#and i spent an insane amount of time under the water - so much so that my doctor used to say i have “hippo lungs”

[lumioluna]

if i think about my relationship with the sea it really encapsulates, with so much accuracy, everything i've been going through in life. and maybe it's because i grew up in front of the ocean before moving to a city far from it, so maybe it really left a mark on me, but it seems like everything that happens to me changes my feelings and relationship to it. i should journal about this.

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

OHHHHHH.

One moment while I find that gif of Tom Hanks -

Found it!

OVERHATED CHARACTERS POLL: Owen Strand (9-1-1: Lone Star)

Feel free to explain your position in the comments or tags, but any harassment, over-the-top fighting, or personal attacks will result in you being blocked. Do not attack real people, be they fans or creators, over fictional characters.

[carlottawllms]

Easy With You

Mason Mount x Reader Fluff / Smut (18+) Word count: 4.8K

One part of this is from a concept @bluesmason​ has written last year and I simply couldn’t stop thinking about it. The rest is taken from my own weird brain. It has been sitting in my drafts forever and now I’ve finally managed to finish it. Also pls pretend Mase speaks Spanish too🙈

As always, feedback is very much appreciated! Enjoy <3 

It was fairly early by your standards, the clock just about striking 9, as you stood in Mason’s kitchen, dressed rather skimpily in your panties and an oversized t-shirt of his, trying to find something for breakfast. There wasn’t much you could create with the few edible things Mason had at home, so an avocado toast with fried egg would have to do, you thought.

Mason and you had been stuck in this friends-with-benefits-thing for a rather long while now. Having met the other through a now mutual friend, you’d hit it off as friends first, spending a good amount of time together and enjoying it, but after a while, both of you had noticed how there was some tension. You’d tried to play it off at first, not wanting to ruin the friendship that meant a lot to you both and it had felt like you’d been doing a pretty good job, but then one night both of you had carved and you’d spent the night between the sheets; only for it to end up being this situationship.

“This looks like it’s going to be an amazing breakfast.”, Mason murmured lowly in your ear as he came up behind you. His body brushed up against yours, arms circling your waist, and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. “I just feel I should make yours as a thank you, shouldn’t I?” You stopped cutting the avocado when one of his hands travelled up your body, eyes falling closed at the feeling of his fingertips brushing over your nipples and you couldn’t help but sigh softly as he placed open mouth kisses all over your neck.

“You can thank me later, Mase. We’ve got all day.” You wanted to sound convincing as you really were hungry, but with his wandering hands, your thoughts travelled back to how the two of you’d started the day.

Your gaze was glued to where he stood in the shower, back facing you and his pretty bum full-on display. There were little droplets of water running down his toned back and the longer you stood there admiring him in all his glory, the more you longed to have his skin under yours again.

“Morning.”, you whispered just about loud enough for him to hear as you stepped into the shower. You heard him humming when you placed your hands on his back, letting them roam his naked body before they found their way down his front. Mason moaned lowly as your hand wrapped around his semi-hard cock, the morning sensitivity heightening his senses made him feel all dizzy at the very first contact and his head fell forwards against the cold tiles. He had to place one hand flat against the wall to keep himself upright, deep moans pouring from his throat when he felt your naked body pressing up against his back and fingernails scratching over his abs gently. “Fuck, that…feels so good.”

Mason reached back with his free hand and cupped your bum, needing something to hold onto whilst you continued to lazily stroke his now hardened dick. You hummed against his back, lips travelling over his wet skin as you enjoyed how with a few simple touches he was putty in your hands. His deep, breathy moans only spurring you on as a sense of pride washed over you. It was you who was making him feel so good, it was you who could reduce him to a moaning mess.

You hummed lowly against his shoulder as you ran your thumb over the slit of his tip a couple of times, knowing it was the tiny touches that would make him go insane and Mason responded with his hips involuntarily bucking up into your hand. “Fuck…yes…feels so fucking good.” His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your bum, and you knew he’d most likely leave marks that would stay for a couple of days, but you didn’t care if it meant you could listen to those little whimpers and breathy moans he continued to let out. Mason sucked in the air sharply when you stopped your movements and instead focussed solely on the tip, letting your thumb run over his slit a couple of times before brushing his hard length with featherlight touches.

“y/n.”, he whined, head lulling sideways against his arm. Mason felt as if his legs were about to give way as the pleasure you were providing him with became overwhelming and he started to lose focus the longer your fingers teased his sensitive tip. You felt him twitch in your hand, hips starting to buck up more frequently and you knew he was close, but just as he was about to finish, you stopped.

Mason’s head snapped up. “Why’d you stop?”

You grabbed his waist and turned him around carefully, aware his legs were a bit shaky, like yours would be every time he’d gone down on you and when he finally faced you, your gaze dropped to his dick standing proudly against his tummy. Head painfully read and leaking precum.

“Because you’ll get something better.”, you smiled as you ran your hand up his chest, fingers locking behind his neck and then you pulled him down for a passionate kiss. A small moan getting lost in his mouth when you felt him rutting himself against your body a little before you parted and lowered yourself onto your knees. Mason groaned at the sight, not sure he’d survive your warm mouth in this early stage of the day and after he’d nearly finished already, but he buried his hands in your hair for some leverage anyway, ready to take what you were willing to give him. He let you set the pace, hands only firmly on the back of your head as he had no idea where else to put them, whilst one of your hands was placed against his thigh.

You looked up at him through your lashes, catching his gaze as you ran your tongue up the underside of his cock, tracing the vein in the process and when you grabbed him in your hand again and took the tip into your mouth, Mason’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He moaned loudly at the feeling of being enveloped by the warmth of your mouth, curses falling from his lips the longer you bobbed up and down his length as his chest heaved with hard pants. “Fuck…y/n…you’re so…good at this.”

You felt his fingers tightening in your hair, hips bucking up at the pleasure running through his veins, but your hand on his thigh kept him in check so you could keep your pace up. It wasn’t long until he was back where you wanted him and when you ran your tongue through his slit and sucked his tip, it was all he needed to cum. You watched how his abs contracted and his head fell back, as he released into your mouth with a loud, deep moan, small fucks and curses of your name joining his unintelligible moaning as you swallowed every last drop.

The sight when you pulled off of him was heavenly. Mason’s lips were slightly parted, his cheeks flushed and eyes half-closed. “Fuck me.”, he sighed, pulling you up from your knees and right into his arms. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he needed a minute to recover. “That was incredible.” You chuckled quietly as you waited for him to pull back, fingers dancing over his back, and when he eventually did, he instantly leaned down to kiss you. His lips moved against yours softly, but it wasn’t long until he pried yours open and brushed his tongue against yours, a faint taste of himself still on your tongue.

“What if I want to thank you now?” You could feel the cheeky smile Mason tried to hide against your neck as his hand bunched your t-shirt up to allow him better access to your chest. He cupped your boob, long fingers massaging your soft skin and because of the way he rolled your nipple between his fingers, you didn’t even notice how his other hand had travelled south until his fingers pushed your panties aside and ran through your already wet folds, causing you to moan quietly. “So ready for me already, baby?”, he whispered lowly right before he kissed the spot behind your ear; a small whimper escaping your lips.

You were about to get lost in the pleasure of his fingers drawing lazy circles on your clit, as the front door fell closed with a rather loud bang. “Mase?”, a deep voice called out, causing you and Mason to freeze in shock.

“Shit.”, he cursed quietly, pulling his hand from between your thighs and wiping them hastily on the back of his joggers.

“Who’s that?”

“My parents.”

Your head snapped around, panicked gaze finding his. “What?”

“They wanted to come over for breakfast. I forgot.”, he explained. He could see you panicking, and he wanted to help you, but he didn’t know how, so he simply stood there.

It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds for you to react though as you were suddenly very conscious of what you were wearing – or rather not wearing. The lack of clothes certainly not an appropriate sight for his parents. “Mason Tony Mount.”, you hissed, your eyes searching the kitchen for a way to escape undetected or some piece of clothing laying around. You knew there wasn’t a way out except for the garden, and you definitely didn’t fancy spending a cold morning in March on his terrace in nothing but panties and an oversized t-shirt, waiting for his parents to leave.  

You were close to tears, not ready for the undoubtedly coming humiliation when you caught sight of the hoodie Mason had worn the day before.

Usually, you hated how he left his stuff scattered everywhere, but right now as you pulled it over your head, you thanked him for being the slightly chaotic person he was. That hoodie was most definitely your lifesaver.

Not even five seconds later his parents walked into the kitchen. Both with bags in their hands and visibly surprised to find their son wasn’t alone. You blushed deeply when his mum looked at you, very aware just how domestic the whole scenery had to look like with you and Mason in his kitchen, a couple of kitchenware already out to prepare breakfast. Not knowing what to say, you directed your gaze to the floor, feet shuffling in an attempt to hide yourself behind Mason a little.

“Morning.” With a gentle squeeze of your shoulder, he stepped forward and greeted his parents as if you being there wasn’t that big of a deal. He hugged his mum and kissed her cheek before he half-hugged his dad right after.

In a desperate attempt to find an explanation for your existence, you hadn’t noticed how his mother approached you. “You must be y/n then.”, she said casually, causing you to raise your eyes to meet hers. What? There was a bit of silence filling the kitchen after she’d dropped the bomb of knowing who you were.

“Erm…yes, that’s erm me.”, you stuttered as you held your hand out, awfully embarrassed at the hoodie just about reaching mid-thigh and your hair mindlessly thrown up. ‘She must think I’m an idiot.’, you thought.

“It’s…nice to meet you.”, you mumbled, trying to sound at least a little convinced of what you were saying.

“Mason has told us a lot about you. I’m Debbie by the way.”

Your questioning gaze darted to Mason who was already looking at you. Why the hell would he talk to his parents about you?! He smiled shyly, cheeks blushing as he hadn’t expected his mum to say something like that. He moved back to your side as he sensed how uncomfortable you felt and put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side for some reassurance. “You’ll be fine.”, he mumbled only for you to hear before he placed a soft kiss against your temple. “We can talk once they’ve left, yeah?”  

You simply nodded, too overwhelmed by the whole situation to notice just how nervous Mason had become after Debbie had mentioned he’d spoken about you.

He’d known this friends-with-benefits-situation between you two was bound to find an end at some point, but lately he’d started to feel that there was more to it than just some shagging and being friends. He’d developed deeper feelings for you but had been too shy to talk to you about it properly and despite how awkward this whole situation was, he was somewhat glad his parents had walked in on the two of you like that.

“I’m Tony.” Mason’s dad stepped forward, holding his hand out for you to shake and you were thankful for the warm smile he sent you. “He didn’t tell us you’d be here today, so it’s a good thing we brought enough for a whole family.”, he joked, but you were quick to shake your head. “Oh, no don’t worry about me. I’ll leave you to it.”

You pulled away from Mason, but his grip around you just tightened and his mother was quick to step in. “Don’t be silly, darling. You’re more than invited.”

“Of course, you are. I’m sure Mason wants you to stay too.”

The man in question just nodded, a fond smile on his face as he squeezed your shoulder gently. “Yeah.”

You still excused yourself, telling them with a flushed face how you’d get dressed quickly. Back in the safety of Mason’s bedroom, you fell face down onto the bed. You felt ridiculously humiliated and embarrassed at the thought of his parents having seen you in that kind of fucked out state with barely anything on. Meeting your situationship’s parents surprisingly was bad enough on its own, but with just his oversized hoodie on, it felt even worse, and you were convinced they had to hate you. Thinking you were just some girl hooking up with his son to maybe gain some of his money of fame.

Well technically you were just some girl hooking up with him…The fact that you were a girl with feelings for him was just a side thing. And something that would never see the light of day as you most definitely wouldn’t put yourself through the depressing moment of admitting your feelings and him rejecting you.  

After you’d regained a bit of your composure, you got up from the bed and padded over to Mason’s wardrobe where you knew he kept some spare clothes of yours. It wasn't one of those ‘I'll clear out a bit of closet for you’-actions, but rather one to save you the walk of shame whenever you’d go to his place after a night out. At least that’s what you thought.

You grabbed the next best jeans and put it on, only then realising that you apparently didn’t have a spare shirt. “Shit.”, you mumbled, looking through the pile of clothes again, but there was no top for you to wear. And given you’d come home with him after his game the night before, the only shirt you had was the Chelsea one with his name and you were definitely not going to put that on.  

Eventually, you grabbed one of Mason’s knitted jumpers and put it on. It was too big, but it still looked presentable enough for the breakfast with his parents. You’d just brushed your hair when Mason knocked on the door, sticking his head in the room.

Hi.”, he mumbled shyly, relieved you were still here and hadn’t vanished like he’d half expected you to. And he wouldn’t have blamed you for it.

“Mason what the fuck? How can you forget your parents coming over for breakfast?” You hadn’t meant to snap, and you immediately felt bad when you saw his slightly widened eyes looking back at you.

“I’m sorry, I was distracted and-“

“I’m so fucking embarrassed, Mason.”, you stated, closing the door to his wardrobe. “I stood there in nothing but your hoodie meeting your parents just seconds after you’ve had your hand between my thighs. I looked hideous and they have done a pretty great job at pretending it wasn’t the most awkward situation at all.”

Mason sighed quietly. He knew you were right, and he felt bad for putting you in such a situation, but he had genuinely forgotten about it as he couldn’t think straight whenever you were around.

“It wasn’t that bad.”, he tried, aware he didn’t sound convincing in the slightest. “My parents don’t care what you’re wearing y/n. They like you and-“

“I don’t think you understand Mason.”, you huffed, hands on your hips and angry eyes staring him down. “I wouldn’t have cared either if I’d been in leggings or joggers or jeans, but I stood in your kitchen in nothing but fucking panties and your hoodie.”

“The hoodie covers more than enough and-“

“Your calvins cover your dick perfectly fine, too, but I’m sure you wouldn’t be happy about my parents meeting you in just those, would you?”  

Mason sighed and ruffled his hair as he shook his head. You were right. Had the situation been the other way round he would’ve probably escaped already and never come back. Carefully gauging your reaction, he stepped closer to you and grabbed you by your shoulders. “I’m really sorry, y/n. I genuinely forgot and I get you feel horrible, but I can assure you it’s not as bad as you think. I promise you they don’t think anything bad of you.”

You just huffed at him, not really believing his parents were so chill about the whole awkward encounter.

“Also, I’m pretty sure they knew before that I’m having sex, you know?”, he joked, but you could only roll your eyes. You knew he meant well and only for you to cheer up a little, but the embarrassment was settled deep inside of you. “C’mere.”

Mason pulled you a little closer and when you rested your forehead against his chest, his hands moved to massage your neck in a loving attempt to calm you down. “I really am sorry, y/n.”

“I know.”, you whispered as you brought your arms around his waist, holding onto him with closed eyes and enjoying how his fingers worked your stiff muscles.

After a while, his hands left your neck and you felt how he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, embracing you in a warm hug. “You’re okay to go downstairs?” You looked up at him, finding his warm brown eyes already looking at you and you noticed how the weirdly fuzzy feeling in your tummy was kind of new – or at least more intense. Your hands gravitated to hold his waist as you nodded slowly.

Mason sent you a soft smile. Much to his relief you looked a lot less panicked now that the initial stress had died down a little. “Okay.” You expected him to pull away, but instead he leaned down and pressed his lips softly against yours, taking you by surprise as you’d never kissed except for during sex. It left you wondering if there was some deeper reason behind it; if you weren’t alone with those changing feelings, but when you kissed him back, all those thoughts disappeared, and you were left with a fluttering tummy and a racing heart.

Mason nudged his nose against yours when the two of you parted, causing you to giggle quietly. “C’mon then.”

On your way downstairs, your mind was running a million miles an hour. Why had he kissed you out of nowhere? He’d never done that before and especially not in that way. The kisses you’d shared before had always been messy and passionate, in the heat of the moment between the sheets, but the one in the safety of his bedroom had been soft and warm and so different to those before. You tried to stop those thoughts, afraid you were overthinking it when all he’d probably wanted was to calm you down.

Halfway down the stairs you felt his hand brushing against yours and soon after, his pinky linked with yours. Mason looked up at you, eyes searching yours for some kind of discomfort, but when you smiled at him, he sent you a shy smile back.

Mason’s parents had set the table already when you entered and you immediately felt bad for not helping them. “Is there anything we can do?”, you asked, not even noticing how you said we instead of I, but Mason did.

“No, my darling.” Debbie smiled when her gaze fell at your linked fingers. “We’re all set. Sit down. Tony will bring the coffee.”

Mason gently tugged at your hand to get you to sit down and although he was dying to, he didn’t pull the chair out for you, thinking it could make you uncomfortable. Despite you kissing him back he was still unsure if you felt for him the way he felt for you and he didn’t want to push his luck and potentially ruin things.

“So, how did you two meet?”, Tony asked once you were all settled on the table and ready to dig in. “Do you also work in the football industry?”

“No, I’m a nursery teacher.”, you smiled, putting some of the scrambled eggs Mason’s mum had made on your plate. “I work in the ‘Little Angels Nursery’ in Cobham.”

“The kids love her.” Speaking with his mouth full earned Mason an austere look from his mum, but he just shrugged his shoulders. “They all come running to her first when they come in.”  

“Mason's teammate had just newly arrived in London in January and wanted his daughter to come to our nursery.”, you explained as you’d noticed Tony’s confused expression, seemingly questioning what his son was doing in a nursery. “Marc barely spoke a word of English, so Mase offered to come along and help out with the language. That’s where we met.”

His parents stayed for another two hours and after your initial nervousness, which Mason had tried to reduce by placing his hand on your thigh, had faded, you had a very good time with them. Tony was a very funny guy, and you could see where Mase got that from, while Debbie was caring and very interested in getting to know you. You’d expected it to be awkward, but it ended up being a great morning.

But the second Debbie and Tony were gone, the atmosphere changed. It seemed as if neither you nor Mason knew how to handle the situation and bring back the carefreeness from before as you tidied up, side by side with a weird, heavy silence filling the kitchen. Should you bring up the kiss? And the handholding?

You wanted to speak to him about it, wanted to clarify the situation and have your Mason back, but you were terrified what it could mean. If he said it had just happened in the spur of the moment to calm you down and didn’t mean anything, it would break your heart and you weren’t sure you could handle it without starting to cry in front of him as the thought of losing him hurt your heart.

In the end, you decided to bite the bullet. Mason had just loaded the dishwasher when you took a deep breath as a final attempt to bring up the courage. “So, are we going to talk about it or not?”

Mason, still hunched over the dishwasher, froze. “About what?”

