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charlessainzz · 1 month

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can do like reader with charles getting quite a few feature on dts here and there moments. thank you! i don't really like dts but I love the ferrari bits!!

My first request! Thank you for requesting this, it was fun to write! I hope it’s good!

Drive to Survive’s Newest Star is… Not a Driver??

Take One:

Cameras were everywhere. It was another Drive to Survive filming day. These days always made you nervous. More cameras than usual, more eyes than usual, and more opinions than usual. Luckily you were feeling good. You were decked out in head to toe Ferrari merch. White lace cami, vintage red leather Marlboro pants, red peep toe Manolos, with a number 16 cap. You looked the part of a die hard Ferrari fan. More importantly you looked the part of a die hard Charles Leclerc fan. And you were. His wonderful, supportive girlfriend of 2 years. His biggest fan.

You felt the camera pan to you as Charles made his way through the garage you. He had just finished FP1 and well lets just say it wasn’t looking great… He needed you now and Charles could care less if the DTS cameras were watching. Your eyes light up as you see him getting closer to you. He grabs your waist and nudges your nose with his.

“Hi,” you squeak, anticipating a kiss.

“Hey..”, he whispers. “That was pretty bad wasn’t it”.

“Mmhmmm car looks pretty rubbish”, you giggle. “But that driver…. He’s pretty great. Makes a worthless car worth driving”, you say as you give him a peck.

You both embrace in a tight hug and another kiss. Feeling the cameras rolling and hearing the photographers clicking away, you both start laughing. Oh this will be Netflix gold.

Take Two:

Rain in October and in Austin, Texas. What are the odds! A usual dry race with an unrelenting sun had turned into a gray, storm filled race. The track was almost flooded. The radios of drivers shooting off justifiably angry that the race hadn’t been red flagged yet. The DTS cameras were here of course. Another perfect scene for them, they’d definitely be getting the footage they wanted.

Your hands enclosed in a prayer, begging for the officials to do something. To call for a pause, to cancel! There was no way the race could continue like this. Visibility is almost next to zero. You intensely listen to the radio, checking for Charles’s voice. He’s mad, he can’t see, and he’s ready to get out of the car.

You’re watching the screen as the cars begin to slow around a turn, you see Charles and Pierre bump sending Charles off the track. It was all in slow motion. His car and your reaction moving at the speed of molasses. While the bump seemed minor, there were more cars headed his way. That’s what scared you. Just as that thought enters your mind, Checo’s car shoots down the track and narrowly misses Charles sending water crashing into him. You let out a shriek and cover your face crouching to the ground. The cameras all turn to you, documenting your reaction. You peek through your fingers seeing everyone staring and the lens facing you. At first you feel embarrassed but then you remember, that’s your man! You stand back up, straightening your posture, and brushing your hair off your shoulder. Arthur envelops you in a hug and points to the screen.

Charles is being rescued by the emergency crew and he’s making his way back to you. He’s coming back to the safety of the garage and the safety of your arms. The DTS cameras know what’s coming next, and they stay on you waiting for the paddock’s favorite couple to reunite.

Take Three:

Silverstone was always packed. But this year felt different. The crowd looked like sardines packed into a tin can. No room to move or even breathe.

Charles held open the car door for you and grabbed your hand. He knew you didn’t love these crowds. He held your hand tight as you walked into the paddock. Cameras flashing, fans screaming, and DTS film crews lurking. You and Charles had one mission. Get to the Ferrari building as fast as possible.

Hands stuck like glue, you’re both practically running through the paddock. Of course, Charles being the man he is, has to stop and take pictures. But this leads to more attention and bigger crowds. You don’t mind, you know they love him. He deserves the love. Yet, the crowd becomes more…. pushy, more desperate for a glimpse at the Ferrari man.

As he takes the millionth picture, you feel someone clench your arm and rip you from Charles. Letting out a scream, you fall into the ocean of the crowd. A man, desperate to get a picture, had done the unthinkable. He put his hands on you. Charles felt you instantly leave his presence. He snaps around grabbing your hand once more, and focuses his attention at the man.

“Don’t you dare touch her!”, Charles growls with a finger in the man's face. That’s when you notice a boom mic over you capturing every second of this interaction. You let out a groan knowing that this will probably be in an episode. But hey! Your man was protecting you!

His arms wrap around your shoulders and you both rush through the crowd heading towards the Ferrari hospitality. To the safety of your second home. Fans still hot on your tails screaming, “Leclerc! Y/n! Wait!”. Unknown to you both, DTS cameras are right behind you. Capturing the knight in shining armor protecting his princess. After what felt like a marathon, you see the Ferrari crew waiting at the entrance to welcome you in. Like deer leaping through a field, you both jump through the front doors. Doors closing, the cameras catch you both hunched over trying to catch your breath still clinging to each other. Like a wildlife documentary they sit at the door documenting two creatures that had just escaped a near death experience.

After taking that moment to pause, you turn and see cameras pressed against the door recording you and Charles. You can’t help but let out a big belly laugh tapping him on the shoulder to look. Charles sees, grabs your hand, and flips off the camera pulling you towards his room.

This episode will definitely be talked about!

Take Four:

He takes the checkered flag! Charles Leclerc wins the Las Vegas Grand Prix!

The whole garage erupts into celebration. Charles wins! Carlos in 2nd. It’s a 1-2 result for the Ferrari team. What more could Fred have asked for. The whole garage runs towards the podium, awaiting their boys. You take off running towards the barrier followed by a film crew of course. Unsurprising to anyone, the Drive to Survive team is here to capture the lavish race that is Vegas.

The podium waiting area is front to back red. You want to see him, you need to see him. But how can you get to the front? Not wanting to be rude, you tap shoulders and whisper ‘excuse mes’. As people turn ready to shout at the person cutting through, they recognize you. With sheepish smiles they usher you through to the front. Cameras following, but you could care less.

Finally, you're at the front waiting for the drivers to exit the cars. Barriers crushing your ribs, you can feel your heart ready to leap out of your chest in anticipation. Then there he is! He leaps out of the car and throws his hands up. He points to the sky, and then points to the team. Jumping down he sprints to the Ferrari team ready to welcome back their champion. He leaps into the arms of the first team members he sees. Everyone reaching to touch him, to congratulate him, to get a glimpse of their driver. He scans the front row looking for you. He knew you’d be there but where are you? As he takes off his helmet he sees you. Tears have stained your cheeks and hair a mess from running.

Charles jumps to you and grabs your face. Hands over your jaw, he brings your lips together. The kiss says everything and more. Cameras push in closer and closer as you continue kissing your driver. You break apart and laugh knowing what they’re capturing. Charles looks you in the eyes and says, “Another kiss for the winner?”.

“Always”, you beam and bring him back into you. Charles takes a hand and pushes the lens away from you both. Trying to get some privacy in the most public situation ever. The film crew lets up knowing they just got their shot. They just got the money shot of their number one F1 driver and Drive to Survive’s newest star… who’s not a driver. Who would’ve thought!

#request #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #writtenbycharlessainzz #f1 x y/n

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 29 days

Text

Lipstick Test

Ft. Nanami Kento

image by @/ shoujo-dreamland

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, cock teasing, oral (male receiving), face fucking, minor cumplay and dacryphilia

Summary: Nanami gets an important lesson about different lip products.

Pairing: Nanami x Fem! Reader

A/N: This was so much fun to write! Based off of a visual description in this post by @actuallysaiyan.

Word Count: 3.2K

Nanami masterlist

Day 1 - Lip Balm

Nanami has long since learned to not question how much makeup you own. It brings you joy, you wear it for your own satisfaction, and it is arranged neatly in the vanity of your shared bedroom. He normally doesn't even give it a second thought. But sometimes when you ask him for an opinion on what looks good, what to keep and throw away, he finds himself slightly exasperated.

“Sweetheart I don't know. If you like it, keep it. I can’t really tell you.”

“But I hardly ever wear lip gloss. Is it worth it?”

He glances at the tube you're holding trying to think of a suitable response. “How is it different from the other one you showed me?”

“Well, it's shiny. The other one is an actual lipstick. Look.” You twist the tube to bring up the lipstick and show off the color. Nanami's eyes flick between the two wondering what he could say without causing friction.

“Y/n I'm still not sure if I see a difference," he says cautiously. “They look similar.”

“How are they similar? Look at this.” You remove the wand from the lip gloss tube and swatch it on your arm before repeating the action for the lipstick.

“See how different they are? This one only has a little color and a lot of shine. The lipstick is full-bodied color and has less shine.”

Nanami looks at the streaks on your arm. “Oh yes. I see it now.”

“How have you been with me this long and don't know the difference?”

“Men are simple Y/n. We like it when you get dressed up but not enough to know what's going on your face,” he says light-heartedly.

You sigh. That was the truth. Even Nanami was susceptible to certain characteristics most men had, which included not knowing the difference between lipstick and lip gloss.

A sudden idea comes into your head.

“Ken?”

“Hmm?” He asks absentmindedly as he fixes his tie, getting ready to go to work.

“What if I said I have an idea that would guarantee you remembering which lip product is which?”

“Oh?” With mild interest, Nanami finishes the knot and raises his eyebrows. “Do tell.”

You grin wickedly. “Drop your pants.”

For a moment he wasn't sure he heard you correctly. “Now?”

You nod, biting your lip at the expression on his face. He checks his watch and sighs. He does need to get going soon but curiosity gets the better of him.

“Fine. What have you got planned, you little vixen?” You smirk as he undoes his belt and zip, pulling them down with his boxers, and giggle with delight when you see he's partially erect.

“I'm sure you'll never forget this lesson. So. Lip product one. Chapstick or lip balm.” You pull out a tube of strawberry-scented balm and apply it to your lips before smacking them once. “They usually don't have a lot of color to them. They are great for moisture, especially during the winter. You can wear these under lipstick since they don't change the shade. And they're sometimes scented.”

You grab his cock and kneel in front of him, flattered to hear a soft groan leave his lips and become fully erect.

“Oh, Kento… nothing is going to happen just yet. You need to learn the differences before that.” You wickedly give a tiny lick over his slit, enjoying the taste of it, before pressing a firm kiss against the pink tip, lingering for a while to ensure your lips had made their mark. Sure enough, when you pull away, there's a barely visible sheen of grease from your actions.

“Have a great day,” you say teasingly before dancing away into the shower. It takes Nanami a second to realize what happened before he checks his watch again.

“Shit.”

He hastily redresses himself and leaves for work.

It was an uncomfortable morning, to say the least, his mind occupied with thoughts of the withdrawn blow job. He manages to make it till lunch before his thoughts become scattered and he quickly vanishes into the men's room to take care of himself.

As he unclothes himself, he sees with fascination that the little grease mark you left in the morning is still there. He runs his thumb over it, remembering what you had said about it being scented before bringing it up to his nose, blushing when the smell of strawberries fills his senses.

He pictures the way your lips looked today morning, no color, smelling like strawberries, and with gritted teeth starts to pump himself, trying to keep his moans to a minimum as he finishes and cums in his hand.

Day 2 - Lip Gloss

He wakes to the feeling of his cock throbbing, begging for attention. You hadn't relieved him last night, shaking your head at him, stating he wouldn't learn if you just gave him what he wanted. But you were definitely putting a lot of effort into keeping him in a state of frustration.

Before he left, today you applied a shiny lip gloss with a darker color to it and ran the smoothened surface of your lips over his tip, the lack of friction surprising him as he restrained himself from shoving his hardened length into your mouth.

“And uh… What is this one called again?” He asks slightly breathlessly as you stop your actions.

“Lip gloss. It's very shiny and goes on very smoothly. Like lube for the lips.” You resume the back-and-forth motions, keeping your mouth shut tight.

Lube for the lips - How much longer would he have to face your sweet tormenting?

When you're done he can see how glossy his head looks with a tinge of some berry color on it, looking like you'd been sucking on it like a lollipop instead of leisurely brushing against it.

“Please Y/n…” He pushes forward so pleadingly but you smile and tilt your head ever so slightly so that his cock slides across your cheek instead, hot and throbbing.

“Two more Kento… trust me I'll make it worth your while.” You stand and help tuck him back into his boxers, ignoring the sigh of longing that leaves his lips. You hated sending him to work like this, unsatisfied, but knew that he'd be thinking of you all day. That made the guilt go away faster.

Nanami has one of the most unproductive days of his life. He sits at his desk blankly staring at his laptop wondering if some unknown divine being was laughing at his misfortune.

Day 3 - Bullet Lipstick

Nanami approaches day 3 with trepidation when he sees the tube of lipstick set on the vanity as he steps out of the shower. You smile pleasantly at him like you’re not the reason he’s been sleeping with blue balls for the last 2 nights.

“So this is a standard lipstick.” You remove the cap and twist the cylinder to show him the siren red shade which he recognizes immediately. This was your date night lipstick. His heart beats a little faster as you start applying it to your lips. He already knows what that color looks like on his cock; you’ve left residue on him before after giving him head and he’s not sure if he has the capacity to go to work with a kiss mark from this particular lipstick on his tip. He hasn’t even stripped down yet but he can feel precum leaking from his slit hidden by the towel on his hips.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” The question comes out husky and a little desperately as you drag the lipstick over your lips a second time to ensure the color pops vividly. You give an innocent look.

“I’m just trying to educate my boyfriend about lipstick,” you say nonchalantly, putting the cosmetic away. “Well let’s do it.”

Knowing you were fully aware of the effect this particular lipstick has on him, he resignedly drops the towel, feeling the heat rush to his face as fluid leaked from his tip, cock begging for attention. You coo at him as you take it into your hands. He would get his reward tomorrow.

“Aww….poor thing…Just one more day, ok? I promise.” You lick away the salty, milky drops gathering at the opening, dipping the tip of your tongue into the crevice making him hiss and thrust his hips needily. His fingers grip your hair, and you untangle them with your free hand. Flicking teasingly against the sensitive slit, you grace him with a tiny slurp as you wrap your lips around the measliest circumference possible, hearing the frustrated grumble that arises in his chest, observing the way his balls hang heavily from his body, full of unrelieved cum. You resist the temptation to play with them. He didn’t need the extra stimulation. You let go and observe the ring of color that’s left behind on the engorged head.

Nanami’s eyes are glassy at the sight, feeling sensibility wash out of him, replaced with a burning need to stuff your mouth full and face fuck you until he cums, the hot liquid dripping everywhere. He twitches in protest when you let go, the little suction you had provided only provoking him more. You press your pretty lips to the side of the tip again, keeping them there long enough to have the color stain his skin.

“One more day,” you whisper reassuringly, giving another kiss to the pulsing organ, veins showing up so prominently you wonder how he’s managing to think at all. Before he could say anything, you check the time.

“Gotta get to work! See you later.” You wave your hand, struggling not to laugh at the incredulous look he gives you before racing out the door. He sees the date night lipstick stuck to his dick and tries to calm himself down. Nothing works. He ends up relieving himself at home before going to work, digging up one of your used panties from the hamper, smelling the lingering scent of your pussy as he jerks off. He’s still hard when he finishes and he sees that despite the aggressive abuse he inflicted on himself, the lipstick was still there, the kiss mark only slightly mussed. A dick hickey. This day could not end fast enough.

Day 4 - Liquid Lipstick

“Now liquid lipsticks are amazing because they’re super long-wearing. And once they dry down they don’t smudge or leave stains. Hard to remove. But worth it.”

