing to the rest of your friendship.

Bringing it back to the milk running down your back. You were sitting in the cafeteria with Caitlin and a few other girls from her team when Stacy and her crew walked up to your table.

"Well look who we have here," Stacy says, eyes trained on you. Forget who you were sitting with, when Stacy had an agenda to humiliate you - she would do it.

You don't look up at the girl and continue eating your lunch. You see Caitlin's teammates sit up a little straighter, always keeping an eye out for you. What you don't see is Caitlin's fists clench as her whole body tenses up.

"Ignoring me now are we?" Stacy says. "Do we really think that is the best idea?"

Whenever you talked to your dad about what was happening at school, he would empathize with you. He would also tell you to not give them the light of day - show them that they don't phase you. And that is exactly the plan you had.

You take another bite of your sandwich and ignore Stacy.

"Why don't you try and ignore this," she says as she elbows her boyfriend Tyler. Tyler picks up the milk from Caitlin's tray and slowly pours it down the back of your shirt.

As much as you try to ignore the cold liquid running down your back, you straighten from the cold sensation and feel a lump in your throat form.

Another thing your dad told you was to never let the enemy see you cry, they feed off of you weakness only fueling them even more.

Before you can turn to say something, You see Caitlin stand. Before you can stop her, she has her fist connecting with Tyler's face.

You sit there in shock for a whole two seconds as you hear the whole cafeteria go silent. It's not like Tyler can hit back but you first thought was 'what if he did?'.

Caitlin's team is now pulling her away from Tyler and Stacy's group as Stacy is checking to make sure Tyler is okay.

When you come to your senses, you grab Caitlin's arm and drag her out and down the hallway to the nearest bathroom. The team stayed behind to let the teachers know what happened which you were beyond grateful for.

Once you got Cait into the bathroom you just stand there and look at her. You can see the rage in her eyes and you are sure yours reflect something similar.

How could she be so stupid, you thought to yourself. You look down at the hand that collided with Tyler and your whole demeanor softens. You walk past Caitlin and grab a paper towel. You wet it under the sink and take her hand.

The second the cool towel makes contact with her knuckles, she flinches, trying to retreat but you don't let her.

"Stop moving," you tell her. She lets out an exasperated groan.

You bring her hand up to examine it closer as you pat her bruising skin. She doesn't move and lets you run your fingers on top of her own.

"You're so dumb," you say knowing her hand is going to bug her for the next week days at practice.

There would be a lot that you didn't tell your best friend, worried that something like this would happen. You have seen Caitlin's temper and would fear it would lead to regrettable actions.

She looks at you in disbelief.

"If you think I was going to sit there and just let them do that, you are very wrong," Caitlin says. You didn't realize how close she had gotten to you but once you realize it, you feel the hair on your arms rise.

Caitlin is looking into your eyes, her hand that you were just holding is now on your neck. Her thumb grazes your cheek. You would be lying to yourself if you were to say you haven't thought about this.

"Caitlin," you say as she leans in and gently presses her lips to yours.

At first, the kiss is slow and sweet. Just getting to know the way each other's lips move. Once there is an unspoken comfortability, and Cait senses that, she deepens the kiss. Your hands come to wrap around her neck as hers find a home on your waist. She backs you up into the sink, using the gasp that escapes you to allow her tongue to explore yours.

Caitlin breathes you in like her life depends on it. She squeezes your hips and moans into you when she feels your hands tug at the hair on the back of her head. She wants you in ways she would never dare speak of, at least that was before her knowing you would kiss her back with as much need.

You feel her hands slip under your shirt and you are suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you are still in the school bathroom. One of your hands comes to her chest, giving her a little push which elicits a low whine from the girl. As much as you want her, your first time together will not be in the confines of this wretched place.

"Not here," you say out of breath. She hesitates but nods. Your hand comes up to hold her face.

"You are beautiful," you say really looking at her features. When you say it, you feel her cheeks warm as she smiles. She leans in to hide her face into your shoulder and neck, a gesture you have learned she does when she is overly excited and or extremely content. She muffles something into your neck that you can't understand.

