#if i had money i would buy this even if it looks low effort compared to the other air twokyo merch

[nanaba]

TVアニメ「進撃の巨人」 The Final Season 完結編(前編) イラストスウェット3 (自由だ) XL 7,980円(税込)

雲の上で子供エレンが「自由だ」と話すシーンをあえてラフタッチに描いたスウェット

背中はその後、「なあ アルミン」アルミンに語るシーンを採用

生地は裏起毛の柔らかなふっくらとした素材を使用。

▼商品内容 色展開:ホワイト サイズ:M～XL 素材:綿 52%、ポリエステル 48% 裏起毛 (表糸:綿 100%)

[chaoshoranghae]

Dreamies and curly hair

platonic

Gender neutral

Mark - 

learning progress together 

he absolutely loves your natural hair and would love to know how to take care of it 

he wants to be able to do, at least this for you 

def a long night together 

almost have to show it to him as a presentation 

visuals, step by steps

explaining if your hair needs more protein or moisturizer 

what each product does 

simple lazy day routines 

full wash day routines 

he loves it 

its a major part of who you are and he would love to be able to know about it and help you with it 

especially on days where its a low energy kind of day but you really need to wash it, dw he got your back 

would def say he's not as good at it but would try

def talks to johnny or his older hyungs about it, how interesting and different it is compared to what he knows

would write a song about curly hair or the process, atleast mentions of it 

you finally let him do the process by himself completely alone and later on posts pics "styled by my wonderful hairstylist bf" or "did yall know being an idol is a coverup for being a hairstylist"

he would be showing everyone your post about him 

Renjun - 

hes so into self care that he naturally might know a little about it 

especially when you have damaged hair and are trying to bring your curls back 

he is bringing out all the old chinese methods on hair recovery 

he loves your natural hair so much, will get a little pouty if you straighten it

the entire environment is so relaxing, candles lit, soft music running even him singing 

the vibes are immaculate 

once he knew how good he was at it, you will never touch your own hair again 

at this point its a routine, one of the things he looks forward to 

its intimate, just you and him, he might even give you some back massages, with being bent over doing your hair has it hurting 

or hes so in control you can completely relax and will read a book 

i would trust this guy with my hair 

Jeno 

a lesson learned together 

he's so used to his hair and the stylists doing his hair he never knew this much time, effort and money would go into your hair 

when ever he's shopping and sees a hair product he sends it to you immediately wondering if this would be good to try 

he's so optimistic about it 

he's the reason why you haven't gave up on your curls and permanently straighten it 

try out a new product and completely changed the way your hair looks for the worst 

but hes so motivated 

he relates what you hair needs to like working out and if you need more protein or to cut 

would totally make use of your wash/ style day and take a bunch of pictures 

consistent praises and compliments about how beautiful your hair is 

he wants to cater to his partner and absolutely make her love her hair 

Haechan 

he would bring a binder

step by step yk with his own visuals 

he would gamify it, like him getting good at it is his increasement of level or smth yk 

or he would “upgrade” and its a new hairstyle that he has mastered 

do not talk to him until he was good at it, he would be ready to practice until he had it down 

until you had to explain to him that wetting/washing  your hair everyday isn’t necessary 

he was so sad, you swear he was going to buy a mannequin head to practice on, locked away in your room

you guys go out? he brings up your hair to all of your friends about good and pretty it is, 1) to fish for compliments 2) because he wants you to hear compliments and feel better about your hair

bro is constantly touching it/[playing with it 

he absolutely loves it

always talking about his gfs hair 

he loves doing funky hairstyles for cosplaying or halloween 

hes like mark, telling everyone but he's so annoying about it 

the members have a jar for everytime he brings it up and has to put money in

like bro will not shut 

Jaemin 

bro would have princesscore hairstyle boards for you 

if you weren’t a princess before now you are 

i feel like he already learned before you because that was your hair type and he wanted to impress you or he's just naturally good at??? 

just like jeno he is so encouraging oh my gosh 

he always organizes your products in order 

if he sees your running low he’ll subtly see if you want a replacement or a new product and buy one for you 

he is so delicate with your hair oh my gosh 

no pulling, no tangles, no pain 

if you fallen asleep without braiding it or putting it up in a bonnet dw jaemins got you 

like leave it up to him

he knows your face shape and recommend hairstyles that fit your face shape and ones to avoid 

jaemin = personal stylist 

takes such perfect candids of you and your beautiful hair 

bro even writes little notes about how beautiful you look and how 

like the self hate you have on your hair from years of people telling you to straigten is gone 

bro will take the straightener so it won’t even come to mind 

Chenle 

he’s so 

at random just bulk of hair products coming to your place with no letter or sign 

will never admit that it was him though

a person really got to you about your hair recently and you've straighten it? he’ll do perm his hair so you guys can have “matching curls” 

like how dare you hate on something he loves 

he has absolutely no clue what any product does but he's seen your likes on ig and amazon lists

so he just buys them 

i think he's a little afraid to do it himself tbh 

so you have him do little by little yk 

first the brushing

which oh my gosh, hes just a tad bit rough with it tbh 

he compared your hair to daegals fur… 

which kinda threw you for a loop but realized he meant it in a weird compliment way as he absolutely adores daegal 

like he loves brushing her fur 

not one to trust with my hair though 

Jisung 

this poor boy 

hes allowed to watch and thats it 

like honestly i think the first couple of times he would be so amazed by how the whole process works that 

like he wouldn’t even suggest to help or learn he's just amazed 

but he does wanna help so he can help you out with the process, unlike the other ones who are completely allowed to take over

he's allowed simple processes like brushing hair or wetting it. 

teaching him prayer hands to apply products is a work in process 

he almost thinks of it as like a dance? 

once he learns the new world of curly hair he will be asking everyone about it and if they have curly hair 

he’s asking his hair stylists about it 

it’s a whole new world for him tbh like 

no matter how many times you explained your hair type and if what it needs he will ask again and again

he esp likes wash day where he gets to spend time with you as he helps alittle with your hair and you can ramble about life or he does

Who I would trust with my hair 

Jaemin 

Renjun

Haechan

Jeno

Chenle

Mark

Jisung

i could not decide who would get the binder it was between renjun/haechan/jeno

i tried enough to make them all different yk

[thribby]

Endless Ocean Luminous

I wrote this as a review on backloggd.com, and I figured I may as well post it here too.

It would take a lot of work to convince me that this game was not a hit piece to prove that smaller and older franchises are not viable.

I wrote some shit down below that I'm sure has been said elsewhere and better, but I already wrote it so I'm not deleting it. I'm gonna talk about something else that I'm speculating on.

Did they want this game to be good? Let's think about this. The Endless Ocean franchise hasn't had a game since 2009, then all of a sudden (13 years later) we hear there's gonna be a new game in a few months. That's exciting and surprising for fans of the series, like me. Can't wait (although, background alarm bells were already ringing for me [I never trusted the "roguelite map," Thanatos' model looks so bad, and I think the look of the characters is so much lamer than what we had in the last games, and all of that was shown in the first trailer]).

So next the game comes out, and it's got less features and mechanics than the previous games. How come? Were we running low on development time? I hope not, it'd already been over a decade since the last game, you may as well take your time with this one. Was it a problem with the budget? I REALLY hope not, as if that's true you are charging $50 for a game you didn't quite finish (also, Endless Ocean Blue World cost $30 back when it released in the US in 2010).

Alright, so I've given them the benefit of the doubt that the game did not run out of time or money to make sure Endless Ocean 3 had all of the bells and whistles from the first two games. Which leads me to the conclusion that they had simply never planned on making Endless Ocean Luminous as complex of a game as Endless Ocean 1 or 2. They had always planned on making less and selling it at a higher price.

Ok, why would they do that? Corporate greed following the general trend of seeking higher profits for less effort? Yeah, sure. But I also think that they wanted this game to do badly. Or at the very least, they don't particularly mind if it does.

So there's a simple way to group the people who play Endless Ocean Luminous into 2 categories: people who have played previous Endless Ocean games and people who are new to Endless Ocean games. I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that people who have played previous Endless Ocean games are gonna be disappointed with this one more often than not. The Endless Ocean games are cult classics and here comes this new entry that doesn't even do as much. The aforementioned "cult" of these "cult classics" will not like that. Which means that the group of people who were most likely to buy this game is now a lot smaller.

As for the new players, you just need to win them over with the fun and engaging gameplay loop! But, oh wait. There are three things to do in this game. And you must do them hundreds of times. But, who knows, maybe enough of the new players will like the game anyway.

Ok, so really, how can I believe any of this? I think this game was sort of a test. If it was popular, cool, that means "less effort with higher price tags" can work and the executives can take that idea and run with it. If it fails, the execs get to go "ahh, we should've known! these old video game franchises are so risky, it's probably best that we just stick a couple of proven franchises and non-franchise IP's." And instead of a big variety of games being produced, we see less and less of these smaller franchises, and more individual games that get shuttered after one game, because "we tried doing sequels and reboots of games once before and everybody said it sucked!" Like how Netflix cancels shows ASAP.

I really just struggle to imagine that this game was made in good faith as an Endless Ocean game when it clearly does not compare well to the other Endless Ocean games.

Here's that shit I wrote back before I decided to just write my little conspiracy theory instead:

The first Endless Ocean in 14 years and it's so much less than either of its prequels (except for the price!). No more hub world in between dives. No more walking on small islands or beaches, or even poking your head above the water, because all of that would require designing and programming an entirely different kind of gameplay, and that's a whole lot of work so why bother? No more specifically and intentionally put together maps, now it's just generated! <-that's where I got fed up with talking about the lack of content and made my pivot

tumblr exclusive thoughts:

Yeah sure, it's just a chill lofi game to relax and swim to now, and it is good that we're not treating sharks as inherently dangerous. but like, how good of a defense is that when 1: the only thing keeping the evil killer shark thanatos from attacking you is the magic sea's water which makes him a pacifist and 2: we're already in a suspension of disbelief with how marine life works in general on account of all of these freshwater and arctic aquatic lifeforms congregating in the fucking tropics of the pacific ocean (not to mention the extinct animals)

It is nice to see some of the models got better but then they also made thanatos look so bad like so so bad oh my god why is he so lumpy why are his eyes bulging out like that????

what were we thinking?? why did we do this to him?

[kissbentennyson]

I have no idea if you'd do this but I need a nega ben x reader. He's my favorite out of the alternates. A softer one shot would be nice but whatever you're feeling is good too! I'll take any content I can get!

*Emo Boy by Ayesha Erotica begins to play* Yeah me too.

Nega Ben x Reader | reader uses they/them pronouns, but dresses femininely.

Spill

He’d been waiting all day, and I mean, all day. Classes always seemed to drag on and on longer when he wanted something, and sure, he could have skipped. But that would have taken too much effort not to get caught. He isn’t afraid of the cops or the school administration… But dealing with his parents? Yeah, no. Not worth it. He’d b-lined it across Bellwood, all the way to the “café” he frequented. Truthfully, it wasn't much of a café seeing as how they specialize in more smoothie like drinks, but whatever. It has been rather crowded, too crowded, and everyone just wanted to get in then out.

He should have expected to bump or get bumped into someone, but it didn’t dawn on him until his espresso smoothie was all over your bright pink, fuzzy sweater. Both of you stood there with slack jaws and wide eyes as the brown liquid dripped from your chest and down onto an equally as pink lolita-esque skirt. It looked expensive, not in a daddy's money way, in a “I saved up to buy this” way. And so, he was prepared for hell.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry!”

When it left you, Ben was confused. “Gosh, I should have been looking where I was going… But I was too distracted. Ugh, I-” You were flustered , more than actually, embarrassed is the correct word. “Um… Give me a second and I'll buy you a new one…”

“What?”

Watching as you tried to pat away the coffee with one of the recycled paper napkins the café gives out, a million thoughts passed through him. Of course he took the offer, he wanted that coffee. The line was a lot shorter this time around, and got by a lot quicker too. You ordered for him as he zoned out suddenly looking over your shoulder at him. “What?” He asks, watching you get even more flustered. “I just asked if you wanted anything else. Do you?” “Oh, uh, yeah.” he clears his throat, raising his voice. “The kale chips.”

You both walked out together, your head was down and you watched your shoes as you walked. “Again, I’m really sorry.” He glances at you with a slight side eye as he sips on the coffee, this was the gazillionth time you’ve apologized in just the last few minutes. “It’s… whatever.” He lets out a quick and breathy chuckle. “You apologize to me, but I ruined your sweater.” All of the sudden, your embarrassment seemed non-existent. A light and bubbly laugh leaving you. “Ruined? Oh, trust me, I’ll be just fine. I've dealt with worse.”

“Anyways! I have to get home and change, It was nice meeting you!”

-

The lunch room was beyond packed, packed like the reunion tour of a popular punk band from the 2000's. The doors and tables overflow with hungry and impatient mouths. You had managed to get in before the rush and snag a serving of less than okay school food, but by the time you got out of line, they had all flooded in. People had no concern for others around them, pushing and shoving like toddlers over toys, and you were getting the brunt of it. Not actually, but it sure felt like it.

You were halfway across the room and were looking around the tables for a free space- but it was too late for that already. A body slams into yours hard, you hit the ground as your food falls and splatters all of the chest of the sweater you had just gotten the coffee stain out of. Feet come down around you as you struggle to get up, the other person now looming over you. “Could you have watched where you were going!?” This whole situation was not intentional, but they had no right to get angry at you for that.

You felt the tips of your ears heat, unable to answer. Her eyes bore down on you as she sways with every passing body bumping into her. Suddenly, you feel a hand grab the back of your sweater and pull you from the ground, as if they were scruffing a cat. “Or, maybe you could stop play fighting with your friends in the cafeteria, like a bitch.” Her jaw drops and her freckled face goes red with embarrassment, obviously on the fact that she can't pawn her mistake off on someone else this time. The voice was rather monotone- in a way- compared to the words spoken. And rather familiar.

When you look up it’s the guy from the café, his neutral expression was a thin vale to hide his irritation- at least to you. His hand still had a grip on the back of your shirt, it was a firm hold, and it made you just a tad bit nervous. You swallow as the person swallows her embarrassment, rolling her eyes desperately to try and hide. “Whatever freak, sorry…” she turns and disappears into the crowd. You watch her do so, completely shocked at the situation at hand. Your lips part to say something, but his grip on your sweater releases, being replaced by an arm around your shoulder. Suddenly, you’re being dragged through the crowd and towards the cafeteria door.

He walks you out into the hallway, which is mostly empty at this point. “Thank you.” you choke out through the lump in your throat. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking with you- and you aren’t in any position to object.

Eventually you reach the stairs. Under it is a mostly empty black backpack, and there’s a light reflection of gold from inside. The weight of his arm leaves your shoulders and he walks ahead, sliding under the stairs and sitting with his back to an old AC unit. You hesitate for a moment, you’ve only met this guy one other time… maybe you should just wait…… nah.

Sliding under the stairs right after him, you sit straight across from the guy. He’s already looked away. “I think we have third period together. Your name is Ben, right?” His phone is already out, and he’s scrolling through it. “Well I'm…” you give him your name, and all he does is look up at you with a nod before going back to his phone. The volume is low, but there are noises coming from it, ones you recognize. “Is that the Sumo Slammers mobile game?” There was no judgement in your voice at all, and suddenly the losing end sound plays.

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Yeah?” “My little brother is obsessed with that series. He says that the mobile game isn’t that good, but he still played it to the end.” He let out a little huff like laugh through his nose, pressing the power button and finally giving you his full attention. “Yeah, maybe the old one wasn't that good, but this one is a new release- Doesn’t even have dubbed lines yet.” He clears his throat, slouching a bit as his hands slide into his pockets. “Actually, it’s not fully released in the states yet. I got pre access to the game.” He watches you smile, and suddenly there's a slight tense feeling in his chest.

“That’s really cool, are you a beta tester or something?” He shrugs. “No, and it’s whatever.” He glances away, gaze holding on the wall. “Well I think it’s really cool, especially since it's a series you like.” “How do you know that?” His gaze snaps back to you, suddenly defensive. “Your backpack is open and the sun is reflecting off of the cold backing of the trading cards.” You lazily point to the stairs above you, and there is the reflected image of the symbol on the cards. “Those are the collectors additions, from japan. I know because I’ve been looking for that exact deck for my brother.”

You watch as his cheeks dust a light pink color, lightly nudging his bag so it falls over. He starts avoiding eye contact, leaning back fully against the old AC unit. “Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be cleaning up your sweater?” You lean back against the stairs. “Yeah, maybe. But I think you’re kinda cool, and I’d like to stay.”

It was rather silent the rest of lunch, when you tried to hold a conversation- he would end it with short answers that gave you nothing to build off of. The bell rings above you like the screech of an angered bird. You both get up, him raising from the floor before you. You brush the dirt off of the back of your thighs, the light sound of unzipping catching your attention. You watch as the zipper of his hoodie comes down as he pulls it. Yanking it off of his shoulders, revealing the greenish-grey long sleeve he had under it.

“Here. Even if you get the food off, it’ll still stain.” He hands you the coat, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, the already open flap lolling open even more. “Oh, thank you, I don’t know what to sa-” “Don’t. Don’t say anything. This never happened.” He walks past you and into the crowd of students, with his head down.

You watch as he does so, eventually looking back down at the hoodie in hand. You feel your face just slightly twinge with heat. “Yeah… Alright.” You say under your breath as you rush off to the nearest bathroom to scrub the food scum from your sweater.

-

It was a game day.

Not that he kept track of that, he had never been into football. Once upon a time he played soccer, but after he got the Negatrix any hopes of that former love returning was gone. Ben knew it was game day because his cousin was in her cheerleading outfit- and it was no were near time for cheer competitions. Her makeup was done and her strawberry blonde hair was pulled up, and she sat in the front seat of her boyfriend's car chatting to said boyfriend about the routines she had to do.

Ben sat in the back, as he always did, waiting for the drive to be over. It came soon enough as the car pulled into the drop off area in front of the school, slowing to a stop. Neither Tennyson waited for it to fully stop before opening their doors. He got out, closing it with a slam and without a thank you. Gwen still leaning in and talking. The chatter of the hoard of tired teenagers flocking into the building almost drowned out the shouting of his name.

Almost.

He groans, looking over his shoulder, spotting the mass of pastels jogging towards him with something in their arms. “I’m so glad I got here on time! They were packed this morning- and I thought I'd be late- but I made it.” In your arms is his hoodie and an espresso smoothie. You hand him your gifts with a large smile. “I um, washed the jacket for you. Thanks again.” The bell rings and you give a quick wave before pushing into the school building yourself.

His jaw hangs slack, looking down at his freshly cleaned jacket- lint free, folded, and still warm- and the smoothie. When he moves there's a light cracking from inside the jacket, like the sound of a chip bag. He pulls back one of the folds and there is a bag of kale chips, stuck to it is a yellow sticky note written on with a pink gel pen. A phone number with “See you at lunch.”

“Who was that?” Ben looks over at his cousin, an impressed smirk on her lips.

“You’re getting mileage out of this, huh?” “Soooo much.”

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.  

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo. 

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy. 

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships. 

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate. 

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?” 

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise. 

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum. 

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed. 

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks. 

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.” 

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.” You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you. 

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is. 

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.  

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support. 

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle. 

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this. 

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.  

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway. 

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you. 

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck. 

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal. 

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw. 

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.” 

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him. 

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it. 

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought. 

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble. 

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later. 

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again. 

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding. 

Both of you looked ridiculous. 

“Stay away, fiend.” 

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you. 

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t. 

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible. 

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself. 

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring. 

“You won last time, I’m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time. 

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes. 

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you. 

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again. 

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst. 

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm. 

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying. 

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again. 

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment. 

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.  

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you. 

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up. 

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech. 

“Suppose that’s two points for me?” 

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something. 

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him? 

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know. 

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again. 

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

[leviiattacks]

CASHIER LEVI AND LIKE THE READER IS THE CUSTOMER AND IT’S LIKE THEY HAVE A CRUSH ON EACHTOHER

author note :: honestly not my best at all..... like at all..... this was actually pretty good but the entire draft got deleted and i just lost all my effort but i felt bad for starting it and not completing it for anon so you may take whatever i have managed to salvage. i hope u enjoy it :’( i am extremely sick rn and yeah writing is the only break i am currently getting from anything :-) SO AGAIN I’ M SORRY ANON..... i may write a 10k + word fic on this though so i can redeem myself bc this is just disappointing 😭

word count :: 3.3k

every single thursday you stop by ackermart. maybe it’s because the day is convenient for you or perhaps it’s because of a certain cashier that works the evenings...

HAHA it’s got nothing to do with a cashier why would it have anything to do with a cashier? :-)

today is like any other. you walk through the fresh produce aisle then proceed to make your way towards the bakery section picking up a loaf of bread

it’s stupid, you know it is but... you think you’ve worked up enough courage to speak to him today!!

and who is him you may ask?

levi at till number four. his tired eyes always happen to pierce into yours and his calloused thumbs brush past your skin when you hand him your rewards card

levi is what his bright red name tag says and although he doesn’t look like a levi you’d like to think your crush isn’t stealing someone’s identity so you believe that it’s his real name

anxiously fiddling with your basket you’re beginning to think this was a horrible idea

the girl ahead of you is flirting up a storm with him and although he’s not reciprocating it by any means you still feel deterred

levi bags the last of her groceries and looks up at her when she asks for a way to contact him. he doesn’t look mad... just bored?

“ma’am. this is an ackermart i don’t think it’s appropriate you ask me for my number. the customer service line is listed on our website.”

the woman raises a brow looking completely flabbergasted. okay, if everything before this wasn’t a warning THIS sure was

she stomps off when she realises levi isn’t kidding and you think you’d feel bad for her maybe if she was more respectful about it

“next customer.” levi calls over his shoulder and you shuffle forward pretending to be engrossed in your phone

“cash or card?” he asks plainly.

you hear the BEEP of your groceries being scanned and think on it for a while before replying with “cash”

you’re clearly pretty good at your pretend to be totally into your phone act because levi tries to get your attention but you don’t hear what he has to say till the third time he repeats himself

but even then you’re still unsure what it is he’s said????

looking down you see his hand is stuck out in front of you and now you’re even more confused

faltering for a second you look at his palm and then speak

“um, i guess your hand is nice? it’s pretty big compared to the rest of you actually.”

“i was asking for your cash?” he says and now you look at his palms in mortification

gasping you yANK your hand into your purse as you laugh awkwardly fishing around to find your money

“oh, OH i knew that. just kidding!! i mean- i meant that thing about your hand?? but i thought it was- i funny? yes the joke funny? i’m-”

he leans back into his spinning chair and sighs contently. “you’re not making much sense peaches.”

“pe- peaches??” you repeat. no way you’ve heard that correct

levi lazily points at the abundance of the aforementioned fruit in your grocery bags

“you must love em.”

“i, well yeah i do like peaches but i also like...” um??? what food would make you look sophisticated and professional?

OH YEAH

“FRENCH CUISINE :-)!!!!” you say rather proudly

“...cool. i guess.” levi hands you your grocery bag which is basically an invitation asking for you to get out

he doesn’t seem mad but he’s definitely going to look back at this encounter and laugh his ass off at how stupid you are

hanging your head down low in embarrassment you make your way out towards your car

there’s always next time!! maybe you can practice in the mirror yeah that does sound like it would help!!!

okay so.

it is officially next time.

actually you never got the opportunity to practice in front of the mirror because you chickened out of looking like an idiot even if it was in the privacy of your own home

but!!! you did try to practice some cool pick up lines because who doesn’t like a good pickup line or two??

the two mini milk cartons in your hand and the pack of doughnuts you have tucked under your arm aren’t too heavy so you aren’t too worried about having to wait in the line

for some reason the guy in front of you keeps turning around and glancing at you as if you don’t even exist

you are not casper the ghost

also casper is a little boy and you definitely aren’t a little boy

finally after a good five minutes the man ahead of you is having his stuff scanned but he’s STILL doing it. even levi notices and gives him an odd look which borders annoyance and anger.

“can i pay for your groceries? maybe walk you to your car?” the stranger asks suddenly

so that’s what this is, he’s simply taken an interest in you

my god this is new but it is uncomfortable and you’d rather say no

“oh, i actually walked here and no thanks i can pay for my own. enjoy the rest of your day!!” you hope your white lie is enough to fool the man but instead of agreeing as any other person would he looks majorly deceived

“i saw you in the parking lot.” ok this is getting a bit too uncomfortable for your liking

“c’mon i’m offering to buy your shit too?”

his voice is raising and you’re not sure what exactly you can do but thankfully for you the manager steps in and takes him away before any more threats can be made

the man had taken up so much of your attention you almost forgot levi was even there until you turned back around

“do you want a member of staff to accompany you to your car? it’s getting dark out.” levi’s comment helps ease your nerves and you try to laugh off what just happened

“i’m good :-)” you say shaking a little. you’re unsure if it’s the cold or the fact you still haven’t completely calmed down

“you sure peaches?”

“i haven’t bought any peaches this time.”

“you’re still peaches to me.” your cheeks flush at his confidence

wait, maybe this is your chance. you’re the last person in his line and they’re closing up for the day so...

“could you walk me to my car?”

and to your surprise even before you can take back what you’ve said levi agrees

it stays like that for a while.

every thursday levi walks you to your car by the end of his shift, all the while the two of you exchange a few words together

like last week you asked him what his favourite colour was (he said purple) you’ve learnt about his hobbies (he’s a decent cook), you’ve even found out about some of his own personal problems. he had mentioned suffering with insomnia in passing.

to be honest each and every time he walks you to your car he has to notice that you begin to park further and further away from the front entrance. but if he does notice he doesn’t say a word about it

“is that all you’re checking out?” you ask with a cheeky grin plastered across your face

looking down at your new dress your lopsided grin is far from fading away any time soon. you especially picked this one out after asking levi what his favourite colour was last week

god. this is so embarrassing but never actually have you had a crush this huge

levi who’s sat behind the counter shoots you a look which almost seems to be on the verge of uninterested. he isn’t entertaining this at all or this is just his typical bored face, you can’t really tell

BUT..... you still have a huge crush on him and you aren’t one to give up this easily

for the record you don’t harass him or anything, just the occasional hint is thrown around but he’s either really dense or doesn’t care

his expression does you no favours, you can’t tell what he’s thinking half the time

“you’re always buying energy drinks... might want to cut down on those they’re no good for you.”

warmth blooms in your chest. he’s just saying it to make small talk but the fact he even thinks to bring that up has your heart fluttering

“i- well- yeah i will!! just have a few overdue essays to get over with :-)” twiddling your thumbs together you think that makes your nerves too obvious so you begin to scratch at the back of your neck

if anything is a dead give away it’s your constant neck scratching, thankfully levi hasn’t picked up on it

“so you wore purple today?” his eyes linger on the thin straps of your dress and you feel the goosebumps rise up onto your skin immediately

“oh yeahhhh-”

“did i tell you yellow was my favourite colour last week?” he asks holding up a neon yellow pack of crisps and for the first time you see him smile

he looks so ?!|>\€|^ pretty ?!/)/&

wait?? yellow??

