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itskateak · 2 years

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Mint Ice Cream & Bubblegum Kisses - Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Summary: The winter season was usually slow and boring, but that has certainly changed now that they lived in the compound.

Word Count: 10.5K (Officially the LONGEST chapter)

Warnings: Fluff, Minor Angst, Major Pining, Alcohol Consumption, Winter Bashing

A/N: Heyyyyy sooo....it's been a while. November 2021, yeah? School took over and I lost motivation to write. So here we are after I've graduated and moved back home. Thank you for being so patient with me :)

This chapter was solely supposed to be just ice skating, but because of how long it has taken me, I've added some more things and it will be a long chapter.

Want to listen to Bucky's playlist? Find it here on Spotify:

(There will be a list of all the songs below so you can create your own playlist on your preferred platform and add anything you like. Some of the musical selections are brought to you by my Grandmother, who was born in the 40s.)

Finally, come find me on Twitter! @Writing_Raven_

You can harass me about my writing and receive updates here.

When I said I was coming back, I meant I'm feeding y'all what I wanted to feed y'all this whole time.

COME AND GET Y'ALL'S JUICE

Taglist is open! PM me, send an ask, or @ me on a chapter to let me know you’d like to be tagged! Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you, but I will send you a message with a link to the new chapter when I update. :)

Masterlist

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"I have absolutely no balance and I will fall on my ass," Y/N grumbled, tightening the laces on his ice skates. It was a sunny day and the temperature wasn't too cold. After days of begging and waiting, Angelica had finally gotten her wish to go ice skating on the lake. And here was her father, muttering curses under his breath about how bruised he was going to be by the end of the day.

"It'll be fine , man. Just takes some getting used to." Sam called from the edge of the ice, hands on his waist. He was smiling, cheeks and nose just barely red from the cold. "Angelica, you ready?"

Angelica nodded and carefully picked her way down to the ice. She took Sam's hand and stepped out, wavering immediately. She squealed and grabbed onto his arms to keep from falling. "Sam!"

"I've got you, kiddo. Get your feet under you. There you go." Sam chuckled, leading her further onto the ice while skating backward. He started to instruct her, keeping a hand on her to make sure she wouldn't fall.

"He's got nephews," Natasha bumped Y/N's shoulder as she finished tying her skates. He wasn't worried about Sam with his daughter, but he was glad that he made sure her skates were tight. "Don't know where he learned to skate, though."

"Sam was a hockey player in high school. Pretty good, too, if his sister is to be believed." Bucky held a hand out to Nat and pulled her to her feet. She smiled and muttered a quick thanks before moving to the ice. He extended the same hand to Y/N when he straightened up.

"Thanks. I haven't been skating in years so I'll probably end up on my ass more than I'll be on my feet." Y/N tentatively stepped onto the ice, hands shooting out immediately to gain his balance. "Yeah. This is not gonna go well for me."

Bucky snorted and followed him. He took a couple of strides out before turning around, stopping gracefully in place. "I believe in you. And if you fall, I'll laugh before helping you up."

"Oh, so kind. What a gentleman of your time." Y/N rolled his eyes but couldn't fight a smile.

"I'd do the same thing to anyone else. Maybe a little quicker if I was sweet on them." Bucky winked, digging his toe pick into the ice and pushing backward. "You need a hand getting used to skating?"

"Maybe? I'll manage, though. If I fall, I fall, y'know?" Y/N shrugged, taking his first step forward. It had been a long time since he'd last skated and in some ways, it was like riding a bike. He'd remember in time, but for now, he was just prepared to fall until he got the hang of it again.

"Then I'm gonna do a lap to loosen up a bit. Don't hurt yourself too badly while I'm gone." Bucky picked up speed backward before turning perfectly on his heel.

Y/N shook his head with a smile and slowly tried to find a rhythm. His legs already burned with the effort. He wasn't made to do this kind of exercise anymore. He'd say he was getting too old, but he really wasn't. He just wasn't the fittest or most active person in the world and he definitely didn't use his muscles this specific way often enough that he wasn't not going to be sore either tonight or tomorrow. It was a good thing they were still on break so he could spend the day under a heated blanket for his poor, aching muscles and joints.

Angelica was laughing with Sam and Nat as she was skating. She was all bundled up in her jacket and scarf, face half buried in the fabric. Her radiant smile could be seen all the same as it lit up her eyes and face. The scene looked like something out of a Hallmark movie with the sunlight on the ice and the frost on the trees. Warmth spread through his chest as he stood there watching, hands sunk into his jacket pockets.

They didn't have much family in the area that he was close enough to that they'd spend holidays together. Sure, they'd see each other for dinners on occasion but not regularly. Maybe a wedding or graduation on an odd year. And with his job in the past, they hadn't been able to travel to see the family he was close with since Angelica was very young. That's mainly why he relied so heavily on his daughter's friends and their neighbors. He wanted her to have a semblance of family around her. People who loved her and would be there for her achievements.

It was good for Angelica to have a more solid family. Each person around her had different experiences and lessons to give her. Different views would give her a balanced and unique environment. And if he were honest, Y/N was glad to have found a place among that family, too. Sure, they weren't blood, but not all family was blood.

And not all blood deserved to be family.

He sighed. Every so often, her mother would try to make contact. But the note she left when she'd walked out on them made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with their daughter. Usually, he quoted her own words from the letter (which was in a special documents folder along with Angelica's social security card and birth certificate) and that was enough to discourage her. But recently she was being more stubborn about it.

Persistent messages and phone calls. Emails. Hell, he even got a physical letter delivered to him the other day. She still told the same bullshit story that he knew all too well and by now, he just ignored it. But it didn't mean he wasn't drained from the constant reminder of one of the worst days of his life. He jammed the toe pick into the ice idly, lost in thought.

"Papa!" Angelica's voice cut through and he looked up. She was skating toward him, albeit a little unsteadily, with a bright smile on her face. She stumbled, holding her hands out in case she fell, but recovered quickly. "You gonna come out more?"

"What, you want me to say I'm gay?" Y/N joked, pushing off to meet her halfway. "Surprise."

"Not much of a surprise." Natasha circled behind Y/N, casually crossing one foot over the other to turn toward the group again once she slowed. Her hands were in her jacket pockets, completely confident in her abilities. Damn her for being so effortless with nearly everything she did. "It's a little obvious."

"She's right, you know," Sam said, making a full stop behind Angelica. It sprayed up some ice, making the young girl squeal at the cold. "But maybe I can tell just because I'm bi."

"No, no. It's just obvious." Natasha used her toe pick to push herself back slightly, then pull herself forward again. She had that smirk on her face that meant she was never going to fully admit what she was talking about, only using it as fuel to tease someone. He'd learned to read that smirk well and hated when it was turned on him rather than watching her continuously tease and harass Clint or Steve.

"I feel like I've missed something." Angelica narrowed her eyes, looking between the adults with the same adorable scrutiny she gave a particularly difficult math problem. Sam and Nat laughed.

"Okay, so you asked me if I was going to come out more. Coming out is a term used when someone discloses their gender or sexuality other than straight or what they were assigned at birth." Y/N explained. "So I asked if you wanted me to say I was gay because that would be me technically coming out more than I already was, even if it's not entirely correct."

"Oooh." Angelica nodded for a few seconds. "I still don't get it."

Sam nearly fell on his ass with laughter, flailing to keep his balance. Nat reached out to steady him, making sure he didn't actually fall while she giggled.

"You know what?" Y/N sighed in defeat, placing his hands on his hips in the typical Dad Pose. "Sometimes I think you're just bullshitting me."

"Papa!" Angelica gasped in fake offense, even going so far as to put her hand against her chest like a woman from one of those historical novels that fainted at even the slightest inconvenience. She'd recently taken on some characteristics from Elizabeth Swann after watching the films, which lined up well with her theatrics.

"You've got a mouth on you today, huh?" Nat teased. He did try to keep his swearing to a minimum around his kid, but she understood what words were okay for her to use and not to use. And given certain circumstances (and proper usage), he'd be lenient if she swore.

"Wait, what did you mean by it's just obvious ? Usually, people are shocked when I tell them I'm into guys, too." Y/N turned to Natasha, curious about what she'd say. She was highly trained, which went unsaid even among the team, and things she noticed were never quite obvious to others. But then again, sometimes it was the simple things that gave people away.

"Oh. Yeah, it's obvious by the way you stare at him." She raised a brow with that damn smirk, waiting for her words to fully sink in. The unspoken name hung heavy in the air, the implication even louder in the momentary silence.

"Who's staring at who?" Bucky's voice made Y/N jump and lose balance. Strong hands grabbed his waist as he fell backward, bumping into an equally as strong chest. Bucky chuckled, the sound rumbling against his back. "Sorry, darlin'. Didn't mean to scare you."

Y/N straightened up, face burning. Once he was steady on his feet and not at risk of falling on his face or his ass, Bucky let go and slid to stand by his side. This was not a conversation he wanted Bucky to overhear and it certainly wasn't one he wanted to have with Bucky. Hell, he didn't even want to have it with Sam and Natasha, especially in front of his kid. She could keep a secret, but only if it was good for leverage or blackmail.

Angelica had a great start at espionage and he wasn't prepared for the nuisance and problem this could become in her middle school and high school years.

"Y'okay, Y/N?" Sam asked, eyes flickering between Y/N and Bucky with a mischievous smile. He looked like he wanted to continue poking fun at him for his reaction or say something that would entirely give away what they were actually talking about. It seemed like Bucky had skated up just in time to only hear the last three words of Natasha's sentence, which was a miracle of the divine kind.

"Yeah, yeah. Just lost my balance and nearly had a heart attack, but I'm good." He gave Sam a pointed look as if he were saying shut the fuck up or I'll kill you . It must've translated because Sam held his hands up in surrender and kept his mouth shut.

"Papa, you never answered my question." Angelica pouted, drawing attention back to her.

"What was it?"

"Are you coming out more or are you gonna be a coward?" She challenged with her trademark shit-eating grin.

"Oh, you better run, you little gremlin," Y/N growled, starting to chase after his daughter. She squealed with laughter, barely staying in front of him as they raced across the ice.

Bucky, Sam, and Natasha watched them, all with bright grins on their faces.

"So, how long do you think it'll be until one of them eats shit?" Sam asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"I give it about thirty seconds," Bucky replied.

And thirty seconds later, a distant ah, shit could be heard as Y/N L/N tripped up on his toe pick and very gracefully hit the ice.

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Y/N straightened his jacket one last time. Tonight, he was taking his daughter to see the Nutcracker that was playing in a local college's theater, like it did every year. It was always put on by the same dance studio, in part with a few of the smaller ones. And every single year, it was wonderful.

"Bucky will be right down. He lost his right shoe and needed a second to find it." Steve shook his head, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned in the doorway. "Thank you, Y/N, for doing this. He probably won't say it, but it means a lot to him."

"Of course," Y/N replied. "Didn't want him to miss out and certainly didn't want to make him go alone."

"I appreciate it because as much as I love him, I can't sit through the Nutcracker anymore," Steve said with a grimace. "And as I said before, the holiday season is harder for him. This will be good for him. Every other time he's tried to see the show, something came up."

"Maybe it was fate." Y/N joked with a smile.

"Maybe it was. Have fun, you guys. I'm being dragged into a second viewing of the live-action Grinch with Sam, Clint, Wanda, and Nat. Did you know that they can pretty much quote that movie word for word?"

"Don't act like you can't, either." Bucky appeared behind Steve, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "Sorry for taking so long. Couldn't find my damn shoe and I believe it was Sam's fault, but I'm not certain."

"It's all good. Steve was just explaining that you've tried to see the show before but the universe stopped it from happening." Y/N subtly glanced him over. He looked...good in his formal wear. Unfairly good. If he were an artist, he would never be able to stop drawing the way Bucky looked right now as he stood with his hands in his pockets, his weight dropped onto one leg.

"Yeah, it's never worked out. But I'm happy it has so far. Knock on wood." He rapped his knuckles on the door frame with a crooked smile. "Where's the kiddo?"

"Getting her hair finished by the girls. She'll be here in just a second." Y/N glanced down the hallway to see if he could catch a glimpse of his daughter to estimate exactly how long it would take. He was hoping it wasn't much longer because they needed to leave soon.

"Have fun, guys." Steve pat Bucky's shoulder before leaving the doorframe back the way he came.

"Y/N, thank you for this. Genuinely. How much do I owe you for the ticket?" Bucky slid his wallet from his pocket, opening it and thumbing through some cash.

"No, don't worry about it. Consider it a gift from us to you." Y/N held his hand up, shaking his head slightly. "Seriously. And don't argue with me on this one. Just accept it as a gift."

Bucky stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed. He opened his mouth to say something - presumably argue some more because that was Bucky, Y'N had learned, but they were both interrupted by a young voice.

"Papa, how do I look?" Angelica swayed from side to side, the sparkles on her blue dress catching in the light. Her hair was intricately put up with some jeweled spiral clips. She even had a little bit of makeup on, which was completely age-appropriate.

"Stunning, like a little snowflake." He replied, smiling just as broadly as she was. She giggled and bounced on the balls of her feet, the slight heel of her shoes clicking on the ground. He held his hand out to her and twirled her under his arm. "You ready?"

"Mhmm!"