"What was that?" You ask. She lifts her head a little.

"You smell like milk," she says with a little giggle. You push her back and she is now full on laughing.

You remove your shirt and rinse it out in the sink. Caitlin comes up behind you wraps her arms around your middle.

"You're so much help," you say sarcastically.

"I know," she says, smiling at you through the mirror.

"Maybe I'll walk out there like this," you say referring to you being topless.

"Like hell you will," Cait says as she removes the sweatshirt she is wearing. She forces it over your head, causing your hair to get messed up. Not that she cared, the idea of you walking out for everyone to see blinded every other thought she had. She treats you like a child who can't dress themselves as she is pulling your arms through the sleeves one by one.

"There you go," she says content with herself.

"Promise me you won't do that again," you say as you take her hand.

"You know I don't make promises I can't keep," she says and you roll your eyes at the girl.

You thank her as the two of you head back out into the world. Later that day, after Caitlin is done with practice, she makes her way to your house. The two of you hang outside in your backyard, bundled up in your hammock. You talk about when each of your feelings started to arise for one another and what your lives look like together. She tells you how she tried to hide her hand from her coach but was ultimately outed. You grabbed her hand and took another look at the bruises that have developed.

"I still can't believe you punched Tyler," you whisper as you are looking at her hand.

"And I would do it again if he ever messes with you like that again," Cait says not missing a beat.

"I know you would," you say as you bring her hand up to your lips, giving it the most gentle kiss.

The Worst.

You are at home, book in hand, planted on the couch while wrapped in a blanket when the softest knock comes from the front door. You look at the clock, 10:42 PM.

Making your way to the door you check to see who it is. After spotting your girlfriend and one of her teammates you open it in a heartbeat.

The sight in front of you is one that you wish you never had to see.

Caitlin is being held up by her teammate who is doing her best to keep the beat up girl from hunching over.

"Sorry to bug you so late, I didn't know where else to take her," her teammate says and you go to help her bring Caitlin into your house.

"What happened?" You ask and Cait's teammate looks at you warily. By the look you already know. Your mind flashes back to lunch where you were humiliated worse than ever before.

Walking into the cafeteria, you are met with glances and muffled laughs. When you walk up to your usual table, you are met with Stacy and Tyler.

"Oh hey there," Stacy says with a wicked smile. You ignore her and go to sit when your eyes is drawn to something. Looking at the flyer on the table you see a photoshoped picture of your face on some model in a bikini.

You feel the blood drain form your face as panic sets in - looking around you see everyone has fliers in their hands and are laughing at you. The humiliation is sickening.

You turn to run back out out the cafeteria when you are met with familiar arms.

"I got you," Caitlin whispers as you hide your face in her. She looks over at Stacy and her gang, ripping a flier from a nearby girl's hand, taking a look at what they had done. All Cait can see is red when she crumples the paper and is about to go give Stacy a piece of her mind when she feels your shaking body.

"I got you," Cait says again, deciding to take you out of the situation. As she looks at Stacy, Caitlin's eyes show she will be back.

Caitlin takes you home and promises she will be back. You beg her to stay with you which she gives in and stays.

She holds you as you fall asleep in her arms. When you wake up, you are alone. You knew Cait had a game which is where you believed her to be. After checking your phone, you suspicions are right which is when you curl up with a book.

"I've got her," you tell Caitlin's teammate and they leave.

Caitlin is sitting on your couch, not a word spoken.

You grab arm and lead her up to your bathroom. it takes some time to get up the stairs but she manages. Once in your bathroom, she takes a seat on the counter as you grab your first aid kit.

Looking at your girl, you don't know where to begin. Putting the hydrogen peroxide down, you run downstairs to grab a few bags of frozen veggies and return with them. You place one on Caitlin's eye and another on her knee. The final bag you brought goes to her right fist and she flinches.

You start cleaning the cuts and scraps on her left hand, shortly moving over to her right. You clean and bandage all the open wounds you see. Caitlin shifts and winces.