Nanami is standing naked in front of you, cock at attention, not having bothered to get dressed today until you are done. He keeps his face passive, knowing that your reckoning would come this evening.

You take the wand from the tube and start applying the lipstick, the fluid becoming tacky as it lacquers your lips. You grasp his cock firmly, pumping slightly, a chuckle escaping your lips as he bucks involuntarily in your hand.

“Ready for tonight?” You purr, looking up at him mischievously. His face is set in a grimace as he imagines what he has planned for you tonight. You had no idea, you poor innocent lamb. He nods curtly.

With the lipstick still feeling tacky, you press a kiss to his head for a final time and pull away, seeing the liquid matte lipstick start to dry down. To quicken the process, you blow cool air over it and Nanami bites back a grunt at the chill, pearlescent liquid beginning to bead at his tip.

“Maybe we should look into temperature play next time,” you tease, before swiping away the bead with your thumb and licking it clean. Nanami makes no comment, reeling in his tendencies with herculean effort.

It takes another minute for it to dry down before forming a matte finish, the classic lip image one pictured in their mind. The lipstick was a dark cherry red, almost looking like a partially healed bruise on his delicate skin. You tap gently to ensure It was completely set.

“Well… Have a good day Kento.” Like the past few days, you push his cock back into his boxers, trying not to smirk at how it tented the fabric. “I'll give you a minute to calm down. And tonight… You'll see how much I appreciate your effort.”

“Mhm,” is all he says as he waits for tonight.

∘°∘♡∘°∘

You squeezed yourself into the tiny bits of lace and silk in preparation for him coming home that night. You had already brought takeout from his favorite restaurant and waited for him to come home. Of course you'd be giving him head. He deserved it after the impressive display of patience from the last four days. When you hear his footsteps coming near your bedroom, you feel your core moisten in anticipation.

Upon seeing you, Nanami merely starts to undress, his ideas blooming to life in his mind’s eye.

“Y/n,” he says as he opens the buttons on his shirt. Your eyes follow his hands, feeling like your mouth might start to water at any moment as he exposes his chest, a broad, muscled wall of masculinity.

“Hmm?”

“So far, you’ve told me about lipsticks that are designed to last. Are there any that give you color but also tend to smudge very easily?” He shrugs out of the shirt and you feel like a lech, staring unashamedly at the abs and pecs that rippled like water flowing down a riverbed.

You rack your brain, thinking. It was very hard to focus when your incredibly attractive boyfriend was stripping down, staring at you with those wolf-like eyes, threatening to swallow you whole.

“I think I have one like that…why?”

“Would you mind wearing it now? Please?” He starts unbuckling his belt, his expression almost light and pleasant. You were puzzled at the casual way he asks but thought nothing of it.

“Ah, yeah, sure.” You slide off the bed, knowing the tiny lace thong was probably flashing him enticingly, showcasing your round ass as you walked over the vanity. You find the lipstick in question, a lovely candy pink shade which never lasted longer than an hour when you wore it. Although Nanami’s request mystifies you, you put it on anyway, and walk back to him.

He was wearing nothing but his boxers, the thick bulge of his erection visible through the fabric. You smile at him and without needing direction, drop to your knees in front of him. As you palm him through his boxers, you look up at him, see the way his eyes grow dark. You pull the waistband down, freeing his cock from its confines. Swollen, you can feel the heat emanating from it and you run your hands, one after the other down the length, squeezing, hearing him inhale sharply before opening your mouth and taking him in.

You lean back slightly to allow more movement for your head, bobbing up and down, enjoying the taste, seeing the way your lipstick streaked along his skin, then pull back, strings of spit forming from your lips to the tip. You take in a breath then squeal as Nanami roughly grabs your hair and shoves himself roughly back in, letting his cock slide all the way into the back of your mouth, tip sitting at the curve of your tongue leading into your throat. Your nose hits his pubes but before you can adjust he yanks again, and he’s pistoning himself in and out of you with aggression.

“Keep those pretty lips open,” he growls as he thrusts relentlessly, ignoring the noises of you trying to catch your breath as he uses you to his liking. His tip enters ever so briefly into your throat and he holds himself for a moment, peering down at you as you look up at him with hazy eyes, at his mercy. With a groan he yanks back, and you inhale deeply, feeling the relief of air for a second before he forces you back on him, teeth gritted as he fucks your mouth.

“Shit…fuck yes, Y/n good girl…take it all…”

Saliva drips from your aching, open jaws but you do it for him, feeling it slide from the corners of your mouth, falling onto your breasts, your thighs, the floor. He somehow feels bigger right now, his thickness testing your limit, his length almost choking you everytime. Deepthroating him was always a challenge even on your own terms but today you held still and let him use you, spluttering each time he pulled out, before being filled again.

Nanami watches with satisfaction as the pink lipstick starts to smudge, the color leaving a ring around the perimeter of your lips, some of it dribbling down to form streaks on your chin as the saliva falls. What a sight you were, eyes wide and filled with tears, jaw struggling to remain open and take him, your soft whimpering music to his ears, the vibrations further adding to his arousal. You really thought you had the last word when teasing him with your lip products? Oh you foolish woman.

He grunts as he feels the heat in his belly, feels his balls starting to tighten, preparing to unload 4 days worth of pent up sexual frustration. Recognizing the signs, you reach out a hand to cup and squeeze him enticingly, drawing a guttural sound of approval as he keeps moving his hips. You flatten your tongue, readying yourself to swallow…and he stops. He doesn’t pull out but pulls your head back by the hair so that you’re looking directly into his eyes.

“Do not swallow,” he says in a raspy voice, a feral snarl of instruction. Your eyes widen at his words. He stares you down, making sure you heard him.

“Nod if you understand.”

Mouth full, you nod gingerly.

“Good girl.” He thrusts in suddenly, taking you by surprise as you try to use the remaining brain cells available to you to remember his command. His grunts become pleasurable moans.

“Fuck I’m close…remember…don’t swallow…want to see you messy…” he gasps in between thrusts.

As his orgasm hits, thick spurts of milky cum coat your mouth, and he doesn’t remove his cock, leaving it inside as he empties his balls. The liquid drips out steadily, and he watches with satisfaction as some of it starts to stain pink and it slides down your chin and throat, lipstick smearing everywhere.

“Don’t swallow,” he repeats. “And mouth open.” He eases out of you and you feel all his cum pool into your lower jaw, flowing under your tongue and plummeting out of your opened lips. Namami’s thumbs rest at the corners of your mouth, and he swipes at the cum trickling out of your opened lips, relishing the way it turns pink as he mixes it with the lipstick, before brushing the mixture upwards, drawing the color onto your cheeks.

“I think I understand now.” He takes more dripping, colored, cum and slides it down the sides of your throat. “Long wearing color really does matter.” He continues to caress your face, spreading his seed all over you, enjoying the look in your eyes.

You whimper at the ache in your jaw and he smirks at you. “You may swallow now.”

With relief, you close your mouth and down every last drop, tongue darting out to clean up anything left on your lips. Candy pink is the only thing visible on your face.

“Next time, wear a matte lipstick. I want to see if it really doesn’t transfer.”

Next time?!

All banners by @/ cafe kitsune

@daswanj , @buttercupbitches, @byul9158 , @mirrors-musings, @jadedjane, ,@estarlias, @connorsui @starsinmylatte @harlekin6 @hunnie-lily

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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hello love! can i make a request for gaz x f!reader she a civilian and a florist and he keeps visiting her and they slowly fall for each other and he calls her his sunflower or something cute like that? you can make up the rest, sorry if it’s not super detailed!

Gossamer Silk Smiles

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Florist!Reader

Synopsis: You loved your job more than anything, and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. You were focused; self-assured... Until he showed up.

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Insane amount of fluff, this is the definition of a soft fic, beginning of a relationship

A/N: I know this man would treat me right. Also changed the nickname around a bit, but sunflowers are still prominent. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you opened your flower shop, you told yourself there was no going back – no distractions or second options. This was what you loved more than anything and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well.

Until he showed up.

It had been a shitty day, one for the record books, in your opinion. Shipments for Larkspur, Zinnias, and Sunflowers had come to the shop damaged. The boxes had been so beaten up you half-believed the mail carrier had gotten into a personal disagreement with them. All initial humor aside, you were now out of this week's product as well as a good chunk of money – the flowers couldn’t even be considered that anymore, seeing as they were really just broken stems and stray crumpled pedals. Then came the unusual amount of rude customers and the building of minor inconveniences.

But to your credit, you didn’t let it get to you.

Well…externally, at least.

“Have a great rest of your day,” you force out with a strained smile to an older woman who only huffs. She stalks out of the shop with a vase full of Daylilies, Purple Cornflowers, Yarrow, and Taro leaves. “I hope your brother gets well soon–” The glass door shuts with a clatter of the small silver bell attached to the frame.

Leaning back on your heels, your eyes close; taking down a deep breath, you hope your lungs won't explode in your chest as you hold it there.

“Fucking hell.” The air flies from you in a weak groan.

Your fingers tap against the countertop, and a small, humorless, chuckle later you’re walking out to change the window sign to closed instead of open. It was well past your usual shift anyways, but the previous customer had been relentless about the ‘perfect bouquet.’

“Like there’s even such a thing,” your lips twist into an annoyed frown as you speak to yourself in a grumble. “...Should have just denied her service… Didn’t even leave a tip.”

You really wouldn’t have minded helping her that much if she had just been kinder towards you.

Grabbing the small paper sign held up by a suction-cup hook, you flip it around with little thought, already trying to plan out a way to make up for the weeks worth of ruined product. You don’t even notice the man speeding down the sidewalk until his desperate face is staring right into yours – only separated by a thin piece of glass.

Yelping, your shoulders tense at the sudden visage.

The man was around your age, tall, and had a handsome face inlaid with eyes reminiscent of deep amber. Light reflected off the iris in ways you can only describe as the glinting sun does off waves of water; gentle. Nearly soft, really. He was wearing a ball cap with an embroidered British flag on the front and had a panicked look set on his lips.

Close to the door handle, his long fingers freeze mid-air and you find the prominent muscular build and set of his shoulders staining the back of your eyelids like a movie screen. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t stray from the fact that he was attractive.

You’re not happy about it, but your mind blanks as you stare with wide eyes; heart steady in your breast.

He blinks at you, square jaw loose, also double-taking from beyond the see-through barrier. His flickering eyes flew quickly over your form just as you had ogled him moments prior.

Silly, perhaps, and childish at best, but you felt your throat tighten with stilled breath. There was a small chunk of time that you both just gawked at each other – as if Cupid had suddenly stabbed you both with one of his blots; gazes inexplicably locked as blood dripped to the floor from copper arrowheads.

If you were more gullible, you would have called it love at first sight. But you were anything but that.

Sighing, you rip your eyes away and take a breath. Opening the door with more questions than answers, you were praying that it didn’t get dark before you could help this man with whatever it is that he needed.

I can see the fucking veins on his forearms. You think as the chilled air hits your face, recalling the peek you sent to the rolled-up sleeves of this stranger’s blue button-down.

The bell above you dings as you set the door in the crook of your shoulder, leaning out halfway. Clearing your throat, you ask steadily, “Can I help you, Sir…?”

He sets his stubbled jaw, vision snapping to the side for a split second that was so fast you almost missed it.

“Erm…my apologies, Ma’am, for rushing up like that.” He lets off a chuckle, and the flag on his hat is quickly explained away by the prominent accent. “Hope I didn’t worry you.”

Fighting the uptick of your lips you feel your chest let go of a sliver of tension. He was smiling slightly at you, the khaki pants he wears creasing as his feet set themselves; his brown eyes never leave your face.

Respectful, you think.

“Not every day you have people trying to barge into a flower shop. Trust me, Sir, I sleep well knowing no one wants to rob me.” Attempting a light joke, the stranger's chest jerks in a silky laugh. The tips of your ears heat, the blood under your skin rushing.

His laugh was like a blanket during a storm; a cup of hot chocolate during a blizzard. Could you be attracted to a laugh? You seemed to ask yourself. Already your mind was coming up blank at this, all of a sudden, welcome intrusion.

“Well, I’d imagine that’s a good thing, then?” He teases showing off pearly white teeth.

“Incredibly.” Opening the door wider, you beam. “You’re lucky I was still here. I’d normally be all locked up by now.”

You should be closing – telling this stranger to leave and come back tomorrow – but something inside of you told you to just open the door. It was illogical, unprofessional, and downright strenuous on your already foul mood…but this individual had such an air to him that you wondered who exactly he was. He made your skin pule with goosebumps.

“Thanks,” the man utters as he slips inside, nodding his head to you and fixing the position of his hat with one hand. “Yeah…I’m incredibly sorry about this but I’m runnin’ on a bit of a time crunch, to be honest with you. I’ve been checking every shop in town – you’re the only one with the lights still on…” He looks to you, “I really hope I’m not causing any trouble for you, Ma’am.”

Slipping your fingers into your work apron’s pockets, you let the door shut and tilt your head to the side, gaze softening at the pure candor of his words.

“Emergency flower orders are always my favorites to work on. It’s no problem, really.” You say your name as an introduction and ask what he would like to purchase as he scratches at the back of his neck with a boyish twist to his lips.

“Kyle Garrick.” He sticks out his hand and you shake it instantly. Kyle’s hands are warm despite the cold weather outside, and you have to stop yourself from melting into him as you pull back. But already your skin tingles. “Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me on that front. What flowers would be the best for an apology?…just not something too flashy, if that’s possible.”

He trails with an awkward chuff, obviously not used to being in a flower shop before. You wondered if he even had a favorite flower. You hoped he did.

You could really tell a lot about someone based on the types of flora they surrounded themselves with.

“Apology?” You wonder, tilting your head. Quickly falling into work mode, you continue, “I can work with that. Do you have any preferences? Colors?”

“Well, she likes orange, yeah?” He speaks and your heart sputters for a moment. Smile freezing. “I don’t suppose that’ll help very much, but it’s really all I have to go off of. I’m a bit of a hopeless bastard when it comes to flowers.” Kyle lets off a huff of laughter.

She. Of course, he’s already in a relationship.

Nodding, you swiftly walk past the man, catching the scent of fresh-tilled earth and rainy grass as your shoulders nearly brush. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It wasn’t every day you found yourself attracted to someone. But, oh well, life continues on.

“Well,” heading towards the wall baskets, your body feels heavy, but you quickly force it to the side. You really shouldn’t be surprised. “You said orange? I have about seven you can pick from.”

“Affirmiti–erm, yes, Ma’am.”

“Hm.” You hear him come up behind you, following at a respectful distance. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you watch as his eyes slide over the various types of flowers, all separated by color, with deep thought.

A slight furrow was in his dark brow. His dedication was adorable.

“What’s this one called?” Kyle asks, moving around you to a bushel of orange poppies and accidentally bumping into your side.

Grunting, you lightly jerk forward until a hand swiftly grabs your shoulder. Eyelashes fluttering, you look up with shock at the embarrassed face slightly leaning over you.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s my bad.”

“N-no, you’re fine.” God, this was so awkward. Smiling shakily, you feel the press of his hand over your skin, separated only by the thin barrier of your shirt. Kyle squeezes your flesh before letting go.

He was staring at you, though. Brown eyes set into dark skin with a soft expression like Pygmalion staring at his marble-wrought Galatea. But as quickly as it was there, the look was gone and the man was clearing his throat, snapping his neck back to the basket and shifting his feet.

