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#send that arrow send it through my heart

supersymmetrys · 1 month

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Relationship prompts based on Taylor Swift's 1989 album!

WELCOME TO NEW YORK — "When we first dropped our bags on apartment floors took our broken hearts, put them in a drawer" (Visiting a new place, traveling with each other, or moving in together.)

BLANK SPACE — "Oh my god, who is she? I get drunk on jealousy" (Making each other jealous, whether it is accidental or on purpose, teasing the other.)

STYLE — "You got that long hair slicked back white t-shirt and I got that good girl faith and tight little skirt" (Shopping together, getting new clothes for one another, dressing up in their favorite attires).

OUT OF THE WOODS — "When we decided to move the furniture so we could dance" (Fond memories, domestic moments together, the soft side of the relationship.)

ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS STAY — "You were all I wanted, but not like this." (Right person, wrong time!)

SHAKE IT OFF — "My ex-man brought his new girlfriend she's like Oh my god! but I'm just gonna shake" (Seeing each other after the breakup, trying to act cool in front of the other despite the obvious feelings they still have.)

I WISH YOU WOULD — "I wish you were right here, right now, it's all good, I wish you would" (Spending some time apart, missing each other, talking only through the phone and missing the other's person touch.)

BAD BLOOD — "Did you think we'd be fine? I still got scars on my back from your knife" (Betrayal, a terrible breakup, lovers-to-enemies.)

WILDEST DREAMS — "Tangled up with you all night, burning it down" (The intimate moments, what happens when they’re finally alone.)

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL — "Broke your heart, I'll put it back together" (Apologies, realizing they’re wrong, reconciliations, or the aftermaths of a big fight.)

THIS LOVE — "Your kiss, my cheek, I watched you leave, your smile, my ghost, I watched you leave" (The relationship ended after one of them dies, the relationship still haunts them, literally or metaphorically.)

I KNOW PLACES — "Baby, I know places we won't be found" (Hiding the relationship, sneaking out to meet in the middle of the night.)

CLEAN — "When the flowers that we'd grown together died out of thirst" (Finally getting over a relationship, learning to move on, and forgetting that person.)

WONDERLAND — "Didn't they tell us don't rush into things?" (Falling crazily in love, knowing this will end but doing it anyway, risking everything to be with this person.)

YOU ARE IN LOVE — "You can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home" (The realization, the first time one of them says “I love you” to the other, the point of no return.)

NEW ROMANTICS — "Baby, we're the new romantics, the best people in life are free" (Going out to party, making mistakes, staying up to see the sunrise, and kissing while drunk.)

#writing prompts #music prompts #ship prompts #writeblr #prompt list #prompts inspired by lyrics #relationship prompts #taylor swift #writers #writers community #writers on tumblr #send that arrow send it through my heart

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starrystevie · 2 years

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YALL i am so busy at work like running around the entire building because all of our event space is in use busy and i'm sweaty and frazzled and straight up not having a good time. when all of a sudden, cute chef that i know has a boyfriend so i shouldn't have a baby crush comes around the corner and is being all sweet and nice and the killer? SHE PULLED AN EYELASH OFF MY CHEEK AND HAD ME MAKE A WISH. I CANT TAKE IT ANYMORE. I DONT HAVE TIME TO PANIC OVER THIS EITHER CAUSE I HAVE TO GO RUN A WHOLE LUNCH BUFFET FOR RICH ASSHOLES SEND ME THE STRENGTH TO DEAL EWITH THIS SOMEONE BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL CANT

#im literally so sweaty and she had the NERVE to touch her hand to my face?? that is covered in sweat??#and NOT think that that act of kindness would send cupids arrow right through my gay little heart???????

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astarionxhappiness · 2 months

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Summary: Astarion gets badly injured in a fight, and you have to take care of him while waiting to be found.

Word count: 5,781

Warnings: Astarion being hurt.

It was just another fight.

That was what you thought, at least.

Just another day of danger and adventure.

Never for a second when you woke up that morning did you think you and your companions would be scrambling for your lives.

"Head for the cave!" You heard Shadowheart scream to you over the sounds of the exploding fireballs.

Smoke filled the air thickly, making it hard to see. The thick smoke filled your lungs, making it hard to breath.

Your eyes darted around, trying to find the location she spoke of.

You tensed as a large hand wrapped around your bicep, making you nearly drop your weapon as you were yanked to the left.

Your gaze snapped in the direction of the newcomer, relief washing over you when you laid eyes on Astarion, though he did not seem to share this feeling.

"Things are getting far messier than I care for. I'd say it is time we leave, darling."

He kept a firm grip on your arm, pulling you through the smoke that filled your lungs painfully.

You yelped as you were both suddenly thrown forward by a violent explosion landing not two feet directly behind you, sending both of you flying forward.

The vampire managed to turn himself to land on his shoulder instead of his face, though thanks to the grip on your arm, it made it far more difficult for you to land with similar grace, instead falling direction on top of him causing him to grunt in pain.

"Has anyone ever told you that you weigh far to much to be throwing yourself on people, darling?" He questioned rhetorically, winded from the impact.

"Well next time let's try it with you catching me without my weapons and armor, hm?" You retorted, making him smile.

"Well, so long as you're offering," He replied with a sly smile.

You couldn't help letting out a breathy laugh despite the adrenaline coursing through you, smacking his arm before moving to get off of him.

You yelped when a bolt of lightning suddenly struck right beside the two of you.

You moved instinctively to shield the vampire with your body, looking down at him questioningly as the dirt settled, as though scared something had passed through you to hurt him instead.

He was already looking up at you, seeming taken aback by this show of care, still not used to such acts of love and loyalty.

Neither of you were able to dwell in the moment, though, certain that the next mage would likely not miss.

You yanked him to his feet, grabbing his hand and starting at a blind sprint, squinting through the thick black smoke.

You did not bother looking back for the others as you reached the edge of the smoke cloud, listening to the sounds of battle still going strong in the distance.

"In here," You commanded when you spotted a small hole in the rocks up ahead that you could squeeze into.

His hand still in yours, you took off running.

You were close. so close-

A cry of pain coming from your left was the first indication of something being wrong.

Your head turned, the scene playing out in slow motion before your very eyes as you watched with horror as an arrow slid through Astarion's back, the tip of it shoving violently through the front of his shirt.

Your scream sounded distant to your own ears as you quickly turned to grab him just as he started to fall, his eyes giving away the shock of being impaled.

"Shadowheart!" You screeched, struggling to keep him on his feet.

Now he was heavy.

"No- no nononono-" You felt your stomach in your throat, your heart pounding as you watched blood leaking from the elf's mouth.

"Astarion, don't you dare faint on me! " You cried, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, adrenaline driving you, giving you the strength to practically carry him to the nook that promised you both safety.

You slipped between the narrow walls of stone, panting as you carefully sat him down.

"Star, hey, look at me," You pleaded as his eyes seemed unable to focus.

"I don't. . I don't feel well, love" he murmured distractedly, sounding dazed.

"Hey, hey--look at me! It's not that bad. It's not even that bad. Just breathe," You ordered through tears that started to well in your eyes, your dirty hands coming to cup his equally messy face as you pressed your forehead to his.

