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heich0e · 1 year ago

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"i won't be able to see you for a while."

the tokyo streets slip past outside your window, but your eyes aren't quite following the scenery. you feel a little dizzy thanks to the wine satoru kept pouring over dinner—filling only your glass, as usual. it was a vintage you could never have dreamed you'd get the chance to taste only a few short months ago; a luxury so distant that you'd never once even thought about what it might be like to try. now it lingers on your tongue, stains your lips slightly, feels familiar in ways you still struggle to reckon with.

you tilt your face towards the man sitting beside you in the back of the car that's taking you home.

"a while?" you ask him curiously, though that's perhaps not the most important query.

satoru hums, smiling a little to himself as his fingers press against the pulse point on your wrist. he's been toying with your hand ever since you left the restaurant, but you've hardly paid it any notice.

satoru's touch used to be limited to the spectacle. his hands only reaching out for you when someone was there to witness it. at one time, satoru would have changed cars before his driver took you home. at one time, he would have dropped your hand the moment the door shut behind you. but he doesn't now.

you've grown strangely used to this, too.

"are you going away for work again?" you ask him when he offers no further elaboration. it's not that you're particularly concerned with where he's going, or why, or for how long. satoru's life always has been, and always will be, solely his own. you're no more his keeper than you are his true fiancée—and the funds that will be deposited into your bank account by the time you make it home this evening are testament to that truth.

but you ask because it feels like the natural thing to do.

though very little about anything you do with satoru ought to be considered natural.

"no," the blonde answers, with that troublesome lilt of mirth in his voice that always seems to precede something unpleasant. you don't ask any more questions in an attempt to ward it off.

soon you reach your destination, the rest of the car ride spent in silence after your brief but relatively benign exchange earlier in the drive. you glance out through the window towards your apartment—a building so utterly unremarkable that the sumptuous interior of the restaurant you visited that evening feels palatial by comparison.

satoru's not allowed to walk you to your door anymore. his harsh, obnoxiously unfiltered criticism of your building—of your home—each time he so much as caught a glimpse of the interior had grown so grating, you'd barred him from entering any further than the entrance to the lobby.

instead, his assistant nanami is the one who silently escorts you to your unit door each night, at satoru's unyielding insistence. he'd been surprisingly terse about it when you'd initially attempted to dissuade him, reminding him (more than once) that you make the walk to your own door every day alone and have thus far lived to tell the tale. but the options he firmly presented in reply—the only two you knew you had to choose from—were either to be escorted by nanami, or let him walk you there himself. you knew that there would be no reasoning with him otherwise, sensed it in the way he held you so fixedly in his stare that day, so you chose nanami.

now each night after satoru accompanies you on the ride home after your engagements, his stoic, well-mannered assistant dips in a polite bow at your door and wishes you goodnight before departing once he knows you've made it safely inside.

behind the wheel up front, nanami slips out from his seat, exiting the vehicle and coming around to your door to open it and let you out. the door cracks open as he pulls the handle, but all of the sudden it comes clacking closed again.

satoru is leaning over you—his weight, his warmth, the sheer breadth of him a little staggering from this close up, especially so unexpectedly—holding the door firmly shut by the handle. he stares at you down the bridge of his nose, unblinking.

"i'll see you... when i see you," you breathe out, surprisingly meek, as you sit frozen in your seat beneath him.

satoru says nothing, just watches you curiously. there's a glimmer of something that swims behind his eyes—that look he gets where you can't help but be reminded of a child playing with a new toy—that makes you shift nervously.

"you really don't want to know?" he asks you, and he's so close you can almost taste the words on his lips.

this is too near, even by his peculiar standards. satoru's hand is still wrapped tightly around the door handle to keep it closed. his body pinning you into the corner of the backseat.

you can't help but feel on edge when you're trapped like this with nowhere else to go.

"know what?" you ask him. your head is still spinning from the wine, but it's almost worse now. maybe it's only just really beginning to hit your bloodstream.

"where i'm going," satoru goads, "how long i'll be gone."

you swallow thickly. "that's none of my business."

"of course it is," satoru replies, feigning hurt. "we're engaged. it's a fiancés right to know where their partner is and what they're doing, any time they'd like."

your brow pinches in confusion. you have no interest in knowing those kinds of things, much less feel any right to know them, given the circumstances. your bewilderment leaves you at a loss for words.

"my rut's coming, you see," satoru explains, his lashes fluttering softly as he says it. it wouldn't feel so strange if his lip weren't curling up in a smirk all the while. "so for the next week or so i'll be... indisposed."

your mouth feels dry.

"oh," you manage to say, though it's not really anything at all.

one of satoru's brows quirks curiously at the sound.

"it wouldn't normally be an issue," he continues, though you didn't ask him to. "but this will be my first rut i've spent alone since i presented, so i'm not sure how long it will last."

your lips part in shock.

"alone?" you sound every bit as astonished—as scandalized—as you feel. an alpha of satoru's rank spending his rut alone is unheard of. "what about the omega servic—"

"i would never pay for those kinds of services."

satoru's tone is uncharacteristically cold as he dismisses the mere notion of it. even as a beta, you know that omega services are perfectly legal, and are strictly regulated nowadays—but upon further reflection, you're not all that surprised by his seeming revulsion towards the idea. a family as powerful as the gojo clan likely has their own reserve of omegas, each one of the highest pedigree, to attend to the needs of their unmated alphas. hell, the most eligible omegas in the country would willingly accompany him if he were to ask. you avert your gaze under his cold stare, you feel a bit silly for even suggesting—

"i have no interest bringing any omega into my bed."

your eyes snap up to meet his.

that little glimmer is still there, behind the impossibly clear blue of his eyes.

"will you take suppressants?" you find yourself asking next. still meek.

satoru's face screws up in disgust.

"that garbage is toxic," he sniffs indignantly. "snake oil like that wouldn't work on me anyway."

you remember learning about this in health class as a teen. remember how shocked you were to learn that the efficacy of suppressants decreases depending on how strongly someone's secondary gender characteristics present. it's always felt a bit backwards to you—shouldn't the strongest, least-controllable members of the population be the ones there's the most interest in subduing?

and an alpha as high ranking, as dominant, as satoru is every bit the example.

"no," he sighs, and suddenly any trace of irritation or sterness dissipates as though he's released it along with his breath. his weary tone is too thickly affected to be sincere. "i'll just have to suffer through it on my own."

from the corner of your eye, you can see nanami shift where he stands and waits outside the door, and all at once you remember where you are.

you turn your body away from satoru, angling yourself (as much as you're able) towards your exit.

"well, good luck," you attempt to sound encouraging, but the words still come out slightly ill-at-ease. you reach for the door handle, hoping satoru will get the message and release it so you can take your leave. "let me know if you need anything."

satoru's hand doesn't move.

"do you really mean that?"

you flinch a little as his lips brush the shell of your ear. he's pressed up against your back now—the planes of his chest firm against your shoulder blades as he drapes himself over you.

you're frozen again, your hand still outstretched towards his at the handle—poised in midair. the lights from outside the car glint tauntingly in the diamond on your ring finger.

his breath is hot as it breaks against your throat.

your chest feels uncomfortably tight.

"would you really help me if i were to ask?"

#tw omegaverse #a/b/gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk drabble #jjk writing #writing

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digitalmagnate · 8 months ago

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How To Compare Search Queries In Google Search Console ||Google Search Console ||Digital Magnate

#Google_Search_Console, #Search_query_comparison,

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bookwyrminspiration · 1 year ago

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hello so i sent you something very similar to this a few months ago but it looks like tumblr ate my og ask because i haven't seen it so i'm resending it except i don't remember my exact words so i have to rewrite it from scratch lmfao

about elves and culture: at one point i remember you mentioning offhandedly in some post that elves are all white culturally (i tried for about fifteen minutes to find it, but you know. tumblr.) which is another way the series lacks diversity (besides the obvious barely-any-non-white-people and no non-allocishet people) and i was thinking about how shannon could have even have fixed this problem because the elves are a monolith when it comes to culture. yeah, they have different races, but all the races have the same culture. so i was like. ok. how would shannon even incorporate multiple cultures into the story? how would it even be possible to show cultural diversity in a story where the elves all live in the same society? and i came up with a few ideas:

could do a mashpot, where everyone in the lost cities has bits of every single culture ever mixed into one (somehow). i have two ideas for this

mashpot option one: have the different aspects of a culture each come from different cultures (for example, clothes of one culture and the food of a different culture and traditions of the another culture and so on). putting it all together, this would create a collage-culture of sorts, which would be quite jarring, but it could be effective if done well, i think.

mashpot option two: they could have the different aspects of a culture pull from every culture ever. for example, the elves could eat foods that taste like foods from all around the world, instead of foods that just taste like american foods (as someone who hates the taste of stereotypically american food, i can say i would hate eating anything from the lost cities). or have them celebrate a variety of holidays or something across the whole year, each of which is representative of a different culture.

could have different groups of elves each have different cultures. i also have two ideas for this

different groups option one: each family line has a different culture or something like that. so you have cultural diversity through each family having a different culture and everyone being accepting of that. this could include different clothes, food, traditions, architecture, celebrations, and all that stuff (maybe not language though lmfao). this would at least be able to somewhat showcase different cultures, although it would have to have been done really half-assedly. this would also have a huge skew toward white cultures because most of the characters are white.

different groups option two: create different clans of elves, all of whom have mutual respect for each other. each clan of elves can have a different culture. this would literally be separate societies of elves. however, they could all respond to the same council, which is made of people from all the clans in the name of equality. this way, the monolithicity of the elves would be intact and while still showing some diversity of culture.

shannon makes up her own culture that is completely unlike any culture we've ever heard of, ever. equal neglect of all cultures is equality. sophie eats an umber leaf and is like "this tastes like nothing i've ever eaten before and tastes like it shouldn't even be a real food but i like it". sophie is shown their clothes and it's just a dress made out of solid, opaque crystal. their traditions involve scratching random shapes in the ground and dancing around them in a specific way. this is the chaos option.

this wouldn't really showcase cultural diversity, but instead of an all-white culture, it could be a non-white culture monolith. but then there's the same problem of "why do all the elves have the same exact culture, where's the diversity?" except a different flavor. it would also be really weird because most of the characters in the series are canonically white.

elves don't have any culture. not gonna lie, i have no idea how this would work. this is the other chaos option. up to interpretation, i guess.

thoughts? what would you do if you were shannon. i don't really see any other options for fixing this problem, but there might be something i missed.

