#he may be from another time but that's still cas right | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

short-honey-badger · 1 month

Text

Peppermint Tea 31 - All Blends 2

Holy crap is this chapter a doozy lol. It's quite a bit longer than my other chapters. Lotta stuff happens. So I hope you enjoy!

Warnings! None this time? Sad stuff happens ofc. We are introduced to someone new.

P.s. I was going to use some random son for Big Mom but like. I did a Lil research and I can't help but like Katakuri. 😬 again. I apologize if Big Mom and Kata seem a bit off. I'm trying to keep myself spoiler free for the anime.

Masterlist

Benn runs through the courtyards of Mihawk's castle, dodging swipes from the Humandrals until he hears the sound of striking steel. He turns that way, picking up speed as he goes until he arrives at a small clearing in the dirt. Shanks and Mihawk are both grinning, a joy so easy to see that Benn thinks he may go blind. Usually, he'd stay and watch, but he can still hear your terrified voice pleading for help.

He slides to a stop, and the two men sparing turn and look at him, brows raised.

“Benn? What's going on?” Shanks asks his first mate. Benn wouldn't come get him unless it was important.

“It's, _ Shanks. They found her.”

The temperature of the surrounding area plummets, and all ambient noise disappears. Neither man can believe what they are hearing. They'd both been so sure that no one would be able to find your tiny island tucked away in Paradise, so close to the Calm Belt that most ships would be torn apart by sea kings. How could this have happened?

“What did you say?” Mihawk hisses and his grip on Yoru tightens to the point of pain, his nails digging into the flesh of his palm. He ignores the feeling of hot liquid dripping down his hand.

Shanks isn't faring much better. He looks ashen, pale faced and nervous. He and Benn share a look, one that Mihawk easily catches.

“_ called the transponder snail. She said that the Big Mom pirates had made landfall,” Benn frowns, one hand running through his graying hair.

“She sounded terrified.”

Mihawk is moving before his mind fully registers what's going on. He speeds through the castle, grabbing his coat and bag he'd packed the other day in case you called them. His haki is lashing, sending furniture falling and making the old stone walls of the castle crack and fracture. The ringing of his snail grabs his attention, and Hawkeye grabs it before loping out of the castle and to the bay.

Shanks is right behind him, Benn keeping up with his captain. It is with a silent, shared look with his lover that Mihawk reluctantly steps aboard the Red Force. He isn't fond of being on another's ship, especially one as big as this one, but like hell, would he let the younger man out of his sight.

While Shanks is barking orders, Mihawk takes the time to answer the still ringing snail that he clutches too tightly.

Ca-lick

“Mihawk! Finally! I've been calling forever!”

Perona’s shrill voice is a little comfort, but fear still clutches Dracule by the heart. She is rattling on before he can get a word in.

“You've got to get back to _’s island. She thinks it might be Big Mom and her crew!”

Mihawk feels a vein pop in his brow with his hard he scowls down at the snail.

“I know! Where are you? How quickly can you go back?”

“I'm three days out! So, two and a half if the sea doesn't hate me. What if she's already gone? What if…what if it's worse?”

Mihawk can hear the thickness in Perona’s voice and knows that the ghost girl is probably crying now, having worked herself up in a tizzy. He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Perona. I need you to calm down, girl. Listen to me when I say that _ will be fine. We can handle anything that's happened, but I need you to do something for me, okay?”

He hears the pinkette sniff over the transponder, but she sounds like she's gotten a hold of herself.

“Okay. What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to go back to her island. Find out if she's still there, but be safe. If you see her jolly roger, then you sail right to us. You've got your log pose, right?”

Perona sniffs again and nods even though her father-figure can't see it, “Yeah.”

“Good. If the island is clear, then investigate carefully.” He stresses the word, “Call me back as soon as you can, got it?”

“Yes, Mihawk. Will she really be okay?”

His heart breaks at the fear that he can hear swimming in his charge’s voice. He licks his lips. He is terrified in all honesty, but he keeps it together for her sake.

“She will be. Be safe, Perona.”

The ghost girl assures the older man that she will be careful and the transmission ends after that. Mihawk pockets the snail and looks around the ship to try and find Shanks.

The redhead is at the helm, still barking orders at his crew. Dracule picks his way past the pirates until he arrives at his lover's side. Shanks glances at him and then looks away, his haki curling tight around himself as if he was trying to hide away from the other man. Mihawk can't help but feel a little hurt.

Shanks is panicking. How could he tell Mihawk that all of this was his fault? That it had been him That had slipped up, his lips loose with drink and his heart heavy with wistful thoughts of his treasure that night so long ago.

The hawk hadn't trusted him with this from the beginning, and it killed him to admit that Mihawk had been right about Shanks after all? All the trust and affection that his lover had given him would go up in flames so quickly that Shanks wouldn't even be given a chance to mourn it. The redhead had little doubt that Mihawk would spirit you away from him as soon as he was able once he found out about his mistake.

The captain keeps himself busy for as long as he is able, but Mihawk is nothing if not patient, and he stays by his side until there are no more orders to be said. Before he can make a getaway, his hawk grabs him by the arm and practically drags him across the deck and into the Captain quarters. Shanks could have wrestled away, but then Mihawk would have been even more suspicious of him.

Shanks is shoved in a chair, and his lover putters around the room, pouring them both a drink before settling down in the seat across from Shanks. He sips delicately, but Shanks' nerves have him knocking back the glass of rum like it's a shot of whiskey. He jumps when Dracule speaks up.

“Perona is three days out from _’s island. She'll call me with news as soon as she gets there and if the island is clear or not.”

Shanks forces himself to nod. He licks his lips and scrubs his hand through his hair, “Good. That's good.”

Mihawk raises a brow at the other man's attitude. The man was acting more like a scared rabbit than the powerful Emperor that Dracule knows him to be. He sets his glass away and stands, crossing the short distance to stand between the redhead’s legs, and sets his hands on those tense shoulders. Mihawk guides him forward to rest his head against his bare chest, and his hands snake up to thread into red hair.

“How are we going to find her, Mihawk?”

The Emperor’s voice sounds shot, broken and beaten, and it breaks his heart listening to it. His grip tightens in Shanks’ hair, and Mihawk sighs softly.

“I don't know. But we'll search every island in Big Mom’s territory if we have to.”

~~~~~ Tomura ~~~~~

Tomura dashes through the streets of the city, a mischievous smirk on his face when he looks behind him and sees his little sister chasing after him. You look furious, but the expression just looks adorable on her chubby baby face. Tomura had snatched her favorite blanket this morning to try and wake up the sleepy head, and the chase had been on since.

Obviously, he wasn't going as fast as he could. Tomura was older than her by almost a decade, after all, and he didn't want his sister to get lost in the crowds of people. Not that the citizens of their Kingdom would let their only princess get lost.

The people laughed and urged her in the way her oldest brother ran, encouraging her to catch up to him. Their king and Queen had always been kind to their subjects, and in turn, they stayed loyal to the royal family.

Tomura slows to a stop, ducking behind a stall selling fruit and waiting for his little sister to dash past him. He springs out and grabs her by the waist, spinning you around in the air. You shriek in laughter, clutching at his wrists as he turns his lower body into dust and flies back the way he came, back to the castle and to where breakfast awaits.

Tomura opens his eyes, squinting when the sun makes them water. He wonders what you look like now. Had you found a way to survive and flourish after he left you behind? Would you even remember him? The thought of you not knowing who he is made his chest tight with fear and his throat clog with emotions he carefully hid from his men. Could you forgive him for leaving you behind, even if it had been the best course of action?

An angry scowl twists his lips, and Delemur lets out a string of quiet curses, mostly centered around a certain red-headed Emperor who had somehow stumbled across the safe house. Damn Red-Haired Shanks.

“Captain! We're going to make landfall soon!” The voice of one of his crew startled Tomura out of the fond memory and his less than savory thoughts. He rubs his face, sighing as he straightens up from where he'd been leaning on the railing.

“How long?” The white-haired man asks and looks at the lieutenant before him.

“Lookout said we're about thirty minutes out, Sir.”

Tomura nods. They would need to be prepared if some of Big Mom’s crew were there. Same with Shanks and his crew.

“Get the men prepared for a skirmish. Big Mom won't be here, but I'd bet she'd send some of her stronger men to get my sister.”

The news of his little sister being the reason behind his sudden disregard of orders had swept through the ship quicker than scurvy. But his marines were loyal, and technically, they were still chasing after pirates, so the higher ups could be too mad at them.

“Yes, Sir!” his lieutenant snapped, and then he was off, getting the other crew members up and running.

Tomura stalked to the front of the ship, and from here, he could see the outline of your island. His mouth twists in a grimace, and he prays that he's gotten here quick enough to beat Big Mom’s crew.

However, the closer he gets, the more his chest grows tight. There is grey smoke rising into the sky on the east side of the island, and even after so long away, Tomura knows that is where the safe house is.

The shore comes into view soon, and Delemur frowns when he sees a small ship docked at the shore, a large cross on the flag. He's seen that before, but he doesn't understand why Dracule Mihawk would have a shit all the way out here. Maybe it'd been stolen?

They drop anchor in the next couple of minutes, and Tomura flies ahead and drops to the sand, taking a look around with a frown. The beach looked awful, the beautiful sands trampled all the way up to where it became grass. Most of the lush forest had been torn down, most likely caused by the larger members of the raid party. He followed the trail up, picking up the pace until he was in an all-out run.

Tomura slides to a stop, sticken at the sight before him. The entire place is a disaster, the cottage a charred husk of what it used to be. The scent of burning wood is thick in the air, and the once lush and full gardens that you had cared for have been overturned and stomped on. He can see the broken remains of a small pen on the side of the building, but there were no animals in sight.

Carefully, he steps forward, bending down to collect a shard of green sea glass that had survived the fire. The Vice-Admiral flips it end over end then pockets it before walking inside the destruction. The living room is full of burned books and clothes, the furniture broken and ashen like the rest of the house. There is a shelf holding on for dear life, an old record player with a stack of melted records resting beside it.

Tomura moves to the kitchen, taking in the shattered glass of the window and the many planters that take up the majority of counter space, each plant dry and brittle or nothing but ash. A wind chime is still intact, and he reaches forward to brush the pads of his fingers across the metal tube, frowning when the beautiful melody fills the air. That kind of sound didn't belong in such destruction.

Onward Tomura goes, learning about his little sister as best he can through the ruins of her home. Your love for music and books could easily be seen, but how could he ever know what they were? What is your favorite song to listen to now, or what you liked to do on long lazy days. Were you all alone? The pen outside suggested his sister had found animals, but where were they?

Your bedroom was in a bit better shape from the rest of the house since the door had been shut before the fire had started. Tomura carefully sits on the ashen bed, green eyes looking at everything he can as quickly as he can see. He wanted to know everything about you. He had missed so much of your life, and the regret of leaving you behind was suffocating.

Would you have been safer in the military? Maybe, but Sengoku would have taken one look at you and your devil fruit and thrown you into training, just like they did with him. Tomura didn't want that for his baby sister. He had wanted you to live a good life, even if it would be a lonely one.

His thoughts are stalled when he catches sight of what hangs in your closet. His green eyes zero in on the long coat with a high collar decorated with intricate designs. Delemur knows that coat. He has seen it on the occasional times he had run into Mihawk.

The two of them had a mutual understanding to not speak about what had happened between them. Tomura didn't like that the older man had helped Big Mom, but being in the Navy gave him a different perspective. Not to mention his own skeletons hidden away in his closet, and in the end, Mihawk had been the reason that Tomura and his sister got out alive. They were even as far as he cared.

But seeing the Warlord’s coat made him pause. The tiny ship in the bay had already been suspicious, but the coat only added to his rising confusion. All the rumors had pointed at Shanks being the one to have found you, so then why in the fuck wasn't he seeing anything that might belong to the Emperor?

The sound of a bleating goat suddenly grabs his attention, and then he picks up the sound of his men shouting. Delemur bolts out of the house and finds Mihawk's pink charge, Perona glaring daggers at his men, specifically Private Nitchell, who points a shaking pistol at the young woman. Three chickens and an ornery looking goat stand behind her.

“What the fuck is going on out here?” He demands, and glares at the private, “Stand down, Nitchell. Does she look like a threat to you?”

The young man shakes his head, a blush high on his cheeks at getting reprimanded, “No, Sir! Sorry, Sir!”

The Vice-Admiral watches Nitchell stow his weapon and back up from where the ghost girl looks ready to tear his head off. Tomura rounds on the pinkette, cockimg a brow at her.

“Perona right? The hell are you doing here?” He demands and crosses his arms over his chest, unimpressed by the glare that she proceeds to aim at him.

“What's it to you?” She spits at him and floats up, crossing her own arms. He spots several ghosts behind her and prepares to turn himself into dust if one flies at him. He'd seen what those things could do. However, his annoyance skyrockets at her answer, and Tomura is hard pressed not to reach out and try to wring her neck.

“I asked you first,” he snarls right back, and feels like he is arguing with a little kid when Perona sticks her tongue out at him.

“I was coming to visit my friend, Navy Man. You should leave before my dad gets here.”

Tomura rolls his eyes and ignores the threat, “Your friend is my little sister. How did you find this place?”

Whatever argument that Perona was hyping herself up for deflated like a popped balloon when she registered what the marine said. She looks him over, dark eyes flickering from head to toe. The more she sees, the less Perona thinks that this man is lying. He looks like you. His cheekbones and brow are a familiar and comforting sight. But what should she tell him? Perona didn't think that Mihawk would be very happy with her if she happened to spill the beans on everything that he's been doing.

Perona licks her lips and floats back down, dismissing her ghosts and setting a hand on top of Neal's head. The goat grunts at her and butts his head into her hand, happy that the only other person he tolerated had found him and the three chickens hidden away in the intact part of the forest.

“Mihawk found this place a few years ago. After a while, he told me about your sister, and I wanted to be her friend. She seemed lonely, and I know what that's like,” Perona begins and shifts her weight with a sniff. She's been here for two days looking for anything that would help them find out where Big Mom’s crew may have taken you. The only luck she had was finding your goat and chickens. Hank and Sukuna were nowhere to be found.

Tomura's hands clenched into fists at the information. Mihawk had known about you for years, and Delemur was just now finding out about it. How were Shanks involved then? To his knowledge, the redhead and the hawk stayed away from one another. Until recently, that is.

Just what the hell had his baby sister gotten up to?

“She called me five days ago and said that some of Big Mom’s crew had found her island. I came as fast as I could, but I was too late. Shanks and Mihawk are on their way here now.”

Tomura doesn't like the thought of such powerful men working together and all for the sake of his little sister. What had you done to catch their attention? Did he even want to know the answer to that?

“How long until they get here?” Tomura asks after a moment. He would wait here until they arrived. At least he wouldn't have to go tracking the pirates down. He had a couple of choice words to give both of them now that he knows that Mihawk has been here as well. That bastard had looked him in the face not four months ago and had said nothing about knowing you.

Perona shrugs at him, her face morphing into a pout, “I don't know. Another week?”

Shanks and his crew were strong enough to go through the Calm Belt if they wanted to, and that would cut their travel time down by a lot. Gloom Island was a two week trip from here by normal means.

Tomura grumbles at having to wait that long, but he isn't that much of an asshole, and so stalks forward and offers Perona his hand.

“I apologize for getting off on the wrong foot with you. My name is Tomura. Thank you for being my sister's friend.”

The ghost girl blinks dumbly up at him before tentatively taking his hand and shaking it.

“Uh. You're welcome?” Perona has never been thanked for being someone's friend before. It was a little weird, but Tomura seemed genuine and kind like you. Just a bit more…violent it seemed.

Tomura blushes and takes his hand away, rubbing them together before pointing at Neal and the chickens, hoping to change the subject.

“Are those _’s?”

Perona nods and introduces Neal and the chickens. She couldn't remember if you had named the fowl, so she had taken it upon herself to name the rooster Henry and the two hens Harriet and Henrietta. The crew of his ship piddled around the island while Perona told Tomura stories about his little sister, and soon, the sun was beginning to set on the little island. He sighs heavily and invites Perona on his ship for dinner. They may as well get to know one another if they were to be stuck on an island together for the next couple of days.

Those days pass in the blink of an eye, and it is late in the evening on the fifth day when the lookout on his ship announces that the Red Force is entering the bay. Tension skyrockets, and Perona stands away from Tomura while they watch the pirate ship navigate to the shore. She can see two people standing at the bow of the ship, and tears of relief sprout in her eyes when she spots Mihawk's wide hat.

~~~~~~

The fear and anxiety that Shanks has felt during the entire trip explodes the moment they spot the navy vessel docked at his treasure's island. Of course, the rumors had reached your brother. Shanks should have known Tomura would be on his way here to see you. He curls his haki close to himself, refusing to let the older man feel just how manic he is right now. He needed to keep his head clear for this.

Next to him, Mihawk's haki lashes like an angry snake, golden eyes wide and full of fire when he sees the ship. He recognizes who it belongs to and cuts his eyes over at Shanks, who won't even look his way. Dracule had been silent about his concerns with just how Big Mom had found out, and he doesn't like the picture that has been painted for him. He doesn't want to accuse anyone of anything until he has all the knowledge he needs.

Mihawk and Shanks flash to the shore, and the warlord gets an armful of sad ghost girl the second his feet touch sand. Perona buries her face in his chest, arms wrapping around his waist and holding the warlord tightly. Tears sprout and run down her cheeks, and Mihawk can do nothing but sigh and hold the young woman close, one hand stroking the back of her pink hair.

Shanks steps up beside him, a kind smile that he forces on his lips as he pats Perona on the back, “It's alright, kid. We're here now.”

Mihawk shoots him a grateful look, and thankfully, Perona decides to pull away, reaching up to wipe her eyes free of smeared makeup.

“It took you two long enough to get here,” She grumbles and takes a step away, turning to look over at the Vice-Admiral, “Tomura has kept me company.”

Dracule looks up and catches the Navy man's eyes, the green dark and full of suppressed rage. He doesn't expect the younger man to bypass him almost immediately, instead, aiming that almost familiar glare at Shanks. The tension deepens, and sand is kicked up by the haki that coils between the three men. Tomura wasn't anywhere near the pirate's power level, but that wasn't about to stop him. The Emperor was the one responsible for his baby sister getting taken.

“Did he, now,” Mihawk murmurs and carefully maneuvers Perona to stand slightly behind him. He didn't want her to get caught in this, and the Warlord could tell that whatever was about to happen wasn't going to be very pretty.

Tomura isn't here to beat around the bush and cuts straight to the case, “Did you have any fucking plans to tell me that you knew my sister, Mihawk? How the hell did you even find her?”

Mihawk keeps his face free of any kind of expression that may give away his true feelings. Brother or not, Mihawk wasn't in the mood to deal with this right now. Not when you were obviously still missing. What he doesn't expect is Tomura rounding on Shanks, his tone dropping and turning dangerous.

“And you, you son a bitch. You're the fucking reason my gods damned baby sister was found.”

The silence that blankets the shore of the island is deafening. Tomura grins meanly when he sees that panic that pools in Shanks’ dark eyes and stands taller, pointing an accusing finger at the redhead. Mihawk follows the gesture, his heart seizing in his chest when he catches sight of the look of devastation that paints his lover's face. He takes two steps back, bringing Perona with him, away from the man who had promised Dracule that he could trust him.

“You promised me, Shanks,” Mihawk remarks and tries to keep the hurt out of his tone, but the younger man easily picks up on it, making him feel worse than scum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. The hurt quickly turns to anger, and the warlord reaches for Yuro, the blade swinging around to point at Shanks.

“You promised me that you would keep your mouth shut! You drunken, lying bastard. I never should have put my trust in you again.”

His ringed eyes blaze with a rage Mihawk hasn't felt in decades. Not since he was young and impressionable. His heart feels shattered, and out of everything, disappointment rings through his body like a live wire. He shouldn't have allowed the redhead to pass his walls.

Shanks’ eyes widen at the threat, and he takes a couple of steps back from the wicked blade. His own hand curls around Gryphon, and Shanks braces for the fight that would no doubt happen because of his mistakes. He didn't want to fight Mihawk, but he would defend himself if the older man made the first move. He quickly began to explain before Dracule could try and take his head from his shoulders.

“I know, and I'm so sorry, Mihawk. I was drunk that night, and I missed the two of you so much. I didn't know I was being so loud until Benn told me to shut it. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Shanks is pushed back when Mihawk's haki lashes out, his face flushed red from how angry he is at the lame excuse. How dare he.

“When are you not drunk off your ass, Shanks? There is no excuse that you can give me that will make any of this okay. _ is gone! Most likely slated to be married off to one of Charlotte’s sons because of your inability to keep your mouth shut!”

Perona grabbing him by the arm is the only thing that prevents Mihawk from following after Shanks. He glares at her, about to snap at the girl to let him go, when he sees the unshed tears and fear in her dark eyes.

“We need his help finding her, Mihawk,” Perona says, voice thick with emotion. She doesn't like seeing them fight, and it hurts seeing what she has begun to call family fall apart in front of her eyes.

Her words seem to bring everyone back to the situation at hand, and the wild haki from the three men is pulled back and settled. Tomura relaxes his shoulders, shifting his weight and glaring at the two pirates.

“She's right. Big Mom has a lot of territory. It'll take months for us to search each of her islands if we don't work together,” Delemur frowns even as he speaks, disliking the idea of working with the men who'd found his sister. What even were the three of them?