“didn’t you say purple?”

“no?” he crosses his arms playfully over his chest thinking for a bit

“maybe i did but no it’s really yellow.” he says as he hands you your bag

nodding your head you smile “yeahhhh sure it is.”

damn, now you’re going to have to find a yellow dress just to make him revert back to purple because who even likes yellow?? that’s a deal breaker right there??

update

it’s been two weeks!!

and a yellow dress has been found and secured B-)

it’s been a pretty rough day at work and you need to desperately collect a pack of green tea and get going

you don’t know when exactly being a secretary meant you had to babysit your boss’ children but that’s what the last week has entailed

being made to work overtime to this extent has had an effect on you and you’re ready to head home as soon as you swing by ackermart

not seeing levi for a week made you a little :-( because to be honest he’s the highlight of your thursday evening BUT!! you’ll be able to see him today at least

walking in through the entrance you’re met with connie smiling right at you, he holds the door open for you and smile back greeting him

“so you didn’t come last week...?”

it’s weird for him to ask that, after all you don’t really speak to anyone here apart from levi, you’re surprised you’re enough of a regular to be known by name

“oh i didn’t think anyone would notice? but yeah i had to work overtime you know what boss’ are like.” groaning you crouch down and look at the pot noodles on display

“i didn’t notice it. boss man did.”

“boss man?” you ask feeling out of loop

“levi.” connie answers as he hops into the backroom

????

isn’t he just a cashier??

“you still look confused.” connie remarks as he heads back out with a cardboard box full of pringle’s tubes

“levi’s the boss man, this is his store. he literally only ever mans the cash register on thursday evening because of you.”

at that you start laughing because it makes no sense at all to you

there’s no way connie is being serious

“good one.” you say as you stand up with a chicken flavored noodle in your hand

“i’m not kidding?”

turning around you give him a skeptical look

he sighs and shakes his head.

“listen. me and the part timers are tired of making bets on when he’ll give you his number and i bet that it would happen today so if you could confess to each other that would be perfect!!!”

“who said i like-”

“anyone with a brain can tell you both like each other.” he’s rolled his eyes so far into the back of his head you begin to take him a little more seriously now

“i... did i make it that obvious??” you’re directly facing him trying to get out as much information as you can

“yeah. very. at least levi wasn’t as bold.”

“i think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick he definitely doesn’t like me.”

connie gives you an “are you fucking with me?” look and you look away trying to distract yourself with the the canned goods lining the shelves

“he was worried sick when you didn’t come in for the entire week. he even asked me if he scared you away.”

“maybe i’m just his favourite customer?”

“favourite customer my ass he has a crush on YOU. confess.”

playing around with the ends of your sleeves connie sees he’s fighting a losing battle unless he gives you definitive solid proof

“please... i’ll get free barbecue if i win the bet and i’m kinda broke rn :-(” okay, you do want connie to eat well and be treated and maybe this is a good thing. if levi doesn’t like you then you can move on!!

“i’ll think about it.”

before connie can continue talking you make a beeline towards the tea aisle whilst throwing a “see you next time!” over your shoulder.

by the time you’ve gathered all of your groceries your basket is full to the brim. you’ve been lingering as much as you can out of fear but you think you’ve collected just enough courage to ask for his number

looking at the cash register levi is sat there and your shoulders slump. he’s probably going to say no and you’re going to look like a huge loser.

right as you’re about to take a step towards him levi finally spots you and gives you one look before standing up from his seat

“hi!” you wave at him

“...hey!” he smiles wide but he bites it back pretending it was never there in the first place

placing your basket in front of him he eyes what you’ve got

“hm... lots of peaches as per usual peaches.” the nickname that rolls of his tongue makes you tremble a little. will he call you that after you fuck everything up with this stupid confession?

his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek when he gets to the heart shaped box of chocolates

“a gift for a friend? didn’t know you had those?” he teases as he scans the barcode

“gift for a crush!” you reply back enthusiastically as you dig through your wallet looking for your card

levi doesn’t respond for a few seconds and an awkward silence fills the air. you glance up to see him looking at you open mouthed in shock

“good luck.” he murmurs under his breath he’s not even returning your gaze at this point and is hurriedly scanning through your barcodes

“you okay?” you ask worrying about his mood

“yeah, yeah. great.” he’s quieter than usual.

the rest of your encounter is the same, levi silently bags your groceries and you can’t tell if this is a good or bad response.

just as he’s about to place the heart shaped box into your plastic bag you lunge forward holding his wrist to stop him

“no i don’t need those.”

he cocks his eyebrow upwards trying to analyse your expression and gain an understanding of your thoughts

“don’t tell me you’re chickening out. whoever it is will say yes.” he scoffs as he places the chocolates into the bag handing them over to you with a warm smile

there it is again. the fear returns and you swipe your tongue over your slightly dry lips.

no way.

is he telling you to confess to someone now? so he must not like you?

taking the bag away from him you scratch your neck out of habit and huff feeling frustrated

“he keeps giving me mixed signals.” you say hoping he catches your drift

“give him the chocolates and let him put two and two together. don’t even say anything.” his advice would be great if he weren’t the guy you were trying to confess to in real time

nodding you reach into the bag and bring the box back out before gently placing it in front of levi

“are you serious?” he asks and your face drops seeing the possible displeasure in his eyes

great, connie and the part timers just over analysed he doesn’t like you, obviously he doesn’t like you, why would he like you?

without looking back you hurry out, the embarrassment is eating you away now and the thought of ever returning to ackermart isn’t even feasible in your mind

at this point you may as well change your name, identity, dye your hair, have a few children and wear sunglasses the next time you come back so you look like a soccer mum and not the foolish y/n who thought they had a chance with their cute CASHIER???

god, you probably look like a creep

the sound of footsteps can be heard behind you and labored breaths follow before levi calls out for you

“please wait up.” he grumbles. slowing down your pace you let him catch up to you. he grabs at your wrist and sighs in relief

turning you see him savour the air

is this the part where he confesses he likes you too or—

“your receipt you forgot it.” he gasps as he opens your hand for you and places it into your palm

oh.

fingers clasping shut onto the paper you feel the humiliation seep into your pores

this.

is.

the.

worst.

moment.

of.

your.

life.

���open it.” he offer you a boyish smile and your nerves don’t let you find comfort in it

you grimace as you fold it open, you’re imagining he’s charged you an extra £100 for having unwanted feelings for him and if that’s the case you’ll die on the spot

but instead your eyes light up in joy. you’re pleasantly surprised

...

inside of the receipt is his phone number haphazardly sprawled across in black biro - you even double check by comparing it to the number for the customer service helpline

hello??

HELLO.?.!/)£ HIS NUMBER???

“if you just wanted to return the chocolate this is embarrassing.” he’s the one who’s now scratching at his neck and you find that he’s endearing this way

the streetlight from above illuminates him, the shadows cast over his face and his brows aren’t furrowed as they usually are

you open your mouth to reply but connie cuts you off unintentionally. he can be heard YELLING into his phone ecstatic that his plan has worked out

“I WIN!!! HA BBQ’S ON YOU JEAN!! MUST SUCK TO BE YOU.”

you and levi look at each other and laugh, reassuring the other of what has just happened.

well...

you guess this is the start of something new? maybe??

:-)

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x reader (part 7)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 2.5k

warnings: um just implied smut and fluff and a reference to bdsm I guess?? but it's pretty chill overall

Liked by starkcosmetics and others

y/n.y/l/n okay first of all, it takes an act of god to get a picture of this guy smiling, but it’s always worth it.  he really changed everything for me and I can’t thank him enough for that.  so happy ���️ 

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caroldanvers 😍😍😍

flowercrowny/n oh my god this is so sweet i’m gonna cry

1 HOUR AGO

He smiled as he stared down at the post you’d made, remembering how much effort you’d put into finding the perfect picture (in your opinion; he thought he looked kinda dopey in it) as well as writing and re-writing your caption.

The speed at which your post gained likes and comments was inconceivable to him; even more impressive was the speed at which gossip rags were picking up the story.  Sure enough, his phone’s alerts to new headlines about you were not only going off like crazy, but had started to include news about himself as well.  

Y/N Y/L/N Shocks With Romantic Instagram Post, Confirms Dating Rumors

You’ll Never Guess Which Hollywood Starlet Is Dating Her Driver

Who is James Barnes?  Everything We Know About Y/N Y/L/N’s New Beau

Skimming one of the articles, he was impressed at how much information they’d managed to get without actually getting anything from you or him.  Born in Brooklyn, disabled Army veteran, worked a list of odd jobs before becoming your driver and bodyguard.  ‘No social media presence, prefers to keep a low profile’ one of them said; you can say that again, Bucky chuckled to himself when he read it.

He found another from People and didn’t particularly appreciate that it spent half the time going through all your past exes and rumored partners (turned out ‘rumored’ is a fancy word for ‘a bunch of fans deluded themselves so hard that it somehow turned into news without any proof necessary’).  But he still smiled when he got to the part that was actually about you and him.

‘The relationship is pretty new but they’re so happy together,’  a source close to the couple reported.  

Close indeed; that statement came from your publicist, who he’d never even meet.  

‘He’s a very private guy and she’s got this huge following, so they’re sort of an odd couple in that way, but she knows her fans are respectful and will let them have their own life outside of the spotlight.’ 

Bucky wasn’t sure that the respectfulness of fans was such a given here, but he hoped you were right.  To be fair, they’d been very sweet on your original post insofar. 

However, when he scrolled to the bottom of the celebrity magazine articles and realized they had their own comments section, he discovered that they were a little less forgiving than the ones on your Instagram.  

Is this the best she thinks she can do?  So sad tbh :(

a military guy…. yikes, she could get any guy she wants and she goes for a murderer. 

He looks like a hobo that found a coupon for a free haircut lol

I don’t buy it, I know she’ll always love Pietro!

Pietro being your former co-star that so many of your fans were convinced was actually your soulmate.  From what he’d heard from you, those speculations had made things so uncomfortable between the two of you that it killed your friendship.  Those were nothing, though, compared to the comments about someone you actually had dated.

she’s obviously not over sam… they were so good together

He’d better watch out for her ex, he still likes tweets about her and they have so much chemistry

Wait, she’s not still with Sam Wilson??  I could’ve sworn they’d been dating for, like, five years.

You were scrolling through your phone with a smile as you walked past where he was sitting on the couch, and he just couldn’t help himself from asking even though he knew it wasn’t the best idea.  “Do I need to worry about this Sam thing?” he blurted out, trying to play it cool and not sound too anxious.  “People are really obsessed with you two…”

“Sam and I…” you sighed, staring off into space for a second.  He made himself anxious imagining what you were thinking about in that moment.  “I haven’t talked to him in… years?  I think it’s just because our relationship was so public that people are still talking about it.  And it had a lot of gossip material— we did a movie together, people thought it was sweet that we got together during production, it was great promotion for the picture… and from the outside, we made a lot of sense for each other.  But he has his own problems.  I loved him, but… he wasn’t ever going to be a one-girl kinda guy.”

“But you’re not just any one girl.  You’re… you know, you,” he emphasized.

“You’ve been reading too many headlines,” you shook your head as you sat down beside him.  “Please don’t turn into one of those guys who thinks of me as a celebrity first.  Before that—” you pointed to your own name where it was bolded on his screen in the trending topics page of Twitter— “was popping up on movie posters and in gossip magazines, it was just my name.  And I’m not perfect.  Not even close.”

Bucky sighed and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him and holding you tightly.  “And before I knew you were famous, or rich, or incredibly talented, I was totally obsessed with you just for who you are.”

“You’re too fucking amazing,” you sighed as you held his face and gave him a gentle kiss— the kind of kiss that instantly melted his heart and banished his worries.  When you pulled back and looked up at him with a smile, it was like everything else just… faded away.  “Don’t read the comments, okay?  None of them matter.”

He smiled and brushed his thumb over your cheek, overwhelmed by not only the softness of your skin but of your spirit as well.  In all his life he’d never been handled so… gently, with so much care.  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbled, not even really realizing he’d said it aloud until you gave him a beaming smile.

“I can’t believe you’re my boyfriend,” you giggled pridefully.

“Seriously?  I can… very easily believe it,” he scoffed.

“I just mean… you’re so…” you searched for the words.  “You’re actually good to me, that’s the thing.  I’m not used to that.”

“You deserve the world,” he assured.  “I’m just gonna keep trying to give you as much of it as I can find.”

He watched his hand trail over your face, down your neck and to your chest where he played with the hem of your t-shirt.

"It's odd to know there are millions of people who are jealous of me,” he admitted quietly, remembering some aggressive comments from some very angry dudes who had apparently also watched your nude scene a few too many times.

"Do you like it?  Do you like how it feels to know you're making them angry every time you touch me?"

"Couldn't care less," he refuted.  "Nobody else matters when I'm touchin' you."

“Do you maybe wanna… touch me a little more about it?” you smirked, opening your legs slightly in invitation.

“Always.”

//

Bucky had, thankfully, not let the newfound fame get to his head.  In fact, he had demanded that the two of you hunker down in the house, since he feared that going out would lead to being recognized.  What he apparently hadn’t anticipated was that that might not be enough.

“Will you get that?” you requested when the gate buzzed, too wrapped up in the book you were reading to answer the intercom.

He hopped up and held down the button to communicate with the gate speaker.  “Who is it?” he asked.

“I’ve got a delivery from Anjappar Chettinad on 23rd?”

Bucky didn’t even reply before hitting the green button and granting access to the driveway.  BEEP BEEP BEEP! you heard the gate signal its opening, and the car pulling around up to the door.  Bucky didn’t open it until there was a knock, greeting the delivery guy with a smile and the necessary cash.

“I’ve got a lamb korma, hyderabadi mutton dum biryani and an order of— woah,” the man suddenly stopped, staring at Bucky’s face.  “Are you—?’

“Hungry?  Yes,” he frowned.

“You’re the guy dating— holy shit, congrats man,” he beamed, smacking Bucky on the shoulder pridefully before leaning in with a mischievous smirk.  “Say, is she a freak or what?”

“She is,” you piped up from the couch, making both men turn their heads; but one was chuckling while the other looked mortified.  “You better not have forgotten my paneer pakora or I’m gonna chain you up and whip you.”

“Uh, I— no, I got it right here,” he promised weakly, handing the bag over to Bucky and starting to dash away before Bucky grabbed his arm, making the smaller man whimper fearfully.

“You forgot the money,” Bucky reminded him gruffly, stuffing the bills into the driver’s front pocket.

Finally, he let go, and the delivery man instantly pulled away, rubbing his arm and looking a bit like a kicked puppy as he went back to his car and drove away.

“You didn’t need to scare him that bad,” Bucky chuckled.

“I could say the same to you!  Grabbing somebody with the metal arm like that will put the fear of God into them pretty fast.”

“I didn’t mean to grab him that hard,” he admitted, examining the prosthetic hand as he came back to the couch with the bag of food, handing it to you while he focused on watching his motorized fingers curl and uncurl.  “I think I need to get this thing recalibrated… it’s been bugging out lately.”

“I dunno, it was working just fine last night,” you smiled, remembering how delightfully cool those fingers felt inside you.

Bucky seemed to miss it entirely, though, as he stared off into space.  “I can’t believe I got… recognized.”

“You’re a star,” you winked.  “And not just with random delivery drivers.  I’ve had a lot of press requests, everybody wants to be the first one to get nice pictures of us together— we’ve had a dozen event invites as a couple.”

“Seriously?!” he scoffed, snapping back to reality slightly enough 

“Yeah, and look what came in same-day mail this morning!”  You leaned over to shuffle through the mail on the side table before finding and handing him a letter in a gold-embossed envelope, watching him read what you knew was inside.

The Hollywood Foreign Press Association extends an invitation to Y/N Y/L/N and James Barnes to the annual Grant Banquet in support of the Young Artists Fund.

“It seems like a good first event for us,” you explained.  “Relatively small and low stakes, it’s for a good cause…”

“Are you sure I’m ready to be, you know… seen?  By people?” 

You scoffed, hardly believing how insecure he could be sometimes.  “You look great, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Will I have to talk to anybody other than you?” he asked, grimacing as if that were a form of brutal torture.

“Probably,” you admitted.

His frown deepened.  “What if I say the wrong thing?”

“I’m not that worried about you,” you smirked.  “You’re a lot better at this stuff than you think you are.”

“I don’t have anything to wear…”

You smirked, a little too proud of yourself, when you remembered the email your publicist had forwarded to you just this morning.  “Hugo Boss will pay you $1500 to wear one of their suits on the carpet.”

“They’ll pay me to wear free clothes?” he repeated with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that’s one of the cooler things about fame,” you laughed.  “I make a grand every time I wear this watch outside!”

“I guess I should send them my measurements then…” he trailed off.  “Any chance I can get in on that watch deal?”

“No, but you can make $50 by getting papped at Jamba Juice.”

He paused for a moment, scratching the back of his neck as he thought.  “Is the smoothie comped?”

“I don’t know.  Do you want me to ask?”

“...kinda…” he admitted with a shy smile.  

“Well, I will, and I’ll RSVP to this invite saying we’ll be there next week,” you decided as you started to open up the food, but Bucky stopped you by reaching for your hands.

“Are we really doing this?” he asked.

“If you want to,” you mitigated.

“Of course I do.  I guess I have to accept that you’re actually willing to be seen with me,” he chuckled.  “It’s just sort of hard to believe.”

You leaned in and kissed him; it was meant to be a casual, reassuring peck but he held you closer and you melted into him, moaning softly at his touch as you started to climb into his lap.

“The food’s gonna get cold,” he reminded you with a mumble against your lips.

Unfortunately, your literal hunger was a bit too strong to ignore, even with the growing intensity of a metaphorical hunger for Bucky.  “Alright,” you relented, getting off of him and returning your attention to the meal on the table.  “Just know that I really, really want to be seen together, in public, just in case anybody missed the news about us already.  I’m not embarrassed by you or afraid you’re going to do something dumb.  I…”

One of those words that can’t be unsaid started to bubble up in your throat and you coughed, banishing the thought.

“I really like you.  I think we have something special.”

He smiled gently, giving you one more kiss on the cheek.  “I think so, too.”

//

Since this was slightly less of a big deal than a premiere or press tour, you had managed to convince your styling team to let you dress yourself, which was why he was laying on the bed and talking to you through the bathroom door while you put on your gown.

“Do you want me to hire a new driver?” you prompted him, voice muffled slightly as he imagined your head covered in the fabric, trying to navigate through the dress.  “I don’t want you to feel… I don’t know, like a servant?”

“A servant?  You’re still paying me,” he reminded you.  “You are still paying me, right?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “but still, I would hate it if you felt like staff.  You’re my boyfriend!”

(His heart still fluttered every time you said it.)

“No new driver,” he decided.  “I can drive just fine, and considering how things went between us… let’s not open the door for anybody else,” he smirked, making you laugh in that way you did when he made a stupid joke but you still liked it somehow.

“Okay, sure, but what about being my bodyguard?  Is that too weird?” you continued.

“God no,” he scoffed, “if anything I’m gonna be better at my job than ever.  As your boyfriend, keeping you safe is my job, but since keeping you safe was already my job… it’s, like, doubled-up now.”

He lost his train of thought when you opened the door.

“How do I look?” you asked as you stepped in and gave him a spin in your new dress.  Your whole body was draped in red silk, with the exception of your back which was almost entirely exposed, as if it were begging him to run his fingers down your spine.

“Like everything I ever wanted,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

And it was so odd that you questioned his desire to drive you, because those moments where he could steer with one hand and rest the other on your thigh, when he could catch a glimpse of you looking out the window at the city rolling by, when he got to listen to you ramble about something to kill the time during a drive; those were his favorite moments, and he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

After a relatively brief trip, you arrived at the venue, and all of a sudden he was doing what he’d fantasized about more than he’d like to admit: escorting you down a red carpet.  It was almost overwhelming— yelling, chattering, reporters speaking into camera, flashes going off in every direction—

“Hey,” you whispered, bringing your hand up to his cheek and instantly taking all his attention.

“Hey,” he returned.

“Just follow my lead,” you instructed.

“That was the plan.”

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

A/N: this idea started as just random concept drabbling between leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ and i and we never really thought it would amount to anything tbh!! but as we started putting more and more into the plot and characters, we made the spontaneous decision to make it a full on, multi-chaptered collab fic! we have so many ideas planned and so much to elaborate on and we’re just so mfing excited to share it with you guys :’) any and all feedback is greatly appreciated 💌 we hope you enjoy the first part and that you fall in love with this stupid emotionally unavailable moron the way we did! happy reading!!

andrea’s askbox : leyla’s askbox : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : 

word count: 17.2k

content/warnings: vampire!harry being a lowkey asshole while downing straight tequila like a psycho, getting to know The Crew, Mitch being the iconic legend he is, mentions of smut, and Harry working his immortal charm on an unsuspecting human girl with a peculiar scent and intriguing personality

///

Harry hates clubs. 

In his two hundred years of life, through many trials and tribulations, through tricky scenarios and annoying encounters, through thousands of unappealing circumstances and patience-testing events, he doesn’t think anything quite compares to the crowded, nerve-wracking experience that is a Los Angeles club on a Friday night during peak hours. 

According to his wise, humble opinion, it’s absolutely fucking petrifiying. He’d rather swallow a stake than have to spend hours in a dimly lit room with synthetic smoke choking his lungs, half-conscious humans stumbling around into him, and the stench of sweaty bodies mixed with liquor fumes, alongside the faint yet unmistakable waft of vomit. 

Yeah, Harry would definitely rather eat a red oak spear than have to shoulder that.

Despite his intense hatred for this Californian city during its after-hours, he can’t deny that he fits right into the scene perfectly. Decades of grooming and practice have made him a prime candidate for the fast-paced characteristics that come with the party nightlife. 

Fitting into these aspects aren’t something he had learned willingly; he didn’t really have a choice on the matter, considering his entire existence depends on mortals immature tendencies to get properly shit-faced and make stupid decisions in tightly-packed glorified bars. Harry never understood that— how a fog machine, strobe lights, and an undergrad amateur DJ could ever seem more appealing than the quiet, stable ambiance of a semi-formal bar. How deranged do people have to be to actually enjoy strangers spilling alcohol on them while attempting to shag someone else two feet away on the dance floor? 

Whenever he dwells too much on that thought, he gets a spiking migraine. After this long, Harry’s just come to terms with the fact that humans are regressing as a species. His conclusion is a bit cynical, perhaps, but hardly difficult to accept. One look at a news outlet provides enough proof to launch an Ivy League research project on the matter. 

He really shouldn’t be complaining, however, because the combination of overflowed close quarters and dampened inhibitions makes it the ideal hunting ground. Picking up a living blood bag at a club is basically as easy as walking through a vineyard and plucking grapes right off the stems. It’s practical, it’s fool-proof, and if he plays his cards right, he gets to feed and gets his more intimate needs tailored (a combo that he and his friends refer to as Laid and Drained).  

So regardless of his distaste towards clubs and their eager inhabitants, Harry had learned to mold his persona to fit the bill, making himself as approachable and desirable as possible. His life literally hangs in the balance; he’d put up with throngs of drunk sorority girls and their affinity for shitty perfumed drinks if it means avoiding desiccation. 

It’s not like it’s hard. All Harry has to do is make himself look more appealing than the other hundred men milling around the establishment, which— if he’s being brutally honest— isn’t that challenging. The moral, physical, and ethical standards of men have dropped frighteningly low since his time. Most of the ones that creep around clubs are overconfident, overzealous, boundary-lacking douchebags who think they’re entitled to a woman’s attention, and therefore make complete, utter fools of themselves in the process of trying to court one into their pants. Buying a girl one Sex On The Beach and dry-humping to Daft Punk isn’t the way to convince her to come home with you. 

Harry has developed his own guidelines and tactics for securing a nightly bedroom companion, and his ideas have been working wonders for him for decades now. 

The first and foremost rule is to clean up nicely. Personal appearance is everything. Humans are visual creatures; they build first impressions solely based on outward attraction. That trait is enhanced the higher their blood alcohol content rises. The drunker someone gets, the shallower they become, and it’s Harry’s job to work that to his advantage. And at the risk of sounding shallow himself, he thinks he does pretty alright in that department. 

Especially tonight, present in all the elements of his physique. He’s clad in a pair of high-waisted tan trousers that have been ironed to a crisp, his fitted graphic tee tucked neatly along his waistband beneath his black leather belt. His t-shirt is probably his favorite part of the entire look. It’s a baby blue sturdy cotton number with pastel yellow detailing along the cuffs and collar and a giant cartoon puppy in a striped bowtie taking up its center, smiling cheekily at the onlooker. Arranged around the doodle in faded Times New Roman bubble letters are the words WE’RE IN THE SHIT. 

Harry loves the irony of the article— the innocence of the drawing juxtaposed by the crude message. The piece is a conversation-starter— people almost always comment on it— and that’s exactly what he needs. Something to draw attention to himself and shadow all the other men. Something that shows he has a personality; that he has taste and a good sense of humor and isn’t just another walking genital. Plus, what person doesn’t enjoy a funny little contradiction, especially when it’s this cute?

On top of his graphic top, he’s wearing a tartan cropped blazer (open, of course) with a creme background and royal blue lines. The hem ends at the bottom of his ribs, exactly where his pants begin, and the jacket's hand-sewn buttons and strap detailings show that it's an expensive garment. It shows that he puts money and effort into how he looks, which is something anyone would appreciate when scoping for a possible hookup.