(also, yes, i am sending this three times. sorry for annoying you. i want to make sure at least one makes it to your inbox this time lol.)

Hey! So sorry about that--I don't know exactly how long you were waiting, but if it ever seems a while you can send an ask sooner to double check!

Before I get into this, I will say: there is no one right way to approach this topic and I am one person. These are just my thoughts--and I am always open to hearing from others

That said, just to clarify my first point (from this ask, thanks for the link), what I meant by "the elves are all white culturally" is that the kotlc elven culture is fabricated, but seems largely white american inspired. Which makes sense, as that's what Shannon is. There's always going to be a level of bias from one's own experiences and life, it's legitimately impossible to avoid and not always a bad thing. In some cases though, we want to temper it a little, which I don't think it really was in kotlc.

Like you said, there's multiple ways to approach this.

I think the crux is how race, in the elven world, means nothing--but this story exists in a world where it means a lot. While race is a social construction (the meanings/distinctions we assign to skin color are arbitrary) and therefore can be given a null significance, doing so is difficult because socially constructed doesn't mean meaningless/insignificant

We also run into complications given how scattered elves are--I've brought this up regarding clothing, but the physical geography of one's community shapes not only what you wear, but what you grow, how you build, etc. And we don't have that landmark for the elves

I think either an elven monoculture or multiple would work, it's just a matter of what you'd want to do.

If we go for a monoculture as Shannon has, I'd personally go for its own unique culture rather than a mash-up. A mash-up seems too likely to remove significant context/meaning from the source, and the elves are supposed to be isolated from humans. I think Shannon choosing this was fine, it was the execution I dislike.

The food comparisons you mention, for example. Or the family structures. Beauty standards. The education system. They don't actually feel like a distinct monoculture, it feels American with a fantasy filter. If, for example, we expanded on how being immortal affects your family (everyone's still alive, what kinds of relationships does that create, etc.), or how they're taught (instead of lectures and homework, maybe more hands on involvement, travel for hands-on since they can do so instantly, different kinds of tests, etc.), then I'd be more satisfied. I know there's some level of familiarity so readers aren't lost, but it's a little too much, in my opinion

If we were going instead for multiple elven cultures, I think I'd personally base it on ability. It's the most defining thing in their world and could easily be taken further. There'd be kinks to work out given kids don't automatically inherent their parents' abilities, have to manifest, and that people with the same ability don't generally group together, but! that's not insurmountable

kids could be raised within their parents' ability cultures/customs and then, if they manifest a different ability, its culture could be passed via their instructors--which wouldn't necessarily be at Foxfire. Those who differ from their parents, perhaps, would be expected to seek out additional mentor figures and become more multi-culture kids in the process. just because they don't group in canon now doesn't mean they can't here (and could be seen as more necessary given how much ability cross-marriages there are). There could also be more celebratory days around abilities--e.g. a kind of ceremony conducted when a kid manifests. Lots of different ways to take it, the point is just that abilities, I think, make a great base for different elven cultures given how massively important it is in their world.

We're critiquing/discussing diveristy, so something to consider, I think, is what is diversity in the context of kotlc? We want a variety of people to be reflected in the story--but we're dealing with isolated non-humans, so including a variety of human cultures won't necessarily achieve that goal.

The main thing that comes up (or at least that I've seen discussed) is the lack of non-white characters and the fairly american constructed culture--so the course of action to take could be a better balance of physical descriptor (more non-white characters) that creates the varied reflections/connections we want, and a more distinctly elven culture that leans into it harder, making it less American.

I'll stop here for now until this gets too long, but at the moment that's the general direction of my thoughts. I think it's a fine thought experiment to ask "what if culture wasn't tied to race?" you just don't want to then forget that even though your fantasy book doesn't consider race, it exists in a society that does. which could lead us into further discussion on sterotypes as well, which also factors into all this

and again: these are just my personal initial thoughts. it's a broad, complex topic, so there will of course be things I miss or don't get to. but regardless, i hope that at least partially answers your question of what I would do :)

#kotlc #kotlc worldbuilding #long post #quil's queries #nonsie #i am. so sorry about the wait #rest assured I have definitely received this ask now #also. that og post is from 2021. and while I'm not saying I completely disagree with myself #i may have some clarifications/alterations to my previous statements. like the comparisons I make with my own life #alas. the human nature to change and grow #anyway. does this answer your question? always willing to talk more #but just making sure I'm getting what you're getting at and on track

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 1 day ago

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do you take requests? if so can you do anything with charles in the mafia

(1) Comes and Goes - Charles Leclerc

Blaring music, neon strobe lights and the sweaty haze of bodies that amassed on the dancefloor. The staples of being in the club on a Saturday night in the middle of summer. You were stood in the corner, holding a drink in your hand as you watched the scene in front of you.

Your friends had disappeared somewhere in the crowd, and you were taking some time off of dancing while you caught your breath. The atmosphere was a little too close and hazy for you, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world.

"Hey pretty girl, can I buy you a drink?" a voice from beside you said. Looking in his direction, you saw a guy. He was handsome, you had to admit, but the look in your eye told you he was up to no good.

He looked pretentious, like he was one of those guys that took whatever he wanted, from whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. "No, but thank you." you sweetly smiled, turning to walk away from him.

"Please?" he pressed, grabbing onto your arm and tightly holding you back. You were sure he was probably perfectly nice and respectable, but you had to trust your gut feeling. There was something not right about him.

"I appreciate the offer, really, but I'll have to pass. Enjoy your evening," you said, tugging your arm away and leaving him there. You felt relieved as he hadn't appeared to have followed you, and you went back to enjoying your evening.

You danced and drank a little more, before someone tapped you on the shoulder as you went to the bathroom. "Sorry, miss, excuse me?" the man said, and you instantly preferred him over the guy from earlier. He was a lot more polite.

And, as you stopped to look at him, he already had a much better feel about him. "Yeah?" you said, eyeing up his features. He had dimples as he smiled, and his blazer sat perfectly on his body.

"Forgive me if this is taken as intrusive, but do you know that man from earlier? The one that was talking to you?" he asked, and you were curious as to how he had even seen. It was dark, and he had to have been close by to notice the encounter.

"No, no I don't. Why?" you queried, trying not to get lost in the deep green of his eyes. He had an accent that you couldn't quite place, but you were pretty sure it was French but had been speaking English long enough to lose some of the accent. He seemed like he was from around here.

"Just... stay away from him, yeah?" he said, and you noticed some form of what you could only put down as concern in his eyes. Yet he seemed confident, and there was just something about him that you really liked.

"That was the plan," you chuckled, watching a small grin form on his face at your comment.

"Good, good. Stay safe," he nodded as he stepped aside to let you carry on walking to the bathroom. "Miss, wait, I never caught your name?" he called out after you, taking a few steps towards you, so he was standing in front of you again.

"I'm Y/N, you?"

"Charles, Charles Leclerc. It's a pleasure," he smiled, taking your hand and planting a soft kiss on the back of it. He was a real gentleman in comparison to the other guy.

"Likewise," you smiled, and he once again let you go to the bathroom. You were kind of hoping he would call you back. But, he just let you keep walking off until you had reached the bathroom.

You were curious as to why Charles had issued that as a warning, but something inside of you compelled you to trust him. For the rest of the night, you didn't see Charles or the man from earlier, but as you were waiting for your friends near the entrance, you started to feel faint.

Your head was spinning slightly, and you took a step outside for some fresh air. You leant against the wall to steady yourself, and the people around you just looked at you like you had had too much to drink, but you knew you hadn't.

Not enough to cause this reaction, anyway. "Hey, pretty girl," a voice said from in front of you, and you could tell who it was, even with your vision blurring over. "How about we get you somewhere more quiet, yeah?" he said, snaking an arm around your waist in an attempt to steady you.

"N-no. Get off me," you slurred, whatever it was that you had been given was taking a huge toll on you, and you could barely stand up. "I said get off me," you said, slightly louder. Charles had told you to stay away from this man, and you had completely agreed with his warning.

Dread hit you like a tonne of bricks as you tried to scramble away. "Come on, beautiful. Let's get you home," he said, and you immediately knew what he was doing as he tried to guide you away. You didn't know him, and you hated how he pretended you did.

You were too weak to push away from his movement, and your legs buckled underneath you as you walked. "Up we go," he sighed, hoisting you into his arms without any warning. Now, there was no escaping.

"Put me down! Get away," you weakly mumbled as you struggled to stay conscious. All you heard was a chuckle from the man as he carried on walking.

Just as your vision was blurring over, you felt your body jolted with an, "Get the fuck off her!" sounding around. Before your brain could put a name or face to the voice, you were out cold, unable to react to what was going on.

You couldn't tell how long you were out for, or where you even were, but you knew you were indoors somewhere. You slowly opened your eyes, your pounding headache making you wince as you sat up.