“What is she to you?” Tomura demands and regrets it the second both men look at him like he was an idiot.

“We,” Mihawk begins and then swiftly corrects himself. He didn't want anything to do with Shanks right now, “I love her. She had no idea who I was when I found her, and it was…refreshing to have someone like that. We should move quickly. _ is in a delicate state.”

Tomura doesn't even want to think about what that means and glances at Shanks for the redhead’s answer.

Shanks shifts his weight, his hand falling from his sword once Mihawk had sheathed his own, but he keeps his distance. He gives Tomura a helpless shrug.

“My crew and I drifted close to her island one day, and we got to know one another. I can admit I was jealous of what Mihawk had with her, so we made it work. The three of us.”

Tomura doesn't know what to say to that, so he keeps his mouth glued shut. How the hell had his little sister pulled not one but two of some of the most powerful men on the Grand Line. He would ask once he found her.

“I'll use whatever resources the Navy can give me to find her,” Tomura says after a moment of rather awkward silence. He reaches into his pocket and takes out two mini transponder snails, and hands them to Shanks and Mihawk.

“I'll ring you if I find anything. I hope the two of you do the same.”

Mihawk dips his head in agreement, handing the snail to Perona and Shanks pockets his. They would work together to find you, even if none of them wanted to.

“I'm going to take a look around and see if we can't find something that'll lead us in the right direction,” Shanks says and whistles loudly to signal to his crew that it was fine to disembark from the ship now. He chances a glance at Mihawk, but the dark-haired man refuses to look his way. He frowns, guilt eating him up from the inside out before he lopes away without a word.

“Perona and I will head to the New World and begin our search,” Mihawk says and then he struts to the ship Perona had taken from his island, not bothering to look back at the Vice-Admiral. He can't bring himself to search the island. Dracule had seen the smoke curling into the sky, and seeing whatever remained of his home away from home would only make the hurt worse.

Tomura is left standing alone on the white sands, and he sighs heavily, looking out over the crashing waves. He smooths his white hair away from his forehead, and he murmurs to himself.