"Just focus, okay? You're gonna be okay. I have some healing potions, and Shadowheart is gonna find us" Despite your assurances, you couldn't stop the sob that left you, desperately petting his face before moving off to grab the potion. "Drink, okay? Just drink." You put the rim to his lips, a hand under his chin to help him drink, using your other hand to help tilt his head back.

"Do you remember when we first met?" He murmured distractedly when he finished, his head falling back against the rock behind him.

"Yeah," You whispered. "Of course I do." You went to looking at the arrow, whimpering as you listened to him cough, a small bit of blood and liquid from the potion coming up.

"You were so unsuspecting. . I never told you this, but I always felt bad for trying to kill you. . " You looked up at him, sniffling as you leaned forward to press your face against the side of his.

"No, no don't feel bad. You aren't supposed to feel bad. You're supposed to b-be unremorseful, and cocky and-" You cut off when your throat constricted too tightly for you to speak. "Please," You whispered, letting out a soft, helpless sob. "You're gonna be okay. I don't want you to be embarrassed telling me this when you're better because you are gonna be better." You grabbed another healing potion, though you knew it was futile. The arrow he had been hit with had a poison on it. And unless you could get him a healer, no amount of the potions or magic you could offer him would fix it.

he let out a soft laugh, grimacing in pain, brows furrowing.

"I won' be embarrassed," He replied dizzily. "I want you to know that. . That I care about you, okay?" he took in a deep breath, letting out a slight laugh before whimpering in pain.

The sound shattered your heart.

He brought his hand up to cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb tenderly against your soft skin, wiping away a tear.

You grabbed at his wrist with both hands, bloodying it in the process due to having been trying to mess with the wound to help it stop bleeding so much.

"I love you," You whispered. "You aren't allowed to leave me, do you understand? I won't let you. I'm gonna figure this out. We're gonna get you help." You could still hear the sounds of commotion outside, making your stomach churn.

The others could still be out there. In need of help, or dead. .

You pushed this thought away, knowing it would do nothing good to think about.

There was nothing you could do right now. You had no way to know where they were, and running back into the fight would only put yourself in danger, and possibly cause complications for the others.

You simply needed to have faith that they had made it to the cave Shadowheart had seen. Or, better yet, were heading this way now. .

"Star?" You whispered when his eyes started to lull shut.

"Astarion?" No response.

"Hey! Astarion, stay with me!" You grabbed at his shoulders as his hand slipped off your cheek, panic washing over you as you shook his upper half, careful not to cause more damage to his body as you did so.

You cursed, grabbing the knife you had from your boot and quickly cutting a line over the vein in your wrist before pressing it to his mouth, praying to god that it would give him enough strength to last a bit longer while you waited for help.

"Astarion, please wake up," You whispered desperately. "Please. . I need you."

It was a terrifying fifteen seconds before his eyes came open, having managed to get enough of the liquid down.

"Oh, thank god," You cried, keeping your wrist to his mouth, which he awkwardly adjusted around with a soft grunt

His eyes fell shut as he groaned, absently sucking, feeling far better with the strength it offered him.

"We need to get this arrow out of you," You said, looking down at it. "I'm going to need to break off the tip, and pull the sides out before I can give you the last potion. It should help with the bleeding at least."

He nodded dizzily, unable to respond verbally as he kept his mouth against your wrist.

"I'm sorry, but I am going to need both hands for this," You infromed him regreatfully, pulling away when you felt he had had enough to keep him conscious for the time being.

"Gods- Could you not have woken me up after you pulled the arrow out?" He complained as he felt you cutting into the end of the arrow sticking out of the front of his torso.

"No!" you replied heatedly. "Because I can't handle thinking I am going to lose you, and that means you are going to need to stay conscious, do you understand??" You looked up at him with what looked to be anger, but he recognized it to be pure and utter terror.

He couldn't help smiling. A truly unseemly sight due to the blood smeared over his lips, chin and teeth. Not to mention the greying notes of his skin as the poison started to take over.

Still, he was your unseemly sight. And you would do anything for the elf. Even if that meant whipping a miracle magically out of nowhere to save his sorry ass.

"Gods!" He cried out as he felt a sudden pressure on the wound when you managed to break off the arrowhead, careful not to touch it as you chucked it to the other side of the small nook.

"I know," You whispered. Pained.

"I am not entirely sure you actually do, darling," He retorted breathlessly. "I don't see an arrow sticking out of your rib cage!"

"It isn't in your ribcage, dear" You replied, pressing a rag to the wound, causing him to hiss.

" . . Regardless," He went on dizzily. "My point remains. ."

You looked up at him, frowning as you watched him try to keep his eyes focused.

You knew the blood wouldn't hold him for long. He was more lucid, but you could see the first signs of him already starting to slip away again.

"Just focus," You whispered.

"I am gonna have to lay you on your stomach. This is going ot hurt, I'm so, so sorry, Star." You took in a shaky breath, willing yourself to be strong for him. Doing your best to argue and keep him engaged.

"Wasn't I already?" He asked in confusion, making your heart sink,

"No, " You replied, bringing your hand to cup his cheek. "No, you're sitting up right now. . But I need you to lay down on your stomach. Just let me guide you, alright? Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you" he retorted, feeling your hands come up to help him maneuver carefully onto the ground.

He grunted, face smushing into the dirt.

"What sort of question even is that, darling?" He continued on, your heart twisting.

"A silly question," You murmured, moving over to sit on the backs of his legs, knowing he was probably going to try and flail when you did this.

"I need you to stay as still as you can for me, okay, Star?" he simply nodded in response, letting out a soft, dizzy groan.

You grasped the arrow carefully with both hands, surprised when you found it to be slippery with blood, only then realizing you had never staunched the bleeding from your wrist.

You grabbed a cloth quickly to offer a better grip, taking a deep breath before slowly and carefully starting to remove the long length of wood from his flesh, listening with a sickened displeasure to the mewls of pain that left his lips, his body writhing beneath you as he fought to try and make the pain stop.

"I'm sorry," You cried, throat tight. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry- It's gonna be over in just a second, I promise- I'm so sorry-" You took in a shaky breath as your resolve to stay strong was crumbling listening to the tortured sounds leave him in an unfiltered stream.

"Please," He gasped, the plea desperate and weak.

"Please make it stop-" He cried out as the last inch of the arrow slipped suddenly from his back, the resistance it had been offering you having suddenly stopped, making you go faster than you had intended.

"Okay okayokay, it's done, it's gone," You whimpered, bending down and peppering loving kisses to his shoulder as he panted in pain beneath you.

"You're okay," You went on, moving off of him and grabbing another rag quickly to press it to the wound, making him grunt.

"It's okay. . Hey, let me help you sit up, okay? You need the other healing potion." You quickly wiped away the tears blurring your eyes, replacing it with a thin layer of blood instead.

He offered you his hand to take, allowing you to help him sit up before he promptly fell backwards against the rocks, groaning as he did so.

"This is no fun," He deduced, breath heavy and shallow.

You shook your head miserably.

"Not in the fucking slightest," You stated, moving to press into his side as you gave him the last potion.