“Mase.”, you sighed, aware it was somewhat uncomfortable for the both of you to actually speak about your feelings and awkward moments. “You told your parents about me?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Mum figured the was something.”, he muttered, finally straightening up once the low buzzing of the dishwasher filled the air. He turned around and leaned against the counter, fingers nervously playing with the hem of his shirt. His gaze was glued to the floor and as much as you understood, you got a little annoyed with his apprehensive stance.

“Mason, do you really want me to tear every answer out of you?”

He sighed quietly, feeling a little uncomfortable, but he felt like you deserved to know. He couldn’t leave you hanging like that. And after today he didn’t feel like hiding his feelings in the darkest corner of his heart anymore.

“They’ve noticed something was different about me. Like…I’ve been happy.”, he mumbled shyly. You could see his cheeks flushing at his admission. “Really happy. And you’ve met my mum, you know what she’s like. She notices everything and she kept asking me about it and I just couldn’t lie to her and tell her that it was nothing.”

There was a tiny break, and you were unsure if he wanted you to say something, but you were at a loss for words. Did he just hint at something you’d been waiting for a while? You felt your heart speeding up at the thought of him being happy solely because of you.

“So I told her I’ve met someone and that I’ve been spending a lot of time with her and that she makes me happy.” Mason finally looked up from his feet, big warm eyes staring straight into yours as he stepped closer and took your hands in his. “You make me happy y/n. I can be myself around you, I don’t have to pretend because you like me for who I am. The goofy, slightly silly guy who accidentally knocked your coffee all over your jeans the first time he met you. I’m just Mase to you and you have no idea how relieving that it. If it wasn’t for you, y/n, I’d probably be lost, you know? Nothing has been easy lately, but with you everything feels easy. As if no matter what’s coming as long as I have you, it’ll be fine.”

You gulped heavily as tears welled up in your eyes. No one had ever said something like that to you and you surely hadn’t expected Mason out of all people to be the one to make you feel this warm with just a couple of sentences. Your heart was thumping heavily in your chest. “Mase.”

“I like you y/n. I like you a lot and I know this is surprising and unexpected and overwhelming, but I needed to tell you.”

You stared at him for a rather long while after he’d finished his little speech, unsure of what you wanted to say. His words had been so beautifully chosen, you didn’t know if anything you could say would ever feel enough. Instead, you pushed yourself onto your tiptoes and let your mouth melt against his in a soft, toe-curling kiss.

Mason hummed in surprise and content, letting go of your hands to cup your cheek with one whilst the other pulled you closer by your waist and you didn’t waste a second to wrap your arms around his neck. You kept the kiss innocent, lips just moving against each other as both of you wanted to simply enjoy the sweet moment rather than turning it into something you’d done countless of times before.

When you separated, Mason stayed close enough for you to feel his hot breath fanning over your face. His eyes danced over your features, just like yours tried to memorise every tiny detail in his face.

“I like you, too, Mase.”, you whispered eventually, your tummy fluttering at the way his lips stretched into that pretty smile of his. “I want to be with you because you make me very happy too. And maybe, just maybe it was a good thing your parents walked in on us like that.”

Mason shook his head, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he’d never expected today to end like this. “It was.”, he grinned. “But promise me you won’t make me meet your parents in just boxers as some form of revenge.”

“I promise.”, you laughed and with that seemingly being enough for him, Mason leaned back in and kissed you again.

----------

I genuinely hope you enjoyed readint this. You would make my day if you left a little feedback so I can see what you liked and what I can improve on 🩷

[starker-raving-mads]

For You: Part VI

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX

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It took nearly 2 weeks for the TONY profile to run. Every moment felt like the longest 2 weeks of Peter's life. He had Friday giving him updates at every 5% completion, but he only got those updates once or twice a day.

He spent every day at the penthouse in that time, stopping at May's apartment only twice for dinner (after threats of coming to check on just what he was doing in that lab all the time - which, he really did not want to explain). MJ was nearly as concerned but Ned totally seemed to get it.

"Dude if I had access to Tony Stark's lab I would never, ever leave," his friend had gushed at one of their lunches out at a hole-in-the-wall taco place in Queens.

"You are not helping, Ned."

But the Avengers, at least, also seemed to understand.

"This isn't nearly as bad as what Tony used to do," Rhodey said, beer in hand as he and Peter ate away at too much Vietnamese take out around the penthouse kitchen island. "He wasn't exactly the best role model, but I know you nerd types," he chuckled. "You can't help it."

"Thank you," the teen said emphatically. "It's like once I get on a roll I kind of forget time even exists." Which wasn't true, he'd been counting down the hours until the next 5% interval completed since he started running the algorithm to create the TONY sim, but the colonel didn't need to know that.

"Hey, just as long as you still acknowledge the outside world exists I think you're probably doing pretty okay," the older man shrugged. "So outside of becoming an experiment obsessed little weirdo like the rest of them - "

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Peter chuckled, stuffing his mouth with dumplings.

" - what have you been up to, Pete?"

It took the young vigilante a solid second to remember life outside the lab.

"Well," he replied, swallowing. He stopped for a gulp of water before continuing. "I picked my classes for the fall semester, which is pretty exciting."

"College is such a game changer," Rhodey agreed, "very exciting. I met Tony in college, you know, back when he was scrawnier than you are now."

"I know," Peter smiled. "He told me; you were a few years older than him at the time, right?"

"Oh absolutely, I was sponsored through the air force," Rhodey nodded. "No 14 year old geniuses in my family," he laughed. "Nah, I was already 20 by the time I met Tony. I was assigned to college dorms because it was just cheaper for the Air Force to put me up through my scholarship. Felt weird being surrounded by a bunch of 18 year olds, but then it got even weirder when Tony was assigned as my roommate."

"I bet it was pretty strange," the teen agreed, stuffing another dumpling in his mouth. The cabbage and meat and spices were just right and he was getting more than a little addicted to them.

"It was, at first," the older man said. "But you know Tony - the man had charisma out the ass even then, and was even more trouble than he was as an adult. Man," he laughed, shaking his head in reverie, "the amount of parties and fights I had to pull him out of. Not to mention that one time he hacked the Pentagon's database."

Peter choked on a dumpling. "He what?" He thought for a second and said, "You know what? I'm not even surprised."

All in all, Peter was pretty sure that his little TONY experiment was way less insane than the shit the older genius had gotten up to in his time and it made him feel a modicum less bad for running such an intense and secret experiment.

And maybe even feel a little closer to his mentor, in a way.

On the 13th day of running the algorithm, though, it finally completed.

"Mom," Friday called, waking Peter out of the doze he'd fallen into on the couch in the penthouse. He'd curled up under the comforter he had stolen away from the master bedroom and was just so comfortable it was hard not to fall into a cozy little nap.

"Yeah, Fri?" He ignored the funny little bright feeling in his chest at Friday calling him Mom - she'd adjusted to it a few days ago, after asking his permission, stating that, 'My research found it is the more common honorific for a close maternal loved one.'

"The TONY simulated Organic Intelligence model has completed."

He sat bolt upright, hair floofing into bedhead curls around his face with the movement. "Oh shit - shoot - uh okay, all right." He scrambled up from the couch, extricating himself from the comforter, and all but ran toward the elevator down to the lab. "Go ahead and boot it up, baby, I'm on my way."

By the time he'd gotten down to the lab, the center of the room was glowing with holographic particles. They floated around for a while before slowly coalescing into a rough blob in the center. The blob started forming distinct shapes at that point - a height of a few inches taller than Peter's own, a lean torso with trim waist, long legs clad in jeans, a torso covered in a very familiar sweater Peter may or may not have worn to bed last night.

Before his eyes, the visage of Tony Stark formed, crystal clear and faintly blue, chest glowing with a fake arc reactor. His eyes were closed but his fingers were twitching, face scrunching. 15 minutes passed with no other change and before he had the courage to ask Friday if it had worked - too scared that it had failed, too scared that it hadn't - the older man's eyes opened.

They glowed a bright, vibrant blue, the same color as the holoparticles and the arc reactor, but the look of them - the tilt of recognition as they took in the lab, the crease between them as they put together the situation - was all Tony.

Peter didn't breath for long moments until the projection in front of him spoke.

"Oh, kid," Mr. Stark said, voice impeccably deep and perfect, shoulders slumping, hands casually being stuffed into his pockets. His entire being screamed the mannerisms of Tony Stark and it both hurt Peter's soul and elated him at the same time.

He was back. He was back.

"Hi, Mr. Stark," the teen said, eyes wide, taking him in.

The older man - the holograph - hummed, looking around the lab like he was taking in the space. He walked over to Peter's desk and went to shuffle some of the paperwork around but his hand passed right through the surface. He chuckled and the sound was deep and rich, as it always had been. He looked over at Peter.

"So, I see you found my Peter Project," he smirked. There was something almost too calm about it, too casual. Peter hadn't known what to expect once he 'woke up' TONY, but it wasn't this somehow.

"Yeah - yeah I did," he ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that fluffed his curls into even wilder disarray than it had been before. "And I did some research and - and I know you couldn't finish it, but - "

"But that you had enough data on me to start me up," the billionaire finished, nodding. "Yeah," he sighed, hands back in his pockets as he sauntered back over to Peter. "I figured you might."

"You - you did?"

"Kid," the man smiled, warm and true this time. "If anyone's gonna know what's going on in that head of yours, it's me," he pointed out. Which, okay, true enough. For a long moment neither of them said anything until Tony sighed, looking over Peter in a way that made his Spidey senses tingle. "I can't believe it worked," he admitted.

"Your logic was sound," Peter rushed out, walking over to the papers scattered over his desk. "You had everything figured out you just didn't have enough data on me, which like I'm sure you realized, obviously, since you had to stop and - "

"No, Pete, I meant the time travel, the undoing of the snap," Tony interrupted.

"Oh," Peter said, very smartly. "Right. Yeah, yeah it worked." He smiled wide and real at the holograph of his mentor. "You brought everyone back!"

"I gotta say," Tony shrugged. He hopped up onto his table, staring into Peter's eyes without any more movement. "I was a little selfish on that front." The way Tony was looking at him was intense and it made Peter's heart beat harder.

"I don't see how it was selfish, Mr. Stark," he shrugged, mimicking Tony's posture by jumping onto his own table. They faced each other now, mirror images - one in holographic blue, and one in full color.

"Because, Pete," Tony said, soft. "It would be a lie to say I did it for any other reason than bringing you back."

Peter's mouth fell open in a soft, surprised gasp. He knew, of course - everyone said, Pepper had said - but it was so different hearing it from what amounted to the man himself.

Tony smiled, soft and sincere, at the look on Peter's face. "There's a lot I don't remember," he admitted. He rubbed a hand on his chest, over and around the glow of the arc reactor. "But I do remember just how important you were to me, kid. I can't imagine the real me being any less devoted to finding a way to get you back."

Peter's breath was coming in quick, sharp pants now. He was trying to slow them down, to breathe, to think but he couldn't - couldn't think of anything but Tony Stark saying he risked the universe just to bring him back. He was hyperventilating, but if this wasn't worth hyperventilating over, what was?

"Kid?" Tony's brows furrowed. "What are you - Friday?"

"Boss, Peter is having a panic attack."

"Shit," the other man swore. He bounded off his table and rushed over to Peter, movement silent and far more quick than any human would be. "Pete, why are you - what do you need?"

"I think you may have overwhelmed Mom with what you said, Boss," Friday supplied helpfully. "Mom, breathe with me. Hold your breath - 1, 2, 3 - breathe out. Breath in - "

The teen focused on the sound of Friday's voice all while his eyes flitted over Tony, who stood there fidgeting and restless with the inability to do anything. After several long, long moments, the tunnel vision that had blurred his vision eased off, his breathing evening out, and he slumped forward, shoulders sagging. He let out a shaky breath before looking up into the worried blue eyes of the natural AI that was now Mr. Stark.

"Hell of an impression of the big bad wolf you have there, kid," he joked, but Peter could see the concern and franticness left in the way he moved, the tilt of his frown. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah," he said, the biggest lie of his life. "I'm okay. I'm fine, Mr. Stark, really. Sorry." He ducked his head again and saw Tony's glowing hand touch his face. He looked back up and the glow on his cheek was still there.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Pete," Mr. Stark said, softer than Peter can ever remember him being. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. And don't tell me I didn't," he said sternly. "I''ve always been a little much," he admitted, backing up, giving Peter some much needed space if he wasn't going to start hyperfixating on the man's face. "I, uh, kinda forgot about needing to real it in."

"No!" Peter jumped in. "No, I don't want you to - to not be yourself with me. It was just," he shrugged, "like I knew, you know? I knew you'd - probably - done it for me. The whole saving the universe thing. Ms. Potts might've mentioned it, and I can put two and two together. It's just having it confirmed, I guess?"

"We'll come back to that thing about Pepper," Mr. Stark said, "but I'm glad you at least had an idea." The older man sighed in a way that was so incredibly human it was hard to think he was only a culmination of data and leaps in logic. "You deserve to know how much you meant to me, Pete. I hung up the whole superhero gig after what Thanos did to you - to everyone. But the moment that Scott Lang came to my house saying there was a way to fix it?" He rolled his eyes to the sky and continued, lost in memory. "There was no way I was going to do anything but try."

"You might've done it for me, Mr. Stark," Peter said, getting the man's attention again. They locked eyes, blue meeting brown. "But you are a good man. I think even if you didn't have me to like push you to do it, you still would've found a way to help."

A wry smile crossed the billionaire's face. "You have too much faith in me, Pete."

"Nah," Peter grinned back. "I've got exactly the right amount."

They stayed there grinning at each other like idiots for a minute before Mr. Stark broke the silence.

"Now tell me, kid," he said, shoulders relaxing, leaning back on his table again. "Why on earth is Friday calling you Mom?"

[plutobutartsy]

i was actually just joking about vega and gavin being divorced with shared custody over caelum but i got a bit too silly and now it's just an actual au i have so uhhhh here are some thoughts

first off, unempowered/no magic au + no angst only fun bc caelum deserves it (and so do i)

i think gavin and vega only got divorced because after moving in with each other they noticed each other's annoying habits and just went "fuck no, i can't live with this guy forever"

nothing major just like,,

gavin taking REALLY long showers until all the hot water is gone

vega putting his dirty dishes in the sink instead of directly into the dishwasher

stuff like that

they both just got hit with a magnitude 8 ick on the richter scale and because they're both petty and dramatic they decided living seperately wasn't enough so they just HAD to get a divorce

so technically they're not on bad terms but again, they're just really petty so they bicker a lot and bring up dumb shit the other did for no reason other than to be annoying

they keep the fighting at a minimum in front of caelum (even though it's not really serious)

but once caelum is out of the room?? oh boy

they're 100% the type to kick each other under the table

they also definitely try to one up each other

constant debates on who the favourite is

@super-trouper-lights suggested freelancer as daycare worker but i think caelum is a bit older so they're his grade school teacher :)

they have an enormous amount of drawings the kids made them and caelum is deffo the one who makes the most

they try to hang all of the drawingd up in the classroom but once they run out of space they take some older ones down to keep them safe in a binder (more like multiple binders lol)

some of their older coworkers look down on them because they're very gentle with the kids, they think freelancer isn't strict enough

jokes on them because freelancer is amazing at their job and all the kids love them

both vega and gavin make time to go to the parent teacher conferences together and gavin is lowkey salty about it because he wants to spend time alone with freelancer

that's why he does a lot of volunteering to help with school events and such

one time he spent a month perfecting his brownie recipe for their bake sale with the sole intention of making something freelancer might enjoy

only for him to find out that they were allergic to nuts and couldn't have any

he was devastated

vega found out because caelum told him and laughed at gavin for a solid 10 minutes

pet works at the local arts and crafts store that caelum insists on going to like once a week at LEAST

after vega met the for the first time he kept finding excuses to go back there, to the point where he had to convince caelum that no, he doesn't have enough glitter and yes, they have to go to the store right NOW

after a month he finally asked them to have coffee with him and they said yes

they started officially dating a few weeks after that <3

and YES vega definitely brags to gavin about being with pet while gavin hasn't even asked freelancer out yet

gavin's main concern is not wanting to make freelancer uncomfortable or to cross any boundaries or god forbid get them into trouble for dating a student's parent

so he is resolved to wait until caelum moves on to middle school (he's slowly going insane)

freelancer actually developed feelings for him as well after spending so much time with him organizing school events but they want to keep it professional and they're afraid they might misread gavin's kindness and passion as him being interested in them

"he's just a really dedicated parent i can't believe i'm making this about myself :("

freelancer and gavin truly are peak idiots to lovers

also, freelancer gets all their supplies for the class from the same store pet works at so they know each other and have gotten quite close over time :)

while freelancer is decent at arts and crafts, they're definitely not good at it (they're the teacher that prefaces every drawing they show in class with "now i'm no ARTIST")

pet on the other hand is really good at all artsy things

name a medium and they're good at it i gurantee it

so naturally caelum is amazed by them and always wants them to show him how to make certain things

vega always just wants to watch but pet and caelum talk him into joining them and he literally sucks at most of it lol

the only thing he's good at when it comes to art is folding paper boats and airplanes

pet also makes their own jewellery

at this point they made so much for vega that he pretty much exclusively wears stuff they made

ofc caelum also gets his own jewellery

he makes them friendship bracelets in return

they have a ton of them and wear a different one every day

this is a lot longer than i intended so i'll wrap it up here but if anyone has any thoughts on this please share :D

psst there's a part 2 now 👀

[mad-scientist-enthusiast]

"The Haunted Flesh Machine"

@plaguedghosts @iwrotesomeofitdown @notjustanyannie

Here is my slam poem. Thank you for the encouragement!

I'd like to preface this by saying it is a poem of my struggles and fears, and this should not be taken as the most mentally healthy or even correct writing.

CW: discussion of disordered eating, slight suicidal ideation, a little bit of internalized ableism

I’m losing my grip on reality. Each hour of the day slips from beneath my fingertips before I can even close my hand. 

My motor functions are so much slower these days. 

I walk through a persistent haze, going through the motions, but I am never present for them. My body acts on autopilot, but the battery is on low. 

I’m smart—I always have been—I’m an engineer for crying out loud—but I don’t think I can access that anymore. My intelligence is locked behind a firewall in my brain. 

Do you know how insane that is? Being unable to use your own mind? 

All my judgments are tinted because the brightness is turned down. I think my brain is in battery-saver mode. 

The fatigue is the worst because I can feel it all throughout my body. No amount of sleep seems to recharge me. I am perpetually tired and confused and dizzy and unaware. 

I’m sure my eating habits don’t help. I’m just putting water in my gas tank. No amount of Fanta Orange and Lucky Charms is going to make up for the entire sections of the food pyramid I am missing. I try to start my brain up, but water isn’t quite nearly as combustible, and I end up with no output. 