“Where the hell did they take you, Princess.”

~~~~~~

Thousands of miles away, you are escorted past hallways full of mirrors that make you feel dizzy if you look too closely. You cast your eyes back to the floor, one hand tangled in the fur of Hank's shaggy coat and the other holding Sukuna close to your chest. Your pets had chased after the men who had dragged you kicking and screaming from the tiny cave you'd forced yourself into.

Surprisingly, once they had seen that you were pregnant, the men had handled you with much more care and had even allowed you to take the cat and dog with you. Despite not wanting to leave, you had been much more willing once they assured you that you could have them. Hank and Sukuna were the only two things keeping you sane right now.

Sukuna wouldn't stop hissing, a constant low growl echoing in the hallway. His tail was poofed, and he glared at everyone with furious golden eyes. Hank fared no better, his hackles raised, and his ears pulled up. He stayed pressed against his human’s legs as they walked, unwilling to let you out of his sight.

It wasn't long before your group stopped at massive double doors that creaked open. You waltz inside, relieved at the lack of creepy mirrors, but that relief disappears the moment your eyes lay on who hovers in the middle of the room. She is the biggest human you've ever seen, sitting atop a cloud that glares down at you.

Beside her, another massive man stands. He has deep purplish hair, and the bottom half of his face is covered in a black and white scarf. He wears an open vest, and you can see a tattoo running down his exposed chest.

“It's about time you showed up,” Big Mom’s booming voice startles you, and you cut your eyes up to look at her. She grins down at you, her smile wicked as she looks you over.

“Such a pretty young thing. You'll make a nice wife for my son Katakuri. Don't you think so?”

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat @atricksterwithwings @black-swan-blog27 @breadedloafs @enpvrirnce @gottalovethefandom

#reader insert #fanfic #one piece #fluff #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #shanks x reader #opla mihawk #mihawk x you #mishanks x reader #mishanks #opla shanks #Peppermint Tea #charlotte katakuri #one piece x reader

94 notes · View notes

maxybabyy · 6 months

Text

It’s barely noon.

Daniel has only been back in Monaco for a handful of hours, burnt out from flying commercial and dressed obnoxiously in bright orange, and still, he’s here.

He pulls up Max’s text one more time and stares sceptically at the building in front of him. But he’s in the right spot, the tiny guy on the map right on top of the address Max had sent.

The lady behind the reception desk looks up when he enters, a polite smile on her lips as she comes forward to greet him, “Bonjour monsieur, comment ca va?”

Daniel’s been here for too long for his French to be as bad as it is, stutters out a, “Ca va bien,” before he switches to English. “Uh, I’m here for my cats?”

“Certainly,” she says, her accent even less pronounced than Charles’. She goes back behind the desk, points out the small bevvy station on her way there. Daniel’s been in formula one for over ten years, has lived in Monaco for most of that, but this fucking cat hotel may still be the fanciest shit he’s been to. “May I ask what cats you are here for?”

Daniel jiggles the handle of the coffeemaker, watches what he hopes is coffee drip into the branded to-go cup. “Uh, Jimmy and Sassy? They’re like, Bengals, with the stripes and shit? If you have two cats that look the same, I reckon it’s probably them,” he says, searches and fails to locate a lid.

The lady coughs, and Daniel decisively doesn’t look at her, cannot – knows she has to be laughing at him. Fucking, disaster step-cat dad that he is; Max would already have them loaded up in the car and be on his way.

“The cats are registered with internal ID numbers, monsieur. I cannot tell you if we have your cats otherwise, my apologies,” she tells him, not unkind.

“Right, yeah. Let me get those for you then,” he says, chuckles. He scrolls back to the cursed message that had started it all, rattles off the IDs for both cats to the lady’s mild surprise.

‘you of course don’t have to, but always the cats like it better when they can be at home.’ He reads back now, wishes he had never ventured into the world of cat sitting and long-term pet boarding.

“I will have someone come out with your cats right away, monsieur Verstappen,” she says, taps away at the computer for a moment before the printer starts to spit out a stack of papers. “If I can just have you sign here, you will be all set.”

Daniel swallows down half of the coffee, scrapes his teeth over his tongue to mask the burn. “’course, I’m not Max, though. Just for filing purposes, I guess.” He says, scribbles his signature on the dotted line. It’s the same fucking signature that he would do on a hat or whatever the fans put in front of him, and it shouldn’t make him feel embarrassed, but it does. “My name’s Daniel. Ricciardo, I should be on the list though.”

The lady smiles, licks her finger to flick a page. “Certainly, monsieur Ricciardo.”

A man in his early twenties comes out, a cat carrier in each arm. He puts the cats on the desk and rattles off a report of their stay these past weeks, the meals they had, how they behaved, their moods.

Daniel tries to listen, makes himself remember enough that Max will be satisfied even if they didn’t also send out an update by mail every three days. The guy doesn’t stop talking, so Daniel nods along, pokes his finger through the grid and watches Sassy swat at it; Jimmy who gives him a polite lick.

Even if their names weren’t printed on the carrier, this would give them away. That at least he knows.

“Great, yeah. Thanks mate,” Daniel says and moves them down to rest by his feet. “Do I need to pay something, or will we get an invoice, or like?”

“Monsieur Verstappen has an account with us, so there is no need for that. He will be notified by mail. But I can offer you a receipt?” She says, and even she sounds unsure about the offer.

“Yeah, that would be good, cheers.”

The printer makes another noise, and one of the cats meows in response, the other quick to echo. She hands it over with a smile, and Daniel stuffs it into his pocket with a quick ‘thanks’ and picks up his cats to leave.

He’s lying on the couch later, Jimmy on his chest and Max’s latest voice message playing over the phone when he finally pulls out the receipt.

“You’re such a fucking spoilt cat, Jims.” He says, kisses his head.

Jimmy meows softly, bumps his chin with his head, so Daniel kisses him again, watches his tail flick in the air.

Yeah, alright, he thinks, maybe they do deserve it.

#max said cats were at a cat hotel on the team red line stream #and this was the only thing I could think of ...#maxiel #maxiel fic #my fic #my writing #fic

233 notes · View notes

moonchildstyles · 6 months

Text

lily of the valley

oleander final part: y/n never pictured that her night would end like this.

wordcount: 16.2k+

cw: lots of talk ab blood and the consumption of blood! some descriptions of people who have passed away, but thats really it!

—————

(Y/N) stood behind the apothecary counter, chin resting in her palm with her eyes gazing out the window. The rain had returned last night, bringing with it a lingering fog and cloudy sky. Barely anyone was out and about, leaving (Y/N) feeling as if she were the only soul left in the village. The same way she had felt since leaving the castle and ghosting through the world without anyone the wiser to what she had learned that night.

The last week had been one of wandering thoughts and conflicting dreams. More than once, she had woken in a cold sweat, a flashing nightmare of Harry hovering over her, his mouth full of sharp teeth and blood. She would wake with her heart in her throat and lungs tight, but the only thing that could calm her was the thought of Harry himself comforting her. She would replay a fantasy of him coaxing her down from her fright, those concerned eyes and gentle touch helping draw her in.

Soon enough, as the days packed on, those nightmares were few and far between, leaving (Y/N) with only questions and intrigue replacing her initial fear. Distance and time from him allowed the memories of his care to rise to the surface; his promise of never bringing her any harm and the actions to back it up were at the forefront of her mind.

He had said they would see one another soon, after enough time had passed to allow her to wrap her head around it all. (Y/N) was beginning to itch for that time to come sooner rather than later.

As if someone had been listening into her thoughts, a familiar bone white horse emerged through the fog, looking more phantom than animal. The rider had long dark hair and pale features. It was Harry's footman—Mitchell.

He was the one that hadn't learned his self-control yet. (Y/N) stiffened at the thought.

The horse was guided right to the apothecary where Mitchell hopped off the stead and tied the reins to the latch outside of the shop. (Y/N) didn't know how to keep her eyes away now that she knew what he was.

The similarities to Harry only increased as she looked at him through a different lens. They were both impossibly graceful, lacking any flaw. Mitchell moved with a restrained strength, as if he were holding back with every movement causing him to look almost mechanical. She wondered if Harry was always holding back in the same way, but had mastered the art of blending in.

There was no hesitancy this time when he came in. Stepping over the floorboards, he still lacked any real show of presence as nothing creaked under him or rattled around his weight. His sharp eyes landed on her immediately.

"Ms. (Y/N)," he greeted with a nod, his voice low and clipped. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a familiar, opulent envelope. The last time she had seen one of these was when her father had thrown the piece into the furnace, effectively banning her from going to Harry's home. "From Harry," he murmured, passing off the piece. He took great care in ensuring their skin didn't brush.

"Thank you," she answered, a small smile on her lips, "Mitchell."

This time, she didn't wait for the footman to leave before she was breaking the wax seal and opening the flap to the letter. Inside was a simple letter, written out in curling letters on elaborate stationary.

My dearest, (Y/N),

I hope I am not asking for too much to see you again so soon. I know we had agreed on coming together so I may offer answers to any and all questions you have, but if you would prefer to no longer see one another, I understand. If that is the case, tell Mitchell as much and I will no longer contact you if that will make you the most comfortable.

If you are still open to seeing me again, I would like to invite you back to my home. I will arrange for the carriage to ferry you up here, and we will spend the evening discussing whatever you please. If you'll have me.

I hope to hear from you again soon.

Yours,

Harry xx

Just as she finished skimming her eyes over the text, she saw Mitchell out of the corner of her eye attempting to flee just as silently as he had before.

"Wait," she said, stopping him in his tracks before he could push open the door.

He moved stiffly to face her, his dark eyes clear. "Yes?"

"Hold on," she floundered, searching the counter for the steel pen and inkwell she had stored under the podium. "If I put my response on here, could you take it back to him, please?"

Mitchell gave a single nod of agreement.

This letter had been exactly what she was hoping she would see today. The small correspondence sparked those dimming memories of Harry she had been treasuring every night before bed. She could hear the words in his voice, see his pinched features and worried brow.

The only problem she found within the lines was his choice of location. She didn't have the confidence to stage another sneak out in the middle of the night, not trusting herself to keep silent and away from prying eyes so soon after the last time. While she had done a well enough job, no one having approached her about anything they could have seen that night, she didn't trust that she could do it as well this next time when she had more nerves working against her.

He would have to come to her.

With her writing nowhere near as glamorous as his, she wrote out:

I would love to see you again. I can't go back to your home so soon, I'm sorry. Come to me this time.

I will leave my window open tonight and tomorrow. I will be on the lookout for you, and I will let you in through the shop door when I see you're here.

Her letters looked like sloppy black slashes against his own curling script, but (Y/N) couldn't think much about her handwriting before she was folding up the page and replacing it in the gilded envelope.

"Thank you," she said, handing the correspondence back to Mitchell.

She expected him to stay in line with his persona, silently taking the page before he would ghost through the shop and disappear in the night. However, when he lingered after removing the letter from her grasp, she flicked her gaze up to find him looking at her with intensity in his earnest eyes.

"Thank you," he insisted, unwavering in his eye contact.

(Y/N) didn't have to ask where his gratitude was coming from. He knew that she was now aware of his condition, but there hadn't been even a single whisper of such through the village.

"Of course," she offered, a quiet smile on her lips. "Hopefully, I will see you again sometime soon."

For the first time she had seen, the stoic mask Harry's footman always seemed to carry showed its first crack. The very corner of his lips turned upwards in a smile.

"I am sure we will."

With that, he took the now altered letter and placed it for safekeeping in his jacket pocket. He left the apothecary as if he were but a phantom passing through. The only trace of his presence was the bone white horse (Y/N) could barely spot disappearing through the fog.

—————

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) pulled in a resigning sigh.

Harry wasn't coming.

The sun had gone down hours ago, inducing both her father's bedtime and the rest of the village's. Even the pub wasn't garnering the kind of crowd that usually haunted those halls. This was the perfect night for him to visit. No one would even notice him and she could easily sneak him upstairs with the cover of the night and her father's heavy sleeping.

She had diligently waited just as her response said, with her window cracked open to allow any noise to filter through and her eyes periodically scanning the space. Nothing more than a few bugs fluttering through her herb garden and the bright eyes of a familiar cat could be seen in the dark.

If he was coming tonight, he would have already been here. (Y/N) sunk heavier into her thin mattress at the thought.

Another hour—that's what he had left. Then, she would close her window and go to bed. She will try again tomorrow.

Just as her plan came together, she could hear her name being whispered in the night. Much closer than that of a bug skittering through her garden and too vivid to be a dream.

Her eyes shot open only to see her window shadowed by Harry's broad form. He was lacking a jacket and waistcoat, only clad in fitted black trousers and a billowing top in a matching hue. This late at night, his eyes and hair seemed to be of a coordinating shade, leaving his skin especially pale in comparison.

"Harry?!" she gasped, startling on her bed, "Wh—How did you—"

He looked over his shoulder in a quick whip of his head before he turned to her once more.

"I will explain in a moment, but I think I see one of your neighbours," he murmured, gesturing to her window with a nod of his chin. "May I please come in?"

(Y/N) scrambled at the thought of one of her neighbours catching Harry perched on the sloping roof of her home, right where her window was open. "Yes, yes," she rushed out, keeping her voice low as she moved towards her window, "Just—Come in before anyone sees you."

Curling her fingers under the pane, (Y/N) slid it open just enough for him to slip through. Taking a step back, she watched as he fluidly climbed through her window, not even a hair out of place. He landed on her floor without a single sound, turning back to shut the window after him.

She hadn't realized just how heavy her heart was beating until the vacuum of her bedroom was restored. She settled some though she kept her eyes fixed on the broad of Harry's shoulders.

"How did you get up there?" she breathed out, trying to picture how he would have made it to the ledge so soundlessly despite her open window.

Harry's answer came in the form of a sly look shot over his shoulder.

Oh.

"Right," she sounded. Another part of his whole existence that she had no idea about. More questions were added to her ongoing mental list.

Harry looked out of place in her tiny bedroom. He was broad and space-filling. He had a presence here among the mishmash of stuff that made up her home, though it was far from suffocating. Standing with his back to her window, his form appearing that much longer with the help of the single flame of candle light casting shadows around him. He looked around her room, a tiny smile sitting on his lips.

"Do you mind if I look around?" His voice was so pleasant and unrushed, it almost made (Y/N) forget the gravity of their meetup.

Nonetheless, confined to her spot before the end of her bed, she nodded her head.

She watched as Harry took in her space the same way she had taken in his: with curious awe. All of her small trinkets, childhood journals, gardening momentos, and memories of her mother were plotted about her room for him to graze his eyes over. His hands were twined behind his back as he wordlessly stepped through the space, eyes lighting up as he looked over the small shelf her father had nailed into the wall when she had finally received her own bedroom. There was a twitch to Harry's lips when he saw the various lengths of twine she had laying over her rickety bedside table; she always forgot she had one waiting before she had pulled another to tie her hair back.

Her room was nothing at all like his castle. While he lived in rich color, exquisite luxury, and vast amounts of space, she had the opposite. Everything was muted in her room, leave for the dried flowers and tiny splashes here and there amongst her things. Harry could cross the width of her room in three strides with the length being met within four. It was far from the standards he likely had. Despite the obvious differences, (Y/N) could see the shatters of green appearing in his eyes the longer he made himself at home in her room, his features softening and bones relaxing.

She hoped that meant he liked what he found.

Just when she thought he was planning on spending all night dissecting any and everything he could find in her bedroom, Harry finally turned on his heel, hands still clasped behind his back, to face her with a gentle smile.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me again," he told her, voice a low rumble, "Have you had time to think?"

Sitting on the end of her bed, she gave him a small nod. Her bottom lip fit between the blunt ends of her teeth, worrying the sensitive skin. "I have a lot of questions."

"I figured you would. I am an open book, (Y/N)," he affirmed, coming to stand just before her, "Anything you want to know, I will answer to the best of my ability."

(Y/N) could feel his eyes on her as she shuffled back on her bed, folding her legs underneath her with her nightgown falling around her form. "You can sit with me if you'd like" she offered, eyeing the empty space on her mattress for him.

Her heart bubbled in her chest at the realization that she was asking a man to her bed. She had been so occupied on learning her answers and ensuring no one saw them together in the dead of night, that she had completely forgotten the fact that she was alone in her bedroom with Harry. When she had come up with this plan, she hadn't given much thought to the fact that she was supposed to be worried about her reputation (or her safety, if she was considering the non-human aspects of him). The racing of her heartbeat increased that much more when he cautiously took up her offer and crawled onto the bed in front of her. In the back of her mind, she wondered just how terribly her bed stacked up against the velvet covered monstrosities he had in his own home.

"Thank you," he said, settling himself amongst the folds of her quilt. His observing gaze settled on her with rounded corners to his eyes. "How are you?" he asked, sincerity in his voice, "Have you been well since the last time we met?"

"I am well, yes," she answered, dropping her eyes to her lap where her hands fumbled with one another, "Just thinking and trying to figure everything out. And yourself?"

"I've been okay," he answered earnestly, "But, much better now. I'm glad to hear you've been alright; I have been worried I frightened you or been too much that last night."

(Y/N) canted her head. "I wouldn't say frightened, no, but I've been overwhelmed." She swallowed. "Confused."

"I understand; I felt the same way once, too," he sympathized, his tone tender, "What has troubled you the most?"

Peeking at him through her lashes, she swallowed around her suddenly dry throat.

"The—um—the bodies," she whispered, a pinch appearing by her brows, "You said that you haven't been the one doing... that recently, but you had in the past. What did you mean?"

Just as troubling as it was for her to ask that question, it appeared Harry had the same issue answering it.

"I..." he started, cutting himself off before he could get very far with his mouth settling into a grim line. "There was a time right after I had... become what I am now, that I was not myself. I was confused, scared, and unable to think rationally. All I knew was that I was hungry. The food I could find made me terribly ill, and no amount of water, or wine, or anything could quench my thirst. I could only have that."

While (Y/N) felt as if she already had the answer she was asking for, she couldn't help but to pose her question anyway.

"What do you mean, that?"

Harry dropped his gaze from hers when he answered. "Blood."

Her fingers were a nervous bundle in her lap before her body stilled like the dead at his answer. The memory of the corpse she had found, bloodless and pale like snow, reentered her mind.

"Y-You drink it?"

"Yes."

Her heart hammered against her ribs, though the feeling made her think only of the blood rushing through her veins.

She must have sat there silent for too long, she realized when Harry piped up, feeling the need to mend the shock he had given her.

"It's not something I want to do, (Y/N)," he started, choosing his words carefully, "It is the only way I can continue living, but please believe me when I say that I have not committed those kinds of atrocities in almost one hundred years. The second I learned that I could survive off of animals, that's what I started doing. I haven't done anything like what has been happening since."

As uncomfortable as she felt, thinking about Harry drinking any kind of blood or taking any kind of life, she could live with the fact that he was choosing animals over those of her village. She had to eat too, and while she would have loved to keep every animal alive and frolicking around, she had to do what she had to do as well. She couldn't judge him too harshly.

"But, Mitchell. He doesn't know yet?" she asked, thinking back to the man with the long hair and ghostly demeanor.

Harry sighed, the same kind of sigh her father used to give when her sister was too stubborn for her own good. "He does know, but it is a hard transition. He wants to change, but he cannot always contain himself should an easy opportunity present itself. I am trying to teach him how to work past those urges, but it is taking longer than either of us would like." He dropped his head then. "I am sorry for what you have seen and what he has done when he is not able to think. I live with the guilt just as much as he does, but we are getting better everyday. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive both him and I."

(Y/N) pursed her lips. "I don't like it, but I can understand," she offered on a delicate breath. Truthfully, Mitchell sounded like a child: impulsive and taking steps forward before taking just the same amount back. "We all do things we are not proud of. I hope he can learn from this soon, and give these families peace."

"He will," Harry cemented, "I am going to make sure of it."

A beat of silence sat between them as she rifled through her head to decide on her next question. "Pardon me if this is inconsiderate to ask," she prefaced, "But, is your... condition the reason both you and Mitchell are so... pale?"

A genuine grin stretched across Harry's lips at her words. His laughter was a quiet huff from between his lips. "I would think so, yes," he told her, likely grateful for the easier line of questioning, "Every other vampyr I have met, we all tend to be on the paler side, lacking that life in our skin."

It was an odd thing, hearing him talk about all of the others he had met. She couldn't help but to wonder if Harry really was the first she had ever encountered without even realizing. "Is that why you are cold, as well?"

"Am I?" he asked, tipping his head to the side with a crease between his brows, "I suppose I've never really noticed. Though, the few times you have allowed me to touch you, you are so pleasantly warm I should have figured as much."

"You think I'm warm?" she asked, feeling a small sense of pride hit her chest. It was entirely silly to feel flattered over a comment about the temperature of her skin, but she couldn't help herself. She was a simple girl, at the end of the day.

"Very much so," Harry affirmed, dimples pressing into his cheeks as she smiled at her, "You are like the sun to me."

Now she definitely couldn't bite back her smile, dropping her head to watch her fumbling hands pluck at the seams of her nightgown. "The sun?"

"The very one," Harry teased, "Though I haven't felt the sun since I changed, I imagine the rays feeling like your touch."

"You haven't felt the sun?" (Y/N) blanched, a set of questions hitting her that she hadn't even considered, "But I've seen you outside?"

Harry gave her a pointed look, "Only on cloudy days. I learned the hard way a long time ago, but I now burn under the sunlight. It's a rather frightening experience, if I'm honest."

"You burn?" (Y/N) pressed, suddenly scanning her eyes down his form as if she could pick out any marks or scars upon his skin.

"As if I have touched fire," Harry grimly detailed, "But, I am lucky enough that because of what I am, my skin mends itself. I can't remember the last time I have had any kind of injury without an instant recovery or even fallen ill."

A new lens fell over (Y/N)'s gaze as she looked at him. Harry was always strong in her eyes, both physically and in the way carried himself so regally despite the swirling rumor mill. Now, though, the descriptor had an entirely new meaning. No wonder he was so flawless—there was nothing in this world that could even blemish him.

He was the perfect predator—and protector.

"You don't remember anything about the night you changed?" (Y/N) asked, mimicking the language he had been using himself.

He didn't even blink at her shift in conversation, instead furrowing his brow and canting his head as he threw his memory back.

"Not really," he mused, pursing his lips, "There are fuzzy bits and pieces I can recall, but nothing I can be sure of. Most of my life before is just as muddy, but I can remember a few things."

"So you don't know how you became this?" She couldn't imagine going to bed one way and waking up another, not a single idea as to what happened only knowing that she was not the same. No wonder Mitchell was struggling; how do you cope with something so overwhelmingly monumental?

"I don't know my story, but I do know how vampyrs can be made." He flicked his gaze to her as if to gauge her reaction, scanning for any minute change in expression. When he didn't see anything more than a curious blink, he cautiously continued. "There are three different things that can happen when we bite"—(Y/N) tried her best not to blanch at the blunt word—"someone. One is the kind that we use solely when we are eating, of course. That kind usually includes the end of a life." His own tone grew solemn at this example, that guilt he spoke of resurfacing, though (Y/N) appreciated his honesty. "We can make another vampyr in a similar way, though before the end, we have to have the control to stop. I do not know how it happens exactly, but there is something that changes humans and makes them like me. It can take time, but it can happen."

"Have you ever... made someone?"

Harry shook his head. "I've never considered making someone like that—it's too risky in my eyes."

(Y/N) slowly nodded her head, taking in all of the information she was learning. It was hard to think she was only in her bedroom, and not in some fantasy world that had violently merged with her own. "You said there's a third kind of... bite?"

"There is one more," he told her, sounding somewhat hesitant as he started, "It is called a Blood Bond. It is usually something that is shared between people that are intending to devote themselves to one another."

"How do they do that?" (Y/N) was intrigued now. This whole thing—being a vampyr—sounded so solitary, she didn't even think that there could be something like this within their culture. A union.

"They have to bite one another," Harry answered vaguely, "and share blood. Usually at the neck."

"And, it's like a marriage?" she pressed, trying to merge the concept with something familiar. Nonetheless, it was hard to picture her sister's wedding ending with she and her husband snapping at each other's throats.

"Something like that," Harry shrugged, "A bit more binding, though."

A troubling thought struck (Y/N) then. "Have you ever...?"

Harry all but blanched at her words. He shook his head immediately. "No, never. Mitchell is the only person I've ever kept in my life for longer than a month."

While she hated the thought of Harry being alone, solitary in his castle overlooking the village, there was a selfish part of her that keened at the thought that he had never devoted himself to anyone.

"How long have you known Mitchell?" (Y/N) rolled on. She wanted to get a picture of Harry's existence, even if she didn't completely understand the details yet.

A small smile plucked at the corners of his mouth then. "You really are quite curious, aren't you?"