You look at her with furrowed eyebrows as her hand comes to bring an ice pack to her abdomen. Moving her hand, you try to lift her shirt but she fights you for the first time. You shoot her a 'don't you dare' look and she slumps her shoulders and lets you lift her shirt. You don't need to lift it far to see her once porcelain skin painted with blue, green and yellow.

"Holy shit," you mutter as you go to gently bring her shirt over her head.

"Caity," you say with a sigh, scared to touch her.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she says trying to smile. You fingers come to graze against the blue parts of her stomach and she winces again.

Your concern for the girl grows as you continue to find more and more injuries.

You finish caring for her by cleaning up her face. There wasn't much to clean up, just her eye.

Once finished, you bring her head to lean against your shoulder.

The two of you stay like that for a while.

"I'm not sorry," she mutters.

"I know," you say. She lifts her head to look in your eyes. She leans her forehead against yours.

"Can I spend the night?" She asks. "Don't want my parents to see me."

You nod. You step back and help her off the counter, guiding her to your bed. After helping her lay down you begin to leave your room.

"Where are you going?" Cait asks.

"I'll be right back, babe," you say as you grab the bags of now unfrozen veggies. You return them to the freezer and grab some Advil along with a glass of water.

When you walk back into your room, you see Caitlin laying there with her eyes closed. You go and sit next to her and you watch her chest rise and fall. Your eyes can't help by travel down to her colored abdomen as you feel a pain in your chest.

"I wish you didn't," you say as Caitlin brings her hand to rest on your thigh.

"They can't think what they did is okay," she says, her eyes still closed.

"I don't care about them, I care about you," you say as your thumb begins to rub the skin right under her right breast.

Caitlin finally opens her eyes and you pass her the pain reliever.

You make your way to your side of the bed and lay down. Scooting close to her, you are too scared to lean on her.

"Want me to make the joke about seeing the other guy?" Caitlin asks trying to lighten the mood.

"Absolutely not," you say. You hear Cait chuckle, then feel her scoot closer to you so your arms are touching.

"Promise me you won't do this again," you breath out.

She is silent for a little before responding.

"You know I can't make promises I can't keep," she says.

The Last.

You are sitting in the bleachers of your high schools gym waiting to watch Caitlin play one of your schools biggest rivals. You watch the game intently as Caitlin dominates the court per usual.

Her team takes the win and you wait for you girl in the stands as she celebrates with her team first. As you are waiting you feel someone come and sit next to you.

"Hey there," someone says and you turn to see a guy from the other school. You give him a smile but don't say anything.

"I was wondering if you wanted to get out of here?" He asks.

"No thank you," you say as you stand and head down to the court to find Cait.

To your discomfort, he follows you.

"Hey, come back baby," he says as he grabs your arm. You yank it out of his hand.

"Is there a problem here?" You hear your girlfriend say as she wraps her arm around you.

"No," you whisper as you see the look in Caitlin's eye. It is the look of protector, the 'if you make one wrong move I will f-you up' look.

"Just trying to get this pretty little thing to leave with me," the guys says not taking the hint that you were in no way interested.

You feel Caitlin tense next to you and your grab her arm trying to get her to stop whatever she is about to do. You fail as you feel her lung at the guy.

"CLARK!" A voice booms. Everyones head whips to the origin of the sound to find Cait's coach.

"You swing, you are no longer on this team," Coach says as everyone turns their head to see Caitlin's arm wound up behind her. You see the dilemma in Caitlin's eye.

Your hand comes up to bring her fist down and she takes a step back. You know she can't afford to get kicked off the team - she is preparing to head to Iowa to play in college.

"Yes Coach," she says as she takes a step back. The guy now has a smirk on his face as if he didn't just dodge a bullet.

"Yes Coach," he teases and before you know it you are are the one swinging at the guy. You fist comes into contact with his face and you immediately regret it. Pain shoots from your right hand and up your arm.

"Oh shit," Caitlin says in awe of you.

Caitlin's coach shakes her head and walks away, she could stop Caitlin but has no jurisdiction over you.

The pain in your hand continues to grow.

"Cait, something isn't right," you say and she takes a hold of your hand. You let out a screech when she makes contact with you and shortly sees you fractured your hand.