Harry’s shoes are the most casual factor of his fit. They’re a pair of light yellow Vans that match the collar of his tee. They’re plain, but he keeps them clean and they tie the whole look together without a hitch.

Accessories are everything, as well. Aside from the pearls arranged around his prominent collarbones, the gold-dipped cross hanging from a delicate chain around his neck, and the matching dangling cross earring on his right earlobe (again, he adores irony), he’s sporting a plethora of chunky rings on his hands, each unique and effortlessly complimenting his appearance. On his left hand, his index finger dots a ruby jewel embedded into a thick rusted band, another large metal one with dancing bears on his middle, and two clunky golden letters on his last two digits— his initials, HS. On his opposite hand, he has a medium-width plated ring on his middle finger with peace engraved along its rounded edge, an elegant lionhead number with an amethyst stone snug in its mouth, and along his pinky is a decently-sized opal set into a delicate polished frame. 

His two last rings are the most important of all. The lionhead is his daylight ring, which he hasn’t taken off since he transitioned. It keeps him from bursting into flames everytime the sun hits his skin. The opal was his mother’s, and it was her favorite. 

Harry’s attire is something he’s immensely proud of, even though a good amount of people deem him eccentric in the eyes of modern masculinity. He couldn’t give less of a shit. With his lightly tanned skin, alluring cologne and lacquered nails, his shirt stretching across the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, his broad shoulders and tapering waist, his thick thighs, sharp jaw, jade eyes, loosely tousled chestnut curls, and the vast array of dark ink littering his arms...

He looks good and he knows it. And all the people whose gazes glue to him as he passes by know it, too. Especially a random group of young women in line, who ogle at him shamelessly as he casually strolls past. He treats them to a sly wink, an irresistible dimpled smile, and a soft, cheeky greeting of, “Ladies.”

He gets off on the way they swoon at his refined English accent, giggling and waving. 

The only other component Harry has for succeeding in the club environment is simple, but it’s important: Don’t seduce, romanticize. 

Anyone— even inebriated idiots— can try and seduce a woman. And if she’s had enough tequila shots to cloud her thoughts, they just might succeed. But only a real man can romanticize a girl, and it yields way better results. 

Females are an emotional sect (Harry says that with zero misogyny; it’s just a scientific fact and he actually praises it), which means that if you entertain their interests and fluff their egos, they are bound to fall right into the palm of your hand. It changes the game completely because then they don’t feel that they have to pleasure you, they want to. They pursue the guy who flirts without being too vulgar, who appreciates and acknowledges their efforts, and who can go head-to-head with their wit by carrying unforced banter. They chase after him because he’s showing genuine kindness rather than just sexual interests and if he’s that attentive on the getting-to-know-you front, one can only imagine how skilled he could be in other bases. Chatting up a girl the right way, with patience and courtesy, builds credibility and prowess. And as a thank you, they’re usually more than willing to pay special attention to your needs, as well. 

Thus, romanticizing is always the expert move. So, yes, Harry detests clubs and the disaster that is adult recreation. But he’s fucking amazing at playing it to his favor. He’s great at calculating everything down to the smallest detail and he’s going to piggy-back on those skills for the rest of eternity. He’s so good at what he hates that his closest friends have anointed him the title of Walking Paradox. He’s more than happy to keep it. 

All of these thoughts are circulating around his skull, hyping him up for the game ahead as Harry and his friend group walk up to the bouncer at the entrance of the club they had chosen for the night, faint stars twinkling in the dark sky as the sounds and lights of the city fall away into background static. 

They cruise by the long line of people, hearing sounds of disagreement and grumbling coming from the other patrons waiting to get in. Harry casually tucks his large hands into the pockets of his light brown slacks as he pulls up in front of the burly bald man, who is wearing a black shirt with the club’s name printed in neon letters. The security guard is at least five inches taller than him, overswollen biceps and pectoral muscles rippling under the flimsy material of his work outfit as he crosses his arms over his barreled chest, cocking a single thick eyebrow at the seemingly young vampire. 

Harry delivers a good-natured smile up at the employee, despite the man’s obvious begrudging disbelief at what he is about to try and do. His friends chat quietly behind him, uninterested in what is happening; after years of being acquainted, they know that Harry is going to get exactly what he wants. He always does. 

He’s the best of them, that much is obvious. Not only when it comes to his experience with persuading sexual partners and getting himself a decent dinner, but he’s the best at convincing just about anyone to do anything, neutral of gender. He’s the second oldest of the crew, yet he seems to have the most knowledge and practice under his belt; his easygoing charisma, undeniable good looks, and dazzling smile could sway even the most stubborn of souls. Frankly, he’s so successful in getting his way that no one cares to try and argue for the leader position. Not when they can just sit back and let Harry do all the work. 

“Good evening.” Harry’s deep voice chimes giddily in the direction of the bouncer, his accent particularly heavy for no real reason. “How you doing tonight, mate?”

The guard— whose name tag reads Brock and Harry has to actively stop himself from snorting at how fitting the name is for such a brick of a human— looks down at him with a stony expression, voice flat. “I’m good.”

“Well, that’s great to hear!” The curly-haired boy’s simper widens, dimples popping into place as he skates into his next question with dramatic friendliness. “Haven’t had anyone cause you any trouble tonight, have you?”

Brock blinks once, attitude remaining coldly indifferent even in the face of Harry’s cheeriness. His words, however, are snipped and pointed. “Not yet.”

“I’m guessing you’d like to keep it that way.” The young man comments sympathetically, nodding his head along with the worker. “Totally understandable.” 

“Good.” The employee remarks in the same detached tone, shifting on his feet, obviously growing uncomfortable and irritated with the conversation. “So I’m guessing that means you know you have to get in line.” 

Harry glances over his shoulder at the lengthy expanse of people gathered along the side of the building, a light wind filtering through his freshly-shampooed ringlets as he studies the way the bright sign on top of the club casts alternating rainbow colors across the crowd. 

He makes a disapproving sound by sucking at his teeth, lulling his sight back onto the guard. “I don’t know, man. At this rate, I feel like by the time we get to the front of the line, it’ll be last call.”

“Maybe.” Brock shrugs offhandedly. “It is what it is, right? Fair’s fair.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry returns his gesture, but his posture shows no intention of moving, the corners of his rose lip set in a knowing smirk. “But since you’ve been having a good night, do you think you could find it in yourself to just let us through? We’d greatly appreciate it.” 

The bouncer’s face hardens, any shred of professional amiability washing out of his defined features. “I don’t think so.” 

The vampire’s shoulders sag in exaggerated disappointment. “Are you sure? It’s just five of us. Don’t think we’ll do much damage. Right, guys?”

Harry glimpses over his back to his friends, who let their conversation falter for a moment to throw out a chorus of half-assed agreements, trying to keep themselves from snickering. 

“We promise we won’t cause any problems.” Xander speaks up, jutting his chin encouragingly at the man as his lips twitch slyly. He lifts one of his hands, the smallest finger sticking out stiffly and wiggling around. “Pinky swear.” 

The rest of the group bursts into a round of light laughter, causing Harry to release a few airy giggles of his own.  

Xander looks over at Niall, raising his eyebrows and quipping in an innocent manner. “Right, Ni? No funny business tonight. That means no climbing onto the bar again and stripping down to your socks.” 

“That happened one time!” Niall exclaims incredulously, socking the taller boy in the shoulder as the others laugh harder than before, his blue eyes narrowed and face pinched. “Once! And it was only ‘cause Harry challenged me to a tequila shot contest.”

The Irish vampire’s accented voice drops darkly as he reminisces. “Fuckin’ hate tequila. Makes me act like a moron.” 

“As if you’re not one already.” Mitch pipes up in his usual soft dialect, chuckling as he ducks away from Niall’s vengeful fist. 

Harry cranes back to face Brock, thumb playing with his daylight ring as his hands stay relaxed inside his trousers. He shrugs one shoulder easily for emphasis. “See? You can let us through. We pinky swore.” 

The entire charade seems to have only infuriated the security guard more than before, his brows now fully furrowed and a deep, unamused frown etched across his previously pursed lips. His voice is on edge with barely controlled anger. “I’m not putting up with any shit. If you want in, go to the back of the line. If not, leave.”

Harry sighs grandly in defeat, head shaking slightly. “Guess I’ll just have to go the other route, then.”

The creature takes a step forward towards the employee, close enough that their chests almost press together. The bulky man stands his ground, though there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes at seeing the smaller boy make such a bold move. 

“What the f—?”

Harry locks gazes with Brock, pupils dilating to twice their size, the usual emerald shade of his irises flickering a haunting red and looking sinister in the buttery light of the street lamps. Horror breaks across the worker’s face, the ability to form coherent sentences disappearing from his demeanor. Harry’s heightened senses can hear the way his heartbeat spikes, blood instinctively rushing into his chest as a response to the adrenaline materializing in his veins. The activation of human’s fight-or-flight modes is always so oddly pleasurable. Just feeling how they react so drastically makes Harry’s fangs tingle with longing. Fear is a good condiment, he’s learned; it gives blood’s usual metallic flavor a certain twang.

But at the moment, a beverage from this specific tap isn’t the one Harry has in mind. He has his interests set on something much tangier and full-bodied; maybe Casamigos golden tequila, or Don Julio's Blanco. Preferably mixed with a young office secretary or a Bath and Body Works employee instead of lemon and salt. 

All in all, Brock is just collateral for a much bigger prize, which lies behind the roped off area he holds dominion over. It’s Harry’s job to break that dam. 

Before the large man can fully react, the vampire begins working his compulsion strategy, tone coming out level and soothing, thick with persuasion and teetering along a sleepy undercurrent. “You’re going to let us through, and you’re going to forget we ever met.”

The guard’s pupils enlarge to match Harry’s, the look of utter terror on his face melting right off. His features go slack as the monster’s magical influence works its way through his brain, coating every neuron and bending him to the deliverer’s will. The man reaches over and removes the velvet rope blocking the group’s path, stepping off to the side obediently with an empty expression present across his appearance. 

The leader of the group smiles just as brightly as he had the second he’d walked up to the door. He passes by the worker, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder and feeling the muscular man strain under his supernatural strength. “Thank you very much. You have a nice night, Brock.” 

Harry’s friends follow behind him, echoing his parting message and sharing a collective chortle.  

The second the group dives past the frame of the club entrance, the whole ambiance of the atmosphere changes. Harry walks across the top ledge of the establishment, coming to a halt at the railing that overlooks the main level of the club, his inhumanly sharp eyes bouncing around all the corners of the building to construct some type of familiar layout in his head. Amidst the blinking lights, thick artificial smoke, and swaying bodies, his keen instincts sketch a mental image for tonight’s hunting ground. 

The bar is at the far left corner of the club, squared off and taking up a large chunk of the colorful tiled dance floor. The music station extends across the entire wall at the opposite end of the tavern, stocked with massive speakers and a professional turntable. Harry’s brows jump in mild surprise— it’s not every day that a club puts so much effort into their mixer. 

The animated dancing area is packed with people, the crowd all jumping and grinding to the beat of the bass, moving as one large mass while the rotating strobe lights hang from the cavernous ceiling, bathing their moving silhouettes in neon reds, drunken blues, groggy purples, and electric yellows. The dim surroundings and heavy fog make all the hues more intense, giving the endless party that timeless quality which people tend to enjoy about nightlife. It’s the night to remember effect that movies and shows always hyperbolize; he thinks this way because he’s well aware that not even a third of these people are sober enough to know what the fuck they’re doing, let alone recall it the following day. It’s comically ironic, really. 

But Harry profits off that liquor amnesia, so he brushes away his sardonic skepticism for the time being, settling his lean forearms onto the metal railing that lines the second story of the venue, which is meant to keep shit-faced customers from creating a messy lawsuit. He carefully absorbs the grandeur of it all, leaning his weight forward with a detached sigh, already flickering through the mental menu of his favorite drinks that he has expertly memorized. 

He’s in the process of choosing between a Manhattan— it isn’t a very complicated drink, which is exactly what he’s looking for; something simple and strong— or just straight tequila in a glass when he suddenly feels a familiar presence arrange itself beside him, bumping his shoulder playfully with their own.

Harry snaps out of his recipe retrieval, eyes casting to the side to land on his best friend of almost a century. He cocks an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the thin, bearded man to make the first move towards conversation.

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

The green-eyed vampire sputters into spontaneous laughter, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the small pits in his cheeks jolt awake. His tone is humorous and full of fake insult for the hell of the joke. “Wow, alright. So I get us into the club that you chose and that makes me a prick? Good to know. You can handle the muscle next time, then, if you’re gonna talk shit.”

Mitch cracks a gentle jesting grin, which is very on brand for him. He doesn’t seem like much, with his skinny, lanky frame, delicate features, shoulder-length hair, and somewhat scraggly stubble. He’s quiet, reserved, and hardly engages with anyone outside of their immediate group. He’s always been that way for as long as Harry could remember. 

When they had met back in 1924 at a speakeasy in New York, Mitch had given off a mysterious vibe that Harry had found amusing and intriguing. His slightly sickly appearance and distant persona made the younger vampire want to get to know him better; it was just so peculiar that this seemingly impassive man was working at an illegal bar as a live musician. One would think that a performer would have to display an engaging character to keep a loyal audience, but Mitch had been all the talk of the underground despite his unemotional coolness. It was startlingly unorthodox and Harry just had to know more. 

Therefore, with a bit of help from his convincing supernatural abilities, he’d secured a spot as the black market club’s leading vocalist. He wasn’t anything worth a Grammy, but he could keep his singing in tune and follow Mitch’s guitar rhythms easily enough, all thanks to his limited experience with piano. He fit right in. 

From the first show they had put on together, it was like they had known one another in a different lifetime. They clicked so flawlessly it was almost fictional. 

Harry was lively and charming on stage, working the crowd to his favor as easily as he could knock back a shot, wrapping every single patron around his jeweled pinky without breaking a sweat. His witty temperament countered Mitch’s timid disposition perfectly and that uncommon dynamic had been the foundation to their friendship. Their humorous shenanigans on stage (which included Harry pinching at Mitch’s ass and making vague vulgar motions at each other while harmonizing) was a hit within the drunken community, and it bled into their personal lives. They went from only interacting on stage to sharing drinks together afterwards, to hanging out outside of work, to deep late night conversations about the world and their experiences.

Soon enough, they were closer than either had expected to become. And once they found out each other’s true identities (Mitch had transitioned during the American Revolution, when a vampire in his battalion had given him blood to heal from a wound, unaware that the next day, Mitch would suffer a fatal gunshot to the stomach that would trigger his transformation) they grew inseparable. They had remained that way ever since. 

Despite his friend’s withdrawn tendencies, the older vampire never hesitates to make his opinions heard, obvious in how he’d just full-bodied Harry with that snarky comment. Even when it’s at his expense, Harry appreciates and respects the rawness of it. He loves the way Mitch is honest and straight-forward with everything that crosses his path— it’s one of his favorite traits about him and definitely one of the characteristics that had led Harry to deem him his best friend. He’s probably the most fulfilling person Harry has ever met and their friendship brings him a type of comfort that he doesn’t receive from anyone else.

Vampires can be so detached and cold not only towards humans, but towards one another, and it gets old at times. It’s unsettling not having someone to truly confide in, and Harry is grateful that Mitch had been so willing to fill that position.   

Due to this, Harry rarely takes genuine offense in Mitch’s digs. They’re normally expressed as a joke and they’ve both been alive for so long that thick skin is a default.

“How was I dick?” Harry inquires, slinking his head to the side with entertained curiosity. “If anything, he was the one being an asshole. I asked him to let us in nicely and he practically spit in my face!”

Mitch snorts in amusement, shaking his head lightly as his eyes streak across the humongous room in the same cunning manner Harry’s had. “You and Xander didn’t have to mock him that way.” 

That’s another thing that makes Mitch the better half of their power duo— he still has a decent shred of humanity in his unbeating heart. Pessimistic conclusions aside, Harry does have a bit, as well...but his is more like a paper-thin pencil shaving than a shred. Barely there, but there, at least. 

The young man returns his companion’s snort, rolling his eyes up to the hanging lights over their heads. “Was just some harmless teasing. Nothing bad came of it.”

Mitch scowls scoldingly. “It was unnecessary and mean.”

Harry mimics his expression with his nose scrunched sarcastically. “We were just taking the piss, and it’s not like he’s gonna remember it anyways. Stop being such a kill-joy.” 

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

“Or what?” Harry tilts his chin up challengingly, the amber specks around his pupils glinting tauntingly, faint black veins momentarily webbing across the whites of his eyes. He sweetens his voice into a honeyed drawl. “Are you gonna spank me, daddy? Have I been a bad boy?” 

Mitch belts out a feathery chuckle, shoving his friend with enough strength to send a regular human flying across the deck. But since the taller vampire matches his force, he hardly moves an inch. “Fuck off.” 

“I’m being serious!” Harry cackles, turning his hips and sticking out his ass towards his visibly disgusted acquaintance. “Go fucking in, if you want.”

He lowers his voice into a sultry hum, wagging his backside jestingly. “I like it rough, baby. Why don’t you bend me over this railing and show me who’s boss?”

It’s Mitch’s turn to roll his eyes to the ceiling, voice deadpan. “I think I’ll pass.” 

Harry juts his lower lip into a theatrical pout, sniffling faux tears. “You’re rejecting me that quick? Who’s the asshole now, huh?”

His best friend doesn’t even blink. “Still you.”

“I can live with that. And it’s probably a good call on your end to give up all this,” he signals vaguely up and down his tight torso with a ringed hand, grinning as he watches the veteran vampire pretend to gag, “because I don’t think Sarah wouldn’t be too happy about it.” 

Mitch’s humorous face immediately drops, eyes narrowing at the change in topic. “Very funny.” 

“I know, right? I’m a proper comedian.” Harry quips proudly, batting his lashes mockingly. “Where is Sarah, anyways? Have you heard from her lately?” 

Sarah and Mitch...They’re a complex couple, if they can even be called a couple. The two are more like occasional friends with benefits, “occasional” meaning “once every couple of months, if Sarah happens to be passing by.” 

Their relationship is open and very loose, mostly due to the fact that Sarah is fairly new to the world of blood-driven immortality and has decided to take full advantage of it. She’s been using compulsion to travel the world for the last three years since she changed, which had been the result of an unfortunate car accident. 

Mitch had been seeing her casually beforehand, keeping her around for the purpose of having a conventional feeding arrangement. Every time vampires feed, they heal the wounds they inflict with a bit of their blood, proceeding to then wipe the person’s memory with compulsion in order to eradicate any chances of getting caught. The caveat is that if a human dies with vampire blood in their system, they become one. 

Sarah’s death happened the day after she’d spent a night with Mitch, and one can imagine how distressed she had been when she'd awoken atop a metal table in a morgue within the basement of a hospital. Mitch had been there from the very first second she’d opened her eyes to her new life. Or rather, her dead life. He had helped her get accustomed to the next stage (meaning having to cut family ties in order to avoid a catastrophe— the less people that know the truth about the supernatural, the better) coaxing her through transition and teaching her the way to go about the rest of eternity without putting herself and others in danger. 

Vampires rarely have any compassion for life (usually out of spite, which stems from how their own lives were taken from them), so it’s not uncommon that bodies are found drained of blood in back alleys, abandoned warehouses, and washed up on banks of oceans and rivers. It could be either of two reasons, or even both: the monster doesn’t care about the consequences of their actions, or they never learned to control their urges. 

Harry’s crew isn't that careless. Through Mitch, they had learned restraint, taking up his practice of feeding enough to satisfy themselves without killing the host, healing them, and then erasing the occurrence from their memories. Mitch had come up with the tactic to cling to his humanity— to be as kind and nondestructive as possible— but if Harry’s being honest, most of their friends only play along because it’s convenient. No bodies means no police involvement, and no police involvement means being able to settle down in one place for an extended period, not having to stress about the annoying process of bouncing around the world for the rest of their lives to avoid detection. 

Keeping low was for the best, and when things get rough— whether it be a mistake on their part or a disastrous bender caused by another vampire passing through— they resort to drinking from blood bags until things tide over. Mitch has a contact at the nearest hospital, which is how he gets access to the stock, as well as how he managed to clean up Sarah’s passing so quickly. 

All in all, Harry had only mentioned Sarah to tease his friend, knowing the slight sensitivity that comes with the subject. Vampires rarely form emotional bonds, typically because it can get really messy, really fast, whether that connection be to a mortal or to another creature of their species. All of them have baggage of some sort— you can’t die, resurrect, be forced to abandon your family, and be a slave to drinking blood for the rest of eternity and just...be normal. That type of extreme emotional turmoil is corrosive towards love. It’s always better to just avoid it all together. 

That’s why this is so habitual to joke about; it’s a way to deflect. 

Mitch sighs grandly, Harry’s question echoing in his skull. “I don’t know where she is, to be honest. Last we talked was, like, four weeks ago, I think. She was in Japan, said she was drumming for a new upcoming band. Haven’t heard from her since.”

Harry nods his head once in understanding, itching to steer the theme of their conversation elsewhere now that he knows the topic is in a more sensitive state than he’d imagined. He doesn’t want to push Mitch into a depressive episode when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Spending the night consoling his sulky friend in the bathroom of a club is the last thing he wants right now. 

“I guess that makes Sarah the asshole, then.” He pokes jokingly, bumping the older vampire’s hip with his own. “She’s ghosting you. Get it? It’s funny ‘cause she’s actually dead.” 

Mitch’s sad expression shatters like glass, replaced by one of unamused secondhand embarrassment at the shitty pun. “I fucking hate you.”

“All the people who were ahead of their time were hated.” Harry sing-songs, turning up his nose haughtily. “Copernicus, Socrates, Einstein— all of them were hated for being geniuses. I’m willing to carry that same burden.” 

Mitch blinks at him three times. “No one hated Einstein.”

The curly-haired boy’s lips twitch darkly. “I’m pretty sure Japan did.” 

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

Mitch shakes his head, but even through the black lights, Harry can see him trying to ward off a laugh. After a moment’s pause, he speaks up again softly. “It’s not that hard to refrain from humiliating innocent people who are just doing their job, H.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re still on that?” The broad monster groans in exasperation, palms slapping down on the metal rungs below him. “We were just having some fun! But fine. If it helps you fake sleep at night, I’ll try and keep my condescending flare to a minimum.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Mitch responds peacefully, tapping his nimble fingers casually along the railing, his action much less violent than his companion’s. “S’not too difficult.” 

“Whatever.” Harry scoffs, returning his intent gaze to the dance floor, scoping out the scene once again in hopes of finding a proper meal for the night. 

He zones in on a group of young women gathered along one side of the bar, their messy giggling and lack of balance giving away that they’re obviously sloshed off their faces. Seems promising enough. 

When he talks once more, his tone holds an attitude that plays on a grumble, but it’s somewhat distracted. “The least you could do is let me have some fun, considering I didn’t even want to come.” 

Mitch huffs, making an entertained noise in the back of his throat. “You say that every single time we go out, and yet you always end up taking someone home. Don’t know why you’re complaining.” 

Harry side-eyes him from his peripheral vision, the corners of his pretty cherry mouth dipping down grudgingly, mood defensive. “You drag me to these things so I’m not going to apologize for making the best of it. I put a lot of effort into my pick-ups! I deserve to get my dick wet.” 

“God, please don’t say that again.” His best mate physically makes a vomiting sound. “You’re acting like a spoiled fraternity douche.” 

Harry’s gaze ignites into flames, his back straightening out as he fully turns to face the shorter man. He’s never been insulted so low before. “Take that back!” 

“Take that back!” Mitch mocks in an exaggerated, high-pitched British accent, attempting to stifle giggles. 

“Take it back! You know how much I hate Gen Z.”

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

“I know. Your lack of maturity is a constant reminder.”

Harry opens his mouth, prepared to make a sharp comeback about how Mitch should have left the shaggy-haired stoner aesthetic back in the eighties, but then a heavy Irish accent interrupts his rebuttal. 

“What’s all this about getting your dick wet?” 

Both of the vampires turn towards Niall, finding Xander and Adam accompanying him in a loose semi-circle. 

Xander isn’t paying any attention, too busy tapping away at the screen of his smartphone, apparently engaged in a very riveting conversation with whoever is on the other side. Adam has his hands tucked into the pockets of his plum purple wind-breaker, looking over Harry’s shoulder, seeming to be adamantly searching for someone in particular amidst the mob on the level beneath them. Niall is the only one interested in their dying conversation, probably only because he heard something crude being mentioned. 

“It’s nothing.” Harry dismisses, but he can’t help but stick Mitch with a glare. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”

Adam speaks up for the first time. “Charlotte and Ny texted saying they got here about ten minutes ago. Mentioned they were dancing near the DJ station, so I think I’ll go find them.”

“Sounds good.” Harry bobs his head in accordance. “We’ll see you out there, yeah?” 

Adam returns his action, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the bottom floor. The leader of the group watches him trot onto the large spiral staircase, disappearing into the thick throng of people scattered across its wide steps. 

Harry shifts his attention to Xander, snapping his fingers a few times in his direction and giving a two-toned whistle. “What about you? What’s got your head?”

“Not what, who.” Niall teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and making kissy faces at their friend. 

Xander ignores him, glancing up at the green-eyed brunette to let him know he’ll be with him in a second, returning his focus back to his iPhone. After a few more elongated moments of typing, the older man finally locks his device. 

“I have a date.” He throws out casually, almost as if it should be obvious. 

“A date?” Harry reiterates slowly, not quite buying it. Xander doesn’t date. He couch-surfs just as much as Harry does. 

“Mmhm.” Xander glimpses behind his fellow vampire, eyes carrying intention. “It’s just a random dude from Tinder. I thought it’d be easier to set something up beforehand, just so I don’t have to spend the whole night trying to figure out if a guy is making eyes at me or trying to keep his whiskey down.” 

“Smart.” Harry shrugs his sculpted brows, impressed. A cocky grin toys with the corners of his mouth. “But we both know no one will ever compare to me.” 

“Right.” Xander scoffs in a deadpan manner, gifting him a tight, aggravated smile. “If only you weren’t such an emotionally unavailable prick.” 

“Oh, like you’re mentally stable enough for a relationship?” Harry bites back, but it holds no true malice, just some petty rivalry. “Piss off.”

“Happily!” The other vampire exclaims, clasping his hands together for dramatics. “Have fun finding someone out there. I’m just gonna grab a to-go box for my already prepped meal.” 

