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venus-maneater · 1 year ago

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a loyal dog’s reward ii. | yan! criston cole

yandere / obsessed ! au

fem! targaryen princess! reader

part i

synopsis. suffering an injury from a tournament, criston has to deal with seeing you alongside his temporary replacement. fortunately, you weren’t interested in teasing too much this time, trying to distract yourself from your sister beginning her labors, and you were happy to cheer your poor mutt up.

note; I’ve decided to make this a series with no real plot lol 😭 if being attracted to criston cole is a crime then lock me up !! this chapter took a mind of its own bc this was not the original plot and it’s twice as long as part i

WARNING(s): obsessive / possessive behavior, manipulation, violence, thoughts of violence, implied murder, blood, injury, JEALOUSY, nosebleeds, talk of bastards and having bastard children, Rhaenyra gives birth, allusions to sex but no actual smut, cole def has a breeding kink y’all

Ser Criston Cole, your ever-so-loyal shield, always said yes when you asked him to enter tourneys. He knew how much you enjoyed them, and relished in your attention as he succeeded in competition. There were only two real downsides to tournaments for him: the hours he had to spend apart from you, and the injuries. Criston had always excelled at anything physical, but he was only mortal. He was just a man who could be maimed or murdered just like any other. It served to remind him of the status gap between you: he was a man while you were born from dragons.

He kept his eyes on your form in the nobles’ box until it was his turn. This was typical behavior from him, he was nothing but devoted to you. Since you’d discovered his true feelings, you gave him more attention than before. You entertained his tendencies, teasing him sometimes but always reassuring him at the end of the day. You wanted no one but him.

“Oh, don’t fret, my Criston.” You’d tut, “I could never replace you. You’re the only guard dog for me.”

You played with his feelings occasionally, trying to get a rise out of him, but he quickly found that he didn’t mind. His reward at the end made all his anger worth it. He never blamed you either, it was never your fault that men didn’t know how to leave you alone.

He wondered now if this was one of your attempts at making him jealous.

The large man who stood obediently behind you was the one taking over Criston’s position as he competed in the tournament. Usually, another Kingsguard member would take over, but this particular Knight had something to prove. He was highborn, from some house in the Vale, with wide shoulders and a somewhat handsome face. The two men looked nothing alike; the Knight next to you was pale, hazel-eyed, and thin-haired.

He doubted it.

You didn’t like men other than Criston Cole guarding you, you’d expressed so before. They’re boring and untrustworthy, you insisted. Your words made his chest puff out with pride. He liked that he was the only one you truly trusted with your life; you knew he would protect you. You chose him to protect you.

To be honest, you didn’t even seem interested in the Knight from the Vale; you looked stiff and bored, which concerned your sworn shield. You loved tournaments, you loved when he won things in your honor. Why don’t you look excited?

Soon enough, it was his turn again. With your flowery red favor around his wrist, he got into position.

You perked up a bit when you saw that it was Criston’s turn once more. You’d been rather stiff most of the event, and you partially blamed it on your boring temporary guard. The man was flat; no personality to work with at all. It bummed you out honestly, he was from the Vale but behaved like a Northman. He was presumably around Ser Criston’s age, but had not even half of his spirit. It wouldn’t have bothered you so much if you couldn’t feel his stare burning into the back of your head. You could give him some credit; at least he’s taking his job of supervising you seriously.

But no, the primary reason for your irritation and lack of focus was your father. He had demanded you to attend this tourney to celebrate Rhaenyra’s labors, not allowing you to be by her side. You and your sister were close, very close, and quite similar as well. To not be by her side when she was in pain had you tense. You didn’t want to be here, not even to see Criston compete.

Criston Cole was facing a member of House Bolton, a rather fierce young man who didn’t scare easy. Most Northerners were like that, but Criston should know best as he just beat another one last round. The tournament today was celebrating Princess Rhaenyra beginning her labors, so competitors have traveled from far and wide. The event had been planned for a month, so it was good news that the Princess was finally giving birth.

“Jessil,” you called to your guard with a smirk, “You should watch closely this round, my shield is competing.”

The man nodded curtly without a word, causing you to roll your eyes. His under-reactions irked you, but you were starting to blame Criston Cole for that fact. He always reacted wonderfully to anything you did, perhaps you were too used to it.

Speaking of your shield, you could see his anger growing the longer you were with another man. It was the only thing keeping you here at this point; waiting to see if he’ll get violent. Criston was the most amusing man you’d ever met, you just knew something was going to happen. There were only two more rounds until the event ended, and he’d been stiff ever since Ser Jessil bent down closer in order to hear your comments about two hours ago.

The two knights settled into their positions across the courtyard from each other, on opposite sides of the tilt. Then, a horn sounded, triggering their horses into a sprint. With their lances aimed, the men collided, wooden splinters flying but neither of them falling. New lances were readily tossed to them and the process repeated. Criston spared you a glance, noticing that Jessil had gotten a few inches closer.

Again, they charged forward. Only this time, when they clashed, Criston was thrown from his horse at the force of the hit. The Bolton fared a bit better, remaining on his horse, but he was hit in the face by Criston’s lance, causing the front of his helmet to cave in just enough to cut him.

What you saw made you shoot to your feet, your hands gripping the railing in concern. Never in your years of knowing Criston Cole had you ever seen him knocked from his horse in a tournament. He was easily one of the best fighters you knew of, it seemed impossible that this could happen. Had you pushed too far with your teasing? You’d never tried anything during a tournament before, perhaps Ser Jessil’s presence threw him off.

The round didn’t end there. Criston was quick to stand despite his obvious injuries, and his morningstar was swiftly given to him. His helmet had flew from his head when he fell, so his bleeding mouth was for all to see. He was holding his right arm close to his body, making it appear broken or incapable of proper use. Although he was right-handed, he gripped his weapon in his left hand and prepared for a fight. The Bolton Knight was also without a helmet at this point, ditching the damaged armor when he jumped to the ground to grab his sword. His nose was bleeding and looked to be broken from the hit.

“Is his arm broken?” You asked aloud, leaning over the railing a bit in an attempt to see better, “he favors his right.”

Jessil ignored your words, but inched closer so you wouldn’t go over the railing, “Princess, you could fall.”

Criston let the other Knight come to him, not willing to waste any energy. He used his time to look your way, not liking the way your guard was holding your shoulder.

The fight began, but didn’t last long. The Bolton may have made a skilled jouster, but not a fighter. He was no match for the angry Kingsguard, even when he had every advantage. Handicapped from his injuries, Criston swung his Morningstar with his left hand, swiftly hitting his opponent in the head while avoiding any oncoming attacks from the sword. The impact knocked the younger Knight out, but visibly broke his brow bone. Due to the force from the spikes, his face was bleeding badly and the area around his eye was caved in, perfectly mirroring the damage to his helmet.

Half the crowd was silent in shock (including yourself), but the other half was cheering loudly at the violence. You were desensitized to such things at this point in your life, but that didn’t mean you welcomed them. You didn’t like that Criston came so close to losing, or that you have to watch some poor Bolton boy bleed out on the ground for no reason, your shield was too injured to continue to the next round anyways. And due to your being a princess, it would be inappropriate to leave early to check on the Kingsguard member. Because your father wouldn’t allow to be with your sister, you’d made Criston your fixation of the day.

The two of you made eye contact as a few servants rushed over to him, helping him limp off to see a maester. It was soon announced that although neither competitor was continuing to the next round, Criston Cole was technically the winner.

“Well that was certainly a show” You cleared your throat, shaking Ser Jessil’s hand off your shoulder and finally taking your seat once again, “I knew something was going to happen.”

“So you did, Princess.” The Knight nodded curtly, recalling your words earlier, telling him to watch closely.

With Criston gone, your mind shifted back to a pregnant Rhaenyra, who was currently giving birth without your comfort. You stiffen up, nails digging into the railing before exhaling deeply and taking your seat. The two of you return to your proper positions and continued to observe the event for the next few hours, clapping dutifully when an insignificant Lannister won.

You made it back to the Red Keep in record time, it seemed. Even Jessil had trouble keeping up with you on your horse as you rushed home. You’d refused the carriage ride, eager to see your sister.

You were sprinting up the nearly infinite steps to her chambers, Jessil following close and maids jumping out of the way. A couple of people tried to stop your entrance, but you only shoved them aside and pushed your way towards your sister.

“Rhaenyra!” You gasped softly, a grin finding its way to your face when you saw her cradling her new baby in bed. After the death of your mother, childbirth was a sensitive subject for you and your sister, you hated being apart during this time. She dismissed the women in the room, leaving just the two of you and her first child.

“I’ve decided on Jacaerys.” She smiled at you as you crawled into the bed beside her.

She’d discussed baby name ideas with you before, with Laenor as well, who suggested Joffrey. Rhaenyra was adamantly against it, and you remembered the distaste you felt hearing it, knowing the implications that would come along if they decided on that name. You’d always liked Joffrey actually, unhappy with his death, but almost all of court heard the rumors of he and Laenor. You’d suggested Jacaerys, a Velaryon sounding name. Rhaenyra didn’t seem overly interested, so you didn’t expect her to choose it.

“Oh, Jacaerys.” You cooed, stroking his little head, full of dark locks. That wasn’t good, not really. Hopefully he took after Rhaenyra in his other features, or else questions of his parentage could arise. Rhaenys was half Baratheon, so that could be used as an excuse. But then the baby boy opened his eyes, revealing big brown orbs that mirrored Harwin Strong’s. You liked Harwin quite a bit, not minding. But the court would mind. You and Rhaenyra would just have to protect him.

“Have you slept yet?” You asked your sister, who hasn’t stopped grinning since you first saw her.

“Not yet, dear sister, I cannot stop looking at his sweet face.”

“Has… his father seen him yet?” You both knew who you meant.

“No. But he will soon enough, when I’m well enough to leave the room.” She gave you a knowing smile, which you returned.

Upon leaving Rhaenyra to rest, you were able to successfully escape Ser Jessil’s supervision with the help of Ser Harwin Strong, and went straight to Criston Cole’s chambers. You found out through your favorite handmaiden that he’d been released from the infirmary, and you took the first opportunity that presented itself to you. You didn’t knock before slipping into his room, but you were sure he wouldn’t mind.

Stepping in, your eyes were drawn to his place on the bed immediately. He was lying down above the blankets, with his arm wrapped and splinted in a sling resting above his bare midsection. His ribs were bruised, but it was apparently nothing bad enough that would need wrapping. Both legs were extended out, with his left pant leg pulled up to the knee to reveal his bruised ankle. He didn’t notice you enter, his eyes were shut and he was likely half-asleep. His face was fine, handsome as always, besides a cut on his nose-bridge that was beginning to darken into a bruise.

“Look at you, my poor sweet thing.” You cooed quietly at him suddenly, waking him from his relaxed state. His eyes shot open, head snapping over to the door.

“My princess.” He gasped. His chambers were much smaller and less impressive than yours, he didn’t want you in such an environment.

“Are you well?” You asked, closing the door as quietly as possible, “The maester says you’ve broken bones.”

“I’m well, I swear it to you. It’s a small break in the arm, everything should heal rather quickly.” He tried to reassure you as you approached, struggling his way into a sitting position, his back against the head board.

You hummed at his clumsy movements, stopping to stand at his bedside. Cute. Criston wasn’t an inherently violent man, at least not with you, so it was easy to forget how strong and dangerous he truly was. It was unnerving to see him injured; weak.

“How quickly would you say?” You asked.

“The maester says a month.” He answered quietly, not willing to admit the extent of his injuries. His primary goal was to get back to you.

You knew the Maester had actually said two months.

“Hm. Who will protect me for a whole month in your absence?” You held back a smirk.

You watched as Criston’s body language immediately changed. Clenching and unclenching his jaw, his leg twitched in frustration.

“I am still fully capable.”

Has he always been this attractive or does jealousy just look good on him?

“My father thinks you should take time to heal.”

He scoffed, shaking his head, “I don’t care what he thinks, you saw what I did to my opponent despite my injuries.”

“You ‘don’t care what he thinks’? He is King.” You said in a mock-scolding tone, lifting your knee to rest in against the bed, close to his lap.

“Yours is the only word to mean anything to me. I listen to no King.” Still seated, he leans forward to get closer.

“Though you listen to me? Only me?” You ask with a smile, batting your lashes at him and leaning in. He doesn’t move to kiss you first, he rarely does. He lets you do as you please, feeling the puffs of air from your giggle on his lips.

“Yes. Only you.” He whispers, his eyes begging you to just kiss him already. But nothing is ever that simple with you, and he knows it well.

You grin at him, leaning in until your lips are just grazing his own, before laughing and pulling away entirely. His face followed yours until you were out of reach, leaving him to huff and fall back against the head board once again. He let out a quiet groan, closing his eyes and tossing his head back so he could catch his breath.

“You’re so easy, Ser Criston.” You snickered. His lips quirked up at your joyous tone, but he resisted the urge to open his eyes. After a few moments of stumbling around the room in amusement, you bit your lip to keep quiet.

Criston went stiff when you fell silent, excited fingers beginning to twitch as the urge to touch you increased. But he was a seasoned warrior at this point in life, and could hear every movement you made. He heard you tiptoe back over to the bed before pausing. The mattress dipped as you climbed onto the bed and landed in his lap, straddling his thighs and avoiding his bruised ribs. It was only when you were on top of him that his eyelids fluttered open to watch you. You gave him a satisfied look. He was happy to let you believe you caught him off-guard.

“Criston?”

“Yes, my Heart?”

“There’s something I have to tell you…” You placed your hands gently on his chest and leaned in, your mouth next to his ear, “and you will not like it.”

“You think me incapable of handling such news?” He asked, a bit breathless.

You smiled, “Of course not. You’re my protector, my strong and most loyal servant. You can handle anything I give you, yes?”

He nodded, unable to speak properly with your lips on his ear.

“My father says that Ser Jessil will be your stand-in as my protector.”

Criston’s good hand immediately moved to your waist, gripping it tightly, “You don’t need anyone else to protect you. Only me.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” You kissed his jaw gently, “but you should heal and rest.”

“I will kill him. Do not doubt me.”

“He would just be replaced.”

“I don’t care, I should kill the next as well.”

“You go against my word?” You pulled back, sitting up fully. He hesitated in his response, so you continued, “Ser Jessil will be your temporary replacement, my King father has said this and I have agreed.”

It was a lie, technically; you didn’t exactly agree to anything. But you weren’t about to let Criston believe he had the power here. He’d started to get a bit too bold.

Your faces were close together now, the two of you holding heavy eye contact. Criston said nothing, though his body language revealed his true feelings easily. He didn’t like that you were taking your father’s side over his own.

“I love you.” He blurted out, brows furrowed in emotion.

Your hands moved up to hold his face, “I know that. I just want you well. You must rest and heal so you can be at your best. Don’t you understand?”

Criston nodded slowly, a satisfied shiver running through him at the thought of you caring so much. His health is truly that important to you?

“Good.” You say with a grin, pecking the corner of his lips and reaching up to pat his messy hair down. His long locks grew wild already, but the style worsened from hours of wearing a helmet.

Giving into you, per usual, the Knight sighed and wrapped his good arm fully around your waist, pulling you close so he could tuck his face into your neck. You cooed at him, returning his embrace and giggling in between your praises.

“I know that this upsets you quite a bit,” You began, gasping in surprise when you felt a warm tongue trail over your throat, “but I don’t mind making you feel better.”

“Feel better you say?” He questioned absentmindedly, more focused on the taste of your skin.

You hummed in confirmation, “I can take care of you in places you may need help with. You know….. here?”

Eyes closed, you placed a delicate touch to the bulge in his pants, smiling when you felt him stiffen beneath you.

Criston Cole was always half-hard around you, your presence alone able to rile him up. He often found himself having to control his thoughts when around other people, not wanting them to notice his… state. As much as he wanted to touch you all over— taste you and love you and worship you— he held a higher respect for you than himself. You were not just a Lady, you were a Princess. He would not dishonor you in such a way, at least not until the two of you were married.

“Princess—” he grunted, mouth dropping open in pleasure briefly before pursing his lips. He pulled his upper body away from you slightly, giving you a bit more space to do what you wanted.

“Oh, it’s fine, Ser Criston. I want to.” You reassured, shrugging because you knew he would end up letting you anyways, “You just look so good bruised up like this, all jealous over some loser, nobody Knight.”

You whispered the last sentence harshly, and Criston loved it. He loved when you degraded other men in comparison to him. He was who you wanted, not that loser, nobody Knight. It didn’t matter that he was low-born or sick in the head, you wanted him anyway.

“You prefer me?” He asked looking up at you, “to him? Tell me...”

“I prefer you to him, Ser Criston Cole. I prefer you to all other men.”

Pulling him by his hair, your lips captured his. Whimpering into your mouth, he now does nothing to stop you from reaching your goal. You smile into the kiss at his surrender.

“… but perhaps you’re right.” You pull away from his lips, but stay close enough to tease, “it would be so dishonorable and you’re injured as well. Hm.”

Criston, his mind in shambles, doesn’t say a word, just sucks his teeth and releases a shaky breath. He doesn’t like to argue with you, he won’t. He’s overwhelmed, you’re so close.

“Can’t think.” He muttered so quietly you almost missed it.

A breathy laugh escaped you before you could stop it, “No? And why is that, Ser? Do I possess you so?”

“Possess? Princess, you are torturing me with your affections. I cannot think of anything else, I cannot focus, I cannot stop shaking.” His voice cracked at the last word and he wasn’t lying, his body trembled.

“Do I dominate your dreams as well?”

“Yes.”

You hum, curious. You knew of his fantasies; his plans to run away, marry, and have many children with you. But you never question the details, allowing them to stay fuzzy so he wouldn’t get too ahead with his scheming. Dreams, however, you could create your own world. “Won’t you share them with me?”

“We ah-” he pauses to take a deep breath, likely attempting to control himself, “You call me by name a lot.”

You tilt your head, a bit confused.

“Not Ser, not dog, not thing— just Criston. The sound of my name from your lips is like music to me. It makes me— I never want you to say another’s name ever again. And uh- a daughter. We have a daughter. She looks like you- so much.”

You begin to shift at his words. A daughter? No Westerosi man wishes for a daughter, at least not before a son, “Daughter you say? Why?”

“She will be you, reborn, carrying my blood. I dream of a baby girl that smiles like you. I will call her my little princess as you are my Princess. A child that is ours.”

“A daughter.” You repeated once more. It was… nice to hear a man express desire for a daughter rather than a son. You and Rhaenyra had suffered due to that mindset, spending most of your lives watching your father desperately try for a son, even at the cost of your mother’s life. He no longer felt that way, but it was too late, the damage had been done. He now had Aegon and Aemond, who he didn’t even pay much attention to. Your mother’s life felt wasted.

“Princess—?”

“A sweet thing it is.” You cut him off, “your dreams are endearing. But I must go now, Jessil has no doubt noticed my absence.”