Y/N turned to Bucky, happy to see he'd put his wallet away, and, perhaps begrudgingly, accepted that this was a gift and not necessary to be repaid. He was smiling at Angelica, watching her as she twirled again to look at her gown in the light. There was a sad nostalgia lingering behind it all and for a moment, he wanted to say that Bucky didn't have to go with them if he didn't feel up to it.

But then Angelica went up to him, took his hands, and tried to dance with him. The melancholic look in his eyes faded as he led her into a simple waltz, humming a basic tune. Instead, the corners of his eyes crinkled up with a smile as she giggled, spinning under his arm. He pulled her hands together and gently dipped her, his smile somehow getting bigger as she squealed and clung to him.

"I won't drop you, sweetheart. Promise." He said before pulling her upright.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as he watched, smiling just as wide as Bucky and Angelica. He wished he could show every single person who still viewed him as a threat or villain this exact moment between his daughter and Bucky. There wasn't even a singular thought of concern that Bucky could hurt her on purpose and he desperately hoped people would begin to realize that. He wasn't "evil" or a villain. He was a victim that was still healing and learning how to be himself again.

He slipped his phone from his pocket and took a few photos, making sure to keep the live option on. His favorite was a perfectly timed moment as she was spinning under his left arm, looking back at him with that impossibly wide grin, and her dress flared out. He was smiling, too, and it was obvious in the still image that he was laughing. It was a delightful picture that would certainly become his lock screen for a while.

"Alright, you two. Let's get going so we don't risk missing any of the show." Y/N hated to interrupt, but there was always time for them to dance another day. They had a show to get to and he'd rather be damned than be the reason Bucky missed on another opportunity to see The Nutcracker.

They split apart and Bucky bowed to Angelica, who giggled and curtsied in response. She turned and bounced toward the door, a little ball of sunshine to warm the snowy evening.

"Send those photos to me, please?" Bucky muttered, walking side by side with Y/N.

"Already sent 'em."

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The wind blew a chill straight up Y/N's spine, creeping under the layers of his jacket and shirt. The bell above the door chimed as he opened it, ushering his child into the shop before another gust could pick up. He shut the door behind him, shivering and stomping the snow off his shoes. Winter was a bullshit season because of the cold and wind. Once his feet and legs were cold, it was all over. He'd take forever to get warm again.

"Well, if it's not my two favorite customers in the whole wide world!" Pop waved as he noticed them, chuckling as Angelica waved enthusiastically back. She bounced over to the display case, looking at the new flavors and their descriptions. That was one of the best things about Pop's Shoppe and their homemade ice cream - they rotated new flavors depending on the season and everyone had their favorite that they looked forward to every year.

"Is that Angelica and Y/N?" A woman's voice came from the back room before she poked her head out to see. "Yes, it is! How have you two been, my lovely honeybees?"

"Leana!" Angelica ran up to Leana and hugged her when she came around the counter. "You're back!"

"Sure am, honeybee." Leana had a deep set of crow's feet at the corner of her eyes from a life of laughter and joys that revealed themselves in full when she smiled. She looked well, which was a good sign given how sick she'd been. She'd been out since the beginning of fall and although they didn't have any doubts she'd recover, they'd been concerned. "You been good for your father, I trust?"

"Mhmm!"

"She's lying. She's been nothing but trouble, causing mischief and being a nuisance." Y/N hugged Leana, chuckling when she squeezed him. "Though she is just an accomplice most of the time."

"Oh, is she now?" Pop leaned against the counter, looking at the girl in question. She gave him her mischievous grin, shrugging like she was innocent in the matter. "So, what can I get you on this cold day?"

"Whatever she wants. It's too cold to eat ice cream for me." Y/N placed his hand on the top of his daughter's head for a moment before shoving his hands into his pockets. "And I know we promised to bring Bucky along today but they had a mission come up last night and had to leave. Next time."

"Ahh, no hard feelings. He's welcome here whenever he's able to fit us in his world-saving schedule." Pop moved to get Angelica's usual order, slipping his gloves on and snagging the cup on the way to get the scoop.

"Bucky, huh? Who's Bucky?" Leana asked, leaning against the counter. She brushed a couple of stray braids over her shoulder. Her braids matched the color of her holiday apron, red braided into the grey of her natural hair. Angelica's favorite was the sunset yellow she liked to wear in the summer, sometimes with little bee and flower clips.

"James Buchanan Barnes. A coworker and friend. He's -"

"The Winter Soldier, yes, I know the name. I've been around for a while, honeybee." Leana interrupted, suddenly looking her age for a moment. "Never sat right with me how he got his citizenship back."

"What?" Y/N was hesitant to continue the conversation, now, with Angelica in earshot. Though, it seemed Pop was keeping her occupied well enough that she wasn't paying attention.

"Oh, that came out wrong. I meant the whole trial he had to go through to prove he was a prisoner of war and under duress. Ridiculous, really." She continued, shaking her head. It wasn't talked about often within the team or the compound, but the amnesty trial had been a big deal. A year later, Bucky seemed to have moved past it with some work but some people still hung onto it.

"Yeah, I...didn't really pay attention to it. Only when it landed on my desk when his lawyer needed information and it was my turn to dig." Y/N said. He hadn't worked on it often, maybe once or twice under Miss Lancaster's legal team. Not often enough to know more than the general public and not enough to draw his attention away. Even his coworkers kept it out of the office talk just because it was a touchy subject.

And totally not because everyone was scared of him.

"How's he doing, now, though?"

"Recovering, but doing well. Has some off days, but everyone does. We took him to see the Nutcracker last week and while there was some sadness, he had a good time." Y/N pulled his wallet out to pay for Angelica's ice cream now that she was seated happily with a snickerdoodle-flavored scoop.

"Tell me, what d'you think Bucky would like from the case? I'll get you a to-go container for when he's back. Consider it a present from us to him." Pop smiled, his nose and cheeks rosier with the added chill of the winter weather. He had a Santa hat on, really playing up on his resemblance.

"Oh, uh...that's a good question. I think the vanilla with caramel and cone pieces would be a safe option. I know he likes caramel." Y/N said, handing over his card to Leana to pay for the ice cream. She only charged him for Angelica's, fixing him with a stern look to deter any kind of arguing. This was why he always came back to them, even though it was further than other shops. They treated everyone like family and did favors for their loyal customers. And they were local, so it was a perfect relationship.

"Angelica, you almost finished? We need to get back soon. I've got to check in with Steve and Bucky to see if they need anything and you have homework." The adults laughed as she groaned, throwing away her empty container and spoon. "Thanks, you two. Take care. We'll see you next week."

"Bye, Pop! Bye, Leana!" Angelica waved from the door, bundling herself up again in preparation to brave the outside.

"See ya, honeybee. And hopefully, we see Bucky with you, soon. Drive safe and stay warm." Leana said with a sweet smile.

Pop handed Y/N the container, a note written on the top with his and Leana's signatures.

To Bucky,

Happy Holidays from Us at Pop's Shoppe. Hope to see you stop by soon!

Pop & Leana ♡

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"I love my kid, but it's too cold for this," Y/N grumbled, blowing warm air into his cupped, gloved hands.

"You'd be warmer if you moved around more." Natasha elbowed him, smiling as she watched the chaos unfold in front of them.

Tony and Peter were constructing a snow fort in preparation for all-out snowball warfare. Scott, Angelica, and Cassie were also constructing a fort across from the Team IronSpider base. It wasn't as pretty or optimized as theirs, but it was going to be functional for the insanity that was going to unleash when they were ready.

"Yeah, but that would also mean getting involved in that ." Y/N hitched his chin toward Team SuperWeird, comprised of Bucky, Steve, and Wanda. Unfair in his eyes, but that's just how the cards were dealt. "There's a reason I'm playing as an impartial judge with Bruce."

"Fair enough. Well, I better help those two. They need all the help they can get." She joined Clint and Sam at their base.

The sun was warm but didn't do much to combat the overall chill of the day. But it was perfect for a snowball fight, including the sticky snow that would make the ideal snowball. Bruce also had his hands buried in his pockets, his face tucked into his scarf to try and keep warm. It was a universal day off for everyone in the compound, which meant he wasn't allowed to be tucked away in his lab.

Thor and Loki had come to visit with Valkyrie, enjoying some downtime with the team for a couple of days. Thor and Valkyrie were happily constructing their own fort and stockpiling snowball ammunition for the fight. Loki was standing beside Y/N and Bruce with his arms folded, shaking his head in mild amusement.

"I don't believe I'll ever quite understand Midgaurdians." He said after a moment of thought. "But they are entertaining."

"We certainly are, huh?" Y/N smiled as his daughter squealed after Peter had snuck over and shoved snow on her neck. "You don't want to join?"

"No, no. I'm quite alright just watching for now." Loki wasn't exactly what he'd expected based on stories. He seemed to have mellowed out a bit and had some time to reflect on past mistakes. Or perhaps the events of Ragnarok had a strong effect on him. Whatever the case was, he was rather pleasant to be around, now. "It's not quite fair for me to join in, considering I'm immune to the cold."

"Ah. Yeah, that is an unfair advantage." Y/N shuffled his feet a bit, hoping to keep his toes from freezing by standing in the same place for too long. Although he was wearing multiple layers, the cold still crept in where it could. "You think they'd notice if I slipped away to get a warm drink?"

"Yes. They would. You wouldn't get three feet until Tony called you out." Bruce said.

"Well, it's a good thing I've come to deliver some warm cider." Pepper appeared beside them with a tray of thermoses. "Here you go."

"You're a lifesaver, Pepper." Y/N gratefully accepted one, the warmth spreading through his fingers and down his arms immediately. He took a tentative sip, considering it was still very hot, and hummed happily as the heat trickled through his chest.

"And one for you, Bruce." She passed another one to Bruce, earning the same praises. "Would you like one, Loki?"

"No, thank you, Miss Potts." Loki smiled, looking rather fond for a brief moment.

"It's actually Stark, now." She corrected, returning the smile.

"Oh, my apologies, Missus Stark. Congratulations." He inclined his head cordially.

"Thank you. But really, just call me Pepper. There's no need to be so formal." She touched his arm gently like she did often with everyone, a friendly and comforting gesture she was known for. "If you three need anything, just text me, alright?"

"Of course, Pepper. Thanks again. I'll take videos of Tony getting his ass handed to him by Steve later." Bruce said from behind the rim of his thermos. And with that, she was making her way back inside, away from the snow and cold.

Y/N was jealous, but now he had a warm drink so he was at least placated for the moment. He checked the time on his phone. There were thirty seconds left on his timer for their allotted fortress building time. After that, they'd have two minutes to prepare their ammunition before the first round of battle would begin. The timer chimed loudly and everyone immediately stopped piling snow and started creating snowballs of varying sizes and shapes.

"Of the current competitors, who do you believe will be the best?" Loki asked, crossing his arms.

"Bucky's been trained as a sniper, but Clint has insane accuracy. Wanda has her abilities and Steve has enough spite to be good at just about anything." Bruce tilted his head in thought, watching everyone frantically stockpile ammo. "Sam and Scott are at a disadvantage, but will probably be good in their team. Tony and Peter work together a little too well, not to mention Peter's enhanced senses."

"So, what you're saying is that my kid and Cassie are going to get absolutely demolished by the superheroes around them." Y/N laughed, knowing all too well how this was going to go. It's mainly why he was staying on the sidelines and avoiding the conflict.

"Oh, totally. That's exactly what's going to happen and it's going to be glorious." Bruce grinned before burrowing back into his scarf. The second timer went off and everyone came to a halt. "Alright, everyone. The round begins in three...two...one...go!"

Snow flew immediately, headed in every which direction. Laughter rang into the air, along with some cussing when people were hit. They were good about not getting close to the bystanders, some landing just at their feet but never hitting them. It was entertaining to watch the different strategies each team had, though most of it seemed to just be sheer chaos. Firing wherever in hopes it hit someone.

"You're going down, Romanoff!" Wanda shouted just before a snowball went flying at Natasha, propelled by her powers.

"In your dreams, Maximoff!" Natasha yelled back after barely dodging the projectile before throwing her own. It nailed Wanda straight in the chest faster than she could blink.

A stray snowball came flying by, hitting Loki square in the stomach. He doubled over slightly, the wind knocked out of him for a moment. Murderous intent took over his eyes as he scanned the field, trying to decide who had thrown it. Valkyrie was snickering behind her hand and noticed she'd drawn his attention. With a determined roll of his shoulders, Loki joined Tony and Peter, set on revenge.

Y/N glanced at his daughter, who was grinning to herself deviously. She'd done that on purpose and somehow flew under the radar to avoid all suspicion. That little devil was too smart for her own good and he had no idea how he was going to stay ahead of her as she got older.

For now, he just shook his head and sipped his warm cider as everyone continued to pelt each other with snowballs.

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"I am not letting you have alcohol. Are you out of your mind?" Y/N stared at Angelica in bewilderment, holding his glass of champagne out of her reach. "You have some audacity, little miss."

"Aw, come on! Just a little sip?" She tried to give him her puppy dog eyes, but he wasn't budging. "Just a teeny, tiny, itty bitty sip?"

"You're lucky I'm letting you stay up, Angelica. I can still send you to bed. Don't test me." He replied, using the opportunity to also take a slow sip of his champagne. She pouted, glaring at him disappointedly.

Tony had forgone the large New Year's party that he usually hosted, choosing instead to keep it rather small with the team and their families. That didn't mean he didn't keep the extravagance down, considering this was the most expensive champagne Y/N had ever tasted. The decorations were certainly flashy, golds and silvers reflecting every light in the common room. The countdown was on the TV, muted so their own music could play.