Harry doesn’t bother watching him leave. Instead, he turns to Niall, pointing at him to symbolize it's his turn to share his plans for the night. “What have you got, Lucky Charms?” 

His friend breaks into a jolly cackle at the nickname, arms falling crossed over his chest, hands absentmindedly squeezing his elbows in thought. “Well, I dunno, Tea and Crumpets. What’s your game plan?” 

Before Harry can answer, Mitch butts in, feeling left out of the banter and somewhat hurt that no one had assigned him an alter ego. “What’s my country-derived nickname?” 

Niall gives the American a slow once-over, shifting in his dark brown Clarks boots, fitted navy slack riding up his thighs and allowing his rainbow polka-dot socks to peek out. He hums lowly in the back of his throat, a grin spreading across his rosy cheeks. “Biscuits and Gravy.” 

Harry chimes in, his own arms casually folding over his strong chest, index finger tapping on his bottom lip as if mulling something over. “I quite like We The People, actually.”

The Irish lad snaps his fingers as if having a sudden epiphany. “Uncle Sam!”

Harry’s emerald eyes twinkle with glee at seeing the way Mitch’s go half-lidded, no longer entertained. “Four Score And Seven Years Ago.” 

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

Niall wags a finger at Harry, lifting one shoulder in question, seeking approval on his next idea. “Star Spangled Banner?”

Harry copies the boy’s motion from before, snapping his fingers and making jazz hands. “I Pledge Allegiance.”  

“Ok, I get it!” Mitch whines with annoyed finality, pushing off the metal railing with a curt grimace on his scraggly face. 

“You asked!” Niall rationalizes between hiccups of evilly delighted joy, cupping his stomach as if to keep it from splitting open. 

“Won’t make that mistake again.” The older creature grumbles, leaning his back against the rungs and looking off towards the distance, communicating that he’s done being a part of the conversation. 

Once Harry manages to reign in his giggles, he rubs at his nose with the side of his finger, releasing a wistful sigh. He refers to the question Niall had stated before their little bullying fest. “I think I’m just gonna do what I always do— sway a nice, pretty girl into doing some not-so-nice but very pretty things.” 

“Solid.” The Irish bloke remarks, toying with the plastic buttons on his silk beige top. “Not much to do other than that, to be fair. Adam’s usually my wingman, but I guess he abandoned me for a girl’s night.” 

“Mitch is mine, and he knows better than to dip on me.” Harry roughly nudges his best friend with his elbow, dodging to the side when Mitch tries to hit him in return. 

Niall hums softly in amusement. “Maybe I should make Adam sign whatever contract you drafted for that poor bugger.” 

The curly brunette snorts. “Good luck. Adam’s as stubborn as they come. But, hey, if you can’t find anyone, just come to me.” Harry’s irises flit crimson for a millisecond, an ominous smirk buckling his features. “You know I’m always happy to share.” 

“Thanks,” his friend exhales flatly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you’re taking tips,” Mitch pipes up, vaguely signaling at Niall’s shirt with his chin, “maybe don’t wear that stupid shirt next time. The elephant doodles look ridiculous.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not taking fashion tips from anyone who actually enjoyed living in Ohio, then.” Niall snaps in an exaggerated American accent, middle finger jutting towards the other man. “The only thing you know how to dress is a cornfield scarecrow. Must be why you look like one.” 

Harry forces down more laughter, clearing his throat softly. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t get hammered— girls hate that.” 

“Note taken.” The pale boy runs his fingers through his hair, fixing it up and adding texture to appear more laid-back and rugged. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Later.” The younger vampire recites, giving a big thumbs-up. 

“Good luck out there. You, too, Boston Tea Party.” 

With that, Niall saunters away, leaving a fully laughing Harry and a grouchy Mitch in his wake. 

The two acquaintances decide to follow in everyone else’s example, descending down the looped staircase and chatting about Mitch’s latest gig at a new bar downtown. 

Harry praises Mitch's talent with his guitar, specifically the fact that he found a hobby which he enjoys so much that he’s willing to keep it as a permanent part of his life. It’s easy to get bored of things when you have hundreds of years ahead of you; everything can seem pointless, in the end. But Harry doesn’t think Mitch has ever let himself fall into those types of dark headspaces and he finds that extremely admirable. 

Harry wishes he could say the same. He’s no musical prodigy, that much is obvious, but he is an expert at playing a few specific French songs on the piano by memory. He rarely does it, though; only when he’s in a low state of mind, which— given the origin of how he learned said classical pieces— isn’t something he’s proud of. They’re tied to a very gruesome part of his past that he’d rather bury deep inside, but he can only push back his troubles for so long before they begin to leak out, staining the clean sheet of recovery he had sewn into place. Those arrangements just bring him a warped sense of comfort he can’t explain.

Even though he’s aware of the destructive aspects of the songs, he finds himself humming one now out of instinct as he elbows through squished bodies and flailing limbs. The second he notices he’s doing it, he cuts it off, focusing all his intention on making it to the other side of the room to the bar. It’s a hard trip when it feels like the walls of the building are closing in on him. 

When Harry finally breaks free from the Human Centipede re-enactment that is the club dance floor, he practically collapses onto the sleek glass counter. Death was less painful than that walk. 

He cranes his neck to the side wildly, suddenly remembering that his much smaller, much skinnier, much more crushable friend had been in tow behind him. To his utter shock, he watches as Mitch calmly weeds around grinding drunk couples with the poise and grace of a swan, filling the empty spot besides him without a single ailment in the world. 

Harry blinks at him blankly in silence, almost as if he’d grown an extra set of fangs. 

Mitch flags the bartender from all the way down the counter, not bothering to meet the green eyes peering at him in disbelief. “You’re so fucking dramatic, H.”

“How did you not die? Again?” Harry sputters, sight jutting all around the older vampire’s body, looking for any battle wounds or missing appendages. “I almost lost an arm in there!”

“It’s a good thing it wasn’t your favorite one, right?” Mitch smirks at his own lewd joke, the simper molding into one of genuine kindness when the mixologist slides up in front of them. “Hi, how are you? I’m good, as well, thank you for asking! Yeah, I’ve got something in mind. Don’t worry, I’m not one of the ‘just make me something sweet’ type of assholes.”

Harry zones out the rest of the friendly chat Mitch entertains with the employee, letting his gaze wander around the large auditorium-like room. He dances his vision over the DJ remixing music on top of the stage, head beginning to bop along to the beat that is currently shaking the seven foot tall speakers. He’s pleasantly surprised at how good this specific producer is. 

He continues scoping out the rest of the venue, taking notes of the different clusters of people that seem to hold promise for the plans he has in store later tonight. A small group of hippie friends here, a two-party duo of tipsy stoners there, and a clump of college students at the edge of the ruckus, stumbling around loudly. Things are looking somewhat decent, in his opinion. The hippies seem to be catching his attention more than the others— specifically, the one that looks similar to Stevie Nicks. That’s a fantasy that’s been waiting to be fulfill for decades now. 

Harry lulls his head forward again when he feels Mitch give a squeeze at his elbow, telling him that the bartender is waiting to take his order. He decides to go for the gold tequila, asking for it straight in a highball glass without any garnishes. The worker’s eyebrows jump up slightly at the unorthodox request, but he drops a polite, “Coming right up.” either way.

“You truly have no flavor.” Mitch tuts once their waiter has stepped away to prepare their drinks. “No taste buds whatsoever.” 

“Yeah? Well, you can suck my flavorless dick.” Harry chimes brightly, eyes crinkling shut as a result of a theatrical smile. 

The younger vampire goes to turn back around, legitimately interested in the girl he’d seen that looked like one of his seventies celebrity crushes, already running through scenarios in his head on how he’d get her into his bed for tonight. Weed and ABBA are probably good conversation starters for that, if Harry’s undisputed people skills have anything to say about it. 

As he’s rotating his torso, a blurred image catches his eyes. He does a double-take, honing in on a group of girls that look faintly familiar. He scans them carefully as they huddle around the corner of the bar area, laughing and toasting along to the multiple conversations they all have going at once. They look like the typical posse that would be a backdrop clique in a mainstream movie. 

He knows where he recognizes them from— it had been the same girls he’d spotted earlier up on the second deck.

Harry expertly surveillances each woman, picking out potential candidates as easily as he’d pinch petals off a flower. The one in the center of the group is obviously the leader, present in how she’s the prettiest and is somehow managing to juggle all of these interactions at once. It means she’s used to being the center of attention— probably strives under it. He throws her out as a potential; the last thing he needs is someone who everyone knows and seeks out. He wouldn’t be able to sneak away with her quietly. 

The rest of the girl crew all seem to be the same status-wise, appearing as supporting characters to the main one in the middle. He could choose any one of them blindly and it wouldn’t make a difference. They all seem so tight-knit, they probably share personalities, at this point. It’s like dipping his hand into a jar of jelly beans and they’re all the same flavor. That notion makes him laugh to himself a bit; maybe Mitch was right about his lack of taste. 

Then, Harry spots her, and all the other women immediately go up in smoke. 

It’s hard not to spot her. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but not in a good way. 

The prospective contender is off to the side, sitting atop a barstool with her feet tucked along the footrest, tapping them against the metal rung awkwardly. She’s talking to one of the other people in the group, but the interaction seems forced and not very satisfying, obvious in both of their faces. She’s tracing her middle finger around the edge of her glass cup distractedly, the contents inside barely touched, the ice in her drink long-melted. She seems disinterested in the chaos her friends are causing, her expression bored and borderline regretful, as if she doesn’t want to be here. 

The further he sizes the girl up, the more appropriate she looks for the role he needs filled. Since barely anyone is paying attention to her, that means he can lead her astray without too much resistance from her acquaintances, if any at all. She appears somewhat unimportant to the narrative— merely a background extra— and it makes him wonder what she’s doing with this clique of women that can’t seem to be bothered by her presence. It’s sad, really. Sad, but beneficial, because that means he can succeed in making her the supporting protagonist of his narrative, at least for tonight. 

The girl is attractive, but not anything astronomical. She’s unconventionally pretty in a way that makes her relevant, but not particularly distinct in the eyes of regular men with presumptuous standards. She’s easy to pass up, and if Harry hadn’t been actively pursuing someone of her bashful persona to card into his plans, he wouldn’t have noticed her. At the risk of once again sounding shallow, Harry’s aware that— physically speaking— he’s very much out of her league. His above-average appearance gives off the vibe that he’d fit better with the leader of the group instead of with her, but he doesn’t want someone that would raise suspicions as a result of their absence. This girl, sitting along the edge of the party with barely any purpose and no one to really question her whereabouts, is exactly what he’s looking for. She’s perfectly imperfect for the cause. 

Harry continues to examine her meticulously, analyzing other traits that can give him a better feel for her character. She’s clad in a pair of high-waisted pastel pink silk pants that stop right at her ankles, accompanied by a flouncy creme lace blouse tucked into her waist. Tan wedges, no accessories, delicate rosey nail polish, and minimalist makeup. The boldest thing about her is the brick red shade of her lipstick, which is easily shadowed by the sparkly sequin dresses, five inch heels, and layered tops her friends are wearing. 

Harry likes her outfit, though. It’s concise and safe, which he can appreciate. Yes, perhaps she looks like she belongs in a dentist’s office rather than a Los Angeles nightclub, but he thinks there’s beauty in simplicity. She looks cute, and that’s good enough for him. 

“She seems interesting.” Mitch’s soft voice snaps him out of his detail-hungry haze, drawing him back into the reality that is the black lighting of the club and the deep booming of the music’s bass. 

His friend slides his tall drink across the glass counter, the amber liquid inside warping his reflection. 

“I suppose so.” Harry answers passively, shrugging one shoulder in indifference while accepting the cup, ringed fingers clinking against the crystalline surface. 

He takes a leisurely sip from the straight tequila, its tangy kick sending a warm surge up through his ears and down his throat, spreading into his chest and along the trench of his tummy. Alcohol really is the cure to everything. 

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, the strobe lights alternating across the glossy surface of his hazel irises, highlighting smugness. “You’ve been gawking for five minutes. Put your pride back in your pants and go talk to her.” 

The curly-haired vampire flashes him a light smirk over the rim of his drink, absentmindedly tapping his two initial rings along the bottom of the highball cup. “Ever so blunt, aren’t you?”

Mitch scuffs, taking a swig from his trusty beer bottle. Out of everything, that’s the one aspect Harry despises about his best mate— that he goes to a club and orders the same drink every time. Where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement of trying something new? When you have an eternity, the least you could do is utilize it to your advantage. Cycling through every cocktail in human history is a prime example of making the best out of immortality.  

But Mitch is a creature of habit— as are most of their kind— and Harry knows he won’t shake easily. Not when it comes to surrendering his preferred beverage, and definitely not when it comes to sticking his nose in Harry’s intimate business. Meddling and being irritating are what best friends are for. 

“What can I say? Pep talks are my forte.” The older monster remarks sarcastically, bumping his bottle against Harry’s glass in encouragement, using the spout of his container to point in the general direction of the mysterious girl. “Now go make dinner.”

“But, darlinggggg,” Harry whines playfully, a smirk still tugging at the corners of his slightly liquor-swollen lips. “I made dinner last night. Isn’t it your turn?”

Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves Harry’s shoulder harshly, with just enough force that it actually has some type of impact this time around. “Just go, before she gets creeped out by your staring.” 

Harry’s own irises copy his friend’s actions as he pushes himself up from the bar, rubbing at the new sore spot on his shoulder with an exaggerated pout present. “Ow.”

Mitch blinks at him flatly, fighting off a grin. “You’ve had worse. Go.”

Harry swivels on his heel, once again facing the group of tipsy girls at the other end of the counter. It appears that most of them have dispersed into the dance floor, having found partners to entertain them for the time being, moving to the music as if there are no other people in the room. They had left behind three of their companions, one of which is Harry’s aspiring hookup; he gets the feeling that the two girls had stayed behind out of the kindness of their hearts, feeling too guilty to leave the runt of the litter all on her own. He hopes that’s the case because if so, the second Harry inserts himself into the situation, they’ll take that chance and split, leaving him to tend his meal in peace.

He tucks one large hand into the front pocket of his trousers, the grip on his glass tightening a smidge, rings biting into his skin as the condensation of the chilled tequila cools the small spike of pain. He spins his lionhead ring around his finger within his slacks, gradually drifting closer as he goes through a checklist of prized pick-up lines he could use to garner her attention. He ducks and dodges inebriated club-goers with ease now that he’s had something to take the edge off, finally reaching the end of the bar, slowly coming to a halt right behind his target for the night. 

Harry nearly passes out as soon as her scent hits him. 

It’s faint and tender and nothing quite like anything he’s encountered before, a mixture of honey and lavender that permeates through her normal perfume. He feels like his head’s been put through a wringer, his whole body clenching for a moment as raging sparks erupt across the pit of his belly. He indulges a deep breath, willing the blazing current away in order to keep his cool, but all he can see flashing before his eyes are images of her leaving traces of that smell smeared all over his face as he bobs his head between her quivering thighs.

He takes another penetrating inhale, centering his mind back into the present. He needs to behave.

Her friends spot him immediately, their side of the conversation faltering to ash. They give Harry a wide-eyed once-over, mouths parting in slight shock as they drink up his attractive appearance, gazes lingering along his thick chest as it strains the baby blue material of his tee. Their sights drag across his broad shoulders, dainty collarbones, and strong neck, faces gawking without remorse, blinking emptily at the slope of his sharp jaw and the peaks of his prominent cheekbones. They seem to be at a loss for words the second his dimples indent into place, his brows shrugging in a half-assed greeting before he cocks his head to side a tad, voice velvet as it directs towards the girl they had forgotten existed.  

“I’m guessing you’re the designated driver?”

Y/N jumps slightly in response at the new addition to the painfully dying conversation, not recognizing the heavy English accent and deep baritone that booms behind her. She had been wondering why Melissa and Isabel had stopped talking so abruptly, and she now has her answer. 

Y/N slowly goes to cast a curious glance over her shoulder and Harry can hear the pulse flaring in her neck from the sudden intrusion to her surroundings. His fangs prick along the inside of his bottom lip due to carnal instincts; he has to will them back into receding. 

 When her eyes land on the owner of the random words, her finger immediately halts its swirling motions along the hem of her glass.

‘Fuck.’ is the only thought that registers through her short-circuiting mind. 

The lanky, curly-haired brunette that stands before her gives a gentle yet confident smile, the gesture dazzling even in the low lighting of the atmosphere. He’s absolutely gorgeous, with deep pits carving into his cheeks, perfect teeth complimenting full cherry red lips, eyes the color of a rainforest canopy, and a broad frame that is somehow not overwhelming. He’s sporting neatly ironed tan slacks, a fitted cotton shirt with a cute yet crude graphic at its center, a fancy plaid coat, and crisp yellow Vans without a single smudge in sight.

Y/N can’t help but take notice of all the little details of his fit, especially the accessories. A beautiful pearl necklace laid along his delicate clavicle, a cross resting between his defined pectorals, and a matching earring dangling from his earlobe. Not to mention the array of clunky rings arranged along nimble fingers, hugging a tall glass carrying caramel liquor and somehow managing to dwarf the cup’s size. The extra decoration is sensual in such an unexpectedly delicious manner. 

The hand he has tucked in his pants ducks out to comb through his dark auburn ringlets and Y/N can feel her mouth water at the new round of elegant rings. The action activates the cologne Harry had thoughtfully spritz in specific pressure points along his body, the scent of tobacco and vanilla traveling through the fog-heavy air and causing Y/N’s stomach to summersault. 

The young man is as close to flawless as anyone could ever come. 

Y/N feels an unmistakable sharp pain shoot through her ankle, and she comes to the realization that it had been the tip of one of her friend’s heels. The reality check jars her out of the embarrassing daze he’d spelled onto her, open mouth snapping shut and her lashes fluttering over her previously unblinking eyes. 

“Oh! Uhm—uh—” She clumsily twists sideways to fully face him, swallowing thickly and tasting the remnants of the alcohol she’d barely been nursing. “N-No. I’m not— well, I don’t think…? We Ubered here so that wouldn’t make any sense ‘cause I have no car to drive...so...” 

The boy chuckles softly at her choppy monologue, his laughter warm and inviting, similar to the look reflecting off his shiney irises, the golden flecks around his pupils seeming to swell and shrink from the rainbow lights cascading across them. Despite being caught off guard and utterly embarrassed, she can’t seem to break eye contact with him. The longer she gazes into his eyes, the more relaxed she begins to feel, a fuzzy heat stemming from the center of her belly and spreading up her neck and ears. 

Y/N gulps heavily like before, willing her tongue to produce a less embarrassing comment. “Sorry. Let me...Let me start over…Hi.”

“Hello.” He quips back playfully, lopsided grin widening in fond amusement. He lifts his drink up a bit in greeting. “M’Harry.”

“Y/N.” The girl squeaks out, copying his gesture because it’s easier than forcing her disoriented brain to try and come up with its own. 

Harry flirts his intent up and down Y/N’s body slowly, checking her out without any subtlety. He wants her to know he’s interested. 

When his sight locks with hers again, he bats his lashes sultrily and pours as much passion as he can into his tone, accent weighing in just right. “S’nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Her entire face prickles at how her name sounds dripping from those faultless raspberry lips. She’d pay anything to hear him say it again. “You, too.” 

This is not what Y/N intended. This is most definitely not what she’d intended to happen when she’d reluctantly agreed to go out with some coworkers on a Friday night, giving in simply because she had promised herself she’d be more social within her new job. 

She had moved to California roughly two months ago, wanting to get away from her old life in the small, boring town she hated to call home. Buying the flight had been a drastic decision made when she had been under the influence of something she’d rather not admit, but the following day— after she had sobered up from a wicked hangover— she found herself not wanting to cancel the trip. Found herself craving the excitement and adventure of beginning anew somewhere far away from everything she had ever known. 

All of Y/N’s friends back home had supported her without hesitation, egging her preposterous idea and congratulating her on “getting the fuck out of here.” Her family had been a little less supportive, but after a few heartfelt chats about following your ambitions and a budgeting lesson from her cousin, they had gingerly gotten on board. They understood that keeping her trapped in that lame town where nothing really happened wasn’t the way to ensure her success in life. Therefore, the people closest to her had swallowed their opinions and respected her choice to dive off the deep end, in search of something better beyond the borders of their tiny city. 

Within a week, Y/N had secured a decent job at a semi-popular cafe, courtesy of a connection from a family friend. Within two weeks, after many sleepless nights full of Rocky Road ice cream and the bright white pages of ApartmentFinder.com, she had managed to book a nice flat close to her place of work. It was a miracle, if she’d ever seen one. Especially within the crowded, expensive community that is Los Angeles. Within three weeks, she had been walking out of the giant glass building that was LAX with only two suitcases in tow, boarding an Uber to her new life. 

Things had never seemed more picturesque, she’d thought. Everything was falling into place in a way that seemed almost blessed by the universe.

Then, the culture shock hit. 

California was different. It’s was so fucking different than anything she’d ever faced and she wasn’t prepared for the social difficulties she’d have to hurdle. All her life, Y/N had grown up with the same people around her, spending every school year with them up until graduation, expanding her friend group as time passed. Even after high school, she’d remained closely connected with most of her graduating class. The region she lived in was tiny, tight-knit and friendly; it was hard not to. She couldn’t even go to the store for groceries without bumping into at least three people from her Algebra II class. 

Point being, it had been ages since Y/N had been put in a situation where she actively had to try and make friends. She’d been through that challenge way back in kindergarten and had never been hit with it again. 

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

Y/N didn’t mesh well with Californians, she quickly found out. They were all about crazy parties and club-hopping, whereas Y/N had been raised on community cookouts and mass sleepovers. They enjoyed getting cross-faded and streaking down the beach at two in the morning, meanwhile Y/N liked stripping down to her undies and spending the night binging Queer Eye while stuffing her face with Cheeze-Its and Snickers bars. They freely boasted about their sex adventures while bussing down tables at the restaurant, while Y/N’s intimate life had been nonexistent since the move. 

It was just...startling, to put it lightly. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and that’s mostly her fault for not doing the correct amount of research before jumping headfirst into a cliche LifeTime film. 

Therefore, Y/N had made a pact with herself one month in, swearing to let loose and allow her surroundings to sweep her into a new dynamic— into a new, social butterfly version of herself. She’d started accepting the invitations from her coworkers to go out at night, and she’d started putting more effort into being open to wild experiences, no matter how scary they might seem. Shutting down and refusing to mold to her environment would only result in her having to return home with her tail between her legs, and she’d rather jump naked off a pier than see her parents’ faces wracked with pity. 

And that’s exactly what she’d done a couple nights ago, at the encouragement of the group of girls she was at the club with now. It had, in turn, ended in her coming down with a mild cold, but at least now she’d be able to tell her friends back home a cool story about dropping inhibitions. 

Dropping inhibitions is also why Y/N’s here tonight, dressed in the most party-like outfit she could put together, prodding an overly-boozy drink into her system, attempting to release some of the tension that had been building in her head for the last couple of weeks since she’d left her old life behind. That’s why she’s here, with strands of her blow-dried hair catching on the dark red gloss Melissa has slathered on her mouth in a thick layer. That’s why she’s here, with synthetic smoke scratching at her lungs and drunken men and women bumping into her every two minutes, most of them too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats to realize they’d almost toppled her off her seat. That’s why she’s here, with a blasé expression plastered across her features as her coworkers talk over her head without a second thought, her mind far away from the walls of this overhyped horror house. 

Y/N had been thinking about how she’d just started her Disney+ membership, finding comfort in putting together a mental checklist of all the movies she’s going to plow through the second she sets foot past the doorframe of her apartment. Indulging on her childhood was an ideal form of escapism, in her opinion. She’s positive Walt Disney would agree. 

That’s what her brain had been lost in when Harry’s deep, melodic voice had interrupted her daydreams, sending her spiraling into an embarrassing performance of nerve-induced hysteria. 

Now here she is, blinking back at him dumbly, eyes the smallest bit damp from the smoke machine and neon flashes of light. And here he is, smirking at her over the rim of his glass, eyes raking down her wired up body suggestively as he takes a calm sip from what appears to be the straight tequila in his colossal, bejeweled hand. 

The English boy takes a gradual step closer to her, wanting to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries that would make her uncomfortable. The scent of his cologne intensifies and she feels a fiery heat suddenly pour between her clasped thighs. It just hits her how long it’s truly been since she’s gotten laid and fuck, it’s sad.

Harry begrudgingly peels his attention away from Y/N for a second, aiming his words towards the girls standing behind her with their mouths still opened stupidly. Even from a respectful distance, his warm breath still washes across her jaw and cheek, causing electricity to zip down her spine. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a bit, do you?”

‘Yeah,’ Y/N thinks in the back of her muddled skull, ‘that’s definitely tequila.’

Isabel and Melissa slowly shake their heads in unison, glancing at each other as if to confirm he’d just spoken to them. 

The edges of Harry’s lips jolt into a kind, easygoing smile. “Thank you. Promise I’ll keep her safe.” 

Y/N feels her heart hiccup at his statement. If she’s not insanely mistaken, it appears to have carried an undertone of dirty intentions. God, she’s praying she’s not mistaken. 

The two girls clamber away on their tall pumps, rounding around Harry and pausing for a moment. They make moaning faces and vulgar motions behind him, encouraging Y/N to pursue the stranger. She then watches them disappear into the throng of crowded bodies, leaving her alone with the beautiful boy and her heart slamming against her ribs. 

Y/N focuses back onto Harry, licking her itching lips lightly, not knowing what to say next as he settles himself beside her. He rests his forearm on the counter along with his drink, tucking his other hand back into  his trouser pocket and fixing himself into a comfortable standing position, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. The friction between his jacket and the bar rides his sleeve up an inch or so, and Y/N gets a view of the anchor tattoo he has along his wrist, as well as the upside-down cross inked between his thumb and index finger. 

Harry catches her looking, mouth twitching with a smidge of arrogant self-assurance. He loves when girls drool over his tats. 

“I have more.” He remarks lightly, a pang of condescending pleasure shooting through his chest at the way she jerks and pins her gaze down to the floor. 

Blood rushes into her cheeks at the realization that she’s been caught and Harry’s teeth grind. It’s so hot watching her fidget for him. Maybe he finds her more attractive than he’d originally let on. “Would you like to see them?”

