#contrary to popular belief he still bottoms /j

[flatsodapop]

❥ it gets boring in the parable

narrator tops stanley REAL (NOT CLICKBAIT) /J /J

[porcalinecunt]

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋. ♡

🎀 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ thinking about aot men who’d be the softest doms ever . . .

·˚ ◌༘͙[featuring] ! ˊ 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐈𝐍, 𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇, 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍, 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐓

cw — fem!reader. size kink (erwin) body worship (jean, levi) praise kink. lots of breedings. edging, fingering, some nipple play (levi) sub!armin (implied)

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ author’s note! : hi hi! it’s been a while since i made an actual post here. apologies! life got busy, but i finally have time to make fics again :D there might be some changes on this account but we’ll see! anyways, please enjoy and feedback is welcomed! 🤍

➸ jean kirstien.

he’s already so much of a sweetheart, so it’s not shock he’s carry that to the bedroom. he’s needy but slow, as it’d be way too easy to accidentally hurt you. the size difference aroused yet made him a bit nervous. (the first time was quite a hassle!) nonetheless, jean gave you the fuckin’ princess treatment every time the both of you would get intimate. kissing every inch of your body while caressing your hips with his large hands. he’d gently lay your down, not pulling away from the sloppy kiss the two of you are engaging in. did i mention that this man is huge? he adores watching you struggle to take him completely, squirming and whining as he stretches your smaller cunny inch by inch.

“j-jean..’s too big!” you whined, watching through glassy eyes as your boyfriend hovered over you, sinking himself deeper and deeper into your weeping cunt. your legs twitch in a failing attempt to keep them open, something jean would immediately notice. “does it hurt babe?” he asked in a groan, hazel eyes carving holes into yours through hooded lids. you could only shake your head as he took it as a confirmation to bottom himself out. your eyes rolled to your brain and your jaw went slack as jean watched in awe. “look at you..taking it so well f’me.” he sighed, slowly beginning to pump you full as ecstasy filled your senses. the only thing you could hear were jean’s sweet praises, telling you how much of a good little girl you were for taking him so well and patiently. your head grew hot as the feeling of his dick stuffing you full began to overwhelm you. “good little girl, always taking my dick so well..fuck you’re so cute!”

➸ erwin smith.

oh my god. erwin. what more can i say, he’s a gentleman in bed! anything you ask for, he will do without hesitation. want him to knock you up? done. want some head? he’s already on his knees. sad after a rough day? he’ll stuff your cunny full until your filled n happy. anything your heart desires, he’ll give it to you with all the adoration he has for you. ♡ even better when you realize how big he is. how he can easily pick you up and fuck you silly in mid air if he really wanted to. even better, how massive his fucking dick is, enough to make your mouth water just by the thought of it.

“e-erwin!” you whined, watching your husband’s face as he stared down at you. a gaze full of softness and love, a stark contrast to how he was treating you. a smile to his wife while fucking her slutty pussy like an attention deprived whore. “how did i get so lucky? what did i do to deserve such a beautiful girl as my wife..” he breathily chuckled, fucking into you at a slightly faster pace. erwin started down at you, from your flustered smile to your breasts and stuffed cunt, every last detail on you brought him closer to the edge. “good girl..my good girl. you deserve every inch i give you..”

➸ levi ackerman.

contrary to popular belief, levi isn’t the mean and rough dom many make him out to be (still adore that levi tho!) but rather, a gentle and passionate type of dom. he’s not the most romantic, but oh boy, when he is..buckle up. this man will treat you like your his final meal on death row, savoring every inch of flesh you have on your body. kissing you from your lips to your clit, muttering sweet nothings while pumping his slender fingers inside your cunny. he sings his praises when he’s balls deep in you, calling you names like ‘princess’ and ‘darling’, anything that fills your stomach with butterflies if its not his cock. your legs are already trembling from his voice alone, not helping the fact his groans are fuckin’ perfection.

“settle down princess, i barely did a thing.” levi carassed your breast with one hand while finger fucking you with the other. all he needed was two fingers and his wrist as he flicked it with a quickened pace that almost forced your thighs shut from shock and pleasure. while your mouth was closed, tiny whines still manage to spill through as your husband’s thumb moved it’s way to your clit, adding to the overstimulation. with his other hand, he tugged and played with your nipple while letting go just to take a gentle squeeze to your whole breast. you’re thighs shook as your orgasms reaches closer and you grabbed the coller of levi’s loose shirt for support. “‘s becoming too much princess? you wanna cum all over my fingers?” he spoke in a gentle and low tone, making you nod eagerly to his question. “How cute, shit—if only I could do this everyday.”

➸ armin arlot.

armin armin armeeen! <3 you already know what kind of man he is. his partner’s pleasure is a priority he takes very seriously, from letting you choose the position to making sure you orgasm first before he spills his seed inside you. he gives you princess treatment even after sex, not letting up until you knock out from exhaustion. he fucks you like your a goddess, hitting every sensitive spot in your while singing his praises. he wants, no, needs to see you cum around his cock as it’ll make the night worth it. he won’t lie, seeing you whimpering and shamelessly getting off to him servicing you never fails to push him over the edge and nearly fuck a baby in you. this man is a keeper!

“t-this good enough for you..?” armin sighed, watching you take in his dick inch by inch until you’ve completely sat down on it. “y-yeah..fuck you’re huge..!” you whined out, grabbed his thighs and trying your best to move while the overwhelming pleasure had you shaking. the blonde placed his hands on the plush of your hips, firmly holding it as he lifted you up from his cock before slamming you back down on it. a yelp tore from your throat, nails digging into the flesh of his thigh and your eyes screwed shut from the sharp pleasure. “right there! armin fuck..!” you mewl as he guided your hips, slamming his cock in and out of you at the pace you desired the most. his blue eyes peered through his bangs as he grew redder and redder from the expression you wore so beautifully. mouth parted open in an ‘o’ shape with slightly arched eyebrows, pink washed over your face with red sitting right on your cheeks. fuck, he was insatiable. “yes..just like that love, just like you wanted. always taking it like the good girl you are. ♡”

© porcalinecunt 💌 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[the-illiterate-pirate]

La Squadra NSFW headcanons because I'm feral ♡

Cut for length (and content ofc)

Risotto

- Literally one of the most vanilla guys you'll meet in the Mafia. Don't get me wrong my man has his kinks but he's pretty bare bones

- Contrary to popular belief he's not a big fan of blood play and doesn't like to mix work with intimate affairs. He does have a bit of an oral fixation (giving and receiving) and really likes saliva though

- His member is pretty average sized actually. I mean compared to this mountain of a man it may look a bit small but trust me, he knows how to use it

- Does in fact have a cock piercing. It's a magic cross, have fun looking that up. Apparently it helps stimulate too

- His favorite position is cowgirl

Prosciutto

- Sleeps around a lot tbh but really wants to settle down with a special someone after leaving the gang

- Honestly I would not trust him with aftercare he thinks it's lighting a cigarette with a glass of (insert liquor because idk wtf Italians drink)

- Super lazy but can be a really good brat tamer if you push him

- Doesn't have a daddy kink but loves being called "Sir" and likes a power imbalance

- Will smack that ass and it will hurt

- Will fall asleep after finishing his glass but will at least offer to cuddle

Pesci

- Dreams of becoming the perfect man in bed. But I mean he's already got 5/5 stars with aftercare so he's halfway there. Like he can be buck naked and shaking but he'll still ask you if you're okay and try to comfort you afterwards

- Has the BIGGEST dick in the group I won't take criticism or notes my man is PACKING HEAT he just doesn't know how to use it (yet) take caution

- Low-key a masochist and likes to be bossed around but can be a little fragile, please be good and make sure to check up on him uwu. If things get too heavy he might try to force himself to do something to the point he ruins the experience for himself :( communication is key with him

- On a lighter note he VERY MUCH enjoys queening/kinging and will gladly let you sit on his face

- PRAISE HIM PLEASE HE'S A GOOD BOY TRYING HIS BEST AND HE NEEDS TO KNOW IT

Formaggio

- Okay yes he likes pet play are you happy. Luckily he's a major bisexual switch so it can go both ways. He likes being your good puppy <3

- STOP GIVING RISOTTO THE SIZE KINK WHEN IT RIGHTFULLY BELONGS TO THIS KING HIMSELF. He WILL use his Stand on you when you least expect it because he's an ass this is your warning

- Like stated before big switch energy, is a nasty dom when he wants to be but will only bottom if you soft dom him because he does not believe in equality

- He FALLS ASLEEP IMMEDIATELY afterwards and he SNORES because he HATES HIS S/O /j

- Also really loves oral and giving sloppy head. Mf DROOLS EVERYWHERE

Illuso

- Likes to act like a bad bitch but loves when he gets pampered like he will melt if you play with his hair

- Another switch (like most of the JoJo cast but whatever) but it's easier for him to bottom because he's lazy.

- LOVES receiving overstimulation for some reason like suck this man dry until he cries he'll be living it up. Safe words exist for a reason and he use it to his (dis)advantage

- VOICE KINK !! All types of noises from you can get him off. With good ole' Lulu it's important to be vocal, tell him how you feel, make noise, dirty talk, the whole nine yards

- Has a little issue with self worth so like praise this baby, worship this baby, he'll be in heaven

- Shockingly? Pretty good with aftercare

Ghiaccio

- Oh my god it's so easy for him to get overwhelmed and he HATES IT I'm begging for your sake treat him gently

- Easy to fluster because he's pretty new to relationship stuff and he'll need you to show him the ropes. You could very well be one of his first, sex is very intimate for him and he'd like to stick with one person

- Low-key bites

- Due to Stand reasons his limbs are very cold, he will use this against you

- I said Risotto was vanilla but man Ghia might take the cake, he's a bit of a stiff when it comes to the bedroom, but that isn't always bad. He likes good old missionary and making sure he takes care of you, but if he's overly stressed he'll give you the reigns for the night

- If all goes well, and he isn't overstimulated, sex actually really helps him relax, he's a lot more bubbly afterwards and likes to stay up with you, talking, drinking water (but not eating anything because he refuses to have crumbs in the bed)

Melone

- Has the WEIRDEST fixation on bodily fluids like I get where he's coming from but WHY

- As smooth as a baby. Everywhere. We think he waxes but we haven't seen proof yet. He's also got a pretty dick.