Sheepishly dropping her gaze from his, she lifted her own shoulders in a small shrug. "It is alright if you'd rather not answer anymore, I know I can ask a lot at times. I do not wish to bother you or anything."

"No, no," Harry rushed, impulsively dropping his hand to land on her nightgown-covered knee, "Please, you are not bothering me. I love your curiosity. I told you: I am happy to answer anything you have for me. I want you to know me."

Matching her gaze to his, (Y/N) couldn't deny the genuine sincerity she found swimming in his irises. Refractions of crystal green had appeared in the pitch black, giving the look of a moonlit forest. There was a warmth to his expression, giving him the illusion of life with the dimples in his cheeks and the dazzling smile on his lips.

She couldn't imagine being anywhere, but here.

—————

"What happened after that?"

Harry directed his gaze towards the ceiling, searching the air for the rest of the story that lay in his head.

"Nothing too eventful, really," he mused, "I suppose that was when I started focusing on blending back in with the world. I felt comfortable in my control and wanted to stop hiding away so profusely—plus, I was beyond bored with my own company. Brooding can only fill so much time."

(Y/N) let out a tittering laugh at his words, leaning that much closer to Harry.

As he spoke about his life, telling her of all of the things he had seen, people he had met, and the details that made him up, the space between them had slowly dissipated until Harry was laying at her side. The longer they talked, the easier it was to grow closer and more comfortable sharing space. (Y/N) had even twisted until she was laying beside him, flat on her stomach with him on his back, hands folded over his stomach.

This close, she could practically count the lashes lining his eyes, the faint set of freckles that dusted his skin. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what he had looked like when he was human. Did he have perpetually flushed cheeks? Were his eyes always green, or just as dark as they were now? When he was cold, did the chill show on the tip of his nose?

She didn't allow herself long to wonder over those questions. Harry as it he was in front of her was enough—more than enough, really.

"Was that hard?" she asked, her voice a low whisper as if she was conspiring with him in the dead of night, "Trying to be human again?"

"At times, yes," he mused, his eyes on the ceiling as he found his thoughts, "Humans, without realizing it, will pick up on the things that make me different and avoid me out of survival—even when I mean no harm. It is hard to feel normal when that happens."

Laying her cheek down on her pillow, admiring him as her head sunk into the down, a frown plucked at her lips. She could imagine him after trips down to the village, shopping and trying to socialize, though it was no secret the townspeople would rather him stay away. More and more she learned, the less Harry was a creature of the night with blood-stained teeth, and more a lonely soul adjusting to something he never asked for.

"I don't avoid you," she said, a quiet attempt to make him feel less alone.

She had the perfect view of the smile that stretched over his lips at her words, dimples and all. The bed dipped as he manueavered on her small bed, laying on his side to face her with his own cheek pressed to the same pillow. Her breath caught in her lungs. She'd only been this close to him once before, when he had traced his nose over the column of her throat just when she had seen his lack of reflection.

This time, she had nothing else to focus on. He was her everything right then, everything around him blurring out of focus.

"I know you don't," he responded to something she barely remembered saying, "And I feel so lucky every time I remember that. You are one of the few, (Y/N), that hasn't run the other way. But those other times were never like this."

Blinking with a flutter of her lashes, (Y/N) felt her skin warm. She loved the sound of her name in his voice. "Like us?"

"Yes, like us," he said, a rewarding smile on his lips for her, "While it concerns me that you seem to lack any real survival instincts, I am grateful that you are not scared of me." His eyes glazed over her features, taking everything about her in as she held onto each word. "I have been drawn to you for longer than I have been able to admit to myself. Every minute we spend together means something that I cannot fully express."

"Drawn to me?" she peeped, her blood bubbling under her skin.

Harry looked sheepish now, the way he flicked his eyes to her before letting them fall. She wondered, if he was the same as her, if there would be a flush to his cheeks, and a pounding in his chest. "You've intrigued me for a very long time, before we even started speaking in passing. I have made excuses to come down to the village, shopping with you when I didn't really need anything. Even though you didn't mean it, you made me feel less alone."

Tentatively, (Y/N) reached out a hand, her fingers holding a small tremor before she placed her palm on his chest. The chill of his skin could be felt through his shirt, leaving goosebumps on her arm. The slight cold was worth it when she saw Harry all but melt at her touch. She really must feel that warm to him.

"I have always been very interested in you, too," she murmured, unable to meet his gaze should that give away the exact feelings she was trying to say, "I never understood why anyone would try to gossip or say anything about you. I guess they aren't too far off, though—those rumors."

Peeking through her lashes, (Y/N) held a smile on her lips as she hoped her tease would land. When Harry huffed out a breath of laughter, his hand landing on her own on his chest, holding her fingers snug, her own grin grew three sizes.

"I suppose not," he smiled, pulsing his hand around hers.

Gazing at him, (Y/N) could nearly count the amount of green shatters floating to the surface of the pools of black. Everything about him was clear and steady, unwavering. "Thank you for coming tonight," she started, "My initial reaction was overwhelming, and I apologize for that. I would never want you to think that I felt the same way as the others or that you frightened me enough to never see you again."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," he insisted, ducking his head until he was directly before her, the tip of his nose just barely missing her own, "I am sorry that I didn't assure you enough that you were safe with me and had nothing to worry about. I was planning on telling you myself, I was only waiting until I knew how to say it without using the wrong words."

"I think you've done alright," she smiled. If she blinked, would their lashes tangle together, or would she need to be just a bit closer for that?

"You have such a power over me, (Y/N)," Harry told her earnestly, his eyes swimming in devotion with his tone tinted in worship.

Rolling her lips between her teeth, (Y/N) wondered if anyone had ever felt like she did in her bed right then. Did her mother ever feel this way for her father? Did her blood ever burn for him the way (Y/N)'s seemingly did for Harry? Did her sister ever feel her lungs squeeze and heart batter her ribs when looking at her husband? Did Mr. and Mrs. Wayfield feel their skin crawl with the need to join one another?

Or was (Y/N) the first?

Had everyone felt this way before, or had she invented the idea of falling in love right then?

It was impulsive, reputation-ruining, and entirely unladylike the way she surged forward and pressed her lips to his. If Harry had any inhibitions, he didn't show them with the way he reciprocated the contact in a heartbeat. Molding his lips to hers, he led her through the kiss. It was far from refined, (Y/N)'s lips clumsy and off centered but Harry didn't mind correcting her until his hand was holding her cheek steady and he was pushing and pulling with her moving in tandem.

Drawing away, (Y/N) pulled in a gasp. Her hand on his chest clenched the shirt covering his chest, nails raking along the planes of his muscles. Harry didn't offer her much of a reprieve before he was diving back in, the chill of his mouth feeling nonexistent with the heat that began coursing through her veins.

While she hadn't noticed it, Harry must have with the way he pulled away, allowing her suddenly aching lungs to take something in. He offered a smattering of kisses along her cheeks instead, affection pouring over every inch he could reach.

"I adore you, darling," he murmured, his voice dripping like the nectar from a flower deep into the marrow of her bones. "I will never get enough of you."

(Y/N) could only smile, a dreamy expression as she dipped her head back. A pleasant chill crept up her spine when Harry distributed his kisses down the column and over her thrumming pulse.

She could stay here forever. Never moving, never changing. Right here with Harry was her home.

"I wish I could stay," Harry murmured, responding to words she hadn't realized she said aloud, "But the sun will rise soon, and I believe you still need to sleep."

Drawing away, Harry righted her head with his hand on her cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing her cheekbone. She wasn't sure if it was just her eyes or if it was truly there, but she swore there was color to his cheeks, a flush to his lips.

"I don't need to sleep," she countered, ready to dive back in.

Harry barely sated her with a single kiss pressed to her pout. "Yes you do," he insisted, "You are caring for your garden tomorrow, right? You need rest for that or you will be exhausted before you can finish."

For a moment, she hated that he knew anything about her and her routine. She didn't care for the sage or the rosemary or whatever she was meant to be pruning in the morning. She cared for who was in her bed.

"Don't look like that," he said, unable to keep himself from laying another kiss on her lips, "We will see each other again soon, I promise. I don't think I can wait very long, either."

"You can't stay any longer?" she asked, slowly releasing her hold on his shirt. From where she could see out her window, the sun was still down with the sky dark, but she figured Harry would know his limits and timings much better than she.

Glancing out the glass himself, she could see the gears turning in his head. "I can stay a little while longer. Until you fall asleep, yes?"

That was more than she could have wished for, truly. To fall asleep in his arms was the stuff of dreams.

"That's perfect," she smiled, "Thank you."

Harry responded only by bundling her to his chest. While there was no heartbeat to compare to her own, nothing to beat in rhythm against her ribs, (Y/N) had never felt more comforted.

Sleep didn't take long, even when she had fought her tired eyes.

—————

(Y/N) shyly peeked through her lashes as she descended the narrow aisle between the church pews. For the third service in a row, her eyes met that of a dark figure seated in the last row. Harry flicked his gaze to hers for a heartbeat before he looked away, a conspiratorial smile on his mouth. She felt her skin warm as she followed her father out the church doors, rolling her lips between her teeth.

Ever since he had climbed through her window the first time weeks prior, Harry had been more involved in the village than ever. He had told her between breathless kisses in the quiet of her bedroom that he wanted to see more, that he could barely keep himself away—she was on his mind constantly. With going to his estate in the night wasn't always a smart option for her and her bedroom wasn't exactly easy to hide away in, he was going to find another way to see her. Since then, whenever the sun was shaded enough, he was ghosting among the village with a tendency to haunt the apothecary or anywhere else (Y/N) might have been. (She could only imagine the stack of lavender and tobacco bundles he had laying around his home with the amount of times he came in to shop with her). He had even started showing up for Sunday morning service for another chance to see her, despite neither of them particularly caring for the sermons.

Their moments were made up of subtlety with stolen glances and conspiratorial smiles, near silent conversations when no one was listening or the quiet confirmation that they were thinking of one another. They shared more secrets than she was sure anyone would even know what to do with.

She was the only one who knew the real him amongst the chatter, and she was the only person in the world who knew what it was like to kiss her. And, no one had any idea.

No one had seen the way he slipped scraps of notes into her hand when she passed off his herbs. No one else noticed the way they gravitated towards one another during the after church gathering at the pub. No one knew that he slipped in through her window most nights or how a letter on exquisite stationery would appear when he couldn't.

No one knew (Y/N) was in love.

So caught up in her head, she didn't even register the chilly air filtering around her as she descended the church steps being her father. She had followed mindlessly even when he stopped to make conversation with another parishioner, not noticing his pause until she tripped right into his back.

Turning around, her father steadied her with a gentle hand and concerned eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking over the bridge of her nose that had smacked right into his spine.

"Yes, sorry," she rushed out with a shake of her head, "I wasn't paying attention."

His worry seemingly settled in permanent lines across his face. "Are you sure? You're not growing ill, are you? You've been off in your head these last few days."

Unconsciously, her eyes trailed over his shoulder and towards the fringes of the group where Harry stood by himself. She could just barely see the amused curl to his lips. He had definitely seen her misstep.

"No, " she answered, blinking back into the conversation though now she had her own efforts focussing on keeping her features in line. "I'm just tired."

—————

"Harry," (Y/N) murmured against his mouth, "My father..."

Drawing away from her kiss-puffed mouth, Harry sighed. "I know. I am trying, but you have to understand my struggle, darling."

She couldn't help the plume of laughter that fanned from her lips at his words. He practically beamed at the sound, his deep green eyes glimmering in the low light of a single lamp.

(Y/N) loved the way he smiled when they were alone. It was a wonder thinking that there was time before she had even known he had dimples.

"I'm sorry," she told him, settling into the down pillow under her head. Harry hovered above her with a delicate hand roaming over her cheek, his other propping him up from where he laid at her side. She barely noticed the chill when they were like this, huddled under her quilt with the heat of their breath and curious hands. "I wish we didn't have to worry."

"Come to me tomorrow," he offered in an instant, a bit breathless as he dropped his hand to boldly skate down her side, "We can be alone then."

His palm settled over her waist with a pulse, fingers tightening just when he mentioned alone. Shifting in her bedding, he didn't hesitate to pull her closer to him.

From the heat in his refracted gaze and the exceptional curiosity of his hands tonight, (Y/N) had a blushing idea of what he wanted to be alone for. While it wasn't the first time in the last weeks that there had been the passing possibility of allowing him to push her nightgown up or pull apart her corset, this was the first time Harry had given such a hint to his own intentions.

For fear of assuming too much, (Y/N) slid her eyes down the slope of his neck. "I don't know."

Creases appeared between his brows as he gazed down at her. "What are you unsure about, darling?"

Avoiding his eyes, (Y/N) felt her skin warm. "I—We—" she stumbled, tongue lazing around her mouth while she searched for the right words, "I want to be alone with you too, but... We're not married."

She didn't match his eyes for fear that she had misread the situations and every other before this that she had sworn Harry was worked up on her account. For all she knew, he wanted nothing more than to speak at full volume and have more than a squeaky bed to sit upon.

Ducking his head into her line of sight, he forced her to meet his gaze. "I would never want to do something that you do not want as well, (Y/N). If you would prefer we do nothing more until we begin publicly courting and doing things in order, then that is what we will do." His hand on her side softened. "This is already more than enough for me—I can wait."

Despite his kind words, (Y/N) didn't feel any of her stress alleviate. She had already known Harry would never rush her into anything thatch was not ready for, just as much as she knew that she did not feel any real inclination to wait until they were betrothed. But, neither of those truths made her decision any easier, not when there was more than just her own wants and desires to take into account.

"I know, and I want to, really," she said, reaching out to play with the loose fabric of his top, "I just—It's... I don't want you to see or think of me any differently afterwards. I know it is not proper to want anything outside of marriage—I do not want anything to change if I were to... indulge."

She hoped he understood what she was trying to tell him, specifically the kind of pressures that were placed on her for the simple fact that she was a woman in society. There were enough stories she had heard of women who had taken what they wanted, or fell in love with another and expressed that love, and were later shamed for doing exactly that—oftentimes by their own partners or people she trusted in her life. She didn't want to be cast aside in case he found that he no longer wanted her afterwards, after seeing how willing she was to be with someone that wasn't her husband.

Harry's features twisted with a frown touching his lips and his eyes saddening. "Have I ever made you feel as if my feelings would change should you spend the night with me? If I have, I want you to know—"

"No, it's not that," (Y/N) rushed out, already feeling guilty, "You've never made me feel anything like that. It's just that... I suppose I've made myself feel this way. I just don't want you to change your mind about me."

For all she knew, Harry would have sex with her and learn that he was only attracted to her for the fact that he wanted to be with someone after such a long time. It was not his fault she had these doubts, but they were ones that lived in her head.

Harry didn't shy away from her as she spoke. He only listened, patiently waiting for her to finish her thoughts.

"I will just have to prove it to you then, that I have no doubts about you or anything I feel for you." His words were solid, unyielding. There was no room for argument. "In the meantime," he contented, his tone decidedly softer as he shuffled closer to her, "Would it be enough to tell you that I adore you? That I care for you more than I have for anyone or anything before?"

(Y/N) suddenly felt shy under his attention. He had murmured as much to her in the heat of the moment before, but never so clearly and earnestly before.

"Harry," she started, settling her palm against his chest as if to contain him.

"It is true," he smiled, unwavering in the way he spoke ,"You are like no one I have ever known before, and I could spend my entire existence only wishing to learn you. I know we are not married, or even engaged, but I hope it is enough to know that I do love you."

Refractions of green sparkled in his eyes, brightening his gaze in a way she swore only happened when they were alone. Her heart bubbled and beat heavily in her chest. She could n longer contain the budding grin fighting to pluck at her lips.

"You truly mean that?" she whispered, selfishly asking if only to hear it again.

Dimples were thumbed into his cheeks. "Of course, I do. I've come to believe that the reason I was kept alive for so long was so that I might get to meet you."

Looking up at him with his words ringing in her ears, Harry was like the moon to her. Never had she heard devotion like that. Even in her most romantic of daydreams, she never could have imagined that harry would say something like that to her, his eyes fixed to hers and his touch an anchor. Her chest practically ached as she processed.

Her hand on his chest curled until she was fisting his top between her fingers. "I love you, too," she peeped out, the sound of her heartbeat sticking in her ears.

Harry didn't hesitate before he was sealing his lips to hers once more. It was a hurried, excited kiss, leaving their mouths just a bit off center and his nose mushed against her cheek, but (Y/N) couldn't help but to smile into the contact.

When he pulled away, (Y/N) could have sworn there was a flush of color to his skin. "If not for how badly I want to do this the right way, I would be proposing right now, (Y/N)."

"You don't have to," she murmured, surging forward and pressing another kiss to his lips, "This is enough for me." While there was still undue shame she was going to undoubtedly feel tied to any decision she made, she didn't want that to come before what she wanted when it came to Harry. "If you were still offering," she started, dropping her eyes to follow the line of his nose and the pillow of his lips, "I would like to see you tomorrow. At your home."

"Really?" he asked, his voice an octave deeper than she remembered.

She nodded, a soft smile on her features.

"Only if you are sure, my love," he murmured, "The door is always open for you."

(Y/N) could only answer him with a kiss.

—————

Pacing around her bedroom, (Y/N) counted, the numbers climbing in her head. Her simple white dress flourished around her ankles with every step, though she took care to avoid the creaky floorboards.

When she reached two hundred, she took in a deep breath and strained her ears to listen to the rest of the house. All she heard was the sound of her father's snoring, just as she had when she had started readying herself.

Releasing that breath, she took quiet steps to her slightly ajar window. She had run over this plan enough times in her head for her brain to go quiet as she finally put it all in place. Repeating her steps from the first time she had snuck out, (Y/N) made it out of her home in one piece before starting towards the long winding route leading to Harry's home.

It wasn't long before a familiar black carriage and bone white horses hit her line of sight. A broad grin took over her features as she pace doubled to reach the coach.

"Hello, Mitchell," she chirped, catching the familiar head of dark hair and pale features sitting in the coach box.

"Hello, Ms. (Y/N)," he smiled at her, formality still hitting his tone despite (Y/N) assuring him more than once that he didn't need to offer her any, "He's been eagerly waiting for you."

"I have been, too," she confessed through her grin, rounding the carriage with less grace than she figured she ought to have. Before she even had a chance to knock on the door or surprise him, Harry was practically jumping out of the box.

"(Y/N)," he practically sighed, wrapping her in his arms the second his feet landed on the solid ground.

Her own arms around his neck, she all but melted into his hold. Harry held her snug to his chest, his face buried in her hair. "I've missed you so, darling. I feel as if it has been years since I've held you."

"You were in my room just last night, Harry," (Y/N) laughed. As if she hadn't been feeling the same way today, though it was much more fun to tease him.

"Exactly," he countered, stiffening his hold on her to lift her feet from the ground. (Y/N) squealed a laugh in his ear as she clung to him. "It has been much too long since I've held you."

She could offer no argument to him as she wrapped her limbs around Harry, allowing him to carry her into the carriage effortlessly. (Y/N) felt breathless by the time he had her settled on the bench beside him, wrapped in velvet and warmth despite his chilled skin.

As she caught her breath, the horses started off in the direction of the castle, a rhythmic thumping starting with their hooves against the path. Harry looked down at her with amusement on his features.

"Have you truly not missed me, darling?" he asked, his voice a soft song filling the space between them. His hand was just as gentle as he removed hair from her face, giving him a full view of her eyes.

"I have," she smiled, shaking her head, "But, Mitchell..."

Harry waved her off. "He doesn't listen, believe me. He only wishes to see me happy."

"Are you? Happy, I mean?"

Dipping his head down until he could press his lips to hers, (Y/N) received her answer in a murmur: "Undoubtedly, so."

—————

"If you're ready, I have somewhere I'd like to show you."

Looking at Harry from over the rim of her wine glass, (Y/N) brightened. "What is it?" she asked after swallowing her gulp, the center of her lips tinted a berry red.

"Let me show you," Harry countered, standing from his place at the dining table before offering her a hand.

(Y/N) placed her palm in his without a second thought, fluidly following after him.

Her new gown flourished with every step she took with her hand cradled in the crook of his elbow, the white ensemble having been waiting for her when they arrived at the estate. Though it wasn't as grand as the red one that now hung delicately in the wardrobe, it was no less luxurious.

The fabric was a satiny cream, gliding over her fingertips when she first touched it. The neckline cut straight across her décolletage with the sleeves being nothing more than swathes of material that draped over her arms, leaving the boned corset to keep the bodice upright. The skirt wasn't full like her last garment, leaving the shape slim and sleek around her form. Harry had practically mooned at her when she descended the stairs after dressing, his eyes never leaving her for long.

With the way the fabric gleamed and shimmered, (Y/N) felt as if she fit in with the moonlight when Harry led her outside. At her side, he blended in with the dark night aside from his pale features, acting as the heavens around the bright moon.

The ground under their steps was dewy, appearing as if drops of starlight had landed on earth with the reflection of the sky on the droplets. Looking ahead, through the draping wisteria and dark purple blooms, was the greenhouse. The building was in much better shape than the last she had seen, now with a complete roof and frosted glass on every wall.

"You finished it!" she bubbled, eager to see if he'd had the chance to fill it with any exotic blooms just yet.

"I did," he smiled, his profile illuminated by the full moon, "I wanted to make sure I could take you here the next time you came."

Approaching the door, Harry pushed it open for her to enter first.

Inside, (Y/N) felt that same wondrous glee she did when he had shown her the ballroom for the first time. This small space put her entire apothecary to shame.

The space was warm and humid, condensation trapped along the windows. Strung along the roof were familiar bundles of all of the herbs Harry had come by to pick up over the last month or so whenever he wanted an excuse to see her, the air tinted with the matching lavender and tobacco fragrances. The greenhouse itself had shelf after shelf, stretching tables, and hanging pots full of different plants. There were still plenty of places to grow, more room to put more and more flowers and herbs, but there was already enough filling that space that (Y/N) couldn't help the joyous gasp she let out.

Harry allowed her to wander through, looking over every leaf and every shrub, fawning over the blooms, and finding things she had no name for. When she wasn't so lost in her daydreams, romanticizing everything, (Y/N)'s hobby was her plants. She doted on them like pets, and took care of them every chance she could. Being in a place like this, with Harry, in a gorgeous dress, was exactly what her dreams were made of.

Coming up to an unfamiliar plant, (Y/N) gazed at it with wide eyes. The open leaves resembled that of an open jaw, with spines on the very edge of the leaves acting as teeth. It was colored a bright, smooth green, not a single blemish altering the perfection. Curiosity took over as she reached out, attempting to touch the spines to see if they were as sharp as they looked. She jumped back with a yelp when the leaves snapped together upon contact, acting just like the gnashing jaw she had compared them to.

In an instant, Harry was at her side, cradling her back to him with her hand clasped in his.

"It didn't get you, did it?" he asked with a concerned furrow to his brow. He cradled her hand in his palm, the pad of his thumb brushing over her fingertips as if he could heal any wound with a touch.

"No, I am alright," she answered, canting her head as her eyes stayed locked on the biting plant, watching as it reopened its jaws for the next victim, "Does it always do that?"

Bundling her hand in his own, Harry followed her this time as she approached the trap once more. "Only when it is trying to eat," he shared, watching her with the same fascination she offered to the plant.

"It eats? What do you mean?"

"It is called a Venus Fly Trap," Harry explained, "Unlike the others, it eats meat—bugs and the like. When it thinks it's caught any prey, it'll snap closed and take its meal."

(Y/N) had never heard of a predator plant—had never even imagined something like this could exist. "You feed it?"

"It does rather well for itself, I choose not to interfere too much."

She tried to picture something that looked so flimsy, a pair of leaves that mechanically moved together, could trap a living being. "Has it ever bitten you before?"

"Once," Harry admitted, "It was more startling than anything. That is when Mitchell shared that we would most likely benefit from leaving it alone."

Without much thought, she reached out once more as if to test the theory that the trap was nothing more than a scare. Harry quickly had her hands bundled in his own, twirling her away from the exotic bloom. He shook his head when his eyes met hers, a lopsided smile on his lips.

"I have said it before, but it always surprises me how much you lack any sense of survival," he laughed, pulling her hands to his chilled chest, "Though I said it did not hurt, does not mean you should try it out yourself."

"Sorry," she answered, a sheepish smile on her lips, "I just wanted to try for myself."

"Don't," he teased, bringing her hands to his lips where he gave her a soft smattering of kisses along the fingertips.