Even if you couldn’t explicitly see it, you knew he was blushing – just the same as the heat in your capillaries mirrored. Swallowing to get rid of the dryness of your throat, you realize you’ve been gawking before sliding your hands into your pockets and quickly looking away.

Why won’t my heart stop beating so fast?

“Those are Orange Poppies. Papaver orientale.” Speaking, you reach forward and grab the stem of a single bloom holding it to him as he gazes down at you from your side. “Common in ‘get well soon’ bouquets, if you were curious.”

Holding it up to him, you watch his fingers delicately pluck it from you like the flower was made of glass. It nearly made you laugh, but you settled on a small smile instead.

“It’s pretty…” Kyle pauses, and you read it well enough.

“...But not what you were looking for.” Settling on the answer, you giggle when he passes off a sheepish smile and a nod. “I kind of guessed. Here – how about this.”

He ends up buying a handful of orange Tulips, Myrtle leaf for greenery, and a small gathering of Baby’s-Breath. Behind the counter, you try to stay focused on setting the flora perfectly in the clear vase as your clippers lay beside it. Frowning, you take the long stem of a Tulip and snip the end at an angle, placing it to the far left of the rest with a concentrated set of your eyebrows.

“So,” Kyle says, breaking the silence, and your fingers twitch as your spell is shattered. Soul stilling, you look up at him as he waits on the other side of the counter with his arms comfortably crossed. He leans back on his heels, feet shoulder-length apart. “Busy day today, then? Other places around here are mostly dark by five.”

Standing straighter, you politely smile before going back to the arrangement, hand reaching for the small white tufts of Baby’s-Breath.

“Mostly, yeah.” You cock your head to the side, “I was supposed to be home two hours ago, but one lady was very adamant about getting the most ‘perfect’ flowers, as she told it.”

Chuckling humorlessly, you step back and stare at the vase, not aware of the eyes stuck on the tired slump of your shoulders or the slight frown staining the man’s lips.

“Two hours? Well, that’s a bit excessive.” Kyle remarks, eyelids creasing, “I’d hope she at least left a tip for you?”

That gets a laugh out of you, lungs jerking for a moment; focus once more brought back to the present at the preposterous words that just left your customer’s mouth. Those brown eyes suck you back in to a point where you wonder if you’d ever be able to look away.

“Now that’s funny, Mr. Garrick.”

He lets the subject drop, but you notice a slight crease in-between in brows – a narrowness to his eyes that wasn't there before. You try not to think too much into it, but Kyle certainly did seem like the man to get upset when people aren’t treated respectfully. The thought warms your heart.

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this.

“Is there anything you’d like me to rearrange, Sir…? Do you want a note to go with it?” Seemingly lost in thought, Kyle comes back to you with a diligent shake of his head.

“It looks perfect, Love. And, please, just Kyle’s alright. You’re makin’ me sound like an old man when you talk like that.” He chuckles, and it’s a rich, velvety sort of thing – twisted with blue satin and wrapped in a gentle breeze. Your stomach twists.

“Then I suppose that’s it, then. I’ll get you the bill and you can be on your way.” Turning around to calculate the total price, you make a quick comment in passing, not really thinking about it as you tap on your calculator. “I hope your girlfriend and you make up.”

A stunned silence falls, but you only focus on the numbers, jotting down the total on a sticky note and turning around after re-running the costs a last time. When your eyes lock with him, your feet stall at the dumbfounded look on Kyle’s face and the confusion ingrained in his body language. His head had pulled back slightly, hat tilted.

“What’s that?” He asks.

“Your…girlfriend?” You say slowly, walking closer and passing him the sticky note, “you said you were getting her apology flowers?”

The handsome man blinks at you before realization lights in his eyes like fire. Kyle laughs deeply, putting a hand on top of his head and pressing down on his cap.

“Oh, Bloody hell, no.” He takes a deep breath and you feel your lips pressed together in confusion, innocent intrigue taking place in your skull. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I should have told you right off. This is for my mum.”

Blinking in surprise you pause, looking up with wide eyes.

Sweetheart?...Mum?! Your face heats to an intense level. Oh.

“O-oh I didn’t…” He’s reaching for his wallet with a large lop-sided smile on his face and understanding eyes, watching you as he flips it open. You settle with a single laugh and say, “sorry, I guess I just assumed.”

But you can’t help the sudden relief that sprouted out of nowhere that leaves your lips pulling back in a mirrored grin. You’d been doing that a lot, as of the last fifteen minutes.

“It’s no problem,” Kyle admits, “Thing is, I’ve been off on deployment for a while, and I missed my return date party, unfortunately. Just got back about noon today and I decided I was going to surprise her tonight.” The man pulls out a large stack of bills, “Thought she’d like that, yeah? Can’t go wrong with flowers, can you?”

“You’re in the military?” You ask smoothly but internally swoon at the thought of a son giving his mother flowers out of the kindness of his heart. Whoever she was, you know the woman who raised this man would be overjoyed with the prospect of simply having him home safe and sound before anything else.

Did not Penelope, wife of Odysseus, care for her son Telemachus more than anything? Above danger and possible death? They protected each other. You supposed it was the same in this situation.

Being able to be a part of it made your legs weak.

“Something like that, Ma’am.” Kyle’s lips flick into a smirk as he hands you the bills. “Feels like I’m surrounded by children most days, but there’s no place I’d rather be…When I’m not nearly getting my head bloody blown off, that is.”

You huff in amusement, and slight concern, taking the payment and settling it on the counter without checking the numbers; never doubting whether he gave you the right amount or not.

“Well, it seems like you’ve got it all figured out.” Garrick looks to his feet for a moment, pocketing his wallet, and clears his throat near mutely. He tilts his head back up to you.

“Nearly,” he whispers under his breath, a delicate wrinkle on his forehead as his lips pull in a minute, closed, grin. Sheepishly, you look away from his intense brown gaze before you can make a fool of yourself as giddiness sparks in your racing heart. What was happening to you? You have to ask yourself. Where was all of this blatant scatterbrained activity stemming from? No one had ever made you act like this before.

As you look away, your eyes unintentionally land on the wall clock across the room, and your thoughts still like water in a puddle. Eyes widening comedically, you feel your lips part.

“I really need to be closing up.” You say apologetically, looking back to the man who touches one of the Myrtle leaves carefully, running it between his thumb and forefinger. Under you, your feet shift over the floor. “Is this all you’ll be needing?”

“Pretty sure.” Garrick answers easily, “I won't keep you any longer, eh? I’d hate it if I made you go home by yourself after dark.”

“That’s very thoughtful, Kyle, thank you.” Pushing the vase over the counter, he takes it up and pauses as if he wants to say something. His mouth opens before closing – looking at his feet for a moment and itching at his neck with his free hand.

“I…don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Ma’am,” your breath hollows, watching carefully as you listen. “But, uh, I,” Kyle shifts his eyes to your face, standing a bit straighter as the corner of his lip flicks up, “You’re just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met – if that’s not overstepping, of course.”

He laughs stiffly to dispel tension, and the air suddenly gets ten times hotter at the brutally honest, if not mildly stuttered, confession. You can nearly hear the blood rushing to your head like a flood of ocean water – more violent and immediate than a tsunami. In your ribcage, your bones ache at the beating organ and the swell of your lungs. Having to take a deep breath to not forget yourself entirely, your mind rages.

Did he really just say that? He…he called me beautiful.

When was the last time you had been called that? By such a lovely and kind man nonetheless. Kyle seemed like a confident person, his profession telling you that already, but the way he was acting now he seemed hesitant; like he was appalled by the fact you would take what he was saying the wrong way and come off creepy.

But that was so blatantly opposite of how you were reacting.

“I-” You stutter, eyes snapping away and hands coming to hold themselves in front of your abdomen, “well, I think you’re very handsome, yourself, Kyle.” A meek expression spreads your visage as you see the breath in his chest hitch, “and I wouldn’t call that overstepping at all. Not by a long shot.”

His eyes widen, and a second of intense eye contact later, he smiles and glances away. Garrick sneaks looks as you bite your lip, and finally, he nods firmly before his phone starts to ring in his pocket.

As if a switch had turned, his hand snaps down and grasps the device, peeling it out of his khakis and checking the contact. Immediately he utters.

“Oh, Shit, this is her. I’ve got to run.” He walks backward a few steps before turning and lightly jogging to the front door. Following with your eyes, you’re somewhat entranced by the man.

Before he can walk through the door, he stops in his tracks.

“Sorry, again,” Kyle turns back around, and his dark eyebrows crease, “but, uh, what days are you open?”

The giddy smile that forms on your cheeks leaves your skin hurting.

“All of ‘em except the weekends,” you say, confidence suddenly sprouting in your veins, “but I’m sure if you told me ahead of time that you were stopping by, I’d make an exception.”

“I’d imagine for emergency flowers only?” Kyle teases, a smirk on his face. His eyes promise you, though, that this will not be the last time you see him.

“Of course.” You reply, raising a brow. “I’m a florist, after all, Garrick. Emergency flowers are my specialty. If you’re ever in need of more, I’ll be here, waiting.”

He laughs, stares for a few seconds longer with a distant sheen, and disappears through the door. You don’t follow when his form fades from the windows entirely. You don’t ask for his number, even if you knew you should have. You don’t look at the amount he gave you as you put it in the register, knowing, even by your intuition, that it is double the amount he was due.

You’d just tell him all about it when you saw him again.

Until Kyle Garrick showed up you had been focused; as immovable as a mountain, but then as the days drew on, you faltered. Your eyes would linger on the glass as people pass by, heart in your throat and feet tapping as you bound stems. Flowers had taken up so much of your life, but now another was trying to push its way in – slowly infecting you like a parasite in your mind as the days went on.

And as he kept showing up, month after month, he had taken to calling you Persephone. A goddess of spring and nature; beautiful flowers of all colors and shapes growing on hills and in vibrant meadows. It was perhaps the greatest compliment someone like you could have been given. At first, it had been a nickname until it had become as common as your actual title, and Kyle used it so much even regular customers teased you with it with smirks and side-eyes. You only rolled your optics with a burning under your skin and a small smile.

“Well, look, it’s Persephone…”

“That boy of yours here, Persephone? Hiding in the back room perhaps?”

“Persephone – you have any Peonies this week?”

You didn’t mind it…really, you didn’t. If anything, you thought it was precious. A man comparing you to a goddess that danced in green fields as flowers sprouted at her feet? Yes, that was quite alright.

Quite alright, indeed.

—

The office room was cold, he thought. Nearly a meat locker.

How in the hell can he stand to work in here, Kyle asked himself. Bloody place is like a damn winter storm just minus the snow.

He was seated in one of the two chairs in front of the mahogany desk, hands on the armrests and feet tapping the floor. When the Sergeant had gotten the order on his radio to come to Captain Price’s office ASAP, he had expected the man to already be here, but five minutes later he was still sitting in silence.

That wasn’t to say he was bored, though. He was thinking of you. He could never be bored when he did that.

It brings a small smile to Garrick’s face as he relives your last interaction, lips unconsciously twitching as his eyes grow distant.

You’d made him a flower crown, mostly as a joke, but had been left in raging fits of laughter when you’d placed it on his head.

“Hold still,” you grunt, sitting on the front counter and keeping the weaved headpiece in your grip as it hovers above the man’s scalp, “I want to get it centered on the first go.”

“Y’know,” Kyle chuffs, “I could always do it myself – I do have working hands, Love.”

“Shush!” Exclaiming, your breath fans his face, leaving him more still than a statue, if only to smell your scent and be content with your body so close to his. Kyle was still working out the best way to ask you out officially, but that didn’t seem to extend to his instinctual actions when it came to you. It was increasingly hard to stop his head from leaning just that tiniest bit forward and connecting his lips to yours.

The pressure on his head brings him back, and his eyes blink as if they could force all the rogue thoughts from his mind. Kyle clears his throat when you lean back, acutely aware of the longing set of his dark brows as he had stared off at you.

“Well, then,” The Sergeant clears his throat and smiles at your concentrated face, though he notices the hitch in your chest with a strange sense of pride. “How’s it lookin'? Is just as you imagined, eh?”

Your face scrunches, head tilting. Kyle couldn’t remember a time he’d let someone put a wreath of flowers on his head, woven with Forget-Me-Nots, Silver Dollar Eucalyptus, and Tiger Lillies. The others would make fun of him for this.

But he found he cared little. If you kept smiling at him like that, he’d let you do anything to him in a heartbeat.

“Perfect.” You chuckle. “You should have let me do this earlier.”

The shop was closed – it was a weekend, after all, and that was the time for restocking and number crunching. Not really the time for making crowns for a man who was totally smitten with you.

“You sure that you don’t need these?” Kyle asks, a hand reaching up to his head to touch the flora. “I’d hate to not pay you for them, Love. Can only imagine how expensive they are to order.”

“Eh,” rolling your eyes, your legs brush the Sergeant’s hips from where they sit around them, and the man has to remember how to breathe properly, “they’re the old product, anyway. I’d have to get rid of them by Monday. Better for such a handsome individual to have a crown of his own, with all the gallantry he practices in his job. It’s the least I could do, hm?”

You’re teasing him, a smirk taking up the frame of Kyle’s vision. He returns the action, hands coming to rest on either side of your hips; leaning forward until his nose with mere inches away. He hears your chest rattle with a slow breath.

“Are you teasin’ me, Persephone?” He asks sneakily, as you begin to giggle. “Insinuating I need a flower crown to be recognized at work? It’ll certainly get me attention, that’s for sure, yeah? Just not the kind I want. Soap’ll have a field day.”

“He’d just make a few comments, I’m sure.”

“You’ve never met him. The bloke would never let it go until the day I kicked the bucket.” You’re laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth.

Kyle hates himself at that moment because you’ve never looked so beautiful, and he can’t quite pick up the courage to just lean in. So he watches with a matching look of happiness and an embarrassing, yet adored, flower crown on top of his close-shaven head. He watches with an ache in his chest and a violent beat to his heart as your body heat melts into him; urging him, prompting him.

But he just smiles and watches a moment longer before taking a step back.

“Sir,” Garrick asks, settling back down and watching the older man slink behind his desk, “What’s all this about?”

The door opens with a firm hand. Kyle startles to his feet, tuning and about to go into an instinctual formal greeting before the Captain speaks, beating him to it.

“At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat.”

Price sighs as he takes a seat, slapping a large file that was previously in his hand to the wood before opening his drawer with a grunt. Gaz watches with narrowed eyes as his superior ignores his question, pulling out a large cigar from a lockbox and slotting it between his lips. A lighter follows soon after, and soon the smell of burning tobacco enters the air.

“...Captain?” Kyle was starting to get nervous now. Why was he looking at him like that? Blue eyes seem to dig deep into Gaz’s soul, trying to find something that was hidden behind layers and layers of flesh and bone.

John pulls the stick from his lips and holds it between his fingers, smoke now entering the air and rising to perforate like mist. Feet shifting over the floor, Kyle’s heart skips a beat.

What in the hell is going on?

That’s when the bearded man speaks.

“Well, who are they, then?” Price asks, tilting his head forward as his bucket hat sits where it usually does atop his brown hair. The Captain’s eyes are squinted; curious but still laced with that authority that never seemed to leave no matter how many years the two had known each other.

“Pardon, Sir?” Gaz has to ask, confusion prominent in his expression. “They?”

John raises a thick brow as if the answer was obvious.