"Maybe, if you're good, I'll let you have a sip next year," He said, eyeing her suspiciously when she got a little too excited about that. "No promises."

Angelica continued to grin far too wide for his liking before bouncing off into the crowd to find Peter and May. He shook his head, watching her as she disappeared into the kitchen. She was always a handful, but sometimes she seemed especially difficult to deal with. He loved her dearly, though, and it made moments like this more endearing than annoying.

"She reminds me of myself when I was young." Wanda came up beside Y/N. She was wearing a nice black gown, rather simple in terms of attire Tony required, but it suited her well. Especially with the fabric fading into a bright red near her knees and the beading around the waist. "Too smart for her own good and always looking for trouble."

"I can hardly believe you were looking for trouble," Y/N said in a warm tone. He could believe it, but he was teasing her.

"Well, I wasn't usually the one looking for it. My brother, Pietro, was usually always finding himself in trouble. I was always getting him out of it." She laughed softly, eyes crinkled and light with fond memories. She missed him, he knew. His memory lived on through her, though, and all she did with the Avengers. With Tony's recovery foundation, he started an outreach program specifically for those affected by what happened in Sokovia and named it after Pietro. "Vis likes her a lot."

"Seems to be a common feeling with everyone," Y/N replied, giving her a brief side-hug. Her nose crinkled up happily, squeezing him back with her free arm. "How's your training going?"

"Oh, it's...going. Tiring, but Stephen is pleased with my progress. There's so much I didn't know I could do that he's taught me to control." Wanda, as if to show how much she'd learned, raised her hand and swirled some of the red mist around her fingers. It morphed into a little kitten that bounded across her knuckles, swatting at an equally tiny butterfly. It jumped to catch it, succeeding, and they both disappeared in a flourish.

"That was delightful." Y/N applauded her, laughing as she curtsied. "It's always nice to catch up with you."

"And you, too. Let's talk more often. Well, seems the countdown is going to begin shortly. I need to find Vis." She untangled herself from Y/N, but not before kissing him on the cheek.

Tony called everyone to gather around the TV with their glasses of champagne and their partners. The couples stood together and those who were single ended up grouping near the opposite side. Peter had Angelica in his arms, a glass of sparkling cider held carefully in one of his hands.

Sam, Bucky, YN, and May stood together. Clint was currently MIA due to a sudden mission, which he'd been completely fine with. This wasn't his favorite holiday in the world and he preferred to be making money somewhere else. The countdown began on the TV, the sound returning at the perfect moment thanks to FRIDAY. Everyone waited, counting with it as the new year finally turned over.

The room filled with cheers and the couples shared a customary kiss. May hugged Y/N immediately before moving to Bucky and Sam.

"Happy New Year," Sam hugged Y/N tightly, leaving a kiss on his cheek before he pulled away. He turned to Bucky.

"Don't kiss me or I'll kick your ass." Bucky threatened, accepting Sam's hug. Sam was grinning and tried to kiss Bucky's cheek, only to be met with the palm of his metal hand turning him away.

Y/N laughed, careful not to spill any of his drink as he embraced Bucky. It was immediately a comfort, enveloping him entirely in his arms. His cologne was soft and musky but by no means overpowering or too strong. Bucky swayed them slightly before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Happy New Year, darlin'." He muttered as he pulled away. His smile was dazzling and if not for Angelica suddenly hugging his leg, Y/N probably would've kept staring for much longer.

"Papa!" Angelica looked up at him and there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Can I have a sip?"

Y/N was about to berate her for asking again when he paused and realized what was going on. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The others were laughing brightly and he shook his head.

"You little shit."

Angelica looked triumphant as she took her sip of champagne.

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Bucky squinted at the back of the beer bottle, reading the ingredients. It honestly wasn't the best he'd ever had, but there was just a flavor he couldn't quite place. He shrugged and took another swig, not bothering to spend much longer thinking about it.

Sam groaned as he sat down on the couch, his own bottle in his hand. He sighed deeply, slouching down to get comfortable. He'd taken to hanging out with Bucky more now that Steve and Natasha were dating. It was nothing against either of them, considering they still had their Guys' Nights often. Usually, in their free time, the couple was together. Which left Sam and Bucky most evenings.

"I'm tired." Sam sighed, head falling back against the couch. "You feel me?"

"I feel you," Bucky replied. "I've been tired since 1927."

"That's oddly specific. What happened in '27?" Sam took a quick drink, having learned the Bucky's off-the-cuff comments sometimes took him by surprise. He had shot beer out his nose a couple of times because of that.

"Met Steve that year. Been running behind him, keeping him out of trouble since then." He stared into the distance, slowly bringing his bottle up.

"It's a full-time job, huh?" Sam raised his bottle again too.

"Amen to that." They cheered to each other from a distance before downing the rest of their beer. Bucky turned the bottle again to look at the label. "The hell is in this?"

"It's really bad, is what it is. Steve's no longer allowed to shop for booze." Sam leaned forward and set the glass bottle down on the coffee table. He settled back into the couch. "Alright, we gotta talk."

"About?" Bucky rested his head on the back of the couch, letting it fall to the side to look at Sam. He had a feeling what this was going to lead to, but he didn't have the energy to shut it down. He actually wanted to talk about it, if he were honest.

"Y/N. You. The kiss." Sam paused between each subject, letting them hang in the air and sink in. "You kissed him in front of everyone. So, what's the deal, now? You two on the down low?"

"No, not...no. We didn't talk about it. It was just a kiss and didn't mean anything." As much as he hated to say it, that's exactly what the situation was. He hadn't brought it up to Y/N and they'd not discussed it at all. And he hadn't acted any different afterward so he had no reason to believe that it affected their friendship any further than a moment to look back at and laugh about.

"How the hell did you ever make it as a spy when you're such a bad liar?" Sam stared at him incredulously.

"I wasn't allowed to talk," Bucky muttered, which gained a short bark of laughter. He smiled briefly.

"I'm gonna say this so no one else has to," Sam sat up, looking Bucky straight on. It sent a shock of nerves down his spine with how serious he suddenly was. "And I'm saying this because you're my brother, man. You need to talk to him. Give him a chance to say yes or no. Say you're interested."

"I don't wanna make it awkward. He's on the team and it's not exactly like we can just...distance from each other. His daughter is kinda my mini shadow half the time." Bucky turned away with a sigh, staring at the wall. He wanted to say something so bad, but the thought of causing tension in their close-knit team was enough to deter him. That kiss under the mistletoe at the party only deepened his feelings and settled them strongly in his heart. It was hard not to give in when away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world. "I don't even know if he feels the same way."

"James, listen to me. You will never know if you don't try. He and Kiera Roberts were rumored to be a thing and he cleared it up with her. She watched after Angelica when you were out of commission after that mission in Rome." Sam had that tone in his voice that he used when counseling veterans. The same one he used when helping any of the team through a panic attack or episode of some sort. "Give it a chance. Do something that it's just the two of you and see if he responds in a way that says he'd be interested. Then ask him to dinner."

"Nope. No way in hell."

"I'm only going to keep bringing it up until you do. Every day, every moment possible." Sam threatened.

"God, you're annoying." Bucky rubbed his hand over his face with a sigh. He was blushing just thinking about it.

"It's why you love me."

"Okay, okay. Fine. After the security meeting and we're back here...I'll do it." Bucky glared at Sam, finding he was smiling smugly. He looked like he was going to say something inappropriate or suggestive at any moment now that the serious conversation was over. "Not a word, Wilson. I'll still kick you off a damn helicarrier."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were thinking it and that's bad enough!"

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"Okay, so remind me what this is about again?" Wanda turned in her seat to look at the other occupants of the box, flipping through the program she was holding.

"Orpheus and Eurydice except it's set in a Great Depression-like era and the music has a strong basis in New Orleans style jazz," Y/N said, glancing over the cast list as he turned the page in his own program. "The band is usually onstage the whole time and highlighted a couple of times."

"Not to be rude to you guys." Sam interrupted, motioning to Steve, Bucky, Natasha, and their other light-skinned teammates in attendance. "But why is Hermes being played by a white guy?"

"I thought the same thing!" Clint threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Alright, you two. Chill out. He's got a mile-long portfolio in his bio. Give him a chance." Y/N shook his head in amusement. He'd heard this Hermes perform in videos and while he wasn't Andre De Shields, he did a damn good job. "He's also from New Orleans, Wilson."

"All I'm sayin' is I've never heard of him," Sam grumbled a little more about the casting of the tour but settled down again after a minute.

Some of the team had time after a security conference in D.C. to see Hadestown and do other touristy things. Sam, Clint, and Y/N had convinced the rest of their small group to join them at the show, saying that they would enjoy it. With nothing else to do and no reason to argue, Steve, Natasha, Wanda, and Bucky joined them to see the touring company.

Angelica had not been happy when she'd heard they were seeing the show without her. In fact, promising to take her to see it on Broadway was the only way to get her to speak to anyone other than Peter for four days. She was a stubborn child who knew how to use that to her advantage when she really wanted it. He didn't feel bad about giving in because he'd wanted to see the show with her in the first place, but the opportunity to see it on tour happened before they got the chance.

The lights started to dim as the cast and orchestra walked out. Everyone checked to be sure their phones were off. The cast settled in their places and Hermes clicked his heels at the edge of the stage, gazing out over the crowd. He took a deep breath, clasping his hands together with a smile.

"Aight."

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Sam turned around at intermission with an embarrassed smile.

"Is there something you would like to say, Samuel?" Y/N tilted his head innocently as the house filled with chatter, the lights still slowly coming up.

"I would like to recant my statement about this particular white man playing Hermes," Sam announced to the group. It sparked some laughter and he waited for another moment to continue. "He opened his mouth and I realized my mistake. I apologize. I was wrong."

"Yeah, he's good." Clint sighed, a bit begrudgingly. "But that Persephone-"

"I know !" Sam and Clint quickly fell into a discussion over the actress playing Persephone, singing nothing but praises for her and admiring the dynamic between her and Hades. Natasha chimed in when she found it necessary, mentioning something about the Fates.

Steve and Wanda were looking at the stage, talking about the lighting and how it had affected the scenes. Set design came up shortly after, and they delved into the moving parts and pieces of the two-story structure and rotating stage.

"Remind me again what the myth is?" Bucky leaned over to ask Y/N since the rest of their companions were occupied. "The details escape me."

"We're halfway through so it'll get to the main part of the myth in the next act," He replied, checking his phone for notifications. His daughter had sent a goodnight text, which he responded to with a picture of Wanda and Steve geeking out over the stage design. "But the basics are: Orpheus lost Eurydice and ventured into the Underworld to bring her back. He has to convince Hades and Persephone to let her go. Upon an agreement, they leave together but Orpheus cannot look behind him or she'll be dragged back to the Underworld for the rest of eternity."

"And he looks behind him. I remember now. I'm interested to see how they play this out. By the way, the music is so damn good." Bucky said, which made Y/N laugh. "Seriously, it's a great show so far."

Y/N turned to him and it was like time stopped for that moment. Bucky had that crooked smile that made his heart flutter, his eyes soft and crinkled up at the corners. He glanced between the rest of the group and the intel specialist, amused by the enthusiasm and different topics everyone focused on. But when he finally turned his gaze entirely on Y/N, it felt like the entire world had disappeared.

As a group, they had decided to dress up a little. Nothing too fancy, but on the edge of more than casual. And he looked good in his dark long-sleeved shirt and blazer. The jacket had been a gift from Sharon Carter as a way to welcome him back into the good graces of the CIA. It fit him very well, showing off his wide shoulders and broad chest. Those dark jeans, too, had to be illegal somewhere because of how tightly they hugged his strong thighs.

"Y/N? Didja hear me?" Bucky was talking and that snapped him out of his trance.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm a little tired. Got lost in thought for a second." Y/N covered, sheepishly ducking his head to hide any blush that could possibly be seen. His face was certainly warm. "What'd you say?"

"I asked if you had a favorite song." Bucky didn't make him feel any more embarrassed, luckily, sliding past it like it was nothing. The question made him pause for a second, head tilted in thought.

"I prefer the live album's version of it, but Epic III will always be in my top three. How Long and His Kiss, the Riot are up there as well. Our Lady of the Underground is number two, though." Y/N rambled, tucking his phone away. He liked a lot of the music in the second act, but the whole show was incredible. It was impossible not to nod his head or tap his foot when any of the songs came on when he was working. "But I have a question for you, now."

"What's up?"

"How hard is it to make you cry?"

"Uh, pretty difficult. But what will get me, without fail, is a repeated motif that is either now sad when it was happy before or a call and response that is now just a call or response." Bucky responded.

"Oh, hon. You might want to have some of Wanda's tissues." Y/N grinned both in sympathy and anticipation. A perfect victim for this show, it seemed, as that was the driving stake through the heart about the ending.

"Steve is gonna need them way more than I will," Bucky said as the orchestra returned to the stage.

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"It's you - it's me. What the fuck , Y/N?" Steve turned around after the final bows, tears streaming down his face. His language shocked everyone for a moment. While he wasn't the cleanest normally, he usually didn't drop a casual fuck. "You didn't say it would be this sad!"

"It's Orpheus and Eurydice! What did you expect?" Y/N retorted, raising his hands in defense. "We tried to warn you!"