Criston tensed, “Ab—sence” He croaked, jealousy building.

“Mmhm.” I nodded, “I’ve avoided him thus far, impressively. He may report this to my father if I’m gone any longer.”

Just a few minutes more, his mind screams. But he’s good for you, so he only nods. His jaw is clenched and there’s a noticeable twitch in his expression. His fingertips dig into your sides.

“I don’t want to part with you for so long.”

“Perhaps I’ll visit if you behave.”

“He’s clearly a bastard.” Criston spoke quietly, but plainly.

You’d snuck him into your chambers after a long day of cooing over Rhaenyra’s baby boy, Jacaerys. It’d been a couple weeks since his birth and she finally brought him to court for all to see.

“It is treason to suggest such a thing, Ser Cole.” You bitterly defended your sister as you brushed your fair, before rolling your eyes, “And even if it were true, what does it matter who the boy’s father is? He is Rhaenyra’s true son and her heir. The boy is a Targaryen.”

At the risk of upsetting you further, he held his tongue. Being rather low born, Criston grew up having to prove himself through his ability rather than his status. But when he was young, at the end of the day, he was still a rank above bastard children. He had that, at least. He knew that it wasn’t exactly fair, you can’t control who your parents are, but it was a mindset he was raised with and couldn’t shake so easily.

“What if my father marries me off to some Lord I do not love? Are you saying you wouldn’t fuck little bastard babies into me? Babes that look just like you?” You ask him, standing up from your vanity to approach his spot on your bed, feigning innocence.

Face twitching in annoyance, Criston grabbed your wrist and roughly pulled you to his level. With your faces were inches apart, he reached up and gripped your chin. The action made you bite your lip to hide a grin.

“I will be fucking little trueborn babies into you. I’ll make you my wife before giving you children.” He took slight offense to your words. How could you suggest that? You should know he would not let you be married off.

“Oh, of course, My White Knight. You plan to steal me away.”

“Hardly stealing.” He muttered, lovesick eyes staring into yours.

You don’t voice your disagreements, you only laugh. You did not belong to Criston Cole, you belong only to yourself. His words make you think that this game had gone a little too far; he’s getting too confident in his possessiveness. His hesitancy was one of his initial charms for you, and it’s leaving him. Perhaps it’s best to stop entertaining his ideas of a future with you, no matter how cute and pleasant you believe them to be.

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t like it, even just a little?” You tilted your head, his hand still holding your chin softly.

“No.” That’s a lie, maybe just a small amount. Everyone knowing you belong to him, having his kids, despite your status. But the negatives massively outweigh the positives. Not only would it put so much dishonor on you, but Criston isn’t good at controlling his jealousy. He wouldn’t be able to handle you being married to another or his children not having his name.

You smiled knowingly, teasing, “I don’t believe you.”

He released his grasp on your chin, letting you fall closer into him, “I could never be fond of an idea where you are not mine.”

“Well I would be, only secretly.” You pointed out.

“I want you to be mine openly, in every way. By name.”

You knew that wasn’t possible, not even across the sea. But you didn’t want to burst the bubble he’d been constructing for the last year. You let it go. A short silence takes over, not an uncomfortable one, but not the kind you particularly liked. The two of you had extremely different thinking processes, and it was something only amplified when you discussed your ideas for the future. Luckily, your partner was delusional enough that he didn’t notice your discontent with running away.

“Criston?” You ask, letting yourself fall to lie flat beside him. He lets go of your wrist and his eyes follow your moments, as usual. He lies back on the bed as well.

“Yes, my Princess?”

“Why do you desire me the way you do?”

He looked slightly surprised at the question, like he’d never expected you would ask. The truth is, he hadn’t. It wasn’t like you to care why. You were quick to accept things for what they were.

“You’re special to me.” He eventually whispered, “I was made to love you.”

“Made?”

“The gods constructed me only for the purpose of worshipping you. You have bewitched me with no effort. I do not know whether to kiss the ground you walk on or fall to my knees and beg for your continued attention.”

You stare into his big, dark eyes silently. He’s loyal, like a dog. And he’s hopeless like one too. “You’re not exactly a poet, but I suppose that will do.”

He grins, and you can practically feel his heart racing, “Not a poet, no.”

You tear your eyes away from him to glare at the ceiling. “Do not call my nephew a bastard again.”

He tensed at your words, entirely disliking that he’d upset you, and nodded immediately. He was embarrassed, “Yes, my love, I’m sorry.”

You sighed and looked back at him, sitting up once more. “I think you’ll find him charming. Rhaenyra says he reminds her of me already.”

“Well I’m sure to be charmed in that case, aren’t I?”

“Oh, yes, since you’re more than quite charmed by me.”

“Charmed,” He smiled, pupils expanding as he began to fantasize, “I hope to be charmed by our own children one day.”

“Our own?” You entertained, “How many? Including this daughter of ours of course.”

“Five perhaps. More if you’d like.” He took a piece of your hair between his fingers to play with.

“Is that what our lives would look like if you had it your way?”

“If I had it my way,” His eyes shifted back to your own, darkening, “by now you’d be chasing around our first two children as your stomach swelled with our third. You’d be called Lady Cole.”

“Ah, yes. Lady Cole with her many Cole babes.”

Criston had to take a deep breath at that, practically vibrating at the mere thought of you carrying his children and living as his wife.

You giggle at his visible reaction, leaning down to claim his lips. He sighed into the kiss, hesitant hands reaching for your hair. He tugs, trying to urge you closer, onto his lap, “My princess, please.”

“He begs, ‘Please please please’. You are the wantingest man I’ve ever met.” You grin into the kiss, allowing him to take you into his lap.

“I will never have shame in begging you. My life belongs to you, I am yours.” His words are beginning to slur slightly, “It’s only natural for me to be greedy when you are the one who claims my heart.”

“Always trying to impress me with your words,” You playfully roll your eyes, “you’re nearly healed, you know. Ready to return to my side?” It was a lie, he had good a bit left of healing to do.

“I never should have left.” He squirmed, trying not to show his anger. He never left, not willingly. He was removed.

“Of course, of course.” You tugged on the dark hair at the back of his neck, “The man who’s been with me is utterly serious. Neither I nor Rhaenyra like him.”

Criston listened to your complain about your temporary shield with a sense of pride and giddiness. He was relieved you disliked his replacement. But the mention of your sister disliking him as well did nothing for him, as the princess Rhaenyra didn’t like most men surrounding you, Criston himself included. She never vocalized it much, but he noticed when she tensed and sneered when he got too close to you. He wondered if she knew about your relationship.

“I’m more your taste, Princess?”

A grin found its way to your face and you nodded, “That’s right, I can do whatever I please to you and you only bask in my attention.”

He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, argue with that. While he had his own boundaries of sorts, they were completely disregarded in your presence and he didn’t even mind it.

To prove your point, you began to kiss his jaw, sweet and gentle kisses. Criston hummed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back only slightly. You nipped at the delicate skin, comfortable with leaving just a few marks because he was still out of action; not many people would be seeing him anyways.

“G-gods-” he choked out.

“The gods cannot save you, I’m afraid.” You giggle.

“I beg them not to.”

You giggle at his dazed voice and expression, blowing cool air on his neck and enjoying his shiver. His hands keep twitching. Just to tease, you kept your face tucked into him, kitten licking at the skin until you felt something wet hit your cheek. Pulling away slightly, you quickly identified the source of the warm liquid; blood was dripping from Criston’s nose, falling over his lips down to his chin.

“S-sorry, your grace. I’m overwhelmed is all.” He muttered, hand immediately going up to face to stop the dripping. But you only pull his hand away with a smirk.

“You know,” you begin, thumbing some of the blood and smearing it over his lips, “in the way of Old Valyria, we share blood when we marry.”

“Please, please,” he croaks, big dark eyes boring desperately into your own. They’re shiny and lack any coherent thoughts, “Don’t say such things to me now— can’t control myself.”

“We use dragon glass to cut one another’s lip,” you take your bloodied thumb and swipe red onto your bottom lip, “then we kiss to show we are of the same blood now.”

His leg begins to bounce and he has to look away from your face. His nose continues to drip blood, but neither of you move to stop it this time.

“You like that idea~ i can tell because you’re shaking.” You giggle into his ear.

“M’not shaking-” he replies, but even his voice trembles.

“Well you’re bleeding, is that not a sign?” You tilt your head, “perhaps you’re unwell, should I stop?”

Before he can beg you not to stop, his sharp ears catch the sound of clicking armor in the hall. He tenses, almost forgetting he was in the Princess’ chambers; he doesn’t know how when yours was easily three-times the size of his own. There was no need to panic and hide, people were not permitted to just walk in.

Three hard knocks sounded throughout the room, causing Criston to freeze. Your expression didn’t change, as you’d heard the footsteps.

“Who is it? Do not enter please.” You answered, your eyes not leaving your knight’s. As nervous as he was, Criston maintained eye contact and didn’t move a muscle. With a small grin, your hand traveled back up to his chin, which was now smeared with blood. As your fingers traced his features, you leaned in close to his ear to place a few gentle kisses there.

“Princess, it’s Ser Jessil. Your sister, the Princess Rhaenyra, has sent for you. She is… perhaps you should open the door to let me explain. It concerns your safety.”

Your reactions vary; Criston’s posture is still stiff and he’s growing annoyed at the knight’s presence. It’s almost offensive how this pathetic creature is trying to protect you when that’s his job. But you’re worried, though you won’t show it. Rhaenyra? Is something wrong? But something about it didn’t make sense; if your safety was threatened, then why did Rhaenyra know first and why did Jessil bother knocking at all?

“I’d prefer you explain from where you are.”

You could hear his sigh through the door, an impressive feat, “She is suspicious that a knight of the king is sneaking into your chambers.”

Probably because it was true, you thought, glancing at a stiff and unhappy Criston.

“Let me ready myself and I will speak with her at once.” As you began to shift off of your shield, but he only pouted and desperately hung on. He had the mind to keep quiet, but his heart wouldn’t allow you to leave him.

“… Yes, Princess.”

You turned to him sternly, “Let go, Criston. Don’t be foolish, just hide for now and be gone when we leave.” You quietly scolded and his grip loosened.

He clenches his jaw, the most common hint to his annoyance, and said nothing. He allowed you to pull him up by the hand and drag him over to your wardrobe, shutting him in with a last apologetic kiss.

“Be good.” You uttered, and his gaze softened for a moment before the door shut in his face.

He could hear you shuffle around, dressing quickly to see your sister. He sucked his teeth angry. Did he deserve mistreatment? To an extent, yes, he could admit that. But this wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t you just— stay? Tell him to kill that bothersome knight and be done with him entirely. His fists clenched. He’d kill him— and soon. Right now even. Then he’d take you away and give you a nice little home with sweet little silver-haired babies. Criston was growing sick of waiting, it was eating him up inside. You affected him so severely, it was showing itself physically. He brought a hand up to the crimson liquid that had finally stopped leaking from his nose.

You were gone now— he knew this because he could feel when you were near. But someone was in your chambers, someone closer to his size. He could hear the metal clanking of heavy armor. The person was looking for something, an intruder most likely. But Criston was not the intruder here. The idea of someone who wasn’t him being in your space made him burn with anger. That was fine, he decided, he’d handle it. With balled up fists, he stepped out from the wardrobe.

“Has Ser Jessil been good to you, little sister?”

You shrugged at Rhaenyra, your chin resting in your hand as you leaned on the table. It wasn’t polite, but you were comfortable in her presence, “He’s fine, I suppose.”

“But you prefer that dog of yours.” Your sister teased. You could tell she didn’t like that— didn’t like Criston. You understood.

“He’s good, listens well.”

“Not for long— I can see it well. He’s a sick thing, sister.”

“I can handle him, he does as I ask.”

“He’s greedy, an oath breaker.”

You hummed in agreement, “He has pretty eyes.”

Rhaenyra scoffed with a grin at your reply, “He will try to steal you away. Not just that, but he’s also obvious. Painfully so. If I know, someone else does too. He needs to be put out. Be rid of him.”

“I… understand that he’s got troublesome feelings. But he’s become something of a pet to me now.” You pouted and your sister sighed, not fond of upsetting you.

“When I ascend the throne, he will be gone. I worry he’ll be your downfall.” She wasn’t being dramatic, she’d disliked the man for years and saw every bit of concerning behavior he displayed. She saw clearly his desperation to leave with you. When it comes time for you to marry, he’ll go mad.

You knew whatever you had with Criston wasn’t permanent, but to hear your elder sister give away her intentions of getting rid of him really struck you. “He’s brainless, Rhaenyra. Just a dog, truly. He can hardly read. He’s only a threat physically, and he would never hurt me.”

Rhaenyra sighed, wrinkling her nose in distaste for the man. She used to be like you, still was sometimes, but she would protect you from her mistakes. She would not allow any whispers at court of you being a whore and your children being bastards, not like her. Since the birth of Jacaerys, she’d grown just a bit more serious, and much more protective.

“You needn’t be literate to kill a man.” She replied after a brief silence.

You held back a huff. The truth was that Criston could read fine these days, though not nearly at the level you could. You’d only said that to give the illusion of harmlessness. Unfortunately, Rhaenyra would never buy it; she had seen the knights he’d bloodied during tournaments.

“I’ll be harder on him then, perhaps add a bit of distance. But, sister, he is important. As a member of the Kingsguard, his support and loyalty will aid your claim. One more soldier on our side— a good one.”

“I will not sacrifice you for my cause.”

“I’ve told you, he will not harm me—”

“It’s more complex than that—!”

It felt like you were 13 and 14 again, bickering over something that was caused by your sisters protectiveness.

No, you will not be coming with me. You will sleep in your bed and I will wake you myself come morning!

If that stable boy looks at you that way again, I will have father or Uncle Daemon take his eyes— probably Daemon.

No, sister. You are mad if you think I’m letting you anywhere near a wild dragon—!

You sometimes think that Criston and Rhaenyra hate one another because they are a bit similar.

“Nyra,” you groaned, head in hands, “I will fix it, you’re right, he has become a bit… extreme lately. But you must admit he’d be beneficial to our cause.”

Although Rhaenyra was legally the heir to the throne, there were already whispers of putting Alicent’s son, Aegon, on the throne in her place. Criston wasn’t very powerful politically, but he was a brilliant fighter and his words as a Kingsguard held just a bit of sway.

She furrowed her brows, “You’re too fond of him.”

You shrugged, standing up, “Perhaps. But I’m no fool; you come first. I will never flee with him.”

“And when he realizes that?”

You didn’t have an answer. You passed Harwin Strong on your way out, and bit your tongue to stop myself from calling out the hypocrisy.

What was the difference between her and Harwin vs you and Criston?

Well for starters, Harwin didn’t murder any man who entered Rhaenyra’s vicinity. Criston on the other hand…

By the time you returned to your chambers, the entire stone floor was red, the liquid seeping into your intricate carpet you’d had since you were a child. There was no body, suggesting that Criston had already gotten rid of it or the victim managed to escape. (But that was unlikely, Criston was a beast in a fight, and his temper was unmatched.)

“Princess.” Criston croaked from behind you, in the open doorway. He’d just arrived, and it took only one glance at him to know what he’d done. Blood covered his hands, arms, and chest. It was splattered from his face all the way down to his knees. He was in his civilian clothes still, rather than any armor due to being put on leave. His eyes were shiny, some sense of desperation in them, and he was fiddling with his red hands. Nervous. Why were you back so early? The sling for his arm was gone, though he surely still needed it.

“Is—” You cleared your throat. “Is he alive?”

But judging by the brain matter on the ground, you knew the answer was—

“No.” Direct and honest. He took a few steps forward, shutting the door behind him. You weren’t scared of him necessarily— you knew well enough at this point that he’d never hurt you. But he didn’t look quite human at the moment, so you took a step back.

Your simple shuffle backwards was enough to send him into a panic.

He dropped to his knees, blood soaking into his breeches as he inched closer, “My love— he was threat! He would’ve found me in here—” He babbled on about protecting you, begging for you not to be afraid. You let him talk, focused on the blood.

“Clean this up.” You finally muttered, patting him quickly on the head to avoid soaking yourself with the crimson liquid.

As much as a part of you wanted to coo at him ‘good dog’, you couldn’t. This was messy— emotional and obvious. Risky. He was a bad dog, a stupid one even. He wasn’t like Harwin— manageable. He was something else entirely. You liked him how he was, violently loyal and protective, but you couldn’t have it.

He quickly agreed to clean it and began to calm down, which led him to notice your own unease. He flinched when he saw how much blood seeped into your shoes and skirt, pulling you into his arms and placing you on your favorite stool.

He was cooing at you, “Sweet Princess, don’t worry about this, yes? I’ll rid you completely of this man, I swear it. I allowed his blood to soil your clothes, I’m sorry.”

Criston kissed at your collar bones down your arms to your palms.

“Criston,” his eyes shot up to meet yours. Big brown heart eyes. “No more of this, not in this castle.”

His hands tightened slightly around your wrists, “But you like it.” He muttered.

“It isn’t about that—!” You held your tongue, deciding to take a smarter approach, “My sweet Criston, the people in the Keep will soon notice a pattern, I cannot let that happen. My sister needs nothing in her way of that crown.”

He nearly scoffed, “Is it always about your sister and her crown? I have protected you again! From-from these perverts who wish to—”

“You’re the pervert-!”

“You love me! You love it! How you affect me— how you can physically see every thought that goes through my head about you! You love how perverted I am for only you! I see you— I love every part of you, even the part that gets off on a Kingsguard soiling his cloak for you!” Criston was shaking, “I am sick, and you cannot get enough! Just as I will never tire of you— I need you!”

There was silence, besides his heavy breathing. You didn’t expect such self-awareness, and you didn’t like it. You liked him better dumb, but it appeared he never was fully clueless. His brown eyes were wide and a shade darker than usual.

“Sit.” You commanded and he did, “Just clean this up.”

[taglist] @3abydolll @pearlstiare @caramelcandescence @eilishchaos @watercolorskyy

The Rhaenyra/Criston beef is gonna go crazy in the prequel

im hoping you guys noticed, but this chapter was meant to emphasize the lack of control the reader truly has on criston. like yeah, he worships you and is willing to do almost anything you say, but his urges control him more than anything else ever will. this is going to be a common theme in the future. i also wanted this chapter to show more daily life and readers relationship with rhaenyra compared to part i.

#dark! hotd #yandere hotd #hotd x reader #got x reader #yandere got #yandere criston cole #yandere asoiaf #criston cole #criston cole x reader #obsessive criston cole #dark criston cole #ser criston #targaryen reader

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its-time-to-write · 1 year ago

Text

this is 100% self indulgent. no one asked for this except me and I have zero excuse for how it turned out. i have no defense, no witty rebuttal, no nothing. i wrote this because i wanted to, and at the very least i hope this inspires someone to write their borderline-self-insert fic and post it publicly.

this fic is set after season 3. enjoy😂

(oh now might also be a good time to mention how much I love Man City. bc it’s a lot.)

can’t hear my thoughts (i cannot hear my thoughts)

Calling Lake Como beautiful is like saying space is big. It’s true for sure, but it feels like an understatement. It’s June and the weather is absolutely gorgeous, perfect for the wedding you’re attending. It’s for two good friends of yours, and it’s going to be a party full of football royalty. You’re mostly excited to see friends who are WAGs from other teams who you’ve connected with over the past year and a half.