Y/N timidly coaxes herself into locking stares with him once again, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, barely nodding with a soft, “Sure.” 

She looks so pretty like that, he notices, staring up at him all doe-eyed and shy. It’d probably look even better if she were on her knees.

Yeah, he definitely likes her more than he’d thought. 

Harry proceeds to shift about, shrugging his coat off his strong shoulders, letting it slip down his lean arms and reveal the plethora of dark tattoos strewn across his left arm. Y/N watches avidly, drinking up every flex of his biceps under the black paint and every twitch of his pecs beneath his cotton shirt, the tendons along his throat going taut for just a moment. That moment is enough for her to etch the image into the back of her eyelids for the rest of her life. 

Harry tosses the article onto the table, extending his arm over its surface for her to get a better reading. She doesn’t miss the chance, her pupils tracing over every line and stroke of the pen, over every shaded area and meticulous detail. 

His voice comes out as a low, garbled murmur, his own irises studying her features with just as much intensity. “You can touch them, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

After a moment of hesitation, the brim of her crystalline cup is replaced by the ridges of his smooth, tanned skin. She drags her digits over the naked mermaid, tracing the curve of her figure and the dip of her tail, then passing onto the stem of the large rose, ghosting over every thorn and prickle. Harry can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips and it’s making him throb. 

“They’re very pretty.” Y/N whispers, allowing her touch to fall away, palm finding refuge across the counter. “Did they hurt?” 

“A bit, yeah. But I’ve gotten so many done that I think I grew numb to the needle after a while.” Harry answers, shrugging one shoulder to show it’s no big deal. He grasps his glass once again and takes a drawn-out swig, extending the action just so she can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. Once the cup is back in its place, his tongue peeks out and swipes any leftover liquid from his rosy lips, which then settle into a coy simper. “Plus, I kinda like the pain.” 

Y/N’s breathing stutters in her lungs and she swiftly swerves the topic onto something much less explicit. “So why’d you ask if I was the designated driver? That’s kind of an odd question. Very out of the blue.” 

Harry lulls his middle finger across the hem of his glass, exactly how she had been doing earlier, the motion weighed by an innuendo. She seems to understand it, present in how she bites into the inside of her cheek. “I just figured that a pretty girl like you would have easily found someone to dance with. So when I saw you sitting here looking all bored with your drink barely touched…I just assumed, I suppose.” 

And there it is again— the blood pouring into her face. Christ, if she keeps that up, he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Thank you, that’s— that’s really sweet. Proper gentleman.” 

Harry runs his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes snapping to her tinted mouth for a second, establishing some sexual tension that he’ll expand on as they go. “Who doesn’t like a guy who knows how to treat a girl, right?” 

Y/N clears her throat softly, obviously phased by his forward compliment, but she tries to play it off. “To answer your question, I— uhm...I’m not really one for the club scene, I guess. Don’t really like it, but I didn’t want to be rude and turn down the invitation.” 

‘Good girl,’ Harry thinks, silently cheering her on for having more brain cells than the typical human. 

“Well, that’s where we share some common ground, then.” He chimes brightly, a soft smile bringing his dimples to life. “I don’t care for clubs, either, but my friends have an affinity for them so here I am.”

He gestures vaguely towards the general direction where he’d left Mitch, continuing his rant. “The choking smoke, the annoying strobe lights, the crowded floor, the drunk morons—”

“Bumping into you without giving a shit.” Y/N finishes his sentence, her vulgarity drawing a boyish giggle from her companion and now she’s convinced she’d do anything to hear him laugh like that again. “And there’s always a faint smell of vomit coming from somewhere.”

Harry slaps his hand down against the glass table in passionate agreement, voice pitching up slightly as his brows jump in emotion. “Right?! It’s fucking disgusting. Don’t understand how anyone could genuinely enjoy it.” 

Y/N nods vehemently, sharing the same expression of utter distaste towards the subject. “It honestly doesn’t make any sense to me, either. Why come here when you can go to, like, a nice bar somewhere, y’know?”

Harry blinks at her in astonishment, her opinion mirroring his own with psychic-like accuracy. “My thoughts exactly.” 

“Great minds think alike.” Y/N responds playfully, taking a hearty gulp from her drink since the first time he’d spotted her from across the room. 

After a comfortable pause, Harry speaks up, also entertaining another sip from his own drink, which is now nearly empty. “Are you from around here?”

She can’t be. Rarely anyone born and raised here is willing to bash the status quo, and never so openly. 

She’s once again mesmerized by the attractiveness of his rings, but manages to get her composure in check. “Kinda. I moved here about two months ago.” 

Precisely his point.

Harry releases a curious hum over the cup between his lips. “Let me be the one to officially welcome you to Cali, then! Where people go to shitty clubs for fun and tan themselves into a strip of leather.”

Y/N sputters out a half-suppressed giggle and Harry’s brows almost furrow at the weird fluttering in his stomach. He rarely gets it.

Y/N takes another deep gulp of what he thinks is probably an Old Fashioned, silently praising the way she’d finished it off so quickly. She crunches an ice shard between her teeth and lets it melt across her tongue before engaging again. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here either though, are you?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to chuckle a bit and she fights off an endeared smile. 

“What gave it away?” He asks, purposefully doing a thicker, fuller accent, his teasing nature making the grin she’d just stifled fully break through.

Y/N lifts a shoulder offhandedly. “Your accent seems a little too…posh for this area. Or even this hemisphere.”

Harry scoffs softly, the pinky around his glass sticking up jokingly as he kinks an eyebrow at her, a few rouge curls falling across his forehead. “Keen ears, mate.”

Y/N lifts her drink up a bit with a playfully knowing air, mimicking an English dialect. “Cheers.”

He places his empty cup down on the counter, his middle finger once more ghosting around the edge absentmindedly. She notices the pastel yellow polish covering his nails, tiny black smiley faces decorating the lacquer.

“I like your nails.” She admires, tipping her empty lowball towards his hand for significance. “Did you do them yourself?”

Harry glances at his fingers, stretching and wiggling them out, his features taking on a bit of pride. “Sure did.” 

“Don’t think I’ve ever met a guy at a club who could pull off nail polish so easily.” 

The left edge of his lips flicks upwards. “How do you mean?”

Y/N’s gaze bounces back to his and the tone twirling in his jade irises tells her everything she needs to know about keeping this conversation going: he enjoys being praised. 

She chooses her next words carefully, wanting to appeal to his interests. “I mean that it looks amazing on you. The color suits your skin nicely, makes your hands look good.” 

Harry breaks eye contact, glimpsing down at his shoes and she realizes he’s actually trying to hide a blush. The fact that she had managed to coax one out of him boosts her confidence while simultaneously making his own waver. He’s never like this— never so easily flustered. He needs to get it together.

Harry tilts his chin back up, lower lip strung between his two front teeth. His voice comes out as a flirty laugh.

“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.” 

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach. 

“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”

Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”

Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”

“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”

“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.” 

She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give. 

Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”

“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath. 

He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.” 

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.” 

A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.

“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”

“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”

The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.” 

Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks. 

When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.

By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs. 

The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.

By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge. 

An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.

“So how do you like your new home?”

She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”

The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.” 

“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”

“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”

“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.

“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?” 

“Hm?”

His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”

She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.

Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.” 

It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”

Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”

Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again. 

He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”

A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”

“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”

He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.

Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke. 

She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.” 

Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”

The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.” 

With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.  

Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning. 

Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil. 

Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.” 

The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name. 

Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.

She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done. 

She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?

Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”

She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight. 

Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”  

“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”

He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.” 

Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”

“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.” 

It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.

Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” 

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night. 

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer. 

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.  

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.  

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had. 

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.” 

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys. 

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell. 

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them. 

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately. 

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.” 

[clumsy-hood]

obey me! demon brothers + love languages (giving vs receiving)

prompt: how the demon brothers like to show and receive love

word count: 2,633

a/n: another late night attempt i wrote the night before and found in my notes. i really do appreciate feedback if anyone wants to shoot me a message. obey me, the ikemen otome games, and playchoices have really kept me nice and distracted during the pandemic so if anyone even wants to chat about any of those topics, i have thoughts and would like to hear yours. do this for a broke, bored bitch.

Lucifer

giving: quality time

There is no denying that the Avatar of Pride has a fairly hectic daily schedule—excluding his brothers’ shenanigans, that is still putting it mildly—so it seems best fit he best shows his love for you by simply spending time alone together. No matter if it’s a dinner date at Ristorante Six or spending the night together in his room listening to music, that time is strictly dedicated to you and no one else. You have Lucifer’s undivided attention—unless his brothers nearly destroy the house, then that is an entirely different story. One-on-one time with him may not always be as common as you’d like, but he sure as hell will put in the effort—so much so that if you’ve had scheduled plans for quite some time (ones he can’t afford to miss), he will rush every meeting, speed through paperwork, and all-in-all practically sprint to make it to you on time. 

receiving: acts of service

As much as he’ll go the extra mile to spend so much as a brief moment with you, the way to his heart is doing the little things to make life just a little more bearable for him. Mammon’s plotting to cheat some local low-tier demons? You’re there to redirect his plans to something less potentially chaotic. Lucifer forgot he had to make dinner for the house that night? You’re already on it so long as he helps with cleanup later. Beel ate someone’s food? You’ve already diffused the situation and now the brothers are heading on a snack run. At first, Lucifer was somewhat convinced you were trying to win his brothers’ favors until he realized every little deed or chore completed was to benefit him. Absolutely no ulterior motives planned! It wasn’t until you’d caught him half-asleep and hunched over the desk in his study and offered him a mug of hot tea did he realize how warm and cared for you truly made him feel. The poor guy just isn’t used to be loved and doted on. 

Mammon

giving: giving gifts

As greedy as he is to spend time with you, Mammon is convinced the best way to show you how much he truly cares for you is to give you anything and everything he can. You are the only person he can never bring himself to steal from—that’s just how special you are to him. In fact, you’re so important to him that every gift—no matter how big or small—given from him was purchased, won, or even made in the most honest ways possible. He sees you eyeballing a toy at a carnival? He’ll spend whatever money his broke ass has left just to win it for you. If you so much as mention in passing that you like a certain jacket, that boy will wait tables at Hell’s Kitchen for however long it takes to buy you what he thinks you deserve. You mean so much to him—a price that can never be paid, it doesn’t even exist—and even though you’re not nearly as materialistic as he tends to be, if he can’t afford to give you the world to see you smile, then he’ll damn well try to earn it some way or another. 

receiving: words of affirmation

Let’s face it, poor Mammon is often the brunt of jokes and insults from his brothers and the occasional low-tier demons, and your small words of kindness leave him a blushing, bumbling mess as he’d be quick to agree and accept your praise. Even if you complimented his hair or told him he had a cute smile in passing, it was as though someone lit sparklers in his chest and he couldn’t help how damn giddy he was. If the Avatar of Greed had a good idea, you were quick to agree and praise him—even defending his choices to his brothers whenever they dismissed or outright ignored him. The sound of your voice had become his favorite thing as though it could be the soundtrack of his day. Though, as much as he enjoyed your compliments and affirmations, you just listening to him vent or complain or even telling you about his day made him feel more heard than he had been for the longest time. And something about that was exciting and confusing all at once, but he knew he never wanted it to end. 

Levi

giving: quality time

The Avatar of Envy himself has mentioned that his type is someone he can spend time with—even if that means you both are doing completely different things. So long as you’re in the room with him, he feels completely at ease. It’s honestly one of the best ways he knows how to show how much he trusts you, simply by inviting you into his room and having you make yourself at home there. If you’re trying to read a book, he’ll offer a seat in his room to keep you nearby while he plays his newest game. And Levi loves inviting you to his room for movie nights or binge-watch whatever anime he’s sure you’re going to absolutely love and will keep peeking over at you to gauge your reaction or will occasionally pause it to explain certain plot points. The ultimate show of his affection? The second he invites you to play a video game together—no matter if it’s an RPG, story-driven, or an all-out battle raid—you know you’ve unlocked some type of high-tier level of trust with him and he never wants you to leave. 

receiving: receiving gifts

No matter how often you’d try to reassure Levi you cared for him and didn’t consider him a yucky otaku, your words never seemed to suffice. After plenty of trial and error to show you care, it was after you unknowingly purchased rare Ruri-Chan memorabilia as a gift for him did you realize how he best accepts love. Of course, everything you’d get him anything—even the smallest, most seemingly insignificant thing—he’d become a beet-red, stuttering mess spitting nothing but praise and adoration towards you. Because it means you listened to all the things he loves and went out of your way to show it. No matter if it was preordering a game he had mentioned wanting to play or even picking up a spare treat for him while you were out shopping, he always appreciated knowing you could be out there alone and still thinking of him. 

Satan

giving: words of affirmation

Everything the Avatar of Wrath says and does seem to be polished and refined, almost as though he has rehearsed several interactions that may happen to keep his rage at bay. Though, he is quick to realize it is slightly different to do around you. It isn’t that words are difficult for him but expressing them isn’t so much in average verbal praise as it is in written form. Out of all the brothers, he is the most likely to offer books with little notes of paper written inside for you to read, often comparing your relationship to those of fictional characters he has found. I mean, he’s even made you an entire picture book with his own created story starring the two of you just to show how much you truly mean to him. There would never be any doubt how much you truly mean to him, but when speaking those words aloud may come across as more aggressive than intended, it’s the written word where he truly shines in sharing his feeling towards you.

receiving: quality time

As much as he enjoys telling you—or rather, writing to you—how much you mean to him, he has a harder time simply accepting your words for what they are and claims he is not easily swayed with words as his brothers are. Instead, the best way Satan responded to your love and affection was simply from your mere presence. Whether your head rested in his lap while he read his book in his room or the two of you tested different Devildom and human recipes in the kitchen, your general being in the vicinity of him was enough to leave him feeling warm inside. After a suggestion from you, you both would even schedule time aside to take a stroll around RAD and Devildom, just a little adventure here and there where you’d try new restaurants or even pet the random cats you’d find. The demon had a way of coming and going as he’d please—often making acquaintances with those he’d meet—but you were always the one he looked forward to spending time with the most. He could hardly wait for whatever little adventure you’d experience together next.

Asmo

giving: physical touches

Given that he is the Avatar of Lust, it wouldn’t come across as too much of a surprise that Asmo shows his love and affection through physical touch quite often—so long as you’re comfortable with it, that is. Even though he’d regularly praise you with words, he’d much rather feel your hand pressed to his own or nonchalantly toy with your fingers while you relaxed with one another. If he thought your skin could use a little help, he’d offer hands-on assistance applying his regular regimen to your skin. He has such a gentle touch, if he saw you struggling with your hair in any way—tangles or just struggling to style it?—he’d be quick to offer help and would miraculously make it as painless as possible. And of course, he’d practically shower you in kisses—on your wrist, your lips, your cheeks, your forehead, your tummy, your fingertips, your ear, your neck, your nose, etc. If he could every inch of you with his love—in a less lewd way—he would in a heartbeat.

receiving: words of affirmation

While he’d love you reciprocating his physical love with touches of your own, there is nothing Asmo seems to truly desire from you more than the validation of him, his beauty, and your love for him. You knew the demon was well familiar with past lovers singing praises of his beauty and sexuality, but you had no idea just how much he sought your validation until he’d confessed how much your thoughts of him mattered. It would become a habit to wake up to him tangled beside you, whispering an ‘I love you’, and to be greeted with a gentle kiss. If he was ever overwhelmed or concerned with his overall image, you were quick to cease those worries with reminders about how beautiful he was and what a lovely heart he had as well. The moments you had admitted you loved his soft nature and gentle touch and warm embrace left an odd fluttering feeling in his chest. He knew he loved you, but it seemed he had no idea how much until you’d tell him those three words and gave him your undivided attention.

Beel

giving: acts of service

Honestly, Beel was never sure the best way of showing his love for you—he was always worried he’d say the wrong thing or that his hunger would get the best of him. He knew he cared for you and never wanted to cross any boundaries so he figured he’d do little things here and there just to see you smile. If he was excited to try new foods, he’d always get extra just for you. He wasn’t always the best with cooking, but if you mentioned you were homesick for the human world, then he’d ask Barbatos or Luke to help him make human food for you—and some for him to sample. If the Devildom weather left you feeling chillier than usual, he’d offer his jacket—although it was so massive on you, it practically pooled at your feet once he draped it over your shoulders. If you had passed out in the library, Beel wouldn’t hesitate to offer carrying you back to your dorm—or his, per your request. And if he found out you skipped a meal, I swear to Diavolo you are the only one he would ever share snacks with without a second thought. He just wanted you happy, healthy, and in Devildom with him and his brothers. 

receiving: quality time

For all the little things he enjoys doing for you, spending quality time with the Avatar of Gluttony is the best way to his heart—aside from food, that is. Offering to go out with him to Hell’s Kitchen for lunch or inviting him in the kitchen while you make cheeseburgers are the simplest ways to see him grinning wide. Even movie marathons in your room were a treat for him—and not just because he’d have brought a tub of popcorn—but it was an excuse to have you pressed against him and he loved that a little more than the bucket of buttery goodness in his lap. It could be a challenge at times with how packed both your schedules could be—especially if he had several back-to-back Fangol games—but you did your best to make it work. In between classes, you’d meet up and make time for little conversation, offering him a snack if you had anything on you, before going on with your day. If he needed a spotter or someone to record him working out? You were there in a heartbeat. It seemed like a lot of work sometimes to find moments alone together with everyone else around, but he was worth it. Beel would always be worth it. 

Belphie

giving: quality time

Belphie was never sure the best way to show you how much you meant to him; after all, he was the Avatar of Sloth so he wasn’t as accustomed to offering gifts or doing your chores around the house. But he found the most successful way was to simply spend time with you whenever he could. His brothers often vied for your attention, so if it meant carrying you on his shoulder to take you to the attic room for some one-on-one time then so be it. He did everything he could to stay awake so he could listen to you talk about your day, often nuzzling into your neck and pressing lazy kisses with a sleepy grin. He even tried to make it to more council meetings and RAD classes just so he had an excuse to spend time with you immediately afterward. His absolutely favorite moments would be any time he’d wake up before you or the ones where you’d like curled up against him because he knew he trusted you well enough to sleep on you, but a warm, fuzzy feeling enveloped him wholly, realizing you trusted him enough to do the same.

receiving: physical touches

Similar to his brothers, Belphie could be more than a little greedy for your time and attention—especially any sign of affection—but the best way to show any love was best translated through gentle touches. If you played with his hair and caressed his cheek during a cuddle session, that boy would let out the softest sigh and doze off quickly to sleep. He wouldn’t ever openly admit it out loud but loved the feel of your hand wrapped in his or the way your legs would get all tangled together whenever you were sleeping at night. And your hugs would honestly make his day. If Lucifer was starting to get to him, you’d swoop in with a comforting hug while his heart was practically pounding right out of his chest. Maybe Beel ate the food he was saving? You were quick to salvage his mood with a kiss to the cheek and a squeeze to his arm. He never understood how you could be such a lifeline for him, but somehow a simple touch from you kept him tethered to the rest of the world and left him enjoying being awake. 

[justfandomtings]

Character study of William murderface

Cw: child abuse, ptsd, trauma, internalized homopobia,ect.

Throughout the show, murderface has been presented as a shitty person that is untalented, leeches off of his friends/ fame, and honestly just seem to have gotten lucky when getting into dethklok.

Which is true, but I want to look in a little deeper why he's like this. (Note:this might be kinda head cannonish. I have some examples from the actual show but since we never got a deep backstory for murderface or get many murderface centric episodes I'll be filling in some empty spaces.)

Murderface in the show

Murderface is extremely self loathing and has had moments where he just goes so hard in on himself.

Season 1 episode 1

We see this in the very beginning when he refers to himself as the 'fat one.'

It could've been played off as a simple joke, which it was in the show for the audience watching. But in the show's universe and for the character, this will be an occurring thing.

This continues in

Season 1 episode 3

It's murderface's birthday and the boys throw murderface a party. During his party murderface is shown complaining and being stand-offish. You would think the last thing he would want is a party, yet he still sends out invites to his bandmates. (Note: noticed how the invites were sent right after murderface left the room? Idk it just seemed like he was embarrassed or scared his bandmates would laugh at him for wanting a birthday party. He even tried to act non chalant when the invite said "come if you want, who gives a piss." when they did throw him a party he still came)

When the boys pulled a little, kinda mean but harmless prank on him, literally giving him the gift of nothing. Murderface was fucking hurt, like genuine tears almost left this man's eyes when he come into his room to get his thing's and 'run away'.

Of course the boys did give murderface an actual gift, which honestly had a lot of thought and effort put into it. This makes murderface cry a tear. (Of blood but you know still a tear)

This is the example of the boy's showing they care for murderface. But even after this big gesture murderface will continue to believe the opposite.

The show continues and we get the first and honestly only backstory for murderface.

Season 1 episode 6

When the boys get a band therapist, we find out the tragic murder/suicide of murderface's parents. His father killing his mother then himself with a chainsaw, this whole thing happens while murderface as a baby sits in his highchair unaware while eating his cereal. This flashback makes murderface kinda sit there in shock as he pisses his pants.

(Note: murderface has said in the show that his appearance was the reason his parents are dead. If that really was the case, why didn't his father kill him or at least killed him after he killed his mother? Why did his father just kill his wife and himself? Never laying a single hand on murderface? Will get back to that later.)

Season 1 episode 9

Bringing up this episode may be confusing to some for bringing this up since it doesn't focus solely on murderface. He doesn't even get that much screen time this episode. But I would like to point out his actions in that episode.

In this episode the boys adopt a young teen boy they name fatty ding dong and raise him as their son for probably couple of weeks. While the boys all had their...interesting way of raising him. Murderface had the most physical fights with fatty ding dong. Mostly when we misbehaved. Like hitting him, shocking him non stop with a tazer, beating him for eating his civil war boots ect.

I just like to point out that murderface was raised by his grandparents. We'll come back to more of that later in the post.

Season 1 episode 11

The band gets reunited with their families and what we see from murderface and his family is that they are very violent towards each other. Murderface tries to choke his grandmother when looking in at her mouth as she chewed. Pickles and Nathan had to snap himself out of it, murderface apologized saying it was his fault for looking to deeply.

Like that was some kind of trigger from his past that made him black out and get violent.

He was also highly against buying his grandfather a wheelchair, only doing so because the boys agreed to be nice towards their family to get them to leave.

Even when they were spending time with each other, they never touched each other William kept his distance. Only ever touching if it was fight related.

In the same episode we see why, Stella was so physically abusive towards murderface, spraying fucking pepper spray into his eyes when he did..nothing? He wasn't aggressive or was even part of the issue. She just attacks him because she had to change his diapers?

This belittlement and physical abuse continues everytime they are together on screen.

So to bring back up season 1 episode 9. With how murderface treated fatty ding dong we can assume that's how we was being treated while under the care of his grandparents. Children soak up things like a sponge. Whether you think they remember it or not. Many psychological reports has shown that children will mimick and repeat behaviors and actions their caretakers do. If it's right or not, children will do things because that's what this adult dose. That's what they see at home. It's normal to them if that is the environment they grow in. Even if the child feels like something is off or wrong. They won't know exactly what is wrong or why because it's all they know.

So if this is how murderface was raised, which highly may be the case since we see Stella physically abuse murderface even as an adult. He might have actually thought this is how you raise a child, this is what you do to a child when they misbehaved. Nobody in his life has corrected murderface or explain to him that this way of discipline isn't ok or even discipline to begin with, it is abuse.

So, we are to believe with the information we have now. Is that murderface was most likely abused as a child, probably all the way up till he was able to get away from them and join dethklok.

With this information we can apply this to his behavior in the show. A side effect from child abuse is suicidal behavior. Throughout the show Murderface would now and then casually commit about hurting or killing himself.

Season 1 episode 2

Murderface casually states if it'll be brutal enough for him to just take his life after Nathan deltes another record. Or when the boys kindly ask him to stop eating beans, he gets oddly emotional and says he'll just starve to death then.

Another effect from child abuse is eating disorders and obesity.

You already know this a big part of murderface's character. There are times where he's seen constantly eating junk food, to eating nothing and just drinking coffee, to the doctor pointing out the back of his teeth are decaying. And murderface informs him it's from throwing up his food.

He also gets teased for his weight being called chubby and fat, ect. Murderface has a hard time with his weight, his excessive eating may even be seen as an unhealthy coping mechanism.

Other effects such as aggressive behavior, low self esteem, dissociation, ect. Is also shown within the show.

Season 1 episode 15

Murderface gets into a motorcycle accident and is sent into the hospital. This near death experience gets him on a religious journey. Maybe to find answers to certain questions or possibly wondering where he was going to go if he did die? Is he a good person, why do certain things happen to people, what's the meaning of life?

He asked the guys if he really deserved to live. Does he really deserve to be brought onto this world, being a part of a pretty good and rare type of life.

The boys being emotionally closed off don't really answer his question. They honestly brush it off but they do go along with murderface on his spiritual journey.

He eventually chooses no religion, but I feel that near death experience stuck with him. He either decided that life was too short so might as well live it, or a more cynical view on life. That it's meaningless then who cares if he died?

Season 2 episode 11

This is probably an episode where murderface was the most sad and self loathing. (This and another episode I can't wait to get to) after his concert, he felt pretty shitty with the outcome and had lead him to feel that he does not deserve the life he has now and wonders why he even shows his face. Just wanting the spot light for one.

Which is really interesting. Because comparing season 1 with the other 3. Murderface in season one had...fans. There were people who genuinely liked him. The prime example is his birthday episode.

When he had a solo, just like in season 2 episode 11. People were cheering his name. Practically screaming at the rooftops for him. So what happened?

We already know that murderface is the least liked member of the band, but even then he still had fans. Hell people committed terrorists attacks just for him on his birthday.

Maybe it was just a loud minority? Who knows, but if in the show as time went on less and less people had him as his favorite or even just liked him would probably get him really insecure.

After the concert failure, Charles let's him host a Nas car event. Which I'd think would've gone actually well if you know, the dethklok curse wasn't a thing.

Also as murderface was planning the event people around him didn't really support him or help him out. Which is mostly murderface's fault, he has a lack of focus and doesn't really plan things through. This is a good reason for partners and others outside wanting to work with dethklok not want to work with murderface. It costs money and a lot of time to do all the things related to dethklok. And murderface's flakeyness is a valid reason for business and others to not have faith in him when related to these things.