Wanda and Natasha were dabbing at their eyes carefully to not smear their makeup any worse than it already was, checking each other and fixing the damage. They were laughing through their tears at Steve's reaction and Wanda offered him a tissue. He took it with more force than necessary, a bit of sass slipping into the movement.

"He's got you there, Stevie." Bucky sniffed, drying his face with his sleeve. He gratefully accepted a tissue from Wanda. "But, man , did they have to do both the repeated It's you, it's me and the opening song?"

"Aw, that's part of the fun, though! Showing it's a loop!" Sam laughed, wiping the final tears from his eyes. "So, on that note of the depressing and soul-crushing ending...anyone want to grab dinner?"

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Y/N watched the fireplace flicker, the warmth of the room comfortable. He curled up under the blanket, finding his place again in his book. There hadn't been a lot of time for him to read during this holiday season, so this quiet evening was the perfect time for a book. He had decided to reread The Princess Bride after their movie night. By now, because of work and life, he was only halfway through.

But really, as much as he wanted to read, he couldn't focus. He wasn't alone in the room and that's what was becoming the distraction. Bucky was also curled up under a blanket further down the couch, scrolling on his phone. The light from the fire illuminated his profile and cast warmth over his face. It had to be a crime of some sort for him to be that attractive when doing nothing. And it wasn't like he was trying , either, which was unfair all on its own.

"Oh, hey. Do you mind if I put on some music? The quiet is just...a little too quiet." Bucky said, breaking the comfortable silence of the room. Everyone else had gone to bed already, some having to get up for a mission quite early, so it was just the two of them. His voice was soft like his intention wasn't to startle him.

"Yeah, go ahead." Y/N nodded, turning back to his book in hopes he hadn't been caught staring for those few seconds. It had almost been perfectly timed that Bucky had looked up just as he'd been staring longer than necessary. He found himself doing that more and more recently. After the Mistletoe Kiss at the party, it was harder to shove away those feelings and keep them under lock and key.

The TV powered on silently, connecting to Bucky's phone and soft music started. The playlist was a collection of some of his favorite 40s music and other songs that either had a similar sound or vibe. It was all fairly mellow and perfect for the atmosphere they had created. Relaxing, warm, and comfortable. A little space out of time that had no expectations or requirements.

Dream a Little Dream of Me queued up next on screen and Bucky stood, holding his hand out to Y/N. It took a moment for him to notice, given he'd actually gotten back into his book for a couple of paragraphs. A soft hey caught his attention and he looked up.

"What?" He narrowed his eyes slightly in suspicion, but couldn't keep his lips from starting to turn upward.

"Come dance with me." He offered with that lopsided smile that made his heart skip a beat. His eyes were glittering with a childlike and mischievous light. "C'mon."

Y/N couldn't find it in himself to say no, especially when he was looking at him with such affection. It took him off guard, truly, but in the best way. He marked his page and set his book aside before taking Bucky's hand. He moved the blanket onto the couch beside him as he stood, careful not to let it get twisted around his foot at first. There was a perfectly sized space in front of the hearth for them to stand with enough room to move without banging their toes on furniture.

Bucky pulled him in, his metal hand settling perfectly on Y/N's waist like it had when they were cooking together. Like it was the most natural thing in the world and that's exactly where his hand was crafted to be laid. His other hand was a gentle guide, pulling him into position. It was larger than his own, nearly engulfing it in its warmth.

"I don't...know what to do, to be honest," Y/N admitted, unsure of pretty much everything. The last time he'd danced with anyone had to have been prom his senior year of high school. Even then, it wasn't any good. Just the awkward sway dancing that teenagers did with their hands around the necks of their partners and hands on their waists at nearly arm's length. But Bucky had danced often in the past and was still a good dancer from what he's seen. He didn't want to disappoint or screw anything up.

"Well, you can put your hand on my shoulder or my upper arm. Don't have to do much with your feet. These slower songs you can just sway and do small steps to turn. I can lead, so just don't worry too much about that. If you want to get closer..." Bucky trailed off, brows raised slightly to fill in the silence and finish the offer.

"Maybe if I can be trusted not to step on your toes," Y/N said, resting his hand on his bicep, finding it somehow fits perfectly. Just like Bucky's hand on his waist. "We'll see. You might just throw me away when you see how bad of a dancer I am."

"This isn't gonna be difficult, I promise. If Steve can do it without stepping on someone, I'm sure you'll be fine." Bucky chuckled, beginning to sway with the beat. Once he had found the tempo, he quietly gave instructions on which foot to step with and counted until they both fell into synch. It was slow and casual and nowhere near perfect regarding technique, but it was perfect for them. There wasn't anyone to impress or perform for. It was just them, the fire, and the music.

This was nice. Pleasant. Y/N had never done anything like this with anyone. He'd never had the opportunity, nor the right partner. No one had ever just asked him to dance in the kitchen or living room to whatever song came on. It was rather intimate, in a way, and sweet with how Bucky held him close, guiding his steps and leading him with silent confidence that was comforting. His thumb was tapping lightly on Y/N's hip to the tempo of each new song so they could seamlessly transition without being off-beat with each other.

"So...getting closer...how would one do that?" Y/N quietly asked after a few songs had gone by and they'd fallen into a natural rhythm. If he was offering to get closer, he'd take the opportunity as it was and hope that it wasn't awkward. He was afraid that they would try and it would make things weird and then it all would be over. He'd rather keep his distance and not take a risk if it meant staying exactly like this.

"Either my shoulder or somewhere between my shoulder blades." Bucky guided Y/N's right hand around his side, gently pulling him closer. He used his foot to nudge his a little to be alternating. It reduced the possibility of stepping on each other. "Whichever you prefer."

Y/N settled his hand on his upper back, right between his shoulder blades, finding that this brought them far closer together than he had expected. But it didn't feel awkward or forced. It was all very natural, which eased any anxiety that he'd had. Under his fingers, Bucky's heart was beating steadily and it was reassuring that they were both comfortable.

Bucky's hand returned to his hip, sliding to the small of his back. He continued to lightly tap his finger to the beat, keeping them on tempo as they adapted to this new position. He brought their clasped hands up and pressed a delicate kiss to the back of Y/N's hand, lingered for a moment as they locked eyes. They glowed with a warmth that rivaled the fireplace, all edges of his face now soft in the flickering light.

Unable to keep eye contact without getting flustered, Y/N turned his head and found it was very easy to rest his cheek against Bucky's chest. He could hear and feel Bucky's voice as he resumed humming along to The Last Time I Saw Paris . It had been a long time since he'd felt this content. Working two jobs initially and raising a kid had been difficult. Then his high-security job at the compound made some more time for his daughter, but the workload was also hard to balance with his personal life. There had always been an underlying feeling of stress in every moment of his downtime, but that was very obviously missing.

The nice thing about Bucky's playlist was that it had music that he'd never heard before. There were the classics and well-known songs included, but there were some he'd never would've found if not for someone who either was really into music from that era or someone who was around when it was popular. A perfect blend of slower songs that were easy to sway to and some upbeat to keep some variety.

"I'm gonna spin you, darlin'. Take a step back for a second." Bucky muttered, shifting his hold on Y/N's hand.

Y/N did, spinning under his arm slowly. A soft smile was resting on Bucky's lips, just as soft as the look in his eyes. Warm adoration. It made his heart skip a beat as he stepped back into place, fitting right in Bucky's arms like a puzzle piece.

"Felt like you were a little jealous of your kiddo when I was dancing with her. Had to treat you just the same." He glanced down to their feet before pausing their steps. "Which means..."

Y/N squeaked in surprise as he was swept sideways, hand shooting up to grip Bucky's shoulder from behind. He was being supported around his waist as he leaned back further. "Bucky! A little more warning would've been nice!"

"I won't drop you, sweetheart." He murmured with a crooked smile and kept him in that pose for a few moments. True to his word, his hold never faltered and never made him think that he'd fall. He leaned in closer. Y/N's breath caught in his throat as Bucky pressed a soft kiss to his temple, lingering for another second as he spoke. "I promise."

Time didn't exist as they stood there like that, the song fading to a close and crossing to the next. They both broke into soft laughter, smiles matching as Bucky pulled Y/N upright. It was all so sweet and perfect, a little world away from the rest of everything.

Bucky kept their entwined hands close to his chest with a contented sigh. He held him nearer, resting his chin on the top of Y/N's head once they'd settled back into their positions. "Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"Would you let me take you out?" He asked, voice soft and timid. His heart was racing beneath his hand and in his ear. "Dinner somewhere or a walk in a park. Nothin' too fancy."

"I...would need to think about it," Y/N admitted, despite the fluttering in his stomach and the way his heart hammered against his chest. He did need to think about it considering the dynamics of the team and how closely they worked. But he wanted to say yes.

"Okay." Bucky breathed a soft sigh of what seemed to be relief. "Take however long you need. I'm not goin' anywhere."

And that is where they left that, choosing to continue dancing in the light of the fireplace. The conversation could be resumed another day when he was ready to provide an answer, but they were both content to hold each other close into the late hours until the playlist started again. For now, they swayed to the sweet voice of Ilene Woods.

So this is love. Mmhm. So this is love.

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"They're Playin Our Song"

Dream a Little Dream of Me (Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong)

So This is Love (Ilene Woods, Mike Douglas)

It's Been A Long Long Time (Harry James)

We'll Meet Again (Vera Lynn, Sailors, Soldiers & Airmen)

I Hear a Symphony (Cody Fry)

I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire (The Ink Spots)

L-O-V-E (Nat King Cole)

At Last (Etta James)

La Vie En Rose (Louis Armstrong)

On the Sunny Side of the Street (Frank Sinatra)

Everybody Loves Somebody (Dean Martin)

Down By The Old Mill Stream (New Orleans Footwarmers) - Grandma Recommends (GM)

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy (Andrews Sisters) - GM

When the Lights Go On Again (Vera Lynn) - GM

Don't Sit Under The Apple Tree (Glenn Miller) - GM

I'll Be Seeing You (Billie Holiday) - GM

As Time Goes By (Billie Holiday) - GM

I'll Never Smile Again (The Ink Spots) - GM

Fly Me To The Moon (Frank Sinatra, Count Basie) - GM

The Last Time I Saw Paris (Johnny Hodges) - GM

Singin' In The Rain (Gene Kelly) - GM

Sunflower (Frank Sinatra)

Asking Around for You (Joe Bonamassa - Nowhere in Particular)

Ma Belle Evangeline (Princess and the Frog)

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Taglist-

@supernaturalwintersoldier @shadowolf993 @booty-ass-hoe @fightmemacbeth @myybebe @pastel-boy-sungjae @unsure-username @raspberryyuuki @urs216 @misfortunatem00n @moonbintang @skylions-den @blurredx18 @elliot-damon-2006

#mint ice cream & bubblegum kisses #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x male reader #bucky barnes x single dad reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #james buchanan barnes fanfic #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x male reader #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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somnolent-pup · 7 months

Text

i n t r o d u c t o r y - p o s t

‘‘ STANDIN IN THE EYE OF THE STORM ; MY EYES START TO

ROLL TO THE CURL OF YOUR LIPS ,,

haii ^_0 !!! you can call me dusk (or just pup :3c) since i dont really want to attach my real name to this blog || im a 20 year old artist and trans man (really transmasc nonbinary + like a bajillion xenos im hoarding but :P) who uses he/it as well as pup/puppy and hy/hymn pronouns || i call myself a gay man primarily due to feeling like homosexuality is intrinsic to my identity as a man, in general my attraction orientation will always be queer because i grew up queer, i can and do experience attraction towards women and my preferences lean toward masculinity however that presents itself || im a good couple years post op for top surgery and ive been off and on t for a little over a year || im incredibly new to having an nsft account so im definitely gonna be a little shy, getting over the mortifying ordeal of being known or whatever; the autism really is not helping w that but we ball

before you go any further !!! this is an 18+ ONLY blog, and i will block anyone who disregards this

DO NOT INTERACT with this blog if you (are) ;

bigoted in any capacity, reblog or engage with pedophilic or zoophilic content, exclusionary, ableist, reblog scat/vomit/gas posts, dont have your age listed anywhere on your account

other than that, feel free to interact however ^_^ i am perfectly fine with wlw blogs interacting with the nonsexual posts or art on my blog but understand that i am !! a man !! and my posts are probably gonna be about other men for the majority >_<

(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ more under the cut

<33 !! ; petplay (specifically puppyplay ^_^), primal play, pup4pup, t4t, ‘deflowering’ (this is a slight one im just a pathetic virgin /pos), a/b/o dynamics, omorashi/watersports, praise, breeding, intox (weed), overstimulation, edging, size diff, somno, hypnotism, cnc, leather and bondage, cockwarming, marking, exhibitionism, free use, monsters >////<, older men and women hehehe, bears 💗✨💞🙏 wolves and foxes 💝🔥💘🫶 big hairy men ‼️💖🙏✨💟, probably more but i cant think of it rn

🚫 !! ; scat/unhygienic play (including oral p1ssplay specifically when im on the receiving end), anything involving birth, feederism, diapers, detrans, raceplay

i use the terms ‘cock’, ‘cunt’, ‘clit’, and ‘puppy parts’ for my genitalia, ‘tits’ or ‘chest’ for my chest, and i looove almost all terms of endearment but ‘puppy’, ‘baby’, ‘good boy’, ‘dog’, ‘mutt’, ‘boy’, and ‘sweet boy/pup’ make my heart flutter <333 im also chubby and refer to my stomach as my tummy or just my stomach most of the time heheh || i love both masc and neutral compliments but fem compliments are okay as well ^_^

#sleepy puppy ramblings - my general babbling

#whining - exactly what it says on the tin (general debauchery and horniness)

#speak - answering asks if i ever do

#🍃 - stoner talk

#scribbles - art

if i ever get around to writing out my own scenarios ill add those tags here as well !! i think thats about it, im probably forgetting some stuff, ill probably update this occassionally

‘’ IN THE CENTER OF ECLIPSE ; IN TOTAL DARKNESS I

REACH OUT AND TOUCH ,,

#nsft #trans nsft #nsft puppy

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kehideni · 2 years

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Ahh right i owe a Guild Wars 2 What lies beneath post..