Oh, and you suppose it will be a nice vacation with Jamie, too.

You’re staying at a beautiful hotel that’s been open since 1910, and you swear you’ll never stay somewhere as beautiful again.

“Getting ideas for the house?” Jamie teases, and it sends a thrill down your spine with the way he refers to his house as your collective home.

You grin as he spins you around the Suite Greta. Everything is golden, from the drapes to the pillows to the sun catching on his face.

“No,” you reply, “but maybe for a vacation home?”

Jamie laughs as he catches you up in his arms. “I could see us here in the next off-season. Not sure we’d get out much,” he muses and you wrap your arms around him as tight as they can go.

You’re here for a full week but Isaac’s wedding is only one day. You and Jamie have plans to see everyone who’s in town, as well as have some time to yourself.

“Sasha wants to go out for dinner tonight,” you tell Jamie as he unpacks his suitcase.

“Girls only, or will Jack be there?”

“Let’s see,” you hum as you scan the group chat. “Isabel said she and Erling will be there, so looks like it’s a couple’s thing. That’ll be fun, right?” you ask with just a hint of anxiety. Jamie and Jack are friends, they’ve run in the same circles for years, but you’re not sure how he’s going to feel about being outnumbered two to one, City to Richmond, at dinner.

“As long as Rodri ain’t there, I’m fucking chuffed,” he says as he lays out his suit on the bed.

“Chuffed? Is that a thing you say now?” you ask, flat on your back on the bed.

“Yep,” he replies. “I’m posh now, babe. Sorry you Americans can’t do it as well as we Brits.”

“I have it on good authority that we do it very well,” you smirk. “But I don’t think that’s something you’ll get to experience tonight. I haven’t seen Sash or Isa in ages, so we’ll probably talk for a long time and then I’ll be tired when we get back to the room.”

Jamie groans. “You’re sadistic, woman. The shit you put me through.”

You smile and remind him, “You’re the one who picked me, remember?”

—

Jamie is technically the one who picked you. You had just moved from America to London, got a temp job at a Richmond FC, and the rest is history. You don’t work at Richmond anymore, haven’t for a while, as you’ve been able to start your own thing in between attending matches and events and whatever else Jamie’s invited to. Being Jamie’s girlfriend is a full-time job on its own, and he definitely spoils you beyond what you’re used to. He’s the one who bought your dress for the wedding and it freaked you out just a little bit until you called Sasha (an angel, by the way) who laughed and talked you off the ledge.

“Comes with the territory, babe. They’re just boys with more money than they know what to do with. Jack’d buy me the moon if he could figure out how. Enjoy it. It’s been a while since anyone’s seen Tartt this happy.”

So you do. You had been living together for almost a year now so you’d think that a dress wouldn’t push you over the edge, but there you go. You’re trying to be calmer about it. It’s better ever since you met Sasha and Isabel.

You had been stuck in a room while Jamie talked to his old manager, and they had noticed your deer-in-the-headlights expression. You’re right in the middle of the two, age-wise, and from similar enough backgrounds.

“Here’s my number. Come over to my flat tomorrow for brunch. We’ll get you settled, babes,” Sasha had said. You went and it had been amazing to finally make real friends, even if they were technically on the opposing team.

You’re excited to see them, excited for Isaac to finally get married, and excited to spend a full seven days with Jamie by your side. It’s going to be the best.

—

You enter the venue arm-in-arm with Jamie, practically dancing across the grass. The sun’s shining and there are all sorts of people you know and love. It feels a little surreal to be here.

Earlier, back in the room, you had slipped into your dress carefully to avoid getting makeup stains on the front. The skirt fell just at your knees and puffed out ever so slightly, with thick straps instead of regular sleeves so you could fully enjoy the warm weather.

“Do a spin,” he had said, voice full of glee. You’d acquiesced, twirling around to let the blue tile print billow out before he caught you, kissing your shoulder so as not to ruin your makeup.

Now, you’re holding onto him and trying not to wrinkle his linen suit when you hear someone shout your name.

“Sasha!” you screech, running toward her as best you can with your shoes on the grass. You squeeze each other into a tight hug, uncaring about about the state of her hot pink dress.

“Hey man,” Jack says to Jamie, who grins and shakes his hand. “You’d think they haven’t seen each other in fucking ages.”

“It’s been twelve hours,” you say. “And before that it’s been like two months. Anyway, don’t you two have some football to discuss or something? Or headbands? Or-”

“Really short socks,” Sasha helpfully supplies.

Jamie shakes his head. “Fuck off, Attwood.”

“Fuck you, Tartt,” she replies.

“Oi, you two wouldn’t even be friends if it weren’t for me. You could be a little nicer,” Jamie says.

“Oh is that Hughes?” Jack asks before either Sasha or Jamie can escalate. Their entire friendship is based off sniping one another and neither you nor Jack are particularly in the mood for it today.

Jamie turns to look. “Oh mint, looks like things are starting. You saved us seats?”

“Yeah, with Haaland and Isabel,” Sasha returns, linking her arm through yours. “C’mon, did you get yourself a parasol?”

—

It’s the most beautiful wedding you’ve ever been to. Stella looks stunning in her gown, Isaac stoically sobs his eyes out while Colin surreptitiously hands him a tissue. Even Roy seems to be having a good time, but then again Keeley once told you that he “really fucking loves weddings.” You hadn’t believed her, but his lips are in a straight line instead of a frown so maybe she was right.

There’s a group of City and Richmond players together, and it’s a little strange to see how friendly they are off the pitch. Dani is explaining something with lots of hand gestures to Phil while the rest of the group jokes around.

Sasha sneaked you and Isabel away to get drinks for yourselves and you were about to get away unnoticed when Erling caught Isabel’s arm and asked for a drink too, so now you’re ordering for your boyfriends as well as yourselves.

You don’t really care, there’s a part of you that’s reveling in the sheer joy of being young and hot. Sue you.

“Cosmo, please,” you say while the girls order drinks of their own. Sasha raises an eyebrow so you shrug and say, “Jamie likes what he likes.”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs “Tartt,” but it’s with the affection of an older sister so you elbow her and ask, “What did Jack want?”

She makes a face. “Heineken. He also likes what he fuckin’ likes.”

You wheeze out a laugh as Isabel comes to join you. She smiles as she sips from something lavender colored in a martini glass. She cuts an elegant figure in her yellow, billowy dress. You smooth your dress and open your mouth to say something when a voice calls your name. You look to see your ex walking up, hand-in-hand with his wife. You know, the one he left you for.

“Jake,” you say in surprise. God, you need your brain to form coherent thoughts right now. “What are you doing here?”

He grins, far too wide and goofy to be real. Not like Jamie, you think.

“Oh, you know, Emma’s loosely related to the bride on her dad’s side. She asked for an invite, so here we are. Who are you here for? Bride or groom?”

“Both, actually,” you reply automatically. Jake’s words are grating, not so much in content as they are in tone. He always had a way of saying things condescendingly, like everyone else was a stupid little kid.

“Oh,” he says in what you think is supposed to be surprise, “that’s funny. I didn’t know you knew anyone out here. You’ve been living in England all alone, right?”

Emma just hovers by Jake’s shoulder. She’s not contributing anything to this conversation except a snooty little smirk.

“No,” you say. “I’m not alone. This is Isabel, by the way.” You look around for Sasha, but she’s disappeared. Smart girl.

Isa doesn’t extend her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says and Jake takes her at her word. He puffs up his chest a little bit as he asks, “Where are you from? You don’t sound British.”

“We’re from Norway,” a voice behind her says. “I’m Erling.”

Sasha has reappeared with Jack, Erling, and Jamie in tow. You mentally congratulate her with a well done, Sash as you feel Jamie’s arm loop around your waist.

He feels like a solid wall against your back, a glimmer in an otherwise garbage moment.

Jake takes stock of the three men who are looking at him with less-than friendly stares. You’re not sure what Sasha told them, but you’re absolutely positive Jamie recognizes Jake. You can practically feel the hairs on his arm bristling.

Jake finishes his assessment and deems it appropriate to talk. “So, how do you all know each other?”

Jamie scoffs and looks away, while Jack stares at Jake like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

You wonder what it is with your affinity for J-names.

“We’re footballers,” Erling says before anyone can take more offense.

“Premier League footballers,” Jamie adds, as if it means anything to Jake.

Jake’s American, like you, and he’s never been much for sports anyway. He wouldn’t even recognize David Beckham if the man were standing under a poster of himself.

Jake says, “Right. Hey, weren’t you on one of those trashy dating shows?” and Jamie stiffens.

Sasha mutters, “Fuck’s sake,” under her breath as Erling and Isabel take pointed interest in something in the distance.

“No,” Jamie replies shortly. “The fuck were you talking to my girl?”

Jake looks to you in surprise. “Oh! You two are together? That’s… well, that’s… I guess I just didn’t expect her to be whoring around like that. But hey, move to another country and all morals go out the window, right?”

That’s the thing about Jake. He never speaks as if he’s actually trying to be offensive. He just says what’s on his mind. And you’re a little concerned that what’s on his mind is going to land Jamie (and quite possible Jack) in jail. Neither of them are especially known for backing down from a squabble. “Cut from the same cloth,” Pep was rumored to say.

“Fuck off, mate,” Jack interjects. “Just fuck off. Everyone here loves her, and you can’t talk about her like that.”

Your ex reevaluates the situation at hand and decides the best thing to do would be to take Emma’s hand and walk away.

“Strange that his wife does not speak,” Erling remarks.

You grimace. “You could’ve stopped at ‘strange.’ No idea what I ever saw in him.”

Jamie has a crushing grip on your waist so you wiggle a bit to get him to loosen up.

“Prick,” he mutters. “How the fuck did he even get here, anyway? He’s in fucking America.”

“His wife’s loosely related to Stella. They asked for an invite,” Isabel volunteers.

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Oi, if he tries to talk to you again, I’ll grab Roy and we’ll fucking kill him.”

“Yeah, ‘cause McAdoo’s never been above a little violence at a party,” Jack grins.

You return his smile and say, “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure his mother-in-law would kill you.”

Erling huffs out a laugh. “Never a dull moment in the Premier League, is there?”

Isabel grins and loops her arm through his. “I’m tired of all this,” she says. “Let’s go dancing. There’s a band and we don’t have to think about anything other than celebrating, yes?”

“God yes,” says Sasha.

Jamie still looks murderous, but you squeeze his hand once and whisper, “I’m fine, babe. It’s fine.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but he lets you pull him along to the dance floor with the group.

—

There are so many people that you don’t even catch a glimpse of Jake and Emma. You’re not sure what they’re up to, and fairly certain they don’t know anyone else here. You on the other hand, are living your best life as Jamie sings along to “Ain’t No Mountain.” He’s swinging your arms around as he sways in time to the music. You just let him lead you however he wants. The song ends and he presses his lips to your ear so you can hear him over the sheer volume of everyone talking. “D’you want a drink? I can go get you something.”

You nod and mouth my usual, please, so he salutes and begins weaving his way through the crowd. You watch him as long as you can before spinning back around with a smile.

A smile that quickly fades when you realize Emma is right in front of you.

She says, “Cute dress,” and for a moment, you believe she’s being sincere but then she follows it up with, “Did you borrow it from your grandma’s closet? I’ve seen people do that.”

Right, because grandmas are known for wearing dresses like this.

“What? No, Jamie got it for me,” you say.

“Oh cute, is it from Walmart? I think I saw something like it there last week.”

Emma is trying to draw blood. You suppose she’s taking her shot now as opposed to back then because she thinks there’s no one around to call her out. No one who knows her.

You say, “They don’t have Walmart here,” instead of “It’s Dolce & Gabbana,” because the second phrase would make you sound like a prick. There’s a part of you that wants to be a prick, though, wants to channel that part of Jamie that’s ruthless, vicious and cruel, messing with the opposition before he cuts them down.

The first time you saw it, it was hard to believe the Jamie on the pitch was the same Jamie who played with your hair while you cooked, or put a sticky note on his fridge titled “Babe,” detailing everything you’d ever said you liked.

Emma sees she’s not getting to you, so she changes tactics. “Must be hard being here without any friends,” she remarks. “All alone. And you’ve never been especially extraverted. Are those people the only ones here you know?”

God, Jamie, where are you?

You open your mouth to respond but are cut off by someone with a distinctly midwestern twang say, “I heard one of my favorite countrywomen was here.”

You turn to see Ted Lasso grinning at you in a black suit. It’s the same smile you remember, albeit his eyes are a little sharp. You’d bet anything he knows exactly what’s going on between you and Emma.

“Ted!” you smile as a rush of relief floods your system. You step into his arms for a hug as he says, “Hey, sweetheart. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know,” you say. “Kind of great, actually. I wondered if you were going to be here! Have you seen Jamie yet?”

Ted shakes his head. “Y’know, I haven’t. Why don’t we find him together?” He offers you an arm and you take it gratefully, choosing not to spare Emma a glance.

“She seems like a real bucket of laughs,” Ted remarks.

“You have no idea. That’s my ex’s wife.”

Whatever Ted thought you were going to say, he certainly wasn’t prepared for that. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before settling on a short, “Well I’ll be danged.”

You laugh and stand on tiptoes to try to see Jamie. You don’t see him, but you catch a glimpse of an especially tall, blond head.

“This way,” you tell Ted. You brush past Phil who smiles at you, past Colin and Michael, and past someone you’re pretty sure is a Beckham.

You make your way to Erling and Isabel as they dance to the music in their own corner.

You frown. “Have you seen Jamie?” you shout.

Isabel shakes her head. “He was looking for you,” she calls back.

“Oh,” you say, “Ted, this is Isabel and-”

“Erling Haaland,” Ted says, hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you, son. Big fan of the way you play the game.”

You miss Erling’s response, startled by a hand on your shoulder. You turn to see Sam standing behind you.

“Sam!” you exclaim with a grin, “You look so handsome!”

Sam returns your grin and strikes a pose. “I’ve been sent on a very important mission. I am to retrieve you and bring you to Jamie and I am under no circumstances allowed to let a small rat man named Jake speak to you.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Jamie’s words, not mine,” Sam clarifies. “Although I must admit, I have seen this rat man. I do not like him very much.”

“You and me both,” you agree. You wave to Isabel and pat Ted on the arm before following Sam.

He leads you away from the crowd of people to a stone path illuminated by small lights. This can’t be right, you think but Sam points down the path and says, “This is where I leave you.”

He turns to leave then changes his mind and spins back around. “It was lovely seeing you today, albeit for a short amount of time. I hope I will be seeing more of you while we are here. It is not often I meet someone who makes Jamie more tolerable.”

He speaks with a touch of humor and it’s just enough to dispel any apprehensions about what’s waiting for you in the dark.

You say, “Thanks Sam. Love ya,” which he returns before he disappears back to the main party.

You take a breath and head down the steps.

It’s dark, the light barely shining enough for each step, but as you get farther you see a shadowy figure sitting on a bench under a tree. You smile. You can tell exactly who it is by his silhouette.

Jamie stands as you get closer and pulls you into his arms.

“Thought we’d sneak away to make out a bit,” he says. “And maybe to you wouldn’t yell at me in front of all our friends.”

You groan. “What did you do? Please tell me it has nothing to do with Roy. Or Jack. Oh my god, did you two start convincing people you were separated at birth again? Because it’s really only funny one time.”

“Well…” Jamie hedges.

You pinch his back. It’s the only part of him you can reach at the moment. “Jamie Tartt, you’d better tell me what you did right now or so help me you are going to be sleeping on the couch for the rest of our lives.”

“Oi, don’t fucking do that!”

He reaches back to grab your hands and holds them flat on his chest. “We- Roy, Grealish, and me, might have gotten your prick ex kicked out.”

“You what?” you gasp.

Jamie starts speaking in a rush before you can say anything else. “Look, y’know how protective Grealish gets, especially because Sasha fucking loves you, and then Roy heard that your prick ex was here (not the twat ex) and he said it’s easier for him to get in and out of fights on account of him being a fucking manager but then Grealish said that it’s pretty much expected that fights happen so might as well and anyway, no one’s gonna fuckin’ snitch on any of us because (hate to break it to you babe), but you’re, like, everyone’s kid sister. They’d fucking kill for you so it’s possible that we channeled that into threatening to break all of his bones if he ever ended up in the same country as you again.”

You’re processing all of the things Jamie said plus the incredible speed at which he said them, so all you can manage is a single “Okay,” before he’s talking again.

“Ehm, it’s also slightly-fucking-possible that someone did break his foot.”

“What?” you all but shout.

“Coordinated effort between Isa and Haaland,” Jamie says. “Lad’s a fucking wall, don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

“Jesus, Jamie,” you groan. “I don’t know if I should kiss you or pinch you again.”

“You can do both,” he suggests.

You sigh. “I’m going to kiss you. Like, a lot. And I’m not going to worry about getting caught and after we’ve snogged like a pair of kids in high school- sorry, secondary school, then we’re going to eat a bunch more food and dance with our friends. And if you want to get sloshed, I promise I will only take funny videos for myself, and I will not send them to your mum this time.”

Jamie says, “Liar,” as he kisses the tip of your nose.

“Fine,” you concede, “I will most definitely send them to your mum. And Simon. We’re on a group chat.”

“Not even gonna fucking ask,” Jamie says as he threads a hand through your hair so he can get at a better angle to kiss you.

—

You wake up the next morning (ahem, afternoon) to Jamie’s foot in your face.

“Excuse me, sir,” you say.

He hiccups himself awake. “Yeah?” he rumbles. “What fucking time..?”

“Late, I assume,” you say.

He groans and flips himself around so your heads are on the same side of the bed. He wastes no time in tangling your limbs together.

“Oi, koala boy. Some of us have morning breath.”

“No y’don’t babe,” he mumbles.

You scratch his head and a shudder runs through his body. “I know,” you say, “my breath is perfect. I meant you. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Cruel woman,” he returns before lapsing into silence. The sun slips through the curtains, and you’re sure it’s going to be another gorgeous day

“Jamie,” you begin then stop.

He says, “Yeah, love?” while looking up at you with his gorgeous blue eyes and you take a moment to freeze this image in your head.

Jamie Tartt, in bed, hair tousled from sleep. Pillowy white duvet, golden freckled skin, warm body pressed to yours.

He kisses your shoulder, rousing you from your thoughts.

“Jamie,” you say again, “I wanted to say-”

“Don’t,” he interjects. “You’re not fucking allowed to say thank you for the bare fucking minimum.”