Looking around, you didn't know where you were. There were balcony doors to your left, letting in a bright stream of light. The room was gorgeous as you admired the features of it. It was modern, but with an antique touch of cremes and darker accents in it.

You weren't in the same clothes that you had been in the night before, you knew that for certain. You spotted the black cocktail dress on a chair in the corner of the room, having been replaced by a tank top and shorts on your frame, and your shoes were left neatly to the side.

Your head spun slightly as you stood up and out of bed, but you soldiered through and went to the vanity. You noticed your makeup had been taken off, and your hair had been pulled back into a neat plait. Whoever's house you were in had taken great care of you.

You were wondering why you weren't panicking right now, since waking up in a stranger's house was far from anything normal that you could experience. Yet, something inside you told you that you were safe, even if you didn't fully trust it.

But, you still didn't have a clue where you were. You figured there was no harm in going for a walk around, and you thought it might clear your still foggy mind. As you left the room, the ceilings were high and the corridors seemed to go on for miles.

This place was beyond anything you had ever seen in real life, the house looking straight out of a movie. The renaissance-era paintings on the wall looked as real as anything as you observed the textured brush strokes beneath the glass.

After you had wandered around, your light footsteps echoing slightly around as your feet padded on the cold, marble floors, you found yourself at the top of a grand staircase. It led all the way down to what you assumed to be the front door, and you could see through the archways at either side of the stairs that lead to the rest of the house.

But what stood out most were the two, suited men standing at the door. They spotted you at the top of stairs, both of them whispering something to each other. "Excuse me, where am I?" you asked, approaching them as you stepped down the stairs.

One of the men walked straight past you and up the stairs, going the same way you had come, while the other stopped in front of you, a gentle smile on his face. "My colleague has gone to tell Mr Leclerc you're awake. Now, if you'd follow me, I am under instruction to keep you in bed," he explained, walking off.

You followed him, thinking as you walked. Leclerc? You knew that name from some- shit. Charles. The nice guy from last night. He was the one who had told you to stay away from the dodgy guy who was carrying you away, so why the hell were you in his house?

Maybe this was a different Leclerc? Surely not, though. That was not a common name, not by any means.

As you were lost in your thoughts you had already arrived back at your room. He opened the door, ushering you inside. "Back in bed please, Y/N. You shouldn't be on your feet just yet," a voice said, and, despite your memories of the night being misty, you knew who it was. Just as suspected.

Walking further back into the room, you sat down on the bed, spotting Charles sitting on the chair that didn't have your dress on it. "Charles?" you said, knowing full well it was him, but needing to confirm it for some reason. Your brain was still foggy.

"Yes, I know, this is a lot for you, but if you give me a minute, I'll explain. This isn’t what it looks like," he softly smiled, and you just looked at him. He took your silence as a cue to continue, his brain working out a way to say this so that it didn't sound too movie-like.

"First, I'll ask you what you remember of last night?" he asked, knowing it would help him tell you the situation if he knew.

"I remember that weird guy, I remember meeting you. I was waiting for my friends, and I started to feel dizzy, so I stepped outside to get some fresh air. Then my legs felt all weird, and I couldn't really walk very well. He showed up, tried to get me to go home with him, and he picked me up and started walking away. Then I heard someone else, who I assume to have been you, and now I'm here," you explained. You were surprised about how much you could recall, despite the alcohol combined with whatever else you had been given.

"OK, so pretty much most of it," he nodded, finding your recollection to be helpful. "Do you remember me telling you to stay away from that guy?"

"Yeah, I do," you confirmed, remembering how sweet he had been to you.

"There's not really an easy way to say this, I guess..." he said, his normal, confident demeanour failing him at the minute. He was used to being hard-headed and... business driven, not unsure of his words.

"I'll put it like this. That guy from last night is a rival of mine, per se, and I wasn't letting him take advantage of you after he had slipped whatever it was in your drink. I did it to prove a point to him, and I certainly wasn't letting you get hurt," he explained, and he gave you a minute to think it over.

"Rival? Rival in what?" you asked, tilting your head as you pulled the covers over you a little more.

"We're... business rivals," he said, and you knew there was more to the story. And you also knew you probably didn't want to find out. Your brain jumped to some conclusions as to what Charles could dabble in for work, but you thought you were being crazy. But you were still curious.

"Where is he now?" you quietly asked, and Charles' eyes widened slightly. He didn't expect you to ask that, and he didn't have an answer for you.

"Don't worry about him, I took care of it," he said, with a sinister and cold undertone. It implied something ominous, and you also didn't want to know what he meant. It seemed like the sweet, caring Charles had something darker brewing under the surface, and you didn't feel like finding out what it was.

The whole scenario was very odd, and something that hadn't quite sunk into your mind yet. You were sitting in a bed in the house of a man you had briefly met before you were likely drugged and nearly kidnapped. Just your normal Saturday night, I suppose.

"Did you... did you undress me, or...?" you asked, wanting to change the subject. Charles didn't look like he wanted to talk about his affairs either. But the new subject was no less awkward.

"No, no, " he shook his head, "I asked one of my maids to, since I didn't think you'd want to sleep in your dress, but I didn't want to invade your privacy. I hope that's OK," he timidly said, somewhat nervous about your reaction.

His confidence from the previous night was seemingly dissolved, his charms faltering slightly. But it only made him that bit more interesting. He seemed like a complex character, one that was well put together. However, you knew that he, like everyone, had a different side behind closed doors.

Despite only knowing him for a few hours, barely even that, you had gathered that home Charles and public Charles were likely to be different versions of himself. The cool, calm and collected versus the slightly shy, apparently caring.

"Well thank you, I appreciate it. And tell her thank you as well," you smiled, your words clearly sincere. Charles found your thanks adorable, to be quite frank, and the slight blush that coated your cheeks was one of the most genial things he had ever seen.

"You can tell her yourself," he said, just as a small knock came from the door. "Vous pouvez entrer, Annette," Charles called out, and the door slowly swung open. It opened to reveal a relatively old lady, with a kind face.

She looked like the sweet grandma on the street who bakes pies and cookies for the kids and parents alike. She had a tray in her frail hands, and you could smell the freshly done toast, with what appeared to be jam and butter with a glass of orange juice.

"This is Annette, she's worked for my family since before I was born, and she is very excited to have a lady around here instead of just me and the security," he gently chuckled as Annette made her way over to your side, placing the tray on your bedside table.

"You're very pretty, miss," she smiled, her accent way thicker than Charles'. She had this wonderful sparkle in her eye, and you could tell she was very loving, and could understand why Charles had kept her around for so long.

"Vous êtes trop," you grinned back, glad that your French was sufficient enough to answer her lovely compliment with such a simple phrase. Charles' heart warmed at the interaction, glad that Annette liked you, and how sweet you were being with her.

"May I sit?" she asked, gesturing to the edge of the bed. Her eyes flicked over to Charles, and he nodded, as if giving her permission.

"Of course, sure," you confirmed, moving your legs out of the way so that she had more room to sit down as she perched on the edge of the bed. She looked at you, and you could see the joy in her face.

"That dress of yours is very pretty, you looked absolutely stunning," she gushed, causing you to blush even more. "Back in my day, I used to be able to pull that off too," she chuckled, you and Charles laughing along.

"I'm sure you still could," you giggled along.

"It is lovely to see a young lady like yourself around here, Charles never brings anyone home for me to talk to," she said with a wink, glancing over at Charles as he blushed with a small smile.

"Oh does he not?"

"Surprisingly not. I mean, you'd think with a face as handsome as his, he'd have ladies around all the time," she continued to tease Charles as if he weren't listening, even if he were blushing and giggling along to Annette's jokes.

"You sure would," you agreed, enjoying getting in on the fun.

"Well, I'll leave you to rest and eat breakfast, you've had a very long night. If you need anything, and I mean anything at all, you can come to me. Charles doesn't know where anything is in his own house, so he's practically useless," she chuckled, standing and leaving both you and Charles there, by yourselves again.

"She's my mum away from my mum," he told you, his cheeks still tinted red. "And I think she's taken quite a liking to you," he added.

"And I've taken quite a liking to her, she's very sweet," you nodded.

"Well, she's actually nice to you. As you can tell, she would much rather talk to you than have to put up with me for another twenty-seven years." he smirked, leaning back in the chair. As you looked at him, your eyes were pulled away and back out of the balcony doors you had spotted.

From your angle, all you could see was the cloudless blue sky and the bright sun that sat in it. Slinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you took a few steps towards the door so that you could see the ocean, with a few, tiny, white boats bobbing on the surface.

"Hey, no, sit, please," Charles rushed, striding up to you and holding his arms out to you if you needed to grab onto him. He looked worried, nearly panicked that you were on your feet. He didn't know if you were still fragile, and he didn't want to take any risks.

"Huh? I'm fine?" you said, confused as to his sudden reaction.

"Look, I don't know what you were given last night, and I'd really rather you rest and let a doctor check up on you before you go back to walking around," he explained, turning you back around so you were facing the bed and placing a firm hand on the small of your back, gently pushing you back towards it.

"Charles, I'm fine. I already took a wander around, and I feel alright," you told him with a sigh. The attentiveness was commendable, but you really were fine. The slight headache you had felt earlier had dissipated, and you really did feel OK.

"Please? My family doctor is on the way, and it'd give me a lot more peace of mind if you just sat down and took it easy until we know you're OK," he pleaded, giving you what could only be described as the puppy dog eyes.

"Family doctor? Charles, you really don't have to, I'm OK," you tried to assure him, but you could tell he was a stubborn man.

"I'm not taking no for an answer, now please, back in bed. It's the least I can do for practically kidnapping you," he joked, but he instantly knew that it was in poor taste. "Sorry, that wasn't my most well-thought out of comments..." he mumbled.