SO!! Good things first: the suggested topic of the following who-knows-how-many installments. I really didn’t expect Arenanet, and i’ll go further: ANY mmorpg to EVER even come close to smelling a single WIFF of the mental state their main character is in due to the things the writers and the players put them through. I think it’s a great idea, just like when they killed the commander in PoF. It was ballsy, dramatic, and payed off well. If they can repeat that i’m gonna kiss my monitor for granting me the privilege to see this with one character twice.

The jokes were funny, the animations (exspecially charr eating ramen x’‘‘D if you haven’t seen it yet, look it up. it’s so funny and adorable and real), the connections between the rag-tag team we got for ourselves now. A+

BUT!

Icebrood Saga started out great just like this, and due to poor planning and a sudden steer of the wheel we all know how that panned out. Eventhough the charr and the norn really deserved to have the sort of spotlight IBS promised. And i can’t help but be kinda salty that once again, we are human focused. (and by human spotlight... i mean...that kinda involves everything GW1... it’s nice to get stuff from the source material, but mine too deep and you end up like World of Warcraft, an incoherent mess that lacks direction and literally had to take back SIX(6) expansion’s worth of steps, to be back on square 1 again, and i find it hilarious that this is why DF is praised so much as an expansion)

Once again, nothing wrong with taking from the source material, just don’t let that be your go-to every single time. GW2 is known for reinventing ideas, i just don’t want them to stop that good habit of theirs.

Onto the regrettable stuff: this update was too short. I hope it was this short only because it’s a prologue but IBS burned me once, i’m not gonna hold out my hand twice.

Also wtf Marjory, why wasn’t i invited to the wedding? How are you on your honeymoon with Kas if i WASN’T.AT.THE.FKEN.WEDDING?! Yes i know, that’s not really a thing a player can... er... play but like a little sniplet from it would have been enough... maybe show the new character animations there? Surely the commander could have slurped ramen at their wedding... and throw confetti, and like just have a 1-2 liner with characters you wanna check up on. How is my man Rytlock doing???? You wouldn’t even need voiceacting for it, just regular ol’ chat bubbles, come AAAWWWWN

The sinfully bad:

The new lootchests are a fkin scam. Mate-y, if i do a meta event then i want my reward. When all i had to pay for keys are shitty scraps i could farm without any active farming, just doing the meta there was no problem. But to pay for keys with MATERIALS??!?! B** I’M COLLECTING THE MATERIALS FOR LEGENDARIES!!! WHY WOULD I TRADE THAT UP FOR SHITTY GREEN UNIDENTIFIED STUFF?! uuuuuuuuuuuuuugggh Anet, who thought of this?! Why didn’t you give them a cup of coffee to wake up?!

Also ambushes are fkin brutal man... i love the extra challenge but come on.. atleast give those fkers’ abilities a cooldown where i can fakkIIIN USE ANY OF MY ABILITIES!! Once again, everyone that is not a guardian is fked over.

To close it in a positive note: the male charr voiceactor was perfect, they sounded just as broken and traumatised as i wanted a big ass warrior cat to be after being put through 5 different hells and back, and dying, and then losing their dragon-jesus daughter, and PTSD, and you all know i could still go on. Can’t wait to hear Palawa Joko’s monologue echo back on us, i’m calling it now!

“The scars you have gouged into it spell out your name for ALL to see” rawest. fkin. line. in an MMO. ever!!!

#guild wars 2 #spoilers #rant #what lies beneath #end of dragons

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dlthedescent · 3 years

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Blog Update-ish: Shoutouts

This is gonna be a thing isn’t it. Constantly updating this blog. All cuz I never done a lot of things here for years...

Ahem. Another update to this blog and it’s actually very much a thank you as well as a large shoutout over these DL blogs. The fan community for Dying Light is quite small when it comes to fanart, fanfics and lore-discussing, even for the fun of it and it’s hard to find like-minded people. I’ve always wanted to bring more attention to those kinds of blogs because they deserve a lot of attention and love for loving a game (now series with DL2) and now I’m gonna do that as much as I can SO HELP ME. This isn’t just and should only be a fanfiction blog; honestly if it weren’t for these incredible, creative and dedicated people in this community, I might not have done a number of things for my writing and for the Descent. I thank you guys for the fun, beautiful stuff you’ve created, the support and sharing the love, (and listening to my rambling of a madwoman over on discord :’D).

So without further ado, let me go over the list, which is the Shoutout page being updated on their links.

@rahimaldemir @incorrect-dying-light-quotes @kylecrane (@tafferling included) @crane--here (@gallalctyka included) @lyypeachu @auraaldemir @megandaisy9 @dyinglightimagines

As a content creator of this small blog, please do me a favor and go check out their blogs and enjoy the many things of DL fandom! Spread the word!

also i dunno who other DL content creator blog i might have missed so please dm me any great DL blogs or tag here because I wanna know too. The more the merrier~!

did i miss anyone though? ;w;

#updates #blog changes #Dying light #dying light game #fandom #content creators #DL blogs #dying light blogs #shoutouts #all sorts of beautiful creations #AM I MISSING ANYONE i hope im not #go look at their works go!

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cartoonaesthetic99 · 2 years

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public promo to reveal chaos lol

credit

“We can live like Jack and Sally if we want” - Blink 182

Greetings community, My name is Cosvin I had been a selfshipper on this hellsite since 2016 but I’ve been on this hellsite beginning from 2015... BEFORE some of yall anti h3talians splash anon hate on me; please just take your time to walk around the park, or just find yourself getting off of topic, you have no means to spread harm- i may have some mistakes in the past, maybe in the hetalia RP discord but again I have learned in life that I should put my boundaries, and trying to be more honest with myself.

im just gonna give familiarity over my art excuse me

As half of maybe you all know, me for some specific art that i made, and as well my selfships... if you want to know through my art... well. half of f yall are familiar with these old drawings

Theres more if you look into my tag of #cosvin’s art

but yeah

ive been maybe halfly known through art, and if from qoutev, thats also me there too... if I can explain further, (ill edit this anyway so yeah)

I am 23 years old who works on a catering... studies culinary arts.. but i love to draw, and write sometimes- but yeah... this time on this acc itll be filled with half of funny suggestive- I’ll tag it as #tw funny suggestive a s a warning for yall

but yea this acc will be mostly SFW- i only have a private nsfw tumblr acc thats only for adult mutuals...

Interests

Hetalia

Stranger Things

Star Wars

MHA

Anything in gen- Theres more of my past interests in here if you wanna see

My main f/os

(and f/os i consider the same soul itself excuse me i have the multiverse theory hahahha yeah

Gilbert Bielschmidt

Eddie Munson

Guzma

Atsuhiro Sako

Tordsen Lark

here’s my list of f/os for more though... in here for Familiaral f/os mostly its my adopted fam

an d yea thats all i have heres my dni... ig this is now a public acc for yall but i may not be too in there? but ill try to check every now and then- you dont have to follow the DNI i know there’s the important notes on the DNI but yeah.

thats all ig what i have here... unless i update idk-

again now im not afraid to show my love for my f.os- if anyone has a problem with it, i m so sorry with my impulse but thats your diddley darn problem just get yourself a walk in the park for fuckles sake and find whats comfortable for you- if you’re not comfortable with me just dni- thats all there is to it! as I said-

if you read this far and accepted this uh hi have a cookie! idk 🍪🍪🍪 I want to say thank you for reading an d i hope you have a good day-

im NOT AFRAID to show my love for Gilbert and Eddie anymore... and will fight my love for them idk (im not the TYPE to bash other ships i stg i wont send hate I just block too, no hard feelings hun 💖✌) and yeah if yall are lucky enough to be my mutual i can show you my most active b l o g i just gonna say yeah... im selective. still-

as for final part... heres my selfship art with eddie or gil- hahah these are so far im prou d of

#self ship promo #self ship community #tw hetalia #for THOSE who filter okay?#hetalia #stranger things selfship #hetalia selfship #mha selfship #stranger things #mha #bnha #eddsworld selfship #eddsworld #cuphead ment #kokichi ment #bendy ment

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

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you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3 took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting.

Harry still hates clubs.

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them.

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now.

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M.

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry.

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics.

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement.

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective.

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love.

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp.

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall?

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left.

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them.

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations.

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke.

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant.

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought.

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun.

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend?

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen.

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis.

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes.

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air.

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread.

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone.

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds.

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation.

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum.

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since.

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis.

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox.

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights.

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter.

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on.

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday.

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch.

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills.

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it.

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy.

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart.

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back.

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind.

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points.

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends.

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed.

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable.

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you.

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all.

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes?

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call.

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget.

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds.

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently.

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…?

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater.

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles.

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle.

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand.

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black.

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.”

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.”

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.”

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.”

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.”

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all.

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break.

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive.

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.”

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.”

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.”

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line.

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving.

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!”

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.”

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.”

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.”

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.”

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!”

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams.

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit.

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence.

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home.

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago.

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on.

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals.

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger.

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school.

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed.

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all.

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy.

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating.

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly.

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia.

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him.

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals.

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this.

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat.

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point.

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N.

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge.

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint.

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress.

Fuck, the dress.

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met.

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink.

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly.

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water.

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle.

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly.

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.”

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it.

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.”

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.”

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories.

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck.

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?”

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.”

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is.

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers.

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.”

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch.

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter.

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts.

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage.

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.”

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.”

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.”

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle.

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.”

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again.

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way.

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.”

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.”

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic.

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once.

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!”

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement.

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place.

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.”

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk.

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes.

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for.

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.”

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets.

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.”

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs.

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick?

“It felt really nice.”

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.”

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later.

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.”

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man.

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire.

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.”

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it.

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position.

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm.

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.”

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.”

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.”

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue.

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.”

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.”

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last.

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives.

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity.

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.”

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.”

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs.

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest.

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak.

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be.

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days.

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle?

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke.

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request.

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear.

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials.

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time.

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7.

I’ll see you there, then.

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist.

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather.

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits.

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.”

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal.

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know.

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet.

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.”

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.”

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around.

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days.

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever.

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.”

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can.

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls.

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.”

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her.

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour.

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion.

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock.

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans.

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight.

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.”

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress.

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.”

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber.

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot.

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.”

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?”

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder.

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings.

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response.

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn.

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her.

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck.

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex.

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.”

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly.

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?”

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?”

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”

“Hands off.”

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.”

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind.

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.”

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked.

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better.

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts.

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged.

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then.

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level.

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that.

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold.

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him.

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane.

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home.

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him.

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device.

I need interior design advice.

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time.

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh.

Genuinely?

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot.

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it.

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl.

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall.

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry?

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide.

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback.

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits.

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall.

Immature?

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry.

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs.

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks.

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries.

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up.

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her.

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours.

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play.

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex.

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective.

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures.

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet.

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue.

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs.

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect.

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching.

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh.

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives.

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark?

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache.

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief?

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else.

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her.

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry.

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants.

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants.

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly.

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way.

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot.

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack.

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally.

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background.

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination.

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish.

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes.

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever.

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going.

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours.

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it.

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure.

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core.

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right.

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth.

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now.

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen.

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit.

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders.

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance.

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person.

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

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bedrock-to-buildheight · 3 years

Text

Villager asks

Aka wow y'all are not helping with the urge to worldbuild /pos

im almost afraid to ask this but... how do zombie villagers work in ur world..?

Zombification is the biggest concern for a village (Illagers can occasionally be reasoned with - there's no talking your way out of minedcraft rabies). A village with a steady supply of emeralds for transmuting or blaze powder and golden apples fairs better, but it's Death By Fire most of the time. Priests have Seen Some Shit and in an interesting inversion of real life, are usually the ones that questions the universe's love the most.

The lower prices thing is pretty realistic imo, I mean, You Literally Saved Their Live of course you're getting a discount at the bookshop they run

Walker you so perfectly encapsulated my Quarantine Yearning in that little cat villager curled up on the ram's lap I almost cried /gen how you draw the Tender Hugs so good

Step 1. Yearn

Step 2. Learn

Step 3. Earn

Really it just comes with being stuck indoors with a very affectionate lapcat

@oakstar519 asked: fully down the resource pack rabbithole now. question: do you have a tag with all your villager-related lore and drawings? I'm going roughly off your designs for mobs you've done but tumblr search is atrocious and won't show me anything.