I want to be in control. I want my body to work. I don’t want my vision to get darker with every step I take. 

Another day, another near-emergency. My heart beats too fast, my blood pressure falls too low. Sometimes presyncope lasts for longer than it needs to. 

Sometimes I change colors like a chameleon on its deathbed. 

My code is flagging for errors, but I’m running it anyway. 

I think my computer is getting overheated. My face is hot to the touch. 

If this was the Victorian Era, my symptoms would be romanticized. There’s something poetic about wasting away. 

I fear that I’m getting weaker by the week. 

Another day, another new problem. Which diagnosis does it fit under? I’m too tired to make a spreadsheet, not that I could log it if I did. 

What month is it anyway? How many months have I been here? It seems like an eternity when I’m in pain, but time passes too quickly when I’m not. 

I haven’t taken my meds in a while. I’ve given up on them working. Neglect is also a form of control. 

I’m rotting inside. I’m rotting in my bed. I hardly leave my bed, but when was the last time I slept? 

Surely this will have no repercussions. 

I’m smart for a day, so my expectations are high, and as a result, my workload is too. I’m a workaholic on the days I’m present at all. 

That’s who they see when they look at me. They don’t see that I’m sick. They don’t connect the dots on the days I wear a little less makeup than usual. 

They don’t even bother to look. 

I’m fighting for control over my mind and my body, and they are none the wiser. 

If I were underweight, maybe they’d care a little. Maybe they’d treat me with a little more care. It’s easier to tell when something is wrong when you’re underweight. 

I could collapse in the middle of a busy street and no one would even give it a second glance. They might even walk over me, thinking I was part of the sidewalk. 

On the off chance they did see, what a shame it would be, for the one time I'm perceived, I lack bodily autonomy. 

Is it worth being noticed when you're unconscious? Is it worth it if the one time I am seen is when I have no control over whether my mouth is hanging open or my shirt is riding up? I've spent so long meticulously curating the way I look to others, just to be totally helpless when it matters. 

I can change my wallpaper but that doesn't make my phone work any better. And people don't see the wallpaper first, they see the cracks in the screen. 

Sometimes I am conscious but not responsive. I lie like a corpse, observing, but not interacting as they crowd around me. Observing as they look at me. 

They could not provide the help I need. 

They only see me when I'm outside my body—a freakshow display of my vulnerability. 

Maybe if I hit my head next time, I'll reboot. I could use a factory reset. 

I often think of what it would be like to have a better brain. I think mine is haunted. 

Do you have to be dead to be a spirit? 

My head is possessed by a ghost that lurks in my nerves tissue and flesh. I hear it wail whenever I move, mourning a loss I cannot understand. 

A restless spirit leads to a restless night, and each night I can't sleep I blame the ghost. 

I wish sleep could fix me. I'm so tired all the time. 

The ghost must be what powers my perpetual motion machine. Inertia isn’t enough. I keep going and going until eventually I explode. 

I don’t think I’ll make it to my 40’s. 

My body will break itself down until it can digest me, and I’ll eat myself like an ouroboros. 

I don’t want to die, I just want to rest. 

If I sleep for a good year, maybe I’ll feel human again. I would like to feel human again. 

I dream that one day I will collapse, and people will rush me to the hospital. There, the doctors will find out exactly what is wrong with me, and that it can be treated by taking a pill. And then, I get better. 

My face will look a little softer, my eyes a little less heavy. I’ll walk everywhere I go, and I’ll stand up in the mornings. 

Maybe food will be less of a battle when I’m healthy. 

Maybe I’ll burn in the atmosphere before I crash down to earth. 

Right now, my collision course is set toward hospitals, tubes, and wires. I’ll only have to sign away my autonomy when I check-in. 

Is there early prevention for a trojan virus? 

Did I ever have a chance? Fated to keep running on empty until there’s nothing left to run. 

I have no salvation, I am just a machine. 

There is no happy ending for me.

[europa-ganymede]

Light at the end of a very long tunnel

As you may know, shit has been going literally sideways for me for the past couple weeks now (months, actually). I had been so depressed and upset about it all.

I’ve had really very bad luck with trying to find anyone to even come out to look at my house before another rain storm (my gutter issue was unresolved). We had a very dry spring, unusually dry. So, I didn’t have much rain to even worry aobut until the end of June/beginning of July. And Maryland does this cute thing now where when it “rains” it means a drenching downpour of 4″ of rain in an hour. On Sunday, in rained for 20 minutes and we got 2″ of rain. We were running through towels to try to soak up the water that was coming in from the window and flowing under the radiator. I felt bad for me, for my son, for my house.. I cried A LOT over the weekend. Like on and off just sobbing. I talked to so many companies, so many of them didn’t give a shit if I lived or died, if my house flooded, it was more or less like “sorry lady not my problem”. They wanted to upcharge me $100 to even send someone this week... I’ve been pretty broke after all this shit happening so I don’t have the money to just throw at upcharge fees.

I got a missed call Tuesday morning from the guys who I’d used in the past to clean my gutter, his name is Ray. I was so relieved to hear from him. Ray  literally made my entire year because of how kind and generous he’s been with me at a VERY excessively stressful time in my life. There are things going on with me that I can’t even discuss or type to a public audience so just know it’s way deeper than anything surface level... but I just got a much needed gutter replacement from a man who did this work for so, so much less than I could ever find anywhere else. When I say he gave me the deal of a lifetime, he did. He came out, made time, went out of his way to get it done before any other rain storms... he clearly cared. He told me he was inundated with calls and referrals but he wanted to get to me as soon as possible so my “house didn’t crumble”. I told him how we had spent money renting a truck and ladder, spent money on another company to come out and $300 later I was still no closer to a solution. He said “let’s replace it, I’m more than happy to do it”. He quoted me an INSANELY low amount. He refused extra money. I feel very lucky to have been able to know him when I needed him. He did an excellent job and now I have a new 6″ aluminum gutter, upgraded downspout, leaf guard and he installed a fascia board so the gutter is affixed to my house securely and not hanging off the roofing material like before... he said “it’s secure, going nowhere I promise”. This little Turkish man is an ANGEL. I thanked him so many times, I was preparing myself to have to take a loan from my sister for a grand at least and pay her back incrementally. He took pictures and videos to show me exactly what was happening - sent them to me and everything. He’s such a kind soul I hope each side of his pillow is cool, he always merges easily on the highway and he has lots of business for years to come. Honestly.

Ray restored a bit of my faith in humanity. I left him reviews on all major sites to sing his praises.

I’m grappling a little bit on what to do. I want to properly pay him when I get more money but I don’t think he’ll accept it. Do I just sit with the guilt? Let someone do something extremely kind for me and accept it? I don’t know. 

[project1939]

200 Films of 1952

Film number 178: Jungle Jim in the Forbidden Land

Release date: March 17th, 1952 

Studio: Katzman Corp, Columbia 

Genre: adventure 

Director: Lew Landers 

Producer: Sam Katzman 

Actors: Johnny Weissmuller, Angela Greene 

Plot Summary: Anthropologist Dr. Linda Roberts goes to a Southeast Asian (?) jungle looking for a race of “Giant People,” who can provide a missing link to humans. Her guide on the journey is Jungle Jim, a man who has spent years living in wild. On the way they encounter unscrupulous ivory hunters, hippos, panthers, and all manner of dangers. 

My Rating (out of five stars): *¾  

Wheew, where can I start with this one? First, it must be made clear that this is a short and cheap “programmer” meant to play before the feature film. Everything about it is low grade. It’s baaad. But it’s also one of the more entertaining bad films I’ve seen for the project. Would I recommend watching it? No, unless you just fast forward until you get to some of the insane special effects! (minor spoilers)

The Good: 

Angela Greene as Dr. Roberts. She was by far the best actor in the ensemble- everyone else made her look like Bette Davis or Ethel Barrymore. She was very lovely to look at as well, and they put her in jodhpurs, which always make me weak in the knees! 

It wasn’t boring at least! 

The special effects! OMG, they were so bad they were hilarious. I had to pause the film more than once because I couldn’t stop laughing. When I was in high school, my friends and I made movies, and I kid you not, some of our special effects on a budget of less than $50 looked comparable. 

The fictional name of the location in the film was Wasabi. I’m sure most Americans in 1952 would have had no other association with the word, but it made me laugh. 

The Bad: 

Weissmuller’s acting. When he played Tarzan, his stiffness wasn’t as noticeable because he spoke few words in very broken English. Here, it was painfully obvious that he just could not act. It sounded like he was reading a textbook in front of a class. It was kind of charming at times, though. 

The Giant People! Oh my gawd, what a letdown! The film spent a large portion of its running time building up these mysterious beings, so when they finally appeared I was like, “Wait, WHAT?” They were barely more than 6 feet tall, and they were clearly just people draped in fur wearing werewolf/sasquatch masks!  

You could tell the poor elephants in this were forced to wear fake ivory tusks. It was sad. 

The native people looked and acted like the worst stereotypes of "jungle savages." Some of them were clearly white as well. 

The plot started out ok, but it became a cluttered mess as it went on. There were too many different crossing plots and different groups of bad guys. It didn’t ever get confusing, but it got frustratingly muddled. 

There was a little too much stock footage of jungle animals. It reminded me of The Jungle, because it lost its effectiveness quickly. 

The black panther wrestling scene! This is at least the third 1952 movie I’ve seen where a man wrestles and wins a fight with a panther or mountain lion. (The Black Castle and Desperate Search are the others that come to mind.) In all of these movies the hero is obviously rolling around on the ground with a big stuffed animal. No amount of editing can hide it, and no amount of restraint can stop you from laughing! 

The hippo fighting scene! Here I literally had to pause the film to catch my breath and stop laughing. I even rewound it to watch it again. Our brave Jungle Jim swims under water and stabs a “hippo,” but I bet I could make one out of paper mache that would look just as convincing! 

The sound effects were as hilariously bad as the visual ones. The growls and screams were especially over the top. 

A clueless chimp running around with a gun is so funny, isn’t it? When he accidently shoots it and runs off screaming with it, that’s a great way to end a movie with a joke, right? Right?  

[maitanii]

[BONTEN HEADCANONS]

AN: I love Bonten, and I wish we could have had more info about the organization. But I know how sad it must have been to everyone there. They were empty and no one accomplished their dreams. These are just my thoughts and headcanons about them <3

my masterlist!

- Ran doesn't sleep as much as he used to. In fact, he usually sleeps around 3 or 4 hours per night. The slightest sound makes his body be on full alert mode. The first thing he does when he wakes up is text Rindou.

- Kokonoi doesn't sleep. He can't. Sanzu gave him some pills so he could just take a nap for 1 hour but he refused. His nightmares are way too real and he knows if he closes his eyes, he will have one again.

- Rindou lives under Ran's apartment. They both decided that they wanted independence but still keeping the security of being close to each other. At first he thought that it was the best thing ever, but after getting inside of Bonten... it wasn't that great. (he sleeps in Ran's couch from time to time).

- Kakucho's apartment is completely empty. He doesn't need any decoration or extra furniture. His futon, a bathroom and a kitchen is all he needs. He doesn't even know who he is anymore, why decorate a bunch of white walls?

- Kokonoi lives close to a shop called D&D motors. What a coincidence.

- I said it before but Mochi is the only executive I can picture marrying someone (maybe it's because I don't know too much about him). He lives with his wife in a penthouse full of security cameras. Sometimes he can sense the sadness in his partner's eyes and thinks about leaving them so they can live a happy life. But now, they're fully into the criminal path in life, and there's no turning back. They know who they are.

- Sanzu doesn't have a daiy routine. Most of his days are a blur and he's only conscious after he kills someone. And its not because he's high all time, but because he disassociates a lot from reality. Sometimes he can't distinguish if something happens in real life or if it was all in his mind. Mikey slaps him in the face when he sees that he's not here, and Rindou brings him a glass of water and something to eat.

- Aside from Mochi, they don't have a love life. Sure they have fallen love or had a crush, but at the end of the day, they're still the same guys who have a sense of loyalty and will to protect who they love. So they chose to not commit to anyone. It's better that way.

- Rindou shared some nights with a woman some 5 years younger than him. She used to make him food and offer him to take some leftovers when he left. He realized he fell in love when he spent a whole night at her place cuddling and watching movies. He finally felt the same joy he did when he was 17. So after he left her apartment the next morning, he broke his phone so she wouldn't contact him again. And he never turned back.

- Kakucho used to frequent a bar in Tokyo because he had business to do with some big guys who owned the place. It was all going according to the plan. But then he saw a waitress being harassed by a man while he was having a conversation and he lost all the concentration. Excusing himself from the table, he went straight to the man and punched him in the face. The girl looked at him with teary eyes and thanked him a thousand times. After he returned to the table, he gave some extra money to the owners of the bar so they can free that girl from the job. He left the place after making the deal that Mikey ordered to him and never returned.

- Ran fell in love with a single mother and the moment he met her kid, he knew it was over. Either he left in that moment, or he stayed with them (and made their lives more complicated). He left an insanely amount of cash with them to pay everything until the kid was 18 and never looked back. Sometimes he lies awake at night wondering about what could have been.

- I'm sorry but Mikey is a virgin. I can't picture him having a high libido while being in such a depressing state.

- Sanzu... he's complicated. Sure he hooks up with some random people from time to time but he thinks he has never fallen in love. And if he did, he wasn't aware that was love.

- Kokonoi only sleeps with blond people. He searches for someone that's not here anymore, but maybe if he drinks more wine, he'll be able to see her face and hear her voice again.

- About their accidents and close to death experiences, they all care about each other in some kind of level. Mikey made clear that their interests come first, but they can't help it. So when someone is shot, even if they have to continue the mission, they know better than to leave them to die. (I don't think this applies to Takeomi tho)

- Rindou was once shot twice while he was on a mission with Kakucho and Kokonoi. They both knew they couldn't leave him to die. Kakucho threw his body over his shoulder and ran to the car while Kokonoi made sure no one was following them. They don't know how they did it, but Rindou arrived alive to the headquarters. Ran didn't speak that night. After he made sure Rindou will be okay, he went to see Kakucho and Koko and bowed his body as low as he could.

[lousyxlassie]

𝙹𝙹𝙺 𝙼𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑

𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝: 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚃𝚘𝚓𝚒 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚘

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘𝚞, 𝙽𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒, 𝚃𝚘𝚓𝚒

𝙰/𝙽: 𝙸 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐! 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!!

➪ Satoru LOVES the beach

➪ he's definitely the type of person who will swim out as far as possible

➪ says he's "becoming one with the ocean"

➪ has mentioned something about being a mermaid once or twice

➪ has had a few lifeguards scold him for going too far but you know he doesn't listen

➪ it's not like he's going to drown anyway

➪ does not tan easily I fear but could you imagine a sun-kissed Gojou?

➪ *muah*

➪ perfection, truly

➪ he still tries

➪ luckily he doesn't get sunburned easily either

➪ also wears above-the knee swimshorts with funky prints on them

➪ and I know he wore a jacket in that one scene but EYE like to think that he doesn't

➪ glasses are still a must

➪ and maybe some goggles too

➪ he'll build sandcastles

➪ yes his are always perfect everything this man does is perfect

➪ and beat you in volleyball over and over and over again

➪ he's even made a wager with you before: loser gets buried

➪ and even though you knew that you were going to lose, seeing how much fun he was having almost made you forget the punishment

➪ but alas, into the sand you go

➪ he packs it DOWN like it's actually hard to move

➪ the man is laughing and teasing you the entire time

➪ "I'm getting sleepy, I think I'll have to dig you up tomorrow"

➪ 100% ate food in front of you while you were buried

➪ don't worry, he'll drop some into your mouth if you beg him

➪ just yell at him a bit to dig you out

➪ and don't ever let him do it again

➪ I think he'd rather be in a pool

➪ or maybe a jacuzzi

➪ with the massage jets

➪ I don't think Nanami fancies the beach much

➪ BUT if you insist on going, who is he to say no?

➪ and he won't ruin the experience for you either like the man truly cares about your happiness okay?

➪ honestly he's probably the type to wear a t-shirt to the beach and never take it off

➪ no matter how hot it is

➪ no matter how wet it gets

➪ it's not coming off

➪ definitely makes sure that the both of you are wearing an ample amount of sunscreen

➪ spf at 100

➪ he gets burned easily

➪ you both found out the hard way unfortunately

➪ skin was on lobster and you spent the rest of the night tending to him with every remedy you could think of

➪ he won't go too far in the water, stops just above his waist

➪ he won't let you go farther than that either

➪ safety first you know?

➪ when he's not in the water with you, you can find him resting under the gigantic umbrella he staked in the sand

➪ he's holding a book in his hand, but every now and then you see him glance up at you

➪ makes a little setup for the both of you with all the food and refreshments you could need

➪ will go seashell hunting with you

➪ he absolutely adores the look on your face when you raise one up to show him

➪ it's cute when you get excited

➪ tugs at his heartstrings a little

➪ he doesn't mind bringing a few home, and will even find a jar to keep them in

➪ I could see Toji enjoying the beach

➪ he seems like he'd prefer to go at night though

➪ but a daytime trip isn't out of the question

➪ especially if you ask him

➪ watching you frolick half-naked in the water?

➪ yes, 1000 times yes

➪ wears jeans to the beach because he's INSANE

➪ like that man is not right I am so sorry

➪ but he does take them off and show a whorish amount of thigh so...

➪ there's not much complaints

➪ he most certainly does notice you staring

➪ and he most certainly does tease you for it

➪ tans nicely, his skin always looks so warm after a beach day

➪ he doesn't get in the water much, and when he does it's never too far

➪ he'll pick you up and throw you though that's not a problem

➪ never where it's unsafe for you of course

➪ when the two of you go at night he likes to have a bonfire

➪ cozying up together and sharing a blanket while the light ocean breeze mixes with the warmth of the flames?

➪ that's romantic to him

➪ he'll tell you a few random stories about his life while you lay on his shoulder

➪ nothing too sad or heartbreaking, he doesn't wanna dampen the mood

➪ he could honestly stay like that all night if you wanted

© 2022 𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚢𝚡𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚎

[watchmegetobsessed]

WILDEST FANTASIES (part 9)

⚫️A/N: i hope you guys didn't think the previous part was the last of the story! bc i have lots and lots more planned for these two👀

⚫️PAIRING: Professor!Harry X Reader

⚫️WARNING: sexual content

⚫️WORD COUNT: 7.7k

SERIES MASTERPOST

The glass of the shower is all fogged up, the running hot water is relentlessly falling onto Harry’s naked back as he has you pinned against the tiled wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, his hard cock buried deep inside you. He is panting against your neck, your nails scratching his scalp as he fucks into you with steady, hard thrusts.