“You’re distracted. Been checking your phone like it’s going to explode the last few days. So,” the Captain stares at him heavily, taking another drag before placing the cigar in his ashtray and breathing out a cloud of smoke. He leans forward and places his hands on the table, as Kyle watches, perplexed, “who is it, Sergeant? No use hiding it.”

“I…” Gaz trails before blinking dumbly, lips parting, “oh, hell, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” The answer makes the younger man cringe and his skin pulls tight. A pause leaves the room silent, the Sergeant avoiding his Captain’s gaze as he tilts his head away for a moment. He clears his throat.

“She’s just…” Kyle clears his throat, “someone I met in the city. A florist. Down on Main Ave.”

“A florist, eh?” Grunting, John nods his head to himself. “Asked the bird out, then?”

“What?” Snapping his head up, Gaz says loudly with stuttering lips, “N-no, Sir. Not yet.”

The man ahead of him hums, leaning back and flipping his file open, taking a moment to pick up the first page and skim the contents with small eyes. He looks over the top with a blank expression.

“I’d get on that, Son.”

—

Today was different, you knew. Something was going to happen. An unexplainable feeling was in the back of your mind, making you somewhat anxious even if you didn’t know exactly why. It was like a sheet had been thrown over your head and someone had just told you to run in circles without hitting a wall; feet tied with a rope.

The morning had started off normal, as had everything else that followed, but there was an air of expectation wafting in front of you.

What’s going on? You ask as you wipe down the counter with a wet rag, swiping stray leaves and petals into the garbage bin at your feet. Why am I feeling like I’m expecting something to happen?

It was Tuesday – nothing astounding ever happens on Tuesdays.

The front door opens with the ringing of a silver bell, and you say absentmindedly, still caught in your thoughts, “be with you in a moment!”

A cough startles you, your hand squeezing the rag a bit tighter as your neck twists upwards.

“Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Kyle,” you laugh and take a breath, “I didn’t expect you today…”

Freezing, your lips part in a silent gasp when you see it. The man you had come to have quite the crush on was standing a few paces from the door, dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants, jacket in the crook of his arm. He holds a single Sunflower in his grasp.

It wasn’t anything overly impressive, a bit small and dead at the tips, but nonetheless, your heart stuttered at the gift. Staring at it silently, you turn your gaze to Kyle as his feet shift over the floor nervously. A strange look had overtaken his face, but he had a confident air to him that you’d been seeing more and more of the last few visits.

“What’s this?” You ask carefully, body going hot all over and lungs swelling.

You’d loved flowers for most of your life; worshiped them like the people of Delphi worshiped their god-chosen Oracle. But never could you recall a moment when you had been given any out of free will. Everyone always assumed you disliked getting them because of your job, but, oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Flowers were like declarations of emotions – they could mean so many things to so many different people. They were the truth laid bare in nature as plainly as it could be, wrought with promises.

Your breath stills, eyelids pulling back delicately; lips parting.

Kyle speaks softly, raising the flower in his grip.

“I remembered you saying you liked these more than roses – you called them ‘tacky’ if I’m…remembering correctly. The roses, that is.”

He was remembering correctly. But that had been just a passing comment to another customer you had been helping before him. Unimportant. A quick piece of yourself that hadn’t mattered while you were cutting stems and looping twine.

But he remembered it.

A giggle falls from you until your hand snaps up, trapping it behind parted fingers and an awe-filled face.

“I wanted to give it to you,” he continued, walking forward with measured steps, “and ask you a question, if you’d let me.”

“Of course, I would.” It’s breathless, the way you say it, and suddenly you know exactly why you've been so on edge today.

You’d been waiting for him.

And when he smiles at you, your mind runs to gossamer silk. Such a delicate thing; that smile, comparable to the millions of strands a spider spins in a lifetime. Gorgeous and so very easily missed if you weren’t looking at just the right moment. Gossamer Silk.

Since when has his grin become so important to you? To where you craved it just as violently as water or food? That look in his amber gaze – the one that left you breathless even when you simply thought about it, that was what you wanted to witness when you woke up in the mornings. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted his lips pressed to yours. You wanted him to be in your kitchen making you dinner as the rain fell outside and the flowers in your back garden grew strong and beautiful.

You wanted him to be yours.

Kyle stops behind the counter and hands you the flower. You reach for it without complaint instantaneously, wondering momentarily if he had just happened upon one and taken it in a moment of passion. Both of your fingers brush, and the imaginary sparks that fly make you turn slightly shy, head tilting to the side for a moment.

But a finger hooks under your chin, moving it back as delicately as bird wings, gentle feathers tickling your flesh and nerves.

A hum resonates in your chest, eyes crinkling as you stare into amber brown with flecks of gold. You could get lost in them if you looked too much.

But you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Persephone, would you do me the great honor,” the two of you laugh at the wispy and teasing tone, and suddenly you wish the counter between you would disappear into thin air, “of going on a date with me tonight?”

Tuesdays, perhaps, might have just become the best day of the week, and a small Sunflower with dead tips and fading yellow, your new favorite flower.

Ironic, how that works. He ended up distracting you more than you could ever imagine.

—

“Don’t you have to be back on base soon, Garrick?” You mutter into a warm chest, street lights shining into the windows of the apartment.

“Bloody hell, yes…But I’d crawl back to you, if you asked it of me.”

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creamhoodie · 9 months

Text

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ His Princess ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊

synopsis: Reo spoils you for your one year anniversary. Warnings: 2,115 words, aged up after Bluelock events, romance and smut, one-shot, minors DNI

Reo loved to spoil you. Tonight was no different in fact he wanted to spoil you more since it was your one year anniversary. Even though you were humble and shy about his gift giving nature he had still made sure to book reservations at the most luxurious French restaurant he could find. He had even picked your outfit, gifting you a beautiful dress made out of lotus silk though your own beauty outshone the rare fabric.

It truly gave him such sweet pleasure almost orgasmic-like to bestow on you presents each better and more expensive than the last. You had once told him, “Reo, I don’t need these things. I just want you.”

“I know. That’s why I wanna give you anything and everything,” he had responded.

For Reo the exhilaration and joy of buying items had died while he was still a child for what could he possibly want when he realized everything was at his disposable?

Clothing, cars, jewels, and money itself meant nothing to him and material items no longer interested him. That feeling had only increased as well when he became a professional athlete with even more riches. The only joy he received from partaking in his wealth was when he was using it to spend on you and show you how much he loved you. Gift giving was his love language and because you were pure hearted and non materialistic he wanted to spoil you all the more.

That’s why over dinner he presented you with your first little Tiffany Blue box. The way your starry eyes lit up gave him dopamine. As always you started with your protests that he shouldn’t spend so much on you.

“You’re my princess and I will always give you treasures so get used to it,” he said and helped you put the necklace on.

“I just feel like I can’t give anything back to you,” you said as you swept your hair to the side.

He secured the clasp and kissed your neck whispering into your skin: “you give me everything by being mine and letting me love you. That’s worth more than anything money can ever buy.”

He placed more kisses at your neck, hungry and desperate and he felt you pulsate in bliss at his touch. The smell and taste of you had him asking for the check, desperate to be alone with you.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊

“I want you to pick one you’d like to wear for me. You get to keep all three so don’t worry princess,” he cooed into your ear as he stood behind you, his arms around your waist. He was in your shared bedroom with you, and three large shopping bags from lingerie boutiques were on the bed. This was your second surprise of the night he had planned.

“Reo, you really went all out didn’t you?” You asked. He saw your face take on its usual rosy glow when you were presented with a gift.

It was always that rosy glow and those starry eyes from before when you were presented with the Tiffany Blue box that told him you secretly relished in receiving his gifts.

Though you weren’t materialistic he knew at your core you loved to be showered with these gifts the way all women did. He was highly of the opinion that women were like flowers and meant to be pollinated with gifts and treasures. Each was beautiful and required care and deserved to be worshiped. You are his flower and to him you are the most beautiful in any garden.

“Go ahead and pick one angel,” he coaxed arms still around your waist as he hugged you from behind.

You opened the first bag holding up a red floral fishnet teddy with the tags denoting it as a Spanish import. He had chosen that one because the red reminded him of how red and abused his cock would become after fucking you.

You put that one back in the bag and went on to do the same with the second holding up a see through laced pink slip. That one he had chosen as homage to your rosy glow and it reminded him of a princess dress. The thought alone of railing you in something so innocent nearly sent him over the edge.

The last lingerie item was a wired two piece deep violet set. That one he had chosen because he knows how you love his violet hair and eyes.

“They are all so beautiful, Reo. Thank you,” you said.

“You’re beautiful. Exquisite. Stunning,” he said, placing kisses into your neck between each compliment.

“I know which one I want to wear for you tonight but close your eyes because I want it to be a surprise for you,” you said. He closed them as instructed and let you guide him to sit on the bed. “No peeking and keep them closed until I say you can open them.”

He did just that listening to the scuffling of the bags and fabric.

“You can open your eyes now,” you said. He did and his breath caught. You looked ethereal in the see through pink slip you had selected so much more impossibly gorgeous than he could imagine. Since you wore nothing underneath it (minus the necklace he had put on you earlier) he had a full view of your perky breasts and pussy.

“You chose well baby, you look like such a princess,” he said and motioned for you to sit on his lap.

When you did his lips latched onto yours kissing you now without holding back, all the hunger and desperation he had felt at the restaurant poured through.

“Reo,” you pleaded from both the pain and pleasure your stinging clit was causing you. He understood perfectly and not one to keep his princess waiting he picked you up before laying you back out on the bed, your legs were open for him and his face was cradled in between your thighs.

“I know baby I know,” he said sympathetically, his cock feeling that same longing and pain. He would take care of you first though. Through and through you were his flower, his to please. His fingers teased at your slit so wet and soaked already but he knew that from the wet stain that had pooled on his slacks from you sitting on his lap.

With ease he pushed one finger inside of you then a second.

“Reo.. I need,” you struggled to speak and the mounds of your breasts rising and falling under the see through pink slip made the bulge in his pants expand even more.

“What do you want, baby?” He asked though he knew, of course he knew you inside and out and exactly how to touch you. Still, he loved making you vocalize it, receiving an ego boost for how your face would contort in absolute yearning for him.

“Tongue.. I need your tongue,” you panted say he continued to lazily finger you.

“Need it where, baby? Say it,” he commanded firmly.

“My pussy. Reo I need your tongue in my pussy.”

Alas, the magic words he had been dying to hear.

He was quick to oblige you by removing his fingers and replacing them with his tongue, immediately soaked with your juices. Greedily your hands went to his loose hair pushing his face further in.

He lapped at your pussy as if he was in the desert and it was his only source of hydration and hydrate him you did as your arousal kept flooding on his tongue.

He has always loved how you tasted from the very first time he had tasted your sweet folds and they had lathered him up like a freshly squeezed peach. From the way your fingers tightened in his hair and your repeated moans of his name each crescendoing more than the last he knew you were close to orgasming. Between his tongue and his fingers skilled caresses he was soon flooded with your sweet relief as you laid flushed and trying to catch your breath.

He pressed kisses into your inner thighs and as he did he felt you still pulsating.

“That’s a good princess,” he whispered, “my good princess.”

Your eyes looked at him with such love he couldn’t contain himself.

“Reo, I want you to feel good too,” you said. Always generous and always willing to accommodate him, that’s what he loved about you and why he spoiled you.

“Is that so, princess?” He asked.

You nodded tightly, face flushed and still fucked out.

“Why don’t you go ahead and undress me then?” He asked knowing that it was one of your favorite things to do.

You started by unzipping his slacks, he smiled at that, you were always so eager. He helped your hands along the way, undoing his belt while you undid his tie. Soon he was just in his boxers, the tenting in them becoming almost unbearable.

He didn’t break eye contact with you as he stepped out of his boxers, noticing how your eyes widened at his cock. He stroked it a few times, prepping it just for you.

“Be a good girl and lay back for me,” Reo said. You did so as he lined himself up with you. You were still so wet and felt the mushroom tip of him press against your entrance before easily sliding in.

“Reo, you’re so big,” you stammered in both pain and pleasure a concoction only he could derive from you.

“You take me so well though,” he said before pushing himself further in, “like you were made for me.”

He sighed in complete bliss upon feeling your soothing warmth and softness. It was this sensation that made him want to buy you the moon if you wanted it. In this missionary position, violet eyes meeting yours, shaky breath, moans, and skin upon skin you could have asked him for anything and he wouldn’t deny it of you.

Your hands went to his deep violet hair, fingers gripping the locks to steady yourself as you gave him one simple command: “ruin me,” with begging glossy eyes.

Who was he to deny you? If you wanted to be ruined he would oblige.

He pumped into you steadily then all at once increased his speed, his carnal desire for you taking over.

In and out he went and he wasn’t blind to the fact that you watched as his cock would go in and out each time coated more with your arousal.

“You’re so naughty. You love watching me fuck you don’t you princess?” He teased. Your face turned bright red and your eyes darted elsewhere. “Don’t you dare look away.” With your eyes back on him he thrusted even harder now, the gripping in his hair tightened as well as your vaginal walls tightened around him as if you’d never let him go.

He could die here buried inside of you and he’d have no regrets or remorse.

Between your legs was the treasure money couldn’t buy. He could lose his inheritance, his trust fund, his riches and soccer career but one thing he couldn’t stand to lose was the feeling of your warmth flooding on his cock.

His hands pushed the pink slip up so he could access your breasts as he leaned forward to suck on your ripe nipple as he continued to give you fast paced strokes.

“Reo… feels so good,” you praised.

“I bet it does,” he cooed.

His tongue outlined your areola in circular motions following its shape as the feel of his tongue caused you to shiver from the sensitivity. Your breasts had a slight metallic taste from where the necklace had hovered in between them. His hips continued to buck against yours and he knew you were close again. He talked you through your orgasm now moaning your name and telling him how good you made him feel and how your warmth felt better than anything he had ever experienced.

“Nothing can make me feel as good as you can, absolutely nothing,” he whispered.

He loved missionary with you because now as you came down from your high he got to see your face flush and your eyes roll back in pleasure as you both reached your peak. He most especially loved being able to rest inside of you, laying gently on top of you as you stroked his hair as you each caught your breath.

When he had recovered enough, still inside of you, he leaned forward to kiss you softly and slowly on the lips.

“Happy one year anniversary,” he said before kissing you and once again becoming lost in your skin.

#reo x reader #reo mikage #reo mikage x you #reo mikage x reader #blue lock x reader #reo smut #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk smut #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage smut #blue lock fic #bllk x you #bllk x female reader #bllk headcanons #bllk fic #just wanted to write about reo since im in a phase for him rn and I love the idea of him being the type to spoil

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sebsbarnes · 5 months

Text

apologizes || tangerine

tangerine x f!reader

summary: you voice your concerns about tangerine's profession, to which he doesn't take kindly

warnings: mentions of injury, swearing, drinking, nothing bad at all

word count: 1.5k+ ; angst(?), comfort(?)

tangerine masterlist

"c'mon c'mon," you harshly whispered gesturing them inside.

tangerine and lemon bustled inside, accidently bumping into your shoulder, breathing out heavily holding themselves against the beige wall.

"we owe you big time," lemon huffed sliding off his stained coat and folding it haphazardly on his arm.

"it's fine. you both know i don't mind."

"well, that can be the problem, love. it's not exactly safe," tangerine tutted wiping blood off his forehead with his palm.