"This is the last one," You whispered. "But you can feed on me, to keep up your strength, okay?" You flinched as a firebolt struck right in front of the opening to your hide away, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I think I'd just like to sleep actually, if tha's alright with you, darling" He murmured, finding himself completely exhuasted.

"No- Hey, no you have to stay awake- Astarion!" You gave his shoulder a stressful shake, making him open his eyes again.

"Come on. Drink" You held up the potion to his lips, helping him swallow it back.

It managed to heal his wounds enough that he would not die from them. But it did little good against the poison working its way through his veins.

he coughed as he choked on some of the liquid, bringing a hand up to wipe off his lips, bloodying it in the process.

"Good," You breathed, pressing your forehead against his shoulder in relief when you felt his stomach stop bleeding.

"Just feed, okay? The others will find us. I'm sure of it." You shut your eyes as you brought your still bleeding wrist up for him, feeling his fangs sink in to the skin tiredly, though he did manage to still find the strength to bring a hand up to hold the back of yours, keeping your wrist in place as he gently sucked, swallowing the crimson liquid gratefully.

You hid the grimace of pain against his shoulder, willing to suffer far greater if it meant your sweet vampire being okay.

Though after a time, you were beginning to feel quite light headed.

Astarion had gotten quite good the past few months with learning to control his feeding so as not to hurt you, but with the poison affecting his thoughts, and making him barely conscious, he was right back to being absent-minded with it.

You didn't care at the moment. If he needed it, you would provide.

You would offer every last drop of your being if it meant buying him enough time for someone to find him and help.

You felt tears absently leaking down your face as you stayed curled up against him, your free arm wrapped around his back, holding him weakly so his side was pressing against your chest.

"I love you," You whispered, praying to any and all gods that might have been listening, willing to spare him.

You shut your eyes tightly as twin tears dripped down your cheeks.

You hesitated when you felt his grip on your hand loosen, and he let your hand fall from his lips.

You looked up at him, sniffling.

You were relieved to find that he had not stopped due to losing consciousness, but rather of his own volition.

"I . . I love you too, you know," He murmured hesitantly, never having actually been brave enough to say the words back.

You sniffled again, cupping his cheek dizzily as you brought your head up to press against the side of his hair, eyes shutting tightly as you let out a quiet sob, leaving a long, tender smooch to the side of his head after a moment.

"I know," You whispered. "That is why I know you're gonna be strong, and fight through this." you put a hand over the wound, sniffling once more as you tried to control your tears.

He smiled slightly as he looked down at you, his eyes unable to focus properly as he did so, seeing blurry doubles.

"Is it cold in here?" He asked absently, feeling a bit chilly.

You frowned.

Though it was perhaps cooler than it was outside, it certainly was not a temperature that should have bothered the elf under normal circumstances.

You put the back of your hand to his dirty forehead, stomach twisting as your fears were confirmed.

"You're getting a fever, I think," You informed him. "Most likely from the poison. ."

"We can't start a fire, I'm sorry." If the poor ventilation wasn't a problem, the attention that the light of the fire could draw most certainly would be.

"That's well," He assured. "I can just use you as a blanket instead, my sweet." He smiled at you somewhat cheekily, making you bite your lip.

"Happily," You replied, shutting your eyes when he leaned down to press his lips against yours in a soft kiss.

You laid him down carefully, watching him shiver unpleasantly due to the cold ground.

"Let me take off you shirt, okay?" You said, moving your hands down to work on getting his dirty, blood soaked armor off.

"As much as I love pleasing you, my love, I don't think I am in the shape for such activities at the moment," He replied breathlessly.

"Gods- It is to share body head, Astarion!" You objected, running a hand worriedly through the front of his hair to brush it off his brow.

"Hmm. . Sure," He replied with a sideways smile, eyes lulling shut.

You ignored him, working quickly to get his upper half exposed. You used rags to quickly cover the wounds with to keep out dirt before doing the same to your own clothing, the thin fabric covering your breasts the only thing between you two as you laid down and pressed your body against his.

You pulled the pile of clothing over the two of you for insolation, feeling him shiver as he wrapped his arms around you, coughing absently as he did so, his throat feeling a little flemmy.

You wrapped your arms around him, cradling his head against your shoulder as you laid halfway on top of him, acting as a human blanket as best you could.

You cursed yourself for having dropped your scrolls during the fight. You had had one or two that would have been rather handy to help keep him comfortable while you waited on the others.

You made him feed every hour or so. The second you started to feel that you wouldn't pass out if he drank, you let him.

His fever developed into something quite unpleasant as the hours passed, his shivering now constant, his coughing coming every minute or so as his body tried to fight off the invasion.

It should have killed him by now. By all rights, the vampire spawn should have been a full corpse in your arms as night fell. And yet, he was still with you. Fighting and struggling to remain conscious.

Though not without a great many complaints and a good stream of whining.

Still, you did not care. You would listen to him complain and whine the rest of your life, and be grateful for it so long as it meant he was still with you.

"The others will find us," You assured for the thirteenth time in the past ten minutes, the fever making him quite absent-minded.

"But how do you know?" He asked in concern for the eleventh time also in the past ten minutes.

"Because I do. I have faith." He huffed at this.

"faith. . Like Shadowheart has faith in her dark mistress? Or Wyll has faith we will actually free him from his contract?" You gave him a look.

"I don't put my faith in gods, or higher powers, Astarion. I put my faith in my friends. my family." you pulled closer to him as he sighed.

"You always were soft, darling," He lamented. "And I may very well die for it."

He grunted when you smacked his arm.

"The only way you are going to die is if I kill you, now shut up and be comforted." You pressed your body against him tighter, cradling his head protectively.

he smiled absently, chuckling as he allowed himself to press closer to you in return, feeling the comfort.

You were maybe optimistic and youthful in your faith in people, but you were certainly forceful and hard headed as well.

He whimpered as a particularly bad chill ran through him, eyes shutting as he tried to focus on your warmth.

You frowned softly to yourself.

He was burning up.

Well, for him, at least. For someone who was alive, it would have felt more like being a little overheated rather than feverish.

"I've got you," You cooed, running your fingers through his hair damp soothingly.

"Just focus on my voice, okay? We are going to get through this. And when we do, I'll take you to a nice tavern, hm? With a warm room and a soft bed. . And we can just lay there as long as we like, and enjoy ourselves, and drink fine wine. . " You listened as he took in a deep breath, relaxing as he allowed himself to latch on the to comforting fantasy.

"That sounds rather nice, darling," He murmured sleepily, another deep inhale coming and going before he coughed softly to clear his throat.

You kissed his temple lingeringly as you continued to smooth his hair back with your hand, listening for any signs of fighting or, hopefully, the sounds of a rescue.

Neither arrived however as you listened.

You swallowed heavily as you brought your hand up for him again, feeling your arm shake with the effort it took to hold it up to him.

You knew that your body was not making enough blood to replenish the stock he was taking, but you didn't care. you had to make it work.

You shut your eyes as you felt his fangs graze over the wounds he had already created the past few hours, though you looked at him questioningly when he grunted, shaking his head as he softly pushed your hand away.