“But it’s not,” you reply, opting to skate over the fact that he apparently can read your mind. “Bare minimum is like, making sure I’m not alone with him, not getting your friends together to scare him off and break his foot.”

Jamie’s been kissing your skin wherever he can reach as you speak, so his words are interspersed with pecks. “Technically, the foot was an accident. Ask any one of our witnesses. And besides, they’re your friends too. You’re the one who got ‘em all to like ya despite the fact we’re mortal enemies on the pitch.”

“You’re the one who goes tanning with Jack,” you remind him.

“Lies told by the press,” Jamie grumbles. “This is my natural sexy glow.”

You say, “Okay little British boy,” as Jamie decides that his current position is not enough and he wants to lay on top of you.

He says something but his face is buried in the crook of your neck, so all you can feel is vibrations.

You ask, “Hm?” so he lifts his head.

“What if it were us next year?”

“Tanning or breaking feet?”

“Getting married.”

Jamie goes back to having his mouth on your neck as if the air weren’t just punched from your lungs.

You’re quiet long enough that he lifts his head again to ask, “Is that good quiet or bad quiet?”

“Good!” you hastily confirm. “Good, but, babe- you haven’t even asked me yet.”

He says, “I’m going to,” as if you should have known already.

“Okay,” you breathe, “can you give me like a little heads up or something so my nails are done?”

“Uh-huh,” he says, “At the end of the week. Been planning it. Ring’s in my bag, even asked Stella if she’d be pissed that it’s the same week she took on the most un-sexy last name in history. She said she don’t give a shit as long as it’s not at her actual wedding. So.”

“I love you,” you tell him. “Not just because of yesterday or right now. I just think you’re great.”

“I am great, babe,” he says like it’s obvious. “Picked you, didn’t I?”

You crack a smile. “Alright, that’s enough out of you. Do you want to get out of bed or go back to sleep?”

“Sleep,” he replies immediately.

“Thank God,” you groan, “I didn’t want to move. You’re like a weighted blanket.”

“It’s me sexy muscles,” Jamie says. You wiggle under him to get more comfortable.

“Uh huh,” you agree, but the words are hardly out of your mouth before you’re both back to sleep.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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nowoyas · 7 months ago

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I don't think we can put this in the sports column (NSFW) - karasuno/reader

m.list - read on ao3

A/N: wrote this months ago. didn't edit it for ages bc I thought it would suck to edit. it didn't suck to edit it fucking rocked and I'm never questioning myself again hell yeah

Summary: You infiltrate Karasuno's volleyball club for the university paper and take to bed a few of the rumors you've heard.

Warnings: smut, orgy/gangbang, oral sex, fingering, handjobs, double penetration, spitroasting, creampies, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, uhhhhh marking, exhibitionism, accidental voyeurism, overstimulation, light dom/sub stuff (submissive reader), uhhhhhh there's. there's a lot going on here guys. I wasn't fucking around when I said karasuno gangbang.

Word count: ~7000

It’s the night before your first game since you started this little investigation, and you are pressed flat against the wall outside the gym, a hand firm against your mouth in a desperate attempt to not make a noise.

There’d been rumors, sure. And yeah, you were here to investigate those rumors.

Karasuno is such a good team. They’ve gotta be doing some crazy shit to be that close and play that well, though.

That had been the… family-friendly version of the rumors. The more salacious of them had gone into detail you’d blushed too hard to repeat—images of working out issues with clothes off and loud gasps and—

Okay, chill. You’re a journalist. This is nothing.

(Okay, you’re a journalism major, technically speaking. But you need to get used to these things. It’s not like you’ve never had sex before.)

You had enmeshed yourself in the Karasuno University volleyball team after picking up the scent of those rumors about a month ago. Most of the rumors, you thought, were too stupid to entertain. It’s not like they were actually partaking in witchcraft to win games. That would be completely stupid. You assumed, honestly, that they had just clicked. Yeah, it didn’t really seem like everyone got along—the freshmen were constantly at each other’s throats, the captain had his hands full reigning in half the team comprised of spitfires, and there was at least one guy who seemed to believe his job on the team was to piss off as many of his teammates as possible. The only ones safe seemed to be the seniors and the girls, of which there were three if you counted yourself.

So far, it had seemed to be that there was no version of the rumor that was true—no, there were no blood sacrifices, yes, they did sometimes sleep, no, there were no crazy orgies in place to encourage team bonding, and no, they did not seem to be some sort of micro-cult. Disappointing for your article though it was, they had welcomed you in with almost no resistance, and you had found nothing out of the ordinary. They were just… normal athletes. Maybe a bit more passionate than most, but… normal.

Except. Except.

Here you are, the night before they have a match, listening to wet squelches and distinct slaps and what is undoubtedly moaning, unable to figure out exactly who the moans are coming from except that there’s definitely more than two people involved in whatever’s happening inside that gym, and fighting back the urge to peek through the cracked door and figure out exactly what the fuck is going on. (Or, uh, who the fuck is getting it on.)

Fuck. Are they seriously… seriously fucking in the gym right now?

There’s the burning shame of having caught them. The absolute mortification of knowing that you’re sitting there listening to them have sex with reckless abandon. You should be uncomfortable, but instead, you catch yourself squeezing your thighs together.

A particularly loud moan catches you off guard, and you jerk your finger from your mouth—when had you started biting it to keep quiet?—and flee while you still have the chance.

(As far as anyone else is concerned, when you’re safe within the confines of your single-person dorm room, there’s no proof to say that you snaked a hand down your pants, still thinking of that brightly-lit gym, of the idea of having been caught listening to them, of being pulled inside and—

There’s no proof.)

The day-to-day doesn’t change. You don’t let it. The guys played their match, and they won, and it was great. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t smiling as they won, and your report for the sports column of the university paper was more than glowing. They’re a really fun team to watch, more so now that you know them—even if you’re now taking every effort in your head to not act like a total freak around them.

Honestly, you even think you're doing a pretty good job of it. You pretended not to notice the smell in the gym the morning after The Event—faint though it was, there was undeniably the hint of sex still in the air—you forced down any errant thoughts around them, and you didn't breathe so much as a word to anyone about it. What does it matter if they're having orgies or whatever the night before a game? What does it matter at all?

Luckily, you spend more time talking to the girls than anything—Shimizu and Yachi are becoming fast friends with you, you think out of an eagerness to have another girl around in a large group of guys. They're easier to talk to, too, since you don't recall hearing any particularly feminine moans during The Event. It's possible they have no idea. Possible that they, too, think things are normal. (Or else, they're the source of the orgy rumors, but neither seems much like the type.) They tell you innocuous little things about the team, like that time Hinata and Kageyama were so focused on their little rivalry that they ran clear to the next town before realizing they'd lost the rest of the team, and you get caught up in much-needed girl talk when you go out to eat together. Little debates on birth control, on dating, on whether or not that one psych professor can get it.

By the time the next game rolls around, you've nearly re-assimilated into the concept of a normal life. It’s really not a big deal, anyways—people have sex. It’s normal.

“Well, [name],” Daichi says towards the end of practice one day, about a week before. “You were only going to be here for a few weeks, right? How have you liked it?”

You nod, polite smile decorating your lips. “It’s been really enjoyable! It’s a bit sad that I won’t be around after the next game, honestly. You guys are really fun to be around.”

“Hmm?” Tsukishima says, an eyebrow raised your way. At some point, you seem to have captured the attention of everyone in the room, though you’re not quite sure what you did. You can sense their eyes on you though—a few of the more open guys stare, a few of the more polite ones glance out of the corners of their eyes. You’re stuck in the spotlight as Tsukishima takes a step towards you.

Why does one step suddenly feel so dangerous?

“You know, I’m sure no one here would stop you if you decided to stay.”

Yeah, your blood’s running cold. You get a firm grip on your brain in hopes of not horribly misinterpreting everything that’s going on, but—

“You confirmed the information you were looking for, right? Two weeks ago, hanging around outside the gym before the game.”

Ah.

Your face isn’t sure whether it wants to go pale or erupt in a furious blush. You, for your part, scramble for an answer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t? Are you that dense, or are you lying to us?”

A tiny squeak passes from your throat. “W-what’re you—“

“I was expecting something to show up in the school paper by now, but instead we just got a glowing column about how well we played the next day. Not a word of it. Why is that?”

“Oi, Tsukishima, aren’t you laying it on a bit thick?” one of the others says.

“It’s fine,” he replies, looking down at you as you look down at the floor. “Well, [name]? I’m waiting, Miss Reporter.”

The words burn a path down to your crotch, and you are absolutely not losing here, not now. You’ve just decided that. You meet his eye with a determined look. “I run the sports column, not the gossip column, Tsukishima. It hardly matters to me what you guys are getting up to—“

“You’re blushing, though. And you had to have heard before getting wrapped up in this, right? I’m comfortable speaking for everyone here when I say you can really find out the truth, if you want.”

“H-huh?”

He’s boxed you in, your back hitting the wall. Nowhere to run.

“What do you say? Wanna become an honorary member of the volleyball club?”

A sound sort of reminiscent of a boiling kettle leaves you, and you shove him away before you register it. “P-please give me time to think about it!”

A heavy silence.

“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s try not to scare the poor girl, yeah?” Suga says. He places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “If she wants to, she wants to, and if she doesn’t, she doesn’t. [name], if you wanna go for the day, you can.”

“I, um…”

He nods and guides you towards the door. Before you can properly escape, he leans in close: “if you do decide you want to, come see us after practice Friday night and we’ll initiate you. If not, we’ll respect that, okay?”

Initiate.

Friday night.

You swallow, throat feeling suddenly dry.

Just what have you gotten yourself into?

You spend the week caught between a rational panic and another emotion you are not willing to put a name to. Yachi had texted you not long after your escape that night, an apology and a really genuine “no one will be mad if you don’t show Friday”. That was relaxing, just slightly, except the little pang as you realized you actually did want to show. You’ve had a text back drafted to her the past three days, glaring back at you as you agonized over your phone screen:

No problem at all! I just had one question about what this “initiation” would entail. You know, to prepare myself!

You’re pretty sure you’ve deleted and re-drafted the exact same text about fifty times. Normally, you’d text a friend, ask them to help you review what you’re saying to make sure it sounds chill, but who the fuck are you going to tell about this? The implication was clear. Freaked out as you are, you’re not exactly interested in spreading the information, either.

Friday morning is when you actually do get the guts to send it, having spend the week pointedly avoiding everyone, volleyball-related or otherwise. The final draft:

Sorry for being a little AWOL! Had some thinking to do, lol. I just wanted to ask what I can expect if I did show up tonight? You know, so I’m prepared?

She’d responded immediately—not with a text, but with an email and a call, the call coming through less than a minute after you’d gotten a notification of an email from her.

Somehow, your morbid curiosity on what you should know before showing up, if you chose to, turns into an hour-long phone conversation turns into sitting down with an open notebook turns into you reviewing the document she’d emailed you, freshly showered while Yachi goes through your closet.

“You wanna wear something sexy, but kinda cheap. Sometimes they get a bit too excited. After the first time, you don’t really have to participate in this stuff, if you’re busy or just not up for it, but especially for this first time, don’t give them the opportunity to wreck any clothes you care about.”

You nod, make a note on your open notebook, thighs squeezing together impatiently. She emerges from your closet, a bright look on her face as she holds up a miniskirt you’d long since relegated to the very back. “This is a cute skirt! It’s a really strong candidate.”

“Do you think so?” you cringe. “Honestly, I’m worried it might be a bit… y’know, short.”

“[full name].” She gives you a flat look. “You do understand what’s happening tonight, right?”

“…right. I’ll wear the skirt.”

She brightens up in an instant. “Good! Now let me find a matching top…”

When she’s satisfied, your outfit laid out and you almost mentally prepared to actually get dressed for this sort of thing, you expect her to leave the room, but she simply waits.

“Uh, Yachi, I need to…”

“I just thought of something,” she says, face blank. “[name], have you ever been with a girl before?”

Ah.

Your cheeks feel hot. You’ve not exactly tried to hide that you’re bisexual—if nothing else, the bi pride flag on your wall would be indicator enough—but as far as actual experience with girls…

“I’ve… thought really hard about it…? I haven’t really had the opportunity.”

She nods to herself. “Right. Before you get ready, it’ll be easier if I do this now.”

Her lips are on yours before you can fully process it, soft and tasting faintly of pineapple chapstick. She kisses you long and slow, lets you relax into it. When she pulls away, she smiles shyly, like she didn’t just kiss you for the purposes of prepping you for an orgy she’ll be involved in later today. “There. Get that first out of the way before we have to make out in front of the volleyball team.”

She waves on her way out of your bedroom. “Get dressed! I wanna make sure that outfit works for today.”

Right. Get dressed.

Well, if nothing else, you’re definitely sure about being bisexual now.

If not for Yachi, you would have backed out a hundred times already. As it is, she keeps a gentle, reassuring hand on your back as the two of you enter the gym, a good few minutes after the usual practice officially ends. They’ve already finished cleaning up everything from the day, the air already seemingly charged even before the part where they notice you’ve actually shown up.

Yachi closes the door behind you with a sweet smile. “We got her!” she cheers by way of greeting.

The eyes that suddenly land on you—all fourteen pairs, including Yachi—seem heavier than usual. Hungry. You can’t help the nerves that threaten to make you tremble at the promise of what’s to come.

But there’s Yachi again, ever-sweet and cute as she wraps an arm around your side.

“Oh, I see that!” Daichi is the first to say. “Glad to see you’ve decided to join us, [name]. Here I thought we’d scared you off for good!”

You giggle nervously. “Well, I just… you know me! Always gotta over-think things.” That’s good. That’s casual. You’re managing an almost-even tone while you talk. Almost like you’re a normal, real human person.

“I know the feeling,” Asahi sighs.

Suga sets down a chair near the center of the gym, eyes watching you in silent interest.

“I’m guessing since you came with her that you’ve been coaching her, Yachi?”

She nods. “She’s had the whole rundown. Knows what to expect and everything.” She unwinds herself from you in preparation for whatever’s to come next. You try not to jump at the sound of the lock on the door clicking shut.

“Good. Good.” Daichi nods. “Come sit, [name]. No sense in putting it off, right?”

You nod slowly, timidly stepping forward. Yachi follows close behind.

“Limits?” Daichi asks firmly. “Loud enough so we all hear you.”

Another laugh from you, shaky with nerves as you perch on the chair Suga set out for you. You rattle them off, having memorized the list in order for this exact moment. Knowing you, you’d forget something otherwise, and you nearly do.

“Got it. And Yachi told you about the stoplight system?”

“She didn’t really need to,” you admit, a bit quieter. “I’ve got it.”

“Good. Shimizu, Yachi, if you’d get her ready? Ladies first, and all.”

Wordlessly, they descend on you. You were expecting… you don’t know. Not the sudden press of lips, familiar from an hour or two prior, against your own, or Shimizu’s arms so quick to drape over your shoulders from behind. You press your lips back against Yachi’s insistently, perhaps a bit excited, perhaps just trying to get yourself into the right headspace before you think too hard about the twelve guys currently watching you be sandwiched between the girls or Shimizu’s delicate fingers unbuttoning your top.

Your head spins with it already—Shimizu’s perfume, Yachi’s chapstick. Shimizu’s hand pushing your hair out of the way, her lips attaching to your neck gently. “You didn’t mention anything about marks in your limits,” she mumbles against your skin as a little whine escapes you. “Can we take that to mean it’s okay to mark you, or should I be careful?”

Yachi pulls away a bit, and you chase her lips. She pushes you back with a giggle. “She asked you a question.”

“Oh. Right.” You blink owlishly as you play back the question in your head. “Uh, yeah. I mean—it’s—it’s fine.”

“Are you sure? A few of the guys are not going to let up if they know that.”

Despite the exhibitionist dream going on right now, you don’t quite have the strength to admit that you quite enjoy the marks, actually, so instead: “I’m sure.”

“Alright.” Then, both pairs of lips are back—suckling your neck, kissing you until you’re out of breath. There’s no hurry, none at all, and you barely notice when your top is discarded completely, barely even notice the chatter of the guys bickering—when you strain, you just barely figure out that they’re deciding something about who gets a turn with you when.

You try not to shudder too hard at the thought.

Yachi slides a hand up to your bra and underneath it, rolls a nipple between her fingers. Shimizu follows up, finds your wrist and guides your hand beneath Yachi’s waistband to palm at her heat. “Have you ever…?”

You part from Yachi again, shake your head, eyes half-lidded and head swimming as you look up into the gym lights. “Hadn’t gotten the chance before—before today,” you admit.

She huffs a gentle laugh in your ear. “I’ll teach you, then.”

Her hand slides up your thigh, up your skirt. Yachi crawls into your lap, arms around your neck for stability as Shimizu’s fingers find your cunt, already wet. “It’s not that different from taking care of yourself,” she murmurs as two delicate fingers, too pretty to be where they are right now, stroke your slit. “Follow my lead, okay?”

You nod, whining when her fingers find your clit.

She teaches you in gentle, fluttery strokes. You lose track of it all quickly—your fingers buried in Yachi, thumb dancing over her clit as she leans over your shoulder to kiss Shimizu. You find it’s not that hard to adjust, and with every breathy gasp you draw from Yachi, you’re well rewarded by the slender fingers pumping into your cunt.

Needy and slipping into the mythical subspace you’ve only had the pleasure of reading about, you lean forward to plant your lips on Yachi’s neck. “No marks,” she sighs to you. You whine and move on, not letting yourself linger long enough to mark her skin. Seeming pleased with your listening, Shimizu slides a third finger inside you, stretches you out carefully.

“You’ll thank me later.”

She works you up so easily. Is it because you’re pressed between two pretty girls? Is it the ravenous eyes raking over this scene? Or—

Her hand retreats too soon, just as your hips had begun to really move with the friction, and you whine.

“I promise you’ll get there. Just hold on for now, okay?”

You nod, pouting at having been edged, and focus on the way Yachi writhes on your lap.

She’s close, too, you realize.

“So pretty,” you whisper in awe at the look on her face: eyes closed, head tilted back, lips parted just slightly. “You’re so pretty.”

Ah. Clearly she likes the praise, because she flutters around you. You work her more urgently, the wet squelches from your fingers buried in her joining the hushed moans and sighs of the team watching. When she cums, it’s a soft, quiet moan that you could honestly get used to hearing. Her walls flutter ceaselessly around your fingers as she leans down and kisses you again, and you’re sure not to stop until she slumps a little, though, truth be told, your wrist is already sore.

When she climbs off your lap, legs a bit shaky and a sweet, dopey smile on her face, she backs away, exiting the fray entirely. You nod in understanding. The goal, as she’d made very clear, is to make everyone cum at least once, and she’s gotten her fill. Shimizu takes your chin in her hand, tilts your face so she can kiss you, too. After a moment, you pull back. “Um—can I… my wrist… I don’t think I can…”

God, you’re already stupid. By the time you’ve gotten to everyone, you’re gonna be completely brainless, aren’t you?