"then i'll pay the price eventually but until then i don't care as long as you two are safe," you peered out the door before bolting it and herding them to the living room.

about twenty minutes ago you got a text from lemon saying him and tangerine were on a job nearby that went bad and they needed somewhere to hide. it was supposed to be a simple in-and-out at a software company but unfortunately, they were ambushed and they were running through the city trying to lose the men trailing behind them. lemon texted that they were close enough to make it to your house while also making sure the men would be gone before they got there. you didn't even hesitate when you texted lemon to come straight here. you wandered back into the living room with two glasses of water in hand and a bottle of whiskey tucked under your arm. tangerine leaned over to the bottle and winced in pain which he tried to hide, horribly.

"you're hurt," you stated.

"it's nothing, just a scratch," he waved off opting to chug the whiskey. when he lifted his arm you noticed the large blood patch on his shirt.

"you're bleeding you idiot. get up," you demanded giving him a knowing look.

tangerine grumbled under his breath like a child but still followed you to the bathroom. he sat down on the sink and you pulled out the first aid kit. he unbuttoned his shirt tossing it to the side. desperately you tried stopping the heat flooding your face. tangerine leaned back on the mirror to expose his bare torso more. you refused to look him in the eyes while he was half-naked in front of you, all you could do was chew at your lip until you tasted metallic. tangerine dabbed hydrogen peroxide on the wound while you disinfected a small needle.

"why do you do it," you asked softly.

"what this job? makes good money. only thing i'm good at," tangerine said looking down his nose at you cleaning the area below his chest.

you sighed, "well i'm sure there's other things you are good at tangerine. besides, you can make good money at a different job."

"i like what i do. why would i leave it?"

"it's not safe," briefly looking up at him, "aren't you afraid at all. like tonight, things could have gone differently."

this is something you've been thinking a lot lately. there's been an influx in how often the twins get sent on, more than usual, dangerous jobs. today they were lucky with only minor injuries but recently they've sustained quite serious injuries, some even resulting in them going to emergency rooms. you couldn't help the feeling of impending doom each time they told you they were setting off somewhere new. since bolivia and the bullet train in tokyo, the twins have piqued many international eyes for their services. of course, you were proud of them, this is what they wanted but it didn't stop your reservations about their career.

tangerine's tone shifted to irritation and his eyebrows pulled together, "obviously i know the risk. if i had an issue with it i couldn't be in this line of work now would i?"

you shrugged, "i don't know. it just seems like sometimes it's not worth it."

"i don't think lemon and i really asked for your opinion, love. besides, can you really talk when you're associated with two killers?"

before your face was flushed due to tangerine's exposed torso, now your face was flushed in anger. your nostrils were flared out and your once gentle hand stitching him together was now tugging roughly at the skin. you weren't sure exactly what to say to tangerine. yes, you helped the twins out when they needed it because you were their friend. what, were you supposed to let them bleed out every night or let them walk miles and miles to their desired location? no. and the fact tangerine was trying to paint you as a hypocrite made your blood boil. yes you were associated but you never knew any important info besides where they are in the world, they kept everything a secret from you for safety reasons and because it's confidential.

you let out a small laugh in disbelief, "personally, i think there is actually a big difference between ending a person's life and helping those injured. but you didn't ask for my fucking opinion did you?"

the last stitch was shoved roughly into his skin. you shoved a small gauze pad and tape onto his thigh before ripping the door open and leaving the bathroom fuming. you stalked down the hallway and into the living room where you snatched the bottle of whiskey off the table and exited the front door. lemon watched with confusion from the moment you left the bathroom to the moment you left the house. he sighed standing up from the couch and headed towards the bathroom where tangerine was still on the sink leaning back onto the mirror with closed eyes.

"i don't want to hear it," tangerine grumbled.

"well you're gunna fuckin' hear it you idiot. what did you do?"

"i made her mad. said i didn't need her opinion on how dangerous the job is and that we should get new ones," he said peering over at lemon who was stood against the frame of the door with a disapproving look.

"sometimes you really are dense aren't ya?" lemon said matter-of-factly.

tangerine sighed sitting up before covering the stitches, "i'm just tired."

"so that gives you an excuse to be a dickhead?" lemon said pointedly.

all tangerine could do was shake his head.

"you realize not once has she ever cast judgment on us right? the day she found out what we did she could've turned us in yanno? she's there for us all the time, when we need help, when we need a place to stay, when we need money, and on top of all that she's a good friend but you're too arrogant to acknowledge any of it. also, maybe if you opened your fuckin' eyes you'd notice that she's practically in love with your stupid ass," lemon ranted, wacking tangerine on the head.

"i'm a shit person aren't i?" tangerine said aloud but he already knew the answer.

tangerine exhaled heavily, ripping at the gauze and covering his wound. lemon had left the bathroom after his rhetorical question leaving tangerine to his thoughts. he knew he was in the wrong. he took his frustration out at the one person who never deserved it. tangerine walked to the closet in your house where left spare clothes for the twins. pulling on a grey sweater and headed to the front door. you were sitting on the stone steps leading up to the door, arms wrapped tightly around you, the bottle of whiskey now abandoned by your side. tangerine replaced the bottle with himself, eyes shifting to your unmoving figure. he took a swig out of the bottle, the liquor burning at his throat.

"something i've been learning recently," tangerine cleared his throat, "is that i'm a prick a lot of the time."

you hummed and grabbed the bottle that was dangling in his left hand.

"i shouldn't have spoken to you like that darlin'."

"oh you think so?" you joked in agitation.

tangerine scrunched his nose, "look i- i really am sorry. i had no right to speak to you like that especially when you were sat there stitching me up. i know i can be a dick but that doesn't make it okay to be a dick to the one person who has always been there for me. for everything you have done, i don't think i'd ever be able to repay you in this lifetime, but i'll try my best."

in a poor attempt you tried hiding the glossiness of your eyes looking at tangerine. you placed your hand on his knee giving it a light squeeze, "it's okay."

there was moments of silence between you two. the air was slightly chilly, the sky now a midnight blue with flecks of light, the occasional car drove past the house, the people in the front seats singing gleefully to the radio, there was an aroma dancing it's way through the doorframe of your house, lemon must be cooking dinner, all the while your hand continues to bring a sense of comfort to tangerine.

"i am afraid," tangerine finally whispered almost as if it wasn't meant to leave his mouth, a true confession to the question from earlier.

"you know no matter what i am here for you, no matter how much of a dickhead you can be," you joked softly at the end.

tangerine cracked the tiniest of smiles and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in to lean on him. the thick sweater he wore bringing you comfort against the chill of the night. your fingertips dancing across his knee. it all felt right. and it felt good knowing tangerine was slowly breaking down his walls.

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callmerainman · 30 days

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Oh my gosh! You should make an Adam x reader playlist on like what you think the vibes and aesthetic of the relationship would be like!!

BEING IN LOVE WITH ADAM | A PLAYLIST

"but it's not forever, it's just tonight. oh, we're still the greatest"

Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon fits Adam's rock vibe, first of all. I see him performing it at his shows, and thinking about Reader in the process, it's just passionate in every way possible.

"just to cure it 'cause I can't ignore it if it's love"

Adam is definitely bad at feelings. Has a hard time understanding when he's in love, and when he does it really feels "accidental". Also, Adam gives romantic 2000s rock love songs vibes.

"honey, we can see right through you. girl, you can't conceal it. we know how you feel and who you're thinking of"

This all time classic goes for Reader, who I can picture struggling to accept that they're falling in love with Adam (I mean, it's Adam). But they're having it bad, so they come to terms with it (but won't say it).

"where can I find a woman like that?"

Watch Adam writing a whole-ass song if he ever were to fall in love with Reader and they're taken. Performing it a show and looking at them in the eyes and everything. He can't help it, he wants them to be his.

"some things just make sense and one of those is you and I"

Still into You just fits the vibe, just over the top love rock song that would go well with a possible Adam love story perfectly imho. Maybe after a break up.

"oh I, I just died in your arms tonight, it must have been something you said"

Would comedically work as either Adam or Reader suddenly realize that they're in love in a very specific moment. Reader being vulgar or violent? This song starts playing as Adam goes all wide-eyed looking at them as his cheeks get red. Adam playing the electric guitar? Reader goes full Lego Batman GIF looking at him.

"Don't go breaking my heart"

"I won't go breaking your heart!"

Throw this song in Hazbin Hotel as a duet between Adam and Reader where they profess their love for each other as soon as they realize it.

"(s)he ain't got no money, her/his clothes are kinda funny, her/his hair is kinda wild and free"

I see this more applied to Adam. Because people will ask Reader WHY Adam, and he's just that guy. Can work the other way around if Reader is particularly unique.

"one good girl is worth a thousand bitches"

Adam, in my opinion, is capable of serious relationships even if he's kinda hinted to be a fuck boy. He definitely has many flaws in relationships but he would be willing to work on them. Also, I headcanon him to listen to Kanye even if he's a rockstar lmao.

"the soul you bring to the table, the one that makes me sing in a minor key"

I'll finish this on a tender note. Adam and Reader come full circle about how much they love each other, they accept it, they know. And love changes both of them, both their souls. It can be that deep, even if it's Adam we're talking about. Reader makes his soul sing, and Adam theirs.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #vivziepop #adam #adam hazbin hotel #adam x reader #playlist #adam playlist #hazbin hotel adam headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel adam fanfiction #hazbin hotel adam playlist #adam x you #hazbin adam x reader #writers on tumblr

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ravenmichaelisstuff · 11 months

Text

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, cw: self-deprecation, lack of self-worth

Soap was bright, he was 141's personal sunshine

but...

sometimes he was saying worrying things. He would braid those things into daily conversations and move on like no one heard, like no one gave a damn.

And it was partially true, he did it so casually that often no one really batted an eye.

He would talk during gym exercises about getting reprimanded by some other officer because of some minor thing and finish it off with "He didn't have to, ah know I am stupid"

Another soldier while on the phone bumped into him spilling hot coffee on him and Soap said "No, no, no sorry. It was ma' fault."

When Gaz mentioned that Soap is his best friend, probably the best person he ever met the response he got was a bright smile that didn't meet his eyes and a laugh that sounded just wrong "Ye can't be serious, mate. I am no one's favourite"

When joking around with Ghost he would say from nowhere "I am fucking dumb." laughing. And Ghost would ask "And...?" waiting for a punch line. Because it was part of a joke, right? But Johnny would answer "There is no 'but', ah just am.".

When Price asked him for an opinion on a mission plan he gave it, but his last words were always somewhere along the "It's whatever, my ideas are not the brightest, Cap".

TF141 were worried to say the least.

So when they all sat at a bar the barman passed the wrong drink to Soap and he didn't react at all Ghost asked. He knew Soap ordered Scotch, not whatever blue shit he got. "I probably got my order wrong, I am dumb like that."

Ghost's blood boiled. "Stop doing that, Soap." he said in a serious voice.

"What do ye mean, Lt?" Soap asked.

Gaz turned to them, facing Soap as well. "You know what he means, John."

"I have no idea actually, am I missing something again?" He laughed, it sounded wrong again.

"Stop talking like that, son." Price chimed in.

"Wha-?"

"Stop, talking about yourself like this, Johnny! You keep saying bullshit about yourself like you are not one of the most brilliant people I know. I have seen you make bombs out of nothing! Calculating their placement on the go! It is not something everyone can do!" Ghost ranted, trying hard for it to get to Soap.

"No, it's-"

Gaz cut him off "If you will say 'easy' Soap, I will strangle you. Have you seen your journal?? The things you can capture with a pencil? Dude, you must have worked hard for the level of skill that you have."

"And son, not everything that happens is your fault. You can't hold the responsibilities of the whole planet.

and just like that, Soap's smile breaks. He hides his head in his hands and cries as his family gives him a hug.

It will be a long way to change his mindset, but he has support now.

Just a thing I had in my mind for some time. I dunno. Kinda projecting.

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veintrry · 6 months

Text

HAUNTING SOUNDS

an: I have four other Halloween fics and this is the one i rolled with. can u tell I got tired at the end. (ifyk the ac feel free to comment!)

tagz: 3k. casual at the beginning, smut, minor degradation, fingering, brief mentions of groping, creampie, scaramouche was forced to volunteer

A trip to a haunted mansion leaves you abandoned within the eerie isolated rooms of the vacant home till a familiar face decides to make the chilling night grow in warmth.

Wooden boards creak beneath your feet and each step you take towards the darkened path before you is a risk of being taken by surprise. You and a couple of your friends had chosen to visit a haunted house. It was your first time, and you'd never been to one before, so why not?

However, you were left abandoned after everyone split up due to a panic. You decided it wasn't worth calling their names when you could meet them outside...when you get out of here that is.

You had stumbled onto a narrow hallway, one with many doors all of which are vandalised or partially ajar. There was no reason to peek, you'd be met with webs and a void. Continuing to progress, you held your phone for light. The sounds outside of people had long vanished and you were left with the sound of your own breaths, the house, and whatever else was there with you.

A creak cuts through the tense air. You still. Tempted to look behind you, around you, yet your body is frozen. You swallow your nerves, hoping that maybe you had misheard or maybe it was just one of your friends who is nearby, but the noises don't stop as you had wished, they seem to be actively doing the opposite.

A whisper here, a squeak there. It felt like your mind was being toyed with and your breaths were growing heavier- A deafening crash came from behind you, something like shattering glass, a vase? You peer over your shoulder, squinting your eyes in an attempt to see if there was a figure in the spotted dark.

A row of footsteps resound, thunderous and agile… Yet, it wasn't coming from behind you. The sooner the realisation sunk in and you turned your head forward you were met with piercing stormy violet irises, lit up with thrill and conniving mischief as hands grab at you.

Not a sound leaves me and yet the prior anticipation has piled atop you, and you frantically push him away with a gasp as you stumble back, feeling your heart beating out of your chest. Your legs feel weakened and the space between the two of you grows. Blinking, he only gets closer, till… Wait. "Scaramouche?"

"You're really easy to scare, aren't you?" A smirk was plastered on his dark wine lips, some 'blood' leaking from the corners. You can practically see how glad he is to have humiliated you like that, even if he was the only one to see it.

"Shut up, I didn't know you'd do that." You retort weakly, although evidently more relaxed compared to prior now that there was someone you knew here.

In turn, he raises a brow at you, hand on his hip as he looks at you as though you're the biggest moron he knows. And in his opinion you might be. "It's a haunted house. What do you expect?" You can only remain silent. Though, you use this to take in his appearance. With a ragged cloth draped around his neck, filled with holes and tattered at the bottom.

He still somehow maintains his ability to stylise his clothing with black button up, decorated with a brooch that reads 'Haunted House Staff'. Unexpected…. A violet necktie is knotted tightly and securely, though he seemed to disregard his flimsy collars. Rustles dressed the wrists and torso of his attire, and it's hard to not tell what's happening here.

Your eyes linger down… This guy still wore shorts even in October… At least he had sole knee stockings on, though, I'm not sure how historically correct that is for vampyres.

"Are you going to keep staring?" His tone was harsh and seemingly annoyed. Well, he likely thought being put in a somewhat prissy outfit is agitating. Actually, "How'd they get you to do this?"

You are met with a stone cold face and apparent distaste. "Don't ask." And maybe that's for the better sake of both your conscience. "So, what, are you gonna stand there all night?"

"Why did you even come here alone, are you stupid or something?" That man could not hold his tongue if he had a gun to his head. He seemed like he already wanted you gone, hell, if you asked maybe he'd show you the path out himself. Then again, that's just how he sounds most times: Uninterested and aloof. The vampire sthick makes sense now.