"Star you need to feed," You said with a frown, looking down at him worriedly, unsure if it wasn't enough anymore to keep him going.

"No," He breathed, shaking his head, eyes remaining shut. "No. . I can feel your hand shaking. You sound weak. . I won't take anymore from you. . I will be okay without it for now, love." He turned to face you, coughing softly.

You stared at him silently, unsure what to do with that.

You felt you stomach twisting with love for him.

Even in a state of certain death, he didn't want to hurt you. . And yet, you needed him to, if it meant ensuring he would be okay. .

"I will be alright," You murmured reassuringly, shifting down tiredly to come face to face with him. "I promise. Don't worry about me right now, okay? I've got it." You brushed your nose over his. "I've got you."

He opened his eyes just a crack to look at you.

You were almost as pale as he was, and the weakness pushing you towards sleep was difficult to miss.

He shook his head softly, clearing his throat once more.

"No . . I will be fine," He replied, pressing his forehead against yours softly.

you sighed, knowing it would do little good to argue with him about it. Neither of you had the energy for it anyhow.

"Alright. . In a few minutes then, okay?"

"An hour," He compromised, though you frowned.

"Fine. . An hour." It would be the shortest damn hour that man ever experienced.

Ten minutes passed, and you nudged him again.

"Its time," You murmured. "You need to feed." You offered him your wrist, eyes shut.

"That was an hour?" He questioned in groggy confusion, shivering softly against you.

"Mhm, whole hour," You replied, with a tired nod.

"Hm. . " He did not offer anything more, finding himself unable to muster the strength to feed again.

He was getting less and less each time, and as the poison spread through him, it was becoming less effective as it grew stronger inside of him.

"Star, you need to feed," You murmured after a long silence, struggling to stay awake yourself.

"Star. . ?" You forced your eyes open when you realized his shivering had stilled.

Your heart stopped, your entire body going cold as you looked up at his unmoving form.

You brought a hand up to put two fingers under his nose to check for breathing.

"Oh, god," You whispered with horror.

"Astarion, love, wake up," You pleaded, sitting up dizzily and trying to force more blood down his throat.

It wasn't enough though, and you knew it.

Your heart was racing, making you feel like you were going to pass out.

There was only one thing you could think to do at this point.

You were out of time waiting. If he was to die anyway, then you were more than willing to risk going with him if it meant he had even a slim chance of getting help before it was too late.

You got up on shaky feet, stumbling with your hand guiding you against the rocks as you made your way for the exit of the alcove, mustering all the energy you had left inside of you to channel it all into your chest, your breathing picking up as your started to feeling it go into your shoulders and down your arms, tingling your hands with such power that it felt like it was going to consume your very essence.

The energy shot from you fingertips high into the sky as the words to cast the spell left you lips in a scream that released every ounce of your fear and desperation. The bolt of yellow energy tore through you, stealing every drop of energy you had left to offer.

It was, in a word, glorious.

People would have been able to see it for miles, the sound cracking like thunder, the force of it shaking the ground beneath your very feet.

A beacon that with any luck would offer a way for the rest of your party to find you.

You never even felt your body hit the ground, laying crumpled in a heap just outside the rocks where your beloved remained barely holding on to the last threads of life in him. .

Your eyes opened blearily, looking around you in a daze.

The first thing you recognized was the feeling of something warm curled against you, and the familiar scent that accompanied it.

You looked over, heart skipping a beat when you found your white haired elf snuggling against your side, passed out, but a normal, healthy temperature and complexation.

You felt your breath hitch as tears welled in your eyes with relief.

"There she is," You heard Wyll's voice from the entrance of the doorway.

You looked over, wiping the water from your eyes as you gave him a smile, letting out a breathy gasp.

"That was quite the scare you two gave us," He said as he moved over, sitting down by your bedside.

"We found you with mere seconds to spare," Another voice added, and Gale appeared to lean in the doorway with a smile.

A scoff followed, and you couldn't help smiling more as Shadowheart appeared.

"Hardly," She corrected. "Ignore Gale's exaggerations, Tav." She gave the wizard a look, who merely returned it with a smile, his arms loosely crossed in a relaxed position over his chest.

"Allow for the dramatic every once in a while, will you? "Either way, you showed quite the surge of power back there," He went on, sounding proud. "I shudder to think what you'd be capable of if you ever agreed to study under my teachings." You smiled a little more, letting out a breathy laugh.

"Perhaps after things settle down a little," You replied fondly.

Shadowheart moved to kneel beside the bed next to where Wyll sat.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, looking concerned.

"Tired," Was the honest response, "But I'll be fine." Though you cared little about your own state.

You looked over to Astarion. Wyll read the questions of worry immediately, and took your hand reassuringly.

"He will be just fine," He promised. "There is no need to worry about him. He is back to his normal self, more or less. He fought three separate nurses to lay in bed with you. Though perhaps now that you are awake, you might convince him to bathe and allow for his own treatment of care."

You bit your lip, looking over at the warlock and nodding, taking in a deep breath as you lovingly squeezed his hand.

"He does smell a bit, doesn't he," You whispered emotionally, letting out a quiet laugh as Shadowheart joined in.

"I suppose even vampires need a bath now and again to remain fresh," She replied playfully.

You laughed again, sounding on the verge of tears.

"Thank you," You said, looking between the three of them, throat tight.

"I don't know what I would do without all of you." You sniffled as they quickly moved in on you, crowding you for a suffocating hug, getting Astarion in the process as well.

"Can't a vampire get some bloody rest with his beloved anymore?" The grouchy creature objected as the action of their affections woke him from his much needed nap.

They retracted their affections quickly, allowing Astarion to see that your eyes were finally open, your body moving. .

"Come, I suspect these two are going to want a moment to themselves," Gale commented with a smile when Astarion's expression changed when he found you to be conscious.

You gave the three a farewell, looking back to Astarion who was already staring at you as though you had been brought back from the dead.

You did not even get the chance to speak before two cool hands cupped your face, and his lips smashed against yours in an emotional, adoring kiss.

You shut your eyes dizzily, winded from the sudden passion.

Your hands came up to mimic the hold he had you in, running your thumb tenderly against his sharp cheekbone, your stomach twisting with relief and joy.

You gasped when he finally allowed you air once more, your hands remaining on one another's face, staring silently into each others eyes for a time.

"I thought I'd lost you," He whispered, sounding choked. "Don't you dare think about doing that to me again," He added with angry vehemence, kissing you again before you could speak.

"You are one to talk," You retorted when you were finally allowed to do so, grabbing his waist and pushing him from on top of you to instead lay facing one another.

"You- God, Astarion, I thought I had lost you!" You felt your throat tighten, pressing your forehead against his as you shut your eyes tightly, a leg slipping to rest between his.

"That is apparently something I'm completely incapable of handling. So you are just- You are going to have to avoid doing anything like that ever again, do you understand?- No, forget that- You are never leaving our camp again!- No, never mind- I'm making Gale make a bubble for you, and you will just live in that bubble, safe for the rest of your life!-" You cut off to the sound of his laughing, the sound making your heart swell.

"Stop laughing at me, I am dead serious!" You said, doing your best to stay forceful despite his laugh being utterly contagious.

it was positively turning your insides to mush.