You wanted to grab a quick shower before heading back to your place after staying at Harry’s the whole weekend, but when you heard the shower’s door open and he joined you under the streaming water, you knew this would turn into another quick round before you’re forced to go back to your life and leave the sex filled bubble you’ve created in his house.

You never made it to Zion’s birthday party. It didn’t matter that you had nothing with you, Harry gave you clothes though you didn’t wear them too much throughout the weekend. It’s like a dam has been broken, you’ve been going at it every chance possible, not that you’re complaining. On the couch, in the kitchen, while cooking, after dinner, on his desk, early morning, after watching a movie, in the middle of the night, you have never had this many orgasms in a little over 60 hours.

Harry has spent an obscene amount of time between your thighs too and you’ve had his dick in your mouth every possible chance. The two of you are like horny teenagers, but you feel like you have wasted so much time just skirting around each other, you’re doing everything you couldn’t before.

Pulling his face to yours you kiss him hard and moan into his mouth as you come, your wet hair sticking to your back as you cry out his name. Only moments later, he grunts, his hips smacking against yours a few more times as he comes inside you. You stay like that for a while, both of you trying to catch your breath as the water is still running, then Harry kisses your shoulder gently before putting you down carefully, your legs still feeling like jelly.

You clean up and finish the shower you originally planned to take and then head out together. Harry lends you a t-shirt so you don’t have to put the corset back on, though you’ve had it on another time last night when Harry fucked you in it until you almost passed out from having four orgasms in a row.

Standing in front of the mirror you’re gathering your hair into a ponytail when you spot Harry behind you, leaning against the doorframe as he is watching you.

“Are you stalking me?” you grin at him cheekily, wrapping the hair tie around your hair tightly. He walks up behind you, his arms snaking around your waist as he kisses into your neck.

“I just love seeing you in my clothes,” he murmurs as you lean back against his chest, letting him kiss all the way up your neck. Turning your head your lips meet his and you hum happily, not too keen on leaving.

This weekend you managed to shut everything out, it’s been just you and Harry but that’s not the reality. Because no matter how much you enjoyed being with him, you have to face that he is still your professor and if you want to make it work, you’ll have to be very careful.

Of course, Harry offers to drive you home. He keeps a hand on your thigh the whole time and you can’t help but smile like an idiot, playing with the rings on his fingers. This man, this perfect, hot, smart man chose to be with you. Not just in a casual way, you are his girlfriend. And he is your boyfriend.

It’s insane, but you love the sound of it.

“Do you want to spend the night sometime this week too?” he offers, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him.

“I would love to, but I have a lot to study.”

“You can do that at mine too.”

“So you think you can not bother me for hours? Keep your hands to yourself?” you ask with a cocky grin. Harry purses his lips before peeking at you.

“You’re right,” he chuckles, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze before his hand returns to the wheel as he rolls around the corner of your building.

“What about the weekend?” you suggest.

“I’m going out of town for a conference,” he sighs, just as he pulls up to your place. He parks the car and turns to you with disappointment in his eyes. “So… we’re not seeing each other much this week, huh?”

“I’m sorry, the end of the semester always sucks,” you pout at him and reaching out you rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

“I’m leaving home on the twenty-first, you think we can spend some time together before that?”

“We’ll make it work,” you smile at him and leaning closer you kiss him.

It stretches a bit long, neither of you really wants to part ways, but you don’t have much of a choice. When you finally force yourself out of the car, you already want to jump back in and just go back to his place and never leave your little bubble. But you can’t do that and you have to watch him drive away, leaving you behind.

Both Kostas and Ramona are at home when you walk into the apartment, you see their keys on the side table. Ramona’s room’s door is closed, she is either studying or still wallowing in the bitterness of her breakup. She’s talked to Dean a few times this week, but they haven’t been able to make amends.

The water is running in the bathroom so Kostas is probably pampering himself as he usually does. You use the opportunity to sneak into your room and quickly get changed before he notices that you’re wearing a man’s shirt. When he walks out you’re sitting on your bed in your own t-shirt and sweatpants. With a towel wrapped around his head and some kind of green mask on his face he walks past your door, at first he doesn’t even process that you’re there but then he turns back and stands at your door with his hands on his hips.

“Oh, so you live!” he scoffs, pretending to be mad at you.

As far as he and Ramona knew you were supposed to go to Zion’s birthday, but they found out you never showed up there and started to blow your phone up, but it was on mute so you only saw their messages in the morning. Kostas was about to call the cops and tell them that you went missing when you finally called him and promised to tell him everything later.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to worry you!” you pout at him as he walks in and sits on the edge of the bed.

“So, do you mind sharing where you’ve been?”

Biting into your bottom lip you think back at where exactly you’ve been and you know you won’t be able to lie to him. You don’t want to, you have to share it with someone so you’ll know it’s real and not just a fantasy.

“I’ll tell you, but you have to swear on your grandma’s life that you won’t tell anyone, okay?”

“You have my word and you know I would never mess with my γιαγιά’s life!” He holds up one hand and places the other over his heart.

Sighing you can’t control your smile as you climb closer to him, keeping your voice down. Ramona is the only person who can hear you, but because of her current situation with Dean, you think it’s better if you don’t tell her just yet.

“I’m kind of… I have a boyfriend, Kostas.”

“Good for you, but why is that top secret?” he asks narrowing his eyes at you.

“Because… Because it’s Harry.”

“Who the fuck is Harry.”

“Professor Styles,” you groan, excitement bubbling in your chest that you can finally share it with someone.

Kostas stares at you blankly for a few seconds and you start to second guess if he even heard what you said but then he finally speaks up.

“What the actual fuck, Y/N?” he snaps, his eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them. “You’re fucking your professor?!”

“Yes, but we are like… together.”

“Together? Like…?”

“As in… boyfriend and girlfriend,” you admit and can’t hold back a happy laugh at the end. It still feels surreal to say it out loud.

This started as pure lust, just wanting to fuck the sexy professor, but it has grown to be more than that and now that you know he feels the same way, you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

“You’re not just fucking with me, right? Because this is no joke, Y/N. It’s some serious shit.”

“I’m as serious as I could be,” you tell him, but it’s obvious he is still hesitant whether he should believe it or not.

“Swear on your grandma.”

“I swear on Granny’s memory that I’m dating Professor Styles.”

“You fucking slut!” he gasps dramatically as he finally registers that you’re not just pranking him. “Holy shit! Tell me everything!”

And you do exactly that. Well, you leave some details out, things you know Harry wouldn’t feel comfortable with sharing with someone, but you tell most of what happened. Meeting Niall, finding out who he was, then all the chasing you did just to get to Harry.

“Oh my God, you got balls, girl!” he huffs when you tell him about the time you met Harry at his office before the phone call.

“I know, I have no idea what came over me,” you admit with a nervous laugh.

“Alright, we’ll get back to how you need therapy, now go on,” he urges you to continue the story.

You tell him about the gala, the way the green eyed monster got him to chase after you and how he had a taste of his own medicine when you left with Zion. Kostas drinks up your words like it’s a cup of water he has after a week in the desert. Then you let him in on the little jealousy act that got in the way for a moment and it leads you to this weekend.

“So, now we are like… together,” you sigh, getting to the end of the story.

“I can’t fucking believe you, Y/N. This sounds like a Wattpad fanfiction, I swear!” he gasps, still in complete shock after what he just heard. “So what now? How… How is this gonna work?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“I mean, you can’t just be like a normal couple. You can’t be seen together, have to stay under the radar, that’s gonna be pretty hard.”

“I… I haven’t really thought about it yet,” you admit.

You knew from the beginning that this would be different than dating some random guy, but you haven’t thought about it in details, you were pretty busy with trying to get into his pants, which now has happened and you even went farther than that. Now that Kostas brought it to your attention, doubts and fears start to form in the back of your mind.

You’ll never be like other couples. No romantic dates anywhere near the campus or what’s better, the town. You can’t be strolling around holding hands, kissing, you can’t really take him with you to meet your friends or vice versa. How is this going to work? What’s gonna guarantee that he won’t get fed up with the hiding and secrets? One day, he might wake up and realize it’s not worth the fuss. That you are not worth it.

“Hey, are you alright? You look a little pale,” Kostas snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, um yeah,” you nod, swallowing hard. “But anyway, you can’t tell anyone about this, Kostas. This is serious, it can’t leave this room.”

“I know, I’m not stupid. But can’t even tell Ramona?” he adds, narrowing his eyes at you.

“I’ll tell her. But later, I think she wouldn’t handle the news well right now.”

“Yeah, good thought,” he nods pursing his lips.

He stays in your room for a bit, trying to get you to share more intimate details about Harry, most importantly the size of his dick, but you keep that to yourself.

“You are no fun,” he scoffs, pretending to be mad at you. “I’m gonna go now, I still have some studying to do before going to bed,” he sighs, standing up from the bed. “I still can’t believe you, though,” he points at you, but you just laugh.

“And you have to keep your mouth shut, remember!” you call after him as he walks out of the room and leaves you alone.

An hour later you’re freshly showered, dressed in your favorite comfy clothes, doing some studying as well. You don’t have much left before Christmas, just two exams and one paper to finish, the rest will be after the holidays so you have plenty of time to go through the books and notes. It’s hard to focus on anything when you keep thinking about everything that happened this weekend. Everything reminds you of Harry and you wish you could still be lying in bed beside him.

Checking the time you wonder what Harry is doing now and the thought is so stuck in your head that you end up calling him just to hear his voice.

“Already missing me?” you hear his slightly groggy voice on the other end and a shiver runs down your spine, because this is exactly what he sounded like when you woke up next to him in the morning, naked, limbs wrapped around you. You want to be like that again.

“Did you just wake up?” you giggle, holding a pillow to your chest as you stare up at the ceiling.

“I started grading essays, but they put me to bed, they are terrible,” he huffs, making you laugh.

“I hope it wasn’t mine,” you grin.

“Haven’t read that, don’t worry,” he hums and you can hear it on his voice that he is smiling. “To what do I owe you this call, Miss Y/L/N?” he asks coyly.

“Just… wanted to hear your voice. I do already miss you,” you say admitting.

“I dropped you off just… four hours ago, can’t even go that long without me?” he teases.

“Not after the weekend.”

“Is that so? What exactly happened this weekend?”

“Do you not remember being balls deep inside me, several times? About fifteen, to be exact?” you chuckle and hear his surprised laugh on the other end instantly.

“You are so fucking bold, Y/N!”

“Do you not like that?”

“I love it,” he admits, making your heart skip a beat. “And I miss you too.”

You can’t hold your smile back at his words, but then you remember what you talked about with Kostas. Suddenly, the smile disappears from your face and a worrisome look etched onto your face as you dig your teeth into your bottom lip.

“Y/N?” he speaks up, sensing the change in you right away. “Is everything okay?”

“I’ve been just thinking.”

“About…?”

“What if… what if it’s a mistake, Harry?”

“Where is this coming from?” he asks softly and you’re surprised he is not getting defensive. And guy you dated would have taken it to their heart right away and started a fight and then here is Harry, approaching it like an adult that he is.

“I just… I was thinking, I told you. We are not like other couples, we have to hide for a long time and I’m just doubting if… if we can handle everything.”

“It’s true, we’re not like others and I won’t say it’ll be easy.”

“That sounds very promising,” you mumble, making him chuckle.

“You know what’s promising?”

“What?”

“You and me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to you and coming from Harry it’s just even better.

“Yeah? Is that so?” you hum, a small smile tugging on your lips again.

“Absolutely. Because whatever will happen, I just know that we will get through it. It’s been crazy between us,” he chuckles, making your smile widen, “but I just know that it’s right.”

“Really? You don’t have any doubts?”

“About you? No. I seriously can’t stop thinking about you and this weekend was… amazing, don’t you think?”

“I do. I loved it.”

“See?” he chuckles. “Everything will be alright, what matters is that we want to be together. Because we do, right?”

“I do. I hope you do too,” you add with a giggle.

“If my little speech didn’t prove it, I’m telling you now, that I do want to be with you.”

“So you don’t mind that it has to be a secret and everything?”

“It’s not ideal, but we’ll manage it somehow,” he chuckles.

“I’m sorry for doubting it, it’s just so… new and a little scary,” you admit truthfully.

“Scary?”

“I’m dating the hottest man on campus, that’s very scary.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he replies and you just know he is rolling his eyes.

“What? It’s the truth!”

“So there’s not even one fratboy you’d rather be with, him?” he teases.

“Now that you’re bringing it up, there is this guy I met at a party…”

“You have got to be joking me!” he gasps dramatically. “A fratboy is gonna steal you from me? That’s unacceptable!”

“You’re the one who brought it up!” you laugh, the bitter doubtfulness now long forgotten.

“But I didn’t think you’d actually consider it!”

“I didn’t!” you protest still laughing. “I promise, no one can steal me from you.”

“Good,” he sighs. “I don’t want to ruin the party, but I should go back to grading, I’m a little behind with work.”

“Alright, alright. I won’t keep you away from doing your thing.”

“I’ll see you later right?”

“Sure, I’ll drop by your office,” you giggle. “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Y/N. And hey,” he says before you could end the call. “We’re gonna be alright. I won’t give up on this.”

“Okay,” is all you can answer and hope that it’s the truth.

It’s the last day before winter break and Harry leaves to go back home tomorrow. Both of you have been so fucking busy, you could barely see each other and now that he is leaving for the holidays, you knew you had to make the best out of the little time you have left before he flies out.

Harry gets your text right before his morning class.

Y/N: Stay in your office until six.

He knew the wait would be worth it so here he is, staying in hours after he has finished all his work for the day, just waiting around in his office for you to show up. He’s been missing you like crazy, those few nights you were able to spend at his lately were nowhere near enough to feed his hunger for you.

He is aimlessly scrolling on his phone when there’s a knock on his door and he sits up straight quickly as he clears his throat and calls out.

“Come in!”

The door opens and though he hopes to see you walk in, it’s Nina who appears in his office with a warm but nervous smile.

“Hey,” she breathes out, closing the door behind her.

“Hey, how come you’re still in?” he asks checking the time. It’s going to be six in ten minutes, the whole building is empty at this time on the last day, Harry thought he was the only one left.

“I could ask the same thing,” she shrugs chuckling. “I’m just about to head out and just wanted to drop by and wish you happy holidays and… travel safe tomorrow.”

“Oh, thank you! Happy holiday to you as well. Have a great time with your sisters,” he smiles politely, though he feels too impatient to keep up the small talk right now so he hopes she is not planning to stay too long.

Nina looks around nervously, brushing her hair over her shoulder, saying goodbye wasn’t just the only thing she wanted to do by coming over. She rubs her palms against her thighs, trying her best to calm her nerves and looking at Harry she decides to just go for it.

“It’s a shame we won’t be at the same place on New Year’s Eve, I wanted you to be my midnight kiss.”

Her confession freezes the air in the room and Harry’s stomach drops, but not in a good way, like when he is with you. An awkward tingle runs down his spine as he looks up at Nina, trying to figure out what to say, but he is so taken aback by her words, he just sits there still.

Nina senses the change and she is not stupid, she knows it’s not the reaction she was hoping for, yet, she doesn’t back down, she is ready to shoot her shots this time.

“I’m sorry, this was very straight forward,” she chuckles, tugging her hair behind her ears before folding her arms on her chest. “I must have lost my charm since my divorce. But what I’m trying to say is that… maybe when you come back after the winter break, we could, I don’t know, maybe grab dinner? But not in a friendly way like last time.”

“Nina…” he breathes out, feeling his whole body deflate.

“It doesn’t have to be dinner, you could come over to my place, I could make something!” she offers as Harry stands from his desk and walking around it he stops in front of her and the look on his face already gives out what his answer is going to be.

“Nina, it’s very flattering, but truth is that… I’m dating someone.”

“What?” she whispers, the news catching her completely off-guard because she thought he shared everything major with her.

“It’s new, but… I’m all in with her. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but you and me… I never…”

“You never thought of me as more than just a friend,” she finishes off his thought, exhaling a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry, you are a wonderful woman, but I’m just not feeling that way.”

Harry hates this, hates disappointing someone important to him, because Nina has been a great friend to him and the last thing he wants is to hurt her feelings. The way she is looking at him right now is something he never wished to see.

“No, it’s alright,” she chuckles nervously, her cheeks heating up from the embarrassment. “I’m so silly for bringing it up, I was stupid to think that you’d ever…”

“No, don’t say that. I promise it has nothing to do with you, it’s just that I’m really into the woman I’m seeing…”

“But what if I asked when you weren’t together? That wouldn’t have changed anything, right?” she asks and Harry chooses not to answer, but his face tells it all. “It wouldn’t have, because the problem is not the fact that you’re dating someone. I am the problem.”

“You are not a problem. Don’t take this personally, okay? Please, just—“

“No, it’s fine,” she shoots him a forced smile before backing towards the door. “Sorry for the little scene. I have to go now. Happy holidays!” she rushes towards the door.

“Nina, I—“

She is out of the room before he could get another word out. He sighs heavily, sitting down to his little sofa as he buries his face into his hands. This was unexpected and he knows things will be so different between them now. He didn’t see it coming, at all, but that’s probably because he was so focused on you, every other woman got totally wiped out of his mind. It’s going to be so awkward with Nina now, what’s worse, he is convinced he completely lost a friend.

Another knock snaps him out of his thoughts and for a moment he thinks Nina came back, but then he realizes that he’s been waiting for you all along. Jumping to his feet he rushes over to the door and opening it he finds you standing there, wrapped in your wool coat, a coy smile tugging on your lips.

“Professor? Can I come in?” you ask innocently and he swears he feels his dick twitch in his pants. Holding the door open he lets you walk in and when he closes it, he makes sure to lock it even though they are most likely the last ones in the building.

“Hey, so—“ he starts, but you don’t let him finish.

“I know the grades are decided, but I was hoping there was something I could do to earn some extra points and get an A, what do you think?” As you say that, you unbutton your coat and reveal what you’re wearing underneath and now Harry is sure his dick just twitched.

The barely there mini skirt is showing off every inch of your delicious thighs, a white shirt is covering your top, but you’re definitely not wearing it the way you’d at a job interview. You tied a knot under your breasts and undid enough buttons to give him a glimpse of the red lacy bra underneath. The thigh-high socks are so teasing, he wants to take them off with his teeth, this outfit is straight out of a porn movie. No.

This is straight out of the story you turned in accidentally, the story that started it all.