"Hey, no, it's fine," you reassured him, knowing you'd much rather be here with him than wherever that other guy was trying to take you. "Right, I'm sat, happy?" you teased, watching another smile bloom on his face.

"Very, the doctor should be here any minute, she's great. I've already told her everything, so you have nothing to worry about," he said, glad to see you sat down. It eased his worries, and he could relax for a minute.

"I've got to get back to work, Annette will be on your every beck and call, so if you want anything, just ask her. But, if you need me, I'll leave my office door unlocked so you can just come get me. Second one on your left," he smiled, walking out of the door and back to his office.

He had made sure you were in the bedroom that was simultaneously closest to his office and to his room, just so that he could be there in a flash if you needed him at any point. He felt bad for you, overall.

You had had a really rough night, and you had taken it like an absolute trooper. He was glad that you seemed to feel safe enough with him, and he was glad to have been there when he was. He knew what that man was like, and he sure as hell wasn't letting you have a fate like you would have if he hadn't been there.

At that moment, however, he wanted to ignore that, because he knew you were safe, in his house, with the family doctor currently looking over you. Unfortunately, a lot of girls like you ended up in much worse positions, and that was his least favourite thing about the world he lived and worked in.

The world that was concealed by shadows and talked about in hushed whispers. Yet, it was all he knew. From when he was young, this was all he had been a part of: slinking about behind the backs of society, dealing in darkness and backhanders.

He didn't want you to know about any of that. He didn't want you exposed to that if you didn't have to be. Sometimes, it was too much for him, and he had grown up with it. So, he had no doubts that it would be too much for a normal person living a normal life.

He also didn't want you to think any differently of him. He liked that you knew him as Charles. Just Charles. Not the infamous Charles Leclerc whose name could barely be uttered without fear and scepticism attached to it.

You appeared to like him just by him being himself, not by being what everyone thought he was. You were able to create your own, unbiased opinions of him, and it offered the opportunity to get to know him without any preconceived notions about what he was and who he was supposed to be.

After a while of barely getting any work done, there was a knock at Charles' office door. "Yeah?" he called, eyes not leaving his computer screen as he spotted Annette appear in the doorway out of the corner of his eye.

"The doctor has been and gone, and she's fine. She might feel a little groggy for a few days, but she's OK. I left her in bed to carry on resting," she explained. Annette could see the pure relief that washed over Charles, and he could now relax knowing that you were OK.

"Thanks, Annette. I'll go see her in a minute," he confirmed, finishing up the last few bits of work before he let himself see you. He rushed to finish a few things, before practically jumping out of his chair and marching the few metres down the corridor to get to your room.

He gently knocked on the door to alert you to his presence, before opening it a crack and poking his head around it. "Hey, you can come in," you said. Charles wasted no time in waltzing straight in. He took the spot that Annette had been sitting in before, and noticed that you looked a little tired.

"How are you feeling?" he softly asked, looking at you intently.

"I'm fine, just a bit tired, but nothing too bad. Don't worry, the doctor said everything is looking fine, and I'll be right as rain in a few days," you told him, aware that he probably already knew what the doctor had said.

"Good, good. Now, I would like to make a request," he asked, and the tone of his voice sounded dubious. You narrowed your eyes at him, waiting to hear what he had to say. "Stay here, have a nap, let me keep an eye on you. Tomorrow, you can decide if you want to go home or stay until you're fully better."

"You're very kind, Charles. But, I don't want to overstay my welcome, you've done more than enough for me," you dismissed, and Charles tried to hide the disappointment on his face at your answer. He didn't want you to feel like you had to stay, or that you were trapped there, but he wanted you to stay.

A part of him was still worried for you, and wanted to keep you where he knew you were protected and could be there if you needed him. You'd be able to rest, and you wouldn't have to do anything yourself for a couple days.

Charles was, however, confused as to why he was thinking like this. He had met you last night and had essentially kidnapped you, but now he had a strong inclination to take care of you and keep you out of harm's way. But, he couldn't force you.

"You're not overstaying your welcome, if that's the only reason you want to leave. Obviously, if you want to go home, I completely understand and I can take you whenever you want. But just know, I would really appreciate it if you allowed me to have the ability to make sure you're 100%, A-OK," he said, trying not to come off like he was pressuring you to stay if you didn't want to.

"Are you sure? I don't want to be in the way,"

"You won't be in the way, you're a welcome guest. Annette adores you... and I'd quite like you to stay if you do want to. You need to be taken care of, and I like seeing that that's happening with my own eyes. Like I said, I completely get it if you'd rather go home, but don't go because you feel like we don't want you here," he explained.

"I think I might take you up on your offer of having a nap, then," you said, eliciting a small smile from Charles, relieved that you were going to stay.

"OK, I'll leave you be. Second door on the left, don't forget. If you need anything, just shout, I'd rather you weren't on your feet too much," he told you, going to close the curtains over the balcony door so that you could have a more peaceful rest.

"Thanks, Charles," you smiled, shuffling down so you were lying in the bed, pulling the covers up over you. He waited until you had stopped shifting so that he knew you were comfortable, before approaching the door.

"Anytime," he replied, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Yet again, he left you to sleep, returning to his office to actually get some of his work done.

The next time he checked the time, he saw that a couple hours had been and gone, and you had probably woken back up after your nap. It was nearly 6pm, so he shut down his computer for the day and locked his office door behind him.

Approaching your door, he lightly knocked on it. If you were asleep, you probably wouldn't hear unless you were the lightest sleeper in the world, but if you were awake, you could've heard it. He was met with silence, so he quietly opened the door.

Looking towards the bed, he saw that you weren't there. For a moment, he panicked, but he knew you would be there somewhere. There was no way you could have left the house without someone notifying him of your attempt to leave, even if they had would have put you straight back in bed. before Plus, your stuff was still on the chair.

As he wandered around, he couldn't find you, or Annette, so he assumed the two of you were together somewhere. He heard voices coming from the kitchen as he passed by, and he knew he had found you.

Walking into the kitchen, he saw you, leant against the kitchen island with a mug in your hands while Annette finished making her own drink. "I thought I'd told you to stay off your feet?" he said, walking in and leaning on the counter beside you.

"Charles, stop fussing, she's fine," Annette told him, tutting as she wiped the marble countertops down. As he opened his mouth to reply, she cut him off. "I know, you'd rather her rest until she's 100%, but she's fine. I am keeping an eye on her,"

Charles scowled at her as you just giggled, and he didn't like how she had known exactly what he was going to say. "Please go sit down, I-" he whispered to you, but Annette clearly had great hearing for however old she was.

"Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc, stop pestering the poor girl," she scolded, whipping him on the arm with the tea towel she had in her hands. All you could do was cackle, unable to stop the fits of giggles you were letting out.

Charles just sighed as he had to accept that you were going to carry on functioning like a normal person instead of being bedridden and treated like a princess like he wanted you to be. "How was your day, Charles?" you asked, trying to skirt the topic away from him wanting you in bed.

"The usual, working, trying and failing to keep you in bed," he said, as Annette whipped him with the tea towel again. "But all in all, not a bad one," he rounded off. Had he gotten that much work done? No. But he wasn't really that bothered.

As he spoke, you focused your attention on your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. Charles noticed the lack of a response as you seemed fixated on the mug. "Hey, you alright?" he asked, stepping slightly closer so that he could get a better look at you.

"Yeah, yeah. I was just wondering if it'd be alright if I went home tomorrow?" you said, not wanting to seem ungrateful by wanting to just up and leave. You had enjoyed the time spent with Charles and Annette, but you really needed the comforts that only home could provide.

"I know I said I'd stay, but I just think I'd benefit from some of my creature comforts," you said, as if you had to explain why you wanted to leave. He was sad that you were leaving, since he had found that he was greatly enjoying having someone to take care of other than himself.

He had also become rapidly used to having you around, and he found comfort in knowing you were just in the other room. He felt partially to blame that you were even there to begin with, so the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you had to leave.

"That's OK, I can drop you off," he shortly said, hoping his disappointment hadn't come across. He wasn't going to try and force you to stay, since he knew you definitely wanted to go.

"I really do appreciate you even having me here, and I kind of owe my life to you, Charles," you quietly said with a small smile.

"You don't owe me anything, don't worry. I was just doing the right thing," he said, reflecting your smile with a pained one of his own. He didn’t want to let you go, he wanted to keep you where you were safe.

You were like a breath of fresh air breezing through the stagnancy of the mansion. Plus, Annette had taken quite a liking to you, so he didn’t see any reason to want you gone. “I can’t take you today, but I can take you tomorrow?” he asked, and Annette could sniff the lie from a mile off.

Charles could have taken you right now if he had wanted, he worked for himself and did everything on his own terms. But no. He lied to keep you here longer. Even though Annette had brought Charles up on a very strict policy of transparency, she’d let this one slide.

Charles wanted to keep you with him as long as he possibly could, and if that meant letting a little white lie be told, then so be it. He’d done much worse in his life, to say the least. “Yeah, tomorrow sounds good,” you nodded, still tracing your finger around the rim of the mug in your hands.

“Tomorrow it is,” he agreed, masking his sombre feelings as best he could. He was letting go to something he had barely grasped onto, his fingers barely skimming over something that had become the centre of his life so quickly.

Just as quickly as a whirlwind had whisked you into his life, it was yanking you away. Maybe this was for the best, he thought. If you weren’t around him, you couldn’t get tangled in the iniquities of his life. Maybe this was the best way he could keep you safe after all. By keeping you away from him.