"Very well, darling," He said, smiling as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him. "But only if you agree to live in this bubble of yours with me." You smiled, bringing your fingertips to run over the side of his face tenderly.

"Deal," You murmured, soothed by his tender touch and calm voice.

He sighed softly, leaning forward to kiss you gently before pulling away again.

"But honestly, darling, if you ever sleep for two days straight after creating what the others described as 'the most powerful burst of energy they have ever seen in their lives' ever again, you will be answering to my wrath. Are we clear?" You grinned as he pulled you closer.

"We're clear," You murmured fondly, looking up at him with doe eyes.

"Good," He murmured, putting a hand on the side of your head as he left a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, your eyes shutting with blissful relief.

"Now, what do you say to a bath?" You questioned, putting a hand on his chest. "The others are complaining about your . . intoxicating scent." You grinned as you spoke.

"Hmm. . Five more minutes," He decided, pulling you ever closer and shutting his eyes.

You took in a deep breath, more than content with this decision, happy to lay with him longer than a mere five minutes should he decide he desired longer. . .

A/N Thank you my lovies for reading! If you have interest in being notified when I put out a new fic, shoot me a message and I will tag you as I put them out. :)

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queenie-the-court-jester · 1 month

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Love isn't dead

Yandere cupid x reader

Tw: yandere, minor mention of body horror, obsessive and possessive behavior, isolation

💌you couldn't remember when he first appeared or when you could feel another presence near you. All you knew was that you had a cupid trying to set you up.

💘always nonchalant when you'd open a closet door and he'd be hiding inside. Pausing to stare before continuing to put the towels away. He swore you could see right through him and at him at the same time. But that shouldn't be possible. Because humans can't see cupids. They're not supposed to

💌but that obviously wasn't the case with you. Sweetheart quickly became more bold. Watching you quietly and forgetting his task of finding your soulmate. It got to a point where you blatantly confronted him after you finished bathing, noticing a pair of pink heart eyes staring at you from the top of the shower curtain half way

"are you going to keep staring at me like a creep or are you going to actually introduce yourself?"

"gah-!! Ah.. uh right! Ofcourse! I-im sweetheart! Pleasure to meet you!"

💘after Introducing yourself, you set some ground rules. 1. Don't watch you while you shower, use the bathroom, or sleep 2. Don't Invade your space 3. He can't stalk you while you're out and about

💌at first he followed these rules, nodding obediently and following them diligently. But then he noticed something.. when did you become so beautiful? He swore you were more beautiful than his mother.. so kind and patient, he almost didn't want to finish his job, just stay here with you forever. Offering him food, caring for him, giving him hugs and cheek kisses. He wanted more.

💘he broke your rules, but he never let you find out. He'd never want to upset you! Having gotten better in hiding, he silently watches from the shadows. taking things he's sure you won't notice. All he talks and asks about now is what you like, what you're thinking of or if you got your eye on anyone. Claiming it's because he's curious about humans

💌 growing possessive, he uses one of his hate arrows whenever a suitor tries to approach you. How dare they try and take what was his! Can't they see you're too perfect for them!? He saw everything else as inferior to you, nobody was worthy to see your smile. A god/dess among rubbish.

💘he started using his arrows to distance your loved ones, until he was all that you had left. Comforting you, holding you close, wiping away your tears. He felt a foreign burning feeling in-between his legs whenever he saw you cry. Wanting nothing more than to lick them up but he knew you would consider it weird

💌he didn't dare use a love arrow on you, he wanted to see you. The real you at all times. Ignoring the angry calls his mother and siblings would send him, urging him to finish his job and come back home. So he did something he never would have thought of doing. Something irreversible. He cut off his wings, turning him mortal

💘he smiled up at you with a lovesick grin, while you could only stare at him in horror. You had just gotten back from a miserable day at work and stumbled into the bathroom to find it bloody and covered in familiar pink feathers. Slowly walking backwards, glancing at the small bones of where his wings use to be, sticking out. Bloody and mangled.

"this is all for you.. don't you see? I'M your soulmate! We were made for eachother my darling! So let's be together forever.."

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tteokdoroki · 2 months

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⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — KATSUKU BAKUGOU. homemade love.

about. katsuki takes the pain of his middle-born daughter to heart, and does anything he can to fix it.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, characters aged up, bakugou is a girl dad of three, reader is referred to as ‘ma’, their daughter is quirkless like deku lol, he makes her pasta, pro hero!bakugou, fem!reader, … a draft from a long time ago!! enjoy please <3

katsuki who cooks and makes his middle daughter her favourite pasta recipe whenever she’s down.

she comes home from middle school with scraped palms and knees, teary eyed and with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“they don’t like me ‘cause ‘m quirkless.” she says as soon as she’s through the door — the authentic bakugou twang thick in her shaky voice. her face is pressed into your torso when you make eye contact with katsuki, who’s emerged from the kitchen down the hall and to your left.

you see it all flash before his eyes — his childhood, his high school career and the day he died. the way he treated the number one, uncle izuku, for so many years. it’s all reflected in the familiar red of his middle child’s eyes and it kills him.

“c’mere squirt,” katsuki calls to her, drying off his hands with the red riot tea towel slung lazily over his shoulder. he’d been washing dishes before she got home. “we’re makin’ dinner together.”

“but i—“

“i wasn’t askin’, i was tellin’.” the older blonde nudges his head towards the kitchen, reaching a hand out for his daughter which she tenderly takes. when she sniffles, bakugou tucks her into his side as if to protect her from the horrors of the world. you let them go without interrupting, knowing the importance of this moment for the two.

it’s not easy, being a bakugou when you’ve got dynamight’s reputation to live up to. he’s fearsome and fiery, confident and calculated. your husband and the father of your three beautiful daughters is one of the main reasons why japan is safe today. the burden and weight of his reputation that your children carry is unimaginable — only made worse by the fact that your middle is quirkless.

and yet, dynamight’s love for her doesn’t falter. since the moment he first held his baby girl she’s been his entire world, his moon along with his sun and now his stars. he’s adored her before she even became a twinkle in his eye — no amount of power or special ability would change that for him.

she’s katsuki’s girl, not just dynamight’s daughter. he’d tear the world apart to find anyone who ever hurt her.

“hold the knife properly. you cut your finger off ‘n yer ma will have my head.” his gruff voice, holding no malice, makes your sweet girl snort with laughter — a change from her earlier wobbly bottom lip and teary eyes. “we’re tryna mince garlic for the sauce, not yer little hands, squirt.”

she sticks her tongue out at him, bright blonde curls bouncing when she narrowly misses a playful swat from her father. “i’m trying,” your middle child wails with faux upset — her nose scrunches all too similarly to how yours and it sends an arrow of love straight through katsuki’s chest. for a moment, the kitchen falls to silence and the elder of the two turns his attention to the pasta dough in his large floured hands — focusing on shaping them into little bow ties just how his daughter likes, on occasion adding them to a boiling pot of water.