She nods, helps you out of the chair only to sit you on your knees in front of her, having taken her place. She’s sweet and perfect on your tongue when you eat her out, paying careful, deliberate attention to her clit, and she instructs you in a low tone as she pets your head. It’s a blessing to be between her thighs, a blessing for her to be the first girl you’ve ever eaten out, a blessing to be allowed to draw a quiet moan from her when at last she cums on your tongue.

“Good,” she murmurs to you with a smile when you pull away, cheeks and chin wet with her slick. “I think you’re ready for us to pass you off. Will you be good for them, too?”

You nod, smiling dreamily. She looks over your shoulder and nods before standing and straightening herself out.

Three of your loyal watchers step forward. Seems like the seniors get you next.

You sit nervously, wait for… orders? Guidance? Anything?

You feel like you’re being circled by sharks, honestly. One of said sharks laughs, angelic, and you yelp when Suga’s hands come to rest on your waist. When had he joined you on the floor?

“You’re already tense again. Come on, relax a bit, [name].” His thumbs rub soothing circles into your hips. “See, Asahi’s gonna get nervous, too, if you act like that.”

Daichi pushes Asahi forward, a stern look on his face. Suga pushes you forward, too, until you’re nose to Asahi’s crotch and the prominent bulge in his shorts. “Go on. You took such good care of the girls, and it’s our turn now. Go ahead and open for him.”

You let your mouth hang open. You can be obedient. You can be good.

The bulge in Asahi’s shorts jumps a little as he looks down at you. You’re already deep in this, might as well go all-in—you paw at the waistband of his shorts, waiting for his nod of approval. When you receive it, you grab the shorts and his boxers and pull them down in one swift motion, swallowing thickly when you see the size of the thing.

If all the guys on the volleyball team are this hung, you’re going to be very, very sore in the morning.

You close your eyes, lean in. If you just keep your eyes closed, you don’t have to think about the guys watching you with varying levels of interest, don’t have to think about performing. You stroke him at the base, take as much of his cock into your mouth as you can handle. He lets out a soft groan as you begin to bob your head, and again you feel those hands on your hips. You let Suga do whatever it is he’s planning on, which is how you find your legs being spread a bit, your hips lifted just slightly only for someone—Suga, presumably—to slide his head between your thighs.

There’s a huff of a laugh against your pussy, and you try your best to keep up with sucking off Asahi as you’re yanked downwards to rest on his face. Asahi’s hot on your tongue, and Suga’s tongue is hot on you when he finally lathes his tongue over your sex. Your moan comes out muffled, cutting off into a squeak, almost a gag, when Asahi’s hips buck in response.

A murmured apology, a ruffle of your hair. The gentle affection has your heart and your walls fluttering against your will—Suga pulls away to laugh at you. “She liked whatever you just did, Asahi. Just so you know.”

You whine, roll your hips down in hopes of keeping him from saying anything else incriminating. He punishes you with a harsh suck of your clit, and the three of you fall into a nice rhythm—you taking Asahi’s cock as far into your mouth as you can handle, Suga fucking you on his tongue.

“S-so pretty,” Asahi murmurs when you dare a glance up at his face. He’s been watching you work him intently, sighs and groans filling your ears to let you know you’re doing well. You clench around Suga’s tongue at the praise, go back to work as you dip your head deep. When Asahi cums, he’s low and loud, and you greedily drink up the cum that hits the back of your throat. You’re not far behind, thanks to Suga, writhing on top of him as he forces you to stay seated on his face.

Asahi backs away. Suga slides out from underneath you, moves around to your front to kiss you softly. You shudder at the taste of yourself on his lips, shiver when his tongue slips into your mouth. Against your lips, he mumbles: “you could probably use a little rest already. You’re being really good, you know?”

Daichi chuckles darkly. “Oh, come on. She’ll never be done if we keep letting her rest.”

That’s the only warning you get before your skirt is tugged off. You’re left in nothing but a bra as Daichi begins to slide his fingers between your lips. “You’re doing great. Yachi said you were on birth control—I can assure you everyone here is clean, and she also said you’re okay with no condoms, but I want everyone to hear you say it, if that’s true.”

You whimper. You’re too sensitive for this right now, still shaking from your first orgasm of the night, but his fingers won’t stop moving.

“Well? Yes or no? Don’t make me ask you a third time.”

You gasp—his middle finger dips into your hole, just enough to make your hips buck. “P-please, I—I can—no condoms, please,” you nearly sob, hoping in vain that your bowing to his request will get you some respite.

“You’re so mean, Daichi,” Suga tuts.

You let out a sigh of relief when his fingers leave you, but then you’re being bent over and something hot and thick is sliding through your heat.

“S-sensitive,” you whine out.

“I know,” he replies, and then he’s pressing his way inside you, stretching you out, and you’re letting out a loud keen into the gym. He sits inside you a moment, gives you just long enough to adjust to the stretch before he’s moving. “You really worried us, you know. Do you think it’s polite to disappear without a word all week, [name]?”

“N-no, I’m sorry—“

A single harsh thrust. You cry out. Suga, ever-helpful, kneels down in front of you to give you his lap to rest on. Ever-obedient, you reach out and begin to palm the bulge in his shorts. He takes the chance to unclasp your bra as Daichi sets a slow, almost conversational pace.

You pull Suga out of his shorts, rest your head on his thigh. Focus on jerking him off as Daichi’s pace picks up from slow to harsh. “It’s nice of you to apologize. Don’t do it again.”

“I-I won’t—ah—“

The slow, lazy kisses you’ve taken to pressing against Suga’s cock—pretty and long—don’t mesh well with the bruising grip on your hips, the sharp snap of the captain’s cock in your pussy as he fucks you out. You cling desperately to Suga, jerk him off with no real rhythm as you struggle to take the abuse to your still-sensitive cunt.

By the time Suga’s cum shoots in ropes across your cheek, you’re close again, and Daichi isn’t letting up. “You want it inside, pretty girl?”

“Please,” you whine.

“Good girl,” he croons, and that sends you over the edge a second time, too fast—the fluttering of your walls drags him over with you. Suga takes the chance to stroke your hair almost lovingly as you’re filled up with hot cum, and you whimper as Daichi pulls out of you.

Five down. Nine to go.

You think they might kill you before the night’s over.

They really don’t let you rest—before you even process the retreat of the seniors, three more have stepped forward, and from the corner of your eye you notice the seniors holding back two guys in particular.

(“Dude, it’s our turn—“

“She can’t handle five at once. We already decided before this that you two get to go after them.”)

Ennoshita’s cock hangs heavy in front of you, and with a whimper, you drag yourself to sit up and take it in your mouth. He laughs softly. “You got used to this quickly. Look at you, you’re a mess.”

You’re not really willing to reply to that. You’re so far past embarrassment—if he’s trying to embarrass you, all you’re getting is a surge of heat low in your stomach all over again, as though your body could possibly handle any more right now.

There’s a nudge at your side, someone’s hand sliding up your arm and bringing you to take another cock in one of your free hands. A glance—Kinoshita is on one side of you, Narita on the other, and you are more than happy to take care of them, lack of coordination be damned.

“Take your time,” Narita says in a low voice. “I get this weird feeling the other two are not going to be very gentle with you when they get a turn.”

You shudder, moan around Ennoshita’s cock at the thought. His hips roll into your mouth, and you shoot him a pleading look. You weren’t particularly trying to send him any hints, but he takes some sort of hint anyway—his hand tangles in your hair, really expertly, actually, and he takes just a little bit of the load off you as he begins to fuck your throat, slow and easy, so you don’t have to keep track of getting off three at once. You relax your jaw, let him work, almost enjoy yourself as you twist your wrists around Kinoshita and Narita’s cocks.

Ennoshita is careful with you. Forceful, sure, but careful. You could gag on him—easily, if that was what he wanted—but he never makes you take him too deeply, simply enjoys the feeling of your mouth, your tongue, the way you’re completely lost in your little initiation. As his pace begins to stutter, you try to bob your head with him, unpermitted by his grip in your hair. You’re fully under now, head caught in a delicious space you’ve never quite experienced. Floating, really.

He pulls you off him firmly. “Color?”

You let out a little half-whine, looking up at him with lidded eyes and a quizzical head tilt as you try to remember what the fuck he’s asking you through the fuzz.

“Mm?”

“Damn, she’s totally lost.”

“Think she’ll be okay? Should we—“

A little panic surges in you, and you jolt forward as you finally process what he’s looking for. “G-green! Green. I’m green.”

He nods. “You’re sure?”

“Mm. Floaty. But green.”

“Good. That’s a good girl. You’re gonna keep being good?”

You reply with a whine, a tug forward in hopes of giving him the message to put his cock back in your mouth right now.

He gets the message.

The two in your hands tumble over the edge first, and you moan as you feel them paint you with their cum. You might like being taken advantage of like this. Ennoshita isn’t too far behind. He spills into your mouth with a groan, untangling fingers from your hair and smoothing it down gently. Before he backs away to let the next guys have their way with you, he leans down, keeps an affectionate hand on top of your head. “Good luck.”

“Mm?”

He backs away without explanation, and before you fully process it, you’re being pushed into a new position on your hands and knees. “Finally,” Noya groans from behind you, hands groping your ass almost reverently. “You’re being so good, it was so hard not to come take you while the others were busy with you.”

A whine. You’re more or less losing your ability to speak, between the soreness building in your jaw and the cotton in your head. Something bumps against your pussy, and you flinch with a whimper.

Tanaka is in front of you, watching your face carefully as Noya’s hands roam your body from behind. “Still good, [name]?”

You nod.

“Good,” he says, and then there’s yet another cock in your mouth. You’re starting to lose count. But, hey, Tanaka’s dick is an effective gag to keep you from getting too loud when Noya slides into you with an obscene squelch.

“There you are,” he groans, grip bruising-tight on your hips. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

Tight and sensitive. Noya isn’t particularly thick, but at this angle he’s already pressing against a spot soft and delicious in your cunt. Fuck, he hasn’t even moved yet and you already feel dangerously close.

You rock your hips back against him, desperate even as you take Tanaka’s cock as deep into your mouth as you can manage. You get barely any movement before Noya takes the hint, and then one hand is holding you steady as he snaps his hips, sharp and hard, into you. The other sneaks around, finds your clit with ease and begins to frantically torture it. You cum hard and fast around him, and he lets his head drop backward with a groan, not stopping even as you struggle to hold yourself up and take it.

It’s all so much. So much. So much—

You barely manage to bring a hand up to finish Tanaka in your mouth, desperate to have just one less thing drowning you, and lucky for you, it works—he grits out praises as he spills into your mouth, strokes your hair as you swallow as much of his cum as you can handle.

With your mouth free, Nishinoya pauses just long enough to pull out and flip you onto your back. “Your knees are starting to hurt, right?” he coos, cock throbbing against your entrance again. “But you’re doing so well.”

You whimper. It’s all you still know how to do. He takes in your body, chest heaving and tits shaking from exertion, and slides a hand up your side, pausing to tweak a nipple. Your back arches. “God, you’re perfect. Are your tits always this sensitive, or do you just like being watched?”

“Al-ways,” you moan out, voice broken. His eyes are ravenous as he takes you in, like he doesn’t know where to look.

“Oi, Noya, you’re not the last one that gets her today. Go ahead and fuck her already.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. His arms are shaking as he pins you down by the wrists, shaking as he plunges into you all over again.

Noya is brutal. Dimly, you have the thought that you understand why they held him back as long as possible, though you think it might have made things worse. He leans down, lips against your neck, and groans when you immediately clench around him. “Your neck, too?” he hisses out.

You nod, barely able to catch your breath or un-fuzz your head long enough to talk.

“Fuck,” he breathes, taking the time to suck a few marks into your throat.

“Please,” you whine in reply. That’s all it takes for him to sink his teeth into a soft spot on your neck, and then you’re cumming again with an actual sob as he cums inside you, the second time someone’s cum inside tonight.

Nine… ten? Down. You can’t count anymore. He pulls out of you, lathes his tongue over where he’d bitten you, leaves you laying there to catch your breath.

“Need a break?”

You shake your head, not even bothering to check who’s asking you.

A laugh. “You sure? You look a little dead.”

One eye opened lazily. Yamaguchi. “Can take it,” you slur out. You’re utterly boneless. Exhausted, really. But you’ve got… a number more to get through, and fuck it, you’re in way too deep to give up now, and Yamaguchi’s looking kind of delicious, and—

Next thing you know, you’re slumped between him and Tsukki, one in your ass, the other in your cunt, you openly sobbing as Tsukki hisses condescension in your ear, fingers in your mouth to keep it open while they split you in half—

(“How is she even alive right now? I don’t think any of us made it through the whole thing without a real break.”

“We’re keeping her. We have got to keep her.”)

Next thing you know, you’re jerking Kageyama off onto your face, tongue lolling out to catch every drop of cum you can—

(“Genuinely impressive. Are we sure she’s never done this before?”

“Dude, I’m serious, what do we have to do to get her to come every time?”)

Next thing you know, Hinata is thrusting into you at blinding speeds, and you’re cumming again, moans more like broken sobs—

(“I mean, she keeps saying she’s good, and she’s almost through…”

“She’s just having a good time. Probably been dreaming about something like this since before she showed up for her ‘article’.”)

There’s a few expectant looks as you lay there at last, thoroughly fucked out, unable to even think about moving as the TV static in your brain begins to finally fade out.

Holy fuck.

Are you done? That was the last of them, right? You’re done, aren’t you?

“Now, now, [name],” Tsukishima says, and his tone has you whining. That was everyone. You’re done.

“The rule was that you have to make everyone cum before you’re done,” he explains, like you’re five or something.

“D-didn’t… didn’t I…?”

A few slow shakes of the head from a few guys.

“You’re here, too.”

Your blood runs cold.

“Noo,” you whine. “Can’t.”

“You can’t?” Tsukki crouches down beside you. “You’ve made fourteen people cum tonight, and you’re giving up now? What happened to the slut we’ve been watching all night?”

“Can’ttt,” you repeat, new tears already forming. How many times have you cum already?

He sighs. “You’re really not serious about this, are you?”

“No, I am, I-I—“

“Then you can make yourself cum one last time for us to see.”

You whimper, limply bring a hand to rest between your legs. Should’ve brought a damn vibrator.

You work yourself up as fast as you can handle, cup one breast in your off hand to roll your nipple between your fingers. Slide two fingers in and shudder when you find the mix of cum there.

(“It’s just mean making her do it herself after all that.”

“If she can actually cum again after all that, I don’t even know what to say.”)

Technically, you could probably get away with faking it. …probably. But, well…

The little competitive bitch in you wants to prove them wrong, and, hell, you’ve already put on a show for everyone here, right? So you get into it, best you can. Roll your hips weakly against your hand, sigh and whimper at just how much this all is. Rub your clit as fast as your wrist can still handle, actually fucking thrash as you fall over the edge one last time.

You blacked out.

That, at least, you can figure out. You’re being held against one of any number of potential muscular bodies, cradled, really. Like you’ll break or something.

“How long do you think she has to be out before we call someone?”

“Don’t,” you groan. “’M alive. Barely.”

Fucking hell, your throat is dry. You open one eye to peek at Suga, who’s already got a water bottle ready for you. It’s Asahi holding you, and he shifts to let you tilt your head back as Suga tips the water bottle into your mouth.

Someone is wiping the worst of the cum off you with a damp rag. You squirm, whine as they clean you up. Drink like you’ve spent the past six months in the desert.

“How’re you feeling?” Yachi asks sweetly. Ah. She’s the one cleaning you up.

“Gooood,” you slur out. “Tired. Sore. Don’t wanna be a good girl for the next twennyfour hours at least.”

She laughs. “You know you could have taken a break, right? You didn’t have to get everyone off in one go.”

You simply groan. In the background, a few of the previously unaccounted-for guys are cleaning up the mess where you’d been laid out on the floor. Someone taps something against your lips. You accept it, mostly out of laziness. Sweet. Crunchy. Chocolate-covered pretzel. You wonder if you can get them to move your jaw for you.

“Do you still want to come back after this, [name]?” Shimizu asks.

You nod. Accept another pretzel. Snuggle into Asahi’s arms. You think they picked him for cuddle duty because he’s got good arms. “’Sgood. ‘Mgood.”

She laughs slightly. Drapes something over your naked body.

A black jacket, reading Karasuno Volleyball Team.

“Welcome to the team, then,” she says, tilting her head with an ethereal smile. You blink blearily. Smile back.

You cannot fucking wait for their next match.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

If you'd like to be tagged, let me know via any contact method what you'd like to be tagged in (eg. character-specific, all works, all smut works, etc.). If your url appears on this list but is not underlined/you didn't get a notification, please ensure your blog is set to appear in search results in your blog settings! If you've got it set not to for some particular reason, consider subscribing on my ao3 for an update notification, as I always crosspost on ao3 simultaneously. After three unsuccessful tagging attempts, you will be removed from the taglist.

As always, thanks for reading! <3

#haikyuu x reader #my fics #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu reader insert smut #karasuno x reader

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galexibrain · 9 months ago

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Something that bugs me a little is the insistence that Gohan actively hates to fight period. Bc that's not true!

(This ignores everything that happened outside the original manga/the DBZ anime)

Yes, he lacks Goku's or Vegeta's laser-focus on all things martial arts, but let's be real, all half Saiyans do. Goten & Trunks sure have more passion for fighting than Gohan does but they're much more "human" about it than their dads and have other interests in their lives too.

But while Gohan originally became a fighter out of necessity and had little choice in the matter there are instances when he clearly shows that he is totally capable of enjoying himself in a fight.

For once there's obviously his fight against Cell - once he snapped his "Saiyan side" took the lead and he was enjoying himself a little too much (and ruined it, like a good Saiyan must).

But it also becomes clear in the early Buu arc. Yeah, initially he's not rly interested in the tournament and wouldn't have participated if not for Videl forcing him.

But once he was in he was in. He even got a little annoyed by Videl interrupting his training, and he did want to win. If he really hated it so much he could have entered with the plan of failing the preliminaries, or losing in the first round. But the thought never crossed his mind. I think if you'd suggested he botches it deliberately to get out of it he'd been horrified.

He was going to have fun with it! I think his most "Saiyan" trait is that he's a bit of a showman lol. He likes to be flashy! And he likes to boast! He COULD have just used a plain costume and mask to hide hid identity but nope, Great Saiyaman it is! He likes being seen and being known as a crazy strong superhero. Maybe he'd have been into pro-wrestling with their fancy costumes and showmanship

Even before things went off the rails at the tournament and Buu arc was set in motion he was ready to go. And yes his crush on Videl might have served as motivation: "haha cool she won't be disappointed if someone beats her dad! (I can date her if I beat her dad)" -> he WOULD have thrown Satan out of the ring if he'd gotten to fight him, no questions asked.