A/N - I have been writing this for over a year and I have only gotten 11 chapters in, but they are pretty substantial for the most part. I really hope you enjoy this, as it has taken a lot of my time and has been taking up a lot of my mind for quite a while now! A reblog would be greatly appreciated. Love y'all 💖

|masterlist|the full series|

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dhampling · 1 year ago

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one fem!reader, 2k

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?”

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

astarion is a newly-minted girldad. that's it. that's the plot.

word count: 2,028

an: fluff, fluff n more fluff. no smut this time. soon. promise. parts ONE and TWO linked respectively but can be read alone.

“She’s asleep, Astarion!”

You are wide eyed, furious; speaking in a whispered shout at your husband.

His pale hands flit across the ties of your shirt, frisking every which way they turn. You slap them off like flies on fruit.

“Even more reason to take advantage of the situation, if you ask me.” He murmurs hungrily in your ear, hands now circling down to your waist to tug on your waistband.

“It’s a fine job I didn’t ask you then!” Gritted teeth. Eyes aflame. Cornered against the dresser.

The crib beside your bed holds your infant daughter - skittish and fresh to a world wholly unknown in every sense of the word. She rests rarely and wails often for company in these early months of being alive with you both. Pallid and red-eyed yet beautiful beyond comparison and entirely yours.

Seeing you together brings him joy unparalleled.

He has, genuinely; never been prouder of anything of his doing - saving the Sword Coast is a drop in the ocean that is completely and utterly awash with love for your youngling. The mistaken mess of his own bastard elven vampiric genetics now born unto another. This time it would be right. The hunger, the rot; the abuse and neglect, they were hundreds of miles away.

He would make it right.

But it was already so. She was here, and you all cried together in that dark, sweaty birth chamber. His great guttural sob at her birth, wracked with emotion he never knew he could possibly be permitted to feel on this immortal coil. Your genuinely feral howls of pain turned weeping with pure joy.

Two full days of agony unlike any you’ve ever endured and she had arrived, breathing; wailing; skin of a changeling in birthing viscera and lungs keen to rival any bellow of the Gods.

Astarion weakly clinging to you both; tears salting your lips and wetting her tiny head for hours on end.

The great weight of another being on your shoulders. His sincere - yet cliche - fervently whispered oath to her just moments after being placed in his arms.

She is home. She is loved beyond any unit of measure. She will want for nothing, and she will never know anguish like that of her parents and their complex lives. No matter who she is or what she becomes, she has two people who are in her corner. She will be fierce if she so desires. Cunning. Witty. Roguish. Barbaric. Horrid.

It didn’t matter. It never would.

She was yours, and his; and she would always have a choice.

He had spoken with her for hours, the nurse whispered to inform you once you had awoken from the deepest slumber of your life. Even then when you looked he was hanging over her small form in her cot, running his lithe fingers over her tiny hands and feet in a repetitive soothing pattern.

When you queried the topic of conversation he simply looked at you with a grin so lovesick it would flip your stomach completely. Butterflies.

“We deserve a bit of fun though, darling. Mummy and Daddy’s evening off? No?”

Astarion pouts, wrapping his arms around you - still pinned against the dresser - and inhaling your scent deeply.

You return the gesture and cough reactively.

“You stink of Noblestalk. I know your tricks.”

You playfully shove him away and tiptoe from your room to the landing, the pale elf hot on your heels.

“I have never stunk in my life, thank you.” He sulks.

You pointedly stop to look at him, before picking up a basket of waiting laundry and descending the stairs. He follows.

“I’m trying to fuck you, dear. Don’t make it weird.” He rolls his eyes and huffs.

You hum.

“Corpses tend to smell awful.”

“Warning.”

“You started it.”

“Touché.”

A beat of silence.

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?”

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

“You’re getting rusty.”

He captures you in a kiss as you reach the bottom of the stairs, slow and patient. Holding your free arm to keep you close.

“Look at me. I’m the epitome of the fatherly jester!’

Waggles his free hand.

‘I have been blessed with brains and humour anew by the birth of our daughter, clearly.’

He grimaces.

‘Not necessarily superior versions of either, but I - am - changed.”

From the moment of her conception you’d felt it. An old wives’ tale. The night you’d agreed to mother a brood alongside him, you knew she was there. That she was her. That she was brewing as something brilliant deep inside you and nothing would be as it was ever again.

He’d called it ridiculous, gestured wildly and rolled his eyes to the deepest hells, but a hazardous hope never left them until you’d far missed your bleed and it was confirmed to be true.

From that moment onwards, something shifted even further in Astarion.

The domestic tether to your townhouse in the city - no longer just a convenience to remain a steady base for you both, but a fundamental part of his scene setting, to plant roots and grow together. Two centuries of rot and abuse, and his reward was finally nearing completion.

His nesting phase began far earlier than yours and with greater intensity than you could’ve matched even without the issue of your later-heaving belly. Entire pinboards tacked with decadent fabric swatches for every occasion - be it swaddling or nursery curtains. Tailor’s tape around his neck each morning and notebook in hand to note your measurements and take inventory of your wardrobe; ensuring you never looked awry or felt anything less than wholly comfortable.

Because gods forbid ill-fitted clothing stand in the way of you and your brutal vomiting spells, obviously. A pointed click of his tongue as he fixes your sleeve.

In the middle months of your gestation, the typically discerning clientele who visited you and Astarion in your tailor’s store at the dead of night were the first to become privy to the news. Rounder by the week, flushed; brimming with a deep fatigue and yet somehow absolutely aglow.

Children to be fitted for yet another presentation evening placed sleepy hands on your belly with a saccharine softness. Their parents jostle you - sometimes in congratulations, sometimes to whisper in sheer curiosity. Dhampir are a notoriously rare breed, and you’re certain there were rumours of a third party involvement in the process.

‘No, no. We just tried really, really hard.’ You’d smile, as if in a blissful stupor from just the recollection. He’d turn to you with his ridiculously brilliant hearing; needle between teeth, brow raised; lips upturned in a slight quirk. Devilishly handsome, never anything less.

You drop the laundry basket in the kitchen corner. A stuffed bear falls from it. Clive.

A pause.

“You never asked what I did with that shirt, you know.”

It takes you a moment to recall which shirt he’s referring to. He sits at the table and watches you lazily.

“Which? The one for Mr. Chugley? I didn’t think it needed much by way of adjustment, at least?”

A stale piece of burnt toast sits on the counter untouched. You bite and chew and bite and chew like a woman who has never once tasted a morsel so divine; so untainted by the evils of hot butter and a filling bronze crunch.

“Oh - Bunt? Gods, no.’

He sips his stone-cold tea. A fresh film wobbles on top.

‘Bunt Chugley.”

A snort of laughter sends it straight back through his nose and out onto the table. You begin to choke on your toast.

“Bunt Chugley.” You giggle, crumbs spilling from your mouth.

Astarion stands to wipe himself down, creasing over with an escalating laughter.

“Bunt Chugley.”

He waggles his hands, eyes heavy lidded with lack of rest.

He looks purely maniacal.

“That’s- that’s what we should-’

You stop for breath, cackling now; hands over knees for a brief moment.

‘We should call the next one Bunt Chugley.”

He launches into a wheezing fit.

“How- How would that even work, darling? Like Bunt Chugley Ancunín, or- or-”

“No! No, no. Just that. Bunt Chugley.”

You hold both hands to your eye as if framing a canvas, looking through the gap at the ludicrous proposition in front of you.

He takes a moment to still. Smiles at you dopily.

Crosses the floor and brings both hands down to your waist with a gentle grasp.

“I am so sorry, my love.” He grins and holds his forehead against yours.

You look at him, dazed.

“Hmm?’

He simply looks up.

A profoundly gut-wrenching wail becomes apparent to you from above. Your face falls.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Astarion.”

He’s up the stairs before you can comment further, swiftly darting back into your chambers and grinning with an unbridled joy - though, you note, with lack of rest that grin is beginning to look more insane by the hour.

“Sweetheart! My darling girl. Shush now. You’re sounding something absolutely wicked.”

You watch on from the doorway, arms folded; stale toast in hand and jaws meeting in a firm chew.

He’s far too good with her.

It somewhat surprised you at first just how innately fatherhood came to him, but as he picks her up and cradles her intently it’s as if there are fractures of his own childhood coming back. How he was loved, how he was held.

A piece of him, now alive and breathing again after all these years of death.

He coos at her, bouncing her small frame gently in his arms and hushing her with each wail. It takes very little for soft mewls to take their place as she reaches aimlessly in his direction.

He leans towards her grasping fingers and allows her to take one of his ringlets from the front of his head as he kisses her tummy. She’s enthralled by him; recognises him. She wants to know more of him.

As he lifts his head her grasp remains firm.

“We have some work to do on your sleight of hand, I think. Not to worry.”

Ever so gently, he unpicks her fascinated fingers and kisses them all in tow. Her face looks almost ready to crumple before he reaches for one final kiss on the very top of her head.

“There, now. All better. Back to sleep?’

A gurgle. A puzzled blink.

‘Absolutely. Mummy does look particularly radiant today, doesn’t she? I’ll be sure to send your regards.”

He catches the smile on your face. Winks your way.

“You’re getting the baby to flirt on your behalf now?” You tease.

“That’s the lady of the house to you. She was simply passing on her praises.” He whispers as he places her back into her crib and steps back fondly. Sidles over to you as you finish the last bite of toast and pulls you in for a soft kiss.

“Stop playing coy. I know you feel the same way I do.’

He whispers down at you.

‘You want another one, don’t you?’

A kiss on the very top of your head.

“You’re projecting.” You smile.

You can’t deny him for long, he knows this. You don’t particularly want to.