- Ribbons, ropes, chains, leather, he's a really big fan of restraints as long as there's a safe word and you're both on the right track

- Totally down to try anything, just ask. He's eager to please.

- Yes.... He has a breeding kink. He wants a big family

- Idk what you call it but pls pls pls let him suck on your titties while you jerk him off. He can die happily

- Really likes the 69 position (with him on top)

Sorbet & Gelato

- Buy one get one free, you cannot get one without the other let's make that clear. They're both sadistic meanies and will not let you top

- Double penetration or spit roasting is a MUST

- Being in a relationship with each other for so long they've gotten good with aftercare, Gelato is more touchy feely while Sorbet is all about snacks and vitamins

- Sorbet bites, Gelato fucking claws. They're both very into marking you up everywhere and love the embarrassment they get from you

- They love you, they really do... But sometimes they can get a little caught up in the moment with their own makeout sessions

- Afterwards you all just collapse into a pile of limbs lol

[ebestelle]

Regulus plops down into his seat in his potions classroom with a huff. He can practically feel the weight of the upcoming week on him. He thinks he’s going to be sick. His birthday is next Friday. He can practically feel it in the air—the tell-tale sign of James Fucking Potter.

Regulus’ knee brushes something on the underside of his lab table before his hand even manages to slip under it to check. Ah, his daily gift. He hunches over slightly, obscuring the view of his lap from any wandering eyes, and plucks the sticky note off the bottom of the lab table. He almost doesn’t catch the small flower that had been caught between the table and the adhesive of the sticky note. There in his palm rests a hyacinth. One of many he’s been accumulating since the beginning of the year. The first ones have died already, despite how often Regulus changes the water in their vase on his nightstand. James never fails to replace it with a new one each day, though.

He turns to his note, and it’s an immediate battle with his mouth.

I love the way your hair curls around your face. Despite how very human you are, it reminds me of a swan, or more specifically, its’ grace. The words are scrawled in messy cursive on the front side of the sticky note. It’s pink today. Yesterday it was yellow.

Regulus loses the battle and a goofy grin blossoms on his lips. He glances up at the doorway to his classroom, and there, peeking out from the side of the doorway—is James. Only the tufts of his hair and his eyes are visible, and his brows are raised in anticipation. Just like every other day. Although, some days he runs away as soon as he’s been caught—whether it’s Regulus finding him, another student, or Professor Slughorn. Today, he stays put, blinking at Regulus, waiting.

Regulus looks at him from beneath his lashes and raises a brow, a smile curling at his lips. He can feel the blush rising in his cheeks.

You buffoon , he mouths to James, who just hooks his chin around the side of the doorway so Regulus can see his lazy, but pleased grin. Yesterday, he called him an idiot. Tomorrow, he’ll call him a fool.

James just blows him a kiss, turning to dash down the hall to whatever class he’s supposed to be in. Regulus still has no idea how James knows his schedule, even after all these days.

Every day since the beginning of his third year, James leaves Regulus a sticky note and a flower. Every day Regulus sinks further and further into the pit that is James Fucking Potter.

— Under the Doorway by ebestelle on ao3

contrary to popular belief, i am alive and working on chapter 7 😭

[panda-noosh]

ser•en•dip•it•y {part 1}{Matt Holt x Reader}

Words: 4885

Summary: You and Matt used to be childhood best friends, but that hadn’t been the case for nearly four years now. Whenever your parents insist on going to the Holt family country home for the summer, you may be forced to face old feelings as Matt makes an appearance.

Pairing: Matt Holt x Reader

Notes: p2 - p3 - p4 - p5 - p6 - FINAL; :) :) :) please give me feedback :) :) :)

Chapter 1

   It had been nearly four years since you and Matt had last spoken to each other.

   Matthew Holt. Best friend from before you could even remember; he was just always there. A part of your life for as long as you could remember. Your parents were friends, always around at each others houses, spending the summer together, getting along.

   Until that was no longer the case.

   You didn’t like to dwell on the past. You were older now – eighteen years old, to be exact. You had an entire lifetime ahead of you, meaning there was no point in looking back at past mistakes, if you could even call what happened a mistake.

   The word seemed harsh for the context it was in. Though the breaking up of your friendship wasn’t necessarily a mutual and clean decision, it had happened for the best. It had happened so you could move on, live a happier life than the one promised to you with Matt in it.

    Even as the thought crossed you on the hot summers day in July, you knew it was just you trying to persuade yourself of a lie.

    Matt and you had been inseparable at one point. Attached to the hip, as your mother used to say. He stayed over at your house most days, and on the days when he couldn’t, you stayed over at his. You two took the same classes as you progressed into high school, and you hadn’t left each other’s side in fear of the big kids getting to you. The teasing from your classmates about you two being a couple had been something that the two of you had gotten used to at a very young age – it was like water off a ducks back at this point.

    You remembered those days well. Giggling together in the lunch room as you shared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, you jokingly scolding him if his mother decided to pack him anything other than PB&J for that day.

   “You know PB&J is my favourite!” your seven year old self used to wail, even as you took a largw bite out of the ham and cheese sandwich he was presenting to you.

   Matt would always roll his eyes, never one to feed into your faux teasing. “Just eat, you idiot. Lunch only lasts half an hour.”

    He used to treat you like such a person. He used to make you laugh with his immature jokes that anybody else would have found stupid, possibly even cringed at. You remembered the way he used to crinkle up his nose whenever even he thought one of his jokes was bad, but you would always swing your head back and laugh as if it was the funniest thing you had ever heard.

    That was what made you miss it most of all, miss the friendship; you hadn’t laughed quite like that in ages. Not since Matt and you decided to abruptly part ways for a reason you still find yourself regretting to this day.

    You let out a guttural groan as you push open the door of your home and step inside, school done for another nine weeks as summer slowly impended upon you. Despite it only being early July, the sun was glowering, making a thin crest of sweat coat your exposed collar bones – a fashion choice that had your history teacher sending you glares throughout the entire lesson, though even he couldn’t blame you for your choice of top.

    “Y/N?” your mothers voice called from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

   “Who has the heating on?” you asked in way of response, tossing your school bag onto the bottom step for later.

    “The heating isn’t on,” said your mother. You stepped into the kitchen, immediately feeling your eyes dry up with the unnecessary heat which blasted your face. “I’m making cookies.”

   “Of course you are.” You sighed as you settled down at the table, feeling your bones immediately relax with the new position. Your mum stood by the oven, looking in through the fogged up door with her usual, overly-giddy grin on her face. “Mum, I don’t think we particularly need cookies today. Maybe, like, ice lollies or something.”

   She frowned, turning to look at you over her shoulder. “Who on earth would choose ice lollies over cookies? That’s blasphemous.”

   “It’s thirty degrees Celcius outside today,” you pointed out, swiping your thumb over your top lip where sweat had begun to form. “I think it’s best we lay low on the hot foods for now. Just until it cools down.”

    “You say that, but you’re always the first to suggest a barbeque whenever the sun comes out.”

    You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t call me out like that in my own home.”

   Your mother chuckled as she finally stood up straight, grabbing a towel from the counter and holding it in that strange way mothers often held towels – for no reason at all. It was merely a play thing between her fingers as she started up yet another conversation.

   This one much more interesting than the previous.

   “So, I have some news.”

   “Oh great.”

   “I know this might make you a little bit anxious, given your past history and everything, but me and your father recently got back in touch with a couple of old friends, had a nice little conversation in one of the new coffee shops in the town quarter.” She looked up at you, testing the waters, waiting to see your reaction.

   You simply stared back at her, chewing on your bottom lip, waiting for the news to drop.

    “We got talking about old times, and we’ve all decided to head down to their old country home for the summer.”

   You knew the answer. The nervous glint in your mums eyes as she spoke, the way she looked down at the floor as if your own gaze was going to eliminate her completely. You knew the answer in the way her voice wavered with nerves, knowing you wouldn’t like the mysterious they she was talking about.

   Even though you knew the answer, you asked anyway: “Who are they, mum?”

    She inhaled sharply, gave you a sheepish smile. “The Holt family.”

    You felt your insides begin to reel with a type of intensity you had never felt before. Nerves, confusion, mild anger all mixed into one big pile was slowly grabbing for you, taking a hold of your heart and squeezing it.

   But you didn’t freak out – you were beyond that now. You had matured in the last four years without Matt, learned to put past grudges behind you. Learned to deal with past regrets as well, though you weren’t too sure you had mastered that just yet.

   You closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath. Your mother sighed and sat down in front of you, and you felt her warm hands place themselves on top of yours; it disappointed you that she didn’t take your horrified reaction and cancel the entire thing then and there.

   “I’m sorry, baby,” she said. “I really am. But the Holts were some of our closest friends back in the day, and it was difficult to say no. We don’t even know if Matt is going to be there or not – he was meant to be off for the Garrison this year-“

    “It’s summer, mum,” you mumbled. “He’ll be home. So will Pidge.”

    “Pidge,” your mum chuckled. “Katie.”

    You sighed and ran your hands through your hair, letting your mum’s own pair slide to the table, stick against the table cloth with how warm it was. Your heartbeat was racing, and it took everything in your power not to throw the tantrum of a seven year old.

    There was no point, you were aware. Nothing could change the plans already formed, and you knew it was selfish of you to think that you could get your parents to cancel a trip that clearly meant a lot to them. They weren’t lying when they said they hadn’t seen the Holt family in ages – nearly two years. Colleen and Sam Holt had once meant the world to your parents. You should have been happy for them that they were finally reconciling after so long.

   But there was still that pit of dread that had settled in your stomach – the idea of seeing his face again, of seeing that wide grin and those eyes that seemed to bend and mould with his emotions. They turned into tight crescents whenever he was excited. They seemed to almost droop whenever he was upset.

   You didn’t understand why you remembered these details – you just did. And they did nothing to help your nerves.

   You managed a small smile at long last, letting your hands fall from your hair to land on the table. “I’m – This is exciting. Yeah. We’ll have a great time.”

   Your mothers face softened. “You’re not mad?”

    “Of course I’m not,” you said, and you meant it. You weren’t mad. You were terrified. “Contrary to popular belief, mother, I have matured since I was fourteen years old. I can handle coming face-to-face with an old friend.”

    Your mothers face lit up like a beam. She pulled away from the table and clapped her hands, letting out a squeal of excitement as she whirled back towards the oven where the cookies were still rising.