“i’m trying,” she says again, but quieter. “but daddy, everythin’s so hard.”

and like pot simmering away on the stove, her emotions start to boil over — tiny hiccups forming a sad symphony with the sounds of a working kitchen.

bakugou instantly springs into dad mode, dropping everything that he had been doing to take your daughter’s hand in his. despite how messy it may be. “hey now gorgeous, don’t cry…tell me what’s wrong, yeah?”

“i-i don’t want to disappoint you by not havin’ a quirk n not bein’ a hero…” she manages to get out through her blubbering — digging the heal of her palm into wet eyes. “i jus’ wanna make you proud!”

katsuki’s face softens, everything except for love for his daughter melting away. “‘nd i am proud. fiercely fuckin’ so…ah, shit, don’t tell yer ma i cursed, kay?” he stumbles over his words, he’s never been the best at comforting people but when bakugou’s child needs him, he’ll be damned if he leaves her in any pain. “from the moment y’first came into this shitty — i mean — crappy world, i’ve been proud of you. you’ve always pushed yourself beyond anythin’ i could achieve, you’re kind to people when they don’t deserve it, you smile whenever things get tough…”

taking a moment from his passionate rant, katsuki slows his breathing and composed himself — squeezing his little girl close. “yer the best thing that’s ever happened t’me ‘n yer ma. my proudest moment… i love ya so much. you’d never disappoint me.”

“really, daddy?” your baby sniffles, rubbing at her snotty nose.

bakugou nods with a gentle smile, cupping her face between his two floury hands before kissing her forehead z “really.” he affirms. “now get yer choppin’ skills together, this pasta sauce ain’t gonna make itself.”

the two blonde’s return to cooking, a comfortable silence settling in your family kitchen, also full of love. that night, your family of five sit together munching on homemade pasta bow ties in a sauce that your middle daughter had worked so hard to make. she grins brightly between her sisters, staring at her father with her shining red eyes thankfully.

in that moment, she knows that she is loved no matter what the status of her quirk is.

you link your fingers with bakugou’s under the table. “you did good, dad.” you whisper to him, stabbing through your pasta with your fork. “

“so did you, ma.” he whispers back gruffly, thumb running over your wedding band as he eats his pasta too.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 months

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CAT-EYES

PAIRING: Runaway Groom!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Thief!Reader

SYNOPSIS: What begins as a normal day of stalking the back road for wealthy carriages, turns into a walking nightmare spanning three days. Who is this finely-dressed man stumbling about your woods?

WORDCOUNT: 13.3k

WARNINGS: Blood, injury, light gore, pining, intense banter, sarcasm, insults, kind of enemies-to-lovers but eh, angst, protective!John, light hurt/comfort, bittersweet?, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You were sitting in the branches again.

Lightly swinging your legs from over the sides, the rough bark at your spine shifted as you let out a tiny sigh into the chilled air. In your ears, you’re hearing the bugs fly past, and the large hart about fifteen feet away pushing through the undergrowth—built body just barely there as the puff of his hot breath wafts upwards.

Twirling the arrow between your fingers, your bow sitting carefully in your lap, you close your eyes and listen.

The years had come and gone and yet you remained here in this small corner of nowhere—resting in this old gnarled oak tree with its branches and leaves giving protection from the elements when nothing else would. Sure, you had a small home to call your own in these very woods, but your windows didn’t give a view of the back road to the East. Barely anyone took it now, and you think you’re partially to blame for it, but, well, perhaps those pesky nobles shouldn’t have been too prone to flashing their coin.

So it was their fault, and on your failing honor, the money always went to a good cause anyway. Who wouldn’t want a poor woman to eat?

But, no. There are rules that every thief follows, no matter how unsavory. You never killed anyone; you never harmed them, either. Just the money—a brandished dagger or an arrow to the side of a carriage wouldn’t hurt anything besides pride, and many of those you stole from had enough to last them multiple lifetimes.

“Greedy fellows,” you sigh under your breath before you stretch like a cat, arching your spine and spreading your arms high above your head. The few rays of sun you get through the leaves dance across your face, but still, the thick layer of cold air is present all around.

Shuffling a bit in your shoulder-wrapping, you yawn and fall back once more—licking your lips and thinking of warm stew and fresh bread from the inn down in the town. Shivering, your fingers move to play with your bow, tapping along the bend of wood as the trees are brushed by a soft breeze. The hart below huffs louder still—hooves crushing across the fallen twigs, and you think it’s a bit strange the thing is still here despite your scent clearly in the air, but your eyes are more focused on the road than an animal.

Until it speaks.

“Hells fuckin’ bells, this damn get-up is going to be the death of me,” the words are barked out quickly—laced with heated anger as a branch is slapped by heavy hands.

Startling, your head snaps below you rapidly; heart jerking inside of your chest so suddenly that you nearly send yourself off the side of your perch. Scrambling for your bow to make sure it doesn’t clatter to the dirt of the Earth, you force down a loud gasp at what you see.

“Bastard things,” meets your ears as you stare open-eyed at a bulky man as he stumbles out into the small clearing below your tree, looking behind him as he pants. Your jaw goes slack at the extravagant apparel clothing this sudden stranger—a red, black, and blue tartan thrown over his shoulder, pinned with the silver image of a great boar head, and the kilt has more than one bramble stuck into it as it swishes with his turn.

He has a sporran as well, made of dark furs with three tassels hanging, the metal also silver, as your experienced eyes can tell as they narrow in confusion.

“What in the hell…” You breathe quietly, leaning just a bit more over the edge of your branch slowly.

There were black belts and buckles, rich shoes of leather, and your gaze slowly drags to the hanging body of a sword strapped to his waist, swinging as the man rests his feet and looks down at himself with a deep annoyance. There wasn’t an inch of him not coated in dirt, mud, or sweat—all that deer-ish panting and huffing escaping his mouth in condensed clouds.

“Fuckin’,” he stops himself from continuing the curse, holding up his hands as he glares down at his form. “Jesus, this’ll never come out at this rate.”

This comment made your lips twitch, eyebrow-raising as your sharp vision filtered from one detail to the next—learning the brown shade of his cut hair and the strange way it’s kept long down the center, and short along the sides. He had a strong build to him, and the boar broach, while it may be something to distinguish a family line as he seemed wealthy, perfectly reflected the individual.

He was a being of muscle and stubborn willpower. All tusk and bristled fur.

Your eyes linger a bit longer on the silver of that broach—the thing that glints in the light alluringly. You hum under your breath, tilting your head softly. Yet, your impression was made, and your wits are about you as sharply as they always had been.

This was a formal outfit, for a formal occasion. So, why was this important man trampling through the woods where you were set to ambush the next unassuming noble on the road? Why was he looking over his shoulder so tense-like? Your curiosity had piqued the second you’d figured out the rabid crunching from the bushes wasn’t a deer but instead, a wealthy-looking man who wasn’t, you admitted, too hard on the eyes.

Blinking, you smile, fingers twitching over your bow as the stranger brushes his vest rapidly, growling down at the large mud stains.

“Lost, then?” Your voice makes him startle, skull whipping forward to the tree trunk until you whistle and lean forward; moving your bow to push away the cover of leaves. “Up here, now,” blue eyes immediately lock with yours and you hum, chuckling, at the moment of shock that shines through. “Poor bastard, look at you and all that mud. You’ve been through hell, mate, eh? By the state of you, I’d say you fought a bear and found yourself at the end of an unfortunate outcome.”