A soft laugh plumed from (Y/N)'s lips as she watched him, wiggling her hands out of his to cradle his cheeks in her palms. "This place is wonderful, Harry. I had no idea you wanted to make something like this."

He leaned into the warmth of her touch. "I made it for you."

(Y/N) felt her features soften; her eyes rounded out, cheeks softened around the width of her smile, every muscle she hadn't even realized she was tensing now going lax. "Did you really?" she crooned, following the refractions of light that danced over his features from the moonlight streaming through.

"Of course, I did," he smiled, "I'd do anything for you."

It was a moment like this that she wondered if she could really handle being engaged for a whole two years the way her sister was. She had spent so many years dreaming up someone like Harry, she wasn't sure if she could wait that much longer to have him be hers in every real way. All she could do was hold him tighter.

Harry's smile widened as he gazed down at her. "I wish I knew what was going on in your head."

"Just you," (Y/N) answered, "Always you."

Turning his head in between her hands, Harry pressed his lips not puckered kisses against the palms of her hands. She could feel him smiling against her skin.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, my love, but I am forever grateful." He pulled her hands from his cheeks only to hold them against his chest once more. His features, though still swimming in adoration, settled into something more somber then. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something out here."

"Oh?" (Y/N) sounded.

For the first time since they met, (Y/N) saw a small amount of uncertainty leak into his gaze. "I know we have talked some about our future," he started, gaze traveling over her features to capture any and every reaction, "And, I have been thinking about something that I wanted to share with you."

"Okay," she nodded, trying not to betray her own nerves on her face, "Something good, I hope."

A faint dimple was pushed into Harry's cheek as he stretched his smile that much more. "I hope so, as well." Within a breath, he was entirely serious once more. "You know that I wish to marry you, right? Outside of just our talks in your bedroom, I have meant every word I have said about sharing my life with you."

"I do," she smiled, hoping to lessen his worry, "And I feel the same. I wish we could be married tomorrow, even."

Small traces of relief had his features loosening up, the cut of his jaw rounding and his brows relaxing. "I do as well, but I want to do that the right way, with a real wedding and everything else you could want. Though, I feel that the both of us are rather impatient." (Y/N) let out a small fan of laughter at his truth. "Because of that, I have been thinking and found some old correspondence with a friend that gave me an idea." He paused before continued, as if gathering his words. "Do you remember the Blood Bond I told you about?"

(Y/N) gave a silent nod. She could recall the short details he had shared with her and the way her mind had traced back to the binding more than once in her daydreams.

"I know it is a lot to ask of you, as neither of us really understand what a Blood Bond truly entails outside of theory, but I have wondered if... If you might be willing to complete a Blood Bond with me." He rolled his lips between his teeth wrestling with both his nervousness at presenting the idea as well as his hope for her answer. "I found letters from an old friend, someone who knew someone else who had completed the bond with another, and it sounded promising. There weren't many details, but they sounded happy."

"Were they—" (Y/N) floundered over her question, unable to find the right terms, "Were they both like you? Or was one of them like me?"

His mouth formed a grim line. "Both were like me. I can't find anything on any couple like us, unfortunately. I suppose we might be the first," Harry posited, the very corner of his mouth turning upwards.

While (Y/N) was more than warm to the idea of bonding with Harry—marrying him in the way they could without having the follow the steps of courting and engagement while also easing her father into the idea—she was unsure. The lack of details that even Harry knew tickled a part of her mind she had trouble ignoring.

"Would it...If we did, would it make me like you?" While she loved Harry for who he was, and understood his story, there was little desire in her to completely forgo her own life in favor of a still heart (and the blood thing was still very much not something she had interest in).

"I do not think so, but, again, I can't be sure." It appeared as if it pained him to give her so little detail. "But, I would never offer this if I did not think it would be a good option for us, darling. Selfishly, even if we can't share this with anyone, I don't know if I can wait much longer before I know I am yours and you are mine."

He peeked at her through his lashes, reflections of green glimmering in the pale moonlight. (Y/N) understood what he meant. While this would be another secret between them, something she couldn't even share with her father, it was enough to look at him and know that Harry was hers and she was his. It was enough to know that there was a place they belonged: at each other's sides.

Pinching her bottom lip between her teeth she asked, "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore than I can imagine a regular bite does," he offered, giving a small shrug of his shoulders, "But, I can't be sure. I would do everything I could to make it as painless as possible, darling."

There was a part of (Y/N) that stayed wary, and urged her to do the same. It poked holes in the logic and filled everything with doubt. There was no easy way to be the first, there was no safe way. There was so much unknown about what could happen should she bare her neck for him and allow Harry to bind them together in whatever way the Blood Bond would do. There was even a chance that she could drop dead immediately after, leaving the rest of her life—including Harry—behind.

There was no way to be sure that nothing terrible would happen, but the rest of her wasn't certain if that really mattered. She had no way of knowing that Harry was telling the truth when he revealed his nature to her, or if she could be sure that she was truly safe around him. She had no way of knowing that she was doing the right thing by continuing to invite him to her and to fall in love with him on the way. But she did each of those things anyway, because she had felt in her bones that it was right. She had felt that she could trust Harry with everything—every fall down the rabbit hole of love, every time they were alone with her neck at his teeth, everything that her instincts told her was okay because she trusted him.

That trust in him piped up, flicking (Y/N)'s gaze to match his as he patiently waited for her answer. "Okay."

Harry perked up at the word. "Okay?"

The beginnings of an ecstatic grin bubbled over her features. "I want to bond with you. We'll learn all of this together. I don't want to go another day without being yours."

In the middle of the greenhouse, Harry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest before lifting her off of her feet. (Y/N) giggled, looping her own arms around his neck and clinging to him as he spun her around. Her dress twirled around them, enclosing Harry in lily white fabric as if he were the center of a moonlit bloom.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeated over and over, his face burrowed in her neck with his nose skimming the column.

(Y/N) could only smile, her eyes shuttering closed. She buried her hands in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. This is the kind of joy she pictured when she finally found her one and she agreed to spend her life with him—another assurance that she was doing the right thing. Something so wrong or hasty wouldn't feel so good.

Positing her down on the edge of a sparsely populated table, Harry stood between her legs as he settled his hands on her thighs over her silken dress. He had a bubbling smile on his face as he looked up at her, his eyes almost entirely green with only his pupil and a few slivers of the familiar coal remaining.

"I will write to my friend, and see if he has any more answers. Then, when you're ready, we can—"

A furrow pinched (Y/N) brow as she spoke, "We're not doing it tonight?"

Harry paused to consider her question. "I thought... I don't want to push you or make you feel as if we have to do this tonight. I figured you would like more time."

While Harry was erring on the side of caution—once again being the more responsible of the two compared to her impulsiveness—she didn't want to do the same. She had no fear of the Venus Fly Trap despite almost being caught in its clutches, and she had no fear of Harry and the unknown.

"I don't need any more time," (Y/N) cemented, reaching to settle her hands on his shoulders with her fingertips digging into the luxe velvet, "I trust you, and I don't want to wait anymore. I waited my whole life to find someone like you—I practically dreamt you up. I don't need time to be sure."

As she spoke, Harry had his eyes fixed on her, watching her mouth wrap around every word and the devotion of which she hoped he felt. His own lips had fallen open in a small gape, eyes glimmering as if he were looking at the sun. HIs hands on her thighs pulsed, tightening his grip as if he could drift away at any moment.

He didn't have to say it for (Y/N) to know that he loved her. That he knew what it was like to wait and hope there was someone there at the end who understood.

Reaching to cradle her cheeks in his palms, he brought her in for a slow kiss, his lips slotted between hers with his nose brushing against her own. There was an urgency behind it that she had never felt from him before.

"I love you," he murmured.

The delicate curl of her lips had him pulling away just enough to drag his kisses over her cheek. "I love you, too."

"I'm not certain in what I'm doing, (Y/N), so I need you to tell me if I am hurting you. I do not want this to be ruined because of me, so please stop me if you feel the need." His lips never lifted from her skin as he spoke, his words being painted across in sweeps of his breath and skims of his nose.

"I trust you," she reiterated, dipping her head back as he descended lower towards her throat, "I love you."

"I love you, too," he responded simply, before pulling away, "But you must promise me. If there's even a moment where you are no longer sure, do whatever you need to do to make me stop."

His jaw was set and eyes hard as he spoke, determination settling on his features. "I promise," she said, her hands still firm on his shoulders, "If anything changes, I will tell you."

A small curl lifted his lips as he took her vow, features softening. "I will tell you before I bite, is that okay?"

"Please," she responded, relaxing into his arms as he wrapped them around her middle with his hands spanning the planes of her back. As much as she did trust him, the fact that his teeth would be biting into her neck in a few moments was most likely going to be her least favorite part of their bonding.

When Harry dipped his head down, the chill of his touch grazing her throat, (Y/N) expected to feel the scrape of his teeth, the point of something predatory catching on her skin. Instead, she felt the soft press of his lips and the drag of his nose over the column. He worked slowly, familiarly, kissing his way along until he stopped. He paused on the side of her throat, just under where her pulse thrummed.

"I'm going to bite here, alright?" he murmured, "Just long enough to forge the bond, darling."

She clenched her hands on his shoulders. "Okay."

Against her throat, she could feel his lips moving though there was no sound. She wanted to ask what he was saying, but before she had a chance that searing slice she had been waiting for finally struck.

The feeling took her breath away, her hands tightening on his shoulders. It didn't hurt like a cut from a knife or a stab from a needle, no—Harry's bite burned. It was a bubbling burn, as if something inside her was melting all within the span of a second. The searing brought tears to her eyes, stealing her breath before she had a chance to understand.

Just as quickly as the burning started, it was gone. In its place was something pleasantly cool, like a breeze on a warm day. Her vision cleared with her breath restored. She was hyper aware of Harry's shoulders under her hands, the warmth of his velvet jacket and the welcome chill from his skin. She clung to him, conscious of every stretch of fabric on her skin and every anchoring touch he gave her. It was overwhelming, verging on euphoric, urging her to shutter her eyes and absorb every second.

The moment could have lasted anywhere from two hours long to two seconds, (Y/N) had no way of telling by the time Harry pulled away. He kept his grip on her firm, his arms barred around her back as she came back down to the greenhouse.

With a fluttering blink of her lashes, (Y/N) saw Harry for what he was, for the very first time.

He looked at her with eyes darker than she had ever seen before, no semblance of any green she was accustomed to. She could clearly see a flush on his cheeks, appearing more human than she had ever realized he wasn't. The most jarring part: the blood dripping down his chin. It was a stark rub against his skin, staining his lips and coating his teeth.

That was her blood rolling down his lips.

For the first time since meeting him, she felt that fear she had lacked. It was nothing more than a zip up her spine, but it was there. If he were any other person, any other version of him in the years past, this would be the last thing she saw before she would be laid to rest on the forest floor with her throat ripped out.

As much as she was startled at the sight, the feel of her blood dripping down her neck, she also saw the way he was looking at her. Within the depths of his dark eyes, he was seeing her and tasting her and knowing her for the first time. There was no way that she had been the only one to feel that overwhelming euphoria, not when he looked at her like that.

In a distracted movement, he wiped his sleeve over his chin, intending to clear some of the crimson though most of it only smeared over his skin.

He was breathless as he spoke, "Ar—You're... (Y/N)."

Tears filled his eyes as he clung to her.

Though her hand shook, (Y/N) still reached to place her palm on his cheek. She couldn't avoid the blood on his skin, but she didn't have the mind to care as she attempted to comfort him.

"I'm here," she whispered, hooking her ankle around the back of his leg, "You did it."

His hands on her back curled until his fingertips were denting her shoulder blades by how tightly he held her. He shook his head as if to clear whatever was going on inside. "We—It's—Your turn."

In that second, she remembered the small detail she had willfully forgotten. For the Bond to go both ways, she would have to also take his own blood. The prospect of him biting into her didn't seem so bad anymore compared to this.

Her eyes dropped to his neck, floundering suddenly. "I—But, I can't... I'm not like you, I can't... bite."

The fact seemed to hit Harry as well, though his brain was still clearly flooded with whatever it was he was experiencing with his end of the bond forged. He blinked to clear his eyes as he dropped his gaze to her neck.

"I think—I can take care of it," he offered on a stilted tongue.

(Y/N) didn't have any time to question before he was bringing his arm around to his lips, pushing his sleeve out of the way until his pale wrist was on display. The same way he had sunk his teeth into her neck, he now did to his own arm, opening up a gash with decidedly darker and thicker blood than she had ever seen before.

She understood what he was doing for her—taking out the work so she could close her end of the bond by taking in his blood—but she still felt repulsed at the prospect of tasting any of the ichor oozing from his arm. She wasn't like him. She couldn't see any way she could enjoy the taste or the feeling of drinking his blood.

All it took was one glance into his shimmering eyes, the same ones that had pleaded to her to not be scared of him, that prosed over his devotion to her, that had her shakily taking his arm in her grasp.

"Wh-What do I do?"

"Jus' drink, darling," he swallowed, "Quickly. Before it heals."

For the sole fact that she wasn't sure if she could stomach seeing Harry bite into himself once more, she closed her eyes and brought his wrist to her lips. The second the blood filled her mouth, she wanted nothing more than to retch over and spit it out. It was metallic and heavy, coating her mouth in a way she couldn't compare anything to.

The first gulp was the hardest—the most troubling. Just as soon as she swore her throat was closing, urging her to gag and be rid of everything she was taking down, something changed.

Similar in the way that there was an overwhelming stillness when Harry had bitten her, she was now left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. Before she had been contently in her skin, aware of every motion and touch. This time, she was conscious of everything that wasn't entirely her.

She swore she could feel her own wrist warming, her own thoughts picturing her bent over Harry's arm, the feel of her dress under her palm.

These were Harry's thoughts and feelings she was experiencing. She was no longer just her in that moment.

The Bond was there, allowing her a peek into who it was that was at her side.

Including the immense amount of love he was feeling just then.

She had never been aware of a missing piece in her, never been aware that there could be more of her somewhere, until then. This is what Harry had been feeling when he bit her, when he looked at her with tears in his eyes and clung to her as if she were the only one to give him breath, to make him whole.

Pulling his arm from her mouth, she didn't think twice of the blood staining her lips or coating her chin before she was throwing herself at him. Looping her arms around his neck, she clung to him with tears leaking down her eyes.

That was the Bond she could feel pulsing through her system. Harry was now a part of her just as much as she was his.

There was no doubt their clothing was ruined, blood staining the material that they had no chance of removing, with the ends of (Y/N)'s hair caught in the crossfire, but she couldn't find it in herself to care for more than anything but Harry.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice brittle under the lump in her throat and the tears glazing her eyes. "We did it."

"We did," Harry sighed, the smile on his face apparent in his tone, "I love you so much, darling."

(Y/N) could only close her eyes, melting into his hold with the greenhouse falling away around them. She clung to him tighter.

"I've got you, darling," he murmured into her hair, his voice a soothing balm to her wired nerve endings.

Relaxing into the moment, a quiet smile etched its way onto her lips.

This was going to be the rest of her life.

—————

"Harry, be quiet," (Y/N) giggled into his mouth.

"Why?" he countered, only pulling away just far enough to speak, "It's just us here, remember?"

Drawing him back to her lips with her hands on his cheeks, (Y/N) could barely keep the smile off of her face long enough to kiss him back. She sunk further into the luxe mattress under her back with every earnest press of his lips to hers, the first swipe of his tongue darting out to run along the seam of her lips.

After stumbling their way out of the greenhouse and through the gardens, Harry had led her to his bedroom with a kind of giddiness she had never seen in him before. Despite the blood on his face, he was almost child-like in his wonder with the way he looked at her.

His bedroom was just as laden in luxury as the rest of the castle, though it was clear that there was someone actually inhabiting the space. She could see stamps of his presence everywhere; in the stationery on his desk to the unkempt bedding as if he couldn't be bothered to remake his bed everyday despite having nothing but time to fill. A pile of lavender bundles and chamomile blooms were stacked on his bedside, familiar twine holding the herbs together.

When he offered her the bathroom to clean off, (Y/N) didn't hesitate, wanting to clean herself from the crust that was forming on her chin and the bits of blood that had dried in her hair. By the time she finished, there was a nightgown waiting for her and an invitation on familiar stationery to join Harry in his room when she was ready.

Under different circumstances, she would have taken her time, luxuriated in the thick towels and scented lotion. There were different creams and oils that she didn't recognize, the kind she would have loved to take her time and learn. But there was someone waiting for her—someone that was as close to her husband as he could be without sending her down the aisle in a white dress.

She didn't want to leave him waiting.

(Though, she did notice that the bite he had given to her neck was healed almost completely. The wound that had bled enough to fill his mouth was now reduced to a pair of pin pricks on the side of her neck, just barely visible if someone was looking. She was going to have to ask at some point if that was the effect of the bond mending her skin).

That was how she found herself with Harry hovering above her, damp hair tossed across his pillow and her hands cradling his cheeks.

"I can feel you right here," he murmured to her in wonder, his hand on his chest where his unbeating heart sat.

Sprinkling her own kisses along his cheek, she smiled against his skin. "I can feel you in my heart, too," she whispered against his skin.

Drawing away, (Y/N) tried to chase him for another kiss before failing and sinking back into her pillow with a breathy laugh. Harry's smile widened at the sound. His gaze slipped over her with enough depth that she could have sworn his hands followed the trail, goosebumps erupting on her skin.

"I wish I knew what you were thinking," (Y/N) said, stealing the same line he said to her more than once.

Matching her gaze once more, he looked at her with gleaming green shards in his eyes. "Just you. Always you."

Creases appeared by her eyes from just how far her smile stretched. She knew that line just as well. "Of course it is," she teased, petting the pad of her thumb along the height of his cheek bone,

"I mean it, my love" he smiled, sweeping a hand across her forehead to pull any stray hairs out of the way, "I have never felt before the way I do right now. Because of you."

(Y/N)'s heart surged at his words. She knew exactly what he was feeling. Through something she was beginning to understand as their bond, she felt the ardent truth in Harry's words as much as she could hear it. There wasn't enough vocabulary available to tell him what it meant to her to feel and hear his love.

Selfishly, she resorted to tugging him down for a kiss instead, hoping he understood just as well.

He smiled into the kiss, a good sign, just before he settled in with her.

With her legs spread wide for his hips to sit between, she couldn't help but to cling to him. There was no other way she could tell him how much she loved him, how deeply excited she was to spend the rest of the unknown with him. The feeling brought her back to the night before, when he had invited her here in the first place—when he had told her he loved her.

Despite the chill of his touch, she had never felt so warm when recalling the memory.

Her hands on his cheeks slid down from his face, following the line of his neck to his shoulders. The neck of his loosely buttoned shirt gave way under her touch, allowing more of his cold skin to sit on display for her to graze her fingers over.

With their mouths slotted together, (Y/N) grazed one hand up the column of his throat unsure of if it was her own warmth being reflected back or if he was feeling the same way as she and something had awoken in his body. Without thinking, she dragged her nails lightly down his skin, entranced by the new skin she had never touched and barely seen before.

Harry let out a low moan into her mouth, the sound rumbling against her own chest. Through the bond, she felt that touch of euphoria she was only familiar with through the bite in the greenhouse. Her stomach tightened at the thought.

Pulling away from her mouth, he dragged his kisses down the line of her jaw. "What was that for, darling?" he asked, his voice a deep grumble compared to the dulcet tones he typically served her.

"Did you like it?" she countered, a sheepish tone to her voice. She hadn't meant anything by it, really.

It was the smile she felt against her skin that had her relaxing. "I did," he answered, dragging his lips down the slope of her neck, "Is that what you wanted?"

"I always want to make you happy," she simply chirped back.

Drawing away, Harry hovered over her with a slight curl to his lips and only a sliver of green showing around his dark pupils. "Your job is terribly easy then," he smiled, "As I can't help but feel anything but completely ecstatic around you."

(Y/N) could only shake her head, suddenly feeling bashful under his gaze. She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her with her face buried in his neck. She could feel the plume of laughter he let out as much as she could hear it.

Pressing his weight into her as he reciprocated her hold, he wrapped his arms around her middle in a snug hug. The length of his body was pressed against hers, including the hard to ignore ridge nudging between her legs. While it wasn't the first time she had felt as much between the sheets in her bedroom, it still took her breath away.

Harry undoubtedly felt her reaction, causing him to pull away just enough to look down at her. "What's wrong, love?"

She floundered over her words, unsure of how exactly to phrase what she had caused her gasp and the feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. "You—I mean... You're—"

Pursing his lips, Harry held back his smile. "I know, darling," he smiled, "Don't worry, alright? We've done enough tonight, I don't think we need to add anymore new experiences like we had planned."

"But—" She unceremoniously dropped her gaze between them as if she could get a peek at what was prodding at her core. "I don't want to... You're not hurting, are you?"

He couldn't help the laugh that fell from his mouth then. "No, I am not hurting," he smiled, squeezing her to him one last time before relinquishing his hold.

Meandering out from between her legs, he moved to lay beside her. (Y/N) rolled with him, unwilling to let him go very far before he settled at her side, sharing the same pillow despite the vast amount of negative space available.

"You don't want me to...?" (Y/N) trailed off, unsure of what exactly she was asking. She knew Harry had asked her over, hoping to take advantage of the time alone without having to worry about the creaks of her own home. Despite the turns that night had taken, she didn't want him to believe she was no longer willing, even if she was a bit exhausted.

Harry's smile was tender on his lips, adoring just as his eyes were. He took one of her hands that had been clasped behind his neck and brought her palm to his mouth. Pressing his lips to the back in a smattering of kisses, he trailed that line up to her wrist and along her arm until she could no longer contain her giggling. The bright smile he gave in response had to match that of her own.

"Not tonight, my love," he crooned, "I know we had talked about how we wanted to spend this night by ourselves, but I know my outlook on the night has changed some." His gaze dropped to the pinprick marks on her neck, his features brightening that much more at the sight. "I don't feel any rush to do more. We have all the time in the world to learn each other in that way. I'd rather tonight be about you and I and learning the bond we now have."

Through that bond, she could feel his sincerity. There was no rush in him, nothing clamoring to take her virginity just to have it. It was more important to him to know his wife—his beloved, his bonded. Through his eyes, she saw the stretch of time they had together and the many nights they could fill between the sheets. There was no rush to be had when he had her for the rest of their lives.

"You're sure?" she asked, shuffling closer to him over the velvet duvet, "I don't want to disappoint you."

"How could you disappoint me, my love?" he asked through a dazzling smile, dimples denting his cheeks and perfect teeth on display. He brushed his hand over her cheek, fingertips grazing the fan of her lashes and the height of her cheekbone as if she were the most delicate of flowers in his garden. "You're here," he said in awe, "In my bed, brave enough to bond with me, and looking at me with stars in your eyes. How could I ever be disappointed with you?"

Heart thumping in her chest, (Y/N) looked at him and saw the life he had envisioned.

There were so many nights they were going to spend just like this, laden in velvet and kisses, chilling touches and warm gazes. They had all the time in the world, there was no reason not to savor these quiet moments with him.

All she could do was pull him in for a kiss.

—————

The following morning, (Y/N) was exhausted as she traipsed around the apothecary, though she felt as if she were floating off her feet. She took care to restock each and every cubby, straightening the displays and ensuring only the best of the best were placed out for customers. Her father was manning the register as she did so, leaving her to sit in her rose petal thoughts and appreciate the stiff muscles of her neck and bruises from her early morning climb back into her bedroom.

It was all reminders of the best night of her life, she decided. Her wedding night—even if it wasn't in the traditional sense.

There was a new piece that now lived inside her, a remnant of Harry's soul that now replaced the piece she had given him last night. It felt easier to breathe, now knowing that he was on the other side.

More than once since starting her day, her father had asked what had made her so chipper. She had only replied that she had slept well, or simply woke up in a good mood. She couldn't wait for the day that she could tell him that it was Harry that had her heart so full and eyes so bright.

The bell above the door jingled, alerting that a customer was coming in, though that wasn't what had (Y/N) perking up in her spot. There was a fumbling in her chest, as if her heart knew something she didn't.

Looking over her shoulder, her lungs squeezed when she saw who had walked through the door.