    “That’s amazing!” she exclaimed. “I’ll tell your dad right away. We’ll be on the road to Mooresville by Saturday morning!”

   It was not the first time you had been to Mooresville, North Carolina.

   In fact, the countryside of Mooresville was a place you had once visited almost every summer with your family and the Holts. It had become a tradition to set up camp there for nine weeks, enjoy each other’s presence, be subdued for a little while to let the stress that school had piled onto you, go.

   Now, as you pulled up to the all-too familiar country house that you had once called a second-home, a shudder ran down your spine. You found yourself clenching your hands in the blanket you had draped over your bare legs, wearing only denim shorts to fight against the heat that was still clashing down on you in this moment.

    The house was big. Big enough to fit eight people within it and still have room for a few more guests. The roof came up in a point, tiled and old fashioned, rickety looking now though it still had that safe feel to it, even from the outside. The walls were made of hard, glittering stone and the front door still held the ‘WELCOME’ sign that you and Matt had designed when you were six years old.

    Your little brother, Jamie, took great pleasure in pointing at said sign and commenting on how he remembered you and Matt hanging it up. You didn’t understand how he remembered; he had only been four at the time.

   “Here we are,” your dad said as he drove into the driveway and parked. You could already see the Holt’s minivan at the side of yours, almost the exact same as the last time you had seen it. You looked at it for a moment before being forced to avert your gaze, act as if you didn’t care as Colleen and Sam Holt scattered out from behind it.

   Your mother and father wailed, throwing themselves out of the car and into the Holts arms. Pidge stumbled out behind them – you nearly lost balance at the sight of her.

    Last time you had seen Pidge, she had been eleven years old. Her hair had been long, her features child like and round. She had worn dresses back then of frilly pink fabrics with bows to keep her long, light brown hair out of her face.

   Clearly, tying it up had gotten too much for her and she had opted to cutting it all completely.

   She looked so grown up now, caught in the body of a fifteen year old. She had on a pair of large, round glasses, and her light brown hair was cut up past her shoulders, flicking out around her head in the way Matt’s used to. She now wore a green and white jacket, a bracelet of the Garrison strapped to her wrist, barely hidden beneath the coat.  

    It hurt your chest to see her. You remembered looking after her with Matt, being almost as protective over her as you were with Jamie. Looking at her now, so like her older brother, made you realise that she had grown up in the past four years, and your protectiveness was no longer needed.

   Jamie was wrapping his arms around Pidge in a matter of seconds, the two of them jumping up and down in the excitement of seeing each other again.

   You had barely even noticed that your family had left you in the car on your own.

   You sighed shakily as you opened the door and slid out of the vehicle. The warm air hit off of your skin, sweat immediately forming on any and all flesh that was visible. The eyes of the Holt family snapped to you and you gave them a small smile-

   Before Colleen’s arms were wrapped around your neck and you were being pulled into her overexcited and extremely tight embrace.

    You forced yourself to chuckle at the feel of her skinny arms around your neck. The laugh was muffled by her sharp shoulder which was uncovered due to the spaghetti strap tank top she had decided to wear.

    “Nice to see you again too, Colleen,” you grumbled.

   Colleen wailed. “Oh, Y/N! You’re so grown up now! Where has the time gone?” She pulled away, cupped your cheeks and gazed longingly at you, as if she had never seen you before. You forced an awkward smile on your face, not wanting to come off as rude but finding yourself immeasurably uncomfortable with being inspected so closely. “God, you look just like your father. You really have shaped into a fine, young woman.”

   “Mom,” Pidge groaned, one arm still wrapped around Jamie’s shoulder. “Please don’t be like this. We said we wouldn’t freak out whenever we saw them.”

    Colleen let her hands drop to her sides. “Right. My fault. I get overexcited sometimes.”

   “It’s fine,” you assured.

   “Matthew should be round in a few minutes to greet you all,” Colleen continued, and the air in your lungs suddenly seemed to have been extracted, leaving behind nothing but a shell of wheezes. You swallowed thickly and turned away, pretending like you were merely looking at the afternoon sun that was shining down on you. “He wanted to call his bedroom before anyone else got the chance to. Something about a ‘great view of the forest?’”

   Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Honestly, for a boy that managed to get into the most prestigious piloting school in the world, he can be very airheaded sometimes.”

    Your mother chuckled, slapping Sam’s arm only lightly. “We all want a decent room to sleep in. Now, how about we go inside and heat up some soup or something?”

   “Mum, soup might not be the best food for a time like this,” Jamie pointed out. Your mother glanced at you. You raised a brow, a gesture that said told you.

   Your mum rolled her eyes, didn’t respond to your little brother before she, your dad, Jamie and the Holt family were heading up the front porch and disappearing into the house.

   As soon as the door closed behind them, you let yourself fall back against the car. Your breathing was ragged now, uneven as you tried to catch it, tried to steady it but there was truly no point any more. You were nervous. Your hands were trembling.

   There was no point in trying to deny the nerves any more. They were there. You hadn’t gotten over the friendship-break-up that you and Matt had went through. You hadn’t gotten over Matt, which was most likely the reason as to why you were currently trembling against your car.

     It had been nice seeing Colleen and Sam and Pidge; you truly had missed them in your years of separation. They had been nice to have around at one time, and had been like a second family to you. Seeing them again had made you feel happy.

   But seeing Matt again may very well be a different story, you knew. You weren’t sure what you were meant to say, how you were meant to approach him. Did eighteen year olds who hadn’t seen each other in four years give each other hugs? A handshake? Should you just ignore him completely and hope the next nine weeks go by quickly?

   It was all up in the clouds. You couldn’t imagine yourself leaning in to give him a hug – not for a long while. In this moment, you couldn’t even imagine yourself speaking to him, forming a coherent sentence. Not after the things you had said to each other before your dreaded split.

    The door to the house opened as if on cue, as if the culprit had heard your thoughts, seen your memories through the window and had come out to join you.

   Your breath left your lungs. Your mind whirled. You looked up at him, could barely keep the shock and the dread from flashing across your features as Matthew Holt stepped out onto the front porch, let his eyes graze over your family car that you were leaning against. Before he saw you, you noticed the hint of his own dread winding itself onto his features – the crinkle of his eyebrows, the way he pursed his lips as if he was silently saying a prayer to some higher being to give him mercy.

    And then he spotted you, leaning against the bumper as if somebody had slammed a hand into your chest and winded you. You stared back at him, mouth slightly agape. Words were there. They were balanced on the end of your tongue, but you couldn’t say them. You could barely find the strength to stand up straight.

    He looked the same as he always had – just taller. And more rugged. Much, much more taller and much, much more rugged.

    His light brown hair was in it’s usual flicks. He wore a yellow jacket over a white top, a pair of blue jeans hanging low on his hips. Even in the scolding heat that North Carolina was being doused with, he still managed to keep the sweat from dripping down his face, even with the coat he had decided to wear today.

    He took a step down off of the porch. “Y/N?”

   You forced a smile on your face, trying not to come off as too awkward, trying to pretend like you barely even remembered the petty fight you two had gotten into the last time you had seen each other.

    “Hi,” you squeaked out, and the plan was destroyed. You sounded like a frightened child cowering away from a raised hand. “Sorry. I didn’t – uh – Is my mum looking for me?”

   Matt was silent for a moment, letting his eyes trail over you before he was dumbly shaking his head. “No. She wasn’t looking for you.”

   You nodded, finally pushing yourself off of the car. “Oh, great then. I guess I’ll go explore.” You started towards the back of the house, wanting to hide behind the trees that were settled there. Before you could go any further than the corner, you turned. “Nice seeing you again, by the way.”

    Matt smiled shyly, still staring at you in mild shock before you turned on your heel and walked away. As soon as you knew you were out of eye and ear shot, you picked your pace up to a run, disappearing amongst the trees of the forest.

    Dinner time whirled around far too fast for your liking.

   Jamie had been sent out to come and find you after you had fled into the forest for a few hours – you hadn’t gone far, knowing your parents would be looking for you at some point. You still needed to choose your room, still needed to unpack your stuff and take your luggage into the house.

    You had followed your little brother into the house, searched for a seat, but of course, the pairings had been made. Colleen and your mother sat beside one another, your father and Sam beside one another, Pidge and Jamie beside one another – leaving only one available seat.

   Next to Matt.

   You hadn’t made any visible exclamations of annoyance or terror at the seating plan. You had expected this. It was what always happened; you and Matt got stuck with each other, and back in the day, that hadn’t been an issue.

   You were determined not to make it seem like it was now.

   You slowly took a seat next to your old best friend and poked at the bowl of soup in front of you. Matt sat rigid, immediately tensing at the feel of your presence beside him. You could smell the faint scent of freshly-mown grass coming off of him. You were surprised by the broadness of his shoulders, a direct clash to the lanky fourteen-year-old you used to know.

      Oh God, what am I doing?

   Sam and Colleen wasted no time in catching up with your parents. They spoke about everything and anything, updated each other on what they had missed in the past two years, how much they had missed one another and how they needed to do this again!

   You nearly spit out your soup – not even one day into the current holiday and they were already planning next years. You weren’t entirely sure if you could handle such a thing.

    Matt and you barely even acknowledged each other throughout the dinner. His shoulder sometimes brushed against yours as he ate, or his elbow hit yours and you would merely nod to let him know that it didn’t bother you – words were a no-go area, apparently. Though you had believed you had been making a decent attempt at civil conversation whenever you had told him it was nice to see him again, all of that confidence had drained now that you were seated beside him with no place else to escape to.

    You laughed when laughter was due. You nodded to the things people said, sometimes humming in agreement, even though you had no idea what you were agreeing to most of the time. You continued to shovel spoonfuls of soup into your mouth, ignoring the sweat that was glistening at your forehead, until-

   “So, Y/N.”

   You looked up through the tops of your eyelids, spoon still dangling between your lips. “Hm?”

   “How have things been with you?” Sam asked. He leaned over his empty bowl, clasping his fingers in front of him. “How’s school been treating you? Any boyfriends?”

   Matt went rigid. “Dad.”

   You shot Matt a careful glance before turning back to Sam. The question hadn’t affected you. It was one you had expected to come from them after so long of not seeing you.

    “No, no boyfriends,” you said. “And schools been good. I’ve been studying psychology and biology for the last year – finished up my first year on Wednesday, actually.”

   Sams eyes popped open. “Oh, really? I always thought you would want to go to the Garrison after high school.”