Caitlin is the one to drive you to urgent care. You go and get your hand checked out, walking out with your hand in a serious wrap and follow up instructions.

As Caitlin drives you home, she is still in disbelief that you were the one to throw a punch. She parks in front of your house and turns her car off.

You sit there in silence, ashamed that you let your temper get the best of you.

"Babe," she says and you turn to look at her. The look in her eyes is something you have never seen before.

"I'm sorry," you say and look away from her. Her hand comes up to bring your face to look back out her.

"Don't apologize, my love," she says and leans in to press a kiss to your lips. "It was honestly really hot."

You giggle at her comment. You take a moment as your tone becomes more serious.

"Cait, you need to figure out a way to control your temper," you say playing with her hand. "No more hitting."

She is about to speak when you cut her off.

"I agree with your coach," you say and you look in her eyes. "I need you to promise me, no more fights. We will figure something else out okay? I can't have you going around fighting everyone, not here and definitely not in college."

You hadn't told Cait you were planning on going to Iowa with her. She knew you applied but she had no idea you had gotten in, not that she had any doubts.

She gives you the 'you better not be messing with me' look and you just smile at her. Her excitement overtakes her as she pulls you into her, burying her face into your neck. Your smile matches hers.

She lets you go and looks at you.

"I promise," she says. "I promise, no more fighting."

A stress in your releases as you have been waiting to hear those words fall from her mouth for over a year now.

"I love you," you say as you bring her face to yours.

"I love you more," Cait says kissing your lips.

AN: FIGHT ME. Not actually but I can see Cait bumping chest with someone as she yells that. Let me know if you see the same. And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark concepts #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark masterlist

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eddiezpaghetti · 1 year ago

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Okay, so my experience with Stranger Things is a weird one.

I didn't care when it first came out, started to watch it out of "might as well" in 2020, wasn't interested in it enough to make it past S2, forgot about it outside of going "oh, hey, cool, there's a lesbian in it now, I guess," in S3, got really annoyed when "Running Up That Hill" got popular from it because it was a song I listened to on fucking loop after one of my best friends died in high school and I fully expected its appearance in the show to ignore the whole survivor's guilt theme of the song (and was very happy to learn later that it did the exact opposite of ignoring the lyrics), saw people drawing Eddie, suddenly got a lot more interested, watched just the fourth season like a fucking psychopath because I was seriously only there for Eddie, then got interested enough to start the show over properly, having mostly forgotten what I did watch of the show before.

And let me tell you something from the perspective of someone who started with the complete fourth season, who wasn't there from the start, who wasn't tainted by ship goggles or this internal battle of hope and despair, who wasn't theorizing about what the painting could be or expecting Mike and Will to kiss when Volume 2 happened or rooting for Mike and Eleven's relationship to go down in flames or whatever the fuck. Just someone who went blind into Season 4.

It's really fucking obvious that Will and Mike are gonna be endgame.

Like holy fuck. It's so fucking blatant I don't even know why people are nervous.

No sane fucking person would shoot this scene this way if they wanted the audience to care about El and Mike as a couple. Despite being all blurry in the background, Will's reaction to what's happening here is smackdab in the fucking middle, clearly showing that the important part is what's going through his head here. What he's feeling. It's like the opposite of that scene from Kingdom Hearts II where Sora and Riku reunite and Kairi just fucking vanishes into the aether while it's happening because, despite the fact that she was standing between them when the scene began, she doesn't matter to the scene, so she's just kind of gone when the camera angle changes. Will could have been behind one of their heads, or so far in the distance he blends in with the background, but he's not. He's so obvious that despite being massively blurred out, he's still the first goddamn thing you look at. What, you think that's an accident? You think he's in the middle of this dramatic fucking scene because of a mistake? He basically has a big flashing neon arrow pointing at him with "THIS IS THE POINT" being screamed through a megaphone.

And then this?