Armed with a draping bouquet of wisteria and the tiny bell-shaped blooms of lily of the valley, was Harry. He was dressed immaculately as ever, though she could see a color in his cheeks and his eyes almost glimmering with the amount of green shards that had surfaced. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father stiffen at his presence, though Harry gave her a passing glance with a lopsided smile before even acknowledging his presence.

"Mr. Styles," her father gruffly greeted him, "How can we help you today?"

"Actually, sir," Harry started, a pleasant voice to match his expression though (Y/N) could see amusement swimming in the depths, "I was hoping I could have a chance to speak with your daughter."

"She's busy at the moment, but I can help you with anything you need." Her father's voice now held an edge to it.

"Unfortunately," Harry said, skipping his gaze back to her where she stood with her hands knotted behind her back, "I don't think you can help me with this, sir. I was looking to ask for her permission to officially begin courting her—if she is interested, anyway"

(Y/N) had no hope of wiping the smile from her face, but she did everything she could to keep herself from launching into her husband. Instead, before her father could make any objection of any kind, she piped up with, "I am definitely interested, Mr. Styles. You have all the permission in the world."

Though she was sure that if she spared her father a glance he would be just as angry as the night he had thrown her invitation into the furnace, but she couldn't draw her eyes from Harry.

She couldn't wait to marry him. For the second time, technically.

—————

lily of the valley, though delicate, can stop the heart when consumed

ahhhhh that is the end of my little Halloween/fall story! now my break will be starting and ill be back with more writing after the new year!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please lmk if you have any ideas for anythign at all!

353 notes · View notes

ddeonuswhre · 2 months

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤI just want to feel your touch.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ SeonWoo x M!Reader.

Author's Note: I took a break (+ I was so sick for like a week and never touched this again, sorry.) Aside from that, this is the first time I've ever thought about writing things like that.

Summary: You and Sunoo were in your bedrooms after recording for En-o'clock.

Genre: Smut straight, fluff, spy(?

Warnings: This may be a fairly short story :b

His hands gently caressed your nipples while his kisses traveled every centimeter of your stomach, his tongue seemed to be that expert guide that carved a path to your hip, teasing you by separating from it and once again avoiding any contact with your skin. You, on the other hand, decided to open your eyes in surprise and desperation, you longed for the black-haired man to take control again of what seemed like an attempt to have sex as a stress reliever. You could hear his laugh after he looked at you out of the corner of his eye and again his hands now moved to your pants, beginning to slowly lower the zipper. You tried to help him but only received a slap that left the skin of your hand red.

ㅡTurn around.ㅡThe raven exclaimed and you just nodded while you leaned on the bed with both hands and placed your knees on it. Feeling his caresses was like touching the sky without even trying so hard and he knew that, that's why he tried to hold your face whenever he could or run the tips of his fingers all over your body before doing anything else. Your thoughts and comparisons were interrupted after feeling your pants go down and as soon as they slid to your knees, the other boy would begin to gently lick and kiss your entrance, his hands were guided to your member to take it with his right and put caress the tip with your left palm.

That beautiful boy could only smile at the way your moans adorned part of his room and the way your body arched every time he managed to gain access to your entrance with only his tongue, you were a canvas that he always loved to create. "You sound too good, too good for me." Those were the words that were your trigger, you were looking for a better way to be able to resist and be able to endure his constant caresses longer, but it was inevitable for you to cum after he approached your ear and with a light hoarse voice, agitated by his constant licking and his way of holding his breath to avoid letting out some obscene sound that could easily leave the room.

ㅡAll I had to do to make you come... was say that?ㅡ

You felt so embarrassed and it was very noticeable, your ears were quite red from what your boyfriend had commented. A soft but contagious laugh came out of you after he did the same. You somewhat relaxed after you turned around and he could sit you on his lap, you didn't want to leave all the work to him so you looked for more ways to help him, as well as removing his shirt carefully so as not to damage the microphone. Both mouths joined after a few seconds and he would gently remove his penis from his pants, beginning to rub it between your buttocks. You really still didn't mention that after several months where you only spent your time touching each other or simply doing a "favor" for another, this time you would genuinely have him inside you. The mere thought of it made you moan, taking in the flesh that was slowly entering between your buttocks.

Your hands found their way into his hair as he too began to move better, lining up his tip against your entrance. The need to go slowly was immediately lost when he started squeezing your glutes with some force. Luckily, your moans were masked by the sounds of music being generated by the friction of both of your mouths. Sunoo's moans made you harder as his grip on your hips tightened. You can only moan his name and beg him to hold you tighter as you grip his hair. Sun was enjoying the feeling as his thrusting becomes sloppy. His teeth dug into one of your shoulders after he had increased the way he rubbed against you, his bite causing you to come once again, caring very little now if you stained his pants.

Sun's moans became louder as he came without warning between you, continuing to move until you both orgasmed. You were desperately searching for a way to catch your breath while he stopped squeezing you. Your mind is still trying to catch up with your body as Sunoo falls onto the bed next to you. Maybe they didn't have a more direct interaction this time, but without a doubt this is one of the moments that you will never be able to get out of your head, their marks wouldn't leave you so easily either. "I promise I'll make it up to you another time, M/N." You simply nodded with a carefree smile as you stroked some hair that was on his forehead to look at him. His hair is a mess, and stuck to his forehead from sweat, he looks so radiant that you don't want to stop seeing him like that. "Don't worry about it, it's not necessary." You answered him, slowly sitting on the edge of the bed, to arrange your underwear and start looking for your clothes themselves.

You slid the pants over your legs, Sun stood up, keeping up with you and slid his own equally, there came a moment where he stood behind you and wrapped a hand around your waist to make you fall against him on the bed. It was a moment just for you, something intimate that you just enjoyed having with him without the others messing around. He gave you sloppy kisses on your neck while you both laughed, you loved hearing his laugh and seeing him happy, even more so if you were the one who gave him that. He runs one of his hands through his hair as you both lay in bed and Sunoo runs his thumb over your cheek as he gives you the biggest smile you've ever seen.

The only thing that both of you didn't know is that Jake was standing in the hallway, who for half an hour had been recording the two of you while he masturbated watching you rub each other with so much passion and love.

#kpop x male reader #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #enhypen x male reader #gn reader #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #kpop boys #kpop fanfic #enhypen sunoo #enha sunoo #kim sunoo #sunoo x reader #male reader #gayasf #kim seonwoo #sunoo

98 notes · View notes

rodolfoparras · 1 year

Text

Smoke Sprite

Pairing: Captain Price x Trans Male Reader

WC: ca 7k

Synopsis: Price teaches you how to smoke cigars among other things

Content warning: 18+, • MINORS DNI • dry humping • boot worship • boot grinding • verbal degradation • praise • alluded exhibitionism • Sub! Reader • Dom!Price • reference to afab anatomy (sparsely!) • power dynamics • age gap (no specific age stated but in my head it’s like 10 years between them) • no after care

Stand alone/ part of a series:

A/N: The usual disclaimer: English isn’t my first language so excuse any grammatically incorrect sentences, spelling mistakes, ooc, plot holes… heads up for long sentences as well, who needs proper structure anyway.

First time writing smut too bc at some point we ought to dive into this. Am I right or am I right? Also idk how to do accents, as a non native speaker I have a whole vocab that consist of American and British words and at some point something may sound whack but just rewrite it in your head and enjoy the fic hehe

Also don’t be fooled, you will actually learn about cigars here I did a deep dive for this

Few things were hard to come by when enlisted in the army. One of them being a good night's sleep. It was something you as well as many other soldiers battled with. You’d found that the best way to cope with it was to stay up til your mind was as exhausted as your body and one of the ways you’d make the time pass was by smoking.

That’s how you found yourself sitting on the window sill of the little kitchen provided on base, half way through your third cigarette, wishing your mind would let your body go to bed.

It wasn’t always bad being unable to sleep. Hours you spent awake (albeit against your will) were also sometimes hours you’d felt the most at peace.

Tonight felt like one of those nights and the peace washed over you in waves, so much so you finally felt like you were ready to head to bed.

Just as you’re about to follow through with that thought, a sudden noise at the door catches your attention.

You turn so quickly you almost drop the cigarette you’re smoking, ash falling over you with the motion.

It’s too dark to see the intruder’s face but you’re still able to see how he freezes in place and quickly raises his hand in defense.

“Relax sergeant” the tension leaves your body when you hear the intruder speak. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. It was after all one that was on your mind when you couldn’t sleep. “Didn't mean to scare you, was just gonna get something to drink” His voice sounds husky, he’d probably just woken up from his sleep.

You nod your head, as you go to sit down again, taking another drag of your cigarette as you observe the surprise guest.

His steps are sluggish, head almost dropping as he makes his way over to the fridge and you wonder to yourself if you should turn on some light so he doesn’t trip.

“Don’t know how you can smoke that shit” Price says, somehow managing to express his disdain through his sleep like daze.

You snort at his words before taking another drag of your cigarette, blowing out a cloud of smoke only to watch it disappear again.

“Look who’s talking” you say referring to the cigar that always seemed glued to his hand.

He opens the fridge, seemingly searching for his drink before he takes out a bottle of water. Soon after he makes his way over to the kitchen counter, across from where you’re sitting. The light from outside shines down on him and you can finally see him properly as he leans on the counter and takes a sip of his drink.

He’s dressed in some gray sweatpants and a matching tank top to go with it. It wasn’t an unusual sight per say. Many times he'd complain about running hot easily so he always dresses lightly when he sleeps. However that didn’t mean that you were unaffected by it.

“Seriously they taste like shit and smell bad too”he says before downing the rest of the water.

“I don’t smoke for the taste” you say as your eyes wander from his clothes up to his neck, taking notice of the dog tags on him and the way they’re glistening with the light shining down on them. Your gaze wanders further up, over to where his Adam's Apple lays and how it bobs every time he takes a sip of his drink, until your gaze finally lands on his face. His eyes are half lidded, lips parted and puffy and a flush coats his cheek. It’s clear that he’d just roll out of bed especially with how mussed his hair is. Despite that he looks good, really good actually.

“You should since these will take you out anyway” he says, bottle now discarded on the counter and hands tucked into his pockets.

“Teach me how to smoke cigars then” You say tossing your cigarette out the window before turning in your seat to face him properly.

Price raised an eyebrow at that.

“What? You can’t sleep, I can’t sleep, might as well do something useful here. Teach me how to smoke cigars”

The older man scratches at his beard in thought before seemingly making a decision. With a grunt he signs for you to move over and you do as he says. He sits down next to you, one foot propped on the window sill and the other hanging to the side of it.

Price digs his hand into his left pocket, pulls out a wooden box of something, pops it open before sliding it over to you.

“Take whichever you want, it doesn't matter. You’ll be prepping it anyway”

“Prepping?” You look at him like he’s grown three heads. It's a cigar after all, what is there to prep anyway?

He nudges his head, signaling for you to take one. When you do so, he takes one himself before he closes the box and pockets it again.

“It’s not like a cigarette. You don’t just shove it into your mouth and smoke it. All good things come with preparation and in moderation.”

“Are we still talking about cigars here “ you grin widely as you wiggle your eyebrows suggestively.

Price grunts at your words but doesn’t do much more as he goes into teacher mode.“First thing first, you want to know what you’re working with. That can break or make the experience”

You nod as you look down at the cigar in your hands. However, figuring out what you’re working with wasn’t as easy as it seemed. You’ve smoked for years but cigars were outside of your expertise.

Price must’ve seen the stupefied look on your face because he says “Don’t look at it like that, lad. It’s a cigar not a ticking time bomb“

“Sorry” you say, shifting in your seat as your free hand fiddles with some loose lint from the sweats you’re wearing.

“That’s alright. Let’s start with something familiar, yeah?” he mindlessly strokes his beard, brows furrowed in concentration as he tries to think of how to explain it.

“You lick your cigarettes right? How come you do that?” You’re momentarily stunned by the fact that he’s picked up on this. But his question hits you next and you can’t help but feel embarrassed when you confess.

“Force of habit I guess” you shrug, rubbing at your neck as your eyes wander from him to some random spot on the window sill.

Hey, you’re a smoker not a smoke connoisseur. You don’t know the ins and outs of nicotine.

He sighs heavily and drags his hand down his chin before he speaks “That’s alright.” he says before he goes to explain. “ It's a form of prepping, not really necessary for cigarettes but some smokers do it. However prepping is essentials for cigars”

He then goes on to raise his arm in the air, giving you a clear view of the cigar in his hand.

“First thing first you do a pinch test, it’s pretty simple really. You pinch it between your thumb and point finger. Do not roll it however. If it’s dry it’ll cause unnecessary friction which in turn will cause more tears in the leaf”

He starts to demonstrate the step. You try to focus but your eyes can’t help but wander all over his hands.

Despite the cigar being quite big, it looks something akin to a cigarette in his grip and although he’s got a rather delicate grip on the cigar you know just how rough he can be with his hands. You’ve seen it many times out on the field, and have even imagined what it would be like to be on the receiving end of the treatment. His hands always look so big and strong, dusted in chestnut hair and lined with thick blue veins. You can’t help but think of how pretty they look as he demonstrates the step.

“You still with me, lad?”

You lick your lips, mouth feeling dryer than any tobacco leaf. “Yeah “

“Now do so with yours. Remember just add some light pressure, it doesn’t need much more than that” he says, once again demonstrating the step. You start to feel a pressure in your chest as heats floods from your head down to your feet. You try to focus on his words but they only seem to add to the lightheadedness you’re feeling.

“You listening?” He asks, taking note of your dazed expression.

You only manage a hum in response to his question as you go to follow his instructions. “It shouldn’t crackle since they should be properly humidified anyway but it’s always good to know the basics yeah?” He says when you both notice there’s no crackling to be heard from the cigar in your hands.

“Now we cut it. I keep this baby on me at all times “ Price says before he pulls out a pocket knife.

“There's all types of fancy shit for cutting but the principle is to cut as little as possible rather than the opposite. You just kind of snip it off” he says as he places the knife at the tip and executes the move perfectly.

“Now you try,” he hands it over to you and you can’t help but feel quite confident in this part. The task didn’t seem complicated anyway. But as you go to cut it, it turns out to be much harder than it seemed. The cut is nothing like Price’s. If anything it’s jaggedy and has the tobacco leaves crackling at the tip.

“That’s alright, you can-“

Before he gets the chance to say anything else, you wrap your lips around the tip, allowing your spit to smoothen out any loose pieces.

“Oh- “ you look up at Price only to see him swallow hard.

“That’s a good lad” he says, voice sounding deeper when he speaks “was gonna say to not slobber it down in saliva but you seem to know your thing “

Your face feels hot when you go to respond.“Thanks”

It’s strange- this relationship you got with your captain. At first sight it might seem that you’re the one throwing flirty remarks around here. And he’s the one who acts unphased, or even annoyed at your flirting attempts. But matter of fact is he’s the one making suggestive remarks whether consciously or subconsciously and you’re the one phased by it. You wish you too could be as unphased as him because his recovering time for these types of situations is remarkable, really.

His voice is void of any previous emotion when he goes to speak again “Now to the last part, we light it”

And of course you try to keep with him.

“Never thought we’d get to it” you say, hoping and praying you seem just as unphased as he seems . But you can still feel your face burning and your voice slightly wobbling and the intense look he’s giving you isn’t helping you very much either.

“Hey you wanted me to teach you” Price reminds you with a pointed look.

“Go on please” you gesture dramatically before leaning back in your seat.

“The way you choose to light it will affect the taste. It’s all a matter of preference so to say “

“And how do you like yours to taste?” Your words come out more suggestive than intended and you can hear Price sucking in a sharp breath, head tilting and his eyes boring into yours when he says “I prefer to take my time with things, enjoy it thoroughly, make the most out of it if you know what I mean”

The mood feels different; stirring in a direction that has nothing to do with cigars and everything to do with something else, something-

“You’ll achieve that with a soft flame”

And it's quickly broken again.

Price fishes a box of matches out of his pocket, slides it open and takes a few of them before pocketing it again.

“Always use two matches but don’t be fooled, you can’t hurry the process this is just to ensure the cigar burns even. You with me?”

You nod - maybe a bit too eagerly to show him you’re listening, brows furrowed and lips puckered in concentration and if you’d be focused on someone else you’d see the ghost of a smile on Price’s face.

“You strike the matches and tilt them downwards, then rotate your cigar around the them “

“Like a marshmallow ” the words slip mindlessly out of your mouth and his eyes widen in surprise before he laughs.

You feel the tip of your ears go red but smile at what he says next “Fuckin’ hell, sure like a marshmallow “

Instead of saying something else that would result in making a bigger fool of yourself, you choose to do as he says.

You take two matches from him and attempt to strike them.

However it feels like the universe is on a mission to make you seem like the biggest fool because for some reason you can’t light up your match.

After your third failed attempt paired with some curses under your breath Price decides to offer you some help.

He leaves his place on the window sill, and leaves his cigar in the ashtray to stand behind you instead. But just as he does it, you manage to light them yourself. However for some reason he chooses not to go back to his seat.

“Like that,” you hear him before you see him, and smell his cologne behind the clouds of smoke.

You try to keep your focus as you slowly rotate the cigar in your hands

“Good lad you’re doing so good,” the words make you feel like a match ignited, burning from your head down to your toes.

“Is it done?” You don’t know what you’re asking about- the lessons or the torture he’s unknowingly putting you through.

“Ever heard of the word patience, kid?“ he chides and if it weren’t for your close proximity making you feel all funny you’d say something to him.

“Just one more round of matches and you’re good to go yeah?” His voice is gruff and breathy when he speaks, almost akin to the tone he uses when he gives commands on the field. You feel the wisps of hair from his beard brushing across your ear and the heat from the close proximity of your bodies. You chose to nod in response, opting to bite your tongue in fear of saying something you might regret later on.

Soon you find yourself with a lit cigar in your hands.

“There now to the last step” the heat quickly disappears as a gust of cold wind creeps onto your skin and you’re sure it’s not because of the open window but rather from the space between your bodies as he goes back to his own seat.

“The most important rule of smoking- if you’re to remember anything out of this- is to not inhale it but rather take a light drag. Your body and your lungs will be thankful for sparing them, see it as something you slosh around in your mouth rather than shove down your windpipe”

You raise a brow at his choice of words.

“I am not the best teacher, “ he shrugs before picking up his cigar again.

He puts it between his lips and takes a light drag of it and you can’t help but think that he looks attractive doing it.

You never thought smoking was attractive. You smoked to ease your nerves and couldn’t wrap your head around what would be so attractive about a little nicotine stick and the awful smell that came along with it. But looking at him now with his eyelids hanging low, head tilted to the side as he exhales the smoke, you finally understand why people thought so. Especially now, with his Adam’s apple on show, dog tags gleaming behind the clouds of smoke and his toned arms flexing every time he goes to take another drag of the cigar.

“You do the most work in the beginning until you see white smoke. That’s how you know it’s properly lit and you can actually start to enjoy it“ Price’s voice sounds stern when he speaks; like a knowledgeable teacher sharing information to his interested students. And you sure were interested: in more ways than one.

“Most work in the beginning huh?” You grin wolfishly at him.

“You pull a lot of jokes, kid “ he chuckles as he continuously spins the cigar in his hand.

Kid. Your nose scrunches at the word “Not a kid and who said it’s a joke?”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead he tilts his head and rubs his beard as if mulling over something before speaking again.

“You try now”

You nod your head as you attempt to focus on the task at hand. But it isn’t easy, your eyes flicker from his fingers, to his lips, to the way he sits leaned back in his seat with smoke surrounding him.

Before you know it you’re inhaling the cigar, doing the complete opposite of what he told you and within seconds you feel the smoke hitting you all at once; blurring your vision and sending you into a coughing fit.

“I told you not to inhale it” he tuts as he leans over to take the cigar from your hands before he goes to pat your back “damn shame you seemed so good at following directions, what happened?”

You try to speak but the burning sensation in your throat cuts you off. His hand is once again on your back rubbing up and down aimlessly before he suddenly gets up and you instinctively grab onto him “I’m just going to get something to drink” he says, repeating his words from before and you nod, allowing him to do so.

“Here” he says a moment later, pressing a cold water bottle against your cheek.

You flinch away from the cold sensation, but grab it anyway, downing more than half the bottle within seconds.

“Take it easy or you’ll choke again, boy”

Despite the advice you find yourself unable to slow down and you down the rest like a man parched.

He chuckles at your actions and grabs hold of your chin, turning your head to face him.

“That good?” He asks, eyes shining with both hints of worry and amusement.

You nod in response feeling heat creep up your neck and ears. The feeling intensifies when his thumb swipes across your bottom lip, wiping off any remaining liquid before he pops it in his mouth to lick it off of him.

“I - I can do better” you croak out, still trying to catch your breath.

“What’s that boy?”

You clear your throat and take a deep breath, braving yourself to speak “I meant what I said I can do it, let me try again”

His gaze shifts between your eyes and your lips, seemingly making a decision when he goes to speak.

“Alright, come here “ he says before he goes back to his seat on the window sill, cigar tucked back between his lips, and with smoke surrounding him. He looks delectable to say the least.

As if it were a reflex your body complies to his request, shuffling over to sit closer to him.

You can feel your knees brushing, smell the scent of his cologne mixing with the cloud of smoke, can even see each and every eyelash on his eye along with the gray hairs sprinkled across his chestnut beard.

You thought you couldn’t get any closer than this but suddenly he leans further in and your eyes go wide as you watch him. His hand goes to your head, strokes your hair, and brushes back any loose strands or flies aways before it glides across your cheeks, until finally stopping at your lips.

“Open up, now” he says, one hand under your chin and the other tapping his cigar against your lips.

“Lets try this again, yeah? You did so well, don't want the lesson to go to waste” You hum in response, parting your lips before wrapping them around the cigar. However you don’t take a drag. Instead you await his command.

“Remember gently, no need to put much effort into it, yeah?”

You nod as you put all your focus into doing as he says and finally you manage to take a proper drag of it, enough to taste it and enough to blow it out properly as well.

“Good lad. I knew you could do it “ the look of pride on his face along with his words goes straight to your head. Like the cat that got the cream, you think to yourself.

You go to take another drag of it and as you do he places his hand on the small of your back, soothingly rubbing up and down the length of it. You try to focus on the cigar rather than his touch because you fear that in itself will send you into a coughing fit. But it’s hard to stay focused on the cigar when his hand leaves the small of your back and makes its way up to your neck instead. You’re just about to blow out the smoke when his hand wraps around your neck and gently squeezes it.

You part your lips in surprise and as you do so smoke leaves your mouth, coming out in little circles that quickly dissipate in the air. Your eyes widen at your little trick and he just chuckles at your reaction, before releasing his grip completely and leaning back a bit.

“Little trick I learnt “ he says innocently, shrugging even before he clears his throat, eyes avoidant of your own but manages a thank you when you pass the cigar back to him.

A rather awkward silence falls over you two as you try to process what happened. Price’s hand around your neck- the shy reaction you got from it- the fact that he knew this trick in the first place. It all hangs in the air like clouds of smoke and puts your mind in daze. It’s hard to snap out of it but once you do you wonder if you should say something or move on to the next subject. Looking at him you can clearly see he’s embarrassed about it so you choose to spare him but you also choose to store this moment in your mind for when you’re in desperate need of a replay.

“Gotta give it to you, you were right about the taste. It’s pretty nice actually”

He inhales sharply at that, eyes falling to your lips as he goes to speak “Yeah? Why don’t you describe it to me? Last part of the lesson. Need you to name the flavors ” His hand is now at your thigh, fingertips mindlessly tracing circles onto it and you think it isn’t fair of him. He can clearly see the way your body is reacting to him- to his touches- to his words and he still expects you to function.

You must’ve taken too long to respond because Price’s hand squeezes your thigh in warning “Sergeant”

“Creamy- it tastes creamy sir “ you stumble over your words but still manage to get out a response.

He hums in response, hand tightening at your thigh before once again squeezing it to get your attention. “Anything else? Any specific flavor you can name. Go on, take another drag of it“ he says before passing the cigar back to you. For once you’re thankful that your body reacts so easily to his commands. Your head’s far too gone at this point to be able to give your body instructions.

You take another drag of the cigar, allowing the smoke to coat your tongue before exhaling it. There’s a rich sweetness accompanied with a certain bitterness dancing across your taste buds “Coffee tastes like coffee sir- maybe even hits of almond as well?” you say through batted lashes, eagerly awaiting his response.