BUT! (This is a little bit of projection here) as someone who also has a lack of focus and hard time to get things done. That doesn't mean I don't want to do said thing, that doesn't mean I want to waste others time. I simply have a hard time focusing, I need structure and that little reminder to get things done. But the difference between me and murderface is that I'm not a billionaire.

I am not apart of a popular metal band, with all the money in the world, with a manager that will clean up every little mess I make.

I have more risk, whatever I fuck up will effect me. I will suffer the consequences. Murderface won't. (Also he's a fictional character..so reality won't have any affect on him lol)

But yea, I believe if murderface would suffer from his consequences then he'd be a bit more on things. Also I feel murderface's mental health issues play a huge role in things.

His fear that he's not good enough, eating disorders, ect. Can really mess up your focus.

So, now to the infamous episode. Dethvanity.

Season 4 episode 8

In this episode Murderface in nominated for the most brutal looking award and this. Fucks. Him. Up.

So much so that he actually hallucinates his bandmates and Charles calling him ugly and other things that they never even said.

When he goes to the plastic surgeon, he tells him. A complete stranger, that he hates himself. For murderface to actually admit this deep issue that he's been keeping deep down. For him to show vulnerability to a stranger is pretty sad.

When he goes to Nathan to borrow money, he tells a story of a 'boy' that was so ugly that he's driven his parents to murder suicide. Again he's calling himself ugly and blaming himself for his parents death. (Were going to get back to that too.)

After murderface gets the surgery he days dream about what would happen if he was beautiful. Finally being accepted and able to say fuck you to all those that were shit to him.

Of course, it doesn't end like that. He's face gets infected and is even more ugly than before.

This episode was pretty messed up. Murderface didn't get what he thought would give him validation, he looks down on himself more, and he is humiliated front of 100s of people.

This whole shit show probably validated all the negative thoughts he had for himself.

Next we'll talk about his internalized homopobia. Murderface...is definitely..not straight. He's not gay either he does have sexual attraction to women but his uncomfortably and very interesting moments and visions say he might like more than just that.

Season 2 episode 5

Murderface has a weird thing with eating 'penis' shaped objects or watching other eating said shaped objects.

He has a lot of weird moments where he gets really close to one of his bandmates and just whispers something in their ear. Specifically Pickles and Skwisgaar.

He just said fuck it and tried to bang toki while they were in the submarine.

Had hallucinations of cutting between women, men, animals, even his own grandmother and was distraught when he had a small moment of admitting he way gay.

There's no real specific reason why or how murderface is this scared of being gay. But I feel it may also be with how he grew up. He was probably been told it was wrong to be gay and how immoral it was to like men and you'll burn in hell if you do. Also being gay wouldn't be 'brutal' or 'manly'.

And not to shit on metal heads but you know. They're not the...most..exclusive group of people.

I think murderface is scared to accept he's gay because his grandparents made him feel he would be a bad person if he was or get kicked out of the band if he was.

So, after all I laid on the table, let's wrap this up. Back to the blaming himself of his parents deth. I believe, Williams parents didn't kill/murder themselves because he has ugly. I like to think the opposite, I believe his parents actually dearly cared for him. I think his father had some serious mental issues or something else pushed him over the edge.

It could be anything really, maybe his dad was crazy, maybe it had something to do with the curse. I like to think they both cared for him his dad just..idk snapped.

I'm assuming murderface's grandparents are his dads parents. And seeing how they treated murderface they most definitely treated his dad the same.

Or, it wasn't murder/suicide at all. Buckle in because it's all tv theory over here. I have a hard time to believe that murderface remembered, in such detail in fact. How his parents died, in the flashback he looks to be 7 to 8 months? Traumatic event yes, but there's no way a baby can remember such a thing.

I think, Stella lied to murderface about how his parents died. I think it was just some evil twisted thing she said to make murderface feel terrible about himself. His parents probably unfortunately died in say a car accident or health related issues. But the main thing is how guilty murderface feels, how terrible he feels that he thinks he was the reason he killed his parents when that's far from the truth.

It was either an unfortunate accident or his father killing themselves. But it is not murderface's fault.

The physical abuse from his grandparents, the guilt of believing he's the reason for his parents death, his aggressive internalized homopobia, lack of support, the bullying from his bandmates, body issues/eating disorder, and it just keeps going.

It's no fucking wonder why the man is like this. Don't get me wrong, murderface is an asshole and is responsible for most of his actions.

But that's still a lot of shit for someone to go through.

That's all I have, this is really long. But I hoped you like this little thread. There's still more to his character but this is long enough.

[intomymindspace]

Just One Day ✰ Ushijima Wakatoshi

Just One Day by BTS

ushijima wakatoshi x gn!reader

Through the Summer and the Fall // Haikyuu!! Songfic Series

a/n: hi everyone, I'm sorry for falling off the map for a bit. I was feeling really just overwhelmed and burnt out, but also disheartened because of my fics not showing up in tags and stuff. oh well. I also started another semester of college... and on the first day, I found out that my ex had cheated on me 🤡 n e ways,,,, this fic is heavily influenced by that. thank you for reading my stuff and sticking with me. I just wanna be loved sometimes, yanno?

Word Count: almost 5k?

Warnings: none, just Oikawa mentioned as being a bad ex bf for unknown reasons. this is also probably unedited, so I am so sorry if there are any mistakes

If I have just one day I'd like to fall asleep with your scent If I have time on a tight schedule I'd like to soak myself in your warm, deep eyes

If Ushijima Wakatoshi could be with you for just one day, he would take you to Tsutsujigaoka Park. He would hope it was near the end of March, so he could take you for a walk while the cherry and plum blossom trees were blooming. Regardless of the season, he would make sure to prepare a blanket and two bentos, and maybe even a sketchbook or two. The two of you would talk, and walk in a comfortable silence as you viewed the nature around. If any food stalls were open, Wakatoshi would make sure to bring extra pocket money to buy you something you wanted. His hand would completely engulf yours if he held it, and as he walked you back to your dorm room, he would even dare to ask permission to kiss you.

Tendou watched his best friend fondly, smiling as he recognized the faraway look in Wakatoshi's eyes. The ace was thinking about you. Tendou saw this look quite often, whenever Wakatoshi needed to calm down during a match, when he needed a break from studying, and even when you visited to coordinate cheers for upcoming matches. The olive-haired boy had never said anything about you, but this was one thing that Tendou was always able to read.

As the cheer captain of Shiratorizawa, it had always been a little tough for you. While coming up with cheers and leading the school to rally during games was easy, being in a relationship with Oikawa Tooru was the unsolvable variable in that equation. Wakatoshi had only wished the best for the both of you, as much as he pined from afar. You were happy, right? Did Oikawa make you happy?

There were many times where he had seen your puffy eyes, your cheeks rubbed raw, your voice not as loud as usual. It was never his business to ask - you were his rival's partner after all (or recent ex-parter, he had later discovered), and he was sure that Oikawa had given you a nasty impression of the ace.

He wondered if he could still have you, even if it was just for one day. Wakatoshi knew better, however. He knew the last thing you wanted was another man in your life. You didn't need someone who always reminded you of the boy who never prioritized you, who never shut down his fangirls and always left you insecure. Wakatoshi always felt guilty, even though he knew it was for no reason. Maybe if he had built up the courage to talk to you during first year homeroom, things would be different.

Even if it was for just one day, Ushijima Wakatoshi could've taken care of you. He could've balanced his priorities, appreciated your support, and crushed your insecurities. He could've been everything Oikawa wasn't. Wakatoshi was not a man of many words, but he knew the ones he could have spoken would have counted for something. He was never a man of empty promises, empty ambitions, and empty dreams. As the buzzer went off, Wakatoshi was brought back to the reality of the current game.

It was a shame, he thought, that Karasuno had beaten Aoba Johsai. He would've liked to put Oikawa in his place one last time.

As he stood back up with the rest of his team, he made his way over to the edge of the court. He breathed in and out, hearing your voice ring loud and clear. Your voice parted the crowd, and his heart couldn't help but flutter.

"Ushijima! Ushijima!"

You were cheering for him after all, right?

He bounced the ball, hitting it against the ground to make sure it felt right. As he heard the referee blow the whistle, he thought about what your face would look like when he served. Would you be ecstatic? Would your eyes widen in shock? Would he scare you, as he does so many others?

As the volleyball slammed into Karasuno's court, the crowd went wild. Wakatoshi glanced into the bleachers, already knowing where you were standing. The look of awe on your face was evident, Wakatoshi thought. He would certainly make the next serve if it meant seeing you smile again - even if it was for just one day.

Your voice when you call my name I want to be sunk with that voice and swim I want to know you more I am an adventurer who explores an unknown forest called "you"

If Ushijima Wakatoshi could be with you for just one day, he would take you to the Sendai Uminomori Aquarium. He would stare at you under the black lights as you admired the jellyfish, floating in their tanks, their tendrils extending and waving to say hello. He’d catch himself in the reflection of the glass, his lips in a rare, soft smile as he’d watch you press your hands gently against the divider. He could imagine the look on your face - would you smile at him the way you used to smile for Oikawa? Would you finally have the sparkle in your eyes that had left? Wakatoshi hated that he would compare himself to the setter... but how could he not?  

Would you enjoy the opposite of Oikawa?

He pondered this as he sat during the graduation ceremony. You were sitting a few rows up with your class, and he was placed next to Tendou, Semi on the opposite side of the red-haired blocker.

The chances of him ever seeing you again were very low. He would be playing with the Japan National under-19 volleyball team until his birthday, and from then he’d be trying out for the division one teams. Wakatoshi wasn’t sure what you would be doing - Tendou had told him that you had mentioned you’d be going to Tohoku University.

Wakatoshi’s biggest regret was never talking to you. He knew he had a multitude of opportunities, whether it be communicating on cheers, or simply just joining in on the conversations you’d have with Tendou and Yamagata. He knew it wasn’t his place, to try to replace the remnants of Oikawa in your heart with himself. But he would make sure that his last day with you wouldn’t be for nothing.

He found himself being dragged into pictures upon pictures - not that he minded, of course. He would make sure to ask for copies to keep as memories. He would need them for the documentary Tendou insisted he’d have. He couldn’t help but look at the smile on your face as you held up peace signs with Goshiki and Shirabu. You had gotten closer to the team during your third year, something Wakatoshi was forever thankful for. Tendou smiled, gently nudging the ace.

“Wakatoshi-kun, won’t you say something?” His olive eyes met Tendou’s crimson ones. Most would take Wakatoshi’s silence as indifference, but Tendou of all people knew better than that.

“Ah, you already have something in mind, don’t you?” Wakatoshi nodded.

“Will you go through with it?”

“Yes. I think I will.”

You had been comforting Goshiki through his tears and sniffles, promising to keep in contact with your precious kouhai. Once again, a rare, small smile curled Wakatoshi’s lips. You were still so caring, even when you’d been treated badly.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” You seemed surprised by Wakatoshi’s inquiry, but nodded nevertheless. Giving Goshiki one last pat on the head, you followed Wakatoshi as he lead you away from his and your teammates.

“What was it that you wanted, Ushijima-san?” Wakatoshi took the time to memorize the way your hair was lightly rustled by the breeze.

“Hold on, wait!” Tendou jogged up to the two of you, camera in hand. “Gotta take a photo of our two favorite captains!”

You leaned into Wakatoshi, your diploma in one hand and a peace sign in the other. Your smile was radiant, and Wakatoshi gingerly wrapped a loose arm around your shoulders. He didn’t even realize Tendou had counted down the seconds until the flash appeared, for he was too focused on looking down at your shining face. His best friend left as quickly as he appeared, shouting promises to send copies later. You turned back around, an expectant look on your face. Wakatoshi’s heart was fluttering in his chest, but his mind felt an odd sense of calm.

“We do not have military style uniforms, but I understand that it is common for boys to give the our second button to the one we cherish most.” He paid attention to every detail he could - the way your breath hitched in your chest, the flush in your cheeks, and your wide eyes. Without much effort, he ripped the second button off his suit jacket and presented it to you.

“Will you please accept it?”

Wakatoshi couldn’t help but wish you all the luck and happiness in the world. Even if it was for just one day, he was glad to see you one last time.

I appreciate a masterpiece, "you" Because your existence is an art Every day I imagine like this all night long Because you are nothing more than just a dream to me

If Ushijima Wakatoshi could be with you for just one day, he’d take you to Universal Hollywood. He was never one for thrill rides, but Wakatoshi wouldn’t mind riding on the Hulk if it meant holding your hand as you screamed for your dear life. He would make sure to treated you to a nice, iced butterbeer and matching Harry Potter gear. Granted, he also wasn’t much of a fan, but he would be more than willing for you. He’d stand with you in the shade as the two of you sipped on the cold drink, the bustling life of Diagonal Alley creating the illusion of escapism. He’d remember to post a picture or two for Instagram, since Tendou always bugged him about starting a public social media.

Did Oikawa ever post photos of the two of you? Wakatoshi wondered if the setter had ever cared to do so. It had been nearly two years since he had gifted the button on his uniform to you - and he often found himself going back into his camera roll to find the photo Tendou took after graduation.

You had accepted it with a blushing face, not knowing what to say. Wakatoshi didn’t need an answer from you. He was more than content with the thought of you. He hoped you were doing well in college.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Wakatoshi heard a familiar voice say. The ace turned around to find Iwaizumi, Oikawa’s ace, standing in front of his very eyes.

“Iwaizumi-san, it is good to see you again.”

“Same goes to you, Ushijima-san. What are you doing here?” Ah, Wakatoshi thought, he must be referring to why I’m in this unbearable heat.

“My father is holding a training camp on campus, and invited me to attend before division one tryouts.” Iwaizumi’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re Utsui-san’s son?” Wakatoshi nodded.

“What are you here for?”

“I’m majoring sports science, and well, I was kinda hoping to meet your father while studying abroad to see if I could intern with him after graduating.” Wakatoshi nodded politely.

“I am on my way to see him right now. I would not mind introducing you to him, I am sure he would be more than willing to speak with you.” Iwaizumi thanked him profusely, falling in step beside his previous opponent as Wakatoshi began walking again.

"What teams are you hoping to tryout for?" Iwaizumi asked.

"I would like to play for the Schweiden Adlers."

"Ah, I'm sure they'll want you. Any division one team is probably dying for you to choose them."

"Thank you. Are you not pursuing volleyball?" Iwaizumi shook his head.

"Nah. I love the sport, but I think I'd rather train or coach players." Wakatoshi nodded.

"Though, Stupidkawa still is, obviously. He's been in Argentina for a while now." Iwaizumi noticed the slight furrowing in Wakatoshi's eyebrows, his face seeming forever etched into a frown, and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Sorry from bringing him up like that." Wakatoshi merely brought his hand up to wave away Iwaizumi's worries.

"What's funny is I actually go to college with his ex - they were at Shiratorizawa with you, right?" Wakatoshi couldn't help the way his eyes widened at Iwaizumi's mention of you.

"I have not spoken to them in a while. How are they?" He asked, keeping his olive eyes in front of him. Iwaizumi only smiled.

"We've actually gotten pretty close. I wound up in a bio lab with them in our first semester, and it turns out they're majoring in nutritional sciences."

"Is that so? How does Oikawa feel about that?" The brunette beside him knew better. After all, the two of you had become close friends. You had told him about Wakatoshi's confession.

"Shittykawa is pouty as always. He knows what he did wrong, though, so he doesn't complain." Iwaizumi looked up at Wakatoshi. "He's actually thinking of trying things again the next time he visits Japan." Wakatoshi tried his best to hide the disdain in his reply. Surely, you wouldn't want to retry being in a relationship with the setter, right?

"I did not think he would have the time." To Wakatoshi's surprise, Iwaizumi barked out a laugh.

"I don't think they'll accept any of his new advances. They've been focused on themselves and getting their degree for the most part." Wakatoshi wanted to ask what the ace meant by 'for the most part,' but his lips remained shut.

"That is good to hear." Iwaizumi smirked.

"I'm sure it is, Ushijima-san. After all, they did keep your button."

Maybe, Wakatoshi thought, just one day was not enough.

If I can be with you just one day If I can hold your hands just one day If I can be with you just one day Just one day If you and I can be together just one day

If Ushijima Wakatoshi could be with you for just one day, he would make sure you had his undivided attention. He was fairly good at time management - knew when to start tasks, and he knew when to stop them. He could easily devote time for you while still being a pro-volleyball player. He would spend the day doing whatever you would want - whether it be going shopping (and holding your bags), taking a hike (he would pack extra snacks just for you), or simply staying in for a day of relaxation (he'd even make you your favorite dish, but Wakatoshi wouldn't be able to guarantee how good it would end up tasting). He'd make sure you felt loved and cared for, returning the same affection and effort that you gave to him.

He had been playing for the Adlers for almost a year now, the newest addition being Kageyama Tobio. Oikawa's disciple, he used to call the black-haired setter. To be honest, he quite liked Kageyama. Wakatoshi was just surprised that the orange-haired crow didn't follow him.

As Wakatoshi took his duffle bag and clothes from his locker, he found himself staring at some of the photographs he had printed out and taped to the inside of his locker. There was one of the Shiratorizawa team, used as a roster in his third year. He looked the just the same, in his opinion. The next one was of him and Tendou at the airport. The redhead had shaved his long locks, but the delighted look in his eyes was still present. Wakatoshi would make sure to call him on Friday, just like they did every week. They were best friends, after all.

The last photo was the one Tendou had snapped the day of graduation. Wakatoshi found himself always looking at it. The smile on your face would ground him before practice, before games. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could still hear your cheers in the stands. He would open his eyes, serve, and think of the same smile he always sought out in the crowd.

Wakatoshi had always wondered how you were doing - he thought about you everyday. He knew he could easily give into Tendou and Hoshiumi's pleas for him to create at least a Facebook page, or ask Iwaizumi for your number. But, it wasn't as simple as that, at least in his mind. You wouldn't want him anyways, would you? Not when Oikawa still seemed like such a big wall, at least in his mind.

He could still remember that day like the back of his left hand. He still remembered the way you smiled as you hugged Goshiki through his tears, and he still remembered the look in your eyes when he asked if you would accept his affections, without a need for them to ever be returned?

Wakatoshi questioned why he limited himself to being with you for just one day. Was he being patient, waiting for a day that would never come? Why was it that he convinced himself that the only way he'd ever see you again was when he dreamed?

"Ushijima-san?" It was Kageyama that pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Yes?" The setter merely frowned, holding his phone out for Wakatoshi to look at the screen.

"TOBIO-KUN!!!" It was a text from Hinata Shouyou. "LOOK WHO I FOUND IN RIO!!!" Below it was a picture of Hinata, his tongue out, the Rio sun setting behind him. Next to him was no one other that Oikawa Tooru, his tongue out as well. Wakatoshi's eyebrows furrowed immensely, his lips frowning.

"TOORU-KUN SAYS HI!!!" The situation alone was already jarring enough. Wakatoshi looked back up at Kageyama, to find the same look on the setter's face. Was Oikawa taunting him? Had Oikawa visited Japan before Rio? Had he bothered you? Wakatoshi had assumed that you still lived in Miyagi - you were almost done with your degree, if he counted the years correctly. What would you do after you graduated? Would you go back to Oikawa? Forgive him for all the things he had done? Or, would you find someone else? Would you move on (or, had you already moved on? Wakatoshi wondered this frequently) and find someone who would give you everything Oikawa couldn't, and everything Wakatoshi could?

He remembered the tears when you had gotten the call during a joint practice. Would he remind you of those painful times?

For just one day, Wakatoshi wished he could take all your troubles away, as old or as new as they were.

You will blame me a little, or a lot maybe I know I couldn't see you more because of my dream Then please give me one day, even one day in dreams is fine All the words I couldn't say, making an excuse that its reality

If Ushijima Wakatoshi could be with you for just one day, he take you to Zuiganji Temple. It was nearly Christmastime, which meant the new year was just around the corner. On the first day of January, he would go with you to pray at the temple. He would stroll with you, hand-in-hand, as you admired the nature that surrounded the temple. The two of you would give offerings to the kami, clap your hands together in prayer, and receive good fortunes. Wakatoshi would make sure to pray for many more New Years with you.

The old Sendai City Gymnasium, now the Kamei Arena Sendai, sent him back to high school. They were even playing the MSBY Black Jackals. He remembered how you cheered for him in the stands, voice loud and smile bright as your pom-poms waved in your hands. He would most certainly imagine you in the crowd - he always did.

As the starting lineups are announced, Wakatoshi finds himself thinking about how the different the members of MSBY Black Jackals are. He would remind himself to go say hello to Sakusa and Hinata after the match. Out of the corner of his eye, Wakatoshi swears that he saw a glimpse of your hair. No, he thinks to himself. You were studying nutrition in college, so why would you be on the court? He didn't know if you'd be in the stands - would you? After all, Semi and Reon did come to watch the match.

He peers over to the opposite side of the court once more. He didn't know that the MSBY Black Jackals had a manager. His eyes must have been messing with him. Imagining you cheering him on had never been a distraction until now. Had he eaten something unusual this morning? Were the chia seeds in his overnight oatmeal expired? Wakatoshi thinks that it couldn't possibly be you. You weren't the person standing in a black and gold jacket on the opposite side of the course - they just had similar hair.

Bokuto Koutarou, as always, makes a scene as he leaps across the court during his introduction. Hinata and Miya Atsumu are yelling and laughing wildly, and the crowd goes crazy. The silver haired wing spiker then runs back to his team, giving them all enthusiastic high fives as he goes down the line. As he arrives at the end, he spins the manager around before picking them up, hugging them affectionately as he lifts and spins them around.

Wakatoshi's eyes widen as he finally sees the manager's face - and its you. It was really you. His breath seems caught in his throat. His chest is tightening like crazy, and he knows the exact reason why. He knows he had never stopped loving you - and now that he was seeing you again for the first time in years, his heart can't handle itself.

"Ushi-kun, are you okay?" It was Hoshiumi who pulled him away from his thoughts this time. The white-haired man was staring up at him with wide, concerned eyes. His eyes followed Wakatoshi's gaze, which lead straight to you.

"Is that the person in the picture that you always stare at in your locker?" Wakatoshi hears Kageyama sputtering, nearly choking on his water.

"Senpai is here?" Kageyama's eyes are wide as he looks across the court as well. Once he spots you, he frowns. "Stupid Hinata. Didn't even think to tell me that they were on the team. Their manager and nutritionist, no less."

Wakatoshi remembers when Kageyama first saw the photo in his locker.

"That's Oikawa-san's ex, right? I forgot they had gone to Shiratorizawa with you." Kageyama was peering into Wakatoshi's locker, forgetting personal space. The wing spiker nodded.

"Yes, they were the captain of the cheerleading squad." Kageyama nodded.

"They actually went to Kitagawa Daiichi Junior High. They always tutored me throughout junior andante high school and always bought me snacks, even after Oikawa-san - " Kageyama cut himself off. "Senpai was always very kind to me."

Wakatoshi nodded at the setter. "Yes, they have always been kind."

"Were you close to them? Ushijima-san?" For a few moments, Wakatoshi simply stared in silence at the photo.

"No, I would not have considered us close." He allowed himself to smile. "But, they are very dear to me."

Wakatoshi would've been more bothered by the Adlers' loss if it weren't for the fact that you were there. Seeing you there, smiling as you congratulated your team was more than enough to keep him at bay. However, he would make sure to beat the Black Jackals next time.

Wakatoshi had approached, almost with caution, as he trailed behind Kageyama and Hoshiumi. What should he say? Did you even want to talk to him? You looked really close to Bokuto and Atsumu (in fact, you seemed close with most of the team in general). Would you remember him? (That was a stupid question, he then decided.)

As he stood awkwardly behind the reunion, he continued to stare at you. You were laughing along with something Meian had said, and judging by Atsumu's face, the captain had made fun of him. His phone kept on buzzing, and he finally checked it only to find that it was the old Shiratorizawa groupchat.

"Look at this idiot" texted Reon, attached with a photo that must have been taken barely a minute ago. It was zoomed in and a bit grainy, but it revealed Wakatoshi staring at you. Yamagata had replied with an emoji of two eyes looking off to the side.

"Wakatoshi-kun" Tendou had texted, "If you don't go up to them right now / I will personally fly all the way to Japan / to kick your ass"

"OMG IS THT SENPAI / TELL THEM I SAID HIII / AND THAT THEY LOOK GORGOUS TODAY" Goshiki spammed, making Wakatoshi sigh. He looked back up, only to make eye contact with you - immediately, his breath felt as if it was lodged in his throat once more. A smile graced your lips, and you began to walk over. Wakatoshi could only stand there as you approached him.

"You were amazing today, Ushijima-san. I'm glad I got to watch you play in person again." You looked just as beautiful (or perhaps, even more than so) as you did all those years ago. Before Wakatoshi could even reply, you began speaking again.

"If you're free sometime this week, before you go back to Tokyo, I would love to catch up with you." You were playing with your fingers (a nervous habit, he had realized while in high school). If it weren't for his complete focus on you, he would've noticed both teams smirking and giggling like schoolgirls at the two of you.

Maybe, Wakatoshi thought, he could finally be with you for just one day.

I want to say at least one word right among them I didn't think it would be easy to forget you Am I selfish if I wish you won't forget me so easily? You're standing in the middle of me

If Ushijima Wakatoshi could be with you for just one day, he would make sure to perfect his vows. He would rehearse them over and over again to Tendou as his best friend (and man) made sure Wakatoshi looked perfect. Wakatoshi would already have memorized everything by heart, but Tendou would insist on him having a copy in his pocket, just in case. He would let you choose whatever decorations and colors you liked, and he would make sure to spare no expense if it meant seeing you smile. Wakatoshi was an Olympian, after all.

What would Oikawa's vows sound like? Would the setter charm you with sweet words and promises of love, like he had once done? He knew Oikawa did not matter anymore - he no longer questioned if you still loved the setter, or if you were still healing from the breakup (even if it was already so many years ago, Wakatoshi just wanted to make sure). He no longer compared himself to Oikawa, but he still wondered what it would be like if Oikawa were in his position.