“Depends on how far you’re willing to go for those extra points,” he answers, clearing his throat, remembering the lines perfectly from the story. Of course he has them all memorized, he read them like a million times and seeing you here in front of him dressed like a slutty school girl, he needs all of his self-control not to take you right away.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do, professor,” you smirk at him, taking the coat off completely and throwing it to the side.

“That’s a dangerous thing to say, Miss Y/L/N,” he growls, but chooses not to follow the script and grabbing the back of your neck he pulls you to him fast and hard, his lips crashing down against yours in a hungry kiss that makes you moan into his mouth.

You grab onto his shirt and press up against him, eager to return the kiss as you push yourself up onto your tiptoes, his hands going down your side, squeezing your hips before they move to your ass, groping you shamelessly, pushing your hips tight against his and you can already feel his growing bulge.

“Please, professor! I’m desperate!” you beg as his lips kiss down your jawline and neck, nibbling and sucking on the exposed skin, definitely leaving a mark behind. You hear him growl against you, his hips buckling forward out of instinct and you realize just how much you’ve been missing him.

With a swift movement, he grabs you by your hips and turns you around, one hand coming up to your chest, palming your breast while the other one is quick to make its way between your legs and he pulls you against his hard chest with his fingers pressing between your soaking wet folds through the fabric of your thong and the tiny skirt you’re still wearing. Your moan rips through your chest, loud and clear, making him rock hard within seconds as his fingers find your clit and he starts teasing you the way he knows you love it the most.

“Desperate, huh? You’re gonna have to work for that A, Miss Y/L/N,” he growls into your ear before he places an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot underneath it. You arch your back so your chest pushes more into his hand and your ass presses against his cock, dying to feel him inside you already, but you will take whatever he’ll give you.

“I’ll be a good girl, professor. I promise!” you pant, your head rolling back to his shoulder, your hands coming up to unbutton the shirt and get rid of it as fast as possible. Harry doesn’t protest, what’s more, the moment the shirt flies to the side, he tugs on the cups of your bra, your breasts spilling out and he wastes no time to get his hands on your pebbled nipples, so desperate to be touched.

With his other hand still working between your legs, he slowly guides you farther into the room, but you’re way too gone to pay attention to what’s happening. Next thing you know is that he sits down into his chair and pulls you with him, his lips relentlessly moving on your shoulders and neck, his hands busy working you up for whatever is gonna come next.

To keep yourself steady, you place a hand to his thigh, fingers digging into his muscles, you start rolling your hips, grinding yourself against him and it drives him crazy in an instant, pushing aside your underwear he thrusts two fingers inside you without warning, his name falling from your trembling lips both as a plea and a prayer.

“We’ll see how good of a girl you are, but first, I want to see you choke on my cock.”

His words barely process when his hands stop doing their magic and he pushes you off of him, forcing you down onto your knees, but he makes sure he doesn’t hurt you. But honestly? He could throw you across the room and you’d still let him fuck you.

Freeing him from his pants and then his boxer briefs, you take a second to look at him, with his hard cock in front of your face, his greedy eyes staring down at you, focused on you and nothing else. It’s a dream come true, even better than your fantasies.

First you rub your hands against his thighs before you take him in your hands, thinking about how perfectly he fits anywhere, in your hands, inside you and in your mouth…

“I’m getting impatient, Miss Y/L/N,” he warns you, but you can hear the hint of playfulness in his tone. Shooting him a coy smirk, you’re quick to lick him up, wetting him from base to the head, giving him a few pumps before finally taking him into your mouth and giving him what he wanted.

Sucking him off is probably one of your favorite things. The way he reacts to basically anything you do, how his body tells it all even when he tries to control himself, you’re over the moon knowing it’s you who makes him feel this way.

“Fuck, you are so good, Y/N,” he moans, definitely falling out of his character by calling you by your name, but you don’t mind it, just give it your all.

You push yourself to take as much of him as possible, the head pushing down your throat and your eyes tear up as you keep going deep, but you’d do anything for this man. When his hand comes to the back of your head and pushes you down so deep that your nose presses against his pelvis and he keeps you down, you can’t hold yourself back from gagging and that’s when he pulls you off of him. Your mouth is smeared with a mixture of your saliva and his precum, but it doesn’t scare him away from pulling you up and kissing you hard. You want to crawl to his lap, but he is quick to divert you from your plan. He picks you up by the back of your thighs and places you onto his desk, pushing the papers to the side, some of them flying off, but he gives no shit as his lips keep attacking yours, his hands moving under your skirt and moments later your thong flies across the room.

“Fuck, Y/N, what are you doing to me?” he breathes out the pained question, one hand holding your jaw, the other one pumping his cock as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“I could ask the same,” you pant against his lips, your hands sneaking underneath his shirt to feel the hard muscles on his abdomen underneath your touch.

“You’re making me go insane,” he whines just as he pushes into you fast and hard, slamming deep inside you without warning. He fills you up so good, you can’t hold back another loud moan and you can only hope no one else is left in the building because this could for sure be heard outside as well. “Shh,” he chuckles and kisses your open mouth. “We can’t know for sure it’s just us,” he reminds you as he starts thrusting, so his words fly right over your head.

One arm hooked around his neck, the other one behind you to keep your balance, you can already feel your orgasm building up, you’re not sure if it’s because of the excitement of the place and the setting or if it’s simply just his charm, but it’s insane. The desk is shaking and creaking underneath you so much, it occurs to you that it might break any moment.

Suddenly he stops and pulls out of you and you cry out immediately, but he pays no attention to your protest. Helping you off of the desk he kisses you hard before turning you around and pushing you down onto the desk so your chest is pressed up against the hard wood, the tiny skirt has completely ridden up on you, but at this point it’s more like a belt. Your ass is up in the air and the sight of you like this got Harry losing his head completely. He doesn’t think twice before his palm meets your ass cheek, the slapping voice shooting through the office and you gasp at the sudden contact, but you want him to do it again.

“Harder!” you moan, arms reaching out to grab onto the opposite end of the desk as he slams his palm against your ass again, leaving a burning sensation behind.

“I’ll give you hard,” he growls, grabbing you by your hips and slamming into you so deep, it knocks the air out of your lungs and he doesn’t give you time to recover, he starts fucking into you so hard, the slapping noises can definitely be heard in the hallway as well.

It’s so rough, so hard, your skin is burning from rubbing against the top of the desk, but you give zero fucks, you just want him to come inside you, you want to hear him whimper your name as he reaches his highest high.

“You like it? You like it when I fuck you hard?” he pants, never falling out of rhythm with his movements. He is holding onto your hips so tight, you can feel yourself bruising, but it doesn’t matter, the pain just adds to the pleasure that’s pooling in the pit of your stomach, growing in an alarming pace.

While he keeps one hand on your hip, he leans forward and moves the other to your back, pushing it underneath your bra, his large hand spread out on your heated skin as he presses on you a bit, pushing you harder against the desk while he keeps slamming his hips against you from behind.

“I fucking… love it,” you gasp out, barely able to breathe normally from the position, the way you’re pushed against the top of the desk and how he is railing you so hard.

As he pulls his hand back, he drags his fingers across your skin, probably leaving a mark, but you don’t care. His palm meets with your ass again before he pulls out and lifts you up from the desk. Both of you are panting heavily as he kisses you and helps you to sit back on top of the desk. You’re desperate for your release, want nothing else than to feel the euphoria with Harry again. You hook your legs around his waist again as he pushes back inside you, his arms wrapping around you to keep you tight against him as he starts fucking you again.

“You feel so fucking good, Y/N,” he moans and you know he is as close as you are. “So good, just for me.”

“Just for you, Harry. Want to make you feel good, please!” you whine, holding your orgasm back for as long as possible so you can come at the same time as him.

“Fuck,” he growls and you swear you can feel his chest resonating against yours.

You come first, not able to hold it back any longer and Harry follows just seconds after. Falling back onto the desk you pull him with you until he is lying on top of you, his head resting on your chest, rising and falling with every breath you take. Swimming in the blissful moment, you just close your eyes and let yourself sink for a bit before pulling yourself back to reality.

When Harry recovers, he lifts his head and starts kissing your chest, but this time he is soft and caring, unlike how he handled you just minutes ago. It’s a nice switch.

“We should get out of here,” he hums pushing himself up and he helps you up into a sitting position as well.

“So, am I getting an A, professor?” you giggle as the both of you get dressed and ready to leave. Harry chuckles before pulling you in for another kiss before helping you get into your coat.

“A plus, Miss Y/L/N,” he answers and smacks your ass playfully.

The building is completely empty, your footsteps echo from the walls and you can’t push down a smile when Harry takes your hand just while you’re crossing a dark hallway, giving it a gentle squeeze. Your heart skips a beat, walking in public with his fingers laced together with yours and even the fact that he lets go of you the moment you step out of the building can’t bring you down.

You are so gone for this man.

“I’ll drive you home,” he softly tells you, nodding at you to follow him to the parking lot. You weren’t expecting to get a ride, but you also knew he would never let you go home on your own in the dark.

The lot is almost completely empty, it’s easy to spot his car. Walking to the passenger side, he opens the door for you like the gentleman that he is, but before you could get inside, he grabs your arm and when you turn back towards him, he presses his lips to yours in a quick kiss. It’s a daring move, out in the public, but he just felt like he needed to do it.

You get in the car smiling like an idiot, Harry shuts the door and he is sitting behind the wheel a moment later. The two of you leave convinced that no one caught you in your riskiest act so far.

But you’re wrong.

Across the street in a black Toyota, Nina Alvarez sat through the whole scene, her eyes glued to the two of you. She saw you walk up to Harry’s car, she saw him kissing you and then saw you leave together in his car.

She did not miss a moment of it.

NEXT PART

Thank you for reading! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed!

[becca4leafclover]

Specifically pizza places I went to when I lived in Italy- those 3 years hold such a special place in my memories, of the best and the worst times of my life. It was the times I was depressed and lonely, it was where I had a genuine community that the rest of American society strips from you. There were legitimate violent threats that were a part of daily life and yet I played Pokemon Trainers on the playground at recess.

I just thought, "hey, what if I base this resturaunt off of our favorite pizza place there?" But our isn't just me or my family- it was us, and four other American families, all with the parents and kids ranging from high school to preschool, who'd go to this place every Friday and usually end up with spontaneous sleepovers being planned over games of Uno (the kids) and Cards Against Humanity (the adults) on a humid summer evening in Naples, Italy

I... really didn't expect, when I checked the menu website, to still be able to read the Italian ingredients as easily as I did. I don't remember much of my Italian, it being faded out for German when I lived there after, or the 5 years I've lived back in America from then.

There was a pizza that one of us ordered so often it got added to the menu: Pizza Pat. That was the first thing that hit me when I read the menu- it was still there. Mozzarella di buffola, pomodorini e salami piccante: buffalo mozzarella (local from the water buffalo raised on the volcanic soil in the area, the LITERAL BEST MOZZARELLA YOU COULD EVER HAVE), cherry tomatoes halved and salami shredded on top. Under the appetizers, there was zeppolini and speedy pollo! Speedy pollo was a local thing for fried chicken sticks- think chicken nuggets but in the form of cheese sticks.

And zeppolini? Zeppolini is my actual favorite food- that I haven't had in over a decade. Fried sour dough made with sparkling water and dried seaweed, rolled in sea salt. Simple, but no other place I've been to serves it like that. Apparently zeppolini normally is a sweet breakfast pastry?? So my mom and I have done various experiments over the years to recreate it, but still haven't perfected it.

When I went on Google Images looking for photos of the roadside resturaunt, instead I found the other local pizza place- they were the ones actually known for the speedy pollo! And I remember going there with my dad the time that we had to evacuate because the mafia planted a cell phone bomb at the car wash outside our neighborhood (a story for another time) and we went there to get everyone pizza as we were stuck outside all day.

And just... I didn't think to ever just- GOOGLE these things before now? And seeing these places feels like reminding myself that it was real. My entire childhood, an American kid growing up overseas with a million different experiences, who spent 10 of 16 years in Europe before moving back to America, that hasn't met someone who's gone outside the country in so so many years now... I didn't realize how lonely it feels to talk about my childhood and have absolutely no one understand what you're saying around you. I have to dumb down the words (it's a parco, not just a "neighborhood!" Two totally different vibes!) or explain a concept (the amount of times people are flabbergasted by why the shopkeepers left and came back during riposo is kind of insane.) And on the flip side, I still feel like I'm the American in the conversation when talking to my friends from other countries, that I haven't experienced ENOUGH of these other cultures to really have a say in it.

Damn, they were right when they said being a military kid made you different. I got the double imposter syndrome, alienation, distrust of the government, and a serious case of hiraeth. And I still wouldn't trade it for a different life, to be honest. I just wish it didn't always hurt so much to know I'm always going to be different.

feeling weirdly emotional about pizza places!

[saintlike78]

A sort of addiction [P.P]

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Navigation | Mailcarrier May

A/N: So excited for the first server collab! Mail carrier May is here and I’m glad to present my fic for this collab☀️I hope you enjoy and remember to check out the rest of the fics and show them some love <3

Pairings: tasm!mailman!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Words: 2.2k

Summary: How do you get your very attractive mailman to come around often? Order an alarming amount of packages, of course

Warnings: NSFW 16+, thigh grinding, Peter being too smug for his own good, mailman au. As always lmk if I missed anything

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It was completely insane and irrational - slightly creepy even - that was all that ran through your head as your fingers finished typing in the last digits of your credit card on yet another website, buying useless items you really didn’t need.

Well, that set was just calling out to you… not at all the thought of seeing the tall and conveniently handsome mailman, right?

Hitting the ‘complete purchase’ button you let out a long sigh, looking over to the mirror that hung on the wall.

“You’re insane,” you spoke aloud to yourself, shaking your head.

You didn’t even completely know what you expected to happen, except for making him believe that you had a slight shopping addiction and that you were possibly insane.

.

Spending money you quite frankly didn’t have had only just become a habit since the post office in your small town changed the delivery route, putting your address on Peter Parker’s route. The first morning he came knocking after the route change you had wanted to crawl into a hole and pass away; having opened the door wearing the corniest pyjama set you owned along with a stupid pair of fuzzy bunny slippers - the look of shock on your face when your usual old postman wasn’t on the other side of the door was enough to put a permeant amused smirk on the tall man’s face for the entirety of the exchange… much to your dismay and embarrassment.

Ever since that first morning you had tried to at least wear something half-decent when opening the door, even if Peter’s greeting each morning was a smug “mornin’ bunny, no slippers today?”

No matter how much time passed the comment still managed to force a heated blush upon your throat and cheeks. He was just so infuriatingly attractive and stupidly smooth-talking - it honestly pissed you off a bit.

Over the weeks you tried steadily building your confidence to at least make your encounter longer than him handing you a package or a letter; it started with offering him a glass of water, then a cup of coffee, a little piece of breakfast - as a pick me up of course - which turned into him coming in for about 15 minutes each day to talk. Sometimes he would ask to see what you had bought, even sometimes to give him a little fashion show of all the new items that were beginning to overflow in your closet.

Peter was pleasant company, but no matter how many mornings you spent with him, you couldn’t get rid of that shy giddy feeling that seemed to overtake your entire being whenever he greeted you with that stupid smile of his and a package under his arm for you.

.

The familiar knock on your door pushed your body from its place on the couch, your feet gliding quickly across the floor to open the front door for the lanky man with a lopsided grin.

“Mornin’ bunny… got another package for you,” Peter smirked a bit, moving in through the door with such familiarity that you couldn’t help but smile a bit to yourself.

“I got us a new coffee to try… it says on the package that the beans are specially roasted,” you smiled, moving into the kitchen to put on the kettle.

Peter followed close behind you with a hum, “wait, you have to show me what you got first. The box is so fancy.”

A small gasp caught in your throat when the memory of what you had ordered sprung right to the front of your mind, the thought setting your cheeks ablaze.

“Oh… it’s just something silly, not really worth showing,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand, moving to flip the switch on the kettle.

Before you could touch the switch, a hand curled around your wrist, pulling you away from the counter, “please! I want to see what it is,” Peter just about whined, giving you a huge pout.

“It’s really nothing, Peter… just some house decor stuff,” you lied, trying your best to sound casual about it.

The look on Peter’s face, however, told you that you in fact weren’t being casual about it when suddenly a small smirk twitched at the corner of his lips.

“Is it like lingerie or something?”

When you didn’t answer, only looked to the side to hide the way your face and look gave you away; but Peter only laughed.

“It is!” he grinned, pulling your body closer to him with your wrist still in his grasp, “won’t you show me?” he spoke lowly.

Your eyes flitted up to his in shock, but you ended up shocking yourself with just how close he had pulled you - so close you could smell his cologne, making your knees weak.

Spluttering words seemed to be the only noise you were able to produce for a solid minute or so as you just kept staring up at him, expecting him to laugh and reveal his bluff, but he only stared down at you with that infuriatingly smug smirk - he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Come on, bunny… - I came all the way here with the parcel, the least you could do is show me what you’ve bought,” he spoke lowly, moving you slowly with him back to the living room where the parcel was placed carelessly on the table.

“-I… are you sure?“ you asked, avoiding his eyes again, not quite sure what was going on.

Peter chuckled gripping your chin to force your gaze on him, “don’t you think I know why you order so many packages? Why you make coffee and breakfast for me, hmm?”

“- And you know what I think, sweetheart?” Peter leaned down, his face only a breath away from yours, “I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you ordered that little package over there.”

The smallest of whimpers slipped past your parted lips - if it hadn’t been for Peter’s face right in yours he probably wouldn’t even have heard it, but that was not the case. A shit-eating grin overtook his bright face as his hand not holding your chin gripped your waist tightly.

A shocked gasp escaped you when his soft lips met yours in the quickest of pecks - so quick you didn’t really have time to actually process that it happened.

“Now, show me what you got,” he whispered, pushing you toward the table and out of his grasp.

You halted a bit, trying to get your mind to catch up with everything that was happening.

Reaching out one hand, you curled your fingers around his larger one pulling him with you toward the package; mostly to calm your nerves - and to make sure he was real.

“You kissed me…?” you stated, even if it did come out as more of a question.

Peter chuckled behind you, snaking an arm around your waist as he looked over your shoulder to watch you fumble with the black decorated box on the table.

“I did. And I’ll do it again when you show me what pretty little thing you’ve bought,” he spoke lowly, lips ghosting over your neck leaving goosebumps to rise over your entire body.

With a little struggle, you finally got your shaky hands to open the box to reveal a mountain of pink tissue paper placed neatly to hide the content of the box. The scrunch of the paper sounded through the otherwise quiet living room as you slowly peeled it off to reveal the black and red lacy set that sat prettily before you.