   “Oh my God,” Matt grumbled. He ducked his head into his hand, shook it before he stood up. “I’ll get a start on the dishes.”

   You frowned as you watched him go. It was clear he was distressed, the way he picked up the bowls as if they had been tacked down and he needed to use some kind of force. He took a glance at your bowl for only a second before he left it sitting in front of you, the spoon in your hand a clear indication you weren’t finished yet.

   Nobody else seemed to notice the very clear frustration that had suddenly seemed to spew out of Matt.

   You turned back to Sam. “No, sir. The Garrison was a little bit too intimidating for me.”

   “Intimidating,” Jamie scoffed. “You couldn’t fly a jet if you tried.”

    “Actually, Y/N was quite good at piloting back in high school,” your mother began, and the conversation adjusted all over again. You fell silent as they spoke your praises, talking about how you and Matt used to go up in the jets together, enjoy the view – you remembered those days vividly, as well, though they hurt to think about now. It hurt to think about all of the times you had thrown away, all the times you would never get to experience again.

    Eventually, though, the day turned to evening, and everyone was retreating to their bedrooms. Your parents, along with Colleen and Sam, had not refused the drink that Sam had brought to the country home, thus meaning you and Matt had to help the drunken adults clamber upstairs into their assigned chambers. You had one arm looped around your mothers waist, one arm gripping your fathers wrist as you dragged them both upstairs. Matt trampled behind you, dealing with his own parents in a much more swift and easy manner – he just dragged them up.

   You couldn’t help but notice the new strength he seemed to have developed over the years – never before would he have been able to haul both of his drunken parents up the stairs on his own. Back when he was younger, he could barely carry multiple cups at the same time. Now, the weight he was carrying seemed almost natural, as if he was used to carrying things that weighed the same as two human beings.

   Neither of you spoke as you turned the corner and kicked open the door to your parents bedrooms – Colleen and Sam’s were directly across from your parents.

   Your parents stumbled out of your grip at the first sight of the bed before them and landed in a pile amongst the covers. You sighed and shook your head, folding your arms over your chest.

   “Just this once, I’ll let you off with it,” you said. “Only because it’s the first night and I know you’re going to regret this in the morning.”

    “Stop staring at Matt,” your mother hissed. You blinked. “I’m extremely tired. Extremely, extremely tired.”

   Your dad nodded in agreement. Their heads clashed together as the two of them both went out like a light, no explanation to the first four words that had come out of your mothers mouth.

   You hollowed out your cheeks, refused to dwell on them more than needed. Instead, you turned on your heel and headed back out into the hallway, silently cursing your own timing as Matt seemed to do the exact same thing.

   You stood by your parents door, waiting for him to turn around. When he finally did, his eyes widened, brown irises tracing over you in the same way they had done on the front porch only hours before.

   “Oh,” was all he said.

   You smiled softly. “Hello.”

   “Hi.”

   You looked away, folded your arms over your chest. Now that the sun was setting, the chill of night was beginning to sift through the house, nipping at your exposed arms. You wrapped them around yourself, tried to pretend like you weren’t feeling the tension between the two of you right now.

   “They’re going to be extremely hungover in the morning,” said Matt. “We should – uh – probably get some sleep so we can take care of them when they wake up.”

    “Mine will be out until at least midday,” you replied. Matt cracked a smile – not the laughter you were so used to, but it was something. A middle ground you two could meet. “But I agree. I’m getting kind of tired myself.”

    He nodded. “Is Pidge and Jamie in bed?”

   “I think they crashed on the sofa. I’ll probably end up falling asleep in the living room, too – I’ve yet to decide where I’m sleeping.”

    “Well, there’s a spare room across from mine that has a pretty decent view of the front garden.” You fought the urge to widen your eyes, to splutter out in shock at his offer – could you even call it an offer? He had simply informed you of the empty room across from his. It didn’t mean anything – not to him, anyway.

    “I’ll look at it tomorrow,” you responded, cursing how hoarse your voice suddenly sounded. “Thank you. Have a good sleep.”

   He smiled softly. You wanted to stick around, to ask him how he felt, if he was feeling the tension just as much as you, but you turned on your heel and fled towards the living room before you could give yourself the chance. The thought of him responding with yes, that he did feel the tension, that he did feel awkward around you now, was enough to make you decide against even asking in the first place. You could wait to have your heart crushed for another day.

   You would just have to get through the first week, at least. The first week would be the most difficult, and then things were bound to flatten out.

[juleschurchill]

TASK 009 >>> questionnaire

What are your character’s nicknames, if any?

Contrary to popular belief, “ J u l e s ” is in fact, her given name. 

Not Julia, Juliet, Julianne — it’s just Jules. ( after the author of an crumbling, unreadable old book her father has had in his possession since he was a boy. The story inside is worn and warped by war and age, but the cover is still clear: TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA by JULES VERNE. 

It was an impossible, unthinkable feat now, to travel that far under. Unimaginable. But Aaron Churchill wanted his daughter to do impossible things.) 

She wouldn’t go by Jules if it weren’t her actual, given name — nicknames aren’t exactly professional. But at home it’s fine — she’s called Jule-bug, J, Jul, and a rather ridiculous collection of petnames, courtesy of her father.

Do they have any bad habits?

Her bluntness is a rude habit, one her mother  e n d l e s s l y  scolded her on. Be nice, Jules! Be polite, Jules!  ( But Jules doesn’t like being a liar. She  likes telling the truth, the brutal, boring, terrible truth. Is that so bad?) With that comes her habit of being judgmental, of thinking she’s the one who has it all figured out, the only one who understands anything. 

(Doesn’t help that so far in her life, she hasn’t exactly been proven wrong.)

Do they have any tattoos? If not, would they want one?

Absolutely not, tattoos are for vagrants and capitolites, and the Churchills don’t have a particularly high opinion of either group. Nothing is that important that it needs to be permanent, anyway. 

Do they have any scars? How did they get them?

Jules is lucky insofar that the only scars she has is from a childhood well-lived. There’s remnants of scraped knees from tripping playing tag, a burn behind her ear from letting her little sister straighten her hair. 

But nothing traumatic, nothing awful, nothing bad. 

Not yet.

How do they dress most of the time?

( ooc ; Do you know how, in the Sound of Music, the captain has his seven children wear literal uniforms before Maria comes?

                                                      ...Yeah. Her dad was like that.)

Her clothes are high-quality, as fits one of the richer families in District Seven, but not ostentatious. She’s never casual — her wardrobe had a wide array of  blouses and sweaters and skirts and corduroys, but no jeans, no sweatpants, no t-shirts. If it’s not appropriate for Sunday Mass, Jules Churchill doesn’t wear it. 

What words or phrases do they use frequently?

More than phrases, Jules has a distinct style of speaking — she repeats things for emphasize, instead of saying things like “very,” she says “this is bad, bad, bad, “or I love love love this dress.” 

Also, notably, Jules rarely swears unless she’s in extreme circumstances. It’s not very proper.

If anyone, who do they trust to protect them?

Short list: Her dad, only her Dad.  She trusts the other members of her family, but when it comes to protection, only one person could do it, and that is Aaron Churchill. She very much views him as her one and only protector, her guardian against all things. 

(And he would say the same thing. The fact that he can’t possibly protect Jules in the Hunger Games in any discernible way — it eats the man alive. He’s supposed to be her protector, he’s supposed to take care of her, and he can’t, can’t can’t. 

What is the point of power if you cannot protect your little girl?)

Are they argumentative or do they avoid conflict?

Depends on who you are. Do you have something Jules wants, a position or authority? She can play the yes-man all you like. But if Jules decides you’re not worth it, get ready to hear her monolingual on how incredibly wrong, wrong, wrong you are.

Did they have any role models growing up other than their parents?

No. Only Dad. No one outside of the family really mattered.

When was the time when they were the most frightened?

...Does this very moment count? Jules trusts herself, trusts her instincts, but she’s also terrified every waking moment of the games. From the moment her name was called out in the city square, every moment has been more terrifying than the last.

(Jules doesn’t want to die, her entire life so far has been planning from the future, they cannot take that away from her. If there’s no future, there was no point to any of it at all. 

That can’t be the story. 

                                    I want a different story!)

When was the time when they were the happiest?

Jules Churchill, age ten, the sort of age where everything is wrong with you and the world is against everything you do. Despite fate and biology and puberty working against her, Jules is successful, well-liked, the darling of her teachers. So much so, in fact, one of her teacher’s tells her: 

“Jules Churchill, you truly are your father’s daughter.”

She ran straight to City Hall after school, just so he could tell them, as she stood panting, red-faced in her father’s office, he simply laughed. 

“Jules, we already knew that. It’s clear to anyone who meets you that you’re mine.”

What is their most embarrassing moment?

After she turned fifteen, her father occasionally brought her to city hall for the day to shadow him. At fifteen, Jules thought she knew everything about the world, and acted as such to peacekeepers, her father’s staff, and plenty of other high-ranking officials. 

The chewing-out by her father midway through the day made it clear that she was not as smart as she seemed. Not yet, anyway.

Are they optimistic or pessimistic?

Pessimistic about the world, but optimistic about her own prospects in it. Jules is very much aware that the world she lives in is a cruel, ugly, unforgiving and unwelcoming place. But she also has the deeply-held belief that she can overcome that if she’s smart enough, if she works hard enough. 

(I wish that counted for something. I wish it counted for anything at all.)

What is their most treasured possession?

Her father own a bronze pocket-watch of incredibly old age, put together before the dark days. She has always, always, always wanted it, always made comments about how she hopes someday it will be given to her. It’s an heirloom, a piece of their family that has always been in their family. 

Her father gave it to Jules to have as her token. She intends to return it to him, though.

How do they spend a typical Saturday night?

Not terribly surprising, but Jules was rather popular at her school back in Seven. The wealthy, charming daughter of the Mayor had no trouble finding friends, and as such, if her schedule of studying allowed it, Jules was a regular attendant of District Seven’s house parties, though no, she never partook in any of the more inappropriate activities that defined teenage parties. 

(She just liked dancing.)

What song would you use to describe them?

baobabs by regina spektor

and i wouldn't raise my child inside this city anyway / they grow up too savvy and they grow up too fast / and they know about buying shit and they know about sex / and they know about investment banking and also about brokerage firms / and they know about the numbers and they know about the words / and they know about the bottom line and also about stones / and they know about careers and about the real deals /and they all grow up and become people's people with people skills

but you have tamed me / now you must take me / how am I supposed to be / I don't have my thorns now

Are they introverted or extroverted?