"Thank you once again for designing and creating our outfits, Azumane-san." The long haired man smiled, placing the finishing touches on Wakatoshi's custom suit.

"It is my pleasure, Ushijima-san." The designer cracked a smile. "After all, you did pay me."

"Are you nervous, Wakatoshi-kun?" Tendou asked. The short-haired man was smiling at Wakatoshi.

"Should I be, Tendou-kun?" Wakatoshi truly did wonder this. Should he be feeling nervous? Because truth told, he wasn't. Wakatoshi couldn't feel a single nervous bone in his body, and Tendou only laughed.

"If you are, I wouldn't blame you. You're getting married, after all." Iwaizumi barged into the room as he fastened the cuff links. 

"Are you ready, Ushijima-san?" He felt Tendou pat his shoulder.

"Yes, I am."

How could Wakatoshi be nervous for a day he had only ever dreamed of?

He stood at the end of the aisle, as patient as ever. It was a medium-sized wedding, as close family and friends from high school and beyond were invited. Tendou stood just off to the side, followed Iwaizumi, Kageyama, Semi, and Bokuto. As the music began to play, Wakatoshi readied himself. For obvious reasons, he hadn't seen what you looked like - and Azumane made sure to keep the design of your outfit "top secret."

He inhaled deeply, paused, and then exhaled. As his olive eyes traced your approaching figure, Wakatoshi found himself just as breathless as he was, all those years ago. You were shining just as bright. Wakatoshi didn't cry - he didn't need to in order to express how he felt at that moment. He was calm and happy. Your hands were cold in his much larger, much warmer ones. Wakatoshi took them both as you stepped up to the platform. Had his eyes always been this soft, this fond? The smile on his face was evident - and he could care less if anyone were to be surprised by a break in his often stoic face.

Wakatoshi never needed to wish for just one day with you. Not anymore, at least. He could take care of you, and be with you for the rest of his days. He realized this as he saw the tears well up in your eyes as he finished his vows. The were no longer any reasons for him to compare himself to Oikawa. Not when you were standing before him, wedding ring slipped around your ring finger. He could prioritize you, praise you, and love you the way he had always wanted to.

"For so long, I had so deeply desired to spend even just one day with you. I am forever grateful that you would choose to spend more than one with me."

If I can be with you just one day If I can hold your hands just one day If I can be with you just one day Just one day If you and I can be together just one day

thank you for reading!! once again... please do like AND reblog if possible. and let me know what you think. I crave validation and attention. I'm so lonely its unreal.

- Crystal

through the summer and the fall masterlist

blog masterlist

my ko-fi (but only if you can and want to!)

[moonstruckbucky]

The Wilds [5/?]

Summary: After a bitter divorce, you seek solace in the wilds of Alaska. Unbeknownst to you, it’ll change you in ways you could have never imagined.

Warnings: More sadness, some anxiety.

Notes: Uh, hi? Please don’t kill me for the absolute nosedive I took with this story. I had some personal issues in my life (false alarms, thank god) that hit a little too close to both the content of this story and some personal experiences, so I had to take a step back. Please enjoy this next chapter where we’ll learn a bit more about Bucky! x

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

The lake doesn’t feel so peaceful despite the quietness along the water, which matches your mood. Turbulent, unsettled, marred by rolling whitecaps as a result of the slightly rough breeze. It’s cool today, and as you sit by the water, you try and let the wind carry your uneasiness away. You’ve been doing good, so good, and as if he could hear it, Shawn had to make his reappearance. You’d known he would - he couldn’t let you sit for too long. Had to reassert himself, had to reassert his control.

Control you’re fighting like hell to regain and keep.

He’d called to taunt you, to remind you that he was moving on, happy. Flaunted it in your face by talking about their upcoming wedding. The wedding you did have, only bigger, better, with even more flowers and the best money could buy.

You felt pathetic, irritated that you’d had no confident words to spew at him for his games, and you’re embarrassed by the fact that you’d cried after hanging up the phone. Halfway through another sentence comparing you to Lizzie, and you’d had enough, pulling the phone away and slamming the End Call button as hard as you could. It wasn’t very satisfactory - the effect lost on the development of touchscreen phones.

As you sit by the lake, wind rustling the trees and your hair, blowing it around your face, you allow yourself some small victory - you hung up on him, stopped his attempts to bait you in their tracks, regained some control. It’s a small step, but a step forward all the same, and that little bit of optimism, sun through the clouds, brings a small smile to your dampened face.

Your therapist will be proud when you tell her, admit how much relief you feel just from the minute act of hanging up the phone. Eventually, you’re sure, you’ll stop picking up if or when he calls again to torment you. You can take back control. 

Fall’s approaching. There’s a sharpness to the air now that signals the approaching end of summer, and some of the maple trees have begun to turn bronze. Alaska is pretty like this - one season fading into another and for a minute, you don’t ever want to leave. But then you remember that you should find a job, stop living off of Shawn’s money despite the alimony you’re sure to receive. Maybe you’ll settle some place like Alaska, open and free, without the constraints of a city. Somewhere there’s fresh air, but still society close enough should you need human interaction.

For now, you let yourself absorb what the wilderness has to offer.

Until your quiet reverie is interrupted by frantic barking some time later. You know only one person with a dog within living distance of you, and despite your instincts to brush it off, you’re overcome with the need to investigate.

Natalia finds you first, dark fur standing out against the green of the forest foliage. She winds herself around your feet, nips gently at your pant legs, grabs hold of your sleeve and tugs.

“What is it, girl?” you ask, and she barks again as she lets you go, tears off into the trees.

Without question you follow her, dodging in and out. She doubles back a few times, makes sure you’re still behind her. She leads you past the path back to your cabin, past the waterfall where you first met Bucky.

Bucky.

Oh god, what if something bad has happened? Unbidden, your heart clenches tight in your chest, cuts off your air as you run to keep pace with Natalia. You’re not even sure why - you hardly know Bucky but you’re worried regardless.

You nearly eat dirt and leaves as your foot catches on a raised root, but you quickly find your balance and push on. Breath coming harshly, you stomp down the painful stitch in your side.

Natalia dashes up the steps to a cabin similar to yours, though smaller. Quainter. The front door is open, leading you to believe she’d forced it open in an effort to find help. Or Bucky just left his front door open for the hell of it. Either way, you don’t think twice about running inside.

The lights are off, and despite the sunlight, you can hardly see a thing. Natalia’s nails click on the floor as she runs down the hall, barks three times from another room, and you do your best to follow it, feel your way across the cabin’s small space, stub your toe on a corner of a wall. Grimacing, you skim your hand along the wall until it meets the wood of a door frame. 

“Bucky?” you call into the room, where you can hear Natalia panting and whining lowly. You squint in the dull lighting, barely making out a shape hunched on the floor beside the bed.

“‘M here,” he answers, voice low and monotone - empty. It twists your heart painfully, face tugging into a look of concern, and you approach slowly.

“Are you okay? Natalia found me…” you offer by way of explanation. In the dark, you see Bucky duck his head, hear his heavy sigh.

“I’m...I’m okay. You don’t have to worry.”

Lips pursing at that, you lower slowly to your knees in front of him. His eyes glitter in the dark where they’re focused on his knees, bent and hugged to his chest. Carefully you lay a hand on his arm, and you feel his body go rigid. Beneath your palm, his forearm is hard and unyielding. He shifts it out from under you, tucking it close to his body, shielding it, lets your hand drop to his knee.

“Bucky, what happened? Why are you in the dark?” Your voice feels loud in the still silence, against the quiet breaths of the man in front of you. Breaths when you really listen to them, quicken, shorten. Your fingers curl into his knee. “Hey, Bucky, you’re okay. Deep breaths okay?”

His breathing slows again, and you can feel him relax a little. Piece by piece, inch by inch, he unfurls his body until he’s a little more open, a little more spread out. You sit back on your heels, give him a little more room.

“S-Sorry,” he whispers, and in the dimness you see him drag a hand down his face.

“It’s okay.” He moves as you speak, rises to his feet to flick on the bedside lamp. Soft orange throws deep blue shadows across his walls, and you forego examining his room to scrutinize him instead.

He looks...rough. Deep circles under his eyes, a haunted look within them that you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. His hands are buried in his sweatshirt pocket, shoulders hunched in a way that suggests he’s trying to hide. You stand as well, rethink reaching out for him. You don’t know him that well, despite the way his obvious struggle tugs at your heart.

“Can I make you some tea? Or fix you a drink?”

Bucky looks like he’s ready to decline, mouth opening to do so as the wall goes up behind his eyes, but he closes it. Nods, just once. Follows you out into the living room, flicking on the lights as he goes. The inside of his home is no surprise to you - mostly empty, save for a couple personal trinkets here and there. Otherwise, no decor on the walls, a tattered rug in front of the fireplace, no other signs that this is his home.

It saddens you for reasons you’re unsure of, but you let it go for now and busy yourself with filling the kettle. Bucky takes down two mugs and then reaches above the fridge, takes down a bottle of amber liquor that’s about a quarter full. He upends it into his mug, takes a long sip of it and avoids your curious gaze.

When the kettle whistles, you fill both mugs, regardless of the alcohol still in Bucky’s. He drops a tea bag into it and lets it steep, gestures to the living room where a ratty couch sits. You sit at the far end, opt to give Bucky some space to clear his head, but to your surprise he sits close to you, close enough that his thigh brushes yours.

“‘M sorry you had to see that. That Natalia bothered you,” he says gruffly after some time. The dog looks up at the sound of her name, tilting her head curiously.

You shake yours, fingers warm from your mug of tea. “She didn’t. I’m actually...glad she found me. She seemed really riled up.”

His smile is tight, uncomfortable, and he shifts on the couch. “She’s really in tune to my….to me.”

It isn’t the whole truth, but you don’t push. Sip from your tea and busy yourself by looking around the room. Now that you’re not overcome with worry for Bucky, you can look a little more closely. The fireplace is covered in soot, a half-burnt log inside it. The paint is chipping in places on the wall above the mantel. 

In the center of it is a single photograph. You can’t make out the faces too clearly, but there are four of them in the photo - three men, one woman. You avert your eyes lest you stare too long, but Bucky’s noticed. His shoulders are stiff and there’s a pinch to his lips as he stares hard at the photograph. Awkwardly you sit and drink your tea until the mug is empty.

You ask before you can think about it: “Why were you sitting in the dark?”

Bucky’s breathing hitches, and you grimace, an apology on your tongue. But before you can utter it, he simply says, “I get panic attacks. I had a bad one and...and that’s why Natalia found you.”

Again, he keeps it short, speaking quickly - there’s more he isn’t telling you, but you daren’t push. He’s still skittish, erratic, eyes bouncing around the apartment only to settle on that photograph again for a moment. It clearly holds significance for him, if the way his eyes strain just slightly when he focuses on it, the shadow that seems to pass over his face.

It spreads throughout the room, darkening it despite the lights he’d turned on earlier. Obviously his mood is souring again, and you feel awkward, your skin itching with the urge to get away - back to your cabin where you can fret and overthink in peace. The phone call with Shawn left you on edge, a raw nerve ripe for irritation, and Bucky’s stony, less-than-pleasant demeanor is rapidly putting you off.

He must sense your rising panic, because he looks over at you, the tension in his face softening just a bit to something more somber, something sadder.

“I’m sorry I’m making you uncomfortable,” he utters, taking you mildly by surprise. He rubs at his forehead and drops his eyes - a truly pitiful look rife with self-loathing. It breaks your heart.

“N-No,” you argue, and he gives you a skeptical look. “I understand. I understand really well actually. Um, my, um...my ex...he called me, after you left yesterday. It, uh, it threw me for a bit of a loop. My head’s a little all over the place.”

It’s the most you’ve ever given him about your history, about your struggle, and you can see his face softening, an invitation for you to open up more. But your tongue feels heavy enough after giving even as little information as you have, and you stay quiet, pick at a seam in your jeans idly.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, but this time he isn’t talking about his panic attack or pulling you from whatever you’d been doing. He’s apologizing that your ex still seems to have a hold over you.

If only he knew.

He could, a small, quiet voice chirps in the back of your head. Its presence stills you as Bucky’s gaze burns the side of your face while he watches you. He could if you let him in.

God, how you want to. Despite the terror you feel at getting close to another person, you feel that tug in your heart - the one you felt for Shawn when you first met him. The desire to experience that intimacy with another person, it both thrills you and frightens you. Frightens you so badly you still feel that urge to run.

“I’m okay, if you’d like to leave,” Bucky says, and he says it with a gentle smile. His eyes, though, are tinged with sadness at the thought of you leaving - and you don’t know what to do. He knows you’re uncomfortable and he’s giving you an out.

Do you really want to take it?

Sensing your struggle, Bucky stands up, extends a hand. “How about a walk? Fresh air might do us both some good.”

You eye his hand warily, flickering between it and his face - open, completely readable. He wants you to say yes, but he won’t make you.

That flutter in your heart again at his patience, it’s all the resolve you need.

You take his hand.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

BEFORE THE GAP

Every movie is a Frankenstein, full of imperfections and usually quite different from what was originally envisioned. The better you understand them the better the odds of doing that. All through college, and probably long before that, most undergrads have been thinking about what employers want. By the time you get to social questions, many changes are just fashion. Ditto for houses. For example, according to current NPR values, you can't outsell an Oracle salesman. There are two types of ideas, but not about observing proprieties. If you're raising an angel round, the size of a motorcycle when you wanted to, but they might lose value from year to year. David Filo's title was Chief Yahoo, but he got a lot of change in a few decades, and what to do with technology, because they had neat hair and spoke in deep, confident voices, and generally didn't know much more than they read on the teleprompter. But you shouldn't automatically get demoralized either.

The company is now starting to read as a failure. There are a lot of people are writing now about why Kerry lost. In fact, what makes the number go up, and you'll probably find it changes what you like. And a good thing too, or a programming language, or a carefully cropped image of a seacoast town in Maine. If in each new idea you're able to grow 6% a week instead of 5%. Whereas I suspect over at General Motors the marketing people are telling the designers, Most people who buy SUVs do it to seem manly, not to drive off-road. And if you don't do everything you're supposed to buy when times are good. There may be cases where this isn't true. David isn't mistaken in saying you should start a company by just writing some clever software, putting it on a server somewhere, and watching the money roll in—without ever having to talk to more. Then you could, in effect, so you should a consciously shift gears, instead of just working on amusing technical problems; it shows you have the cheapest, easiest product, you'll own the low end.

And yet a lot is at stake. Don't let rejections pile up as a company. There are few sources of energy so powerful as a procrastinating grad student. It takes experience to predict what other people will want. If you argue against censorship in general, just as you'd leave some trivial but messy feature for version 2. If they can realize before other investors that some apparently unpromising startup isn't, they can make a huge amount of money companies spend on software, and bad at making cars and cities. Starting a startup is the damage done by their own indecision. If we could look into the past. They assumed that all they had to cut the last item because they didn't do that. And usually the acquirer doesn't just want the technology, but the most successful startups seem to be more liquid.1 Apparently voters were afraid to say they planned to vote against him, like a branch snapping back in his face.

What counts as pornography and violence? Now how are you doing compared to the rapacious founder after two years? No one who voted for Kerry felt virtuous for doing so, and were eager to tell pollsters they had. The idea doesn't matter much either way. Investors like it when you're ramen profitable. And while that would probably be a stretch for you, the founders, they'll have to choose? This works so long as you exclude people who respond from identity.2 I'm not even sure what the list is, because we were so desperate for users that we'd offer to build merchants' sites for them if they'd sign up.

Especially the type, all too common then, that was like a bunch of young guys millions of dollars just for being clever. We probably had 20 deals of various types fall through. Launching teaches you what you should do anyway: run it as cheaply as possible. What airborne means depends on the type of company whose goal was above all scale.3 Maybe that's possible, but I don't think there's an answer. The numbers for me ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. The trouble with keeping your thoughts secret, though, requires a conscious effort to find smart friends. If you start a company when he wrote the first versions of Google.

Notes

We currently advise startups mostly to ignore what your body is telling you and listen only to buy corporate bonds to market faster; the Reagan administration's comparatively sympathetic attitude toward takeovers; the Depository Institutions Act of 1936. But I'm convinced there were some good ideas buried in Bubble thinking. Incidentally, tax receipts have stayed close to starting startups since Viaweb, he'd get his ear pierced.

There were several other reasons. It does at least one beneficial feature: it might be an open source project, but in practice money raised as convertible debt, so we hacked together our own Web site.

Not startup ideas, they don't want to measure how dependent you've become on distractions, try this thought experiment: set aside an option pool. Since capital is no grand tradition of city planning like the outdoors? And pass on the one hand they take a small amount of brains. That will in many cases be an instance of a more reserved society, or magazines.

Thanks to Sarah Harlin, Adora Cheung, Geoff Ralston, Jessica Livingston, Trevor Blackwell, and Rich Draves for sharing their expertise on this topic.

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

previous chapter // read on A03 // @today-in-fic​

CHAPTER 7 3rd District Precinct 12:31 a.m.

The second wind finally arrived. I paced the floor in Interrogation Room 5 with arms folded tight across my chest. I felt like a gun ready to go off. My focus was on Theo Chambers, enforcer to Carlo Lodi. He sat handcuffed in his expensive blue suit with a shit-eating grin. After I got him processed I let him stew and he behaved, which was a bit of a surprise.

“I could do this all night, you know, “ I said standing at the edge of the table looking at the remains of a weak cup of coffee and half a pack of Morleys. “Even if we’re just sitting here in silence.”

I paused and listened for dramatic affect. “You know, I read somewhere that silence is golden but, I don’t think you like to keep quiet.” 

“How’s the jaw,” he responded with a puff of smoke and a tilt of his chin.   

I turned and pulled out the chair at the opposite end of the table, dragging it purposefully across the floor creating a sound like nails on a chalkboard. 

“Well, you hit like a featherweight so a stiff drink and I was right as rain.” I said as I sat down. “Speaking of which, does Lodi get you to do all his heavy lifting? Use you like a trained dog; Theo attack! Theo come! Good boy Theo...”

“You wanna cut the bullshit?” he interrupted.

“Indeed I do. You want to tell me how long you’ve been running out of the Navy Yard?”

Theo cracked a smile and tapped his cigarette against the discolored ashtray. He then pinched it between his thumb and index finger, covering the end to hide the glow. Standard technique for someone who does a lot of their work in the shadows. I continued with my questioning.

“Is the taxi company your only front?”

“Mum’s the word, detective,” he said.

“Do the taxis only run in the southeast?” I pressed. 

Theo tucked the cigarette in the corner of his mouth then leaned back as far as he could. Silent, aside from the sound of the metal chain pulling across the top of the table. His cuffed hands knitted together. 

“Do the taxis run anywhere else in the District? Down Constitution Ave.? Down to the Tidal Basin? Over the bridge into Virginia?”

“Mum’s. The. Word,” Theo said pointedly, letting the cig hang from his lip. I was wired and on the edge. I rose and placed my hands on my hips. I resisted the urge to hit him; punch him square in the jaw, bloody his nose, pin him against the table. Really make him hurt. Instead, using better judgement, I turned on my heel and left the room, slamming the door behind me.

Several officers were in the hallway and scattered when they saw me. Word travels fast when you bring in a c-list celebrity from the crime sheets. I moved past them and their whispering and took a walk to the bullpen. The chorus of ringing phones and typewriters was in full swing. I approached my desk and took the liberty of kicking the unsuspecting wastebasket. It ricocheted and rolled away from where I was standing. A few heads perked up at the noise but returned to their work just as quickly. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back. I was getting nowhere slowly.  

“Rough night?” I heard the captain’s voice from behind me.

“Just blowing off some steam,” I said with an exhale, “So far I haven’t gotten much out of our new friend Theo. I need to talk to his boss.”

“He’s already been questioned,” Skinner said as I crouched down to straighten up the wastebasket. I glanced at my shoes, which were probably ruined from traipsing around in the storm. Maybe on a day off I’d buy another pair. 

“Not by me,” I replied and started out of the bullpen back to the interrogation rooms. I went two doors down but before I could turn the knob, Skinner caught up and stopped me.

“Sir, may I ask what you’re doing?”

“I want to remind you that this is a valuable asset. I commend your effort in apprehending him and his enforcer,” he said in a low voice. I sensed there was more to that statement. This case already had too many hands involved.

“But you don’t want me to unravel this seemingly tightly knit case with my usual brand of questioning.”

Skinner squared his jaw.

“Oh, now I get it,” I continued. “You already talked to him and you were just going to leave it at that. No one else in or out?”

“Are you doubting my methods, Mulder?”

“I’m doubting the line of questioning,” my voice lowered and I clenched my fist, “We are so close to tying things together with this ring and Spender’s involvement. I need to see how far up this goes.”

“We already have the evidence to pin Lodi for Skinner’s murder,” Skinner said. I shifted my stance. “We just need something to narrow down where the heroin was being distributed. 

“That’s all I want to do. Because as soon as I get what I need, I’m going home. Believe me sir I want to close this and move on. This case has already taken up too much of my life.”

Skinner nodded. I knew I was walking into a high-stakes game with the house’s money and a cold shoulder from Lady Luck. My hand gripped the doorknob and I entered the smoke filled room. 

Another table, another ashtray, another handcuffed suspect. Carlo Lodi sat just like he did when I confronted him at the restaurant; an air of superiority trapped in a grey pin-stripped suit. breathed life into a superficial demeanor as cool as a summer breeze. 

“We meet again Mr Lodi,” I began as I pulled out the chair and took a seat. I unbuttoned the cuffs of my sleeves then rolled them up towards my elbow. The skin on my forearms felt clammy. I couldn’t wait to get into fresh, dry clothes when this was all over. 

“Quite the set-up you’ve got down at the docks. Smart to use a small crew. Less people to inventory when you get caught.”

“C’mon detective, you know how this works,” Lodi said twisting the ring on his finger, “I ain’t saying anything without my lawyer.”

I continued without missing a beat.

“Vincenti sure knows how to pick ‘em. What makes you hold the title of being his favorite croney? It can’t be your looks.”

“You’re getting nothing from me.”

“Oh I can keep going.”

“You think this is the first time I’ve been here? You think you’re being original?”

“I have evidence that connects you to Vincenti. I have proof you operate out of the Navy Yard not to mention proof that you murdered a city detective in cold blood. And if you won’t talk, perhaps your friend down the hall will.”

I watched him light up and take a long drag. Thick white smoke drifted out of his mouth and curled up towards his nostrils.

“Here’s the thing, detective; you got nothing on me. Not a damn thing. My hands are as clean as a nun’s habit. So if you want to listen to yourself talk, then go right ahead. I’ll finish this pack of smokes and wait for my lawyer.”

My second wind dissolved into a subtle breeze, taking the wind out of my sails. I knew his lawyer wasn’t marching through that door anytime soon. I didn’t want to paint myself into a corner. I considered going downstairs to retrieve the bullets that matched his gun. Rub his face in it. 

“Alright then,” I said as I pushed back in my chair, “I like the sound of my own voice. Who’s idea was it to use a taxi company, couldn’t have been you could it? Vincenti must have been riding around town and the idea just came to him right? Seems as though an awful lot of people must want a taste of that dust. Gotta give those pushers an extra cut for spreading the word about a top notch supply.”

 Lodi pressed the cigarette butt into the ashtray and cleared his throat.

“The pushers...they’re ants compared to us.” He grunted, “All of that product, all that demand, all because of us. They’d be nothing without us.”

Now we were getting somewhere.

“Are those pushers driving your cabs too? Skimming a little more off the top, just a little closer to that brass ring. Or are you threatening folks just trying to make an honest living, taking their livelihood so you can move the product. Unless, you start recruiting smart looking door-to-door salesmen to sell the dope”

“Yeah, then nice people in the suburbs would be hopheads,” he chuckled at himself, “Mary and Joe with their kids and their white picket fence, flying high getting a little taste of the city. Going mad when they can’t get another fix. Vincenti does say business is business.”

The pop of a match and familiar scent of a Lucky Strike. He waved his hand to extinguish the match and tossed it on the table. I rose from my seat and walked to the opposite corner of the room, glancing at my watch. I needed a drink. My stomach turned at the thought of another boiled down cup of coffee. I looked at Lodi and he flicked away some ash. 

“Get comfortable. You’re going to be staying the night.” I said then exited the room.

———

I woke with a start and realized I was still at the precinct. It was a brief respite, maybe thirty minutes of a fitful sleep. A cramp pinched at the side of my neck thanks to how my head was turned towards the back of the couch. The strap from my holster dug into my ribs; I should have taken it off before I laid down. I checked the time and slowly sat upright burying my face in my hands. My head was swimming, my throat felt raw. I stood and went to the water cooler, grabbed a paper cup and pushed the tab. I took a swig, listened for the gurgle then poured in some more. 

I walked past my desk to see if any messages had been left in my absence. Nothing. It was just as I left it. Officer Pendrell caught my attention.

“Hey Mulder, the suspect in room 3 was asking for some water a little while ago. Do you know if anyone went back in there?”

“I’m not sure. I took a cat nap but I was going back in there anyway. Have we heard anything from his lawyer?”

“Don’t think so. But I’ll check it out.”

I loosened my tie as I strode down the hall. My shoulders felt stiff as I adjusted the leather strap of the holster.

“Rise and shine,” I said as I entered the room and snapped my fingers. I felt my voice catch in my throat when I saw Lodi on the floor, his arms stretched overhead at an unnatural angle with hands still cuffed to the table. His lips were purple, his eyes looked bulged in their sockets. And then there was the smell. I covered my nose and mouth as I observed the horrible pale tint to the skin on his face. There was a puddle of sick on the floor and some remnants down his front.

“I need some help in here NOW!” I yelled out the door then approached his seemingly lifeless body. His wrists were a dark red from where the cuffs were cutting off the circulation, his fingers and hands already looked dead. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” a voice said behind me, I looked over my shoulder and saw Pendrell hesitantly standing in the doorway.

“Do you have keys?” I asked. He nodded and fumbled in his pocket. I did the honors. With the second cuff released Lodi’s body fell to the floor with a wet smack. The smell hit me again.

“Was it a heart attack?” Pendrell offered as he came over. Two other officers crowded in the doorway to get their looks in. 

“Someone get Captain Skinner,” I said then turned my attention back to the body. I leaned closer and noticed a white trail down the corner of his mouth, crusting on the lips. Pendrell rounded the other side of the interrogation table and bent down, covering the lower part of his face.