They're paired up like they're taking fucking prom pictures. Each one of these pairs is so fucking close to one another and so fucking far from everyone else. It's not, "Oh, they're standing vaguely near each other in a group shot," it's fucking Noah's Ark out here. Again, there's no way to take this as an accident. It's not just a framing issue. If they wanted to make the shot look balanced while still not hiding anyone else behind El, they would have scattered people around much more naturally. Even if they wanted to keep Nancy with Jonathan and Hopper with Joyce, there's so much room on that hill for three people to stand on El's left and three on her right. But they didn't do that. They put Mike and Will together on purpose in the most obvious way possible.

Like I get that coming up with crackpot theories is fun in and of itself and I'm not blaming anyone for having fun. I totally get the appeal of arguing a point and reaching for every stupid little thing to pull into it because it's like a game, okay? I've done that. But if you're trying to actually convince someone (whether it's someone who wants to believe or someone who's pissed at the very idea that Mike and Will could be in love), stay away from blue and yellow lights, stay away from costume design, stay away from the existence of closets in backgrounds. And don't worry about whether Mike's gay or bi when he's in love with Will either way. I'll give you a little tip about persuasion: You're only as strong as your weakest argument. Even if you've got strong stuff in there, too, the person you're trying to convince is going to dismiss anything you say as complete insanity the second you start going on an entire tangent about the shape of a character's fucking pocket.

Sometimes, clothes are just clothes. Sometimes, there's a closet in the background because it helps establish that a character is in a bedroom. Sometimes, blue and yellow are just a couple of colors that look nice together. And sure, it might be set designers and costume designers and cinematographers smirking and winking at the audience from behind the camera. But if the show was just those things, instead of those things in the context of everything else, they wouldn't be saying anything of note.

But this?

This tells a story all on its own. Someone with no context can look at this and automatically assume that each paired person is standing with someone they care about deeply, seeking comfort as they watch some sort of disaster unfold. And yeah, romantic couples usually come in twos, and we live in an amatonormative society, so that's going to be the first association anyone makes seeing a bunch of people paired off.

It's the same reason you look at this

And go, "Oh..."

"Those two are probably a couple."

And I genuinely don't understand how people could have watched S4 Vol. 2 and gotten scared. Because as someone who went in with no investment whatsoever, I just looked at these two--

--and went, "Oh, those two are a couple. Good for them." And I moved on. Shut up about the trees for five seconds and just see the forest for what it is.

Oh, and if you're still nervous? Little thing from a storyteller here: You don't leave a hanging thread like "Will confessed his romantic feelings for Mike by projecting them onto El, but Mike either didn't understand or at least didn't say he understood," without coming back to that later. That's Chekov's gun hanging on the wall, babes. It's gonna fire at some point. If Mike was going to reject Will's feelings, if they weren't relevant, they would have had that discussion in Argyle's van. There'd be no reason to leave you in suspense.

#byler #meta #stranger things #theory #I mean I fucking guess #in the same way gravity is a fuckin' theory.#It feels silly that I even have to say this honestly.#Watching people freak out over these two feels like I'm being pranked.#Like you guys aren't pulling a Goncharov are you? Just making believe there's any chance these two aren't gonna be endgame?#Like completely ironically? And I'm too autistic to catch it?#It genuinely feels like I'm explaining that red and blue make purple here. As if you guys should have learned this in kindergarten.#Or like watching whole-ass adults watch Cinderella for the first time and being on the edge of their seat #wondering if she's going to live happily ever after with the prince or not.#It feels like I'm talking DOWN to people and I don't WANT it to feel like that but it's so obvious and I don't want people to be like #anxious for no reason you know?#Like I get that we're all scarred from queerbaiting and I know you guys are biased from years of shipping these kids.#But like. These guys? The most obvious 'there's only one way this could go' couple I've ever seen? You're scared about THEM?

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naomiarai · 1 year ago

Text

Conscious – cbg.

Synopsis : Your best friend's idea for trying to help you stay awake for your finals might be a bit twisted right?

Pairing : beomgyu × afab!reader [non idol au]

Wc : 1.6k

Warnings : dom! gyu, sub!reader, praise, pet names (princess, angel, pretty girl), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie.

Disclaimer : the lovely anon who sent an drabble on this. it got deleted, but I decided to write a fic on it. [I wrote this in one sitting while I was drunk so..]