“Correct. My favorite” he hums in approval.“You’re a quick learner,huh?” The phrase like the cat that got the cream rings through your head again but this time you couldn’t care less. This time you'd gladly accept it. You’d gladly be the cat and you’d gladly take all the cream especially if it was -

Price grabs you by the collar of your shirt and pulls you close. “You know what else is good to learn? “

You gasp at the sudden motion and instinctively grab onto him, one hand at his arm, the other barely holding onto the cigar. His voice is dangerously low and breathy and the way his hot breath washes over your neck raises goosebumps all over your body.

You can even feel the tell tale sign of his thick mustache brush up against your neck as he goes to say “subtlety, my boy”

There’s little to no space between your bodies. He’s so close to you that you can hear his gruff voice forming the words at the back of his throat, and feel how they vibrate against his chest as he speaks them. Yet you ache to be closer so you grip tighter onto him and press your body closer to his.

“You were fidgeting around in your seat and barely paying attention to what I was saying. I almost thought you were getting bored of the lesson but that can’t be right now can it? ”

It's no longer wisps of mustache hair brushing against your neck but rather a full beard trailing up to the spot behind your ear. And every time he goes to speak, it brushes relentlessly against the skin, leaving burn marks behind him.

“No- no sir. I’m very eager to learn” your mind’s starting to feel hazy, your breath’s quickening and you can’t help but tighten your grip on him, nails sinking into supple skin. You hear him wince but can’t bring yourself to care nor to loosen your grip.

There's a nagging voice at the back of your head telling you this is just a wet dream or even worse a hallucination as you lay bleeding out on a field. So to silence it you tighten your hold on him, hoping and praying you aren’t just imaging him.

However he seems very much real because his arm feels firm and flexes under your tight grip. Every time you go to take a breath you smell the scent of smoke and cologne that seem to follow him and all you can see is his broad back and the small curls at the back of his neck.

“Mm eager you say '' His accent is much thicker now, desire coating his tongue and slurring his words and his tone is playful like you’ve never heard it be before. All of a sudden you feel his fingers at the back of your head, fingers burrowing into the thick mane of hair before he pulls your head up to face him.

“I expect a response when I speak sergeant “ he says, tugging at your hair in warning.

You whimper at the sting, eyes batting up at him as you go to respond to him “Y- yes sir I’m very eager to learn”

Price looks at you with half lidded eyes and with an arrogant smile across his lips as he goes to cup your cheek. “I suppose someone so eager wouldn’t have any issues repeating the steps we learned today”

“No sir” you manage to spurt out a response as you lean into his touch.

“That’s a good boy” he says as his thumb caresses your cheek. “So good for me, yeah?” His voice almost sounds like the one he uses on the field when he goes to praise his team, except this one is just a bit lower, more breathier and wraps around endearments only meant for your ears.

“How about this,” he begins to say, hand slipping from your cheek, trailing down to your neck and landing on your shoulder. He takes his time to straighten the collar before he speaks again

“if you can tell me all the steps we went through today” he trails off once again as both of his hands slide down the length of your arms before finally stopping at your thighs where they rub soothing circles onto them. “I’ll reward you for it “

“Only if you want to, of course” he says, as he goes to take his hands off your thighs.

“Oh I want to ” you say hurriedly as you grab onto his hand to keep them in place.” A lot, actually” you add in a shaky tone feeling your face heat up at your own words.

His eyes flare with desire and he takes a sharp breath before he says “Sit back for me yeah? One leg on each side of the window, need you to sit comfortably for this okay?”

You do as he says, one foot on the desert ground and the other one on the wooden floor and you automatically lean back on the window frame to make yourself comfortable.

He on the other hand, has one boot clad foot propped on the window sill and the other one hanging to the side of, leaning back comfortably.

Your hands are trembling in your lap, fingers still gripping onto the cigar and you can see goosebumps rising on your bare skin but it’s not because of the cool metal pressing against it or because of the howling wind. It's rather something else and Price seems to know the very reason behind it because he says.

“You’re shaking my boy are you nervous about presenting?” He asks in a mocking tone, before he takes the cigar from you and puts it in between his lips. While you’re trembling in your seat he looks as relaxed as ever, leaned back against the wall, arms crossed and with an expectant smile on his lips.

“No-no sir” you respond as you squirm under his expecting gaze.

“Get on with it then” he says sharply and you spring into action.

“The first thing you do is prepare your cigar. That can make or break the experience… “ you trail off as you scramble your brain for what to say next. But your train of thoughts is quickly cut off by a sudden pressure on your left leg.

Price’s foot gently nudges your thigh and once again, as if it were a reflex, your body responds to him; legs spreading further apart, to make more room for him.

Suddenly, he starts tapping his foot impatiently, purposely grazing his boot clad foot against sensitive skin as he waits for you to recite the next step. Despite the sweats you’re wearing, you’re so worked up that every touch feels like he’s grazing bare skin.

“Go on. I didn’t tell you to stop” he warns as he puts a punishing pressure onto your thigh, harsh sole digging into soft skin and you wince at the impact before you speak.

“To check if your cigar is moist you use your thumb and point fingers and squeeze - squeeze it from top to bottom” the air is punched out of your lungs, your words breaking up as the boot moves from your thigh to instead rest directly atop of your dick.

You gasp, fingers grabbing onto the edges of the window sill as your hips buck to get more of the feeling “I’m sorry- I’m sorry sir” you say, feeling embarrassed at your body’s reaction.

However Price doesn’t acknowledge your action nor your words. Instead he decides to raise attention to something else.

“No underwear ?” He asks, taking notice of the wet patch forming on your gray sweats.

“No sir I sleep commando” Price curses under his breath and you feel the pressure increase in between your legs.

“ Of course you fuckin do” he hisses and presses down even harsher, making you jolt at the movement and you just know that the embarrassingly big patch is growing larger by the minute with the way Price grins down at the spot between your legs. And when you look down at yourself you don’t only see the large wet spot on your sweats but you also see soil covered footprints all over it. The mess in between your legs shouldn’t turn you on but the sheer sight of it makes you whimper and buck your hips.

“What’s the next step?”

You go to respond but end up choking on your words when you feel the fabric of your sweats slip between your folds and push directly up against your sensitive clit. He even goes to rock his foot side to side, boot continuously assaulting your sensitive numb.

“What’s gotten your little cock so excited you can’t even speak?”

You whimper at his words, eyes squeezing shut as you lose yourself in the pleasure. “You’re being mean sir”

“Mean?” he asks, voice dripping in faux concern but never once letting up on his torturous movements. “I’m just trying to reward you here. You want your reward, don’t you?”

You nod frantically as you buck your hips up at him. All of a sudden he ceases any and all movements and you snap your eyes open up to look at him.

He raises a brow at you with a wolfish grin on his lips. You blink up at him for a moment, before it clicks; he wants you to work for it.

You almost huff at the realization. Nonetheless you adjust in your seat, hands propping behind your back as you bend at your knees before you gently start to rock your hips: his boot once again hitting your sensitive clit.

“We - we cut it. Not too much though, just the tip” you manage to get out the words before you break off into moans. You don’t realize how loud you’re being until he shushes you. It’s only then you realize that someone else can see or even worse hear you two.

“What if- what if someone sees us sir?” You ask but never once letting up on your movements.

It takes a while for Price to respond, too entranced with the sight in front of him, leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and cigar between his lips. You can barely see his face from the smoke surrounding him but the way his chest is rising and falling at a rapid beat and the way the cigar is shaking in his grip you know he is enjoying your performance.

Truth be told you don’t even know if he heard you in the first place but when you go speak again he says “No one will see anything I promise” he says in reassurance.”Everyone’s fast asleep and if someone even tries to look or listen I’ll teach them to mind their own fuckin business. “

With that you turn your attention back to chasing your high, this time uncaring about who can see or hear as you lose yourself in the pleasure.

However your attention is brought back to him once again when he says “But maybe you’d like them to?” He says, voice sounding thick and gruff. You snap your head towards him only to see him glowering down at you with desire swirling in his blue irises and a playful smile at his lips.

You know he’s just entering the thought of it, he wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with. And you can see his gaze switching from your face to your body to gauge your reaction. And he must see the positive reaction your body gives because he continues “you’d like for them to see how pretty you look all worked up for me? Maybe even jerk themselves off to you? Can't blame them if they did. You look too good like this” you can only moan in response as he continues to talk “maybe you’d even want them to join us. One cock isn’t enough for you. A slut like you needs to get all your holes stuffed to be happy isn’t that right?”

Your pace increases at his words as you lose yourself to the pleasure. But you’re quickly brought back to the present when he says “What’s the next step sergeant?“

You blink back the haze, as you try to scramble your brain for what to say next.

“Next you light it - you need two” at this point you’re just spurting out nonesene, too busy chasing your pleasure.

Although his boot does hit your clit, many times - due to your fast paced beat- it’ll miss, aim too clumsy and messy to reach it. It doesn’t take long for you to make the decision to latch one hand onto his leg, the other making sure to support your weight as you adjust his foot so that the tip of his boot hits your clit every time you rock against it.

You know you’re putting on a show for anyone who might hear or see; legs spread wide apart, arousal and mud covering your sweats as you desperately cling onto Price’s leg and moaning desperately. However you can’t find it in yourself to care, can’t focus on anything other than the pleasure coiling between your legs.

You look up at Price through half lidded eyes and mouth agape only to see a similar expression on his face.

“Jesus, look at you grinding on me like a bitch in heat, you enjoying this hm?”

“Yes yes sir, enjoy it so much” At this point you're slurring your words, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut as you focus on nothing else but the heat growing in your core.

Your heels dig further into the floor, knees cramping from the awkward position and arms aching from supporting your weight for so long. But you refuse to let up on your pace. You’re so close to the finish line you can almost taste it.

“Almost there” you warn him before your mind’s too far gone to say something.

“Then you better explain the last step or there will be none of it, sergeant “ he says as he squeezes your thigh in warning.

“Yes sir” you groan out before you will yourself to speak again “you puff it - you do the most work in the beginning until-“ you don’t get to finish your sentence before you’re cut off by your own moan.

“until what sergeant?” Is the last thing you hear before you lose focus of your surroundings, eyes squeezed shut and mouth agape as you chase your high on Price’s boot.

“Until - until - it starts working by-. “ is all you manage to get out before you’re cumming- stumbling over the finish line with your back arched and with a cry of victory.

You don’t even get to warn him before you’re falling back in your seat, arms giving out and legs losing their footing. As you do so the boot accidentally rubs against your clit and for the first time since you ended up in this situation you jerk back from the friction, dick too sensitive.

You end up leaning against your elbow, window frame uncomfortably pressed against your spine and Price’s hands on your thighs keeping you from falling straight to the ground.

“You alright?” Price asks after a moment of silence and you feel his hand on your thigh again, rubbing soothing circles on them.

You hum in response, still lost in bliss and he chuckles as he gives you a moment to come down from it.

Once you do, you flutter your eyes open and smile lazily at him.

“Good job my boy, you did so well”

“Thank you, sir” your face burns as you respond. him and the phrase like the cat that got the cream rings through your head once again.

Suddenly you see Price’s brows furrow, tongue poking past his lips as he looks down at his feet.

“Looks like you left a stain there” he says as nonchalantly as possible and points to his soiled boot “could you clean it up for me please?”

Your eyes flash in surprise and for a moment the words hang in the air.

But as quickly as they came, the words dissipate leaving a haze behind that seems to take over your brain.

“Of - of course, sir “ you say as you scurry out of your seat but before you can get any further he stops you with his foot, firmly pressing it against your chest “with your tongue sergeant “

You suck in a breath and you can feel your dick twitch in your soiled sweats.

“Yes sir”

You lean in so that you’re face to face with the boot he’s wearing. It’s a simple black boot, worn out from everything it’s been through but there’s one spot on top of it that shines like it’s been newly polished. It’s the very same spot you zoom in on, tongue poking past your lips as you trace a path from the very bottom up to the top of it.

You feel the soft leather scrape against your tongue as the familiar taste dances across your tastebuds. And every time you go to lick the boot your nose brushes against the leather and you smell yourself on it. Despite the work you put into cleaning it you know you’ve ruined the spot with your arousal and instead of feeling bad about it you can’t help but moan at the fact that he can’t hide the evidence of the event that had transpired. You give it one last lick before you kiss the boot and smile at him.

He curses under his breath, a mix of swear words accompanied with your name leaving his lips and your grin widens as you sit up again.

“Enjoy the rest of your night, kid” he says all of sudden, patting your thigh lightly before jumping to his feet. “When you’re ready to put out the cigar, just let it rest on the ashtray, it’ll put itself out that way” he says as he shows how to do it with his very own cigar before making his way over to the door.

Within seconds you’re up on your feet, moving on wobbly legs you almost fall back on the window sill.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Lesson’s over” he says simply before looking down at the watch on his wrist “and I’m old and need my rest. “ He looks away from his watch to the mess between your legs.

“Besides, you need to get cleaned up. See you tomorrow, kid” he says with a wink as he leaves.

“See you tomorrow” you say into the now empty room, chuckling in disbelief as you plop yourself back down on the window sill. You’re a sticky mess and should probably go shower but instead you take a drag of your cigar before you say “This man’s truly something else”

#captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #John price x reader #captain John price x male reader #cod #cod x Reader #cod x male Reader #Alec writes #idc if there are any mistakes I’ve been editing this for so long I’m so tired of it fjdjfjfjf #anyway

457 notes · View notes

dedenneblogs · 1 month

Text

HEARTBREAK HIGH S2 ANALYSIS PART 1 (buckle up this is going to be a doozy)

so... it's out (the trailer).

youtube

my excitement cannot be expressed...

BUTT! today, i will be doing my iconic mouse analysis of this trailer (this is actually the first time im doing something like this so it's not rlly iconic BUTT it will be soon) with the most comprehensive inspection i can using under 2 minutes of video as a basis....

with that said lets

BEGIN!

the heartbreak highers are back for another "cursed" term....

so glad to see the trio back in action. like. actually so happy. MIGHT explode from excitement... as always, their outfits slaylay.

the boyfriends... friends? boys? BUGS??? found out on hh s2!

these goons are back... gayer then ever,,, seriously. when will these two have an episode long make out 'sesh? unlikely, to much dismay....spoiler alert...you'll see....

MISSY!!!!! and sasha, i guess

SPOILER ALERT AGAINNNN missy looks like she'll be more prominent in this season so...WIN!!!!

also why is she mewing who is rizzing up

and new on the the chopping block-- Rowan Callaghan!

we'll get to rowan when we get to rowan

in other (more important) news-- SHE'S HEALING! HARPER IS HEALING!!!

i... *sobs* i she's growing her hair out oh my GAW...... she's getting better...she... there's a lower chance she'll cock-block amerie (oh but she'll get cock [spoiler-- again!])

butt let's not celebrate just yet-- it's still "everyone hates amerie" up in this joint, smellas

may as well... shot them. huh. well. pop off, i suppose... (amerie asserts her right to bear arms-- truly patriotic coming from an aussie!)

...touché coming from the (still) most hated student in heartly who only adds salt to the wound by... using the pink 'ildo from s1 as a mic... chat... she's lost it.

(unrelated but in the background-- MISSY AND MALAKAI!!! they were building up a relationship between them in s1 and how she and her brother (i think? 'memory's fuzzy) helped him heal from the shit he had to go through in s1 and even better connect him with his aboriginal roots. i hope to see more of these two interact come april 11th and i binge the whole season)

ALSO also ANOTHER new character-- Zoe Clarke!

we will ALSo get to zoe when we get to zoe

anywho-- cue: AMERIE'S ONLINE HARASSMENT ARC! becuz every show needs one...unfortunately. Give a cold welcome to Bird Psycho, heartbreak highers (we will get to bird psycho when we get to bird psycho)

(who ever is doing this shit is a bitch but either way: "you dont get to be the hero" shut your goofy ass up)

oh that's gore. that's core of my comfort character.

ok so maybe this bird psycho cuck isnt fucking around because clearly he's gotten to our girl ams :(

(dw they uh...take her out for ice cream. after this. proabably.)

moving foward-- STAND BACK I SAID STAND BACK WEIRD GIRL QUINNI

oughh im gonna be sick. of course. OF COURSE SHE WOULD GO FULL SHERLOCK HOLMES TO HELP HER BESTIE.

yeah anyways with this in mind she'd totally try and crack the fnaf lore wouldn't she. wouldn't she.

she's slay she's girlboss but at the end of the day she's a weirdo

anywho nuff of my rambling there--

ominous of you to say zoe

BUT ENOUGH OF HER CA$$HHHHHHHHHHHH

ca$h omg eshay eshay eshay pspspspsp,,,

i am so happy to see him (spoiler alert for 2 secs throughout the whole trailer) but anywho remeber? remeber right he's in prison. but seems to be doing okay... (maybe for the best heartly drama is really coming to a boiling point)

and-- oh. uh... chicken dumbell... okay... pop off, missy...

when i said i wanted more missy i didnt expect this

spider seems to be into tho maybe what ??1/1/111.1/?!??!/1/1/1

missy x spider was NOT on my bingo card

WHEN MISSY SAID SHE WAS STARTING TO LIKE WHITE BOYS I DIDNT THINK SHE MEANT THIS.

BUUTTTttttt-- i. am. down. for. it... somehow. frankly, spider needs someone to put him in his place and low and behold, missy seems to be the student to do so..........

hey. if they're both happy with their...chicken dumbells, i am too.

amerie dont be alarmed but there's a white boy to your right

in other news this love triangle scares the diarrhea out of me

look at them. they're the perfect couple (malakai x amerie 4life) and rowan is--

well he's a nice boy but cmon

LOOK AGAIN IM DOWN FOR THEM TO BE HAPPY BUTT when it comes in between THE BEST SHIP IN THE SHOW (looks at amerie x spider shippers with affectionate disdain) i draw the line.

but who knows? rowan seems nice enough, and if he's able to make amerie happy, let them have each other! <3

also knowing malakai's track record i wouldn't put it past him to get freaky with rowan too (threesome attempt 2??? actually no wait thats a horrible idea NEVERMIND [gets s1 ep4 flashbacks])

also also "classic love triangle" scene gives major "erm...well this is akward!" vibes from ams (we stan cringey amerie in this household tho)

and well. shart. max limit of 30 photos. oh well-- ill make a second part! tune in for the update heartbreak highers :3

75 notes · View notes

wonderoustime · 8 months

Text

pairing: kageyama x gn! reader word count: 571 words genre: fluff content warnings: none, just pure fluff a/n: i got this idea like a week ago when listening to bad romance of all things.

“your homework for this weekend is to finish the rest of the problems on this exercise. class dismissed.”

the classroom fills with the sounds of groans and chatter the instant the door closes. you wave a little goodbye to your seat-mate kageyama as he, like a few others, leaves the room almost immediately to use the washroom, grab a snack or drink, or move to their next classes.

you let out a sigh as you close your books. this weekend was turning out to be another boring one, with just stupid math problems and the rest of your english paper to keep you company. you stretched for a quick second before you spot something in your periphery.

a sheet of paper on the floor near his desk with some writing on it.

now, you weren’t normally the type to snoop on someone’s personal belongings, but you had to see if he needed it since his other things were already with him. so, you squint at it, hoping to see some math formula and hoping to catch a few more minutes with him.

no equations on the paper. instead, the entire sheet was doodled on. little lopsided hearts, flowers with surprisingly intricate leaves and scribbles of both your names littered the page, alongside the occasional number.

you let out a gasp, warmth rushing into your cheeks. you quickly pull up the paper, looking through it for a second time, praying you weren’t hallucinating. “right,” you said after pinching your hand, your voice oddly high-pitched. you took in a shaky breath, trying to calm your pounding heart. “right.”

you giggle as kageyama lets out a noise of surprise as you tapped on his shoulder. knowing kageyama, you had reasoned that he’d be at the vending machines.

“fancy seeing you here, seat-mate,” you smile cheekily at him. you hope that that would mask some of the color probably still on your face.

kageyama narrows his eyes slightly. “you followed me here.”

you roll your eyes at him, your left arm moving in a dismissive gesture, “to-may-to, to-mah-to. anyway, a little birdie told me something very interesting.”

“birds ca-“ he cut himself off instantly, frowning. “(name), what are you talking about?”

“w-well,” you start, “it may have something to do with you. and your heart.” you see him cock his head, confused.

“my… heart?”

the light pink on his face increases in brightness. you take that as a confirmation of your suspicions, “i’ll get straight to it. do you have a crush on me?”

“h-h-how did y-you-“

you present the sheet of paper, now neatly folded. recognition paints his face a bright shade of red as his eyes widen beyond belief and he’s frozen in place. you pick up his hand for him and close his fingers around the paper now in his hands. he involuntarily shivers as you gently graze your thumb over his palm.

“i’d… read that soon if i were you,” you whisper. you watch as kageyama finally moves his gaze away from his fingers, onto you, before quickly turning to face anywhere but you as he nods dumbly. you internally coo at how absolutely adorable he looks with his big blue eyes and scarlet face and ears.

his shock makes it easier for you as you pull him towards you, until your lips and his ears are at level. “if any of that didn’t make it clear, i like you.”

132 notes · View notes

30-3am · 7 months

Text

𝙱.𝙰.𝚁.𝙴.𝙵.𝙾.𝙾.𝚃

⋆ ★ 𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝙷𝚎𝚝𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍

" 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 " ⋆ ★

part seven of multiple

𝙱.𝙰.𝚁.𝙴.𝙵.𝙾.𝙾.𝚃 • 𝙲.𝙾.𝙽.𝚃.𝙴.𝙽.𝚃.𝚂

⋆ ★ warnings: overdose

⋆ ★ word count: 6.3k

the contents of this story will not be for everyone. if you aren't comfortable with unethical and/or age-gap relationships, then do not read.

»»———-　story by 30-3am　———-««

Chapter Seven - Take From Me Everything I Have

14th July, 05:57

Downey, CA

Another week of normalcy passed as quickly as it began, riding fast on a white horse through the plains and punching James in the gut as it skidded to a halt. July was moving much too quickly for his liking. He had no time to think, to mull over the constant ache that sheathed his heart and it was infuriating. There was not a minute to sit with himself, to close his eyes, see through the fog and make his way out of the tall grass. There was a constant film over his head that became more blurry the more he saw her.

The rational part of him was screaming loud in his ear: it’s wrong and it will always be wrong. But, as the days went on, the screaming grew muffled and now it was only a muted ring. There was a louder part of his brain that fractured his will, the structure cracking and splintering until it all came tumbling down; fragments on the floor that seeped into the mud.

When he had held her, there had been a strong sense of…something. A dull pinching in his gut that only got harsher when he let go. How vulnerable she had been, how openly trusting she was of him. It made him feel all the more perverse. This was a girl who had been broken down by life, torn apart at the seams by death and abuse. From what he could gather, there had been no stability in that house and as soon as he provided it, she latched on tight, clinging onto him and forcing him to stay. It was something in her eyes, something in the way she spoke, something that weighed him down and pulled him into the depths of the ocean. He had not reached the seabed yet, but he could feel the seaweed tickling his toes and he was verging on something detrimental.

There was a strong urge within him to help her, to tuck her away under his arm and shield her from a world she had already entered. She was not naive but she was vulnerable, her wounds open to the earth, people jeering at her pain and sprinkling salt into the cuts. He was not sure what such a sweet girl had done to deserve it and found himself pondering the phenomenon when he was alone in bed, in the shower, when he had far too much time to himself and nothing to do with his hands. What did she do to deserve it? The question still remained unanswered but he so desperately wanted to understand. He wanted to understand her, the way she moved through life without breaking and he wanted to understand the fucked up man she called a father and how he could do such a thing to his only daughter.

More so than anything, he wanted her to understand that he was on her side. He may speak to that fucker, and he may be polite even when he didn’t want to be but his loyalty was not interchangeable. There was a civil war between the Palmers; he stood with Heather. He was prepared to be her right hand, the person who would lead her back onto the correct path when she ran astray. He was just unsure as to how he was supposed to get to such a level where he could end the war.

It wasn’t as if he could just bring her close, hold her, kiss her, fuck her. There was no use in scaring her away. She was like a pretty little rabbit that scampered at the first sign of danger, running on all four legs and back to the rabbit hole. To keep her, he would have to advance with light steps, stopping at every twitch of her nose, reaching and stretching until she let him pick her up and hold her to his chest.

He would take his time with her; he would let her come to him.

So, every day except Sundays he waited for her, stereo on, windows down, eyes fixed on the glass windows of Michelles and watching her through them. The uniform she was forced into wasn’t the most flattering, the pale pink dying away with every wash, the skirt reaching the tops of her knees; something straight from the early 80s. But, she managed to pull it off just like she did most things. Even those old, beat-up Converse that were ready to be replaced looked more than adequate on her. His favourite, however, were her little shorts that she never seemed to be out of. The denim latched onto her skin, a trail of buttons clambering up her stomach and riding high up her back.They gave him a full view of her legs, the plushness of her thighs that jeered at him every time he wanted to reach out and run his hands up the smooth skin. Those legs. The thoughts he had at night about burying himself between them…