Extroverted, if only through sheer force of will. Jules prides herself on being able to talk to anybody and everybody. Especially in her element (District Seven, with her family, etc), Jules owns the room she goes into, knows how to light up the room she’s in.

Are they organized or messy? 

Organized in terms of her room, messy in terms of her desk. Too many thoughts, too many papers, too many things to keep track of when it came to her brain. Her room, however, is immaculate — clothes arranged by color, nothing on the floor at all.

What do they like about themselves?

To be frank, there’s a lot. Jules is a more than a little bit full herself, if you haven’t noticed yet. 

She loves her brain, her calculating, clever way of thinking her way into and out of every situation she needed to. She knows she’s attractive, though it doesn’t matter all too much to her (who cares if I’m pretty if I fail my finals?!), though it’s certainly a plus. 

She loves where she comes from, her intelligent, ambitious, historic family. She loves her role as the heir apparent of that very family. She loves being Jules Churchill.

How do they relax?

A good book — HISTORY OF PANEM, usually, maybe a folk story or two. Fire roaring in the parlor of her home in Seven, a cup of tea squealing from the kitchen. 

What is their ideal date?

Traditional, traditional, traditional. Wear something nice, take her to dinner, pay for it, and make sure to entertain her with the conversation — if she’s bored, you’re over. 

(also, eating her out afterwards wouldn’t hurt)

Do they want children? Why or why not?

Yes, but that doesn’t exactly mean Jules wants to be a mother. She wants to continue her family line, maybe even have someone love her unconditionally in the way a child does. But raising a child? Changing diapers and feeding and comforting and crying with a child for eighteen-plus some years?

Who had time for that?

Where do they see themselves in five years?

The plan has changed since she was reaped — though her heart can’t fully rule out following in her father’s footsteps, she’s not sure a Victor would even be eligible to be chosen as the mayor. But a Victor has a power all it’s own, probably more so than a mayor — something Jules wants to wield wisely.

What would be their three wishes if they found a genie’s lamp?

To win ( d u h . ) 

For her family to wield power comparable to the snows in the capitol (yeah, something she has seriously thought about) 

For pomegranates to grow in Seven — she tried one here in the capitol, and it is the closest Jules has come to falling in love.

Describe your character sitting in their favorite spot.

See above — the parlor of her home in Seven, with it’s ancient Persian rugs, warm fire-lit lamps, shelf after shelf of books and usually at least one member of her family inside. Add herbal tea for an especially happy Jules.

[redvsvblue]

Came up with this last night, couldn’t think of a better place to put it so here have some silly FAHC headcannons (mostly for Ryan cause I’m a+ t r a s h)

Contrary to popular belief, Ramsey’s penthouse suite only has 4 bedrooms. The fourth bedroom was originally an office, but when the Vagabond moved in it was decided a better idea for him to have his own space. The third bedroom was originally Ray’s, and is now Jeremy’s (and Trevor and Matt’s if they end up staying over at the penthouse. They’ll take over the queen bed in there and Jeremy will either dog-pile on top of them or hide out in Ryan’s room).

Otherwise, the division is as follows - Geoff and Jack share a room. For space, they also share the same bed (they’ve known each other for y e a r s, it’s like sleeping in the same bed as your best friend or sibling).

Gavin and Michael (reluctantly at first) share a room. There’s a bunk bed in there (at their request, it used to be two twin beds). It is very common to find Gavin’s draped all the blankets over the edge to make a little fort on the bottom bunk and curl up to watch movies/play games on his laptop while Michael vehemently denies ever agreeing to do this (he came up with it first lets be honest)

Ryan has to sleep in a pitch black room with a fan going. If there’s even a small light, like the crack under the door or through the curtains, or even a little light from his laptop if he left it on but just closed the lid, he has the worst insomnia. He can’t figure out why, only that it’s a thing. He’s also got this super soft blanket that he’s had for years. He doesn’t have that, he’s not sleeping either. It’s less of a comfort thing and more of he’s just gotten so used to it everything else seems wrong.

Also contrary to popular belief, he only has three plants in his room. A succulent he bought when moving to Los Santos, a dragon tree (Dracaena Marginata) that he got from his college theater professor (he was really dramatic but a really good person), and a small hanging pot of ivy (he claims it’s poison ivy so the off chance someone else is in his room they don’t fuck with it. also, it adds to the image on the vagabond if he’s growing his own poison ivy)

One time, early in the beginning, for their first major heist as a group, when Ray was still there - They had to skip out to the countryside to lay low and out of sight until the police calmed down/could be bribed. It was only supposed to be for the afternoon/evening but complications arose, so they ended up staying the night. The safehouse only had two bedrooms (each with a pair of twin beds) and a couch in the living room. Geoff and Jack got one room, Michael and Gavin the other. Ray claimed the couch and Ryan said he’d just sleep on the floor.

“It’s actually not bad sleeping on the floor trust me” (he’s only done it a handful of times, in the comfort of his own home when he was sick as all hell, but it couldnt be that different) (jokes on them all, Ryan didn’t sleep that night, or the next when they still couldn’t return to the city.) He spent the next three days crashed on his own bed and debating if he wanted to accept Geoff’s offer to move in (eventually he did)

After Ray left, Geoff converted the last bedroom from Ray’s room to his home office. Once Jeremy moved in, he cried as Jack moved everything back out. (“no geoff you are not letting lil J sleep on the couch in the living room stop blubbering”)

(Jeremwood) Once they got together, Jeremy started sleeping more and more in Ryan’s room. Only, he can’t sleep in a black room. So, he snuck a little glow in the dark crescent moon sticker above the light-switch. He knows Ryan’s inability to not sleep if there’s light, but he’s hoping it can stay.

Ryan thinks he won’t be able to sleep with that little moon glowing, but jokes on him Jeremy is an excellent distraction and he’s pretty much out like a light every time he gets all settled and curled around the shorter man.

The only reason there is a telescope in the dining room is so Michael can people-watch the businessmen/women downtown without having to go to the roof (sue him, the wind is cold that high up and the freeway right beside them is super loud most of the day)

Everyone has a cupboard and a section in the fridge for food they dont want others touching. As a joke, Ryan filled his section of the fridge with nothing but diet coke (hes got a lil minifridge in his room for actual food, or the general part of the fridge for anything that doesnt fit in the mini)

the “heist” room used to be just the dining room until Geoff bought office space downtown for his fronting company. Now all heists are planned there, as is resource distribution (headed by Lindsay, and Trevor if he isnt busy messing about with the rest of them)

they all still own separate apartments/houses they can go back to if they really want to. One time, everyone left for a week except for Geoff (the penthouse is his only residence sue him all the others are safehouses) and Jack. (She’s too lazy to pack up and leave, and besides who will make sure geoff drinks coffee in the morning and doesnt get lost in a good book when hes supposed to be working).

It was the longest and quietest week ever, and geoff literally threw a party when they all came back over the next week (ryan was the last back, and if he was covered in desert dust and specks of blood no one was going to question (he was trying to plant a small garden of succulents outside his house out in the countryside and cacti are vicious fuckers)

Submitted by @demoncowedgar! 

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

A Warm Welcome [h.s.]

A/N: here’s some hades!harry! Sorry if it’s shitty I’m trying to get back in the game! And sorry for any typos and mistakes! Enjoy :-)

___________________________

Being a god comes with a large bundle of heightened emotions and Harry honestly wishes that they had an off switch. Celestial beings are called “celestial” for a reason, after all. They’re abnormally better than any human, and thus they must keep an attitude and air that enforces nothing less, but damn feelings for being able to get in the way so easily.

Gods must be calm and collected under the most extraneous situations, they must rule with an iron fist, and most importantly, they must forbid emotions from deterring them in any way. He’s not saying that he hates feeling emotions more intensely; some are worth the toil. Pleasure, for example, is felt tenfold what any human could handle and he can almost say that this alone makes the troubles worth it. But it’s moments such as now that bring forward overpowering feelings that he wishes he could cast aside: a dangerous mixture of excitement and anxiousness.

More specifically, the excitement and anxiousness that comes with the return of his beloved wife, Persephone (or as he calls her, Y/N), from being away for her given six months of the year.

All is normally well due to the fact that Harry usually throws big, extravagant parties for her returns because he wants the whole world to know that the light of his life is coming back to him, as well as to take off some of the pressure that comes with not seeing her for a long time. He’s talking about an all out, full-fledged celebration with hundreds of different types of flowers adorned all around the dark obsidian palace. All of the gods are invited (even those minor ones that Harry thinks are irrelevant but Y/N carries a fond for) and he brings down the musicians that play up in Olympus because he only wants the best for his precious girl. Amazing food, a ten story cake, and the finest wine and ambrosia brewed all across the seven seas.

But this year, Y/N sent a message with Hermes (whom he knows as Louis) down to the Underworld. As he had unfolded her note, the familiar scent of clementine arose from the scratchy paper and made his eyes pinprick with tears of longing. In her beautiful curvy handwriting, she explains how she doesn’t want a big party this year. That she wishes for the contrary, actually. She wants the whole palace to only themselves so they can take a long walk through all of its expanse and talk about everything that’s happened in the time they’ve been apart. She writes that she loves the parties he throws her, but for this return she just wants some quality time with no one else but him.

And so that’s exactly what he does. When the day arrives, he sends all of his servants out of the castle walls, leaving the place feeling hollow. He sits on his throne waiting for her, fidgeting helplessly. It’s a tall, black steel and celestial bronze number with red garnet and imperial topaz strewn in with the metal. It’s meant to be intimidating and fearful and, well, godly, and he couldn’t love it more. Harry usually feels right at home in the cushioned seat, but at the moment, he feels puny in its shadow; all do to the concoction of giddiness and nerves that stem from Y/N’s return.