Since becoming a mother you’ve taken to parenthood almost as naturally as he has; and when the topic has come up since you’ve struggled to say no and mean it.

“Think, though. The sooner we try again, the sooner we can begin building our little mercenary force.” He looks at you with the face of a man who thinks he’s just had a really good idea.

“Oh! Yes! You’ve sold me!’

You pull him into a long kiss, the kind that still makes you swoon after all this time together. He tastes like cold tea and smells so clinical you can’t help but laugh heartily as you pull away.

‘That Noblestalk is getting to me. Have a bath and try again with a little less?”

He scowls before narrowing his eyes in thought.

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It just might, my darling dearest.”

You wink this time.

The bath starts running before you’ve fully made it back down the stairs.

#astarion x reader #dadstarion #i LOVE HIM #my writing #fluff #no smut #yippee #astarion ancunin #afab reader

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cwwv9 · 2 months ago

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«By a few centimeters closer»

— without gender!reader x Isagi Yoichi, Itoshi Sae, Hiori Yo.

reader tall !!

warning: contains difference in height (the reader is taller than the guy), small dose of fluff.

mailbox open for queries!!!( I need it )

Isagi Yoichi

He has a comparison complex. From the very beginning, he noticed your growth - as if it were the statistics of the opponent. The brain automatically ran: "higher by 5-8 cm, can be higher on the jump... and if shoulders wider - then in the body..."

And then you smiled - and it all didn’t matter.

Isaiah is not one who will roll his eyes or suffer because of centimeters. He will adapt. He will find a way to turn it into his weapon.

– If you’re taller - it means you see the field better. So you can see what I don’t see. Be my eyes.

He’s a strategist, he’s an analyst - he’s not interested in the fact that you’re taller, but how he can build it into his life. Sometimes you play one-on-one, and he doesn’t hide his smile when you have to bend a little to meet his gaze.

– I don’t need height to be stronger. I need you/you. By my side.

And you stay.

Sae itoshi

He noticed it immediately.

Sae is not someone who misses the slightest detail. He looked at you - and in his head clicked: "A little higher. Interesting."

But not a shred of confusion. No hint of embarrassment

The Saee is smooth, calm and infinitely ironic. So he immediately began to trolled.

— I hope you’re comfortable looking down. I’m looking up. Nice angle.

He knows how to be lower, as if you are the one who should feel awkward next to him.

In his voice always glides laziness, but in the look - you for him as a work of art He likes to approach from behind while you speak, and lean towards your ear:

– How is the air on top? Remember who’s the best?

But if you rub it on your head or hold it on top of you, it doesn’t come off. It doesn’t rumble. It just stays. Saé Itoshi never put physics above aesthetics. And with you - he is beautiful.

Hiori Yo

Hyory closes up. He will not immediately show that he is feeling awkward. He will be silent, smile softly, look from the bottom up - and hide his eyes.

Inside - struggle. "What if I look weak? And if he don’t want to hug me? And if I don’t fit?"

But you don’t give him room for doubt.

You don’t joke about his height. You invite him into your space - hug, sit next to him, look with sincere respect. And he starts to relax.

– I’m... weird, but nice. Warm. It’s like you’re protecting me when I want to protect you too.

Hoori is learning to accept. He does not see you as "more", but as the highest level of warmth. Sometimes you sit down to be on the same level with him - and then he presses his forehead against yours.

– I’m used to being the one who dissolves in people... but with you, I’m just there.

He is no longer afraid to be a little smaller. Because he is with you.

#bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #blue lock x gender neutral reader #blue lock x you #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #hiori yo x reader #hiori x reader #bllk fluff

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sp4ceboo · 1 year ago

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tw: 18+, man this shit is literally just smut, i'd say i'm sorry but i'm not, i'm down so fucking bad, dom coups and sub reader (sorta), blowjobs, fingering, hair pulling bc i love that shit, swearing, both are horny out of their minds, i can't write smut but i sure as hell tried, lmk if there's anything else

wc: 0.6k

you don't think you could ever get tired of the sight of choi seungcheol above you.

his strong thighs are spread wide, framing your shoulders as you kneel between them; one of his hands cups the nape of your neck, his fingers electrifying on your skin. worst of all - or best, depending on your perspective - is the look on his face. he looks like he wants to devour you whole, like he's going to ruin you, like he's going to make you cum so hard around his cock that you cry.

you hope desperately that that's what he's planning.

the look he's giving you is making you dizzy. his eyes are heavy lidded, something burning deep within them that makes your cunt slick with arousal. a smirk plays across his features as he watches you, toying with a strand of your hair just to see the way you shiver, leaning into his touch.

slowly, he drags his broad palm along your skin until he cups your chin, tilting it upward so you can gaze up at him. your lips part slightly, your breaths coming out shallow.

you'd let this man do anything to you.

'alright down there, sweetheart?' he queries, the sound of his voice innocent in comparison to the way he bites his lip, not taking his eyes off you for a second.

'cheol,' you gasp, fingers clutching at the fabric of his trousers. 'c - can i? please,'

he chuckles, loving the glazed look in your eyes, as if he's your world. lifting his hips, he allows you to yank down his trousers as he slips his fingers back into your sweet smelling hair, tugging a little because he knows you like it. he practically drinks in the way you moan against his thigh, lost in his scent, lost in him - you're beautiful.

you relish the way he shudders when you take his cock in your hand. truly, you could stay there all day, biting marks on his thighs while jerking him off, but you desperately want to taste him, to have him heavy on your tongue.

abruptly, you engulf his tip in the heat of your mouth, exulting in the moan that rips from deep in his chest. his fingers tighten in your hair, and you groan around his cock at the feeling, taking him in further, wanting more of him - needing more of him.

hollowing your cheeks, you find that you're drunk on him. you're drunk on the feel and taste and scent of him, on the way he can't help but buck his hips with how good you feel, on the way his face twists with pleasure.

'stop,' he chokes out, voice dropping an octave lower. 'fuck, i w - want your - '

he doesn't finish his sentence, instead leaving your head spinning as he lifts you up so you're straddling him, one of his hands gripping your thigh as he moves your underwear to the side. hastily, he slips two fingers in, making your back arch as he scissors them.

you're mewling, your legs shaking when his hand withdraws, and everything slows down again as the tip of his cock notches at the entrance of your cunt. you dig your nails into his shoulders, thighs clenching at the stretch of him. a deep groan wrenches from his throat, and he buries his face in your neck, skimming his lips over your collarbones as he sinks into you.

your eyes roll back when he bottoms out.

'cheol,' you whine. 'please, m - move.'

he smiles against your skin.

'as you wish.'

#wrote this after approximately 36 hours after knowing about cheol's existence that's how hard the brain rot went #scoups #s. coups #s.coups #seungcheol #choi seungcheol #seventeen #seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #svt #cheol #choi seungcheol x reader #svt x reader #ficlet #hard thoughts

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utterdisaster1 · 11 months ago

Text

Year One

Pairing: Sirius Black x male!reader So after this, we're going straight into pining, romance, teenager phase. There will be a time skip, I think 5th year. TW: mentions of food and eating, mentions of bullying and homophobia, the f-slur and related terms (not in the magical world though). Use of Y/N.

After, more or less arduous journey to London, which gave you plenty of time to ponder why some professor couldn't just come and apparate you to the castle, like Professor McGonnagal did to Diagon Alley, you finally found yourself at the King's Cross.

You didn't know how to feel about being instructed to "run through the wall of the third archway". On one hand, you were certain Professor McGonagall wouldn't play a practical joke on you, but on the other, she would be the perfect person to fool someone, because who would expect a prank from her?

Your parents weren't of much help either. A parent rather, your father couldn't take the time off. Clearly, there is a difference between acknonwledgement and acceptance, one you hadn't picked up on during the Professor's initial visit. Neither of them wanted to talk about it much.

Whether it was your recount of the trip to Diagon Alley or things you had read in books up until that point, of which you bought much more than expected, they would say, "It's not like it applies to us, honey. Let's go an a walk or let's watch some telly".

At Professor's querying look when you came up with a giant stack of books, you just said, "When one doesn't know anything, there's everything to learn." And you very much intended to know everything.

I mean, it's magic. Not tricks one may see at some fair or circus, but an actual power to change reality as you see it. How could you be satisfied with just the bare minimum profficiency in the first-year curriculum?

The possesion of magic was enough to make the normal world seem bleak in comparison. But what also sparked your interest was when you saw two women walking hand in hand in the Alley, clearly having an amorous conversation. At your look, which you hoped didn't give the wrong impression, the Professor said "The wizarding people don't concern themselves with notions of sexual preferences nearly as much as many muggles do. Relationships between people of the same sex are treated exactly as those between the opposite sex. We see no difference."

When you heard that, you wanted to cry. Could you have grown up like that? Without people calling you a faggot or a poof. Not that you ever expressed any interest in a boy openly. There were one or two small, innocent crushes, when simply being around them made butterflies fly in your stomach, but you never told anyone. You couldn't.

It wasn't that long ago that they decriminalised homosexuality, after all. You were six when they legalised it. The first time you were beaten up for "your poofness" you were five.

And again, it's not like you made any advances on another boy. It was either your face "looking gay", your weird behaviour, or maybe being one of the smaller kids in your year, and the slurs were just added in for further humiliation.

But now you were going somewhere where it wouldn't matter. So crashing into a pillar wasn't a bad price to pay for that. After one more look at your mum, you ran into the wall.

Fortunately you didn't crash. After a quick sensation you couldn't quite describe, you found yourself on a lively platform filled with eccentrically dressed people, similar to how they dressed in Diagon Alley. There was also a bright red steam locomotive: with "Hogwarts Express" engraved on the front of it. Everything was just magnificent.