I'm gonna make a post after this to link in the masterpost (oh god I'm so behind on updating the masterpost)

also. Could a villager mimic something that villagers are scared of, like an illager or a zombie? and if so, would other villagers recognize that they are just mimicking them, or would they be scared? (or do illagers work in a similar way with shapeshifting, since they're so similar to villagers?) sorry for the spam i am having Thoughts

They don't do that bc best case scenario they made a mortal enemy out of their local priest, worst case scenario they get murked by their local golem/anyone with a weapon

It's not a problem illagers have since they're immune to zombies, but they don't do that either bc undead creatures in general are against their thing, which is life magic and returning life to the universe (I'm making up culture things as an excuse here, I just think We Have Enough Zombies Already). Some of them do mimic zombies bc counterculture is forever a thing

Your Minecraft world building has inspired me to create a whole culture for the villagers :D for example, a lot of villages have this weird thing that is two grass blocks, surrounded by upright trapdoors, with around three different flowers on top. It’s usually a bit further away from the main areas, and sometimes in a flower patch. I’ve interpreted it as a grave/casket for someone of importance (possibly a dead golem?) The three flowers signify the passing of life into the other two worlds.

Oh this is the most amazing thing, I hope you'll do sth cool with it!

And post-villagers and pillagers update architecture is just straight worldbuilding fuel, like how in the snowy tundra village everything are just 50 shades of spruce but then there's white red and blue beds. And I know it's done for aesthetic purposes but where the hell do they get blue dye from?? In my universe they could just transmute them in but that's still emeralds that could be food or fuel they're using for dyes of That Color Specifically. It's so human in an unintended way

#ask bedrock #woo okay time to sleep that was a lot of writing #on villagers

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krappykawa · 4 years

Text

i mildly like you more than like (pt. 6)

— in which an incessant fan girl, a kiss, and a little bit of denial makes oikawa tooru realize he might mildly like you more than like

description. you’ve been in love with oikawa tooru for longer than you can remember. having known him for the better part of nearly 11 years, you’ve come to accept that you’ll never be more than a best friend to him. but with the help of a few irritatingly persistent fangirls and a kiss that was only meant to drive them away, a tale of unrequited love might just prove to be something more.

word count. 7.9k

oikawa tooru x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, some angst

parts. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

author’s note. ahhh final part!! this story has been a thrill to write and it really does hold a special place in my heart so i’m so so happy with the positive feedback it’s gotten from all of you! for those that have stuck around every week for an update, here’s the final part! i hope you all like it :D

author’s note 2. so sorry for the repost! something went wrong with the tags but i hope it’s fine now!

previously ...

It almost hits him like a truck then because huh, he’s in love with you. And yet, he doesn’t feel so different, he just feels lighter.

“Huh.”

“You finally figured it out then?”

Oikawa smiles to himself. “Yeah, I think I did.” He’s almost glad that you had to spend your lunch tutoring one of the first-years because he’s not too sure what he would do with himself if you were here.

A smile finds its way onto Iwaizumi’s lips. “Happy to see it, asshole. Just don’t keep her waiting on you for another three years.”

“I won’t. I don’t plan on wasting any more time now that I finally figured it out.”

“How do you plan on telling her then?”

“That I love her?”

“You love her?” A voice that’s not Iwaizumi’s nearly jolts him from his seat. He’d know that voice anywhere.

He turns to find you standing not far from where he and Iwaizumi are seated and feels the color drain from his face.

“You love her?”

The question echoes over the soft whipping of the night wind, poorly masking the sound of heartbreak that seems to reverberate within every uttered syllable in the three words that had just left your lips on their own accord. Three measly words, and yet - you can feel the way that your heart slowly tears itself apart.

Your love for him was kept silent for so long, a love that you only ever communicated through glances that lasted longer than they should have, arms that wrapped just a centimeter too tight to be friendly, and smiles that tipped upwards in a way that it only did for him. It was the fear of this - that despite everything you had to offer, the object of your affections would never see you in the light that you saw him.

And you hate it. You hate how fast he stands from the bench, hate how the wind whips softly over his hair and forces chestnut strands over his eyes, hate how under the pale moonlight and with someone else standing next to him, he’s still all that you see.

Maybe if you’d just let go of that fear and just told him, maybe you wouldn’t be standing here feeling this way. Or maybe he’d have broken your heart back then and he wouldn’t be in your garden in the first place. You decide that you’d rather be standing here, eyes locked with Oikawa in an awkward standstill than have that scenario come to fruition.

“How long have you been standing there?” is all he says.

You turn your gaze down to the wide slabs of rock under your feet, unable to look at him in the eye any longer. There’s no inclination to cry, which surprises you. Maybe it’s because you already wasted all your tears earlier on in the day and have now run empty. Or maybe it’s because the possibility that he had already fallen for Hishoko had already been echoing over and over in your head throughout the night.

“Not long. I only just came out,” you say as you tilt your head back up to look at him.

Oikawa seems to let out a breath of relief, which sends pinpricks further into your heart. You wonder what could’ve been so personal about his love for Hishoko that he wouldn’t want you knowing.

“Oh, okay,” Oikawa pauses. “Iwa-chan and I were just out here for a breath of air. Couldn’t sleep. You know how it is.” A small smile makes its way onto his lips, almost sheepish in shape. There are lies on his tongue, that much you can tell.

“So? You love Hishoko? That’s a pretty big deal for you.”

Oikawa’s mouth comes open, but no words fall out. An answer instead comes from beside him.

“No,” is all Iwaizumi says. He’s looking at you with a hard stare, as if you should be able to read the unspoken words in his sentence. For the first time, you can’t.

Oikawa’s head whips to Iwaizumi. From where you’re standing, you can just barely make out the minuscule movement of his lips and the glare he directs in Iwaizumi’s direction.

Your eyes follow both their expressions as Oikawa’s goes from panicked, to angry, to firm, and Iwaizumi’s goes from angry, to stubborn, to a firmness that matches Oikawa’s. You don’t know what to think of the staring match that seems to have started between the two, each both unblinking and equally as stubborn in their resolves.

The tense air between the two of them stretches on for far longer than it should, and for the first time, you think that Oikawa might be the first one to throw a punch this time. It’s not that these two haven’t physically fought before, but it’s never Oikawa that throws the first punch or kick. You wonder what could’ve happened to make Oikawa so firm in his glare. It’s almost off-putting to see it directed at Iwaizumi.

“Am I missing something here?” Neither of them immediately turn at the sound of your voice, but there’s a tick to both their jaws that inclines that they did indeed hear you.

Iwaizumi breaks eye contact first, but not without a snide click of his tongue. He crosses his arms as Oikawa’s face finally returns to a state that doesn’t resemble the devil.

“No. Iwa-chan and I just got into a little spat before you came out. Not a big deal. We’re alright now,” Oikawa says pleasantly. Lies. Lies. Lies.

You raise a brow at him. “So you managed to fix whatever shit went down between you two with a staring contest?”

“Don’t underestimate the power of Iwa-Oikawa, Y/N-chan,” he says again with that same irritating fraud smile.

The smile doesn’t relent. You feel whatever patience you have drain out. You wouldn’t have minded if he was just honest about lying to you, but there’s something about being treated like someone who hasn’t been by his side for 11 years that makes your blood boil. You don’t care if he has secrets (you’d be the biggest hypocrite if you got angry for that), but what you won’t tolerate is being met with this fake version of Oikawa that you’ve never known because you were there before he even had the thought to hide his real self around you.

“Cut the shit, ‘Kawa. Stop fucking lying to me,” you grind out.

The smile drops.

“I’m not lying to you.”

The lies on his lips stay firmly glued on.

You fix one hard stare on Oikawa before switching your gaze to Iwaizumi. His position hasn’t moved from when he crossed his arms, but his jaw is hardened even farther that you almost find yourself worrying for the well-being of his teeth. “Iwa? You see that he’s lying too right?”

“He is.”

Oikawa’s head snaps to Iwaizumi’s for the second time. “Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi just holds a hand up to him and sighs.

“But,” Iwaizumi pauses, his gaze fixing on you with what might be sympathy. “For once in his goddamn life, he’s lying with good cause.”

Your gaze switches wildly between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. If it was anyone else that had said that, you would’ve engaged in a potential screaming match with Oikawa by now. But there’s something about Iwaizumi saying it that only makes you lose a bit of that bubbling anger. You know that Iwaizumi might have the most unbiased opinions for anyone that you know, so if he’s saying that whatever’s going with Oikawa isn’t something you’re meant to know, it almost feels like a defeat.

“Okay,” you finally say. You know that you’re not getting anything out of either of them if Iwaizumi is covering for Oikawa. The breath in Oikawa’s lungs seems to return and you wonder again what he so badly wanted to keep from you. Instead of asking, you just sigh. “I’m gonna head in then. Don’t stay out too late. You might get sick.”

Before you turn and head for the door, you swear that you see a flicker of regret in Oikawa’s eyes.

“Shoko-chan, can I speak with you?”

Oikawa walks up to Hishoko’s figure in the middle of a hallway. She’s standing next to the best friend he’s always hearing about, fingers wrapped around her best friend’s arm in a delicate manner. As Hishoko looks up at him and nods, he attempts to send the girl a friendly smile while he takes Hishoko away, hoping that he won’t get hunted alive for breaking Hishoko’s heart. He already knows from what Hishoko’s told him that this girl might love her more than anyone on earth, and he can only hope that her wrath isn’t as harsh as he deserves.

As he holds loosely onto Hishoko’s hand and pulls her beside a pillar that’s clear of people, he recites the speech he made in his head.

He would be lying if he said that he didn’t regret how the night at your house had ended, but he knew that it was for the best. He wouldn’t be able to confess his love to you with a clear conscience if he was still with someone else, and from how close you and Hishoko seemed to be, he takes that you wouldn’t be able to accept his confession (He hopes, he hopes. Iwaizumi’s reassured him that you feel the same, but he doesn’t want to assume) with a clear conscience either.

He recites his plan over and over again. Break up with Hishoko with as minimal heartbreak on her end as possible, wait a few weeks so that he doesn’t seem insensitive, then confess his love to you with something special that you’ll forget that you were mad at him for keeping it a secret in the first place. (He also feels like he owes you something special, especially after Iwaizumi told him about how long you’ve potentially been in love with him. Though Iwaizumi never really specified that you were actually in love with him for what he can only guess is respect for your secrets, Oikawa could feel the weight of the unsaid words just from Iwaizumi’s gruff words).

In getting caught up with his thoughts, he doesn’t even notice that he’s been standing in front of Hishoko in silence for who knows how long. He’s surprised that she’s not confused. Instead, she’s grinning.

“Shoko-chan, I’m-”

“Breaking up with me?” she interrupts before he can even get the rest of his prepared explanation out.

Oikawa blinks at her, unsure of how to react. He was expecting her to maybe push him away or maybe cry, but instead, she’s looking up at him with a knowing sparkle in her eyes. He takes a breath. “How did you … how did you know?”

Her smile only widens. “I would be a fool if I didn’t notice. I think I knew even back then, from the way you looked at her when you introduced her to me. No best friend looks at their best friend unless they’re in love with them.”

“Then why did you stay with me for so long?”

“I didn’t know at first. I … I thought all best friends looked at each other like that,” she says. Oikawa doesn’t miss the way that her eyes dart to where her best friend is standing against a pole in the adjacent hallway.

Oikawa stares at the two of them, and suddenly he understands. It really doesn’t surprise him. Hishoko’s relationship with her best friend was similar to his relationship with you now that he’s truly thinking about it. “Why didn’t you … break up with me sooner? You know … if you ..” he asks while cocking his head towards the girl that was still discreetly watching them.

Hishoko just shrugs. “I was in denial for a long time. I think I finally realized it when I kissed you after your game. You’re like the most wanted guy at school, and yet I just …”

“I get it.” Oikawa nods in understanding and Hishoko flashes him a grateful smile. “I think she might love you too by the way, if the way she’s looking over here is any indication.”

Her gazes flicks back over to the girl in question and Oikawa can’t help but recognize the look on Hishoko’s face. Not that he’s actually ever seen what he looks like when he looks at you, but there’s an odd sense of familiarity at the look. After a few seconds, Hishoko turns back to him, her smile even wider than before. “Thanks, Oikawa-kun. Treat Y/N well, she’s an angel.”

“I know. I know she is.”

Hishoko grins cheekily up at him. “And tell her to text me, just because you and I are broken up doesn’t mean that I’m losing her friendship.”

“Will do, Shoko-chan.”

“Hishoko broke up with you? Tooru, what the hell?”

Though there was still a certain air of terseness that surrounded you and Oikawa, you knew that you had to talk to him the minute you heard from some gossiping group of girls that he’d been broken up with by his month-long girlfriend. Despite how much it had hurt you to learn that he was nursing such strong feelings for Hishoko, you still cared enough about his happiness that you would never have wanted him to be heartbroken over someone he really did love.

But the sight you’re met with when you finally find him is not a sight you would expect from someone who’d just gotten broken up with by a girl he potentially had strong feelings for.

When you find him standing with Iwaizumi under one of the cherry blossom trees, his face doesn’t hold an ounce of distress. You wonder what the hell might have changed between Saturday night and right now that could make Oikawa so relaxed about getting his heartbroken by the second girl he’s ever loved.

Oikawa’s gaze immediately finds yours as you walk up to them and whatever conversation he and Iwaizumi seem to be having is paused. You don’t miss the way that they exchange glances.