He always made sure to get to the diner on time, not early, not late, just on time. After the first couple of days of picking her up, he realised that she liked to leave a few minutes earlier than mandated, her disappearing into the back, reappearing with her bag and then bounding out the doors; freedom waiting for her on the other side. She still stepped into his truck like it was the first time, unsure of where to put her feet, if her bag should go on the floor or on her lap, waiting for his permission to pick the music. It was endearing and frustrating all at once. Part of him wanted to rush, speed down the highway as fast as the old truck would let him and meet her on the other side. Sometimes, when she lingered before getting out of the truck, he just wanted to pull her close and press a harsh kiss on her lips, grasp onto the flesh of her thigh and love her until she cried. Somewhere inside him, however, he knew that that was not the solution and he’d restrain himself by digging his nails into his knees and would watch her unwillingly leave him questioning his morality.

The same ritual would soon be repeated as he saw her pushing open the door, stepping out into the morning that was already migrating into another unbearably hot day. He watched carefully from the truck, Heather advancing towards him with hurried steps. As soon as her face was visible, she sent him a strained smile, a cloud of doubt surrounding her that made him sit up straighter. She disappeared briefly as she moved towards the passenger side, the click of the door in his ears and the soft sound of her breathing as she clambered up into her seat.

“Good shift?” He asked once she was settled, already starting up the car as he sensed the mood she was in.

“It was okay.” She murmured.

He let the silence linger for a moment, reversing out of the parking space and traversing his way through the open lot.

“You sure?” Always double-checking.

Heather opened her mouth to speak before stopping herself, closing it slowly and sinking into her seat.

“Yeah, just…” Her mind seemed elsewhere, preoccupied with things he didn’t know. “Do you mind dropping me off somewhere else today?”

The first thought that popped through his mind was that he’d hurt her, he’d finally broken her down and killed her spirit. His second thought was how strangely hurt it made him that they still hadn’t got to a point where she could freely ask him for help.

Both worries were squandered as she began her reasoning.

“I need to go check on a friend.”

A metaphorical breath was released, a wave of shame and guilt overcoming him. He suppressed it with a clear of his throat.

“Of course I can, kid.” She had never mentioned a friend before although she had said a name he’d forgotten weeks ago when they’d engaged in their usual, idle conversation. “Where do they live?”

“She lives on Eastbrook Avenue. I can tell you how to get there.” Her speech was rushed, every word uttered hastily.

“Don’t worry, kid, I know where that is.”

The majority of his time in Downey had been spent driving and doing nothing but. Not much else had appealed to him. He drove and drove, getting himself reacquainted with the land, understanding what had changed whilst he had been gone and visiting places he hadn’t been to since he was a teen. With all the driving came a lot of thinking. Thinking about her: her idiosyncrasies, her habits, her situation. Wondering: what drove her? Why did she stay? Why did crippling anxiety gather in his gut every time she stepped out of the truck and advanced to her impending doom?

So many questions were left unanswered because he was too afraid to ask - fearful of the answer and fearful of the reaction to his audacity.

“Okay…” She took a deep breath, placing her hands on her lap, her skirt riding up the littlest bit; enough to be tempting. “Okay, thank you.”

A moment passed, the usual sound of whoever she had picked that day not filling the space. He decided to replace it with his burning question.

“You sure you alright?”

“Yeah.” He left it at that, refusing to provoke her further. He didn’t even have the courage to tell her to put her music on so he left it alone.

There was something wrong with her. He could tell by the constant fidgeting, the silence that wasn’t, as it usually was, comfortable. Her mind was far off. She was far off, somewhere just on the horizon and dancing on the tightrope - silhouetted by the sun.

Silence permeated the truck, the roads eerily quiet, the sun blinding him as it rose higher to the earth’s roof. He pulled the visor down and cast a singular glance at her before averting his attention back to the road. He couldn’t deny the worry, the growing anxiousness that wouldn’t cease as he tried to focus on driving, the roll of the wheels, the pedals under his feet, anything but the girl next to him. He wanted to know what was bothering her. Not knowing what was causing her shift in nature, gave him the urge to shake her until she answered him truthfully. Pulling out honest answers from her was like pulling teeth. He would be there until all she had left was her gums and her blood.

Time ticked by, the journey lengthened by the new destination. It took her thirteen minutes to finally speak.

“You know I don’t know how to drive stick.” He glanced over at her, the sudden shift in tone giving him severe whiplash. Her eyes were firmly fixed on the gearstick, watching as he shifted from three to four, back to three again.

“Not a lot of kids do.” He replied swiftly, although the conversation was still shrouded in secrecy, a third party knocking on their skulls and begging questions and false answers from them.

“I don’t usually see a lot of manual cars anymore.”

“They’re not that common in America.” Cars were something he was comfortable talking about and for a brief moment, he was happy with the change of pace. “I converted this one…” he absent-mindedly pointed at the car, waving his hand and settling it back down on the wheel.

“You converted it from automatic to manual?” She was perking up, sitting straighter in her seat and offering him deeper attention.

“Yeah.”

“Why would you do that?” Her laugh was light on her tongue, seeping into his skin and easing his worriment.

He paused for a second before answering and then shrugged, a lazy smile on his lips as he looked at her.

“Makes me look cooler.”

She tried to suppress her smile, biting on her bottom lip and flicking her eyes from his, back to where his hand rested on the gearshift and pushed it into fourth gear.

“I guess…” she muttered, chuckling lightly to herself. The mood was sufficiently lifted, lingering in the air and threatening to drift away. In order to maintain the comfort, he placed his right hand back on the wheel and nodded to the gearstick.

“Have a go.”

The look she gave him was comical, her eyes widening, lips tugging upwards and a lightness in her features that made him want to wrap her up and hold her close.

“Seriously?”

“It’s not that hard, kid.”

Unthinkingly, he let his hand drop from the wheel, steering with his left as he gathered hers from her lap and pulled it to rest on the gearstick. Her hand was cold underneath his as he enveloped it, gripping tightly and moulding his palm into her knuckles.

James noted the silence that occurred again, this time louder and more threatening as they inched closer and closer to something…something. He didn’t like that “something” wasn’t definitive, that it was blurred by the wool over his eyes which was held down by glue; he kept ripping at it until his skin was scarred and bloody.

There was no denying the tensing of her hand under his, the slight shift as she kept her eyes fixed on her lap and her hair covering her face to not reveal herself. Sometimes, in moments like these, he began to believe that his thoughts were okay to think, that it was all reciprocated and he was not a filthy old man. The way she looked at him when she thought he couldn’t see, the way she reacted when he touched her, the way she trusted him so implicitly that it made him feel nauseous. It made him believe, like some delusional, love-sick teenage boy, that she would accept him willingly.

“Just like…” Her swallow was audible, bordering on a gulp as he manoeuvred her hand with his, pushing the stick back. “That.” He didn’t remove his hand, letting it rest on top of hers. Her breathing was coming heavier, her eyes flicking to his once, catching his eye and hastily looking away. “Easy.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet as she replied, losing its previous cadence and slipping back into subservience.

“You have to use the clutch at the same time but I can teach you about that another time.”

He moved the gearstick again, not letting her take her hand away. It twitched under him as he pushed the knob forward, leisurely driving down the road, the sun slathering them in a layer of light. He took his hand away once to use his blinker and found hers compliantly waiting for him to cover it up - to blanket his skin over hers. They did not move until he stopped where she told him to, outside the house that was near the laundromat; Eastbrook Avenue. He had to take his hand away from hers and his skin burned with the feel of her, the sight of her hand disappearing beneath his.

The worst of all was that she seemed calmer than when she had first entered the truck. Her whole being seemed lighter, her hand slowly peeling away from plastic and leather and finding its way back to her lap. She stared at her knuckles, the tops of her fingers and then at him. Pathetic as he succumbed to the tension permeating the vehicle, weak as he didn’t dismiss her when she smiled. Falling.

“Thank you.” Such a sweet smile. Sweet and sad.

“You’re alright, kid.” He noticed the falter of her lips as he muttered out the nickname, eyes flicking back to her lap and gathering up her bag. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah, okay.” Watching passively as she popped the door open, slid from her seat and planted herself on the ground, he tried to suppress the longing. And as she said her goodbyes, as he reciprocated, he stopped himself from believing that the situation was right, that he was the good person he claimed to be, that he was not a sad, perverted old man who couldn’t leave a young girl alone.

He was angry at himself. He had crossed many lines but he would not cross this one and he was so eager to get away that he drove off before he could watch her get inside.

06:38

Heather’s hand burned, glowing orange and then blue, smouldering down to the bone. It was enough to make her entirely forget about the situation at hand, one that had been gnawing at her brain since she’d stared at the red seat and saw it empty.

It had been a week since Brittany had come into the diner. A full fucking week. And she hadn’t realised. She had been so caught up with James and James and fucking James that when she was dawdling behind the counter, doing the crossword from the paper someone had left, all she thought about was him. She hadn’t even anticipated her friend, going to work and forgetting her usual routine, going out of work and being so nervous about seeing James again that she couldn’t think of anything else but how she was going to say hello to him.

Guilt consumed her. How could she have not noticed? Even if the routine was broken for just a day and Brittany didn’t come in, Heather would worry. It had been far longer than that and she had not noticed. Her mind forged the worst outcomes, painting pictures of her only friend lying dead on the floor with vomit oozing from her mouth - her being the single person at fault. Then, she’d seen him and she’d been angry. At first, she had been angry. Because her mind was so consumed with him, the possibilities of their relationships, a smile that she overanalyzed, a touch she lingered on far too long and she had stood and stared at the door, greeting customers familiar and unfamiliar, and she still had not thought of poor Brittany.

Heather had been anxious the whole drive over, her stomach twisting and pulling as the car rolled forward, the speed bumps in the road jolting her. Her anxieties had only been heightened when he’d grabbed her hand. Her body had frozen, incapable of movement as her brain begged her to recoil and not give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. But her head was confused and cloudy and she couldn’t find it in her to dismiss him. She’d let the warmth of his hand imprint itself onto her, let him force her over the campfire and spit-roast her until she was burnt.

She silently celebrated when he’d pulled away, cradling her wrist like it was broken. It still hung limp now, swinging from side to side as she took step after step to the front door. She couldn’t shake the dread that clung to the length of her and couldn’t rid of the thought of him. The guilt only grew worse as she couldn’t give all of her attention to the situation, every part of her begging to stop thinking about the subject of all her dreams.

I’m sorry, God. She swung her bag around to her front, zipping open the front pocket to produce a set of keys. Brittany had given her a spare one a while ago. She’d just come out of the hospital and thought it was necessary. Please. Don’t take her from me as well.

Her hands shook as she tried to get the key into the lock, missing thrice before finally hearing metal scraping against metal and the telling click as she turned the shaped nickel to the right.

You’ve already taken so much from me. It felt like she was running through the water as she pushed the door open, the wood creaking in protest as it swung on its hinges and collided with the wall. Don’t take her. I won’t be able to handle it.

“Britt?” The smell hit her first, unidentifiable alcohol, tobacco and smack. “Britt?” She called again, her voice cracking mid-way through. She swallowed down the lump in her throat, the house glowing orange with the morning sun, a quiet settling with the dust on the mantle and the dead flies on the windowsill. Everything was still as she continued through the hallway, the wood floors creaking every other step. It felt like she was the only thing sentient in the house, everything else quieting upon her arrival out of respect for what she was about to encounter. “Brittany?”

Are you so spiteful to take her away from me? What is this vendetta you have against me? God? Answer me!

Heather tried to control her breathing as she stumbled upon the half-open door of Brittany’s bedroom, the sunlight that danced across the floor taunting her - inviting her in.

“Britt?” Her voice failed her, the name falling from her lips in a strange, hushed whisper.

Don’t. She pushed the door open, staying firmly on the other side of the entrance. Don’t. A shaky breath emitted from her lips; it lingered in the space in front of her and then dissipated, curling around the doorframe and into the woods. Don’t.

A step, then another, her knees wobbling as she walked over where wood transformed into carpet.

“Britt?” She didn’t know if she could bear to look, her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her before searching…searching all the way to the left, eyes on the bed that was unmade and littered with wet stains and then to the floor. “Britt?” Why, God? Why? “Holy shit.”

The sight made her throat close up, the gurgling sounds coming from Brittany's mouth that her ears had been deaf to prior were now blaring. For a moment, she stood entirely still, eyes bulging, her legs shaking so much that she threatened to topple over entirely. The soles of her shoes were fixed to the floor, nailed into the wood like Jesus was nailed on the cross.

“Britt.” It was the only sound she could summon, a half-hearted, unhelpful call of her name. It took another frightening sound from her throat for Heather to finally snap and she yanked free of her shackles, lunging forward to kneel next to her. “Brittany.” She didn’t know what to do, her hands on her shoulders, shaking and shaking, Britt’s head banging against the force of her efforts. Her skin was unnaturally blue, and clammy under Heather’s inspection as she touched a hand to her cheek. “Shit.” Heather’s breathing was heavy, oxygen reaching her lungs quickly and in heaps of contaminated air. “Shit.” Curses slipped from her lips, panic setting in. She didn’t know what else to do except panic. Everything around her went blurry, just the sight of Brittany’s unconscious face in her vision.

Please, stop it.

Tears that she hadn’t felt accumulate dripped down her nose, falling off the tip and onto the space between Brittany's shirt and pants that exposed her skin. The liquid spread along her stomach, settling there and remaining still as her shallow breathing prevented the movement of her belly.

God, please.

“H-hang on…Britt…please.” She sputtered out futile comforts between harsh breaths, hands grabbing onto whatever skin she could, her hair that had greyed more in the space of a week than it had her whole life - fingers gripping to keep her here. She wanted James. James would know what to do. He would be calm, he would not be pathetically clutching onto a ghost, mortal form passing through the dead. He would stroke her hair, he would hold her like he had done once before, kiss her on the head and let her cry. She briefly thought about calling him, his voice that would certainly stabilise her and help her understand what the logical path from here was. However, logic came to her in its natural path. Phone. Ambulance.

Keep her safe, please, God, please, please, please.

Brittany had told her once, on a night when she had stayed longer than usual, her form diminished as she droned on: “Don’t you ever call that ambulance. Costs too much goddamn money. I’d rather die.”

Heather was fumbling for her phone. Goddamn thing was at the bottom of her bag, the blank screen glaring up at her as she yanked it into her grasp and shakily unlocked it.

Selfish; she knew. But she would find a way to pay. She would pay for everything if it meant she would not lose another. Too many people had left her. Brittany would not be one of them.

“You and me girl.” She’d said one night. “Like the daughter I never had.” She’d said another.

She dialled her saving grace, gripping onto Brittany’s cold hand, begging her body to transfer it’s life into hers.

The operator called to her on the other side of the phone, muffled and echoing around in a dark empty tunnel - no light at the end of it.

God, I repent. I am a sinner. I should not be rewarded. Smite thee, and save thee. Do not break what I’ve already broken.

Please.

She squeezed Brittany’s hand once as she worried over her motionless body, praying and praying and praying.

09:00

The metal cross between her fingers grew hot as she turned it over in her hands. They had not allowed her in the ambulance and had shut the door in her face whilst they drove Brittany away. Away. Once the sound of sirens grew distant enough to be unheard, her legs had given way and she’d collapsed on the concrete steps of Brittany’s front yard, her chest heaving as her body grew hot. Exhaustion, worry and disbelief set in as she cried, her throat hoarse and her body shaking. It took her a whole half hour to calm down and another five minutes for the vertigo to wash away before her love overtook her perturbation and she rose to her feet, mind set on the hospital.

Whilst she was walking, she briefly thought about calling James but after a long mental battle, chose not to disturb him. She already took too much of his time. But now the chemical smell of the hospital was making her feel sick and her stomach was churning and Jesus was not working. She needed him. She needed him here with her - if only to sing her to sleep.

The cross between her hands was growing hotter and hotter, her fingers tracing over the straight lines. Everything around her was a rush, people flitting in and out of the waiting room, nurses in scrubs with red faces and a baby that would not shut up, crying in the corner while it’s mother tried desperately to hush it. They would not let her see her. They would tell her nothing except “I’m sure your friend is fine.” Heather, in all her compliance, did not argue or ask for anything more. She went and sat on those hard, plastic chairs and pulled her cross from her neck; she prayed. It was all she knew how to do.

Upon realising that Jesus and the disciples were not there to guide her, to help her walk on the water, she called out to James. James who was more of a father than God ever had been. She called him. He had answered and did not question her when she said she was at the hospital. He had only given her the promise that he would be there; he was the only person in her life who ever kept their promise.

“I’m outside.” The text read and the abruptness with which she ran to him was embarrassing. However, she was so grateful to be rid of the hospital, the stench, the sickness and her humiliation was wiped from her mind.

It was too long to wait for the elevator so she took the stairs and her feet were quick on the slippy tile as she impatiently burst through the automatic doors. She wondered if he’d hug her or if he’d tell her she was being too dramatic. It was hard to know what would happen as she traversed, bleary-eyed through the parking lot to locate his truck - a truck that in many ways, was also hers.

How pathetically she desired his comfort, how, ever since she had gotten a taste for what it was like to be held by him, had not stopped craving it. He was her nicotine, coating her lungs in tar and sending receptors to her brain that said “She needs me.”

“Heather.” The name was called softly, coming from behind her and stopping her search. She turned around, swallowing away the lump in her throat as she saw him leaning against the hood of the truck, eyes pitying the state he’d found her in. She supposed she was piteous, her work clothes still on, her hair skewed in different directions and mascara running down her face like she was asking for attention. Brushing away the object of her dishevelment, she curled her arms around herself, stepping forward and into his space.

“Kid…” He began, trailing off as she shook her head.

She didn’t want to cry in front of him - not again.

“I’m sorry for calling.”

He pushed off the hood, standing tall and twisting his mouth into a comforting, and albeit, confused smile.

“It’s fine.” She sniffled, trying to stop the tears that threatened to spill. Her head was already pounding and she did not need to cry. He did not need to see her cry. “You okay?”

He’d done it. He’d pulled the lump out of her throat, letting it fall to the floor through the tear that slipped down her cheek.

“Oh, Angel.” She wanted to tell him to shut up, wanted to push him away as he wrapped a hand over her shoulder. But, she fell against his chest, seeking him out. She could not quit him, and, in all honesty, did not want to as he pulled her between his legs and leaned back down against the hood. “What happened?” She wanted to tell him to stop because his affection only made her cry more. The more she got a taste for his touch, the more she yearned for it.

“My- my friend.” She spluttered out, her hands trapped between their chests as he cradled her head. “She- she-.” Her breathing was growing erratic for the third time that day, reliving the scene in her head. Brittany: motionless. Her skin blue. That god-awful gurgling in the back of her throat that replayed on a loop in her ears.

“Shh, shh, It’s okay.” He secured her against him, hands tangling into the knots of her hair and holding her still. “Breathe with me, Heather.” He exaggerated his breathing, chest rising up and staying there for a few seconds before falling back down to its relaxed state.

She couldn’t copy him, her chest instead contracting and releasing in quick increments.

“Heather, sweetheart.” The vibrations of his voice travelled through her, settling deep in her lungs and loosening her muscles. “You gotta breathe with me.”

In. She held her breath in her lungs, eyes squeezing shut as more tears fell. Brittany was in her mind, on that floor, on a hospital bed with a sheet being pulled over her lifeless body. All because of Heather’s lack of care. She tensed up against him and he muttered something she couldn’t make out over the ringing in her ears. Almost knowingly, he clutched her close instead. Out. She let her entire body slacken, falling against him as she stabilised herself. She repeated the motions again. In. James now at the forefront. Out.

“There you go.” Both his hands were rubbing across the expanse of her back, squeezing her tight in a seemingly counterintuitive technique, but the closeness, the warmth of him and the smell of him made her feel secure and like her feet were back on the ground. “That’s it, Angel.”

They continued to breathe together until her whole body slumped into him, James holding her upright as stray tears fell. He waited a moment before repeating his previous question.

“What happened, hm?”

Heather took a long, shaky breath as she kept her head firmly against his chest, refusing to move from the comfort.

“My friend…Brittany.” She downgraded the relationship to just friend. She would explain to him what Brittany meant to her when she knew she was okay. “She, um…” Her voice was thick, and she had to keep swallowing to rid of the dryness. “She’s an addict.” Her voice cracked and he began his previous ministrations - stroking up and down her back. “She usually comes into the diner every night but- but she hasn’t this week.” And I didn’t notice because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. “I- I was worried so I went to check on her and…and…”

“It’s okay you don’t have to say it.” She squeezed a few tears out, her head throbbing with the image of Brittany, the fear she had felt when she’d found her. “Is she alright?”

“I don’t know, they won’t tell me.” Heather finally found the courage to pull away from him, her hands trapped between their chest as she lifted her head and looked into the shade of blue that she dreamed of.

He gazed down at her, his hat, at some point being pulled from his head and placed on the hood, hair a little messy and eyes visibly working to comfort her.

“We’ll find out, don’t worry.”

We: a promise.

She shook her head, eyes flicking to her hands that were bundled up against the cotton of his shirt.

“I shouldn’t have brought her here, she doesn’t have insurance.” Her voice was breaking, her composure cracking again; fragile as porcelain. “She told me she’d rather die, I- I don’t-.” “Don’t worry about that.” The tone of his voice was straightforward, giving her the truth to keep her locked in reality. “I’ll pay.

No. No, he couldn’t.

“James.” She looked at him incredulously, shaking her head. Brittany wouldn’t let him. Brittany didn’t even know him. Nor did he know her. “You can’t, you don’t even know her.”

“She means a lot to you, that’s all I need to know.” He cut her off immediately, his hand reaching up towards her face and cupping her cheek in a far too intimate display of affection for the public eye. His thumb dragged over her skin, rubbing back and forth. “I’m offering. I’m willing.”

“She’ll say no.” “Then I’ll insist.”

She grew silent, eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into the feeling of his rough fingers against her cheek. He would do that. He would do it for her. She needed to repay him. She needed to in some way but she had no idea how.

She flicked her eyes open again, staring at the space right in front of her. Her hands flattened against his chest, staring at the spread of her fingers against his shirt and the hitch in his breath as she copied his movements on her cheek; her thumb brushed against his muscle, the shirt bunching up as she did so.

“Thank you.” Heather’s eyes were back to his, reluctantly straying from the sight of her hands on his chest. It was okay to pretend for a moment, with him cupping her face and holding her close, it was okay to pretend. “For everything you’ve done for me.”

She could not pull her eyes away, his face dangerously close to hers. There was turmoil in his stare, his eyes flitting over her face and jaw painfully clenched.

“You’ve…” Experimentally, she leaned in a little closer. “You’ve helped me a lot.”

For a second, it seemed like he leaned in too, but his dismissal came fast and straightforward.

“No.” He shook his head, answering her silent question as his hand fell from her face and rested on her back. “Heather, no.”

“Why?” She wasn’t sure if it was her vulnerability that was making her so bold or the realisation that things could be taken from her if she wasn’t careful but she didn’t all that care in the moment. His arms were around her, he was close enough that she could taste his cologne in the back of her throat, the scent tangling around her uvula and there was a tang of hope in the air surrounding them. But, he was quick to shut it down, pushing her back so he could stand up straight and letting her go completely so he could put his hat back on his head.

“I’m gonna get you home, okay?”

It was hard to deny the hurt at his rejection, the bile that rose to the surface as embarrassment took over.

“I need to stay here.” She tried to speak over the humiliation, brushing through her hair just so her hands were preoccupied.

“We can come back later.” He was walking around to his side of the truck, tugging the door open. He seemed frustrated. He seemed angry with her. Or, the possibility she didn't want to consider, he was disappointed. “You need to eat something, maybe have a shower and get changed.”

“But what about Brittany?” “She’s gonna have to stay overnight either way, kid.” Kid. It was back and it was brutal. She wanted to rage, yell at him that she was the furthest thing from infantile. She was a grown goddamn woman. But, the very fact that she felt the need to defend that, made her believe that maybe he was right. Maybe all she was was a child. Maybe that would be the only way he’d ever see her.

She was never one to argue. So, she complied with his orders and started to advance towards the door.

I’M SORRY!

As always, He did not answer her cries. She would forever be the sinner, whose repentance went unheard.

⋆ ★

A/N: i finally got it out!! i told you. technically it's sunday but i don't care. it's not sunday until i wake up in the morning.

either way, this was a very heavy chapter with a lot a lot going on. it was kinda hard writing this because i didn't want to be too descriptive to the point that it was uncomfortable but brittany is a very important character in heather's life and this situation is a driving force for her to act on her feelings for james.

i've kinda set the tone for next chapter with that last scene so..take a guess. the slowburn is gonna be burning so fucking hot next chapter. it will be out as soon as possible. not next saturday but maybe the saturday after.

also, like i say every time if you see any mistakes you fucking tell me. if you don't i will hunt you down.

that being said, thank you so so much for reading. i can't wait to hear what you have to say :))

alana.

#james hetfield #metallica #barefoot #james hetfield smut #metallica smut #metallica fanfiction #james hetfield x oc

110 notes · View notes