Approaching him to a more comfortable distance, you angle your phone so the light is revealing to you both. "I didn't come here alone, moron. I'm not that lonely." You swear you hear him mutter under his breath, 'could've fooled me', but you decide to ignore it, for the spirit of Halloween.

"Either way, I lost the others so I was roaming around on my own." This seems to capture his attention and his head perks up with an all too familiar grin. He wasn't one to be so blatant but it was like even he was elated by whatever scheme came into mind. "So you're alone,"

He inches closer, leaning into you with darkened indigo irises and you swear his pupils expand at the idea. "All alone?" A hum leaves his throat and he pulls back. His smile cools and his arms cross over his torso.

"Stay with me."

Opening your mouth to ask why he'd even offer, especially because he is part of the staff, you don't think it'd make sense to have someone of the crew help a participant. And to add onto that, it was strange for him to put it on the table in the first place. "I'm only keeping you company." He interrupts, "You'd get too scared by yourself. That much is clear." You wanted to argue otherwise, but you held your tongue and swallowed your retort. It was better to have company than nothing.

Turning on his heel, he walks off crossed arms and takes casual strides in his raven black platforms, expecting you to follow behind him, so you do. "How long ago did you lose each other?" Scaramouche asks, gaze straight ahead unlike your wandering ones, inspecting the scene you travel through. "A while ago. I thought I'd just get out and meet them that way."

"Why not call?" He suggested, peering over his shoulder back to you. "Didn't think it would be this hard to get out." A chuckle leaves his throat but the small lifted corners of his lips quickly disappear as he halts. "They must be far." He begins, tone laced with a certain ominous vine and you wonder what misconduct he was plotting. "Yeah… What of it?"

His body faces your direction and you can see him bite on the inside of his bottom lip, almost appeased at the perfection of this outcome. "I haven't gotten a break in well over three hours." The dark-haired man mentions, stepping towards you. "I'm hungry." Raising a hand to his face, he swipes off the paint along his chin, smudging it along his porcelain skin.

Those unforgettable amethyst eyes glaze over the crimson that tints his fingertips before meeting your irises in an almost enrapturing look, as though he intended to take your soul.

"I prefer the real thing…"

With sudden movements you watch him come closer to you, yet before you can process it you feel how one of his palms rests against your waist, another on your upper back as the gentle yet prominent sensation of his teeth meeting with the skin of your neck makes itself known, not only in feeling but with a mark.

This takes you by surprise. You cling an arm to his tricep, as if to ensure that he wasn't just losing it. Maybe he got so bored he went crazy. Though, the shove he acts on proves otherwise as he holds you against the wall, the ceiling above decorated in webs and fake bats.

His tongue licks at your skin, as if to seal the mark he left, but he doesn't end there, trailing kisses up to your jawline. "Scaramouche-" You interrupt, voice filled with an amount of confusion and something else.

"Don't think too deeply about it. I just need something to cure my boredom." He muttered, answering your unspoken question. Nibbling along the skin of your jaw, he takes in your scent whilst his fingers stroke your skin through the fabric of your clothes.

"We have all the time. I have so much I want to do to you…"

It becomes crystal clear that he has not been joking nor underselling what he meant when he voiced those thoughts. His almond-shaped nails can be felt digging into your skin, his hold ok you growing stronger. "I'm going to ruin you." Delight permeates his tone, his lips moving closer to your ear and his tongue pokes out, swiping at your lobe before chewing on it, his face plastered with the smile of a predator toying with their next meal.

"Won't someone come?" You make no attempts to push him away, only looking at the blackened hallway. A mocking laugh leaves him like you had asked something naive. "No one's gonna pass by, unless you want me to fuck you in a room you can't even see in?"

The risk was high but you'd rather not enter one of those rooms only filled with decor and piles of ruined furniture and books. He takes your silence as your answer, "That's what I thought."

"Just relax, I got you."

A firm hold was on your body, his warmth growing more and more apparent against you. Placing a hand on the side of your face, he revolves your head away from him, granting more skin for him to feast on. Shivers run up your back as you feel his hot breaths meeting the skin of your neck, his sharp canines grazing you before he digs in with a relieved moan.

The hand on your back doesn't remain still for long, his nails scratching down the centre of your back till they reach your thighs. Squeezing the mould of flesh possessively till crescent marks taint your beautiful skin. He continues to kiss your body as if he was praising someone superior to himself, a being above his reach.

His palm massages the skin of your legs, moving inwards as he hums. You swallow thickly, feeling the raspy vibrations against you.

Letting your hands find home at his nape, you bring him closer to you, his bites growing rougher and more painful, feral like an unstoppable force of hunger and yet, it only serves to fuels the growing heat inside of you that makes you roll your hips against him, pleading for him to proceed faster. "Stop wasting time…" You complain, but he only snickers in return. His digits reach your underwear, tracing the patterns of the design before giving you what you've been waiting for and rubbing your clit slowly through the fabric, tormenting you for his own amusement. "Be patient," He reprimands hoarsely, "I'll fill you up when I want to."

A whimper leaves you and you push your body to meet his fingers repeatedly. Still, you need more than that, you need to feel all of him. Your hands trail down all of you till a finger hooks onto the side of your panties, yanking them off in one swoop, eagerness prominent in your moves. There's no hiding the amusement in his eyes, it's as if he's pleased with your actions.

You don't need to tell him again what you want for him to start touching you again, this time his pace growing faster, more than you even wanted.

Leaning into you, he captures your lips with his, biting on your bottom lip before taking you in as though he wants to taste every inner part of you, memorising it like the back of his hand. Sliding your tongue along his swollen bottom lip, he guides you into his burning mouth, pressing himself against you and forcing your back to the wall as he lets you feel the strength of his body.

He was starting to grow impatient himself and his actions revealed that as his free hand slipped under your clothing with ease, groping at your chest, touching the supple softness of your breasts and pinching your nipples in between his fingers. God, how he wanted to shove his dick in-between them and cum on your pretty face.

The growing hardness was making itself more evident and you can feel his skin meeting your abdomen. Metal resounds as you unzip his shorts, sliding them off partially, just enough to slip your hand inside and palm him through his pre-cum stained thin boxers.

A whine leaves his throat and if divinity existed you were certain you had just heard what it must be like.

Taking out his cock from the confines of his boxers, you feel up and down his length rapidly as though memorising each vein beneath his skin. Your thumb traced the slit of his tip again and again, causing his kisses to grow sloppier into wet tongue kisses as he merely desires to feel you.

Forehead-to-forehead, his crimson stained lips separate from yours, remaining parted as he groans with every move that you make, practically paralysing him under your touch. You could feel him inching closer to your entrance and when his finger enters you, you nearly melt in glee. He pumps up into you with growing speeds, adding another digit as he stretches you out for his cock.

"I'm going to make sure you never forget me."

Scaramouche promises, hand wrapping firmly around his dick as it throbs in anticipation to be embraced by you. Lining himself up with your entrance, it was the furthest thing from gentle. Snapping his hips up into you sharply, making you gasp at both the force and the rapid size you had yet to come accustomed to.

Still, he wasn't completely inconsiderate, even if you did feel him throb at the sight of your surprised face. Coming off slowly, he goes in and out of you so kindly you'd think it was an apology for being so rough prior. Though, the sweetness doesn't last as he begins to thrust with intent similar to that of a madman. He didn't know if he was fucking you to the beat of his heart or the other way around. Something was certain though, Scaramouche wanted to ensure you were going to leave stained with his cum, your body holding his essence inside of you. He was going to make sure you needed his help to carry you out of here.

The noise of flesh meeting flesh echoes along the empty halls, the grunts and pleas that leave your throat only echo back to you, like some form of humiliation. You feel your mind slowly lose thought as your body aches in a numbing pleasure. Your moans are choked as breaths get stuck in your throat and you meet his merciless shoves, but the deeper he goes the weaker you grow. Strangely, you wanted it. You wanted to be rendered useless by him. "Deeper- Ah…Go deeper." You murmur, your temple rested against his shoulder, kissing at his collarbone and leaving marks and lipstick traces in its wake.

When he discovered the spot that would make you break, he did not hide or cover up his abuse as his tip kisses your insides frantically in perfect recreation again and again. His palms wrap around your thighs, hoisting you upwards against the dark weakened wooden wall, assaulting your skin like he needed to know how each part of you feels. "You're mine… You hear that? mmn.. You belong to me." The way he pumped through you was like he only had one goal and that's to use you as his toy, getting himself off with your body. "Yours… I'm yours to fill."

He could feel his body beginning to reach its limits and the whimpers he tried to suppress only grew till he couldn't hold them back. The mewls he let out were so soft and vulnerable you'd think it impossible to be coming from someone as cold and ruthless as him.

Only focused on shoving in and out of you, he relishes in his love for how tightly you wrap around him like he is your saviour, what you desire to not leave you. It feels so good he might cum just from the idea that you crave him so. "Haah… You're such a whore. You like when I fuck you like this?" He spits out with venom, though there's no hiding how much he likes being balls deep inside of you, with both your clothes clinging to your sweat-ridden skin.

Scaramouche can feel the knots inside of him threatening to come undone, pushing him to the edge. Not once do his tantalising amethyst eyes part from yours, and for once they looked to hold something comforting within them, appearing warmer.

Maintaining his speed, his muscles tense, hardening when a string of cum shoots out of him with a loud moan that morphs into an almost weakened joyful whimper. His seed fills you to the brim and you bite into his shoulder, attempting to stifle the sound of your moan as your eyes roll back. Scaramouche continues to fuck you as you reach your high, clamping tighter around him and milking him of anything left he has whilst your cum surrounds him in this encompassing sensation of unmatchable heat he would not find elsewhere.

The both of you breathe heavily, exchanging oxygen with your bodies still pressed together like they're glued to one another, and to some part you were with how he seemed to be avoiding pulling out. Your cum mixes together, leaking out of you and down the length of his cock.

Reluctantly, Scaramouche pulls out of you and resists nearly shoving himself back in the moment he loses your warmth. His fingers swipe up the leaking juices, bringing them to your sweet lips. "Open." He orders firmly and when your pretty lips do as such, he shoves his fingers into your mouth and makes you suck on them, your tongue swirling around and in-between his fingers as you taste the saltiness of your mixture.

There's a smirk stuck onto his lips and he doesn't mind the idea of spending another Halloween like this.

#i wrote this on halloween night #its now november 1st #its 1am help #can he suck my blood lol #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #genshin scara #scaramouche smut #wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer smut #wanderer genshin #kunikuzushi #genshin kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi smut #genshin impact

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ottogatto · 9 months

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I would like to submit two ideas because I think I'm poking something but not going in fully, so I would very much like your opinions and additions about it (of course, as long as they remain in good faith *side eyes possible antis viewing my post*).

Marauders and surface-level rebellion

I've finally put to words something that really bothered me with the Marauders, though I don't know the name for it.

It started when I read a reblog that said:

I remember Brennan saying “laws are just structured threats made by the ruling socioeconomic class” during an episode of D20 and we truly just had to stan immediately

This is something dear privileged white woman Rowling didn't realize/understand well, since she held a high socioeconomical status even during her """poverty""" stage. It's known that, despite seeming to be defending ideas of fighting against fascism and "pureblood" supremacy in favor of acceptance of the other, her books reek of colonialism/imperalism. The story of the Marauders, a gang of privileged boys like her, is an in-world replica of that problem where Rowling betrays yet again her actual mindset.

The Marauders adopt the "bad boys who break rules" to get style, while completely losing/staining the moral sense in it.

Let's take piracy.

Some people pirate stuff because they consider that the stuff they'd like to get comes from unethical companies that abuse their employees or use modern slavery, or people who spread harm against certain minorities (like Rowling against trans people and thus the LGBT+ community), so while they may want to access the content, they don't want to give them money and might even encourage pirating their stuff to make them lose money.

Some pirate stuff because otherwise it's lost due to unfortunate "terms of use" -- see video games companies like Ubisoft (deletes gaming account after a while), Nintendo (does not bring back old games), etc.

Others pirate stuff because they just don't have the money but they still want to try the stuff that might make them happy and forget that they're poor -- reasoning that the company isn't losing any money anyway, or not much, since they wouldn't have been able to pay for it in any case.

Others pirate stuff because they consider the price ridiculously high or they consider it shouldn't be something to pay for at all. (Like education stuff -- isn't education supposed to be free for all, so that it can actually uphold everyone's fundamental and unconditional ( = not conditioned by wealth...) right to have an education? Oh and before anyone asks: I've DEFINITELY bought the ~15 expensive books that's roughly worth 500€ in total and that my uni asked I buy to study and get my degree...)

Rowling's Marauders is a group that would pirate stuff just because they'd think it would give them an edge, because they'd think it would make them cool to be seen as "talented" hackers who "defy" companies. Companies... that their own friends and families would own, and as such, would find that kind of behavior funny and entertaining (while they would trash other people around for considering it).

Another example. In society, in history, it's been proven time and again that breaking rules -- going against the law -- is an eventuality that's important for everyone to consider, if they want to defend their rights. Anti-racism, feminism, LGBT Pride, etc, advanced because people broke rules. In USA states where abortion is currently being banned, women and minors (+ their close ones) must now consider breaking the rules to get an abortion. (Privileged people don't give a fuck about those people, and if they suddenly decide that (moral) rules don't apply to them and they will get an abortion, they will just take a plane ticket to a country where abortion is legal, fiddling with legal stuff if necessary thanks to the lawyers their fortunes can afford and the lobbies that they're instituting.)

Revolutions happened because people broke rules too. I particularly like the 1793 Constitution in France Because it asserts that the people have the right to break rules and riot if the power in place threatens their fundamental rights:

Article 35. - Quand le gouvernement viole les droits du peuple, l'insurrection est, pour le peuple et pour chaque portion du peuple, le plus sacré des droits et le plus indispensable des devoirs. Article 35. - When the government violates the people's rights, insurrection is, for the people and for each portion of the people, the most sacred of rights and the most essential of duties.

(Of course the power in place would state and enforce and make use of propaganda to say that it's completely illegal and illegetimate and that those who riot for legitimate rights are terrorists!)

Breaking rules is at the core of anti-fascism, anti-dictatorship, anti-totalitarianism. Breaking rules is essential when those rules are abusive. Too often, those who put those rules in place really are only setting their rules of the game to establish their power over the others. Or as the reblog says: "laws are just structured threats made by the ruling socioeconomic class".

Rowling's Marauders break rules because they are the socioeconomical class in power. As such, no one can do anything about it, no one will really tell them down for it. They get excused and justified and romanticized by their peers, just like billionaires & politicians are excused by their peers and notably mainstream media (which is owned... by other billionaires). They break rules -- not because they think it's necessary and the morally right thing to do despite the dangers it puts them in -- but because it makes them feel powerful, important, invincible, which for them is very fun. As Snape says: James and his cronies broke rules because they thought themselves above them:

“Your father didn’t set much store by rules either,” Snape went on, pressing his advantage, his thin face full of malice. “Rules were for lesser mortals, not Quidditch Cup-winners. [...]”

They break rules because they're allowed to.

Which is why, in reality, the Marauders aren't really breaking rules or defying anything or opposing an actual big threat. They're a bunch of jocks who are having fun in the playground that's been attributed to them thanks to their status and family heritage (others wouldn't get the same indulgence because they don't get that privilege).