You didn't even register your mum appearing next to you. But after a moment of silent awe, you pulled yourself together and went on. Seeing some kids with carts full of suitcases you were glad that Professor McGonagall had recommended buying a single trunk with extension charms on it. It barely weighed anything, which was a very significant advantage as well.

You wished you had gotten a heartfelt goodbye, but your mum seemed more overwhelmed by her surroundings than by the fact the soonest she would see you would be in three months. Maybe she still hadn't registered the fact.

Still, your hug was returned, and got you a kiss on your forehead, along with a "Stay safe and behave", before boarding the train.

You entered the first empty compartment you found. You were quite convinced you didn't want to intrude on a group of already existing friends, or worse, possible bullies. You quickly sat down and took out your book on protective charms and enchantments.

Seeing that you now actually had an opportunity to practice the spells, you immediately immersed yourself in training, your breath hitching every time you saw your wand actually perform the spell. You didn't even notice the train taking off.

But you did register being interrupted by two kids, first-years by the looks of it. One had dark red hair, startingly green eyes, and freckles on her pale skin. The other was a scrawny boy with greasy, shoulder-length hair and a scowl on his face. He clearly wanted to go further down the cart, but the girl said "Come one Severus, it's the first one that isn't full," and soon enough turned to you. "Hi, my name is Lily Evans, and this is Severus Snape. Could we join you?"

You simply nodded and said 'Y/N L/N', with your thoughts more focused on why the notice-me-not charm you had placed earlier had stopped working on your compartment door.

The girl continued, "You wouldn't believe what sort of buffoons we met earlier. So self-conceited and arrogant... I mean, why would you insult a stranger you've barely met!? I'll pray not to end up in the same house as either of them!"

"Well, I'm sorry that happened to you" you said quietly.

The boy hadn't said anything yet, but he did sit down next to the Evans girl, so you assumed they were both going to stay. At some point, she started talking about phones, or rather how much more convenient it would be if they just installed some phone booths outside so she could call her family instead of sending letters by owl.

"Yeah, I wondered the same thing," you interjeccted and silently added "Not that they would get what I'm talking about anyway; they seem weirded out by anything that has to do with the school."

"My sister's weirded out too," she responded with a tone that seemed to imply some deeper emotions. But she quickly asked "Are you from a normal- I mean, Muggle family too?"

"Yeah," you replied. "I assume you are as well"

The boy gave you a sharp look, apparently displeased with the attention you were receiving, and said, "Congratulations on stating the obvious"

"That's rude, Severus" Lily said.

He huffed but didn't say anything further, though whenever she wasn't looking, he would send you a glare, sometimes accompanied by a sneer.

Despite the shadow of despair that the boy seemed to be, you connected well with Lily. Being Muggle-borns, there were many experiences you shared, as well as a particular interest in the subject of Charms. You both received a visit from Professor McGonagall and quite agreed that you wouldn't want to do anything to incur her ire.

When the train finally arrived at Hogsmeade Station, things moved quickly. One moment you were on the platform, then, sooner than you realised, you were sailing on a boat to the castle. The castle was gorgeous and took the breath away from most, if not all, first-years present.

Then you were guided by the Headmistress towards a waiting chamber, given a speech about the houses, responsibility and consequences, and a few minutes later, you entered the Great Hall.

You wondered if you had any lungs left, considering how many times it seemed you could barely breathe that day.

The Hall could only be described as grandiose. "Impressive" or "grand" really wouldn't do justice to the beauty of your surroundings.

After listening to a song from a battered hat, it was time for the sorting. When your turn came, you quickly went up the stairs and put the hat on.

Interesting. Very interesting. So many qualities. A strong desire to learn, an abundance of curiosity. But I see there's something you want even more. To belong. To find people who will stand with you, not against you. And there's protectiveness as well. You're willing to fight for those you love, for what you believe is right. I think I know... Better be...GRYFFINDOR!!!

You were quite surprised, but not disappointed. They seemed like a nice group to be a part of.

You sat down next to a blonde-haired girl, and she quickly introduced herself. "Marlene McKinnon, nice to meet you"

"Y/N L/N, nice to meet you too," you responded.

After the sorting was done, and everyone was free to talk and eat as much as they wanted, you had more opportunities to get to know your housemates.

You already knew Lily, and by the stink eye she was giving two particular boys, you assumed they were the "buffoons" she mentioned earlier. One of them, with unruly dark hair, glasses, and a very loud voice, you learned, was James Potter. The other, with aristocratic looks, high cheekbones, a little haughy look that was tempered by a smile, and grey eyes that seemed to glimmer like stones underwater in sunlight, was Sirius Black.

You knew they would be trouble after their description from Lily. But what you didn't expect were the butterflies you felt in your stomach when Sirius turned to you, introducing himself and exchanging a brief conversation.

No. You were not going to be saddled with a crush on your dormmate. Not possible. And on your first day already. It had been going so well. You remembered the mess you were around the boy in your year 5 at your previous school, the simultaneous pull to him mixed with a fear of him noticing.

It will pass. You will make it pass. I mean, you barely knew him. If you can make an animal from a pebble, there must be a spell to just get rid of such a miniscule thing as a crush. There must be.

______________________________________________________________

Weeks passed, and you had not found the spell. But you didn't really need to. You were only 11 years old, after all; the hormonal storm was yet to come, so it wasn't that hard to fucus on other matters with the abundance of things to do.

Schoolwork was the primary focus. You had read up on a lot before the term started, but there was still so much more. Potions, the particular bane of your existence, was what you had to work on the most. Any wand-work came to you naturally, often earning praise and acknowledgement from your professors. History of Magic was a good time to take a nap, you had neutral feelings towards Herbology, and Astronomy, despite the late hour, was wonderful in its own right.

Another thing taking up your time was dealing with the prejudiced, fascist vipers from Slytherin House. Apparently, being a Gryffindor and a mudblood made you a favourable target. It was a good thing you had experience with bullies and that you instinctivelly picked up books on protection spells first. Apparently, a succesful protego performed by a first-year was a rare occurence, so they hadn't expected it. And living with James Potter also gave you access to books on hexes more than effective for fighting back.

What allowed you to resist the most, though, was what the hat had predicted for you. You and your dormmates quickly became close - mischief being both a bonding experience and something too fun to resist.

James Potter would have become your friend even if you had resisted with all your might. The boy had a certain pull to him. He was like the shining sun - whenever he walked into a room, he managed to capture everyone's attention. He was friendly to you from the get-go, but it was the moment he witnessed you repel a hex sent at the two of you with ease that you truly gained his attention and admiration. His curiosity turned towards protectiveness, which quickly developed into a genuine friendship that you would never think of rejecting.

Remus Lupin was quiet and subdued. He had an air of fear and shyness around him that you could relate to. It was palpable he was trying to keep his distance from all four of you. You didn't have the flair of James Potter, but after one serendipitious meeting in the library followed by a shared study session, it became a regular occurence. You were inviting and never pushed him beyond what he was willing to share, and over time, a clear fondness developed between you both.

Peter Pettigrew came as a package deal with James, really. Usually content to listen and nod along, it took you a while to actually get to know him. Surprisingly, it was chess that allowed you two to actually develop a friendship. He was shockingly good and practically pulverised you in most cases, but the time you spent together allowed you to get to know each other, and over time, you didn't need James to have something to talk about.

And then there was Sirius Black. In the dorm, he was everything - funny, teasing and entertaining. But whenever you left the dorm, he would be at the farthest distance possible away from you. You understood why. The howlers he received left no doubt as to his family's stance on blood purity and status. To them, you were the lowest of scum, sullying the earth you dared to step on. And with serpent eyes tracking his every move, particularly from a girl with a perpetual look of distaste, it was clear that his parents were being informed about all his activities in detail.

Now, when it came to your feelings, you spent one evening pondering on them and came to a conclusion - you appreciated his appearance, there was no doubt about that. He was pretty, and it was pleasant to look at him, like it's pleasant to look at art too; there's nothing abnormal about that. He was a friend, even if a concealed one. Being his friend felt nice, much nicer than having a crush.

Living with him helped you get used to his presence, and soon there was no fluttering in your stomach or slight blush on your cheeks whenever you talked with him. You were a kid, romantic feelings were easily avoidable and fickle if present in the first place.

Together, you and the other Gryffindor first-year boys created a force to be reckoned with.

Of course, the scope of your abilities was limited. There are only so many spells, potions and schemes an 11-year-old minds are capable of. But with each prank, your drive to outdo the previous one pushed you further.

All that however, made things with your other friend - Lily Evans, difficult. You cared for her friendship. You two could relate with each other in ways you couldn't with any of the boys. None of them were Muggle-borns; the closest relation was Remus's mum, who was a Muggle-born herself. There was also Mary Macdonald in Gryffindor, but she was definitely not in a place where she was ready to befriend a boy, much to your dismay, because she seemed like great fun.

So, you tried to balance things with Lily and swore to try to sway the boys away from Snape. And you did try, but it was quite difficult.

He was a git. No other way to put it. Well, there's many other ways to put it actually - unpleasant, greasy, rude, strident, oily - many adjectives, none of which were appreciated by Lily.

The only friend of yours she tolerated was Remus. So, you made it a point to include her in your study sessions.

Remus was uncertain at first. But Lily was nice, and after offering him a bar of chocolate to share (in secret from madam Pince, of course), he gave her a chance and gradually got used to her presence. He even started engaging with her in discussions about literature, a shared interest. Over time, he even started to show his more cheeky side, with friendly banter developed between the three of you.