Peter clicked his tongue before letting out a very pleased hum.

“Now would you look at that,” his hands ghosted over your hips and waist, trailing all around your upper body with teasingly slow movements.

“Peter,” you whimpered, hand reaching up behind you to clumsily grip his shoulder.

His lips had begun a path up your neck, leaving small kisses on their way up to speak huskily in your ear as his hands kept their teasing touch on you.

“Were you planning on wearing that under a pretty little dress like this tomorrow? Perhaps bend over to give me a little taste, huh? Was that your plan, sweetheart?”

You were completely certain he could feel the warmth that travelled up your neck on his lips, feel the way your pulse quickened with his words and the bashful nod that moved your head.

“Naughty girl,” he whispered, his tone so smug you could hear the smirk that adorned his face without seeing it.

With quick movements you managed to turn in his arms, resting your hands on his solid chest, “please, Peter… no more teasing,” you whined, looking at him with huge eyes.

“Alright alright,” he chuckled, bringing you impossibly closer to his chest, “I’ll stop the teasing if you promise to wear that sweet set for me tomorrow.”

You nodded quickly, fisting at his uniform, “I promise… just touch me, please.”

Peter’s face was nothing but smiles as he reconnected your lips - only this time he was thorough with the way he kissed you. The kiss was rough and demanding, sending sparks through your entire being, following his lead blindly, letting him take exactly what he needed. Excitement filled you even more at the thought of the actions repeating itself, it was a promise and you knew he would keep it by the way his tongue explored your mouth and his hands gripped you tight.

With clumsy movements, he backed you both over to the wall pressing your frame against it and pressing himself against you. You gasped into his mouth when the smallest of friction came from Peter’s thigh slotting between your gradually parting legs.

“Grind on me,” Peter groaned between kisses, not taking a moment to breathe - too caught up in drawing gasping pleasured moans from your mouth.

Your hands found their way up and around his neck, gripping his hair to stabilize yourself as you slowly started grinding your panty-clad cunt against him. The cotton fabric was damp, sliding with ease against the strong leg that bounced between yours and your soaked cunt.

“Mmm Peter… fuck,” you whined into his mouth, the movements of them against one another halting because of your interrupting moans and whimpers.

He sent you a toothy grin before moving his head down, attacking your neck with open-mouthed kisses, occasionally sucking a mark into your sensitive skin. His teeth and tongue dragged along your skin, pulling whimpering whines from your parted kiss-swollen lips.

“God, baby, I can feel you soaking through my fucking pants,” Peter spoke gruffly before sinking his teeth into your flesh making you cry out. His tongue came to run over the inflicted area to soothe it.

Everything was too much and not enough at all; your hips frantically picked up their pace, racing toward the end. Peter’s hands glided down your body, gripping your hips maddeningly tight to help you grind against him.

“Peter, ‘m gonna cum,” you moaned, tightening your grip on his hair prompting the most delicious of groans to fall from his lips.

He raised his head from your neck to crash his lips against yours again, soaking up your needy gasps and moans as they fell from you more frequently and higher pitched as you dangled right on the edge of release.

Your body tensed when the pressure in your abdomen finally snapped and sent warm pleasure through you with each pulse of release. Peter moaned into your mouth when he felt you shake in his hold, throbbing and gushing on his leg. It was hard to concentrate on kissing him back when all you could hear was static, sending shockwaves through you.

“There you go, bunny,” Peter grinned, slowing your movements, helping you ride out your release.

You blearily reached down to palm him through his pants, but he was quick to grip your wrist and bring it to his mouth to kiss it.

“It’s your turn,” you whispered, leaning forward to kiss his neck as he had done for you.

Peter chuckled lowly, squeezing your hip in his strong grip, “as much as I would love that, sweetheart, I do have the rest of my mail route to deliver.”

A small whine escaped you as a pout settled on your lips in your slightly hazy headspace.

“Aww, don’t pout, you needy thing,” Peter cooed, “how about I come back later? Then you can get my cock as many times as you want, would you like that, sweetheart?”

You nodded quickly, burying yourself in the warmth of his chest as his arms found their way around your body to squeeze you against him.

“Alright, I’ll come back, as long as you promise to wear that pretty little number for me,” Peter murmured against the top of your head, leaving a small kiss on your hairline.

“I promise,” you sighed, “do you promise to come back?”

He gave your body a proper squeeze before separating you enough for your eyes to meet, “I promise,” he smiled.

You very quickly learnt that when Peter promises something he keeps that promise, over and over and over again.

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A/n: to be notified of future work follow @saintlike78slibrary and turn on notifications ☀️

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐𝘐 - 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙚) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘝) (𝘱𝘢��𝘵 𝘝) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐)

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || the finale.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 3.5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || fluff, angst, implied smut, domestic goodness, more EMOTIONS!!!

six months ago...

Bucky wrung his hands a few times before knocking on your door, feeling his heart beat a little faster when he could hear the sounds of your footsteps on the other side. He'd been dreaming of a day like this for so long— the day he finally acted on this secret obsession he had, the day he stopped fantasizing and started realizing— but all this time, part of him had never really thought he'd go through with it. I mean, there's a pretty big difference between jerking off to videos of dominant women and actually getting spanked, slapped, and choked by a dominatrix after paying her an insane amount of money per hour.

But frankly, Bucky needed a big difference from what he'd been doing. He'd been alone for a little too long, he needed someone else's touch before he lost his mind. And he knew that he needed something more substantial than a hook-up, someone who wouldn't expect him to be dominant at all. Even in a kink-less, vanilla hook-up, there’s still an onus of dominance, that’s what Bucky had realised. He’s still supposed to initiate, to guide, to be fully in control… and he hates how it feels to be in control. He’s not used to it, and it doesn’t feel right, and it just makes him sure he’ll do something wrong. So here he was, standing at your door, hoping you’d take away his freedom to do something wrong.

The latch turned and you opened it.

Fuck.

You looked great. Too great, almost overwhelming. Even better than the pictures on your website.

You looked so much softer than the women he saw whenever he searched up femdom porn (yes, that was pretty much the first thing he did once he figured out google— thankfully he had also figured out incognito mode), but your presence was twice as commanding. Your eyes scanned over him quickly and your face stayed annoyingly stoic.

You invited him in; And since then, you’d had him wrapped around your finger.

Even knowing to a certain extent what he was getting into, he could’ve never prepared for how quickly he’d fall for you. Not that he was exactly new to the feeling, but he thought guilt might eat him alive: because of course he felt awful for developing real feelings for you. You were just doing your job and he was falling into the same trap that probably every dumbass client fell into.

Or maybe they actually knew what they were doing and understood how to separate fantasy from reality. He couldn’t decide which one was worse.

He spent a few hours trying to decide while staring up at his ceiling— certainly a better way to spend the time than being social or taking care of unfinished business, right?

But leave it to you to change everything with just three words. Make me yours.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about those words— or about the way you said them— since the moment you spoke them. He hadn’t stopped changing his mind on if he could really believe you were his or not. He wanted to, more than anything; and in those brief moments he did, he felt a joy that he had no idea what to do with.

He frowned as he turned his back towards the mirror, looking over his shoulder to watch his finger run over the fading scars on his back. They’d be gone for good in less than a week, but he knew you had left plenty of permanent marks on him— just unfortunately not those that anyone else could see. He liked the way these scars looked under your fingertips much more than his; he liked everything about being in your arms.

Since you’d texted him to ask if you could have a serious talk with him soon, he worried he wouldn’t get to feel that again. In fact, nothing worried him more.

He was typically antsy as he waited for you to answer the door— he had been since that very first time so long ago— but this felt entirely different: not as jittery, but a thousand times more anxious.

At first he’d been wishing you’d answer it right away, but then he heard your bolt turn and panic landed on him like a dangling anvil dropping on a cartoon character. Suddenly the last thing he wanted was for you to open that door, to be standing there looking all perfect and shit, to smile at him and greet him and invite him in. He didn’t want it; he couldn’t take it.

But you did it all anyway, though it was obviously and immediately a new situation entirely, compared to every other time you’d done it.

You were dressed differently, still formal but definitely toned down. Nothing sexual, at least not objectively. And your smile, though it still made his heart skip a beat just like always, was noticeably softer and maybe a bit sadder.

He stepped in past you, and you surprised him by sitting next to him on the couch rather than across from him on your chair. “Do you want, like, water or anything?” you asked, breaking the silence for a moment.

“No, I’m fine,” he nodded.

Bucky had gotten pretty good at silence these past few years; it didn’t bother him, in fact he barely even noticed it. But this silence made him remember why everyone else hated silence so much: it was heavy and thick and made him overcome with the need to blurt something out. “Everyone calls me Bucky,” he finally admitted. You smiled.

“Do you want me to call you that?” you asked.

He considered your question, trying to imagine you saying it. “I… I used to think it would be better, but now I like the way you say ‘James’ too much.”

“If you thought it would be better, why did you ask me to call you James?” you pressed.

“Because I didn’t want you to know who I was.”

“I know who you are,” you informed him. “I always knew.”

He swallowed as the pit formed in his gut, glancing away to hide from your gaze. “You did a good job of… of pretending you didn’t. You never seemed scared of me.”

“Because I wasn’t. And I’m not.”

He couldn’t imagine how; but then again, if there was any truly fearless woman, he figured it would be you. “I thought you’d beat me up better if you knew what I’d done,” he admitted, almost smiling but not exactly feeling very happy. “Thought you might want… revenge.”

“Surprised that didn’t make you want to tell me.”

He laughed a bit at that. “Yeah, fair enough.”

You asked him a very different question next, one that made his throat suddenly dry: "Have you ever had something that was all your own?" you spoke gently.

"Not for a long time…" he trailed off, letting his eyes unfocus as he stared down at your floor before finding the courage to look up at you again. “Is that what you wanna be?” he asked, already wishing he hadn’t said anything in case it was too presumptuous, but you just smiled back at him in a shy sort of way.

“Something like that,” you mitigated.

His eyes darted around your face— from your eyes glancing away, to your lips that you gnawed on for a moment, to the little crease between your brows— and he found himself leaning forward before he even realized it. “Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer, you just kissed him first; he was so relieved that you did it, too, that you took control so easily and just let him melt into your kiss. As good as it felt to submit to you, he enjoyed the new freedom he had in this moment as well— the freedom to reach up and grab your waist, to brush his hand over your hair, to tilt his head and deepen the kiss further.

It was hard to define exactly where it went from innocent to sensual to sexual, but by the time you were straddling his lap and running your fingers through his hair, it was definitely sexual.

“I want you,” you breathed against his lips.

“Have me,” he offered immediately, “I’m yours. Always was.”

He breathed in sharply when you moved your hips just right to rub up against his swelling cock through his jeans, making him grip your waist a bit harder. “Good boy,” you whispered. “You’re so good, James.”

He believed you this time, finally.

For your first real date, he took you to Coney Island. Not the classiest affair, and he promised to take you somewhere really nice next, but you didn’t mind. It was jarring to see you in casual clothes for the first time, something summer-y and light which was everything opposite to how he was used to seeing you; but he liked it, and he liked knowing a secret about you as you walked through a crowd of carnival-goers that were none the wiser.

He walked you through the fair and explained how he remembered it, showed you the few things that hadn’t changed much. He bought you a hot dog and even won you a prize at one of the games; that one where you throw a baseball and it measures your pitch speed? Yeah, it’s rigged, but he pitched lefty and it seemed to even everything out. (It’s not cheating, okay? It’s beating them at their own game, literally.)

So with a massive teddy under one arm and his waist wrapped in your other, you two walked through the winding pier, under twinkling lights and over walkways towering over the ocean below. And then you fooled around a bit on the ferris wheel. It was the ideal Coney Island experience, for sure.

Bucky didn’t have a ton of friends, per se, but he was excited for you to meet them. Meeting friends was certainly a step, though; hopefully a step you were willing to take, but he didn’t want to ask you to do it without at least having a title to introduce you with.

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he finally told you.

“I kinda thought I already was,” you laughed.

And so, with more pride than he might have ever had for anything before, Bucky finally got to take you to meet everyone (‘everyone’ being a mix of his friends and his coworkers, who may or may not be his friends because he couldn’t always tell) and say “I want you guys to meet my girlfriend.”

Of course you were amazing with all of them; you continued that tactful “I know who you are but I’m pretending I don’t to be nice” thing that you’d started with him, and everyone seemed to appreciate it. You cracked a couple jokes, everyone laughed.

You lied about how you and Bucky met, or at least answered very strategically. Everyone at least pretended to believe you.

Afterwards, they all said something about how great you were or about how lucky he was. The only thing he ever said back was “I know.”

Now that he could kiss you without breaking any rules, he never wanted to stop. He hardly ever did, actually. He kissed you basically whenever he could get the chance; you two didn’t even go out much anymore because he wasn’t very good at keeping his hands to himself, but you weren’t exactly complaining about staying in. You were too busy kissing him back, and teasing him mercilessly while you were at it, to do that.

You had already found the fastest way to get him needy and begging, not that any way took very long. If you kissed him while you straddled his lap, wrapping your arms around him and slowly grinding against him, he lost it in minutes. And you really seemed to get a kick out of watching him lose it, just as much as always.

It made him realize that the way you looked at him before, in sessions and scenes together, was a lot less of an act than he’d assumed at the time. He just thought you were a really good actress, or that he was really whipped; and maybe the first was true, and the second was absolutely true, but regardless it had become clear that you had it almost as bad as he did from the beginning. It gave him even more respect for how well you controlled yourself, he certainly hadn’t had much self-control at the time— after all the whole ordeal was about losing control, and occasionally about trying to gain it back.

He didn’t ask you to quit your job. He didn’t want or expect you to; but you did cut down your hours, which gave the two of you more time together.

To be totally honest, part of him got a bit titillated to imagine you with your other clients. He didn’t like the idea of other men touching you, but he smirked at the thought of them begging to touch you and being denied; he liked knowing that you didn’t do with them even half of the stuff you’d done with him when he was your client.

But he wasn’t your client anymore. He was your boyfriend, and he wanted the world to know it.

six months later...

He let you struggle to reach the top shelf for a moment, just because you looked cute on your tip-toes with the tip of your tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth, before he finally relented and helped you grab the bottle of rice wine vinegar.

“Thanks,” you smiled as he set it in the cart.

After that you let him grab everything, content to stand on the end of the cart and push you around as you reminded him what else you needed.

“We’re out of Captain Crunch!” you remembered as he passed the cereal aisle, pointing to try to get him to turn.

“Yes, and we need to stay that way,” Bucky explained sternly, “that shit is addictive. Only way to avoid it is to not have it in the house.”

You frowned but accepted that he was absolutely right, though you groaned when he took you to the refrigerated section to stock up on chicken breasts. “I swear, you would eat these for breakfast if you didn’t think I’d judge you for it,” you joked.

“What’s wrong with chicken breasts?”

“They’re just so… bland!”

“Not if you season them right,” he corrected.

“Which you don’t,” you rolled your eyes. “Come on, at least splurge on some chicken thighs. They’re basically the same but so much more flavorful.”

“Fine, but no more making fun of my cooking,” Bucky decided, placing the breasts back on the shelf and grabbing two packs of thighs instead. “I’m still adapting to 21st century sensibilities.”

“Right,” you nodded, though he caught your smile in the corner of his eye— you knew he couldn’t exactly claim to still be as conservative as he was raised to be in every way.

Like any well-planned grocery run, it ended at the frozen section where you got some fruit bars and frozen vegetables (you had this theory that frozen vegetables tasted better in fried rice than fresh ones, and so far you’d proven him right) and he got a pizza to have for dinner in a pinch. When shopping alone before, he always did self-checkout to avoid being seen anymore than he had to… he still did it with you, but he didn’t even think about who might be looking at him, because all he saw was you.

You drove for this trip, and he always felt oddly soothed by riding passenger with you at the wheel. He liked to close his eyes and lean back a bit, or occasionally look over at you (but if he did it too much you complained that he was being creepy and distracting you). It shouldn’t be too much of a surprise that he enjoyed the feeling of you taking control, considering everything, but it was one of those little ways that he hadn’t expected. He just felt so comfortable, so safe with you, and never he felt like he was a burden for asking you to take the lead when he didn’t trust himself with it. And that applied to everything— driving, cooking, speaking up in crowds, all those little things that sometimes made him anxious.

There were some things he didn’t have any trouble being dominant about, though. He was very protective of you, for example, and tended to be uptight about how late you went out for walks or where you should be going alone. And he didn’t struggle to ask you for what he wanted— he was getting a lot better at asking for help, specifically.

He used to ask you to say that you loved him, instead of just saying ‘I love you’ himself, because for some reason it was easier to make you do it first. It started as something he’d beg for in the throes of passion, fingers digging into your skin as his eyes watered (as they often did in intimate moments): please, say you love me— jus’ need to hear you say it, please? And you were always sweet about it in return, of course I love you, James, my good boy, I love you so so much. But then he’d ask you to say it whenever he felt like it— he’d come up behind you while you were reading or cooking or something and kiss the top of your head or the shell of your ear and try to act nonchalant as he asked you love me, right?

You’d laugh and roll your eyes before you answered, but it was, thankfully, always a ‘yes.’ Eventually you figured out how often you needed to say it to make him stop asking all the time, which was probably a little too often.

“I love you,” you blurted out randomly as you turned on your signal and leaned a bit to make sure it was safe to make a left— case in point.

“I love you too,” he answered back with a smile.

“I don’t mind saying it so often,” you added, “but you know that I love you even when I’m not saying it, right? I love you all the time.”

It was a simple question, probably mostly rhetorical, but it hit him harder than he expected. “Yeah, I know,” he managed to get out evenly enough that you didn’t notice he was tearing up a bit.

He put the groceries away while you took the trash out; you liked to keep the fridge pretty organized, and it was an adjustment at first, but by now Bucky had it down pat. Before you, he hadn’t even considered that the contents of a refrigerator could be aesthetically pleasing.

Dinner was leftovers in front of the TV— you two were almost done with Frasier, but after that you had ten seasons of Friends to get through. You had tried to encourage him to watch more challenging stuff— you know, True Detective, Hannibal, dark cerebral stuff with arguably more artistic merit than classic sitcoms— but Bucky had had enough darkness in his life that he didn’t need it in his fiction. Maybe he’d find the time to catch up on the last 80 years of dramas and murder mysteries after he caught up on the last 80 years of comedy.

After dinner you were going to do yoga and Bucky, not in the mood to embarrass himself with that, retired to the bedroom a bit early to read his book— he’d heard a lot about this Harry Potter guy and now that he was on the fourth book and could hardly put it down, he understood the hype. He related a bit to the unwilling war hero in its protagonist; most of the time the series enthralled him, but occasionally something would hit too deep and he’d have to put it away for a couple days. At the moment, though, he was in one of the easy parts where it was just about schoolwork and childhood antics.