They break rules because they want to look cool, to be the "bad boys". The message has been compleyely botched. Especially with Lily actually finding this hot.

Because Rowling finds this hot:

[...] I shook hands with a woman who leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, 'Sirius Black is sexy, right?' And yes, of course she was right, as the Immeritus club know. The best-looking, most rebellious, most dangerous of the four marauders... and to answer one burning question on the discussion boards, his eyes are grey.

(Anyone has an eyes washing station?)

Another quote:

"Sirius was too busy being a big rebel to get married."

(Nevermind the eyes washing, anyone's got some bleach instead?)

Stanning James Potter for being the leader of a gang that prides itself on breaking rules and always getting away with it -- it feels like stanning Elon Musk for being "innovative" and "a daring entrepreneur" despite being a manchild who exploits workers and modern-world slavery to play with his billions while always getting away with it.

They're not being "rebels" -- they're being bullies and flexing the fact they can get away with it thanks to abundance of privilege. Those are the tastes of a posh British white woman. She wanted the facade -- not the substance (that is, if she ever understood it).

You might say that they did oppose a big threat, the Death Eaters, but again, it's botched because:

they target a lonely, unpopular boy who's best friends with a Muggleborn Gryffindor, rather than baby Death Eaters like Mulciber, Lucius, Rosier, Avery, Regulus, etc.

The leader sexually harasses the Muggleborn Gryffindor because he's sexually jealous of the unpopular boy who dared not take the insult about his chosen House and shut up. Lily is treated as an object, they don't listen to her, and they barely speak about her later. (Lots to say to show that, which I won't do here because this is not the main subject.)

When the Marauders do join the Order, they do it... because they primarily want to adopt a rock-n-roll style and play the "bad boys" again. Or at least that's the message that's given to the reader:

They seemed to be in their late teens. The one who had been driving had long black hair; his insolent good looks reminded Fisher unpleasantly of his daughter's guitar-playing, layabout boyfriend. The second boy also had black hair, though his was short and stuck up in all directions; he wore glasses and a broad grin. Both were dressed in T-shirts emblazoned with a large golden bird; the emblem, no doubt, of some deafening, tuneless rock band.

(God, the Prequel is so cringy.)

They don't choose Dumbledore as the Secret Keeper, they don't tell him they changed to Pettigrew -- even though he literally was their war leader -- James uses the Cape to fuck around even though he was supposed to be hiding with Lily and then Harry (until Dumbledore takes the Cape from him)... and eventually, their group exploded, with James killed off, Sirius thrown to Azkaban, Peter (the traitor) hiding as a rat and Lupin going off to find jobs to survive.

Why did that happen? Because they thought of playing their part in the Order like going on a teenage adventure rather than engaging in a resistance organization. It was, first and foremost, about playing "the bad boys" and having fun.

(Harry half-inherits this. While he doesn't break rules just to look cool, and actually has several moments where he does break rules because it's the right thing to do -- like under Umbridge or, of course, when Voldemort takes power -- he does often get pampered when he breaks them in his earlier years. By Dumbledore, but also McGonagall, however much Rowling tries to sell her as a "strict but fair" teacher. Or by Slughorn, now that I think about it. That's something that enraged Snape, as it brought up memories of Harry's father -- Snape's own bully -- getting the same treatment.)

It's not a coincidence that Rowling not only failed to properly convey through the Marauders the true value of breaking rules, but also lusted over them for adopting that "bad boys" trope. It speaks to her own privilege -- she who never had to put herself in danger and go against the law in a risky attempt to protect herself or other less privileged people.

(Here's a useful read to expand on those worldbuilding issues.)

2. Dark Magic, obscurantism and conservatism

For context: Opinion: The Dark Magic/Light Magic Dichotomy is Nonsense (by pet_genius).

The idea of "Dark Magic" as something that's repeatedly told to be "evil" magic and where you cross the line of the forbidden, while hardly putting in question that notion that was (for some reason) enforced by wizard society, is another blatant example of Rowling betraying her mindset of privileged British white woman.

Rowling couldn't put herself in the minds of a society of "outcasts (witches & wizards) deeply enough to consider they would not see any magic as "Dark" at all (being a ""Muggle"" concept), or that Dark magic is only magic that requires something unvaluable to be traded off -- like one's soul or health or life or sanity. Instead, she has Dark Magic defined as "evil" magic, even though her own books show that you can do evil stuff with normal magic, and that you can do morally good stuff with Dark magic. This thing happened because Rowling could not think past her own little world and instead she poured a conservatist mentality (+ typical "Muggle", anti-witch prejudice) into the HP (wizard society) worldbuilding without considering that there could, in fact, be fundamental differences between the two worlds that include thinking of magic differently. (This has a lot to do with Rowling's wizard world being a pro-imperalism fest.)

"Dark Magic" feels like a lazy, badly-executed plot device to tell the reader who's a good guy and who is not. Because of course, that's how things work in real-life, huh… (Did she ever hear of "don't tell, show"?) It's used as an excuse to define who's evil (teen Severus) or not (James), who's worthy or not -- not how their magic was used. Which is a BIG problem:

“I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are.” The intensity of his gaze made her blush. “They don’t use Dark Magic, though.” / “Scourgify!” Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape’s mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him —

Even worse, Rowling doesn't follow her own in-world moral framework. Dark magic is acceptable for some people (Rowling's partial self-inserts: Dumbledore, Harry, Hermione to Marietta...) but not for those that Rowling hates (Snape, who ironically represents the closest thing to rebelling by unapologetically obsessing over the Dark Arts). Again, this is at best unadressed in-world hypocrisy, at worst an expression of in-world and out-universe privilege (I get to do this and stay a good guy, but you don't).

There could have easily been rightful criticism of whatever could be defined as "Dark Magic". What if Dark magic was just something defined as "Dark" usually because the power in place doesn't want the people to touch it? Is abortion or contraception or a sex-altering or a goverment-threatening spell, Dark Magic? Is foreign or ethnicity-specific or female-centered or queer-centered magic, "Dark"? How about showing why (Muggle-raised but also neurodivergent) Severus thought Dark magic was so great, showing his point of view, while also establishing where the true limits are? If Lily can't be the one who sees past the "fear-mongering anti-intellectualism/propaganda", how about Harry being the one who does, thanks to him relating to Snape on a personal level? How about making Hermione go from someone who condems Dark Magic, to someone who entirely changes her point of view and understands that this is all bullshit -- effectively showing the dangers of only following what the books say, without putting them into question or thinking by yourself? How about a nuanced view of Dark magic as something that requires a significant sacrifice, which is conceivable for something they see as equally or even more important [Lily's life for Harry; Snape's soul integrity for Dumbledore]? How about making the Death Eaters, people who deviate that legitimate interest, rather than just evil guys who thrive in Dark magic for its supposed added evilness? How about showing that Dark magic was just a notion invented by Muggles to throw "witches" (real or not) to the burning stakes -- later taken by the witches and wizards in power to define, in the magical community, what was okay or definitely forbidden because it's the trademark of those who represent a threat to the magical community (understand: people who riot or strike or protest against the ruling socioeconomical class' politics)?

But there was none of that.

"Dark" magic in HP merely seems to be a weird concept that at best accidentally takes the form of an in-world obscurantism, at worst is just the trademark of someone who cannot imagine a "hunted, ostracized" community with a different culture and mindset than her own. Aggravating is the fact that she used "Dark magic" as a plot device to magically cast some people as good and others as never bad – again, probably reflecting her own questionable mentality.

The fact Rowlnig invented the notion of Dark Magic and had her world consider it seriously as an evil thing instead of being open-minded seems to be less telling of her wishes to show a wizard society that can be as prejudiced as the muggle one, and more of her own bizarre world where you must be evil if you are knowledgeable in or interested in certain "taboo" things (RIP neurodivergents).

Rowling glorifies the Trio and the Marauders for breaking rules. Yet when it comes to actually breaking expectations and norms, notably in the wizarding society -- like the use of another magical species as slaves, or the blatant anti-Muggle prejudice held by everyone including "good guys" (or anti-centaur while we're at it), or stupid anti-knowledge prejudice like "Dark magic is evil" -- there is none of that. At best, it's surface-level opposition that comes out as white savior syndrome. At worst, the protagonists make it their noble code to enforce those norms, and "sinful" characters (Snape, for one) are punished for not conforming. Too often, those sinful characters are punished by the "good guys" with the very thing that they apparently oppose so fervently.

Without ever adressing the fact that those characters were ("morally") allowed to do that because it was just, in the end, a matter of who gets the privilege to do that, and who does not.

There.

Do you have anything to say to develop on those ideas? I feel like I'm reaching my knowledge limit and I'd like to see if those ideas can be expanded.

#pro snape #severus snape #harry potter #dark magic #sectumsempra #anti marauders #anti jkr #fuck jkr #classism #imperalism #colonialism #hp #hp books #hp prequel #obscurantism #bad boys #piracy #virtue signaling

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omg-snakes · 1 month

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What is Okeetee biologically? How does it work and what does it do?

(Also tysm i love your blog you are amazing)

Hiiiiii and thank you and we love you, too!

Okay so Okeetee is a selectively-bred color morph that was discovered at the Okeetee Hunt Club in South Carolina.

Most recognized color morphs in corn snakes, like Amel, are simple recessive traits. That means one gene with two switches (alleles) in the "on" or "off" position.

Both on is called homozygous, and the gene is expressed visually.

One off, one on is called heterozygous, and the snake looks normal or "wild type" but can pass the "on" allele to their offspring.

Both off, homozygous, wild type snake.

Genes code for everything, from the size of a snake's organs to the length of their tail to the amount of pigment on each individual scale, and most of the genetic instructions are minute and subtle. Like, snake A has saddle borders that are the tiniest bit wider than snake B. It's the result of natural variation within a species, just like how a human person and their siblings all look similar but also distinct.

A selectively-bred color morph means not selecting for one single major gene mutation that affects the entire organism, but instead a whole suite of minor genes that do little things, and emphasizing those traits over many generations. That's how most dog and cat breeds were developed and that's how locality morphs like Okeetee work. It's a lot of genes that have been emphasized to create a snake that has the best fitness for their environment and/or the best likelihood of being selected to produce the next generation.

In the case of the Okeetee locality, snakes have high contrast colors, bright reds, and thick black saddle borders. These traits have been emphasized by choosing the highest-contrast snakes with the thickest, darkest borders and breeding those together. The result is a strikingly beautiful snake. By introducing the simple recessive Amel gene with selectively-bred Okeetee, we get Reverse Okeetees with thick white saddle borders and bright oranges.

The issue, however, is that Okeetee is not an on/off genetic mutation like Amel. It's a selectively-bred emphasis on naturally-occurring variation. That means it can be easily diluted if an Okeetee-type is bred to a non-Okeetee-type snake, and there's no heterozygous form of the morph because it's not one gene.

Think like if you had two cups of apple juice that sell for $1 each and you poured half from both cups into a third cup. The third cup is also apple juice, and it's worth $1! But if you have one cup of apple juice and one cup of just water, which is free, and you mix those, the result is a diluted apple drink that's half water. Should you still charge $1 for it? Is that morally ethical? What if you continue to dilute the apple drink, pouring half of what was in the last cup and half water, over and over until it doesn't even smell faintly of apple? At what specific point did this cease to be apple drink, and when do you stop charging a dollar for it? A less scrupulous or uneducated seller might even sell a cup of mostly water for $1 as "het apple juice" when that's not even a thing.

That's what I so frequently see happening with Okeetees and that's why I don't like them. A low-quality Okeetee from a heavily diluted bloodline is just a normal wild-type corn snake, but folks still price them as if they were the real deal, and naïve buyers will pay for the name when they really don't even know what they're looking at.

Again, sorry to the Okeetee fans. You're not wrong for liking a pretty snake, it's just the popularity and the lack of breeding ethics surrounding them that makes my nose wrinkle.

Plus I prefer Sunglow, which is the opposite of Okeetee with no saddle borders, so my opinion is heavily biased.

#snake #snakes #reptile #reptiles #reptiblr #corn snake #corn snakes #corn snake morphs #answers to questions #text post #long post #oh I'm sorry did you want an answer here have a novel #okeetee #Okeetee corn snake #sunglow crew 5eva

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katethewriter · 1 year

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Something fluffy you say....hmmm....what about if what if reader got slightly hurt on a mission (something small like bullet graze and a bump on the head kinda thing) and when they get back to the compound Natasha is just like distraught that no one told her you were hurt and she drags you off to her to her room to patch you up and it's just very gentle and caring and full of cuddles and maybe even a love confession

Just a Scratch

Summary: In your opinion, it's a minor injury. To Natasha, it is much, much more.

Words: I’m not sure, 2k-ish 🤷🏻‍♀️

Warnings: bullet wound, sad Natasha, light angst with a happy ending, not proofread

A/N: This got a little angstier than I expected, not really sure that I fulfilled the ask, but I hope you enjoy!!! Just so everyone knows, I do see your requests! The will to write is just a bit thin these days. I’m trying to get to them. Thank you all for sticking with me :)

"What the hell is that?"

You've barely taken three steps off the quinjet when Natasha runs up and stops you. She tilts your chin up to get a better look at the wound on the side of your neck.

The stretch makes you wince, and she quickly retracts her hand.

"Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" she asks hurriedly. Before you have a chance to respond, she turns to Steve and Sam, your partners on this mission.

"Did you even check if she was ok?" she asks angrily, "why didn't you call this in?!"

The pair freeze, wide eyed, looking to you for help.

You take a deep breath and try to regain your friend's attention.

"Because it's just a scratch, Natasha," you explain, "the bullet just grazed me. I'm fine. It's not even worth a trip to the med bay." You try to reassure, but you have no idea what you have just said.

The red head whips around to focus on you, "you were shot, and you aren't even going to let Cho check you out??" Your teammates are completely forgotten as her anger turns to you. "How can you be so idiotic?"

"Because I'm fine," you insist, upset that your closest friend (and person you've been growing feelings for) is now angry with you. You don’t want to return her anger with anger of your own, but unfortunately you can’t help it this time.

"Seriously Nat, we've all been hurt way worse than this on missions. I don't get why you're making such a big deal about this.”

It's that moment, you finally look in her eyes and find the fear that hides behind the anger, just before it fades into hurt. You forget your frustration immediately.

Natasha clenches her jaw and takes a step back.

You open your mouth to speak, but she shakes her head. Your lips snap closed, and you wait for her to make the next move.

After a long moment of silence, Natasha releases a heavy sigh. "Come on," she mutters, grabbing your hand and walking out of the room, pulling you along.

"Where are we going?"

"My room," she says, barely looking over shoulder.

"Why?"

She sighs, but still doesn't face you, "because if you're gonna be stubborn, I will be more stubborn. Since you're not going to Cho, I'm dressing that wound."

"Natash-"

Instantly, she stops and turns to you, "end of discussion." She waits for a response. When you don't give her one, she continues down the hall.

You're not sure what to say, so you just follow silently.

Once in her room, Natasha points the bed, "sit." She then walks into the attached bathroom to find the med bag she keeps.

You sit on the bed and wait. Glancing around, your eyes land on your reflection in a mirror. At the sight of the large bruise spread across half of your neck, you gasp.

It definitely looks worse than it feels. It really only stings where the bullet actually broke the skin, which is a rather thin line.

Natasha's reaction makes a bit more sense now.