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Finals week was up tight for you. You swore you'd fail if you don't stay up all night studying. Hell that's not seeming to work

Luckily, you had someone to pent up with your version of opposite-insomnia. Beomgyu is annoying, but you still want him around. He's probably the only one keeping you sane when you keep falling asleep instead of racing your eyes on words.

You've managed the ones you couldn't avoid and here you are with the last one. Beomgyu seems careless today. He's sprawled up over your living room couch, his legs crossing over yours. Laptop situated on your lap, your eyes kept closing, only something that touched you lightly jolted you awake.

You scream out in frustration, muttering numerous curse words to yourself. Beomgyu jolts up, wide-eyed. A frown forming on his face.

“Your opera made me lose my game!” he says with an annoying tone. “Gyu, that's the least of my worries right now, I keep fucking falling asleep.” you reply back, clenching your teeth. “Don't disrespect your elders now” he says with a grin on his face. Beomgyu was a year older than you, but that doesn't give him a pass to act so entitled to his age when you act up.

“Nothing's working. I stopped taking melatonin, and all tube lights are turned on” you admit in a low voice. “ I don't get how you fall asleep that easy now. You had insomnia level 100 when you were little” he says in a wondering tone. You groan at him, wishing it were the complete opposite now.

"You know, I heard endorphins can keep you awake” he blurts out randomly. You turn your head towards him, with a small frown on your face. "Endorphins?” you ask. “Yeah, they keep some people awake”. Why did he sound so suspicious? “They're found in chocolate, laughing, listening to music...sex..”

You choked on air as you heard his last word. Sex? Now that's a fact. You haven't had sex in quite some time now...

Beomgyu looks at your bewildered face and scoffs. “What? It's true” he says. He thinks for a split second before he asks “Speaking of sex, when was your last time?” How did he sound so casual? "W-..why are you even asking?, i had two boyfriends in the past soo..” you randomly cut of, going into thought.

“Right, the first guy, who was it? Ah- Jaehoon! An asshole if you ask me” he sounded annoyed saying it even though it didn't look like it. You could tell. But why? “second..was Sunghyun? I didn't like him either” he says as he puts his fingers underneath his chin.

“Why the fuck are you going over my history of boyfriends? ” you ask. Also, he sounded weird talking about Sunghyun as well. He replies after a pause, “Which one actually made you cum?” you froze at his words. Does he actually know what he's saying? “Beomgyu!” you scream, “Why would you even ask?!”

“Oh, so none of them did?” he asks curiously. “Nevermind, ________ just tell me”. You think on his words, the only thing you never told Beomgyu was about your sex life. It's not like he asked anyway. "I-..I've had sex like twice...?” you mumble. He looked puzzled, “Don't tell you've only that two times of sex in only one relationship that lasted like, two and half years..? He got his answer, just because you didn't say anything.

He scoffs out laughing, “Did you cum at least?” he asks with a sigh. You pause for sometime.. was it really that embarrassing? “N-no”. You get back to your senses, getting angrier by the second. “But what does that have to do with me falling asleep?” you retort. “Absolutely nothing!”.

He has that shit-eating grin on his face. God, you just want to wipe it off with a kiss. Wait. What were you thinking? No.

“I'm just saying you know, it works like this, you overwork and start falling asleep too easy then I tell you that sex produces endorphins and they help you stay awake, anddd, he adds, dragging the d sound, you haven't had proper sex”

You roll your eyes at his explanation like it didn't mean anything. It doesn't. ”You're acting like I could go get dick just because I keep falling asleep” you reply back. “It's not like I have a boyfriend now, Gyu” you add on.

“But I'm right here”. He says ever so slowly. You're taken aback, frozen still in your place. “What the fuck are you even saying?” you say, almost whispering. His face and tone remain nonchalant, contradictory to yours. “You say you have no boyfriends, right?, and I'm probably the only guy you talk to”

Should you say yes? It's once and he'll probably never ask again. And he's kind of cute. You'd date him. But you would never tell him this. No, but you did get braver at the moment.