He instinctively glanced at the door when he heard you open it— he wasn’t sure how long it had been time-wise, but he’d gotten through quite a few pages— but he only quickly looked up at you as you shut the door behind you, before returning his attention to the book he was reading. “So, Bucky…” you began.

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“James.”

It wasn’t any one thing that got his attention— not just the tone of your voice or the way it got a bit deeper, not just the look you gave him, not just the way the air of the room seemed to shift all at once. It was everything about you that made his body react instantly. He shut the book and set it aside, sitting up straight to look at you expectantly.

And you seemed to notice his instinctual obedience, considering you just barely smirked at him, raising an eyebrow as he spoke his reply: “Yes, Mistress?”

[shingia]

not many people would be willing to be used as a way to prove eren jaeger wrong. but jean kirstein would, as long as he gets something out of it.

CHAPTER 1: PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

↳ series masterlist

↳ cw: mentions of alcohol, swearing | wc: 2.5k

↳ jean kirstein x f!reader

four knocks, always the same rhythm.

that left no place to doubt. 

mikasa stepped out of the bathroom, her hair still dripping from her shower, and she shot you an amused look as she headed towards the door.

it didn’t matter how many times you had told armin that he was allowed to use his spare key whenever he came to join you for breakfast - which happened almost every morning now that him and eren were living in the apartment right above yours - he was obviously still reluctant to do it.

“hi” mikasa greeted the two boys standing in your doorframe, and stepped aside to let them come in.

if armin looked fresh as ever, his hands busy with two cups of coffee, eren, on the other hand, looked like he had not slept in the past 36 hours. which might have been true.

dark circles, dirty hair that he had tied in a bun, probably thinking it would make it better, and red eyes. it was hard to believe that he would be heading to class in less than thirty minutes.

“let me guess” you put your book down on the coffee table, nodding a ‘thanks’ to armin who was handing you the coffee cup with your name scribbled on it, “rough night?”.

eren sat on one of the high chairs surrounding your kitchen counter, the ones you had bought with sasha last weekend. “best night ever you mean” he answered in a muffled voice, his face buried in his arms.

his voice was raspy, the voice of someone who had drank a tiny bit too much last night. already, mikasa was dropping an aspirin in a glass of water that she handed to him. “thanks” he told her in a relieved tone, before drinking it all in one go and slamming it back on the counter. probably muscle memory from the insane amount of shots he must have drunk yesterday. “i told you, you guys should’ve come”, he wiped his lips with the sleeve of his hoodie, “even armin had the time of his life”.

it was almost comical how fast mikasa and you simultaneously turned around to look at your other friend, eager to see his reaction.

“it was okay”, the blonde nuanced eren’s claims as he sank further into your couch, making his roommate roll his eyes, “not really my thing but it’s not like i had a choice anyways”.

mikasa and you shared a knowing look, remembering for how long eren had begged him to come along yesterday, after you two had made it very clear that you would stay home with sasha. eren didn’t seem to understand that you guys might not really feel thrilled by the prospect of spending your evening exclusively around political science students. not that there was any problem with them in particular, but the fear of not fitting in was a good enough excuse.

“i swear you guys are missing out on so many things”, eren crossed his arms, leaning against the backrest of his chair, “but you’re too stuck-up to mingle with the others”.

it was now armin’s turn to give eren a roll of the eyes, and his were much more deadly. ‘here we go again’ you heard mikasa mutter under her breath.

“so what, we’re supposed to be looking forward to getting fucked up four times a week?”, you asked him with a frown. if only sasha had not spent the night at niccolo’s, she could’ve ended this conversation a bit more lightheartedly. but she had, unfortunately. “and besides, we can mingle very well on our own, thank you very much for your concern, jaeger��.

you loved eren dearly, he had been one of your best friends for several years now, but there was something borderline insufferable about him whenever he was hungover.

“oh yeah?” he scoffed, stretching his arms with a yawn, “i’d love to see you prove me wrong”.

maybe your coffee was extra-caffeinated this morning. or maybe it was just eren being an extra-asshole, but something made you reply to his remark instead of just letting it go like you normally would have.

“alright. i will”, you stood up, showing him exactly how serious you were being. behind you, mikasa and armin weren’t missing a thing from your interaction.

“really?” eren stood up as well, with an intrigued smirk; but immediately had to lean on the counter to keep his head from spinning too much - which made it difficult to hold back a laugh, “…what about this: i’ll bet you anything that you can’t hook up with someone from uni in less than two weeks”.

although your gaze was fixed on eren, you guessed - based on the noise - that mikasa was letting out the biggest sigh ever. an understandable reaction, which probably would have been yours if you hadn’t been at the receiving end of this bet. armin, however, could not stay quiet:

“eren that’s not-” he tried to intervene, “i’m sure she can find other ways to mingle”. but he didn't even have time to finish his sentence that you were already shaking hands together.

eren knew exactly what he was doing, and you liked to think that you did too… but when he left your apartment to head to his first class of the day a few minutes later, he also left you with the impression that maybe you had gotten a little ahead of yourself. something that mikasa and armin’s stares only increased tenfold.

however, you had a secret weapon that he probably hadn’t thought of. or rather, two secret weapons. one was named connie and the other was named sasha.

the only disadvantage of studying for the same degree as connie and sasha was that it was getting harder and harder not to share their habit of skipping classes. today, however, seemed to be your lucky day: both of them had attended all of your communication classes, and connie had even helped you take notes, which only happened once in a blue moon.

but luckily for them, you had a reward for their diligence throughout the day.

all three of you were sat on a patch of grass next to the campus’ science building, waiting for mikasa’s last class to end. and it seemed like the perfect moment to bring them up to date on what had happened this morning.

“so… i made a bet with eren today” you blurted out and closed your textbook - which you weren’t actually reading anyways, putting it on the wooden bench behind you.

your friends were sat face to face, playing a card game that you were pretty sure they had invented, and sasha was still eating the snack niccolo had made for her this morning.

“what kind of bet?” connie inquired but didn’t look up, right before slamming a card on top of sasha’s with a victorious grin. she frowned at the realization that he had beaten her once again, but her food was probably too delicious for her to actually get mad.

“i have to hook up with someone from here in the next two weeks…”

your announcement was apparently shocking enough for a slice of tomato to stay stuck in sasha’s throat. used to that, connie slapped her back a few times - maybe a bit too strong to her liking - but this time, he remained entirely focused on you.

“you what? what kind of bet is that?”

“a stupid one, but that’s not the point. we shook hands, so i can’t back out” you told him, and he seemed to agree with the last part, “anyways… i need you guys to help me”.

sasha’s coughing fit was slowly coming to its end, but it seemed like she still needed a few seconds to come around. connie, however, had never been more alert:

“wait- do you… i mean, are you asking one of us to hook up with you?” he ventured to ask, but his confused face quickly turned into a confident one, “because you know… i’m always willing to help a friend out”.

the slap you gave to the back of his head was more than deserved. and he couldn’t deny it, so he simply put his hands up in capitulation. too early for teasing, he thought to himself.

“oh! i know exactly what you need!” sasha finally spoke up, excitedly pointing at you with her fork, and you noticed that her mouth was already full, once again, “you, my dear, need to go to one of porco galliard’s parties”.

you only knew a few things about ‘the’ porco galliard. he was a few years older, majoring in business and management, and a member of eren’s basketball team. but what mattered the most, was that he also happened to throw the wildest parties of the entire university. many people said that your college experience wasn’t complete until you had experienced a ‘galliard party’.

“niccolo told me he was throwing one this saturday. and if there's one place where people hook up with each other, it's there” she remarked, and rightfully so, “maybe he can get us all in!”

“eren would lose his fucking mind if he could” you laughed, remembering how he was always fuming everytime he realized that porco hadn’t invited him, “thank you sash... although i still can’t believe we’re seriously considering this”.

but connie, who had not said a word since your palm had hit the back of his head, was suddenly struck by a flash of genius, and quickly patted sasha’s shoulder to get her attention, as she was already pulling out her phone to text her boyfriend.

“we’re so dumb. we already know someone who can definitely get us in”

a few seconds of hesitation followed connie’s words, but the look he gave sasha let you know that she would eventually understand who he was talking about. and indeed, you could pinpoint the exact moment when her brain made the connection, when her lips rounded in a perfect ‘o’.

a smile crept on both of their faces: “JEAN” they exclaimed in unison, pointing at each other.

you knew jean about as well as you knew porco. the only difference being that he was a close friend of connie and sasha, and that you had seen him a couple more times than porco, but never for too long. actually, you were wondering if you two had already had a conversation…

the fact that your interactions were so scarce could have been surprising, considering how much time connie and sasha spent with him. but then you remembered: jean was ‘that tall guy’ in eren’s basketball team, the one he wasn’t very fond of… so that explained why he wasn’t around more often.

“i’m texting him right now” connie told you, his fingers already typing at lightspeed, “but i’m 100% sure he can get us in, he’s a good friend of porco”.

“management majors privilege…” sasha sighed and laid down on the grass, hands resting on her belly to process all the food she had just gulped down, “but connie’s right. jean himself said he’d invite us to one of galliard’s parties. trust me, there’s no way in hell we’re letting you lose that bet”.

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[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

A/N: If there’s anything I learned from doing this, it’s that vampirerry is an utter WHORE. Good for him!!!! As for myself, I’m done with the semester and my term projects and finals left my singular brain cell fried, so this was a nice way to get back into writing again. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to the anon that suggested it, this was super fun to do! :D

read you’re someone i just want around here

word count: 6k

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Harry is very attentive when it comes to aftercare with Y/N. The sex they have is often rough and includes toys, degradation, and multiple rounds, so he believes aftercare is non-negotiable. Rough sex can be fun, but if it’s not followed by a lot of communication and post-performance support, it can take a hard emotional toll on a person. Even when intimacy isn’t meant to be inherently sentimental, there has to be a certain level of connection and etiquette surrounding it, or it could end badly for both parties involved. He always checks on her immediately after they finish, simply to gauge her headspace and how her body is responding, and after he’s made sure she’s alright, he goes into his usual routine of skin-to-skin contact and gentle coddling. Reassurance and praise is just as important afterwards as it is during, because it’s good to let a partner know that your appreciation runs deeper than just the physical need felt in the heat of the moment; everyone deserves to feel valued beyond their body. 

Harry proceeds to clean Y/N up after every session, because it’s the least he can do since she’s usually the one getting the brunt of the work. He’ll fetch a clean towel dampened under warm water to wipe her clean, or he’ll offer to help give her a bath or a shower— whichever route she prefers. Harry dresses her, and changes the sheets if need be, and tucks her into bed to ensure she’s nice and comfortable. If it’s been a particularly intense session, he’ll go the kitchen and bring back a snack and a drink— a granola bar and a Gatorade, or some chips and her favorite juice, or if she’s feeling especially hungry, he’ll happily go out of his way to prepare her an actual meal— and he insists on feeding it to her bit by bit until she’s come to enough to handle it on her own. If she’s not hungry, he at least brings her a glass of water and urges her to drink it; better to be safe than sorry. After that, more cuddling is the status quo, which normally ends in Y/N falling asleep in his arms, and Harry has absolutely no problem with that at all.  

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Harry’s favorite body part of Y/N’s is probably her chest. Yes, he likes it for sexual reasons— obviously— but there are innocent reasons for his fascination, as well. He likes how responsive she gets when he touches her there— how he can get her going just by groping her the way she likes it, or by using his mouth to tongue across her nipples until she’s writhing in pleasure and whining for more. He loves leaving hickies all over her tits, probably more than she likes receiving them. It’s just so fucking hot seeing himself marked all over her, especially when she’s putting on a bra and he can see all of the dark bruises scattered across the cleavage spilling from the undergarment. Filth aside, he also enjoys loving all over her chest. Absentmindedly cupping them while they’re snuggling, nuzzling his head between them while they’re watching television, massaging them under her shirt with his large palms as she sits back against his chest, sipping a glass of wine and chatting away, unwinding after a long day. It’s a form of intimacy; it provides a type of closeness nothing else can. 

As for his own favorite body part, it’s a tie between two different areas. He loves his thighs— they’re one of his most prominent features. They’re thick and meaty and sensitive, so they’re the perfect sweet spot to touch when he wants to get riled up. Given his previous response, it can be easily deduced that he likes to get hickies there, as well. The marks look great peeking out from under his briefs (for the short amount of time they last, anyways) and they make a great accessory to the large tigerhead tattoo along his left thigh. It’s artwork, really; a proper Picasso. 

His other favorite body part...well, take a lucky guess. It’s likely not that far off— literally, considering it hangs right between his thighs. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Harry’s personal preference is cumming inside. He adores feeling the way Y/N tightens around him when he finally orgasms (she’s just so warm and soft and unbelievably tight; it’s like she was made for him), almost as much as he loves seeing her reaction. Her body will immediately start to wriggle and her back will arch as she releases broken little whimpers, clinging to his shoulders with her nails and begging him to fill her until he’s milked his worth. Hearing her ragged breathing and feeling her sweaty chest stutter against his is enough to do him in, but when she goes as far as to gnaw on his ear and whine a soft little, “Want it all, baby. Want you dripping out of me when we’re done.” Well, that’s enough to kill him all over again. 

Of course, there are times when Harry likes seeing himself all over her, too. On her outstretched tongue, or smeared across her pretty face and plush lips (she looks particularly cute when it ends up all over her eyelashes), or streaked over the valley of her tits, or pooled at the center of her tummy. If he’d been taking her from behind, then he likes seeing it run down the backs of her thighs, or splattered across the dip of her spine. And if she’d been giving him a handjob, then seeing himself dribbling down her fingers is just as good. Why? Because those fingers usually end up in her mouth, which means he ends up all over her tongue, and so the cycle comes full circle. How poetic. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Did Harry suggest wearing a matching set of a vibrating cock ring and buzzing bullet to do grocery shopping once? Yes. Did he drop three glass jars of peach preserves by accident as a result, causing them to have to book it out of the bread aisle while trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, which failed horribly because they were literally hobbling like a crippled elderly couple? Also yes. Did they end up fucking in a Target fitting room? Definitely. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A lot of experience. Tons. Immense amounts. Insane amounts. Two hundred years of the same seven continents just means two hundred years worth of sex across every single one. And it gives you plenty of time to find the clitoris, as well as giving you a chance to learn the female anatomy like the back of your hand. That being said, Harry doesn’t doubt he could make Y/N cum with his wrists tied behind his back and a blindfold strapped to his face. In fact, he’s made her cum just by using his thigh, so that in itself is enough credibility to last him several more lifetimes. The toy chest in his closet and the fact that he’s well-endowed are bonuses— he knows more than enough tricks to keep her satisfied with just his tongue. Not to mention his fingers— they’re long for a reason.

F = Favorite position  

Funny enough, Harry doesn’t have one. He’s spent so many decades cycling through every possible position in existence, it’s gotten to where he can’t pin-point a preference; all positions are unique, and they each have their own appeal. Reverse cowgirl is nice because he likes watching the way he stretches Y/N open with every plunge of her hips, and it also gives him the luxury of marking his rings across her ass in the process. Regular cowgirl is nice, too— having her chest bouncing in his face is nothing short of a divine miracle, in his opinion. Doggy style is a staple, and there’s always different add-ons he can apply to spice it up; for example, taking her from behind with her wrists tied to her ankles, or bending her over the kitchen counter with her face pressed into the marble, or fucking her against his glass wall with her hands and chest flushed to the cool surface as their breaths fog the floor-to-ceiling window. 

Missionary is a tried and true option, and just like it’s prior counterpart, it can be enhanced with a variety of extra tricks. Bondage is a good condiment, against the wall is always a nice touch, spread-eagle never goes wrong, and just having her legs wrapped around his lower back is more than enough. However, he does have two favorite variations of the position. The first is when he mounts her legs onto his shoulders or along the inside of his elbows to open her up more, and then just ramming his hips down at a very specific angle that hits her g-spot just right, pounding her into the bed so hard she tears the sheets off the mattress. The second is a cowgirl-missionary hybrid: he sits back on his heels and uses the steep downward slope created by his thighs as elevation, pulling her ass onto his tilted lap and swinging her legs over either side of his hips. He gropes her waist with his palms and yanks her forward, bouncing her against his cock and watching her completely dismantle as he nudges all the right places with as much speed and force as she deems fit. 

And then there’s fucking from the side, but that’s a whole other extensive conversation he doesn’t have time for. 

Actually, maybe Harry will entertain it for a minute or so. He usually throws one of Y/N’s legs over his neck to get a deeper range, manhandling her roughly onto her side and yanking her closer to his body by her waist, grasping it with stern vigor and holding her down against the mattress, grunting out a gravelly, strict command along the lines of, “Stay fucking still.” He’ll drill into her at a brutal, consistent pace, staining his fingerprints along the curves of her torso and sponging damp kisses onto her ankle, smirking into her skin as he watches her fist at the duvet in a futile attempt at maintaining her bearings. It’s pretty evident that she can’t, though; the way her eyes lull around their sockets from his harsh stride does a terrible job at hiding her lack of self-control, alongside the fragmented curses she gasps out whenever he nudges her g-spot with the head of his cock. 

“Oh, that was such a pretty noise. Did I hit that little spot you like?”

Her response will be begrudging, as always, which he thinks is ridiculously useless considering he can see her burying her face into the pillow to hide how her jaw drops open in sheer rapture. “No.”

“No?” The vampire leans forward, stretching her leg towards the headboard and preening at the garbled squeak that escapes her gritted teeth, plunging deeper as he lowers himself to her level. He knots her hair around his knuckles, tugging sharply until her face is tilted back enough to meet his fiery gaze. “Then why are you starting to shake?

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on the mood, honestly. There are definitely serious moments, but Harry enjoys the humorous ones just as much. He already adores making Y/N laugh and smile on a regular basis, and that desire only grows when he’s buried between her thighs, simply because she just looks so fucking cute laughing with her hair splayed around the pillows in a messy halo, her sounds of glee stuttering due to how sharply she’s jolting against the bed. He loves feeling her giggle into his mouth as he cracks sarcastic jokes and makes stupid witty comments that break the intensity in the air, especially because she’s usually clever enough to return them with some of her own. Then they both end up snickering like idiots as he tries to keep a solid pace, which eventually tapers to a messy, haphazard stride as their laughter drowns out their goal to the point where he has to take a genuine break to collect himself. There’s tons of examples— how could there not be? Sex is hardly ever perfect, so awkward moments are not only expected, but guaranteed. What better way to handle them than with a bit of humor?