“Actually, I was the one who broke up with her. It was mutual, but she jokingly asked that nobody find out that I was the one who broke up with her. I figured I would do her that little kindness,” he says simply. “I meant to tell you earlier, but you seemed adamant on avoiding me. I was going to tell you later tonight by barging into your house and forcing you to speak to me but-”

That’s news to you.

“You broke up with Hishoko?”

Oikawa’s brow furrows. “Yes …?”

“But, I thought you said you loved her? Why would you break up with her if you loved her?”

Iwaizumi answers before Oikawa can. “He doesn’t. He never did.” This time, Oikawa seems to be prepared for Iwaizumi’s words and looks eerily calm rather than panicked.

The truth behind Iwaizumi’s words is evident, but if Hishoko wasn’t the person they were talking about before you stepped out into the garden, then who was? A tiny voice in your head supplies you with an answer, but it’s an answer that you’re sure your brain is just supplying in order to make you feel better. You pay the tiny voice no mind.

“Then … what was Saturday night about?” You look between the both of them. “What was I missing there?”

Oikawa’s staring at you once more, but this time he doesn’t look as if he’s searching for an answer. Instead he’s looking at you with something that you can’t pinpoint. You’re not even sure if the way he’s looking at you is negative or positive.

When Oikawa doesn’t make any indication that he’s going to speak anytime soon, you switch your gaze to Iwaizumi. He’s staring at Oikawa knowingly.

You can’t help but feel like there’s something huge that you’re missing here. What irritates you most is that you don’t know what it might be.

One moment, you believe that Oikawa’s in love with his girlfriend and the next you’re being told that he never loved her like that in the first place? You’ve known Oikawa long enough that he doesn’t throw around the word “love” when it comes with a romantic connotation. Not when he expressed to you that all he knew about his future was that he wanted to keep chasing volleyball, and he wasn’t entirely sure how many people would be willing to put up with that.

“I can’t say,” Oikawa finally says. There it is again, that odd tone in his voice.

The conversation is much too reminiscent of the same conversation you had with Oikawa in your kitchen that Saturday night. You wonder if this is the world’s way of making you realize your own hypocrisy. You know that you put Oikawa in the exact same position then that he’s putting you in now.

But Oikawa’s always been more trained in masking his emotions with whatever facade he wants to use. You on the other hand, have always let curiosity and anger have too much rein on your emotions.

“Iwa? What’s going on?”

Iwaizumi sighs. “It pains me to say this, but I think you should listen to him. He has a reason for not telling you right now, and it’s the only reason he’s ever come up with that’s made sense.”

That anger spikes again and you feel a stab of guilt at how hypocritical you’re being. “So you’re just going to keep me in the dark about why the hell you broke up on the girlfriend that you said you loved.”

“Iwa-chan wasn’t lying,” Oikawa says. “I don’t love her.”

“Then what …”

“Y/N,” Oikawa interrupts. This is the first time in 5 years that he’s ever said your name without the teasing ‘chan’ at the end. “I’ll let you know soon, okay? I promise.”

Your gazes stay locked on each other and there’s something about the depth of his look that you can’t seem to look away from.

You know that you could probably stand here and force him to tell you, but that’s not how the two of you worked. Your decade of friendship has gone through plenty of highs and lows, but it’s always been a relationship built on mutual trust and love.

There were times when he would promise you that he wouldn’t stay overtime to practice that you knew were lies, but you trusted him well enough to believe that he wouldn’t incessantly push himself to the brink like he might’ve used to.

There were times where he’d get in arguments with his sister that he’s never told you about, but he’d come to your house anyway and spend an hour just sitting in silence with you in the backyard because he knew that you trusted and respected his emotions enough to not push.

There were times when you sat in his bedroom and listened as he tried to pretend like his eyes didn’t light up at the idea of travelling the world to play volleyball, but you both trusted each other enough to know that when the time did come for him to admit it to himself, you would both figure it out.

So no, you won’t push, no matter how much you might want to. For the second time in two days, you say, “Okay.”

Oikawa knows he has to wait. He knows he can’t confess to you right away. He’s well accustomed to the ruthless rumor mill at Aoba Johsai, and he would hate for a repeat of second-year.

For his three years at Aoba Johsai, he’s seemed to become exempt from any nasty rumors (with the exception of the inevitable few that he just chooses to brush off), but he found that you were not. Late last year, Oikawa had gotten out of a short relationship, one that he’d ended because he was prioritizing volleyball a little too much, and he just couldn’t find it in him to compromise.

He of course expected the tears from the girl he was with, but what he wasn’t expecting were the tears from you. Somehow, a rumor had gone around that painted you in a terrible light with a few choice words that made Oikawa grip his locker with white knuckles. They’d dragged you into a situation that you weren’t even a part of because someone had gotten jealous of his close friendship with you.

So yes, he would wait. Even though he and Hishoko had ended on friendly and mutual terms, he wouldn’t give the nasty rumor mill anything to talk about.

He knows that you might be angry with him for keeping secrets so deliberately. But if there was something he never wanted to experience again, it would be watching your smile drop off your face as heard the rumors. He’d gladly let you be angry with him for whatever amount of time you wanted if it meant that he didn’t have to frantically search for you all over the school during lunch only to find you crying in an abandoned restroom because you’d been called a demeaning word that had no place being used to describe you.

Besides, the time he’s using to wait until his relationship with Hishoko has gone its rounds in the rumor mill has been time that he’s been using to concoct a surprise for you.

So far, his plans haven’t been working.

He’s been coming home late everyday from practice and staying up well into the night due to unsuccessful attempts at baking a cake. He’s well aware that you’re a baker and that whatever mess of a cake he might be able to concoct won’t hold a candle to the cakes you can make. But he wants to let you know.

Oikawa’s well aware that his rocky past with his relationships hasn’t set a great track record and he’s noticed more than once that you seemed to be surprised anytime that he showed an inclination for trying with any of his romantic relationships. He doesn’t want you to still think that way when he confesses.

He wants you to know that for all his faults and shortcomings, he’s not going to mess up with you.

That’s why he’s sitting at lunch with yet another crumbly piece of half-scorched cake. It’s been two weeks since his first attempt at a cake, and it seems that he’s severely overestimated his own baking skills.

“That’s the fifth piece of burnt cake I’ve seen you miserably eating this week,” Iwaizumi says from beside him.

Oikawa just shrugs. “I’m trying to bake a cake for Y/N-chan. I think my oven just hates me.”

“It more than hates you if your cakes always look like that pile of shit.” A voice says from in front of Oikawa. Hanamaki is looking down at the miserable looking cake sitting in his bento box with an amused grin.

Oikawa lifts his nose arrogantly in the air. “Like you could do any better, Makki,” he crosses his arms. “You nearly burned down Y/N’s house only two weeks ago.”

Hanamaki lets out a small laugh before taking a seat across from Oikawa. Matsukawa slides in next to him.

“Yeah, but Mattsun can.”

Oikawa turns his head in Matsukawa’s direction. “Mattsun? You … know how to bake?”

Matsukawa lets out a snort. “Yeah, dipshit. Who do you think makes the brownies?”

In hindsight, Oikawa probably should have known that. Matsukawa often brings brownies for the third-years to eat after practice on their way home, but Oikawa never knew that Mattsun himself had been the one to make them. He always just assumed that his mother made them.

“Why are you making a cake for Y/N anyway? It’s not her birthday isn’t it?”

“He finally got his shit together and is planning to confess to her. I think he’s already failed,” Iwaizumi notes with a glance at the cake that looks like something Takeru would make.

“Fucking finally,” Hanamaki says a little too loud. A few heads turn to their table, but Oikawa just smiles politely at them until they have the decency to look away. Once the eyes have stopped looking in their direction, Hanamaki speaks again, this time considerably quieter than before. “Mattsun’s gonna help, isn’t that right Mattsun? Only because it’s for Y/N.”

Matsukawa rolls his eyes before mumbling a reluctant, “Fine.”

“Why does Mattsun’s look like that? Mine don’t look anything close to that.”

Oikawa’s leaning against his kitchen counter, watching with a concentrated stare as Matsukawa skillfully coats the small, round cake in fluffy, white frosting. The cake this time came out perfectly cooked and came out of the pan without falling apart. Oikawa finds himself cursing all of the half-burnt cake sitting in his fridge for not cooking properly.

Iwa snorts. “Because you’re a shit baker Oikawa.”

“Shut up Iwa-chan! My oven just hates me!”

All he gets from Iwaizumi is a chuckle and an eyeroll. Makki laughs lightly.

“Hey, ‘Kawa. You said you wanted to write something on this?” Mattsun asks as he finishes frosting the cake.

Oikawa stares at the small cake and around at the three standing in his kitchen. Suddenly the phrase he wanted to write on there sounds far more embarrassing than it did when it was only him making the cake.

“No, I didn’t,” he says.

Iwaizumi looks at him. “You’re lying.”

Oikawa’s hands come up to cross against his chest. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Hanamaki leans against the counter and sports a grin that Oikawa thinks looks far too close to a hyena. “Come on, as long you weren’t planning to write a dick joke, it can’t be that bad.”

“Makki!”

Hanamaki holds his arms up. “Hey, no need to yell, captain.”

Before Oikawa can whine out another reply, Iwaizumi reaches an arm behind him and snatches the paper that Oikawa had used to first sketch out the cake he was attempting to make. Oikawa tries to snatch it back before Iwaizumi can read it, but Iwa pulls far away from him before he can get the chance to do so.

Iwaizumi’s eyes scan the paper with a mildly amused smile on his face. When he lifts his eyes back up to meet Oikawa’s, his eyebrows are raised. “Really, Oikawa? You were going with this line?”

“Iwa-chan, be nice to me!”

Hanamaki comes up behind Iwaizumi and snatches the paper from the shorter wing-spiker.

His mouth drops open as he stares between the paper and Oikawa. “You’re a sap! You’re a fucking sap!”

Oikawa groans, already wanting to shrivel up on the floor and just sit there. Matsukawa attempts to take a peek over Hanamaki’s shoulder. “What’s it say?” His eyes skim the paper. “Ew, gross. You’re even worse when you’re aware of your feelings. You’re like a walking romance manga.”

“Mattsun shut up! It’s special to me!”

Matsukawa waves a hand at him, but there’s a smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah whatever. It’s a little cute. It’ll be hard to pipe it on though. I’ll just make one of those little toothpick banners.”

The hands that Oikawa was previously hiding his face in fall to his side. “Wait, you’re actually gonna put it on there?”

“Only because I think Y/N will like it. Knowing you, you’ll mess up the actual confession part. At least, if that happens then you can just show her the cake and maybe save your ass,” Mattsun teases.

“Do any of you have any faith in me?”

“No.”

“Iwa-chan!”

You’re wiping down a dirty table when the bakery bell chimes to indicate a new customer. Rather than a new customer however, you’re instead met with the sight of Oikawa Tooru with his hair looking more coiffed than usual and wearing an outfit that you’re sure he’d taken straight from a Pinterest aesthetic board. Coupled with the soft smile that graces his face, he looks as beautiful as ever.

“How many loaves do you want?” You ask, already mid-stride on the way to your place behind the cashier with the expectation that he’s come for another purchase of the milk bread that seems to be his holy grail.

“Actually, I’m not buying anything. I came here to pick you up,” Oikawa says.

You furrow your brow at him. “My shift doesn’t end until nine.”

Oikawa makes a flicking motion with his hand. “I already had a conversation with your boss. He said he’ll let you off early.”

That makes you pause. You vaguely remember a conversation between you and your boss nearly two months ago when you left early to pick Oikawa up from practice.

With that memory also comes the memory of what happened after you picked Oikawa up, but you will the thought out of your head.

However, since then, your boss Hada-san told you that every time you left early, you would have to be make up with overtime hours. Since then, you hadn’t left early for any of your shifts.

“How did you manage to do that?”

Oikawa flashes that grin that seems to be second-nature to him at this point, his teeth flashing brightly. “Don’t question my charm Y/N-chan.”

You raise a brow at him across the counter.

Before Oikawa can say anything else, your boss pops his head out from the kitchen with flour littering his cheeks. He looks rather cheerful for a man whose bakery is empty on what is usually one of the busier days of the week. “Oikawa, hey! Don’t forget about tomorrow. My grandson’s practically dying to learn.”

It isn’t hard to figure out then just what Oikawa bribed your boss with. Oikawa greets the older man with a friendly smile and a promise that he’s more than excited to teach his grandson. Before Hada-san retreats behind the door, his statement of “Your boyfriend is a very lovely young man, Y/N!” makes you nearly choke on air.

You try to cover up your little malfunction by coughing into your sleeve.

“So, only your charm then?”

You swear that there’s a light redness to Oikawa’s cheeks. “Okay, maybe I promised to teach his grandson volleyball so that he can let you off early today. With pay.”

“With pay?” you gape as you look between him and the door your boss just disappeared behind. “Have I ever told you about how much I love you?”

“No, but you really should say it more often,” he says cockily at first. With a softer voice he says,”It sounds nice coming from you.”

You try to keep your face neutral. Even after everything, Oikawa’s breakup with Hishoko has only intensified your feelings for him. Especially since Hishoko herself has been bugging you about confessing to him ever since their breakup happened (though she won’t give you any other reason to do so other than just do it, trust me).

You start to strip the gloves off your hands as you say, “Alright, shut the ego up.”