Your words are smooth—nearly sly just as they always are. There’s intent leaking out of every one of them until all that remains is a layered purpose, like that of a butcher peeling away flesh from a hide. You have to process that skin: lay it to a rack to let it dry before it can be stretched to the desired firmness, and, finally, softened.

You took as much pleasure in the mental hunt as you did the payoff. Where there’s money to be earned, there’s also knowledge—you were a thief of all.

The man watches you with wide eyes, those blues glinting as they blink, glancing around rapidly to check for any others like you that may be hiding. He steps back, a hand brushing his sword, and you think to yourself slowly, he’s smart.

You breathe down chilled air. Before he responds he checks to make sure it’s not an ambush—the man understands he’s out of his element here. He’s on edge.

The both of you stare at one another, before your face shifts, brow-raising up on your forehead.

“What, did I startle you?” Legs looping to hang off the same side, your body feels lighter than a feather as you send yourself over the edge, knees taking the brunt of the force as your head catches up to your stomach—grunting as you hold your bow heavily in one hand. The jostle moves the limbs of your arrows, kept in a quiver at the small of your back.

Standing fully, you huff and set an easy smile to your lips, all teeth.

“My apologies, Lord.” Your free hand finds your heart, and you bend your spine forward. “I couldn’t help but see you down here below my tree.”

“Best to stay where you are,” the stranger grunts, only giving you enough of a glance to deem you unthreatening, apparently. Your form straightened. He watches you warily on the next go-around, attention always drifting to every snap of a twig off into the trees or the breeze shifting the leaves. “No need to apologize,” is the hurried reply, caught on a rough accent and a hissed gravel huff. “I’ll be on my way once I get my bearings. I don’t have time for conversation—and you should find your way home before long.” Eyes dart. “It isn’t good to be out today...or tonight, I’d say.”

If possible, your intrigue gains strength like a saint in Heaven.

The man’s square face raves in a clench of his jaw, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Are you sure you’re not lost, Lord?” You continue, undeterred, and shift your bow to sling it over your shoulder. “I live in these woods, I’d have no trouble directing you to the road. It isn’t far.”

“It’s John,” he grunts, glancing over, out of sorts. He was tired—his limbs were shaking with exertion even if he didn’t realize it yet. You think that perhaps if he were more focused, he’d ask why a woman had just landed in front of him from the branch of an Oak; dressed in trousers and a tunic, with just a woolen wrap to keep out the chill. Dirt over her face and a cunning edge to her words. Or, maybe he did know, you wondered, and simply didn’t care at the moment.

“Just call me Johnny. And,” he shakes his head firmly. “No. Go home to your husband, Bonnie, this doesn’t involve you.” He blinks, staring with a line across his forehead, stubble pulling along his cheeks. “I know this place—there’s a road just to the…” he turns his head to the direction of your trail, blinking at the coverage of thick foliage. “Fuck,” the dark-haired stranger growls, blues sparking up in a feral display of desperate weight.

You can only see the winding bends if you have a vantage point—that was why you chose your tree in the first place. Your smile grows.

“It’s that way, Lord,” you breathe, pointing in the opposite direction of the road, back to the small path of brambles and bushes that leads closer to your home instead. “We pass my property on the way, I can offer you some drink for your troubles.” A chuckle wafts the air. “You look like you need it.”

There’s a large moment of hesitation, in which you begin to wonder if this prize might be too big to catch, but, then, as there’s a flash of something over John’s face, he grits his teeth and sighs.

“Aye, fine,” he nods, looking to the side as he lowers his tense shoulders and clears his throat. You’re offered a sincere expression that borders on strained guilt. “Thank you, Dearie. I…” John pauses, frowning. “I hope I didn’t scare you too much when I burst through the trees like that—I’m in a bit of a rush if you can’t tell. I need to make for the shore.”

“My,” you huff, shifting your body and motioning him to follow—he does, setting his feet carefully ahead of him with experienced movements; keeping a respectable distance away. Johnny wasn’t new to the woods, then. He knew where to place his feet, at the very least. “The shore? That sounds exciting.” You conclude, hiding your creased brows as you stare forward. “Making for the South? I’ve heard handfuls are leaving for the weather.”

Looking over your shoulder, you make sure he keeps on your trail as you push through the bushes. “More agreeable, they say. Less rain.”

John chuckles, though he’s still visibly aware of everything around him. He spares you a look, a small smirk taking over his slightly chapped lips. “Keep talkin’ like that, and I just might.”

You’re surprised by the genuine laugh that fights in the back of your throat. Humming under your breath, you shrug it off as simply as a dog does a fly. It was painfully obvious neither of you trusted the other.

John’s eyes were stuck on the back of your head, and yours were eager to slide back to his form on the off-chance you had to use the dagger strapped to the meat of your thigh, carefully hidden under your trousers and accessible via a cut in your pocket. He was all muscle, and already you know that any attack coming to you would be unwise to try and retaliate—slash and retreat was a much better escape plan.

You could outrun him.

“So,” your words bleed curiosity, eyes imploring as you glance over your shoulder. “Why are you out in the woods, Johnny? In such a nice outfit as well. Is there something going on around here?”

The dark-haired man tilts his head your way, sighing long. “A wedding, actually. Horrible thing, if I have to comment on it.”

Your lips twitch.

“Oh, aye. I’d heard about it in town not two days ago—something about a marriage of advantage? Who was the unlucky pair, then?”

John clenched his jaw, hand coming up to push at the smear of dried blood on his cheek, which you’d just noticed wasn’t dirt and instead the result of a branch slap. Pale cheeks were wind-bitten. Lungs heavy. You narrow your gaze before stopping the surge of questions in your mouth.

“Some poor bastard, that’s who,” he responds slowly, mostly under his breath, before blinking. “How much further is the road, Dearie? No offense,” he grunts, staring seriously at you “but I'd rather not be here for much longer.”

The boar broach winks at you.

“Not far,” you smile coyly. “Forgive me, Lord John—”

“Just Johnny—”

“—But I do hope you’re not a fugitive.”

Blue eyes widen, sure feet faltering.

“.... Negative, Bonnie, no, I’m not running from the law. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me,” he breathes, and not once does he look away from you. You have to commend the man, he seemed an honest fellow, and those, you knew, were very rare indeed in your time. “I just need to get out of these woods. You’ll never hear from me again after I’m gone.” He takes a breath, looking past you. “You have my word.”

“Is it worth believing?” You push, smirking. “There’s few dressed like you that I can say it is.”

John licks his lips as you both pass a fallen tree, standing more side by side than previously now that the density of bushes had dispersed. He huffs, sending you a side-eye before he seems to study your face, brows pulling jokingly.

“I don’t think my answer would make much of a difference, would it?”

You pause, enjoying this man’s company more by the second. “No, it wouldn’t.” The both of you stare, before you grin and pull your sharp gaze away, chuckling. “Follow me,” you motion a hand. “Before you fall into a mud pit and completely ruin what little is left of your outfit that’s sellable—” You fumble, faking a cough as you clear your throat and finish off with tension now in your spine, “Salvageable.”