And once he, Goku & Vegeta are in Babidi's spaceship it gets even clearer: now, no one is forcing him to fight. Ofc Gohan always wanted to fight when it was necessary, even at 5yo he wouldn't stay home, he made it very clear that he was going to Namek.

But while they were going through the levels in Babidi's ship this still wasn't a serious thing. Pui Pui and Yakon were a joke for them. Vegeta was getting pissed, ok, but aside from that it was just fun and games for them, and Gohan could easily have said "nah have at it you two, I'm sitting this one out" but never once did he so much as consider NOT taking part in rock-paper-scissoring it out to decide who gets to go first.

He was eager to fight Dabra! Dabra told them to take him on 3:1 and Gohan flat out told him "no way, this is MY fight!". And if Vegeta had interfered with that fight to end it quicker I'm 100% sure Gohan would have decked him in the face and told him to fuck off. (Maybe that would have cooled Geets' mood a little lol.)

The problem isn't that Gohan hates fighting from the bottom of his heart. He doesn't. The problem is he grew up with a dad who was 100% a fighter and a mum who was 100% into education, and he didn't find a balance. He didn't even know that might be an option! He thought he'd HAVE to choose one thing, and one alone, and so he chose education.

Who could have taught him otherwise? Maaaaybe Piccolo (post-reunification with Kami), but tbh I think he didn't want to give Gohan the feeling he had to fight. I think Piccolo feels a little bad for putting 4-5yo Gohan through the wringer so much.

Like idk. Let my boy be both. Let him have Goku's legacy as well as make his own!

(I've read about Dragon Ball Online a little and tbh Gohan writing a book on ki and making it widely known? Perfect. I love it. Best idea ever. Probably the best thing that happened to DB since the original manga and Z anime ended. I am accepting this as canon 100%.)

#dragon ball #dbz #dragon ball z #gohan #son gohan

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cloverstarsys · 3 months ago

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So I'm gonna just... idk talk

(Putting all this under a cut both bc it's long and bc syscourse)

So some new anti-endos have made their way into the plural tags. We've been mostly ignoring the syscourse stuff recently because it... admittedly isn't great for us, but I forgot just how cyclical and repetitive it is omg.

"DID is a trauma disorder!" We're not discussing having DID. We're discussing being plural. Just because you(/nay (probably)) don't acknowledge non-DID/OSDD/etc plurality doesn't mean it's not still there. This has been said hundreds of times, or at least that's what it feels like

"Hearing voices is common!" Hey, at least this is a new one. Not sure where it's coming from, though. I mean, yes, some level of it is common, but it really depends on the level. And this talk of DID being uncommon is all dependent on the statistics of how many people actually are diagnosed with DID, and that's not a very solid number. There's not one concrete number of, this percentage of people have DID. Psychologists don't know. All the numbers out there are estimates, and also, dependent on diagnoses. Not everyone gets diagnosed. And all this is assuming DID is the only form of plurality, which it's not!

"Sourcecalls are anti-recovery!" ...???? Seriously, what? At the heart of a sourcecall is a fictive (or factive) looking for those who they know from their source, looking for someone who might share similar experiences to them. I don't see how that's an issue. To be fair, the person who posted this seems to believe alters aren't separate from the "person", like, at all. And I'm getting to this.

"Sub/sidesystems are impossible!" OK look, I have no clue how subsystems work, but I'm going to err on the side of "people say it's something they experience, so I will believe them for now" because I believe in NOT EVERYTHING HAS TO BE PROVEN WITH FLAT FACTS IN ORDER FOR IT TO EXIST (sorry, I'm getting heated) everything, before it's proven, still exists. Gravity existed before the first theories about it. Etc etc. And who knows, there might be scientific proof of it out there that i just havent found. And when it comes to sidesystems, as far as I know, it's mostly just a separate group of headmates. How is that impossible?

"Alters aren't separate from you!" This post comes from the view of, alters are parts of a whole personality that could have been there had trauma not occurred that caused the disorder. And while yes, that is technically what alters are in a DID system, I don't think it's a bad thing to think of them as separate. Even if scientifically they're not (which I haven't seen any proof of, by the way, but, honestly, there's so little research on plurality it might be hard to come by or just not exist yet. So look above for my opinion on believing people about their lived experiences without scientific proof yet) I don't see how it could hurt to think of your alters as separate people. One of this person's other posts also claims the reason they're not separate "scientifically" is because new alters cam inherit memories. I'm sure that's true, but I don't see how that means they can't be separate people (to the extent allowed by a single human brain, I mean). And they do say at the top of another post that you can *see* your alters as separate people and that doesn't change the "facts" (those "facts" being "alters aren't headmates" (are those not just two different terms to define the same thing?), "alters aren't separate" (well, yes, to an extent, but alters can be significantly more separate than this person is claiming), and just pretty much claiming parts. And while using parts language is entirely valid, do whatever you want, forcing it on others is not. If someone doesn't want to refer to their alters as parts of themself, then they don't have to) but that doesn't change the actual facts of we have no fucking clue what's going on in the brain half the time and significantly more research is needed on non-disordered plurality. Anyways.

I need to get ready for school now, because this post has taken me almost an hour to write lol.

There's no sources for anything I've said, not because they don't exist, but because this was mostly me shouting into the void to help dispel the feelings seeing these posts gave me. There are so many blogs that provide genuine sources and all that, plus individual research is always an option. But even if there isn't research proving something (or disproving it), I'm going to lean on the side of believing peoples lived experiences.

It's always so funny, seeing so many blogs that claim to "correct misinformation" that literally just spread misinfo themselves. I think I've seen... one blog that actually corrects misinfo and isn't biased (either towards or against endogenic systems, just looking at the facts (which, believe it or not, tend to prove non-disordered/non-traumagenic (yes I'm aware those aren't the same thing) systems are real)).

Although I think the reason so many anti-endo sources can be so easily disproven is because they're all talking about DID. we are not talking about DID. you cannot conflate all plurality with just DID.

Ok, I really have to get going now.

(Unless you're really respectful about it. I'm allowing a discussion here right now, don't ruin it by being a dick.)

(Banners by @/lunaridae)

#💧franziska von karma #pro endo #endogenic #syscourse #tw syscourse #keeping the tags light on this one

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zmwrites · 10 months ago

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OC Kiss Week Day 5: Darkness

WIP: CAMRR WIP

Pairing: Maeve x Charlie

CWs: just the kissing :)

Words: 837

Notes: "CAMRR" stands for Cheesy Ass Modern Royal Romance and it does live up to the name; also Charlie calls Maeve "Hen" bc her last name is Hennessy

Maeve lay on the couch in front of the TV, cocooned by darkness and burritoed in a blue fleece blanket. The true crime documentary playing only had half of her attention as her mind replayed the comments she’d overheard at the—what had Anaïs called it? A benefit luncheon? The people who ran the charity had been lovely, but the other benefactors had bordered on cruel. It had been hard to ignore the sudden silences when she’d passed by, and the sideways glances, and the sharp giggles that she couldn’t help but think were at her expense. It had been a stark reminder that she was only accepted in the upper echelons of society as an extension of Charlie.

The overhead light flicked on. She wailed in protest, and it immediately turned back off.

“Sorry Hen, didn’t see you there,” Charlie said. He leaned over the back of the couch and looked down at her. “How are you doing?”

“’M cozy,” she replied, snuggling into her blanket burrito.

“You look cozy.”

“Thank you.”

He grinned and hopped over the back of the couch, then ignored her grumblings as he replaced the stack of pillows under her head with his lap. “Still cozy?”

“Mhm.”

She sighed contentedly as he ran his fingers through her hair, her eyes drifting closed. Moments like this were what made the bullshit that came with dating royalty worth it. Moments where he wasn’t a prince, but where he was just Charlie who could never seem to get enough physical affection.

The truth nagged at the back of her mind: it wasn’t real. They were only dating for the cameras so they could weather the media storm his very public, very acrimonious breakup had brought upon them. Every touch, every kiss, every public appearance—none of it was supposed to be real. But the truth was getting harder and harder to remember as time went on, as things became more natural between them, as they realized they didn’t need to script it anymore. The boundary between their public relationship and their private friendship was blurring in ways she hadn’t planned.

“I think we need to talk,” Maeve said.

“About what?”

“About—” She paused as she struggled to sit up. The conversation would be easier to have if she wasn’t bumping her head against his hand like a cat begging for attention. “About new rules. We need to put a limit on how many times we kiss per event. And outside of events. And overall just cool things down.”

“Okay,” he agreed. He frowned with concern. “May I ask why? Has something happened to make you uncomfortable?”

“It’s getting a bit too real,” she admitted.

He raised a brow.

She wet her lips and tried again. “You kiss me like you mean it. And it’s not your fault, but my stupid feelings are getting involved and I need some space to get everything sorted.”

“Maeve, are you saying you have a crush on me?” he teased, a smile slowly blooming on his features.

“No—I am—stop.” Her jaw clicked shut and her cheeks burned. She wished her blanket burrito would swallow her. “I’m handling it. I just need a few weeks to get over it and everything can go back to how it was. But right now I’m reading too much into things and I’m going to end up breaking my own heart.”

He turned to face her and rested his elbow on the back of the couch. He leaned his head into his hand and gazed at her with that stupid softness that had gotten her into this predicament in the first place. “Maeve.”

“Don’t be cute, I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

“Maeve.”

“Stop looking at me like that!” She wiggled out of her blanket and grabbed a pillow, lunging forward and pressing it over his face.

He laughed and wrapped his arm around her waist. She shrieked as he twisted them so she was flat on her back and he knelt over her.

“This isn’t helping,” she complained, whacking him with the pillow to hide her grin.

“Maeve, have you considered that I do mean it?” Charlie asked. “And that I’ve meant it every single time for months?”

She blinked up at him, watching the blue light from the TV flicker across his features. She couldn’t be understanding him right. “Months?”

“Since the beginning. I figured it would go away as we got to know each other.”

“You figured I’d be annoying?” she demanded playfully. The shock had turned into giddy excitement that completely overrode the small, logical part of her brain whispering that this was a terrible idea.

He smiled ruefully. “That’s not—”

The rest of his sentence was lost as she pulled his face to hers for their first kiss that was just for them. There were no cameras, no audience, no one they were trying to convince. Just them, alone in the darkness, where they didn’t have to think about the challenges that awaited them when the sun rose.

#ockiss24 #camrr wip

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saltedcoffeee · 2 years ago

Note

You can see in the prologue, it's a much more toned down version than the asshole he's playing in trial 2. He said damn ONCE, was tired of introductions, doesn't like speaking to ppl, wants to be in bed, etc. Trial 2, he's cursing like a sailor, disrespecting the dead, and saying remarks to the cast he cannot take back. It's partially the real him, but he's upping the ante by 100

"Is that you wanted to hear?" and "Does hearing that make you happy?"

He's flat out confirming this isn't the true him, and they're still believing him ;-;

THİS op u r so right. just double checking his past mini outbursts (even the one he has in the trial BEFORE the whole breakdown thing) makes it so painfully obvious hes forcing the asshole persona. its not fun for him either lmao hes trying to speedrun the trial to its bad end n its WORKİNG.

i think what i meant w that tag is that all the cussing/speaking patterns r different from what we were introduced to as being "the real him" which is just. to shorten it down some sad fucking guy who doesnt wanna bother w anything. oh n that makes me think he was being honest w the "fake" secret he revealed abt himself.

his whole schtick is rn v confusing obviously, its like he hand picks his battles in the most random of ways, but at the same time it makes sense. theres definitely an analysis to b made on what issues he actively deals w n what other things he weirdly shrugs off.

anyways all this to say the reason hes working overtime to make ppl hate him is its probably that its the route that (believe it or not) takes the least effort on his part to get this trial over. almost every big thing hes done over the course of this killing game was lazy to a fault:

hang out w n defend xander ? homosexuality easy friendship bc the guy was obsessed w him n sympathy points for later. get ppl to reveal their secrets n even tell one abt himself ? (possibly) reduces the chances of a kill -> trial -> less effort made + sympathy points for later. b nice to arei, hu n nico ? get ppl to like u n form alliances to protect urself. that last one esp can b SEEN bc hu fights for his sake more than he does lmao!

get ppl to hate you bc of ur poorly worded secret ? end the trial w a vote asap n fucking die, escaping any and all explanation ud have to provide in the off-chance u make it out.

TL;DR #1 david chiem apologist says he isnt a bad person, hes just incredibly lazy n therefore half asses decisions that eventually lead to his downfall.

#askies #TYSM FOR LETTİNG ME LOOSE LOL #and also so sorry abt this #drdt #danganronpa despair time #drdt chapter 2 spoilers #david chiem

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mz-elysium · 1 year ago

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why wyll....

i finished bg3 with wyll and idk if i've ever been SO MAD about any story's writing choices. i legit feel robbed of what we could've had.

i've never felt such a feral need to write fanfic to fix... an entire character.

spoilers and rant under cut

idk if people were whining THAT MUCH about Wyll in early access. I just know he was rarely used bc as the "Blade of Frontiers" w/o Pact of the Blade, he really suffered in combat.

But, hey, he's now... quite good. My hero of Act 2 fights (sorc!Tav, Wyll, Shadowheart, Astarion). Gave him two levels of Paladin and he hits like a truck.

But they ~rewrote~ his story.

They broke him. This was a PERFECTLY good warlock and they ruined him. He was a fraud, a liar, a reckless proud cheat who wanted to be beloved by the smallfolk and sung about by the bards -- and not beat by goblins at level 1, but he was a useless fighter so he made a pact with a devil. Like the others, he was complicated. Flawed. In need of fixing a deep-rooted problem that the tadpoles could've taken advantage of.

But now, he's unfinished. His story feels so empty in Act 3. I managed to free him from the pact AND save his father, but their reunion is so flat and lackluster. I was totally expecting to find that an overbearing father was at the heart of Wyll's need to be praised/admired/loved, but there's just total forgiveness.... after 7yrs of exiling your teenage son for fucking a devil. Their dialogue trees also kept looping and his father addressed Tav as "my son" more than once.

Throughout the game, Wyll also said (in the same convo) that he "always wanted to get out of the pact", "never regretted it", and had "a hero's heart". He encouraged me regularly to follow my heart, that we don't need tadpoles or other powers to Do The Right Thing. Bruh. You're a warlock. What moral high-ground do you have? Either Mizora has never fucked you over by having you kill innocents/do minor evil (obviously not true), or she has, in which case you're a desperate liar but I can't call you out on it.

They made Wyll flawless, mature, always right, and honourably heroic. He never loses his cool. He holds nothing against his father. He's never lost a major defeat to hold grudges against. I would've loved EA Wyll to have a chance to become this stoic, calm, centered paladin. But Wyll, now, doesn't feel like he's earned it.

They made Gale less manipulative/sketchy before launch, which is fine. But completely erasing Wyll's growth by dropping him at the finish line is so unsatisfying.

I can totally see EA Wyll's development: from a lying adventurer crutching on his powers and needing the praise and reputation as a folk hero, to leaving the pact behind and growing up to save his father at the cost of his legend; becoming Grand Duke to do "common boring heroics" that make a difference.

But it just... doesn't exist. I have no idea why full-release Wyll wouldn't become his father's heir. He doesn't seem to need his identity as The Blade of Frontiers as much as EA Wyll did. He's older, mature, and less violent.

It felt the whole time like I was adventuring with someone whose arc had already finished. Shadowheart and Astarion changed dramatically; their comments, greetings, convos. Wyll was so static and painfully dull.

Also, making him half-devil looks super wonky. His horns are too wide and don't really suit him, let alone how he clips. He has no arc, coming to terms with them. You can't uncurse him.

I was most excited for Wyll in full release and I just feel like I played 92hrs waiting for him to turn on. A waste of a companion slot, when I could've taken Lae'zel this whole time and actually had a character with depth and development.

#bg3 spoilers #wyll #justice for wyll: give him back his flaws #wyll whining

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faradaykay · 2 years ago

Note

Saw your post about the “which dr game is the best” polls thing and I gotta say I feel like Trigger Happy Havoc might actually be the best of the series 🤔 I know that’s probably a hot take but I’ve been replaying it and I think it honestly does the best job of setting up the premise. The chapter 6 lore dump/investigation is never as good as it is in thh, and even the regular investigations are less linear in dr1 than 2 and v3

Anyway my point is that I think people conflate enjoyment with quality (even I enjoy dr2 the best) but dr1 is so underrated and you are right to say it

everything you said is so true!!!

to put why i think thh is best more seriously than my joking post earlier, i think there’s several things it does best out of any of the games in the series.

one thing that really stands out to me about thh is that out of all the games, it’s the one where i’d say it really feels the most like every character has their own important role that they contribute to the group (except maaaaaybe not hiro but he’s a very funny guy so like we forgive him). it’s bc of that that i’d say thh easily did the best job of making me like and care about the characters. sdr2 is a close second in this aspect; i think that some of the individual character arcs in sdr2 are more interesting than the thh ones, but the tradeoff is that there’s also a large amount of characters that left a lot to be desired in that respect. v3 is easily the worst out of the three games in terms of character arcs and development, and half of the characters were repetitive and trope-y in a way that made them hard to get attached to. it actually made 3-4 fall completely emotionally flat for me (although i’m aware this is an unpopular opinion!)

also, the claustrophobic atmosphere of being stuck in hope’s peak adds a level of desperation and horror to the games that the other games lack. i also think it easily has the best motives that focus on giving insight into who the characters are as people.

i’d start talking about how naegi as a protag improves the game but i’d end up rambling about him long enough to make a whole separate post lol. but to put it simply i do think that naegi is the best character out of all the protags (even tho komaru’s still my favorite) and the way he contributes to the dynamic of the group is a huge part of what makes the thh cast the best cast for me!

there’s things about the other games that are really good as well; unsurprisingly, komaeda is my favorite antag, and 3-5 is actually my favorite trial in all of dr (i’m such a sucker for ouma and his antics i want to aggressively shake him by the shoulders he’s so ABDJAJFJAKDK)

but there’s just something special about thh. it always has the biggest spot in my heart!

(i talked too much whoops sorry)

#squishy talks too much #i will always be the number one thh shill #people talk to squishy!!

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fruitcoops · 3 years ago

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Hello I hope you’re well!! I was wondering if you have the free time/ interest, it might be cool to see something where Sirius gets injured and it effects his face like I don’t know maybe a broken nose or a cut, something temporary (or permanent if you rather) and he’s feeling a bit insecure about it and some nice hurt/comfort with Remus - I just thought it would be interesting bc in most WS fics it’s Sirius assuring Remus he looks good ya know

Anyway, no worries if not, have a lovely day xxx

Yes, of course! This doesn't include the actual moment of injury, just a description of what happened. To the anon getting their GCSE results today who requested Cap comfort: you've got this! You're amazing and fantastic no matter what! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for minor injury/ scarring, mild burns from hot food, nonsexual intimacy (showering together)

“Sir’us?” a tired voice asked from the kitchen door.