He focuses himself on smoothing out the wrinkles in his black silk toga and on messing with the gold emblem that rests on the fabric above his shoulder, right where the back and front of the toga connect. The cherished possession was forged by Poseidon’s Cyclopes at the bottom of the sea, hence why it tends to have flashes of blue in certain lighting. He picks at the ruby eyes incrusted into the ghastly imprint of a skull, tracing the laurel wreaths around its head. His concentration then moves to his hair, which he had cut a couple of weeks back. He hadn’t said a word to Y/N about it in their letters because he wanted it to be surprise. He was sure she would like it because he feels that it fits him pretty well, but now as he sits here with nothing but his thoughts as company, he begins to worry. What if she thought he looked odd? She did really love his long hair– could never stop complimenting the perfect curls that liked to form across his shoulders…

Harry rises abruptly, toes curling against the worn leather of his sandals. His anxiety is going through the roof because he hasn’t seen Persephone in so long and he doesn’t want their first encounter of her return to be awkward. He quickly paces towards the closest mirror in the throne room, footsteps echoing, loud and empty, across the large room. Squaring his broad shoulders, he cocks his head slightly and finger-combs the fluffy, messy curls into place. He curses under his breath as one ringlet keeps curling weirdly in front of his ear and works on taming it, wishing he had some of that new jelly stuff Apollo uses.

He’s so engrossed in his hair that he doesn’t hear the large doors creaking open across the throne room. A single door cracks just the slightest and in slips the figure of a woman, the lights from the giant candle chandelier reflecting off the golden wreath atop her head. The big onyx jewel in the middle of the crown signifies her as queen of the Underworld, the gilded plants at the sides confirming her identity as the goddess of spring. She stands absolutely still at the door, leaning against it’s ginormous frame and watching the young man across the room mumble curses and fiddle with his short curls.

She knows his figure well– too well. It doesn’t take much to give away it’s Harry. The way he stands with his shoulders broad, the silk material of his toga hugging the taunt muscles of his back. The way he’s propped more on one leg than the other do to a back injury from taming his hell hound, Cerberus. The way his tan skin glints like copper, pulled tight over fit arms. Contrary to popular belief, Harry’s skin isn’t pale (underground kingdoms don’t exactly get the best sunlight) but rather a healthy golden tint. She’s not sure why, but she doesn’t question it; it’s a great look on him.

Out of everything, however, the one characteristic that stands out most of all is the way he gives off a certain cold aura that draws her own warm one towards him, as well as the way that every shadow created across the room seems to naturally obey his will, bending over him to cast a dark stain across his silhouette.

Y/N can feel his hollowness crawl across the room, sweeping over her like the waves of a relentless sea. There have been stories that the sheer strength of Harry’s presence has driven mortals to take their own lives do to the desolation he gives off. Being the ruler of death and destruction isn’t exactly a happy job and it’s burden had definitely taken its toll on him, but he had managed to find a way to stifle the vacancy.

That’s where Persephone came in. Her role as the goddess of spring meant that she was, quite literally, the physical embodiment of life and warmth, and thus his polar opposite. It was she that brought the proper seasons around for the mortals to do their harvesting in order to survive, and so it was she that could counteract the darkness Hades resonated.

And right now, she was about to take on the second role again and she couldn’t be happier.

Y/N allows the door to shut behind her, the loud sound of the two pieces of stone sliding into one another booming across the huge, quiet throne room.

Harry’s body freezes up, a sheen of ice materializing across his already cold blood. He can feel his black heart lodging into his throat, his nerves going haywire at her presence. He locks his gaze on her through the mirror, her body somewhat smaller across the large expanse of the walls. His emerald eyes twinkle unearthly, putting the shine of any actual emeralds to shame. One of his titles isn’t “the god of wealth and jewels” for nothing.

Hades turns slowly on his heels, facing Y/N fully. As he takes in her appearance, he can’t help the small, childish laugh that releases from his throat. She looks absolutely breathtaking, a pure white dress flaring out around her body, the shimmering fabric hugging her upper arms as delicate golden chains lay across the tops of her shoulders. A certain glow seems to swell around her, so warm and buttery it makes the candles seem dim. And all Harry can think is, there she is, all beautiful and stunning and all mine.

His feet are moving before he’s even stopped admiring her, walking briskly in her direction. Each step seems to shake the ground, the indescribable mixture of emotions that churns within him finding an outlet in every bound he takes. Y/N takes off too, walking with a certain grace to her that makes his heart melt. They meet in the middle of the room, both slightly out of breath and smiling like fools. He reaches a ring-clad hand out to her, cupping her jaw and swiping his thumb across her supple cheek. Electricity sizzles through their point of contact, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up to the tips. Every cell in his body is screaming to feel her’s, the slight touch setting forward a chain reaction of sensations coursing through his veins.

To his sudden surprise, she lunges first, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing the living daylights out of him. His arms unfreeze from their shock, instinctively wrapping around her waist, face burrowing into the slope of her neck and he takes a deep breath, eyes watering with happiness as the scent of sun and flowers and just life fills his drowning lungs. They tumble back a few feet, giggling like children as Harry spins her around, dress whooshing happily through the air. She cups his face, kissing his forehead softly and he can feel her gentle smile spread across his skin.

He sets her on the ground carefully, pulling her into his strong chest and kissing the top of her head lovingly. “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N. So, so much.”

“Me too.” Her voice is, for the kick of the joke, like the first breath of spring – it refreshes him, filling every crevice of his body with light.

Harry pulls back, leaning down to prop their foreheads together, staring into her caring eyes and grinning like an idiot. His dimples pop into place and she laughs, reaching up to poke at them playfully.

“You cut your hair!” She exclaims in awe, running her hands through the short locks and twisting them around her fingers. “It looks amazing, Har. Handsome as ever.”

“Y'think so? Was scared you wouldn’t like it…” He mumbles shyly, looking away in embarrassment.

“You look as incredible as any celestial being ever could.” Y/N nudges his shoulder, kissing his cheek.

He blushes (because that’s the perfect thing for the god of the deceased to do) and grabs her hands, intertwining their fingers together. “So you wanted to have a heartfelt chat with me, is that it? That’s why you turned down ambrosia squares?”

Y/N returns his jesting smirk, nodding her head. “Yes, that’s why. But also, it’s because I wanted some alone time with you and I want to be able to–” she leans into his ear, her words causing a shiver down his spine–“scream and have no one hear me.”

Harry immediately stiffens up, staring at her with wide eyes because she’s rarely the most needy in the relationship, and having her practically jump into his pants as soon as she sees him is a new experience for him. She gazes up at him with hooded eyes, slipping the left sleeve of her dress further down her arm. She presses forward, lips latching to Harry’s like he’s a lifeline.

“Already?” He murmurs against her mouth, feeling her hands grasping wildly at his groin and he hisses quietly at her eagerness. “You’ve barely been here five minutes, love. A bit shameful, don’t y'think? And also, I thought–”

He gets cut off by Y/N sliding her tongue down his throat, her teeny whines causing his knees to disintegrate. “Bet you’ve only gotten bigger than before. Longer, thicker– fuck, just thinking about it makes me wanna come.”

Harry pulls away, gently detaching her from him and looking down at her with slight confusion because it’s all so sudden and unexpected.

“Are you sure you want to do this now? I thought we could wait a bit, y'know? Do something romantic, like a big feast for two and then walk through your gardens for a bit! Bathe afterwards and just let natural instincts take their course.” He hates himself for being such a sap with her but he can’t help it. And her letter had suggested she wanted this type of welcome so he had been looking forward to it.

“Harry, I love you and I absolutely want to do all of those things,” Y/N stares directly into his face with the biggest doe-eyes he’s ever seen, chewing at the corner of her mouth as her eyes flicker to his reddened lips and he can sense how desperate she is. “But I’ve been horny from the second I set foot on the first stair of the palace. I just can’t hold off. I just…I want you to fuck me, Har. Right here, right now. Please?”

He blinks at her for a couple of seconds, weighing in what she’s saying. He decides to go with it, fingers sliding the golden chains from her shoulders as she continues clutch his neck. “Alright, kitten. I understand.”

He stops when the dress is about to expose her chest. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

Harry grins coyly, poking fun at her. “Like I said, s'really only been, like, five minutes. No shame, hm?”

“Not at all, considering you haven’t been in me in barely six months.” She quips back sarcastically, shoving one hand up his toga all of the sudden and squeezing him hard, revering in his breathy whimper, which she stifles with her mouth.

“Now take me.” She whispers into the heavy kiss, reaching up to pop the emblem open so that she could pull down his toga to where it pools at his banded waist.

And that’s exactly what Harry does. He takes her right then and there, in front of his throne, with both of her wrists pinned down to the cold marble floor, her dress hiked up her creamy thighs and her breasts swelling out of her garment, crowns discarded besides an alter. He throws her legs around his hips, bucking into her roughly as she gives small gasps of pleasure, his cock pulsing against her softness. He’s bent over her, whispering dirty promises into her ear as he pinches her clit, grinning triumphantly into her neck.

“Tha’s my girl, yeah? Baby’s been gone and hasn’t had a good fucking in months, hm? Wants Daddy to take her right here? Want me to fuck a new sense into you, darling?” Harry’s voice is low and strained as he works on keeping himself from coming, all of those weeks of using his hand being nothing compared to her warmth and tightness. “Fuck, it’s been ages. You’re…you’re so good for me.”

Harry means that in every sense of the thought. Y/N’s good for him because she brings out the best qualities in his death-ridden heart, and she’s good for him in a sensual fashion, breaking him down molecule by molecule and stripping him of his sanity. She’s his complete opposite and he wouldn’t have the same spark with any other person.

Y/N wriggles her wrists in his hold, whining as she arches her back to be closer to him, wanting to be enveloped by his whole body. Harry releases her hands, which immediately go to his shoulders as his arms wrap under her lower back. She snakes her arms across them and down his back, digging her nails into the tight muscles under his toga, throwing her head back and letting out a loud, cracked moan. “Harry, I’m– fuck, you’re amazing.”

Harry licks a stripe up her throat, kissing at her chin as her legs spasm against his hips. “Such a good girl for me, Y/N. Such a tight, sweet little thing…Missed you s'much– missed this so much.”

“F…Fuck me,” she whispers, her voice feathery and desperate.

Harry reaches above her, hands wrapping around the thick legs of his throne, the solid celestial bronze nailed down into the floor so that the chair works as a reinforcement. He pulls upward, arms flexing alluringly as he thrusts hard into Y/N, causing her to scream out.

“Want– to– make–you–feel–so good.” Harry grits out with every slam, head dropping down to allow him to peck chaste kisses onto her swollen lips. The sweat is making his eyes bleary and causing curls to stick to his forehead, but he doesn’t care. She’s here, pliant and slick and begging him for it and nothing else is important other than her.