The Russian reenters the room with a handful of supplies. She drops them on the bed. Sitting next to you, she gets to work. She first takes a wet cloth and as gently as she can, she cleans the wound.

Silence stretches between you as she focuses on your wound. Natasha sets aside the cloth and opens a cream to treat the scrape.

The second the cream touches your neck, you pull away and wince, "ow!"

"Stay still."

"It hurts," you try to defend yourself.

You can almost hear her mutter 'good' under her breath. Natasha grabs you by the chin and draws your head back into the position she had it before. With a clenched jaw, she continues tending to your wound, grabbing some gauze and tape to bandage your neck.

"Can I ask you a question?" you practically whisper.

She pauses for a moment, "of course."

You think of the best way to word this, scared to say the wrong thing. "What made you so upset? We get injured all the time, and you don't act this way."

The widow sighs, attaching the last piece of tape, "this is your neck." Setting the supplies aside, she looks you in the eye, "and you didn't radio it in. You didn't go to the medbay."

"Because I'm fine-"

"Your throat, Y/n," she interrupts, and you don't miss the way her voice cracks when she says your name. "Someone had a gun aimed at your throat, and they did not miss."

You can't help but scoff, "oh come on, they missed."

Natasha shakes her head, "the bullet hit you. They did not miss." She holds your gaze for a moment, but when her lip begins to tremble, she breaks eye contact looking down to her hands.

It's the most vulnerable you've ever seen her. Natasha has been meticulously trained to hide her emotions; you know that. You're only seeing this side of her because she is allowing you to.

That level of trust is something you do not take lightly.

"If you had been standing an inch to the right," Natasha continues, still not looking up, "...or if their hand shook, or the wind blew the wrong way, you would have been gone before they got you to the quinjet. Before anyone could’ve said goodbye.”

She finally looks up to you, and you can see the layer of tears gathering in her eyes, "before I could have said goodbye."

Nodding slowly, you answer softly, "ok, you're right. I got lucky this time." She tries to look away again, but you cup one of her cheeks, bringing her gaze to meet yours again.

"Hey, look at me," you give her a small smile, "I'm ok... and even if I wasn't," you shrug, "you would be. The team would get by. It would probably suck for a while, but eventually you'd all be ok-"

A sudden press of lips against yours interrupts you from finishing what you were saying. You're shocked still for less than a second, then you reciprocate with the same passion she puts into the kiss.

A dance of lips backed by the music of feelings that have been held back for too long.

Eventually, you both need air, so you break apart. Large breaths are taken by both of you.

You pull back and smile to Natasha.

Just as you lock eyes, the tear that has been hanging from the corner of her eye finally falls down her cheek.

"I would never be ok without you."

The sincerity in her voice puts you back. A sudden guilt washes over you. You tend to forget that there are people who care about you now. Someone who is waiting for you to come home.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. Cupping her face, you stroke her cheek with your thumb, and she leans into your touch. "We should have called it in. I should have gone to the medbay. I promise I will do better... for you." You emphasized the last two words with as much feeling as you can manage.

Natasha smiles, and the guilt that weighed heavy on you lifts, and you are left with blinding brightness of her smile.

She leans in, and captures your lips once again. Natasha’s hands cup your face with a gentle touch. When she deepens the kiss, you pull her closer to you, wrapping your arms around her waist. Likewise, her hands slip down to your neck to pull you further into the kiss.

“Ah ah,” you pull away as pain radiates from your neck.

Green eyes go wide. “Sorry,” Nat retracts her hands from your neck as if she was burned, “I’m so sorry.” She rushes out a few more ‘sorry’s.

You laugh and shake your head, “it’s ok, it’s ok.” You reach out to bring her back into you, resting your foreheads together.

Natasha bumps your nose with her own then asks, “stay with me tonight?”

You smirk teasingly, “my, my, Miss Romanoff, aren’t you moving fast.”

A blush creeps up her cheeks. “I just want to hold you,” she admits timidly.

Instantly, you heart melts into a puddle. You never quite realized just how far you had fallen for her.

“Yes, I’ll stay,” you punctuate your answer with a quick kiss. You wrap your arms around her again, this time nuzzling into the place where her neck meets her collar bone.

The two of you spend the rest of the night tangled up together watching movies, exchanging soft glances and tender kisses.

You falls asleep in Natasha’s arms somewhere towards the beginning of the third Bond movie, but not before you hear a soft whisper.

“I love you, Y/n L/n.”

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

A/N: why do I still get anxious when I post? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!!!

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #Natasha #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff x female reader #fem!reader #avengers #slight angst #fluff #happy ending

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stsgooo · 2 years

Note

Idk if you’re taking requests but I’m gonna send you a little prompt 😈

“im going to fuck you until you forget that assholes name”

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY. steve harrington

summary: after seeing a customer flirt with you, steve is less than confident. he decides to make sure you know what you two are.

content tags: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, dom!steve (for like five seconds. he's a sub at heart), hair pulling, spanking, semi-public sex, jealous!steve.

wc: 2,281k

a/n: ty for the request!! i totally misread the prompt but i hope this is okay too 😭🫂

You weren't sure exactly how it happened, but you're very aware of it now.

One minute you're checking out Footloose for a rather bothersome customer, exchanging polite smiles and telling him to have a nice day. The next you're pinned against the backroom table and Steve Harrington is fucking you like it's the end of the world.

He'd been so standoffish earlier. Watching you as you and the customer had a back and forth. You'd noticed his stare, you always did. It was usually so warm and welcoming, his lips spreading into that boyish smile that always captured your heart. Yet he was standing behind the front counter with that deep frown and dark unsettled eyes for an hour. Watching the stranger as his fingers brushed over your arm, asking softly (and dumbly), "so is Dirty Dancing really worth all that hype?" And you with your opinionated self, scoffed and would retort, "of course it is, are you crazy?" and the asshole laughed. You'd noticed the dangerous glare Steve sent him the moment his laugh filled the store and you had grown nervous.

Steve was like the sun, intoxicating and warm, and he made you feel wanted. He could get you to commit a murder if he asked- which, of course, he wouldn't. But you would if he asked. Steve was like your Achilles heel. One foul swoop and you'd be on your knees begging, crying for relief.

So when you saw how unhappy he was, you gravitated to him like a magnet. You wanted to attach to his hip and never let go. You gave the customer your kind smile, murmured a "have a nice day." Then turned your attention to Steve. The man was running a hand through his hair and huffing, puffing as he broke his eyes from the customer and to you.

Deep dark eyes settled on you like they belonged there. Their home was on you. Like the sun rays that kissed the skin on a nice summer day.

The moment the door's bell jingled, Steve's lips were on your own in an instant. A hungry needy want captured the both of you, his tongue invading your mouth and marking his territory. You only responded with a moan and placed your hands on either side of his face, his fingers tangled in your hair. He filled your senses. He smelt like that honey cologne he used religiously, his tongue soothed the skin of your lower lip after nipping on it, his soft moans reaching your ears, his cheeks were warm and if you opened your eyes, you know they'd be tinted red. He always grew a red hue whenever you two kissed.

One of his hands untangled from your hair and trailed to cup your ass, groaning as your hips pressed flush against his erection. Things seemed to click into place at that moment, you pulled away with wide eyes and blinked up at your boyfriend. Steve let out a soft whimper at the sudden lack of contact

You pulled away, eyes immediately pulling to Steve's plump lips. They were such a pretty hue of pink. You cupped his cheek, thumb running over his glimmering bottom lip as you met his eye. They were blown to hell, the blacks of his eyes seeming o swallow the brown. His chest heaved and his hands clutched at your hips desperately to keep contact against his clothed cock.

"Why are you acting like a horndog?" You smiled teasingly at him. Steve just huffed softly, pressing a kiss against your cheek and dragging his lips to your ear, nibbling softly. You ran a hand through his hair, admiring the blonde highlights that captured in the neon Family Video light. "What's going on?"

Steve paused, pulling back slightly to stare down at you with something unfamiliar. It was like he was calculating his next moves, assessing where you both were. He suddenly clenched his jaw and cradled your jaw with one hand.

Suddenly, he spoke, "I want to fuck you."

You blinked, staring up at him. "What?"

Steve, who is usually one to fumble with his words and blush, always quick to be the shy one, leaned down so his lips ghosted yours. "I've been wanting to bend you over this counter for the last hour. I just-I want to fuck you until you're crying to cum on me." His voice was husky. It was similar to how he spoke in the morning, arm wrapped around your waist and lips lazily pressing kisses against your neck.

A flush of ecstatic butterflies fluttered in your chest and you could feel the heat pick up, your core aching for the familiar touch. "Jesus, Steve," You whispered, blinking dumbly at him.

Steve's confidence briefly faltered, brows upwards and the familiar red on his cheeks. "I'm sorry was-was that-- it was too much wasn't it? I'm sorry, baby. I thought it would've been hot- Aw, fuck!"

You pushed him back against the counter, hand going between your bodies to stroke him through his jeans. His hands came back to your hips, fingers created indents on your skin as he grinded against your hand. Despite his cool exterior, you could feel his heart raging against his chest, his fingers twitching at your sides, and he completely leaned into your touch.

You placed a sloppy kiss against his jaw, listening to his breath hitch and felt him quiver. "Tell me what you want to do to me, baby. Please?" You pathetically begged him.

Steve closed his eyes, clenching his jaw as you placed a particular hard palm against the head of his cock. "Your dress is so fucking hot," he bunched up the floral fabric in his hands for emphasis, barely caring if your ass was exposed to whoever dared to walk in. "Been thinking about your pussy all day. Tasting you, feeling you wrapped around me while I fuck you so good- I want to fuck you until you forget your own name. 'Wanna to watch my cum drip out of you. Fuuuck, Y/n, I want you so bad."

Your tongue came out to wet your lip before you pulled back. He whined at the loss, opening his eyes with a heaving chest and quivering legs. You were half tempted to torture him a bit before leaving him a mess in his pants. It'd happened before and you'd been the lucky gal who got to lick it up, then return to work. However, you were too focused on the way your walls to even begin to devise a way for him to be pleading with you to cum.

You wanted to be the one quivering, whimpering, and aching once he was done with you.

Steve swore softly as he palmed his cock, closing his eyes and silently praying. He probably thought you were done- you two had only done it twice in the store and it'd only ever been slow nights. You both had sworn on avoiding getting caught by innocent children or a pervy Kieth. The mere thought was probably enough for Steve's boner to drop. But something about today had him wanting you right now. Almost wishing someone would walk in and see him fucking you.

That's why, when you reached for his hand and started to drag him towards the back room, he released a relieved and giddy laugh. Almost like a child on Christmas, he took long strides to the back with you. The door slamming as you were pressed against it.

And that's how you both ended up there, the desk rattling as Steve's harsh and quick thrusts met your hips. You were bent over the desk, panties pushed to the side and pussy making lewd sounds as Steve's cock pushed in and out of you. You were loud as Steve piston out of you, one hand wrapped in your hair and pulling as he sped up, the other cradled one of your cheeks. Your hands were splayed over the edge, gripping the weathered wood as the head of his cock brushed the spongy spot that made angels sing and your heart flutter.

"Fuck, you're so good," Steve breathed, tugging at your hair after you moaned in response. "You take my cock so well, baby. You just swallow me whole. 's like you're made for me. Just mine."

If you were surprised by the sudden change in Steve's demeanor today, you were surely surprised when he brought his free hand down on your ass. A resounding slap echoed in the small room, both of your moans accompanying it.

"Jesus, Steve," You cried, leaning back to meet his thrusts, trying to chase the tightening ball in your stomach. "Fuck, I-I'm so close."

Steve let out a breathy laugh, his hand soothing the red mark on your ass as he continued to fuck you from behind. He could feel the way your walls clenched around his cock that you were about to come undone. He licked his lips and let go of your hair to move to your hips in a grip that'd definitely leave bruises.

"You're mine, right?" Steve said through his teeth, landing a sharp thrust that hit you in the right spot. It left you dumbfounded, jaw hanging and eyes closed. You couldn't even begin to process what your boyfriend said. Rather focused on the fact that he was about to send you to heaven without dying. "Y/n?"

The softness of his tone was drastically different from his actions, but it still caught your attention. You did your best to glance over your shoulder, finding a terribly vulnerable look on your boyfriend's face. "Steve....?" You asked in a breathy moan.

He slowed his pace, panting but not completely letting go. "Say your mine." It wasn't a question anymore, but a demand.

It flushed over you, the tingling feeling. "I'm yours, Steve. Always have been, always will be." You reached back and grabbed his hand and squeezed.

Steve seemed to hesitate before he moved your hands, pinning it back to the desk and delivering a hard thrust. His other hand came to your clit and he rolled his fingers in time with his thrusts, pushing you closer to your edge before- "I'm yours too."

And you practically cried tears of joy when you came. Pure bliss grabbed ahold of your body. You gripped Steve's hand, unaware of his eyes twinkling in wonder at your face contorted into complete euphoria. You fell completely against the top of the desk, panting and whimpering as Steve tried to finish himself off. Your walls squeezing and releasing, so sensitive over his aching cock as his thrusts grew sloppy. He landed one last thrust before you heard him moan and cry as he came too. His cock twitched in you as it milked itself in your pussy, leaving traces of him deep in you.

It was a few moments of silence. Just panting breath and soothing thumb circling over your hand before Steve pulled out.

Both of you whimpered softly at the suddenly empty feeling. Steve paused to admire his work. Your ass was red from where he'd landed a slap, your pussy was pulsing and- jesus you were absolutely leaking with him cum dripping from you like you were a broken faucet. He tried to take his mind off of the sight of you overfilled with his cum before he got hard again. He stuffed himself back into his jeans, then collected a few tissues from the desk.

You laid there, closed eyes, and soft breaths as he gently wiped away his cum from your skin. You bit your lower lip at the sensitivity of that area, but turned you attention back to what Steve had asked you.

"Steve, did you fuck me in the middle of our shift because you were jealous?" Your question was blunt, but you figured you guys were far enough in your relationship to be such.

Steve faltered before he started to shyly return to his task. His wipes more timid as his face definitely heated up. "He was rubbing up against you and asking you stupid questions. I do that. You're supposed to laugh at my stupid questions, not his." You let out a breathy laugh as Steve came to a pause, looking up at you as you turned around. "It's stupid, isn't it? Over nothing. I'm sorry-"

You leaned down and kissed his lips. It was soft and tender, like a lover that was definitely trying to get their point across. It was different from earlier. No longer panicked and rushed. You pulled back and Steve's eyes remained closed as you stared at him with adoration twinkling in your eyes.

"It's a little stupid. I mean, c'mon, Harrington. You really think I'm gonna pass up on you just because a bimbo guy doesn't know Dirty Dancing?" Steve's eyes cracked open and his lips spread into a small smile. You couldn't help the way your heart gave a small pitter pat at the sight. He looked so pretty. But you saw that shadow of doubt in his eyes and your heart broke.

Your hands came to cradle his face, forcing him to stare at you head on. "I'm undoubtedly and incredibly in love with you, Steve. Nothing's going to change that." You pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose and stood.

Steve tilted his head. "Okay, but what if he comes back with Footloose and asks where Baby is?" He asked dumbly.

You laughed, eyes crinkled as you adjusted your dress. "Then I'll tell him he can ask my beautiful, intelligent, and very buff boyfriend about that, hm?"

"I can definitely get behind that."

#steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut #q&a #anon #t writes!

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