Sirius jumped a little, then hissed in pain as his mochi ball began burning the pad of his thumb. “Ow, fuck, fuck, fuck, ow—”

“ ‘s goin’ on?” Remus’ footsteps were soft on the floor; his body was warm as it pressed along Sirius’ back. “Woke up, n’ you weren’t there.”

“Sorry,” Sirius said, peeling a hunk of hot, sticky dough off his finger. It didn’t do much, and he quickly dunked both hands in his cornstarch pile to soothe the sharp pain.

Remus nuzzled between his shoulder blades. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Is it?” He glanced at the clock and winced—it was just after one in the morning, and had been nearly two hours since he grew too restless to stay in bed any longer. The fresh bandaid on his cheek itched.

“Come back to bed,” Remus said, giving his flour-coated shirt a tug. His voice had gone low and husky from sleep, coming from the deep part of his chest that Sirius loved so much.

He pressed a kiss to his curls, flat on one side from the pillow. “These will be done in about half an hour, okay?”

Remus sighed through his nose and looked up at him; no small amount of exasperation and concern had replaced his drowsiness. “I know you. It won’t be half an hour.”

“The recipe says it only takes 25 minutes.”

“And you’ve been down here forever.” Remus cast a glance at his dusty shirt, then sighed again. “Come on, baby, let’s shower and go to bed.”

“It’s not done,” Sirius protested as bed-warm hands closed loosely around his wrists.

“Come back to bed.”

“Can I at least put it in the fridge to finish tomorrow?”

Remus pressed his lips together, but released him; the tugging resumed the moment Sirius closed the door. “What happened?” Remus asked as they trudged up the stairs.

“Just got in my head.”

“About…?” When Sirius didn’t answer, he turned and ran his first knuckle gently along Sirius’ jawline. “Is it your face?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. The cut was deep and surrounded by burns from scraping against the ice; the medical team had told him it would certainly scar. Sirius had plenty of scars and rarely thought of himself as vain, but it bothered him to know the image people respected would be marred. It hurt like a bitch, too, which certainly didn’t help.

Remus wove their fingers together again without so much as a flinch at the gooey texture of leftover mochi and guided Sirius into their bathroom, flicking on the lights with a disgruntled noise. “It’s always too bright in here.”

“Really?”

“At 1:30 in the morning, it is.” Sirius felt exhaustion begin to creep in along the edges of stress and overthinking as he stepped under the hot water—Remus’ hand was light on his arm, and when he looked down, he was met with worried hazel eyes. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet lately.”

Since the hit, Sirius filled in for him. “I’ll be alright,” he answered honestly. “It threw me off my game and I’ve been stressing about it a lot after that press conference. I don’t like all the cameras when I have this thing on my face.”

A smile played at the edge of Remus’ mouth. “You never like the cameras.:”

“True.” Sirius obediently bent his head to let Remus wash the puffs of white flour and starch from his hair and closed his eyes to bask in the feeling. He would never get tired of Remus’ touch, nor the way he placed a lingering kiss to the edge of the bandaid on Sirius’ cheek. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s better than letting you stay down there and stew by yourself.” The water washed away the tension knots in his shoulders. “You wouldn’t have left that kitchen until those were perfect.”

“Yeah.”

“Gimme your hands.” With far more care than Sirius would have given himself, Remus scrubbed the sticky dough from between his fingers and carefully inspected the mild burns on his fingertips before exhaling through his nose. ‘You need to be more careful with yourself when you’re baking. First there was the lemon grater, and then slicing the chocolate, and now this…”

Sirius kissed his forehead. “I really didn’t know it would be that hot.”

“Be gentle with yourself. Please.”

Somehow, Sirius didn’t think he was talking about the mochi anymore. “I will.”

“Okay.” Remus nodded, then leaned up on his toes to wrap his arms fully around Sirius’ neck and pull him in for a hug. “No matter how you heal, I’ll always think you’re the most handsome man in the whole world. I’m the last person to judge you for scars.”

“I’m worried about everyone else,” Sirius said into the steam-reddened skin of his shoulder.

Remus stepped back and cupped his face in his palms, running a thumb along each cheekbone despite the waterproof bandage. “If they only like you for your looks, they’re ignoring the million more things your family loves about you. The things I love about you. I’m sorry you’re hurting, and I’m sorry you don’t feel good about this, but I promise it’s going to be alright.”

They were silent for a moment as Sirius let the words soak into his body alongside the last suds of soap. “You always know what to say.”

Remus shut the water off and handed him a towel. “Come back to bed, baby. We don’t have anywhere to be in the morning.”

Sirius didn’t think he would sleep for a long time when he pulled a clean shirt on, but within moments of curling up against Remus’ chest, he was out like a light.

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #injury #stress baking #my fic #fanfic #showering together #minor injury

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nochiquinn · 2 years ago

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campaign 3 episode 34: derd

if liam and ashley aren't at the table at the start of the episode I will simply walk into the ocean. I refuse to engage with it.

tonight's supposed to be just under 4 hours and idk why that makes me more nervous than a super-long one

everyone trying to keep frozen while they laugh hysterically (and failing)

taliesin's holding it together the best

oh no there he goes

robbieeee

I once again do not have my earbuds in so I just see sam pop up in the subs going "Wow!"

laura's really pretty tonight

marisha's shirt is going to bother me tho (weird necklines give me second-hand sensory weirdness)

"no wait I have to iron my cat"

"shut up MATT"

show me the table, I need to know how bad it's gonna hurt

oh okay. full table. ….that will probably be worse

fcg: I am just a little creachure

AEOR

oh the way matt said "him"

OH NO

oh no

ELVEN FATHER

hey maTT

I'm gonna puke

"their" WHOMST?

no fearne and orym memories T_T

going to la to fight matt in a denny's parking lot

hey dice gods turn on your location

matt it has TRULY been 15 minutes

"we're the dm now"

I don't know why I thought I could work during this

chetney with one of those sensory chew necklaces

I am ashley

honestly about to go get my emotional support piplup

"now it's a normal-size party" shut the hell your mouth

try to steal from her

"I hate this game"

"fearne" "[gay fear]"

"okay bye ashley"

ASHLEY JOHNSON

"geeze louise"

"it's like carrying a toddler" nancy 😔

"what do you mean orym's dead." just the flat anger

liam if you make orym stay dead bc grief reasons I will fucking fight you

"why would I have a diamond" "because you steal everything"

hi I hadn't actually teared up until now

ashley fucking goddamn johnson

laudna wake up, I don't like this

laudna broom

I appreciate the sentiment on the gas can but I do not believe him

the worst part is that's true

mariSHA

"she stole my coin didn't she"

oh I knew she was gonna swerve

"we can be mad at the changebringer later"

liam o'brien I will fight you in a parking lot

hello 911 liam and matt are murdering me

"you're not done" like fucK YOU

the little whispery voice for will I'm gonna fkcing

"fearnie" fu ck

MARISHA GET BACK IN THAT FUCKING CHAIR OR SO HELP ME

WHEN I SAID I DIDN'T WANT LIAM AND ASHLEY TO LEAVE THE TABLE THAT DIDN'T MEAN THIS

oh don't say it that way he'll break in half

chet

I mean you're valid but

"we clearly threatened you"

"little bitch signal"

whispersss

this is an extremely griffin mcelroy ad read

he forgot to draw his angry eyebrows on first

"I really wanna punch a wall right now" "why do that when his face is right there?"

orym

give him advantage, he stabbed him in the foot

T_T

wait didn't caleb have a thing

alternate timeline ghost thing

my guy they cannot protect themselves from her

use ur wood chetney

I literally only just noticed sam has painted nails

"it only makes sense when she does it" and only barely then

dbza voice: maaaahogany

travis

I miss dariax

matt: it can replace material components

matt: HINT HINT

beacon juice

"I trust ashley johnson, ashley johnson told me she doesn't trust ashley johnson"

Illegal Airport Patdown

all I ever think of is "that's not how you measure pants!"

this is the same day as Angry Eyes???

matt what u do

;-;

RTA

my heart needed that

"god it's awful. I love it!"

"aren't you an orphan?" "…I'm gonna give you ten seconds to work that out."

was it fucking wizard hubris again

taliesin's voice rn

wonder if the Theme of this campaign is being dramatically altered against your will

if not physically then emotional trauma changing how you interact with/see the world (these are not mutually exclusive)

[ducks from the imodna shipper shrapnel]

oh. OH.

delilah would fully zombify her wouldn't she

or it's like a salt circle against delilah possession

"also: u in danger girl"

I desperately need to see travis' etsy search history

"doomsday clock is at Concern"

"this thing is for toddlers!"

"get it off of laudna"

I'm gonna miss Joe

tag urself I'm shady sally

chetney

"grab the kids, I want them to see!" why is that so cute tho

[mighty nein voice] up!

#critical role #spoilers #crititag #liveblog #reaction post

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byebyler · 3 years ago

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THAT WAS SO GOOD!!! I am truly just blown away by this season so far. My worst fear was that the show would just keep getting worse and worse until finally dragging to a stop but they really turned things around here. I don’t know if it’s surpassed season 1 but it’s right up there with it! Lots of happy, incoherent rambling and spoilers under the cut!

BYLER STANS RISE UP!! I said before everything was too good to be true but nooope I really think they’re going there. Only time will tell if it’s a one sided crush or if Byler is on its way to becoming canon. Depends on how the last two episodes go. But anyway, it’s really subtle but it’s so there. If you know what to look for, then you know. But if Byler isn’t even a passing thought then of course it’s not going to click for you. So obviously the reviews are skewed one way or another. And there are enough hints for a proper Mileven break up so really, who knows?? Like I said, last two episodes and then we’ll see

Of course the Byler stuff isn’t the only stuff I’m excited over. It really is such a good season. The whole time, except for maybe the last two eps, was really evenly split between all the plots. Pretty much hitting A, B, C, D, A, B, C, D like clockwork. I never felt bored with any part of the story. And despite the introduction of so many new characters, it never felt too cluttered to me.

Obviously El’s story is pretty heavy, since it’s only focused on her. And the Hawkins plots are harder to juggle bc you have so many characters on that side. But I still think they did a really wonderful job, considering. The only time I was really reaching for my phone was during the Russia stuff. But for the people only here for action, I’m sure they won’t have a problem with that :P

THEY FINALLY LEARNED SHOW, DON’T TELL. I’m in complete and utter shock that some romantic aspects could happen organically. It’s so easy to spot the Steve and Nancy hints and it made me sooo happy. But then of course they ruin it by having Eddie flat out tell Steve that Nancy is in love with him or whatever lmao alskfjsdlkfjs no one is perfect I guess. Still. It’s an improvement

THE NANCY REVEAL HAD ME GAGGED. Genuinely did not see it coming and it caught my by surprise. We were screaming. But I’m 99.99% sure she’s going to be okay lmao. Although now I’m not so sure about Steve. All the hopeful optimistic talk of a future romance has me thinking that one of them is definitely going to die. And not saying I WANT that to happen but I mean come on. It only makes sense

I said before but I’m so thankful of Max’s friendship montage, and for her calling for Lucas AND Dustin when in distress. One thing I hate about Mileven is how singularly focused they were on each other. When El was in distress she was only calling for Mike, like Dustin and Lucas were just dust. So you know. It’s good to see close relationships being acknowledged even when they aren’t romantic. It’s good to see everyone being actual friends

And I’m so glad we’re shaking up the groups again. One reason s3 is so annoying is bc you knooow they saw people talking about s2 like “omg weren’t Steve and Dustin so funny together?? need more of that next season!” and as a result Steve and Dustin almost exclusively only talked to one another. I haaated that. So I’m glad Dustin and Lucas are close again, that they’re with Max, that all the teens are together, that Erica is there but not too much lol. And I loved all the Byler interactions, obviously. The trio of them with El. Them with Jonathan and Argyle, even. Fuck I even can tolerate Murray this season!! They’re doing such a good job with all the characters, it’s literally insane. I still can’t believe it

And everyone feels important. No one is just standing around. So many times last season half the characters or maybe just Will would literally just be standing there in a scene like 🧍🏼‍♂️ it was sooo frustrating. But no everyone actually manages to feel like an active part of the story this time around. It’s so impressive like I am still in genuine shock that it was so good

I’m sure the more I think about it and rewatch it the more I’ll find to complain about but I’m not interested in that right now. I just genuinely had such a wonderful time. It was hours and hours of content, I’ve been up since 3 am watching, but it felt like it just flew by. It was well worth the obscenely long wait, which I’m thankful for. It’s just a great fucking time and I’m so fucking excited for the last episodes and the last season. I really hope they can pull this energy through to the end and not ruin it for themselves!!

#stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things spoilers #byler #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #will byers #mike wheeler #my thoughts

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bicth-and-in-that-order · 3 years ago

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Discussing white favoritism, racism and racial diversity in TOH

Gus and Willow

Now that the first half of season 2 is over, looking back, TOH really fell off with Willow and Gus. A lot of people blame white favoritism when it comes to these characters being ignored by the fandom and while yes that’s a big factor, it’s not the only factor bc I have to ask, what reason were we given exactly to care about them? Gus and Willow have very surface level characterizations that wasn’t explored to nearly the same extent as the other main cast despite being featured in all the openings. Gus had a complex abt being younger than everyone but ig it wasn’t worth exploring enough past a single episode. The most interesting aspect of Willow was literally her relationship to Amity and when that was done, they gave her nothing else outside of that. In fact she didn’t even get to have a B plot episode, the bare minimum, in the first half of season 2. And yes maybe this will change in the second half of season 2 but that doesn’t erase the fact that Amity was relevant throughout the entire series, having her own dedicated story arc, plot relevancy and character development yet the writers couldn’t be bothered to give the same relevancy for Gus and Willow.

Camila

On the other hand, Camila is definitely a fandom created problem that has no bearing on the show. TOH did a great job of illustrating that while Camila and Luz don’t see eye to eye, they both love each other and have a healthy relationship. I think the fandom’s interpretation of Camila perfectly demonstrates the ill effects of white favoritism and how racism is a major issue we need to combat in fandom spaces. I’m going to start this analysis two fold, first by talking abt Camila, then by talking about the blight parents + Belos. Alright so for starters certain subsets of TOH fandom, racist subsets, see Camila as abusive, homophobic and view the boring camp Camila wanted to send Luz for literally setting snakes and spiders in the damn school as “conversion camp”🙄

Was Camila being the perfect most angelic omniscient parent ever? No. She was trying her best to do what she thought was right for Luz and ultimately parents make mistake, that doesn’t immediately make them abusive. This is just another case of people either projecting their own insecurities onto a fictional character which someone literally admits to:

Or it’s just flat out racism. A lot of white ppl stereotype Latin ppl as being overly aggressive and homophobic and here it is manifesting. Some ppl even see Eda, the white person, as the “true mom” who was better for Luz

And keep in mind a lot of these comments I found were made after the latest episode. It’s honestly kind of mind boggling, but the most telling aspect of TOH’s racism and white favoritism is the fact that you hardly see ANY discussion abt how abusive Alador and Odalia were despite literally and explicitly being abusive to Amity💀 Some freak actually said that bc Odalia was hot that makes the abuse Amity suffered okay and I wish had the screenshot to show y’all bc wtf. Same goes for Belos, if he weren’t white and “””conventionally attractive””” then there would be a lot more people banging the Belos is abusive drum.

Anyways to wrap things up, TOH is an amazing show but its diversity falls a little short in some areas. White fans, if you’re calling Camila abusive but letting Belos and the blight parents slide, ask yourself if you’re just perpetuating racism that hurts fans of color at the end of the day.

#camila toh #toh #toh Luz #toh belos #racism #blight parents #white favoritism #toh gus #toh willow

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captain-barnes-writes · 4 years ago

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Addiction [2/2]

Summary: Lee Bodecker got one taste of her and couldn’t get enough.

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x reader

Warnings: Age gap, language, mentions of alcoholism, sexual content, some good ol’ BJ, unprotected sex (y’all better wrap it in real life tho bc this is fiction.) SMUT. 18+

Word Count: 5k [NOT PROOFREAD. Any comments, tips, suggestions are greatly appreciated. My Ask Box is always open.]

Lee Bodecker found himself distracted at the sheriff’s department. His name would be called multiple times to get his attention, eyes strained towards the cream-colored wall with his plaques on it, mind elsewhere. His mind lingered on a particular girl who was driving him crazy. It was a Saturday and his girl was off work meaning he’d be unable to pick her up, unable to see her. In turn Boyd, her father, was her replacement at the store. He was a grouch of a man whose brown eyes always seemed to be half closed. He was slow in his speech, slightly slurred and harsh, as his body still ran under the effect of liquor. He was far worse than Lee in that aspect. Absolutely no self control. Lee thought how the old man should’ve been doing like he had, scouring the town for a different type of rush. One that, fortunately, he’d found in his daughter. One that wouldn’t slowly kill him, yet the old man had already completely succumbed to the liquor’s hold on him.

Boyd was a downright drunk who’d fallen down the slopes of greatness, down to the very bottom of grace, when his wife passed many years ago. He’d been a good man when she was alive, friendly and ever so kind. His store always tidy, shiny new fresh coat of paint every year because it was his pride and joy. He’d care after his customers, bagging their purchases attentively and even sparked up conversations with them whenever he could. Now the store was rundown, paint chipped and his service deplorable. His pretty girl was the only one keeping it afloat, maintaining the inside as best as she could with little to no help from her father.

Boyd’s shifts ran slow for him, snapping at customers with such impatience they didn’t even know why they kept coming back to his damn store. Though it came down to the town’s lack of services, Boyd’s store was at the center of town and the most convenient. But when Y/N was there, the beautiful girl with the usual pastel dresses and pale flats, it was a stark contrast to him. Her illuminating joy and youth was lively, smile large as she handed back change to customers, tending to them with utmost care. It was in her nature, her way of being that made her so delectable. She was the very life of that store, the only one worthy of it.

It was for that reason, that Lee felt himself drowning in his thoughts. Completely inundated not only with the events that had transpired on the back of his cruiser with Y/N, taking her virginity in a sweaty haste, but also of what her home life was like. He was unsure, but he deduced that it mustn’t have been great. His pretty girl had to deal with a drunk at home. God knows how he treated her. And it angered him so badly, the mystery of what went down in that household, inside those four walls. How he spoke to her, if he was kind, if he raised his voice at her. When his mind took the eloquent route of thinking that the drunk bastard could probably as well raise his hand to her, it angered him even more. It made his blood boil to realize that she most likely didn’t have a way out of the toxicity of that place, of the hold her father had on her. And probably of what she felt she owed him, utmost loyalty and company. She was his only daughter and if it wasn’t for her the man would be alone.