A meek whine comes from Y/N, her head turning to give Harry access to her neck. He sucks the skin into his mouth, teething until he sees mauve and purple bruises blossom across her delicate throat. He’s panting against her jaw, small choking sounds scratching his throat raw as his thighs clench with every thrust.

“Did you…?” Hades swallows thickly, his sentence cut off by his mouth falling open as she gives a hard squeeze around his length. “Gods, jus’ like that, pet. Squeeze me nice and snug– tha’s it, kitten. So good for me, hm?”

Y/N nods vigorously, hands diving into the hair along his neck and she yanks him closer, noses nudging and breathing mingling. “So big, H. You’re so fucking big and it’s been so long and–”

Harry quiets her with one of his hands, his thumb sliding into the dip of her rough tongue. His gaze is trained on her face, watching as her eyes lull shut as she moans wetly around the digit.

“Suck for me. Can you do that?” Hades mumbles, biting onto his lower lip with fervor as she wraps her plump lips around the circumference of his finger.

“Mmm…” Y/N hums groggily and he can feel the tug of his skin in her mouth as she sucks excitedly, eyes fluttering open all wide and innocent.

“Shit, Y/N, just– just fuck me.” He whimpers brokenly, licking up her jaw to nibble at her left earlobe.

“Feels incredible…” She glubs over his thumb, tiny hiccups of pleasure bouncing against the far walls of the room with every hard slam Harry gives his hips. One of her hands fumbles with the one in her mouth, tugging at it weakly.

He lets her take it, watching as she presses it to her right breast, taking the same wet thumb and passing it over her nipple a couple of times. The shutter that racks her spine leaves her feeling lightheaded and airy, and she gives an encouraging hum. Harry adapts to her request, releasing his hard hold on the leg of the throne and using both hands to cup her chest, bringing them together and giving a long lap to each pebbled nipple. He uses his forefinger along with his thumb, tweaking the tiny nubs and staring at her, mesmerized by the face of sheer rapture her features mold into.

Hades leans down, pressing his warm, wet lips to her ear, his exhales causing her skin to grow red with need. “Did you touch yourself?”

Persephone hesitates for a second, and then nods bashfully.

He grins, humming with amusement. “How often?”

“Almost every night…” Her answer is soft and wistful, as if recalling a fond memory.

He teethes the curve of the shell of her ear, blowing on the wet patch it leaves. “Me too.”

She gasps gently as he gives a hard push and doesn’t relent back, keeping her on edge. The worn marble ground bites at his knees as he remains stationary, buried to the hilt inside her. His fingers pinch the buds of her breasts harder, his body in love with the way she thrashes against him.

“Sometimes I couldn’t sleep,” he continues, voice sultry and low, like blood-red velvet. “I would toss and turn all night, finally just laying on my stomach and staring at the tall headboard, all hot and hard. There would be nights where my hand just wasn’t good enough, so I’d grind my hips into the mattress, holding your pillow close so I could smell you as I did my best to come.”

Y/N’s breathing has gotten faster, her hips wiggling from side to side to try and pry her own pleasure from his unrelenting cock. He won’t move and she can feel him twitching inside her and she needs him to keep fucking her. But he won’t– he’s getting off way more from torturing her with his words.

“Harry, please. Wanna come…” Her eyes are swelling with tears from how destressed she’s grown, her hands grabbing his sharp jaw in her palms so she can force him to see how wrecked she is.

He simply smirks, ignoring her pleading. “Sometimes it would hit me while I was bathing. Those didn’t take as long though– the warm water helped a lot. I’d just rub one out nice and quick, leaning against the cold wall and gasping out your name, imagining your pretty little mouth taking me all the way in.”

Y/N is a shaking disaster, her hands hugging him to her so hard he was sure she was unknowingly tapping into her godly strength. Her gaze is set on the extravagant chandelier above them, all of the multicolored jewels embedded around different curved rails reflecting a kaleidoscope of shades onto their connected bodies. The flames of the candles on the source of light seem to grow dimmer, her eyesight getting more and more blurry by the second as she feels her release bubbling and churning at the pit of her stomach, clawing at anything it can get, which includes her ability to see straight. The cold floor against her backside suddenly becomes prominent, the contrasting temperatures making her head swim with ecstasy.

“Tell me about it.” Harry wraps one of his arms fully under her lower back, the other reaching up to stroke his knuckles against her cheekbone. He cups his fingers under chin and jaw, thumbing over her cheek and lips, infatuated with the ruby redness of her skin.

“I…I don’t–” Persephone begins weakly, shaking her head faster because she knows if she talks about it, she’ll implode entirely.

“Tell me, Y/N. Tell me how you fucked yourself with me in mind.” Hades slowly begins to push his hips back and forth again, euphoria inflating her muscles and causing her to yawp. “Just tell me and I’ll fuck you so hard, you won’t even remember what you said.”

She swallows heavily, mouth slightly agape with shallow inhales and exhales. Her eyes refuse to meet his, focusing on the intricate designs of the wall instead. “I…I used my fingers–”

He interrupts spontaneously, turning her head forward so that their eyes are level. “Look at me. Want you looking at me when you confess all of the naughty things you did.”

She just nods her head docilely, chewing on her bottom lip as he begins to speed up, toga draping down his body loosely with his hair flopping around and his tan skin simmering to the touch. He breathes in deeply, opening them with leisure. The look behind them is predatory with nothing but sheer lust.

“Go on, then. What’d my baby girl do without me beside her?”

“I used my fingers.” Y/N repeats quietly, eyes rolling back into her head as Harry suckles along the subtle dip of her collarbones. “And I–fuck, I…rubbed myself.”

He nods encouragingly, moving to bite down on her lower lip, pulling it away and allowing it to snap back into place. “You miss my mouth any?”

She digs her nails harder into his back muscles, feeling them flex under her fingertips. “Yes. Wanted you doing it…”

“I’ll do one better.” Harry leans back onto his heels, grinding his hips so that his cock slicks in and out of her fast and hard. He places one arm behind him for balance, using the hand on the other to slap Y/N’s dripping clit. Her reaction is immediate, body arching off the ground as he forces her legs to stay down. He slaps faster, pinching every now and then and letting his head fall back, neck vein protruding across his clammy skin.

“Little longer, peach. Warm little cunt gonna make me come so hard. Gonna take all of me in there and love every drop, yeah?” Harry gives a particularly hard smack to her folds, grunting heavily as she cries out excitedly.

It doesn’t take long at all for her to release, body slumping into the cold, shiny ground with her brain floating around high above the ceiling with the chandelier. Harry coaxes her through it, falling forward again so that his forearms are on either side of her head as he presses his nose to the underside of her jaw, pooling light kisses and mumbling encouragement. His hair tickles her cheeks, the smell of cinnamon and sandalwood evading her nose and causing her to melt.

“Tha’s my girl. Squeeze fo’ me– little more, sweetheart, c'mon. Daddy’s got you.”

He rides out his own orgasm, gasping and mewling lightly as he feels his balls tightening and then release in a flush of warmth. He gasps out as he feels the first ribbon of come spurt out thickly, trickling into her steadily as he continues to fuck her limp body.

“Oh, Gods, I’m–oooh, fucking hell!” His eyes squeeze shut as his whole face crinkles in pleasure, a hand fisting her hair as his hips jerk spastically against her’s.

He slides the other hand under the backside of one of her knees, hiking it up until it’s at the level of her navel, opening her up fully to be filled completely. He sports a tiny, wistful smile, drunk off his climax as he nips across her chin and with each word, he thrusts the last couple of times. “So– fucking– hot.”

Harry pulls out slowly, hearing her whimper quietly at the sudden emptiness. He sees himself spilling out of Y/N and begins chuckling as if he were high off his ass, giggling against her chin and blinking up at her with shining, watery green irises, the tiny specks of gold winking like stars. “So full of me. Won’t be able to get me out of your veins for days. Y'smell like me already…”

He sneaks two fingers between her thighs, bringing them up to his mouth and licking at her dripping release. “So sweet fo’ me.”

“Need–” she swallows, moistening the sandpaper that is her throat and blinking the black spots from her sight. “Need a cool bath. And you and wine and cuddles.”

And who was he to deny her that? He pushes himself up onto wobbly feet, gaining stability soon enough. He adjusts his toga, clipping the emblem back together and tugging it loose around his legs. The sweat had really done a number on the silk cloth. Leaning down, he slides his arms under her back and legs, scooping her up bridal style. She wishes she could move, but she literally cannot feel her legs and she quite likes being a right “damsel in distress” for a little bit if it gets Harry to carry her up a flight of stairs and into a tub.

“You’re burning up and I don’t think it has to do with your godliness…” Harry coons playfully, voice echoing around the bathing chamber as he slips the soft shimmering fabric of her sleeves down her sweaty arms, kissing each of her shoulders gently. He buries his face in her neck as he eases her out of the dress fully, large hands coasting down her arms and around her waist to cup her bottom. He gives it a good squeeze, breaking into laughter when she gives a sudden jump. “Hundreds of years old and still got it.”

Y/N shoves his shoulder, glaring daggers at him as he shrugs it off like it’s nothing, attempting to hide his shit-eating grin. She dips into the cool, bubbling water of the obsidian tub, sinking down up to her nose.

Harry leans his shoulder against the chamber wall, a small, fond smile warming his lips. She stares up at him, blowing bubbles into the water and wiggling her eyebrows childishly.

He chuckles lightly. “Gods, I missed you. Don’t think I can express it enough.”

Y/N floats over and sits on the stone step that circles the inside circumstance of the small pool, patting the water next to her in a signal for him to join her.

“Can’t seem to stop getting me naked, can ya, love?” He unlaces his sandals, toeing them off as he undoes the golden rope around his waist that holds his toga to his body. He pulls the garment over his head, tossing it in the general direction of a marble bench.

He descends into the churning water, going under and paddling towards her. His head breaks the surface, hair matted to his neck and head, covering his face completely. Y/N pushes it back, revealing the silly face he’s making underneath. She draws him closer, sponging her lips to his nose and giggling as he scoops her into his lap, head cuddling against his strong chest.

Hades’ chin rests atop Persephone’s wet hair as he caresses her back, feeling his heart swell in his chest. The couple sit there for a while, naked bodies pressed together, yet there is nothing sexual about it anymore. It’s innocent and sweet, filled with stories about their time apart and splash fights and Harry’s stupid jokes that Y/N rolls her eyes at but secretly loves. And Harry sits there, staring down at her laughing face with her nose scrunched up and her teeth showing and he knows he would never stop loving her.