There was an incident once where Harry accidentally knocked their foreheads together so hard, they both bruised (which he responded to with, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Cosmopolitan meant when they suggested matching couples tattoos.”). Another time, he got so into the moment he didn’t realize he was jack-hammering the top of her head into the backboard until she brought it to his attention (and made a comment saying it sounded like a sped up version of the beat to We Will Rock You). A bad case of the hiccups. Y/N burping right in his face halfway through his orgasm. A random leg cramp that made him think he was going to need amputation to survive. Accidentally rolling off the bed or couch onto the ground and nearly dislocating both of their spines in the process, getting his cross earring tangled in her hair and nearly ripping off his ear trying to get it out, and the unfortunate collapse of a pillow fort he’d spent over an hour building. He even sneezed in her face once, and when she instinctively went to shove him back, she wound up slamming her palm into his nose so hard he nearly passed out. Nose bleeds aren’t necessarily sexy, per se, but he just dug blindly through her nightstand until he found two new tampons somewhere in that black hole she calls a drawer, shoved them in his nostrils, and kept going. No one can ever accuse him of being unresourceful. 

Queefing. Lots and lots of queefing, which he usually starts mimicking with his mouth, and then she responds to that by whining and telling him to cut it out, and then he takes to mocking her whining instead. It normally finishes with them laughing so hard that Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so big, but it’s a good type of pain. The best type of pain. 

H = Hair (how do they groom?)

Harry likes keeping himself neat and orderly, but he doesn’t enjoy going bare, so trimming is his grooming preference. There’s just something so unappealing about a completely smooth dick— it looks like raw chicken and it’s fucking disgusting. He doesn’t have anything against a good bush, but it tends to get unruly and he’d rather not have to overcomplicate his shower routine. And honestly, he can’t trust himself because last time he had a full front yard going, he got shitfaced and tried to braid it on a dare. Keeping the hedges trimmed is the ideal landscaping option, and it just looks way hotter— a uniform dusting of hair is a good accessory and it just makes everything look more cohesive, given that he also fancies keeping his happy trail thick. It’s all about aesthetics, isn’t it? 

I = Intimacy (the romantic aspect)

It’s no secret that Harry’s been somewhat detached from intimacy for the last two hundred years or so. Intimacy is reserved for genuine romance, and that’s something he hadn’t entertained since before the lightbulb was invented. But now that he has Y/N, intimacy has crawled its way back out from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, where it had been shoved into a bottomless pit with the rest of his trauma. He likes it— he likes opening up to her in any way he can, because sharing those obsolete parts of himself with someone again is more fulfilling than he ever imagined. He likes kissing her randomly when she’s halfway through a sentence, just to feel her words die off abruptly in her throat as she gives into his gentle gesture, a delicate smile spreading across her satin lips. He likes whispering sweet phrases of encouragement into her hair when they’re tangled amidst sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets, reminding her of how much he cares for her and how beautiful she looks when she’s so far gone and how she makes him feel like his entire body has been set alight. He likes sponging soft pecks across the stretch marks along her thighs and across the dimples on her belly, her skin candy and velvet on his tongue as she releases a watery sigh that lets him know he’s doing all the right things in all the right places. He just likes letting her know she's special to him, in any and every way he can. 

Intimacy forges timeless bonds, and he reckons that assumption is unarguable, considering he knows a thing or two about eternity. 

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Harry likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? It’s why he has an entire section of his toy chest dedicated to self-pleasuring tools. Vibrating cock rings, an array of lubes that range from temperature-changing to sensation sensitivity, and a few pocket vags that get the job done whenever Y/N is out of commission (usually because of work). His favorite one is an electronic sleek black model that is made of a premium silicone material and has a variety of massage settings, suction strengths, and internal textures. It’s designed to make the session feel more real, and yes, it was expensive, but self-love is always worth the splurge. 

The beauty of living on his own is that he can get off wherever and whenever he wants, without having to stress about someone interrupting an important step in his pampering routine. He usually does it in his room and on his bed, simply because Y/N’s pillow is close by and the experience is heightened when her scent is swimming around his hazy, bliss-drunken mind. If Harry is feeling particularly needy, he’ll ditch the toy all together and just hump one out against the mattress or cushion. If it’s a particularly restless day, he’ll take a toy downstairs and lazily play within himself on the couch while browsing through Netflix. Those instances usually average a few tamer orgasms rather than a single large one, but he’s not complaining; his stamina comes in unapologetic waves that stem from a never-ending supply, and he certainly has the time to kill. If Harry gets the sudden urge in the shower or while he’s relaxing in his jacuzzi, he won’t bother fetching a trinket; he’ll just stroke one out with his hand, using the cool metal of his trusty lionhead ring to tease the tip until he brings himself to orgasm. It turns out daylight crystals have more than one use. 

There is one common factor amongst all these different choices, though: Y/N is present in every fantasy. And if the vampire is feeling especially bold, he’ll grab his phone and take a video of whatever he’s doing to himself, and then she’ll have a nice little gift waiting for her once she gets out of the café for the day. That usually leads to him receiving a present in return later that evening, and then he’s dialing her contact before the clip is even done playing, and then what he does during his alone time doesn’t require him being so alone anymore. 

K = Kinks 

Harry has tons— in fact, he has so many, he can’t really keep track. And he also has the sneaking suspicion that if he were to ever jot all of them down, he’d end up locked in some type of sex addict rehabilitation center. Bondage is a big one, so he’ll start there. He’s great with ropes, given that he learned his way around them ages ago. Chains are nice, but they can be a pain to set up without the right equipment; he’s thinking of getting a reinforced metal hook installed into his ceiling, like the one in his storage closet, which he uses to keep his punching bag secure. Handcuffs, obviously— velvet-lined, straight metal, fuzzy coverings, he’s got it all. Dominance, degradation, Daddy, Sir, choking, brat-taming, spanking, flogging, slapping— impact play in general, to be honest— spitting, wax, praise, begging, masochism, branding (mild stuff, no molten metal shit), collaring, discipline, dirty talk, edging, exhibitionism, face-fucking, face-sitting (with him on the receiving end), giving oral (is that a kink? It is now.) gagging (both the action and using the actual object itself), breeding (he hates that term but that’s the official name, unfortunately), teasing, voyeurism, role play, and… he thinks that’s it. Oh, and blood, but that doesn’t really count for apparent reasons. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Y/N’s couch is sacred, at this point. Their entire relationship started on that lumpy, worn excuse of a sofa, and it’s seen them through their progression from strangers to friends with benefits to lovers to more. It’s comfortable enough, the dark color hides any explicit stains, and the cushions always smell of her signature mixture of honey and lavender combined with Snuggle fabric softener. It’s finicky, but irreplaceable. His kitchen counter is a close second. It’s provided a lot, taken a lot, been through a lot— through a lot of Lysol wipes, to be specific. If it wasn’t marble, it likely would have been reduced to chunks and rubble by now, courtesy of his enhanced strength gripping the edges as he slams her against the smooth surface. The backseat of his Cadillac is consecrated, as well; there’s just so much erotic appeal to fucking in a car with rock music blaring in the background, muffling the obscene sounds of bodies connecting and a mixture of fever-pitch moans. The couch, the counter, and the Cadillac— the Unholy Trinity. 

The jacuzzi is nice, too, but for the sake of his clever little “c” alliteration, he’ll leave that one as an implied token. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

As much as Harry claims he likes full submission in bed, he can’t deny that he loves being challenged. Delivering punishment and coaxing out an orgasm is so much more satisfying when he has to fight for it; it’s so fucking hot watching his girlfriend try to best him in a power struggle, especially when she finally— and undeniably, since he always wins— caves under his will and winds up begging him for what he otherwise would have gifted her freely. That’s where the brat-taming kink comes into play. He likes it when she mouths off and makes snarky digs, and he enjoys it even more when he tries to set her in place and she amps her disobedience as a result. There’s nothing more attractive than a battle of wits with someone who is a perfect match in every way. And when she channels her attitude into physical gestures, it riles him up beyond compare. For example, when she smirks and rolls her eyes, despite the fact that there’s trails of tears staining her cheeks and mascara smeared all over her waterline? Christ, he could go feral. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No feet, no feces, no beastiality. There’s probably more, but those are the ones off the top of his head.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving oral is great— he highly recommends it, solid ten out of ten— but giving it is so much better. Harry’s always been a giver, even when he was young and barely knew his way around a woman’s undergarments. The stereotypical expectation for a person who is beginning to explore their sexuality is that everything they do, they do for their own gain. It’s a selfish realization, yes, but it’s a primal type of selfishness that no one can truly be blamed for. It’s a simple concept: when you start having sex, you want as much personal benefit as possible. It’s only natural. But from the second Harry became sexually active, he came to find that providing release to his partner outweighed the bliss he could get from letting them pleasure him instead. It’s not direct pleasure, but rather cognitive, which more often than not translates itself physically. And when it comes to Y/N, that euphoria manifests tenfold. 

Nothing compares to having his face buried between her legs as she tugs and yanks at his hair desperately, her chest heaving and jaw falling open as he uses his tongue to unravel her from the inside out. Spitting sloppily onto her folds and hearing the raw gasp of aroused shock that escapes her sore throat, which causes his swollen lips to spread into a dirty grin as he latches onto the sensitive bud at the thick of her core, fiddling with it until her legs are trembling uncontrollably around his sturdy shoulders. Watching her features go slack as he bobs his neck fervently between her thighs, swiping the bridge of his nose across her clit over and over until the entire bottom half of his face is drenched in her excitement. Fucking his tongue into her and feeling her buck against his jaw as she holds him in place with her fingers tangled in his curls, whimpering his name repeatedly in a voice so shattered, he could probably build a mosaic with the fractures. Feeling her drip down his chin and into the collar of his shirt, savoring how sweet she tastes as he pins her hips down against the bed and groans feverishly into her cunt, his ego idolizing the image of her so disheveled under his influence. 

A measly blowjob is hardly any competition to that. Harry could very well cum just from eating Y/N out. In fact, he has, and that in itself is all the proof he needs. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This is one of those other factors that depends on the mood. If Harry has been waiting all day for it, his impatience bleeds into his rhythm, which means he settles for fast and hard. It means he settles for bending her over the back of his couch with one palm around her throat and his other fingers in her mouth, pounding into her with so much force, the sofa starts shifting across the ground. If Y/N has been teasing him endlessly for a decent amount of time, it’ll be rough and deep, but not fast; he’ll drag it out for as long as possible, just to make her regret acting like such a spoiled brat. That’s when he brings out the paddle, or the crop, or just manhandles her across his lap and spanks her until she’s apologizing profusely through her whines. If he’s in a soft, romantic headspace, it’ll be slow and sensual, with lots of gentle caresses, giggly kisses dusted across eager lips and droopy eyelids, and penetrating strokes that make his toes curl and tummy clench. 

Pace is relative, but the message behind it is all the same: I want you more than anything, and I’m going to show you just how deeply I mean it. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are fun, Harry will admit. They’re filthy and messy, and they show just how far gone two people are for each other to the point where they can’t wait to feel one another at a later time; that they need to be together now, or they’ll go absolutely insane. Quickies are saved for when the urge strikes at random times. For when he’s out with Y/N at a park, sitting under the shade with his head in her lap as she combs his curls out of his eyes and thumbs over his chin affectionately, and the sun filters through the tree canopy just right to where it illuminates her lashes and the suppleness of her cheeks in a manner he deems ethereal. For when they’re at the mall, walking hand in hand and licking at ice cream cones as they survey the shops, and she reaches over to wipe a bit of Rocky Road off the corner of his mouth, replacing the stain with a soft stipple of her lips instead. For when they’re out eating dinner and playing footsie under the table like immature teenagers, and she’s trying to steal a French fry from his plate but he keeps fighting her off with his fork because, “I told you to order your own, but you wanted those disgusting potato skins instead!” And she’s laughing so brightly and unapologetically, giving him a look that so obviously tells him she can’t wait to get him alone, and nothing seems quite as flawless as that fraction in time, then and there and nowhere else.

These simple but memorable moments cause him to get love boners, which he jokingly refers to as “sniffy stiffies,” where “sniffy” has to do with being sentimental, and “stiffy”...well, that one is pretty self-explanatory, no? It always ends with them shagging in the car, or in the family bathroom of a diner, and in the case of the park, in an obscure area of the forest that lines the jogging trail. 

Quickies are just that— fast, but meaningful nonetheless, because they come from a place of genuine emotion. They’re fleeting, but unforgettable. Sniffy stiffy quickies, if you will. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Taking risks is the norm in Harry’s life, especially when it comes to his sex habits. He’s proven time and time again that he has no problem riding along the seams of a dare and just barely making it out unscathed, so experimenting outside of the bedroom is just another day in the life. Fingering Y/N in a music room in an antique shop, getting road head during a two hour drive back to Los Angeles, ripping his girlfriend’s panties out from beneath her dress at one of California’s most prestigious restaurants— the list is endless, really. Harry likes to think he has a gift for coming up with inspirational quotes on the spot, so he’ll lend his expertise here and now: “A life without risks is a life that isn’t worth shit.” It even rhymes, so he knows sorority pledges will have a ball putting it in their Instagram bios. A bit of charity work for the bird-brained. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Endless stamina. Literally. Vampires don’t stay tired for long, so he could be ready to go again within seconds. And he can last long, as well; his stubbornness and pride depend on it, and he likes making his partner cum first as an ego boost. He can go as many rounds as Y/N can and more, though he won’t push it. He doesn’t want her to end up in the ER with a bruised cervix. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Harry could run a sex shop from his closet; Y/N doesn’t take the piss by calling him “Fifty Shades” for no reason. He uses them on himself, he uses them on her, and he got high once and tried to sword fight Y/N with a dildo, so it’s safe to say he definitely uses them quite a bit. If his Lovesense Lush 3 vibrator could talk, he’d be drawn and quartered for excessive debauchery. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Harry loves teasing, that’s no mystery. Winding people up is one of his most practiced skills, so of course that would channel into his intimate life. He’s mastered it, though it’s not like it’s hard. A drawn out blink here, or a feathery touch there. An inch of space between his and Y/N’s lips to establish some tension, or squeezing her inner thigh with his palm hard enough to draw a tiny squeak from her chest. Touching her through her clothes, or leaving a trail of wet kisses down her throat and stopping right at her cleavage. Biting the sensitive skin along the inside of her knee, or dragging the tip of his cold nose down the center of her twitching tummy. Lapping slowly at her nipples until they perk up, or sinking a single long digit inside her and keeping it there just to feel her clench around it needily. And once he gets a pattern going, teasing molds into edging, edging molds into begging, begging molds into praise, and before he knows it, he’s hit four of his kinks with one roll of the dice. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Harry is very vocal in bed, and he’s not ashamed of it. He knows for a fact that Y/N loves it, and if him being loud gets her worked up, then he’ll let his throat go out in the process. He’s noticed that in different situations, he has an arsenal of sounds for each. If he’s being rough and dominant, he tends to groan, grunt, and growl. If he’s being desperate and needy, he turns to whines and whimpers to communicate how he feels. If he’s too zoned into the moment to distinguish all his emotions, broken moans and stuttered mewls are his default. No matter the circumstance, they all take the same route: they start low and soft, and escalate in volume proportional to the intensity of the moment. So what if half the building is hearing him orgasm for the third time as he mocks his girlfriends sobbing pleads and calls her his “dirty fucking whore”? Let’s be honest, it’s probably the highlight of their week. He has a great voice— a sultry, deep baritone that compliments his English accent nicely— and anyone would be lucky to hear it spew the filth it does. He’s yet to get many complaints, so he doesn’t intend on stopping. 

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

An honesty hour moment seems interesting, so he’ll confess a few tales from his past. The first time Harry ever went down on a girl, it was against a tree in a garden and he nearly asphyxiated under all the layers of her gown. A couple of years later, he ended up getting oral from a reverend’s daughter against a tree, too, for the morbid irony and associated religious revenge. And to drive the point home, oral was only the beginning of what she gave him. His first decade as a vampire was definitely his pettiest. 

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It’s not uncommon knowledge that Harry’s well-endowed. He remembers how insecure he was the first time he had sex— a shocker, he knows; he was insecure?— and how he knew barely anything regarding sizing and how to use his assets accordingly. But it’s been ages since then, and now he definitely knows his way around his own body (let alone his partner’s), and he most certainly knows that he’s above average not only as a person in general, but when it comes to what’s in his trousers, as well. Harry won’t specify inches— he loves how speculation drives others mad— but it was big enough to give Y/N a decent pause the first time she pulled down his pants, and it’s big enough to leave her absolutely fucked every single time, without a single miss. If that’s not credibility at its finest, then he doesn’t know what is.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Harry’s sex drive is insatiable, to say the least. His vampirism combined with his narcissistic tendencies makes the ideal cocktail— cocktail— for the constant fuse that’s always burning under his skin. He’s ready to go at all times; Y/N just has to say the word and he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he grabs his keys, hopping down his complex’s corridor toward the elevator on one foot as he tries to get his last shoe on the other. Lazy morning sex is probably his favorite; he’s come to find it’s when he’s most pent up, usually after a sleepless night of feeling Y/N’s body heat radiating through all of his cold limbs. It also sets a great tone for the rest of the day, and he just loves seeing Y/N wake up to him lying on his side with his temple resting on his fist, his elbow propped against the mattress as he poses the other on his hip in a theatrical diva stance. He’ll smile at her giddily with all his pearly teeth, dimples twitching as his lashes flutter dramatically, dirty intentions written clear all over his face (“Good morning, hon—” “Wanna have sex?” “Harry, it’s ten in the morning.” “Is that a yes? Because it’s not a no.” “I haven’t even brushed my teeth!” “That’s fine, I’m gonna stick my dick in there anyways.”) 

All in all, his libido is insane, and he’s lucky that Y/N’s is up to par or else he would have worked her into an exhaustion-induced coma by now. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Harry just...doesn't. Maybe once every few weeks, but definitely more often now than before he had his girlfriend. Sleeping just comes way easier when he has someone he cares about resting beside him, their inherent warmth thawing the stiffness from his muscles and putting his racing mind at ease. He feels safe enough around Y/N to let his guard down— both literally and metaphorically— and that seems to help with his supernatural insomnia; it sedates that nocturnal hyper-instinct in his brain that demands he be aware at all times, muffling the animalistic part of him that has been manning the reins for the better half of the last two hundred years. He doesn’t need to be so on edge anymore when everything he needs is just an arm-length away. Especially when she’s usually willing to lend her chest as a pillow, and who is he to neglect her wishes.