Lee didn’t know when he’d turned so damn soft. He’d never been that way, never thought he’d ever fall at the feet of a young girl. He never thought one taste of a girl would have him acting like this, heart beating frantically against his chest with one simple look of hers. He wanted nothing more than to please her, make her the happiest in the whole of Knockemstiff. Most of all he wanted her to be his. Not just physically, but even in the eyes of the law. Her belly swollen with his seed, growing, a part of them both inside her. Yet for the first time in his life he felt dumbfounded as to what steps to take to make that happen. He wanted to take her from his father, pluck her from his grasp.

He huffed to himself, thinking of how to make Boyd coward into giving him the one thing he wanted most. His daughter. Instead of tending to the pile of paperwork on his desk, Lee tried to draft out a plan on how to do so without hurting what he had worked so hard for the last months with Y/N. She seemed to share his affections—kissing him, holding his hand in the car as he drove her home. She’d opened up to him in ways he thought would never have been possible. She was his wildest fantasy come true.

When the clock read 7 PM, Lee placed his brown wide-brim hat back on his head, and stormed out of his office in a haste. He couldn’t think of a damn thing and he’d wasted too much time on absolutely nothing instead of tending to the pile of documents on his messy desk. He needed a cigarette badly, the nicotine of it to bring him some mild comfort. He grunted at the officers letting them know he was off for the day.

When Lee got inside his cruiser, taking off the heavy leather jacket off himself and throwing it on the backseat. It landed right where he’d taken his girl just a few days prior. Despite the sour mood he found himself with, a smirk appeared on his face at the thought of her.

His pretty girl had sucked his cock right at the front seat just the day before. That same abandoned lot only a few minutes out of town had already helped them create unforgettable memories. Stained his backseat with their arousal when he took her most cherished purity just a few days prior and the front seat with his hot cum only the night before. Her hands had been so gentle, inexperienced and soft. She’d wrapped those dainty fingers around his length, applying slight pressure as if afraid she’d hurt him. Grip it a bit tighter doll, Lee had instructed her. Her hands had tightened around him and began to move, the motion of her heavy breathing and movements of hands gaining groans from him.

It seemed as if she did everything he wanted, especially when he’d told her to spit on his shaft and she’d done so almost immediately. The line of saliva had connected with his sensitive head and it made her hands slide up and down a lot easier, a lot smoother. Her eyes were wide at the sight of the bulby head of his cock, covered in her spit and she thought it looked so delicious to taste when she dropped her head down to get a mere sample of him. Her actions had made Lee’s breath hitch at his throat, completely taken aback by her lips wrapped around him. Even her tongue was utterly soft, lapping at the head as if savoring him. Her lips had already been so swollen from his rough kisses and they slid down halfway and came back up again. Her mouth felt so warm to him, a new home for his throbbing dick. Suck it baby yeah just like that, Lee had panted above her. He couldn’t believe he didn’t have to urge her to taste him, she’d done so on her very own and it made his heart swell. He was corrupting her and only he knew what she could do with her hips, what her mouth tasted like and how silky her skin felt underneath his fingers. He felt so fortunate.

Y/N continued slowly licking the shaft, tongue lapping at him before her mouth continued to take him inside. Her hand had taken to stroking the base of him because she just couldn’t take him all. She was so new to it all, choking on him a few times and feeling completely desperate to try to please him as best as she could. Her mind had shifted from the task to thoughts of how the sheriff was already an older man, experienced beyond belief in all areas of his life. Especially that of intimacy and she barely knew a thing. He’d been with many women, at least according to all the gossip of the town, and she’d barely even kissed one boy. Hadn’t gone further with anybody but with the sheriff. It made her frantic to do her best with him, to show him that she could learn with him. That she could satisfy him just as much, and hopefully even more, than any other woman could.

Lee was loud, groaning and panting at the feel of her mouth. His hands had gravitated to the crown of her head, grabbing handfuls of her hair there to alleviate the immense commotion that was swirling inside him. Pooling wildly inside his stomach until he’d warned her that he was cumming, the hot liquid spurting from the tip of his shaft into her mouth. She was taken aback by the racking orgasm Lee had, some of his seed dripping on the side of her lips. Lee had coaxed her to swallow it and she had done so without having to be told twice. He was salty and warm, but she’d swallowed his seed whole so gracefully it made Lee pull her up by the hair and smash their lips together in complete amazement. His girl was too good.

Lee would have been lying if he said he didn’t want to bury himself inside her again the night before. Her virginal cunt had wrapped him in such warmth, her moans and sweet embrace had brought him an immense amount of comfort. He felt delirious with just her presence. He fought the urge to hitch her dress up and take her in his car again because he’d promised himself the next time he felt her walls engulf his cock, it would be in the comfort of his home. Yet he continued kissing her, teasing her until she’d moaned into his lips. He couldn’t shake off the hardness the whole night because being inside her, having his dick lapped in her juices, had been the commencement of an obsession. All his thoughts were her; and he knew. Knew that he wholeheartedly belonged to the young girl. Lee also came to the realization that he’d do absolutely anything for her.

-------

Lee drove to his home in Brewer Heights to the sound of the radio and the darkness of night. Years prior he’d made a promise to himself that if elected, he’d get himself a cushy place on the better side of town. When he won the election, he did just that. His yellow 3-bedroom home was far too big for just him but it also brought him a sense of satisfaction, a reminder that he’d achieved something far greater than himself. Yet it was still too large, too lonely. He was alone in the space of it every damn day and felt it suffocating him, the solitude of it encircling around his throat and closing in. It was for that reason he came to rely on the arduous taste of liquor, craving it as his thoughts got the best of him in the vastness of his house.

When Lee pulled up to his driveway, puffing on a cigarette, his eyes immediately made the figure of the girl he’d been thinking about all day standing on the steps of his home. The sight of her alone had his wheels skidding on a stop, engine off in a haste as he slammed the door to the cruiser shut. He immediately got rid of the half-smoked cigarette by throwing it on the cement floor and rushed to her wondering why she was there.

“Darlin’ what are you doing here?” Lee inquired. Despite being puzzled at her being there, he also felt his heart beating frantically in his chest at the mere sight of her. He drank her in as she gathered her thoughts. She wore a baby blue pleated skirt with a cream chiffon blouse tucked inside the waistline. Her face seemed saddened, eyes glassy and face flushed. It wasn’t until his eyes raked down her body that he noticed the brown suitcase at her feet and his forehead creased in confusion.

“Lee…” Y/N started, eyes peering up at the sheriff. “My d-daddy found out about us...He kicked me out the house. I’m sorry for showing up here, sheriff. I just--I just have nowhere to go.”

Lee’s jaw tightened at her words, hands fisting to his sides before they relaxed again at the way the young girl seemed so broken in front of him. Tears were cascading down her cheeks and bottom lip quivering. He took a step closer and pulled her into his strong arms. Her shuddering body came into contact with the fullness of his chest.

“Let’s get you inside first, yeah?” Lee muttered onto the top of her head, taking in the scent of vanilla.

She nodded, moving from his embrace to grasp her single suitcase when Lee bent down and took it from the floor. It wasn’t even heavy and he wondered if she’d even taken anything from her home, if she had the necessities to begin a life without her father. But something inside Lee leaped at the fact that her father finally knew that his daughter was with him. He was so taken with her that the rupture of the father-daughter relationship had him elated, completely and utterly pleased that their indiscretions were no longer so. That he didn’t have to take matters into his own hands anymore to get her away from the claws of her father, he’d done it all on his own. Pushed her away into his very arms.

Lee walked her into his home and her eyes scanned the rooms of it, noting that it didn’t provide a homey feel with it lacking wall art, pictures or even flowers. He urged her to sit on the couch and she did, hands clasped together on her lap. He sat next to her, one of his hands placed itself on her shoulder trying to comfort her in some way.

“Now, doll, what’d your father say?”

“Someone from town must’ve told him, Lee. Must’ve seen us or something. He came home today and he was…” She choked on her words. She closed her eyes tightly while taking a deep breath wanting to continue. “He was so horrible to me. Screamed at me, called me a whore and told me to never come back home. Not even to the store.”

“Did that bastard put his hands on you?” Lee pressed, voice grating as he awaited for her answer. God, he was going to make him pay if he even put on a finger on his sweet girl. She seemed so broken with eyes red from shedding too many tears.

“No. He just called me so many names...I can’t go back home now. I’m sorry I just showed up here without even calling you, I couldn’t think of anybody else who could help me.”

“I’m glad you decided to come here, doll.” Lee let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding and felt a sense of satisfaction that Y/N had come to him out of all people. She confided in him, trusted him to some extent to care for her. It made him surge with utter bliss.

“You sure?” Doe eyes looking up at him. Despite her frail emotional state and tear-stained face, she still looked so alluring. He couldn’t believe she was in his house.

“Of course darlin’. I’m gon’ take real good care of you, you got that? You won’t be needing a thing here. I’ll give you everything you can ever need, doll.”

A tranquil tone had taken to her face at his words. His arms wrapped around her again, placed a kiss on top of her head and she leaned into his embrace. She didn’t know exactly what he meant or how their dynamic would be at the sudden turn of events that had them under the same household, yet she felt a gleaming hope become alight. As if in some sick way, being away from her alcoholic father was a relief to her. She'd dealt with his antics, losing money to gambling far too often, having to run the store on her own more and more as the years passed.

Her father was only a shell now, nothing of what he once was. He was no longer caring, no longer the hard-working man she’d admired. It felt as if her father had died with her mother all those years ago, he’d changed from one day to the next and left her to fend for herself. She realized she harbored so much resentment inside her, building up throughout the years for the man who’d failed to really properly care for her. To help her fully heal from the trauma of losing the most special person in her life, instead he’d added onto that wound. There was no better place for her than being with Lee now, being in his firm embrace. He clearly adored her, seemed as if he only breathed because of her and it might’ve been selfish but the need he had for her made her feel alive. It gave her some miniscule hope that things would be alright.

That night, Lee had shown her to his room. Seeing no need for her to take the guest bedroom when he’d already filled her sweet cunt just days before, he placed her suitcase in his room. She seemed so bashful stepping into his room, eyes grazing about it and the way it suited Lee so well with the green paint and the large bed that sat in the middle. A nightstand on both sides of the bed and large wooden dressers on the far wall.

He had immediately emptied a few drawers for her even though he knew she hadn’t brought all her things just yet. He could break down Boyd’s door to get his girl’s belongings back if he wanted to, just to show him who had the upperhand in the situation. To rub it in his face that a man like him had fucked his daughter and she now resided in his home, was completely and utterly his. Yet the sheriff knew he couldn’t do that, not if he wanted to keep his position as the most powerful man in the town, to keep his hefty salary. Not if he wanted to spoil the living daylights out of his girl with roses and those soft-hued dresses she loved so much.

With the gleam of the moon oozing inside the space is his bedroom, Lee undressed her that warm night in a slow manner. His calloused hands delicately removed every article of her clothing and threw it on the floor of his bedroom. Her body met the sheets of his bed, cold against her skin. And he’d felt such pride at seeing the girl who’d clouded every single one of his thoughts for the last months sprawled on his bed. She was in his house, his bedroom. Completely at his disposal. God, he couldn’t wait to sink into her warmth.

He undressed himself in sheer urgency before he crawled up to her glistening pussy, she was already wet for him but he wanted to taste her. Wanted to savor the sweetness, become bathed in it. His lips met her folds, giving it a proper kiss before his tongue delved out and lapped at her. She did taste delicious, so much he felt crazed as his tongue continued its assault. He’d gone down on her to get a taste of her arousal, to get her wet and slick with his saliva for his cock. She was gasping for air, body squirming as Lee continued to lick and suck on her little nub, teasing her in the way only he knew how to.

She was completely helpless, succumbing to his experienced tongue. He was so good at it, bringing her to the brink in minutes. It wasn’t long before two of his fingers had replaced his lips and she’d yelped at the intrusion. He began easing them in and out of her pussy, the sounds of her arousal and moans loud inside the room. When he pulled away from her, he leaned down one last time to kiss her silky folds before he crawled up to be face to face. She seemed winded, face glowing with a thin sheen of sweat as he’d made a mess of her. She smiled shyly at him when she felt the heat of his gaze on her.

“You liked that, baby?” He leaned down to kiss her, already knowing the answer when her cheeks heated up within seconds. She was still too reluctant to voice how she felt, how he made her feel. His lips were still covered with her arousal and she tasted herself on him, feeling even more daring as she placed her hands on the back of his head to deepen their kiss. His cock was prodding at her entrance already, throbbing as if begging to be engulfed within her walls already. His soft belly was on top of hers, warm and heavy.

She scratched his back when he began to tease her entrance and had weaned his way inside her without much of a warning. Her tight cunt took inch by inch, his thickness already savoring the heat of it. Her pretty eyes had pooled with tears again, welling up around the edges. And his heart swelled at the sight. His hand had subconsciously met the side of her face in a gentle graze, tucking away a piece of unruly hair. He kissed her soft lips, traced them with his own in the most delicate manner he could muster before he began a rocking rhythm with his hips. She was broken before him, her moans echoing throughout the four walls of his room.

The wooden headboard of his bed collided with the walls of his bedroom, leaving dark marks on it as the thumping sound mixed with their moans and slapping skin resounded throughout it. He wasn’t giving her everything he could, her pussy still sensitive, still too inexperienced for a man like him to pound into her. She was still so innocent, irrevocably pure despite having given him her very essence. Despite having given herself to the sheriff, she still held those doe eyes with a type of purity that had him pining for her even more. She had him in the palm of her hands and she wasn’t even aware of it. All the chocolates, all the flowers and long conversations, those longing looks and pangs of desperation that felt like it was consuming him had been worth it because he was drowning in her.

“This pussy belongs to me right baby?” Lee questioned, hips still snapping against hers. Filling her up with his cock in a desperate manner knowing he was damn lucky to be fucking her, to have her writhing underneath him and moaning his name in a euphoric manner.

“Only you, sheriff.” She breathed, meaning it wholeheartedly. Her body was wracking in ecstasy at the intrusion of his shaft. He was rocking his hips against her harder than before and his lips were pressed against hers in a sloppy kiss.

Lee hitched her legs up, placing them on his broad shoulders. He felt deeper, if possible, and her eyes shut so tightly at the new position. It brought a new sensation for her. She was unbelievably loud, panting while gripping the bunched up sheets in her hands. His hand was clasped against both her legs, keeping them in place on his shoulder to fuck into her at a faster pace. He felt so desperate, the wild sensation bubbling inside him, he was chasing his orgasm already. But he wanted her to cream on his dick first, for her to come undone before him.

Still holding onto her legs with one of his hands, his other hand came down to her clit. He began rubbing it in circular motions, knowing she’d like it just like that. He watched as a string of strangled moans left her lips at the newly added stimulation, hands messing up the sheets even more with her grip. Within seconds her back was arching off the bed in spasms, pussy clamping his dick. The strong orgasm shattered her into a beautiful mess, crying out his name again and again. Lee thrusted frantically into her, his own orgasm catching up to him. His milky cum seeped inside her as he groaned loudly.

He collapsed next to her, breathing labored as he stared at the young girl who was breathing just as harshly at him. He leaned in to give her a small kiss, feeling utter bliss not only that he'd just came inside her but that she was laying beside him. And that she’d be doing the same for god knows how long. At that thought, he supposed it was a good time to bring up something that had been eating away at him.

“You know, people been talking ‘bout us darling. I don’t want them to get the wrong impression, can’t have that being the sheriff and all.” Lee began, fingers caressing the sides of her cheek. “How about we get hitched? What do you think ‘bout that?”

Y/N became pensive. Eyes widening and mouth falling shut seeing as no words were even connecting to her brain. Lee had come to hold her heart in such a short time. The brute of a man, with his scowling face and protruding belly, had leered her in. Yet one of the most obvious things about the pair had surely crossed her mind once or twice. She wasn’t dense about their heavy age difference. She was still colored in youth, skin soft and smooth with not a wrinkle in sight. Lee was close to being twenty years older than her. He also had his unhealthy habits of eating his weight in candy and with the way his breath always seemed to be ladened with the bitter smell of liquor it seemed as if he drank his weight in that too.

She noticed the stark similarities her father and Lee shared. The two most important men in her life, one who’d just filled her with disappointment and kicked her out of his life and the other who looked at her as if she was the only girl left on earth. They were men who relied on liquor to stop whatever it was that consumed their minds; the liquid the only thing that stopped their nightmares, their many languished thoughts.

“I told you I’m gon’ take real good care of you. Spoil the living hell out of you, baby. Just say yes.” Lee almost felt pathetic that he seemed to be begging her to agree. To say the definitive yes that would seal their fate together, that would see her as his even in the eyes of the law. He wanted that so badly, yearned for it. Hell, Lee thought, he’d even throw away the stash of liquor from his pantry. He’d rid himself of anything she didn’t like, do absolutely anything she wanted just to get her to agree. To get her to adore him just as much as he did her.

She came to understand that Lee was the only person in town, quite honestly the only man in the world, who really cared about her. He would drive her home even on his most tiring work days, take her out to different diners, coffee shops. He always gifted her with her favorite dark chocolates, blooming red roses and most importantly, with his undivided attention. That was one of the most important gifts of his, his utter adoration of her and the amount of effort he seemed to put into trying to impress her. In the way he tried to take care of her and protect her. It seemed as though he loved her already despite it not being that long since the beginning of it all. Lee would do anything for her and she found comfort in that. He’d wormed his way into her heart and she realized it as she felt his hands on her face.

Lee gripped the side of her jaw, azure eyes clouded with torment as he stared into her glossy ones. He was holding onto whatever word she’d utter, waiting for her to say it. To comply. He’d be so good to her, he promised himself, so good to her she’d never have to look the other way. That she’d never think about their age gap, or about the softness of his belly that seemed to grow with time or even the way his breath always seemed to be ladened with alcohol and cigarettes. He’d give it all up for her.

“Just say yes, doll.” Lee said again, voice rougher this time. The grip on her jaw a little tighter.

“Yes.” Y/N whispered, sealing her fate.

Someone like him with a girl who was almost half his age—he should’ve felt pathetic, embarrassed even. Yet he felt none of those things. Instead he felt high off of her, intensely enamored with her. He was intoxicated off her very presence. He’d gotten a taste of her already, wasn’t dreaming of it any longer. Didn’t have to make himself cum inside pepsi cups at mere thoughts of her anymore. She was tangled in his sheets and he’d made her his.

Tomorrow he’d make her his in the eyes of the law too.

I’m such a hoe for Lee 😫🥵 I’ve watched the devil all the time so many times already I should be ashamed lmao! And I already have another fic planned for him, I’m a fkin mess 🤭

I’m so happy you guys liked my first Lee one shot that I decided to write a second part! Hope you guys enjoy this one as well ✨

[First time doing a taglist so let me know if I missed you! ]

@jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iheartsebandchris @captainkitteh @gloriouspersonbanditrascal @sillygamingartghost @han-xe @awesomerextyphoon @princessofdarkwinter @kenzieam @lalaparker

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