“Get out of that apron then. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

Oikawa grins. “Well, you’re just gonna have to hurry up and find out aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes at the smug smile on his face before disappearing into the kitchen. At the counter, Hada-san is busy with creating a batch of cookies that will have to freeze overnight. You smile sheepishly at him when he looks up from chopping blocks of chocolate.

“That boy cares a lot about you, you know.” He lets out a chuckle. “He practically begged me to let you off early.”

You remember how he mistook Oikawa as your boyfriend earlier and shake your head at him. “We’re only friends, Hada-san. He’s just like that.”

“Friends?” He pauses his chopping once more to give you an almost incredulous look. “Really?”

You offer your boss a small smile. “Yeah. That’s all we ever are.”

He just shrugs. “You should tell him how you feel, you never know.”

“He doesn’t feel the same, it’s practically a lost cause at this point.” You try to hide the bitterness in your voice as you hang your apron up near the small rack at the far end of the kitchen.

Hada-san clicks his tongue. “Hmm, my head baker giving up? I don’t like to see that. But hey, it’s your life. Just make sure you don’t have any regrets.”

You wonder what could be so interesting about your miserable love life that even your boss is attempting to give you advice. “Of course, Hada-san.” You stop right before the door. “I should get going. I’ll see you on Monday.”

He lets out a small hum of agreement. You turn to push the door open.

“Y/N, one last thing.” You pause. Hada-san flashes you a small grin. “I think you need to look a little closer.”

“So. What’s the surprise?”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow at you. “It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, now would it Y/N-chan?”

“We’ve been walking for 20 minutes and you still jump at any mention of ‘surprise’.”

“Because it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

You groan and place you head in your hands. “I hate you,” you mumble.

“You love me.” Even though you can’t see him, you know for sure that Oikawa’s currently sporting a teasing grin on his lips.

You let your hands drop back down to your sides and your left hand brushes against Oikawa’s right hand lightly. You merely shake your head at him, already over the irony of those words. The two of you continue walking in a relatively comfortable silence.

“Okay now close your eyes,” Oikawa instructs. The two of you are standing at the edge of the park near Seijoh. Oikawa peers at you with an almost pleading look. You raise a brow at him. “Just do it,” he pleads again.

You have half a mind to pretend to refuse in closing your eyes, but Oikawa’s pleading eyes are ten times harder to resist when they turn golden under the setting sun.

“Fine,” you mumble before reluctantly letting your eyes flutter closed. You feel a larger, more calloused hand being slipped into yours and fight the urge to smile.

You let yourself be guided by the pull of Oikawa’s hand in yours and only hope that you don’t fall straight onto your face. The two of you only walk for a maximum of two minutes before you feel Oikawa’s hand starts jostling wildly as if he’s making exuberant hand motions with his other hand.

“Tooru? Can I open my eyes now?”

“No!” comes his almost panicked reply.

“Are you in any immediate danger? What’s going on?”

Instead of a reply, you feel the hand that’s intertwined with yours only move more jerkily. “I’m opening my eyes.”

Before Oikawa can even let out another high-pitched squeak, you let your eyes open.

Your mouth nearly drops open at the sight. In front of you is what looks to be a picnic blanket, a basket off to the corner, three guilty-looking Seijoh third-years, and one cake collapsed into two pieces on the picnic blanket.

“Makki? Mattsun? Iwa? ‘Kawa, what’s all this?”

“Y/N-chan, please avert your eyes. I’m about to commit three murders.” Oikawa briefly turns his head to you and sends you an exaggerated grin before directing a glare in the direction of Makki, Mattsun, and Iwa. “Please tell Coach that he will have to find a few new players for the team.”

You blink between him and the three figures staring sheepishly at the both of you.

Makki’s eyes switch between the ruined cake and you. “Surprise?”

Oikawa’s hand slips from yours as he places his head in his hands and groans. You’re left to stare at the three on the picnic blanket and at the cake laying in pieces on the ground. From it you can see vanilla cake, white frosting, and strawberries. Your baker’s instinct cringes at the fact that a perfectly good cake went to waste.

Iwaizumi clears his throat. You’re surprised that even he looks a little guilty. “Uh, I’m just gonna … take these two dumbasses away. You two … figure shit out.” His eyes flick to Oikawa. “Good luck.”

You watch as Iwaizumi drags Makki and Mattsun away from the picnic blanket. From where you’re standing, you can already see that an argument has started between them.

A sigh from besides you catches your attention. You turn to look at Oikawa to find him staring at the picnic blanket with hands on his hips and a frown on his face.

“Tooru? What’s going on?”

Oikawa’s frown only deepens. “This was meant to be the way that I confess to you.”

You swear that your heart stops beating. For a second, you almost panic at the very real possibility that your heart actually stopped.

“Confess … confess what?”

“I think you’re plenty smart enough to figure it out, Y/N-chan.”

If a brain could actually sputter and malfunction like a broken car, you’d say that your brain came pretty close to doing so. He’s right. You’re plenty smart and have been in enough relationships to understand what he’s implying.

But that doesn’t mean that it feels real.

You pause. “But … you don’t like me like that.” The statement is more for your own head to get a grip rather than an actual response to Oikawa. It’s hard to erase the constant nagging insecurity you have when it comes to him ever reciprocating your feelings.

“You don’t actually believe that do you?” Oikawa’s voice is mildly panicked.

“But Hishoko-”

“We broke up because I realized my feelings for you.”

You stare at him. “But. You like me? That doesn’t-”

Oikawa turns so that his body is completely angled toward you. Whatever ending you had for your sentence dies on your lips when that smile that’s only slightly upturned makes its way onto his lips and he says, “I’m in love with you, Y/N-chan.”

Your breathing stops for just a moment. Your lips part in surprise.

“You’re … in love with me?”

Oikawa looks at you like you’ve just said the most obvious thing in the world. “I called you at 3 A.M every night without fail even when I had a girlfriend that I could be talking to.”

“We always did that.” You shake your head. “Maybe not every night, but you still called sometimes.”

The tips of Oikawa’s small smile perk upwards the slightest bit. “I did it because your voice was the only thing that calmed me down enough that I could finally sleep.”

“Really?” You feel your mouth go dry.

Oikawa shakes his head and lets out a little chuckle. “I spent two weeks trying and failing to bake a cake while potentially almost burning my oven because I wanted this to be special. I even had this whole paper mapped out with how I would decorate it.” He pauses. “I think I was a little over my head with that.”

His gaze falls on the ruined cake that’s laying on the checkered picnic blanket. “We were supposed to have this cute little picnic that I read about on the internet and you’d forget that you were slightly mad at me for keeping secrets from you and then I’d slice a piece of cake for you. There’s even a little banner on the cake that Mattsun helped me make. I hoped that somewhere along the way, I’d figure out how to do the actual confessing stuff. But then we got here and apparently some kid ran into Makki while he was holding the cake and really Mattsun made most of the cake, but we were all really proud of it and now the cake’s a mess.”

A pout finds its way onto Oikawa’s lips and you get the urge to kiss it off his mouth. You shake your head and focus instead on what he just said.

“All of that … for me?”

“What part of ‘I’m in love with you’ did you not understand Y/N-chan?” Oikawa chuckles lightly. “Oh, this might be a good time to show you what the cake was supposed to tell you. I think you’ll like it. It might just be my favorite quote of all time. The author was a genius.”

He walks to the fallen cake and bends down to sift through the remains. He calls you over when he seems to have found it. When you bend down next to him, you see that he’s pointing to one of those little banner things that you’ve stuck into cupcakes denoting ‘it’s a girl!’ multiple times. But what’s written on this banner isn’t “it’s a girl”. Instead, it reads “I mildly like you more than like.”

“You remembered me saying that?”

Oikawa turns his head to look at you. The combination of the look in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips nearly knocks the wind out of you. It does so because it’s not any different from how he’s always looked at you. You always believed that you would never get to be privy to Oikawa ever looking at you with love in his eyes and yet, he’s done it all this time.

“Take a look around you Y/N-chan,” Oikawa whispers. He shifts his gaze upwards. “Look at the tree we’re at.”

You stand. In front of you is the tree you pulled Oikawa against when you kissed him.

“I can’t believe you remembered that.”

Oikawa stares at the tree fondly. It’s almost as if he’s reliving the memory. “That kiss quite literally turned my entire life upside down. I would never forget the moment I first started to realize that I was in love with you.”

“So something did change because of that kiss? I didn’t imagine it?”

A chuckle escapes Oikawa’s lips. “If you mean that you sent my thoughts spiralling into overdrive, then yeah, I guess you could say something changed.”

You stay silent, your thoughts buzzing. You’re not questioning it anymore - he’s in love with you.

“Y/N-chan?”

You turn to gaze at him. He’s here and he’s proclaiming to you what you’ve wanted for so long.

“Kiss me.”

Oikawa’s reaction is almost synonymous to the reaction you had when he first asked you to kiss him to get rid of those girls. “What?”

For the first time since he began confessing, you smile up at him. “You know, cause if you do, you’d know that I might be a little bit in love with you too.”

Oikawa looks as if he might be frozen in place. His eyes are wide as he blinks at you.

“So? Are you going to do it or not?”

He shakes his head and seems to be moving with reality again. With a step towards you, he gently cups your jaw and tips his mouth down to yours.

His other hand comes down to hold your waist with light fingers, sending a shiver up your spine. Your hands come up to rest against his chest. Oikawa smiles against your lips when he notices the reaction he elicited from you.

This kiss is softer that the kiss you two shared before, but you can feel every single word that came from Oikawa’s mouth about his love for you being reinforced with the way his lips move gently against yours. The action is still dizzying to you, as if his lips are lined with something addicting. You’re more than willing to get lost in it.

Oikawa’s the first to pull away. When you open your eyes, his gaze still hovers lightly over your features warmly. His thumb stays situated at your jaw, moving in circular movements. You can’t help the grin that makes its way onto your face. “So, how was it? Any plans to get a girlfriend in approximately two weeks time without telling me?”

A laugh escapes his lips at that - a melodic sound that you want to bottle up. “No, but I do have plans on getting a girlfriend in approximately two seconds. I think she might say yes.”

“I feel incredibly sorry for said girl.”

Oikawa gasps in a playful manner. “Y/N-chan!”

You roll your eyes, but the widening grin on your face ruins the act. “Yes, I will take on the burden of being the person that’s liable to be annoyed by you 24 hours a day.”

Oikawa pouts, looking much like a child and a dog all in one.

“Don’t make that face.”

“You’re mean,” Oikawa huffs. You let out a laugh. “Tell me that you love me and maybe I’ll reconsider crying in the middle of this park.”

Oikawa turns his head upwards pettily, eliciting another chuckle from you. “I’ll do you one better.” You bend down and pick up the banner from the cake and hold it up to Oikawa with a grin.

Oikawa still doesn’t budge. In fact, he only tightens his crossed arms and holds his head so high that you start to wonder if his neck is doing okay.

An idea pops into your head as you stare down at the small banner written in Oikawa’s handwriting. The banner is still attached to a chunk of cake.

With a grin, you take the bit of cake stuck to the bottom of the banner insert and smear it onto Oikawa’s lips. His reaction is instantaneous.

“Y/N-chan!” His mouth falls open in shock. You laugh heartily at the way his mouth is now covered in frosting and cake crumbles. Oikawa flashes a competitive smile in your direction. “Oh no. You don’t get to get away with that.” Your laughter stops.

You see him pick up a bit of cake and set his eyes on you before you get the mind to start running. You know that this game of tag is gonna be a game that you lose because his legs are much longer than yours, but you run anyway. You’re only able to run a few feet when Oikawa’s hands come to snatch you at the waist.

You wriggle in his grasp as he smears the cake onto your mouth. The sweet taste of buttercram frosting enters your tastebuds and you get the random thought that this cake is delicious pops into your head.

The two of you laugh as your hands wrap around his neck and your head comes to rest on his chest, the fabric of his clothing muffling your laughter. His arms are wrapped around the small of your back. You wonder what you two must look like to onlookers at the moment.

With a final laugh, you look up at Oikawa. He’s still laughing, but you’re suddenly hit with the realization that he’s yours now. This Oikawa - the one that can’t bake for shit, that one that calls you at ungodly hours in the night, the one that gently strokes your jaw as his lips move against your own - is now yours.

His face is gorgeous as it contorts into a laugh that makes him tip his head backwards. And as the sun perfectly encapsulates his features in a golden light, you’re reminded that you’re sickeningly in love with this boy standing in front of you.

When his laughing stops and his gaze turns back to you, you don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his mouth down to yours.

This time, he tastes like frosting and vanilla cake.

taglist: @bumbledunce @angelkogane @waitforitillwritemywayout @mrsbakug0u @salty4tsukki @ppangiiroo @pharvhs @haksblade @whosmorales @yoitsseulgi @seijohreign @intheawks @smellssharpies @my-neighbor-todoro @fightcalum @yatoatyourservice @woo-youngs @fandomlover-universe @cowward @iwaizoom @keitsukki11 @airheadpillar @hockeycoaching @catchmeb-r-awling @gudetamalifestyle @starryhyun @babbykawa @chickentendo315 @bettys-other-shoe @darkshadowsofmetbh @anseoo @daydr3am3s @saucyleftovers @cleopatera @introvertatitsfinest @ughxghoul @smellssharpies

AHH that’s a wrap! i hope the ending was satisfactory and i would love to hear what you guys thought about the last chapter!

#oikawa x reader #oikawa headcanons #oikawa fluff #oikawa x y/n #oikawa angst #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa scenarios

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