Not in a thousand years, which he freely has to spare.

________________________________

A/N: ahhhHHHHHH HADES HARRY IS MY FAVORITE THING. I hope you guys like this! I haven’t been writing much lately and I apologize for that but I’m trying to get back into a routine of it :-) thank you so much for reading and for your patience and support and feel free to drop by my inbox with opinions❤️☺️

- Andrea :)

[tonystarktogo]

Hab grad eine Polizeirechtsklausur geschrieben. Jura ist an sich gemein, aber die Klausur hatte ein witzigen Sachverhalt, es ging um pfeifende Murmeltierjunge. Kann ich was mit Tony und einem pummeligen Murmeltier bekommen? Bitte bitte?

Du hast mein volles Mitgefühl. Ich hab Jura nur ein Jahr durchgehalten, und selbst das nur im Nebenfach. Respekt, dass du es durchziehst! Und vielen Dank für dein Ask! Ganz ehrlich, das ist das erste Mal, dass ich mir Gedanken um Tony und Murmeltiere gemacht habe, aber ich habs probiert :) [Die Sachverhalte, die zum Teil behandelt werden, hab ich zugeben auch als das Kurioseste am ganzen Fach in Erinnerung] Ich wünsch dir ganz viel Glück bei deinen Klausuren!

Random silliness lies ahead, consider yourself warned!

Alright lovelies, let’s talk about that time Tony met a pudgy, little groundhog. See, it’s not all that well-known. Maybe because it’s too obvious, too into-people’s-faces to be deemed of importance.

But Tony lives in a tower full of glass and glamour and metal and hidden scanners. Because everything about Tony is glamour and shine. He’s too vibrant, too futuristic, too technology-obsessed for anyone to expect something different.

Never mind that he could live anywhere he wanted. Could have tiny house in the middle of nowhere, where at least he wouldn’t be bothered by people and villains and other pesky annoyances. But he hasn’t. Instead he’s built a tower with his name lit up in bright, shining lights in the middle of New York City because that’s the way Tony Stark does things.

It’s not because he doesn’t like the outdoors. Or small, moving…things. Not at all.

It’s just nice to be surrounded by–not so alive things, you know? Tony doesn’t hate being in direct contact with nature, he’s just more comfortable surrounded by the soothing hum of his tech.

JARVIS might disagree, but who listens to JARVIS anyways? Besides he’s exaggerating. It’s not like Tony wants to erase nature or for all animals to drop dead or anything. Except maybe spiders. And mosquitos. And anything that crawls.

But contrary to popular belief, Tony is not a crazy super villain in the making. He’s not gonna start burning down a forest, even though the midges had it out for him specifically. No matter how tempting it may be. 

Instead he’s dealing with his–dislike like a responsible adult: by hiring the best cleaning crew, improving his roombas, and working a decontamination bottom into the standard safety design of every floor of his tower.

So when, on an ordinary Tuesday mid-morning, Tony stumbles into his kitchen and finds a–a thing furry enough to definitely not be a robot waiting for him, staring at him with blank, black eyes that hold an abyss of soulless nothingness, he can be forgiven for screaming.

Loudly and heartfelt.

Neither JARVIS nor the devil in fur are impressed.

Tony presses the decontamination button.

JARVIS reminds him that protocol commands the process can only start once there are no humans in the room in question.

Tony presses the decontamination button again. (He presses the decontamination button a lot, that morning.)

A lot of arguing follows because JARVIS is too damn soft-hearted for his own good and refuses to call the suit in to deal with this threat to national security (not to forget Tony’s sanity). Until they eventually compromise on calling the closest animal shelter and asking on the best procedure.

Only when Tony turns around–and really, he can’t believe he turned his back on the Intruder for even a moment–the furry monster is gone. 

He spends the next ten hours combing over every room of his floor in search for the damn thing, but it’s nowhere to be found.

The next morning the Evil That Knows Nothing But How To Evade Tony’s Excellent Security System once again awaits him in the kitchen.

Tony once again screams.

JARVIS sighs a very human sigh.

*

two months later

“Yo, Stark! Why is there’s a fat groundhog in your kitchen?!”

“Leave Sith Lord alone, Barton, what the hell? He’s not fat, maybe a little pudgy but there’s nothing wrong with that! Hey J, does Patty-Patter still hold those body positivity seminars?”

“I believe Miss Perrington does indeed, Sir. She is also petitioning to hold a seminar called ‘Why Tony Stark Should Not Be Allowed To Nickname His Employers’ if you are interested.”

“Very funny, J. Why don’t you sign Barton up to one of those, hm? And you, Sith Lord, better get out of here before–where did he go?”

[queendophne]

Steve’s T-Shirt

The first modern thing Steve bought himself was a T-shirt with a Captain America shield on it. It made him laugh at the irony of it and he needed some humor in his life. It took about a month of him moving into the tower to lose it. He speculated that it got lost in the laundry shoot and he was kind of sad to lose it. He asked Tony about it a few times but the man just shrugged and made  snarky jokes that he needed to learn to live and let go. Steve pouted at the response but he took Tony’s advice and let it go. He truly thought he would never see that shirt again. 

Three weeks later, Steve walked into the common area rubbing the back of his head with a towel after taking a long shower when he saw it. His jaw dropped and he froze in mid-step. He felt his heart begin to beat faster and his face begin heat up. There Tony was standing in the common area slouching over the coffee machine wearing his long lost CA shield t-shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs. His eyes roamed the length of Tony’s body and even though the shirt was big on him it fit him well. A possessiveness seeped into his bones as he saw Tony wearing his mark, his shirt on his person and nothing else. Still, he had to wonder if Tony had purposely misplaced it for him to take it for himself. 

Chucking to himself Steve stepped into the kitchen area making a bold move as a sleepy Tony turned to look at him. His hair was still messy and he looked ready to fall over and sleep right on the kitchen floor but he did not batt an eye at Steve. The Captain knew that his teammate had not realized that he what he was wearing. The older man was just too tired. Steve stepped into Tony’s space lifting his chin and smiled softly at Tony’s confused but hopeful expression staring back at him. 

“Well Sweetheart,” Steve whispered, “you only had to ask, I would have given it to you in a second if you wanted it.” 

Tony blinked once. Twice. Three times before looking down at what he was wearing and began to screech in embarrassment. Tony tried pulling away but Steve anticipated the other man’s actions and grabbed firmly but not tightly onto Tony’s head so that the man stayed exactly where he wanted him. 

“I-uh-I found it a few days ago. J-JARVIS, help me out!” Tony sounded panicked and all Steve wanted to do was kiss it away. 

“He had found it nineteen days and fifteen hours ago to be precise. The same day the Avengers Laundry from the week before arrived back in the common area,” JARVIS supplied making Tony turn even more red at the AI’s response. 

Tony resorted to looking away and fidgeting with the bottom of the shirt in nervousness not really looking Steve in the eyes. That would not do at all. Steve wanted Tony to look at him and only him. Finding out that his shirt was in Tony’s possession made him happy and content and he needed Tony to know it. 

“I’m not mad,” Steve started wanting to make sure Tony understood from the beginning. Tony had a tendency to misunderstand overly complex situations and Steve had to make sure it did not happen here, “I am quite pleased to see you in it. The sight made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I have liked you for a long time Tony but I have loved you since the third hour of moving into this tower. So you can say that seeing you in my shirt made me the giddiest man alive.” 

Steve watched Tony gulp and saw those wide doe eyes trained on him looking like the nervous pile of energy that Steve knew Tony to be. Contrary to popular belief Tony was a very nervous man if he was really trying to impress you. Steve stayed silent though allowing Tony to make the next move. He kept still keeping his hands on Tony’s cheeks as his thumbs massaged them softly.

“You’re not mad? Like at all? Odd,” Tony paused looking confused, “I thought for sure you would be angry. I saw it and it not only had your shield on it but it smelled like you so I stole it. This was your favorite shirt.” 

Steve chuckled, “I got a lot of favorite shirts you can try on if you like. Really Sweetheart, I love you in anything that belongs to me. Lets me know who you belong to.” 

“I’m not an object,” Tony pouted but pressed himself closer to Steve. 

Steve smiled down at Tony and replied, “No but I would like you to be my fella.” 

Tony’s response was a soft but desperate kiss with a softly whispered, “yes.” as he pulled away.

[cityspidey-blog]

The heavy rains in the last two days have caused lots of waterlogging in the high rise societies. As a result, the residents are having a tough time negotiating the situation. They struggled with power cuts, truncated water supply etc.

Contrary to the popular belief that high rises have the best of facilities and infrastructure, many societies have witnessed severe waterlogging in the basements. At some places, there is waterlogging of 3-4ft.

A prominent residential society, Amrapali Zodiac in Sector-120, saw water accumulation of 2ft at the basement. At some places, the parked cars were half drowned. Apart from the basement, other parts of the society are also drowned.

Joginder Singh, a resident of Amrapali Zodiac told City Spidey that Basement-2 is still full of water. “There is no arrangement to clear the water and due to storage of water, the pillar has become weak and it will also affect the structure of the tower,” he added.

Singh also alleged that the builder covered the Noida Authority’s drain in order to construct the entry and exit points of the society's market. This illegal coverage is a big cause of flooding inside the society. The coverage affected the cleaning work of the drain.

“Yesterday there was no electricity in the society from 8 am to 6 pm. It affected the lift operations,” he added.

Singh added that he wrote a letter to the city magistrate on July 25 for the structure audit so that residents should know whether they are safe in this society or not.

“Anyone can make out the poor construction work in the basement. The reinforcement steels bars are visible in several areas whether it is a slab bottom or beam bottom. These exposed reinforced steel bars are prone to rusting in the presence air and water,” said Singh.

“Due to poor treatment of construction joints and poor waterproofing work by the builder, most of the basement area has witnessed heavy leakage especially in towers- C, D, E, F, J, H, S, T, U, V and W. They are also in the adjoining area of swimming pool,” Singh said in his letter to the city magistrate.

“Due to the continuous leakage in these areas, reinforcement steel bars are getting rusted and ultimately resulting into the deterioration of the capacity of the structure,” Singh said. City Magistrate wrote a letter to the Noida Authority to take action on the builder and resolve all the issues of the society.

An official of Noida Authority said that they did not receive any letter yet but if they receive it then they will take proper action.