“Is this your excuse at asking if you could fuck me?” you ask calming yourself down with a laugh laced in your voice. He seems to take your presence in for a moment. “Did it work?” he asks with a sly smirk.

“If you want it to” you say quickly before you could do anymore pausing. His grin grows bigger; he slides the laptop off your lap and places it on the transparent coffee table with a soft thud. Connecting his lips with yours, you moan into the kiss at the sudden feeling. His arms wrap around your waist as you sit straight up. “Strawberry?” he asks tasting your chapstick. You simply nod, cupping his cheeks to resume the kiss. “Woah, looks who's actually eager here” he laughs.

He picks you up without breaking the kiss, having your legs on his both his sides. You break the kiss saying, “Not on the bed, I don't have new sheets ready” He chuckles at your prediction. “Who said it had to be on the bed?” He sits back down, with you still straddling his lap. His hands slip underneath your shirt, cold hands caressing your warm body. “I didn't expect you to agree so easily” he asks continuing to kiss your neck. “W-...well you did something about those endorphins...” you whisper. He laughs at you, quite obvious he hadn't bought it.

You sit up straight on his lap for a second, thinking. “But won't we make a mess on the couch?” you ask expendentaly. “If you let me go inside..?” he asks with a smirk. You slap his chest multiple times, his idea has some structural value to not making a mess but won't it.... leak out? God, no you should never think dirty. At least you won't have to change the bed sheets.

He claims your lips again in passionate kiss, hands going down to remove your sweatpants. Your left in a crop top and panties. What a sight. He breaks the kiss to lay you down on the couch. “I'll make you cum, astonishing you never have after you had sex twice” he says dramatically. You roll your eyes at him, to which he scoffed at in a high pitched voice. “Just wait, I'll make you roll your eyes for a valid reason” he says before undoing his belt and discarding his jeans and boxers.

You tried to look away. He had a pretty dick. But will it even fit? “Don't look away at the man who's going to fuck you now” he says playfully, hovering above you. You stare at him for a couple seconds, taking in his features. He moves your panties to the side, taking a look at your glistening pussy. “Need to prep you, angel” he says. Taking his fingers closer, he slips in a finger, extremely tight unsurprisingly. “You groan at the sudden feeling, he adds another finger stretching your walls out, you feel pleasure slowly forming from the slight pain. He continue s to stretch you out, with you letting out loud moans form time to time. He retrieves his fingers back just when you're legs shook. You look at him confused.

“I'm only having you cum on my cock” he says before slipping his hands underneath your shirt and removing your bra. He starts to play with your hardened nipples with slick covered fingers, to which you would scold him for, but it felt too good.

He pulls his hands back, spreading your legs open and removing your panties whole. “Ready princess?” he asks softly to which you nod slowly. He enters you with ease,, still going slowly. You feel so so full. He groans out loud, he mutters a 'so tight' before slowly thrusting in and out. “Mmnh–ngh fuck–” you moan out, the pads of his fingers rubbing your clit, making your roll your eyes back. His pace gets faster, so as his grunts and your moans. “Shit–pretty–you feel s-so good” he grunts. The sound of skin slapping against skin takes over your senses, raw pleasure filling you. “Don't stop! nngh– so s-so good!”

The wet and lewd sounds of his dick going in and out get louder, as he slowed down, dick starting to twitch slightly inside of you. You felt a firework inside your stomach, like a coil so desperate to burst. You think you're about to cum. “G-gyu, think I'm gonna cum fuck—!” you moan. “Yeah? cum for me princess, g-good girl aren't you? cream all over my cock-!” You feel his cockhead slowly hitbyour cervix with each slow thrust as you feel the coil in your stomach collapse, coming all over his cock.

He came after you, filling you up, and it leaked out onto the couch. “That was great” he blurts out tired. You slowly recover form your orgasm, getting back to your senses. “Is this going to be a one time thing or—” You're cut off with a kiss, him saying “Absolutely not. I'm keeping you angel” you simply smile at him.

“But gyu didn't you tell sex kind of helps you stay awake, I really don't think that's for me..?” He takes in your words, “It is for some people...” he says before his eyes light up with a grin plastered on hif face. “So round two?”

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