The other thing about Remus was his secret he went to great lengths to hide. Maybe, if it had been just you living with him, he might have managed to conceal it for longer. After all, werewolves were not high on your list of priorities to research. But with three magically-raised boys present, after the February full moon, there was no denying it. When the four of you discussed it in your dorm, having casted all sorts of silencing and privacy charms while Remus was recovering in the infirmary, the other three seemed startled, each on some level. Peter was outright freaked out, James was jittery, and Sirius was at a loss for words—a concerning sign, given that his voice was usually constant unless he was sleeping, and sometimes not even then.

You suspected it the least, and yet, reacted the calmest. And for someone who claimed he knew since november, James seemed really torn about what to do next.

It wasn't a matter of sticking by Remus - well maybe a little for Peter - but overall, the challenge was dealing with the whole ordeal. "How do we tell him we know? How do we help him? Should we tell him anything?"

You settled on subtlety. The plan was simple: mention the subject "casually", show support, and then quickly move on to a different topic. Simple.

But Remus was way too smart, and soon enough, he began retreating from you. You started catching him sleeping in the common room and could barely get a word in between classes, as he somehow always had a place to be or homework to do. So you had to take extreme measures.

One day, after letting him avoid all four of you, you waited until he returned to the dorm to take a shower. You went in while he was in the bathroom, locked the door, again casted all known privacy and silencing charms and waited to ambush him with support and love.

So that's what you did. The moment he exited the bathroom and saw all four of you, he knew what it was about. He went to the door, but it wouldn't budge, and you made sure a simple alohomora would not even make the lock stir.

That evening involved a lot of screaming, tears, crying and finally, hugs.

"S- So, you- you really- you don't mind? I'm a monster" he said, with tears streaming down to the floor.

"Of course we don't Rem. You're our friend." said James.

At that he only cried more. James hugged him first, followed by the rest of you. Ultimatelly, you all woke up with back pain from sleeping huddled up together on the floor, but closer than ever.

______________________________________________________________

The Christmas and Easter holidays you spent back home were uneventful. You were asked if you were doing well at school, and upon affirming, you were not pressed further. You didn’t even get the chance to talk about how Professor McGonagall had called you a prodigy, or how you had successfully cast some NEWT-level charms already. Nothing about your victories in the school dueling club. You didn’t get to complain about Potions or History. You were told to stick with the story your parents had concocted while you were away—that you were attending a boarding school in Scotland and that there was nothing special about it.

Your time at home only made you realise how little at home you actually felt. The forest was your reprieve. Beatrice the doe was always friendlier in the winter, knowing you'd have some extra carrots or other snacks for her. Nature didn't judge you, didn't silence you. You were in perfect symbiosis with it. You respected it and received respect in return.

So, it was no surprise that the last week of the school year was one of your worst. You wouldn’t see any of your friends over the holidays and didn’t have any friends to return to. You wouldn’t be able to talk with anybody about school, the latest issue of Transfiguration Today, or about Hippogriffs and Bowtruckles.

You could only cling to hope that the letters you all promised to send each other would be enough, or that they would at least pick your mood up a little bit.

The day before the ride back, you were sitting alone by the Black Lake, right next to the Forbidden Forest, where you knew no one ventured for fear of being kidnapped by centaurs or acromantulas. But that day, you heard a twig snap behind you and saw Sirius standing there.

Your sulking hadn’t made you blind to your surroundings. He clearly was doing even worse than you, and from his sparse stories about his home life, you knew why.

Neither of you said anything. He simply sat next to you, leaning against the same tree, and took your hand. You stayed there together until the sunset.

When you stood up, he held on, keeping you from leaving, and said, “I’ll miss you, and I can’t wait to see you in September. I won’t be able to say goodbye tomorrow, since-” he clearly didn’t want to mention his family, and you understood that.

"I will miss you too. Maybe we can write letters to each other" you responded.

He was going to refuse, knowing the risk of his mother reading his mail, but you quickly added, “I won’t send any. I’ll just save them up and give them to you when we see each other in september. You can do the same.” and then you hastily added, “If you want to, that is. I don’t want to pressure you into anything, I just-”

He interrupted you with a laugh followed by a tight hug. “I’ll write to you too.”

After that, you went on your way to the castle, while he waited a little while before returning. You both knew he couldn’t risk anyone from his family finding out he was spending time with a Mudblood, especially when there would be no time for tempers to cool down.

The only thing on your mind now, though, was the flutter of butterflies that erupted inside you the moment he hugged you and the tingling you still felt in the hand he had held.

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celestibabs · 2 years ago

Text

pairing; billy hargrove x f!reader

contents; 18+ mdni. boudoir photography, heavy petting, dry humping if you squint | wc: 1k

note; starting off simple for my return to writing... nothing too long or too spicy, but we all know that won't last very long.

Billy snatches the cigarette from his mouth as if it scolded his taste buds, flipping the envelope you’d handed him in his hand with intrigue. His perfect blonde eyebrow raised in query, he raises his gaze at you pointedly.

“What is it?” He speaks flatly, exhaling the smoke in his lungs slowly so it kisses at his cheekbones.

“Just open it,” you murmur quietly, worrying your lower lip with your teeth. Billy hums softly, fussing with the lip of the envelope with his fingertips and teasing your nerves.

You’d tortured yourself over a Christmas gift for Billy, thinking of all possible options and how he’d be entirely unimpressed. Minus a new set of weights or a large tub of some kind of protein-shake powder, you knew he’d probably shove your gift in a cupboard and forget about it until he needed to take the Christmas lights out next year.

Desperation had kicked in around two weeks before Christmas day. Wandering in and out of the few shops in Hawkins like a demented zombie had resulted in empty hands and muttered curses of frustration. Unprompted comments by Billy insisting that he didn’t want any gifts had fueled your indignation, especially given his tone had somehow strayed into something pitiful in comparison to the monotonous, bored drawl he usually offered.

The idea came to you spontaneously. Nancy had called to tell you about a playful tiff she’d had with Jonathan over some Playboy magazine’s she’d found in his bedroom while moving her things in for Christmas. Her voice had practically faded into oblivion when you’d remembered the torn-out Playboy pages plastered to the wall above Billy’s dresser.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that Billy was pulling apart the ribbon you’d tied around the neatly wrapped gift, you’d begun to feel queasy.

Before tearing the wrapping paper, Billy prolongs your suffering with a smug smirk, clearly noticing your anticipation. He lifts the item, shaking it like a five year old rattling their present box as though it would offer insight into what lay inside. “Give me a hint.”

“Billy,” you huff, exasperated already with his antics, “Just open the stupid thing before I take it back.”

He hums, finally pinching the edge of the wrapping between his thumb and forefinger before pulling upwards, the paper ripping open to reveal the contents inside.

Billy paused, slowly exhaling the dregs of his cigarette in a gentle stream of smoke through his nose.

Your heart catches.

The glossy pages of the personalised Playboy Magazine rippled slightly as Billy brought the images closer for a better look. It was unmistakably you on the front cover, perched in a seductive position on a stool dressed in an unbuttoned blouse with peaks of the black, lacy lingerie you wore underneath.

Poor Jonathan had been mortified when you’d begged him to take the last minute images. Despite his reluctance, and Nancy observing his every move to ensure he didn’t stare too long, he’d worked hard to ensure he could emulate the magazine quality. Of course, you hadn’t told him who they were for.

You knew you looked fantastic, but Billy’s silence was unnerving you.

“There’s more inside,” you murmur, cheeks burning, “Some don’t have my face in them so you can tear them out and put them on your wall.”

Another slow exhale, Billy’s eyes flitting over the magazine cover had your heart lurching in fear. Was he angry? He still didn’t say much when he began to thumb through the pages, stopping on a particularly scandalous page where you swept aside the bounce to reveal the curve of your breast, lips parted seductively but the image excluding the rest of your face.

“Billy, I’m–”

“Look at you,” he murmurs, taking his cigarette from his lips and stubbing it into an ashtray settled on the arm of the sofa you’re both perched on. “You want me to pin photos of you half naked on my wall, for everyone to see?”

Billy reaches forwards, taking a hold of your chin in his palm and pulling you forwards so your noses bumped together. Your breath hitches, seizing in your throat when you feel Billy’s breath fan across your face.

“You little slut,” Billy coos, his free hand working its way between your knees to inch up the inside of your thigh. His touch leaves a delicious burn, like the smouldering embers of his cigarette end had set his fingertips alight.

Billy’s lips brush against your own as he speaks, his fingers ghosting over the seam of your trousers to apply slight, teasing pressure to your clit. “I’ll put them up on the wall opposite the door. Make sure everyone gets to see how much of a slut you are for me.”

You can see Billy’s cock straining against the right denim of his jeans. He’s all worked up at the idea of showing you off like this, and seems intent on dragging you down into a horny-haze too.

“If you’d like that,” you whisper, voice catching slightly in your throat as Billy leans his head down to drag the flat of his tongue across your pulse point. You hear him chuckle softly, feel the rumble against your neck, and you’re almost certain it’s because he can somehow taste your arousal through your skin.

“I’d love that,” he smirked, his hands slowly working their way beneath your shirt and pushing it upwards to expose the naked flesh of your stomach, squeezing at your breast when you arch your back for him.

“Merry Christmas, Billy,” you laugh at that, your giggle faltering into a soft whine when Billy punches at your nipple, rolling the stiffened bud between the pads of his thumb and forefinger to tease you further. “Mhmmm,” Billy hums, nipping at your neck and slowly laying you back against the couch. He doesn’t seem to mind that the ashtray that had balanced on the arm of the sofa tips off onto the floor, or that the magazine falls to the floor. He’s far too busy grinding his hard cock against you. “A very merry Christmas it is.”

#— not sfw !#billy hargrove concept #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things imagine #divider made by /@saradika

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