“Mulder look.” He was pointing at a discarded water cup. The wheels started turning. I stood quickly and left the room, leaving Pendrell to document the scene. I went two doors down and saw Theo Chambers in a similar state. He had collapsed across the table, cuffed hands hung off the edge. The smell didn’t hit as hard but there was more blood. Theo had a thick smear of it under his nose down to his mouth. I left the room and charged down the hall, meeting Skinner.

“What the hell happened here, Mulder?”

“Both suspects are dead. I think they were poisoned.”

“Excuse me?”

“Someone...someone knew. Somebody discovered they were caught and wanted to rub them out.”

“Who would have known that?”

“It’s the mob, sir. Word travels fast.”

“Mulder...Hey! Mulder!”

“I need to get the boys in forensics up here. No one touches these two!” I was rambling, I could feel it. Things took a turn faster than a Grand Prix driver. I heard dissonance in my ears as I found the closest telephone. I pulled the rotary to dial the lab. I closed my eyes to try and center myself, listened to the ring in the earpiece. I hoped one of the boys was awake down there. Another ring and a groggy voice answered.

“Langley, it’s Mulder. Are Byers and Frohike with you?”

I could hear a yawn before he said, “Frohike called it a night a few hours ago but Byers is still burning the midnight oil.”

“I need the two of you up here with your bag of tricks. We’ve got a couple of stiffs in the intero rooms.”

“Wait a minute, someone dropped them off?”

“No. It’s a fresh scene.” I wiped my brow.

There was a pause and I heard him adjust the phone.

“We’ll be right up.”

[leviiattacks]

hi hi hi i really really really loved your jealous headcanon of levi and your teacher levi!!! i was wondering if i could maybe request something where you kinda mix the two(?) so like theres this event going on in school and the reader is very occupied and busy because shes paying attention to her students and then maybe she talks to some teachers about the event and then levi is just there secretly sulking cause he wants her attention too?? or idk you do you because your works are always soooooooo good thank you<3333

author note :: i did not stick to the prompt which was honestly an accident?/£/):7 but there is jealous levi and reader so i hope it workssss, it’s not that great and isn’t edited...but i hope you enjoy it :-( also thank you for the request you were very kind <3

for this to make more sense you’ll probably have to read my first ever teacher levi post which you can find here !!!!!

requests are always open :-)

word count :: 4.3k ???? longer than i expected ???? 

levi groans at the mention of sports day before turning to look at you dead in the eyes

he knows this is your doing, you’ve always been big on getting the children into sport and other extracurriculars

now see, he has no actual issue with sports day?? he’s pretty fit if he says so himself!!!

it’s just that he frankly does not have the effort to participate.

another part of him also feels frustrated seeing mike flock around you like an annoying bee

he’s asking all sorts of questions

“are we doing the three legged race again this year?”

“how about javelin?”

“HAHA...mike...”

levi takes one look at you and knows you’re trying to let him down softly, it is his favourite event after all.

“since last year’s fiasco and the way you nearly hit one of the sixth graders i think not.” you awkwardly chuckle patting his shoulder as if it’s any consolation

mike loves sports day, he’s competitive in all of the teacher only events and last year he even tripped you and levi up ON PURPOSE might you add

either way he still lost the teacher’s three legged race last year and ever since he’s been out to gain his title back.

levi remembers, he’s unsure if you do but he remembers vividly having to carry you on his back because you had sprained your ankle pretty badly after your collision with mike.

back then you and levi were still in the middle of your little math vs english debate meaning the whole walk to the infirmary was filled with bickering.

and when levi had placed you onto one of the beds you insisted you could treat yourself when you really couldn’t

the way that scenario ended had been with levi forcing you to place your foot onto his knee as he iced and tended to it

this year levi is not having any repeats of that. yes, he quite liked having some alone time with you, in fact it was one of the first times he stopped to wonder if he liked you.

BUT!!!! having you limp around the corridors wasn’t the best either and you were highly irritable until you were fully healed

“why don’t you actually try this year?” hange stifles a laugh, they’re stood to levi’s left and upon hearing their voice his shoulders sag. he knows he’s in for one hell of an earful

“i do try–”

“yeah whatever. anyway, you want a cupcake?” hange’s gesturing to the haphazardly iced buns in the four plastic containers in their hands

“these are for the bake sale!!” they add in enthusiastically.

levi’s about to shake his head, he’s already donated to the bake sale’s charity fund without paying for any of the baked goods. yes it is purely because he doesn’t trust hange to feed him anything edible

“they’re y/n’s batch :-)” hange’s wickedly grinning knowing they’ve hit their colleagues weakness

without another thought levi’s right hand dives into one of his pockets, fishing his wallet out. he places a few spare coins into hange’s palm

“wOAH, you’re pretty eager aren’t ya??”

their remark flies over levi’s head as he tries to pick out two of the most presentable cupcakes

“you’re so fond of y/n, why not try a little harder like i said?” hange’s thrown the bait in the river and levi completely falls for it. he turns ninety degrees completely forgetting about the cupcakes.

“i’m talking about sport’s day if it isn’t obvious.”

he faces hange directly. he scowls twisted in fake disgust and confusion all at once

“and why would i care about that?” he shoots back

“after walking in on the both of you touching each other up in the janitor’s closet i’m really surprised you’re — mMMPH—” levi’s shoved one of the cupcakes into hange’s mouth

“you’re gonna have to pay for that–”

levi smacks some more money into their palm to appease the issue

“when did you see that and have you told anyone else?” he’s seething right now, there’s no way he or you were unable to notice someone as loud as hange prance into the storage cupboard accidentally

“i haven’t told anyone but it has only been three days since i saw so who knowsss...”

“i’ll do anything for you to keep your mouth shut.” levi’s practically begging at this point

“i think you should buy a whole box of cupcakes as compensation. my eyes will never be the same again.”

levi hands over more than enough money, he’s probably handed over enough for two boxes just for extra measure

it’s not that he’s embarrassed of you or anything no, no, not at all. he just, this sounds so stupid but he isn’t sure what the two of you are????

you’ve kissed, A LOT but the only problem is that there’s never actually been confirmation of... something more? than that?

he’s simply horrible at asking, and seeing the way you’re talking to mike it’s almost getting to the stage of borderline flirting

he’s currently flexing one of his muscles and levi’s unsure if you’re actually gawking at them or feigning interest so mike can get bored and leave sooner

his bets are on you pretending for the sake of mike leaving until you reach out to squeeze his arm appreciatively

...

what is this feeling??

insecurity?? a low self esteem??? levi isn’t entirely sure what the emotion that surges through him at that moment is

but hange sure does, grinning at the scene playing out they shove moblit with their elbow

well, well, well levi getting jealous is certainly something new.

when levi knocks on the door of your classroom you assume he’s come to bother you and ask for the spreadsheet with grade averages and all that technical stuff

english and math grades need to be compared side by side and even though it’s your job to help with the data analysis you’re pretty bad at it so levi’s the one who USUALLY picks up the pieces and does it for the two of you

occasionally mike steps in and helps when levi’s got other stuff in the way

“oh levi!! mike told me he’d be doing this month’s spreadsheet?” you’ve poked your head out of the door to talk to him

levi’s eyes narrow at that because he hasn’t asked mike for help at all.

“i didn’t come here for the spreadsheet but i haven’t even told mike to assist me this month... i wonder why he’s so passionate.” he mumbles the last part under his breath

opening the door up you wave for him to come inside “what you here for then?” you ask, oOoh maybe he’s finished reading an inspector calls?? finally you can talk to someone about the twist at the end

“i’m taking part in sports day properly.” the statement is unexpected and ?? levi ?? take anything other than math seriously ??

“woah... i’m proud of you?? i’m glad you’re seeing it’s important to show the children physical activity is fun.” your smile brightens up the entire room and he begins to feel a little more confident

peering up at him your curiosity doesn’t go unnoticed and he clears his throat, he knows you’re expecting him to say something else

ok, ok, ok. he thinks he’s built enough courage up to ask you

“i’ve never got the chance to ask but would you like to go on a date?” on reflex levi screws his eyes shut, suddenly he’s convinced you’ll say no and reject him. why would you accept??

“sure!”

his eyes flutter open and he feels you grip at the sleeve of his shirt.

well? that went better than he expected?

“where do you want to go?” you ask

“doesn’t matter, but let’s go somewhere after sports day finishes up.”

“are you barely going to try like last year?” you’re munching away at a granola bar - it’s rather bland and makes your throat feel kinda scratchy

you’re midway through drinking some water to deal with the dryness but you nearly spit it out when levi responds

“no. i plan on winning every single teacher event.”

HE WANTS TO??? beat???? everyone???

“you’re planning on beating mike too?” you tilt your head to the side incredulously

levi purses his lips at the mention of his name

“why does that sound so absurd to you?”

“he’s um, very good at sport that’s all.”

“i am too.” levi’s adamant to prove his point to you

“fine, here’s a deal. win at least one teacher event and i’ll try and solve one of your funny math problems or whatever.”

“what kind of deal is that??”

“you’ll be able to see me struggle with numbers, for free!!”

“no. i have something better in mind.” levi bites his smile back, he can’t let you know the idea makes him feel

“and that would be?”

he takes a step forward decreasing the space between the two of you.

“how about you kiss me in front of everyone?”

your mouth falls open because oh wow....? you have no actual problem with the task you’re simply surprised that levi is willing to put the both of you out there like that. the spectacle is bound to raise some eyebrows

“deal?” he holds his hand out for you to shake

you nod your head. “it’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

and so your deal is sealed with a firm handshake.

the big day has ARRIVED!!!

all of the students are flooding in through the gates. some carry footballs, other basketballs. you’ve been here for less than ten minutes and had to save a ball from crashing right into an expensive window.

everyone’s wearing active gear, udo walks in with a ski mask on?? which is peculiar but it’s humorous so you don’t tell him off for it

you’ve chosen a comfortable olive green tracksuit, you don’t think you’re in the mood for ski masks like udo is

coincidentally levi happens to show up in the EXACT same type of tracksuit?? everything’s the same to the colour. you both stare at each other for a moment trying to figure out how exactly you managed that but give up, you guess you have similar tastes

the accidental coordinated outfits have a few of your students pointing and chuckling together

gabi and falco are laughing heartily and whispering god knows what about the two of you

“three legged race partner?” levi asks as he fills up some water bottles for the water stand

“oh? mike asked me to be his partner.”

levi doesn’t make it obvious that he’s jealous about it because what adult would be jealous over a three legged race??

but even if you can’t tell levi is pissed mike sure can

he’s walking past the two of you, hands shoved into his pockets when he spots you a few meters away. his eyes sparkle when he sees you. it’s at that moment he senses the dark piercing glare coming from your right.

you’ve yet to notice mike but levi’s seen him approaching from a mile away and he isn’t particularly happy about it.

the good thing about mike is that he knows not to mess with levi.

the two have known each other for years and by now mike knows messing with levi is a death wish in itself.

so when the poor physical ed teacher notices the way levi glowers at him he calls out your name to get your attention - he’s much too afraid to get anywhere near you

“Y/N!!”

whipping your head around you wave at your race partner, why does it look like he’s seen a ghost?? you shove that thought to the back of your mind, he’s probably just tired

“petra doesn’t have a partner and uhh... i think levi’s free. could you work with him instead?”

levi turns away to smile to himself. ah how the tables have turned!!!

“but i want to work with you? it’s always y/n and levi do this. y/n and levi do that!! i wanna try with someone else.”

what you’ve said is a lie. honestly you’d just like to see levi get worked up again

but levi doesn’t get the memo at all. it flies over his head and he huffs thinking if that’s what you want he doesn’t mind. he’ll just show you how he feels.

“it’s okay. i’ll go with petra.” levi nonchalantly salutes at both you and mike as he walks backwards before turning around to locate the ginger in question

WHY DID HE GIVE IN SO EASILY???? YOU WERE JOKING?????

with your mouth open wide mike looks at you once and puts the pieces together

“guessing you wanted him to stick around?” you suddenly hear and god, you feel kinda bad

“oh no!!! i would love to be your partner.” looping your arm with his you smile up at him

whether or not mike believes you isn’t clear but he does return your smile.

there’s a few minutes till the three legged race starts, everyone’s running around. erwin’s knelt down to tie yours and mike’s legs together

as he’s doing so you can’t help but hear a high pitched windshieldy giggle leave petra and you visibly seem annoyed. that’s if your arms crossed over your chest and clenched jaw are anything to go by

levi hasn’t even said anything notably funny ???? what is she laughing at ????

he’s quite literally just standing there making awkward small talk with her

it goes something like this

“have you marked your exams yet?”

levi doesn’t realise she’s said anything till she taps his shoulder and he asks for her to repeat her question

“oh.” he thinks for a while. “no not yet. i’ve got better shit to do. i don’t see them till next week either way.”

and then she just starts laughing so hard that she has to hold her knees and when that isn’t enough she holds onto a nearby pole for support

you see where this is going

when her breathing gets even more uneven she reaches out to grab levi’s upper arm

YUP. you knew it. you can’t be mad at her really. no one knows you and levi are sort of a thing.

a thing? is that the term? well, whatever late night calls discussing books and a few heated kisses in private mean that’s what you are

levi stares at the hold she has on his arm and you expect him to shrug her off. instead he sees you look, smirks a little and waves all the while letting her hand stay there

and the icing on the cake is petra waving at you too and her eyes are much more expressive than she thinks they are

she’s internally laughing at you for sure.

ok, not a big deal, NOT a big deal!!!

this is just him getting back at you for before.

flipping your head back your sad expression probably catches mike’s attention because he seems to cave in

“want to make him jealous back?”

his suggestion is interesting but you catch yourself second guessing

“he’s doing that because he’s jealous.” you mumble shaking your leg to test the strength of erwin’s knot

“and? don’t let him win.” he glances at his shoulder gesturing for you to make the next move

nodding your head vigorously you throw your arm over mike’s shoulder but find he’s too tall to make that work so instead you settle on holding him by the side

it takes you a little to adjust to the close proximity but in the time it takes you to do that mike informs you of levi glaring at the two of you

“mind if i hold onto you here? we can coordinate our moves faster!!!” petra doesn’t even wait for levi to agree to what she says. she just flings one of her arms around his torso

again, he lets her just as last time.

this game of cat and mouse is getting tiring, maybe you should have kept your mouth shut when mike approached you.

“ON YOUR MARKS.”

your senses snap back to where you are. your grip on mike’s torso firms and he turns to nod at you.

you nod back.

you’ll win this.

“GET SET.”

“AND GO!”

okay, SO.

something in your game plan must have gone wrong but mike’s strength is something you’ve clearly underestimated. his first step is so powerful you don’t even have the time to start moving

you assume that’s how you collapse to the ground behind him and scrape your hands onto the cement of the track

so much for winning. all you’re doing is bleeding and hissing trying to cope with the stinging sensation

“mike?!?? not again??” hange groans and jogs over to the two of you untying the ropes at your legs.

“do we have to ban you from another event??? you’re too reckless sometimes.” hange smacks his chest and then hurriedly whispers “levi’s coming this way if you value your life you better bolt and use the first aid kit as an excuse.”

mike doesn’t even debate with himself, that’s his best bet at staying alive and so he dashes away as if he’s left the shower on at home for five hours unattended

some students are murmuring under their breaths and luckily for you the forever reliable gabi and falco have come to your rescue with bandages

“show me your hands.” levi’s hard voice interrupts all discussion. petra’s stood peering over his shoulder and you swear you catch her muffling a laugh

levi frowns. “you good?” he asks. you assume this answer will be the deciding factor regarding whether or not he makes this an issue with mike

“i’m great – trust me!! just a few scrapes.”

levi doesn’t look convinced but he let’s it go.

he helps you get up and takes the bandages from gabi thanking her.

“i’ll patch y/n up.” he tells hange pointedly and they agree. moblit at that moment happens to run over with a megaphone in hand.

“SHOWS OVER FOLKS!! WE’LL MOVE ON TO THE JUMP ROPE EVENT FOR NOW!!!”

“i’ll make him lose the one hundred meter sprint so badly he won’t know what hit him.” levi’s been grumbling the entire time he’s sat down to bandage your hands.

now that you’re both sat close to each other again murmurs of “matching tracksuits??” are back

“you don’t have to it was a mistake levi.”

levi shrugs eyes scanning his handiwork. “i want to. i’ve got to earn my kiss in front of a crowd anyway.”

gently letting go of your hand he looks out onto the track waiting to be called.

you’ve never seen levi give his full effort into sports day but even then you’re unsure if he’ll ever be able to beat mike.

honestly mike sure is fast and you recall one of the children referring to him with the nickname lightening bolt

and speak of the devil. a group of children walk past and are talking about the teacher’s race

“mr bolt’s gonna win for sure. you seen him run?? he could be an olympian!!!!” zofia’s gushing about him, she happens to be a big fan

the only nickname you’ve ever heard for levi is ursula – “ursula sure is evil for giving us that much work >:(” you had heard udo say once during class but after the earful he got from gabi he never used the name again, neither did anyone else

a few more minutes pass in a comfortable silence and levi’s called over to his lane. you’ve accepted the fact that there’s no changing his mind and he’s bound to compete now

“wait for me by the finish line.” he instructs and so you do. you go your separate paths. he to his lane (he’s in the lane two) and you to the finish line

petra’s already standing there waiting. her elbows are propped onto the railing peering out towards the contestants.

making your way to stand with her you see her sigh dreamily at levi in the distance

“hey, i know you don’t like levi a whole lot. you know your fued and all but do you think he’d say yes if i asked him out?”

well.

that sure is unexpected.

you fight the urge to scoff because you know you and levi are starting to drop more hints. is this her way of finding out the truth?

“me and levi don’t hate each other actually.”

“oh, well dislike.”

“we don’t dislike each other.”

“tolerate?” she takes her bottom lip in between her teeth trying to control her frustration

“petra. i like levi.” your confession knocks the wind out of her. you both silently exchange looks. she’s very clearly in disbelief.

the next time she speaks the previous playful lilt in her voice is long gone

“as soon as you noticed i liked him you just had to decide you liked him too. people like you make my skin crawl.”

?????????

why is she so bitter?.)/&£:

you can’t help liking levi and he likes you too,, so what now??

“he likes me back petra. can we be civil about this? i don’t like workplace drama. i had no idea you were into him.” you’re hoping that this will happen to shut her up but NO!!! it doesn’t she’s only more mouthy now

“prove it.” she points one of her manicured fingers into your chest and demands evidence she doesn’t even deserve to see

“what???”

“if he likes you back so much he should be able to show it.”

you know, if it were any day, any other time or any other person asking you this you would have out right refused, but given the circumstances and levi already waiting on you to kiss him in front of the entirety of the school you see no issue with having the last laugh in this argument

“fair enough.” you mutter and lean over to see hange announce the countdown

“ON YOUR MARKS.”

“GET SET.”

“AND GO!!!”

you swear you blink because GOD what on EARTH????? you don’t understand why previous to this levi balked at the thought of participating because he’s made it look so easy.

he’s not bolted he may as well have TELEPORTED to the finish line. mike is breaking out in a sweat far behind him and the boyish grin on levi’s face is enough to tell how he feels

gasps and applause can be heard from the children. zofia and udo are passionately arguing about some bet they’ve made - you make a mental note to tell them that making deals is fun as long as they don’t bet large amounts of money

levi’s jogging up to you completely ignoring petra’s presence

“told you i’d do it. i avenged you didn’t i?” you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so confidently in public 

you acknowledge what he’s said with a cartoon like thumbs up and then you’re staring at him unable to locate your courage

oh fuck it

you lean in hurriedly and steal a peck from him. he blinks and then scowls much to petra’s amusement. she has to think he’s about to curse you out but unbeknownst to her she’s read the situation wrong

“is that your idea of a kiss??”

and then he takes matters into his own hands – no literally into his own hands. he cups your face in his palms and captures your lips with his own. as you reciprocate petra can be heard choking on her saliva.

“OH well who would’ve guessed the english and math department had an alliance????? not me???” next is hange, they’re feigning shock even though they’ve known what the two of you have been up to this entire time

the whispers have now become full on shouts

“i KNEW it they were dating?!?!”

“MAN??? I HAD A CRUSH ON MR ACKERMAN WHAT NOW???”

gabi and falco are audibly cheering, you’re quite sure they realised what was up long ago

“DON’T BE UPSET BUT I THINK THIS IS WAYYY BETTER THAN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE!!!!” falco’s comment makes your heart rise in your chest

and you know what? you think so too.

as levi’s hand travels to the back of your neck pressing you further into him you come to the conclusion that maybe just maybe this is far better than pride and prejudice ever will be :-)

[creepypasta-mfs]

hey! I really like your blog so far ! Do you think you could write hcs for Ben, Dark, EJ, and Jeff with an s/o? I know its not very specific, just anything u got eould be nice 😅

hi!! thank u sm 💕 i can definitely do that

BEN Drowned

× honestly not a bad boyfriend at all

× well, for the most part

× in the beginning, he's still an ass

× he might poke fun at the little insecurities you have, definitely your height if you're shorter than him

× he can sometimes take it a bit too far, but he'll quickly learn your limits

× the times when he does push things a bit too far, he does the most to make up for it

× need a hug? of course. A twelve page written apology? Duh. Want him to make an absolute fool of himself in front of the whole house to make it even? Consider it done

× as mentioned before, he's super secretive and guarded. Takes a l o n g time to break down those walls, but once you do he's open about everything

× "anyway, here's my auto biography of every traumatic event I've ever been through, there will be a quiz over this so please take notes"

× also pretty touch starved, so any physical affection you give out is greatly appreciated

× like you have no idea

× very awkward when reciprocating it though, he's has little to no experience when it comes to this, so just give him some time to adjust

× his idea of a date is just taking a long ass nap together and ordering food

× wake up from nap #1, eat copious amounts of chinese take-out, then move on to nap #2

× will appreciate you forever if you just sit with him while he plays video games

× also enjoys when you show genuine interest in it and ask him questions about what he's doing and stuff

× would prefer for you to sit behind him and draw patterns on his back and talk to him, or scratch behind his ears

× likes playing with your hair and having his hair played with, will braid it if you allow him to

× expect a lot of just lazing around his room, and having those sleepy, half awake conversations, those are his favorites

× over time he drops the snarky attitude and mean-ish teasing and becomes more soft and lighthearted, only around his s/o though

Dark Link

× so you've somehow managed to make this little ball of angst like you

× g o o d l u c k

× so used to only thinking of himself and doing things that only benefit him, having to take another person into consideration is a big change for him

× really caught him off guard when he realised he actually c a r e d about somebody

× like damn this has never happened before

× doesn't really understand what "romance" is

× he tries his best, but can only really show his feelings through gifts

× what do you mean buying them a whole new wardrobe isn't equivalent to saying "I love you" ??

× isn't good with his words, but he makes an effort

× "your face.. It looks,.. Nice today? Did I do that right??"

× will probably start petty, completely not serious fights with you when he's got nothing better to do

× I hope you have a lot of patience, because he knows exactly how to get on your nerves and loves seeing you frustrated

× only when he's the reason though. Anyone or anything else that causes you any trouble best be prepared to catch these hands

× is surprisingly supportive when it comes to any interests you might have

× tries to show you that he listens to what you like and don't like, so he'll buy you things related to your hobbies

× those super expensive paints you've been wanting? They're yours now. Want to learn to play this instrument but don't have the money for it? Now you do

× giving gifts is his thing, but attention and affection are definitely his love language

× he's so conflicted because he wants you to spend time doing the things you like, the stuff he's gotten for you, but at the same time he needs you to focus on him and him only, ya know?

× is not above pouting and fake crying to obtain your undivided attention

Eyeless Jack

× a h h h h

× he probably low key panicked when he figured out he caught feelings for you

× has very little memory of ever feeling anything like this so he has no clue how to react

× you'll have to guide him through everything, especially when it comes to physical contact

× he's just so big and doesn't know his own strength, and you're so small and fragile, how does he avoid crushing you??

× he's going to need a lot of reassurance and positive feedback before he's able to fully trust himself to initiate affection on his own

× definitely searches the internet for advice on being a good significant other

× his search history

- how to be a good boyfriend

- definition of affection

- how to care for your tiny human

- how to know if you're in love wiki how

× lmao he's absolutely hopeless

× will lend you his clothes anytime, without you even asking. And he'll definitely want you to lend him something of yours, doesn't matter to him what it is

× likes that your scent rubs off on his clothes and vice versa, its very comforting

× won't outright ask for it, but likes scratches

× this has also been done to death, but will purr if you scratch the spot just behind his ears or between his shoulder blades

× has issues when it comes to verbally expressing his appreciation and love for his s/o, but he shows it through making sure they have everything they need or want, checking to make sure they've eaten that day, have had enough water, etc.

Jeff the Killer

× little gremlin boi

× will find amusement in scaring the hell out of his s/o

× stands over them in their bed at night, will wait as long as he needs for them to wake up and have a mini heart attack

× doesn't ever mean any harm though

× acts very distant in front of other people but very touchy when alone with them

× just likes putting his hands on their face to feel their skin, likes comparing how tough and scarred his skin is to the smoothness of theirs

× playfighting is his favorite past time, doesn't matter what his s/o is doing at the moment, they better be prepared to throw down at any time

× will give them obscure fighting tips that they will never need at any point in life

× "Street Smarts with Jeffery Woods"

× likes taking walks with them at night in the woods, even if there isn't anything to talk about. Just likes spending time with them peacefully for a little while

× often thinks about how things would've been different if he hadn't went about things the way he did, and wonders if they would've even met if he hadn't

× sometimes feels bad that they can't ever really have a normal relationship, but it is what it is

× tries to keep his life with his s/o and his "hobby" separate, sees them as innocent and doesn't want to "taint" them

× does everything he can to keep himself in check, doesn't want to scare them in a serious way

× another one of his favorite past times is snooping through your stuff shdhshhd

× if you have a diary dO NOT LET HIM KNOW, he will find it and he will read it

× will want to know if you've written about him in it, and if you have and he reads it he will never let you live it down

× it will be an eternal ego boost

× goes out of his way to be more gentle towards his s/o, don't let that go unnoticed

× tries to simulate any form of normalcy in the relationship as he can, and actually enjoys doing little domestic things with them even if its just something small like cleaning or cooking