“If I’m bein’ honest, Bonnie,” Johnny grumbles, either not noticing the mistake or simply not registering it. “I wouldn’t fuckin’ care if it got covered in horse shit.”

—

You open the door to your home, shifting out of your bow and setting it against the wall with your quiver following to rest beside it as two siblings should.

“You’re lucky,” you hum, “I just went to the well this morning—freshwater is in the basin, cups on the table.”

John’s eyes give a firm once-over, fingers fidgeting above his sword’s hilt. He nods once, moving into the doorway, and immediately goes to where you describe and grabs onto a carved cup, tilting it in his hands.

“Thank you,” he mutters sincerely, hand dipping into the collection of water. “Eh,” John puffs a laugh, “I’d imagine I would still be stumbling along if it wasn’t for you, little Lady. These woods are larger than I remember them.”

“You come from around here?” You ask, brushing down your wool wrapping as you pull at the burs in the fiber. “Don’t recall your face in the town, though I’m not there often.”

“Hm,” he takes down the water, and you watch his Adam’s Apple bob as droplets slip from his lips to drop off his chin. Once he had drunk the entire cup, he removed it and wiped at his mouth with his forearm, blue eyes peeking above it. “I…wasn’t in town usually. Not really my place—the forests outside of my property took most of my attention.” He confesses, head tilting as the strange cut of his hair flops along with his skull. “Those, I could run blind.”

“I’m sure,” you puff a laugh.

While the air was somewhat calm, there was still an underlying hesitancy: Johnny didn’t know who you were, and you didn’t know what he was running from. Both were important questions that needed to be answered. Yet, John seemed the casual type.

“Doubt me?” His eyes narrow, a smile brewing.

“I never said that,” you walk past him, also grabbing a cup before dipping it into the basin. Your finger points. “But it would be interesting to test.”

“Unfortunately,” John breathes, setting down his cup, “I’m occupied at the moment.”

“A groom would be,” you tilt your head, casually sipping at your drink. “Your wife must be fucking fuming right now.”

The room flips on itself, and the man is instantly frozen.

Johnny stares, shocked, and you see his feet instinctually ready a stance to either blot to the door, or to take up his sword. His expression is layered with secrecy.

“...What was that?”

“I said your wife must be fucking fuming,” you say louder, slipping your hand into your pocket and shrugging to make it seem meaningless—your dagger’s hilt is smooth under your flesh. “Or did you not finish the ceremony? Betrothed, then, Johnny Boy?” Your eyes glint. “Hell, the event must have been absolutely laced with wealth. Did you have wine imported? New fabrics for your wedding clothes? I’d almost be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“That’s none of your business, Dearie,” he levels, glare heavy and firm while his face is stoic. You can clearly see his body wound up like a wild dog. “I think we’re done here.”

He backs up quickly, legs taking him to the exit until you’re suddenly right behind him, and the man feels the sharp press of a blade into the back of his spine.

Your lips are at his ear, and you chuckle. “Sorry, but we’re not done until anything valuable is in my hands and not on your body.”

“If you wanted me naked,” he growls, glaring from over his shoulder, as his form is rod-straight. “You could have just asked, Little Thief.”

“I’d call it heavy persuasion,” you chuff. “Sounds better, don’t you think.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Johnny barks, teeth gnashing. “Put the knife down before this gets ugly.”

“I’m not entirely sure I want to,” your answer meets the air. “There’s enough silver and fine fabric on you to feed me for an entire winter, even when the deer move to better grounds.”

John grits his molars, his neck bent as his fingers twitch at his sides, slipping along to his sword slowly.

“Money? That’s why you’ve got a bloody blade on me? Christ, my day just keeps getting better and better.” You glare, anger moving behind your eyes.

“Some people have to work for what they want, you—” Your hand is slapped to the side as John spins, and your dagger is sent along the floor in a loud clatter; a hand finding your upper arm as you gasp, and, suddenly, there’s the chilled edge of a blade at your throat.

Wide-eyed, you gape at John as the man smirks at you, yet his orbs are infected with annoyance.

“When you draw a knife on someone, you best know how to use it.” The edge is slightly pressed deeper and your body refuses to move. “You put it at the neck, Cat-Eyes.” John frowns, glaring. “Knew there was something about you—down to the bow and arrows.”

“What,” you growl out, a low embarrassment stemming in your gut as John’s puffs of breath move along your face. Your face burns, and your fingers jerk with anger. “A woman can’t have hobbies?”

“Not when I find ‘em up trees waiting to ambush any bastard that comes by wearing silver.”

“Mate,” you sneer, eyes glimmering. “At this point, you can keep your damn silver. It’s more of a reward to watch you stumble like a fool through the woods five feet from the road.” Johnny’s face tightens, yet there’s little time to fight like children anymore when the sound of breaking branches is echoing off the windows of the house.

Both of your necks whip to the door, yours a great deal more carefully as you’re slightly nicked by the sword's edge, but the drip of blood is voided. High voices carry over the air.

“Find him!”

“His tracks lead through here—get the hounds on it!”

“Here!”

Your brow raises, smirk getting larger as you chuckle under your breath. “Better get on your way quickly, then.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Johnny snarls, all at once ripping his sword from your neck yet keeping his ruthless grip on your upper arm. He looks nervous now—his eyes jumping from one place to another, thinking. “Where’s the damn road, you minx.”

You shrug, eyes sharp. “What road, Lord?”

The strong man rages, eyes burning with a thousand suns as the sword is taken from your neck and re-sheathed in one motion—a second hand staples itself to your waist, gripping tightly. You blink, saliva swallowed down thickly at the dig of heavy fingers into flesh as your heart stutters.

“You’re going to tell me,” John levels, shifting the both of you back as the sounds of fast footsteps are echoed by the bay of dogs. “As much as I would enjoy being away from you in any capacity at all,” you smile humorously to him through his dead-tone monologue, “I need a guide out of these woods and across the land. If you won’t help willingly, I’ll just have to make do.”

You blink, confused.

“Make do?” Your body is taken up, and you shout as you’re ruthlessly flung over the man’s shoulder with a hiked toss.

Johnny’s smirk is lost to you, but his chuckle is not as he dashes to the door and slams it open, taking a quick left and looping the house—diving into the foliage as if a fish to water. “Unhand me, you brute!” You scream, clawing and hitting at the man’s back—kicking even, as your knee speedily finds his ribcage. “Ow!” John laughs, his grin highly amused as he turns back to look at you. The shouts from the trees get larger, but that doesn’t help you much as you’re both soon going deeper and deeper into the woods. “Jesus, you have a pair of legs, don’t you?”

“If I were marrying you,” you bark down at him, struggling with all of your might as your home disappears from view. “I’d be running instead of the other way around!”

“Well,” Johnny calls, his sword bouncing off of his hip. “It’s a good thing you’re not, then, isn’t it, you bonnie little thief? Your husband would be dead and all of his coin in your dirty pockets!”

“Stop calling me a thief!” You send a closed-fisted slap to the top of his head, and he grunts, balking to the side. “Learn how to handle a fucking lady!”

“Lady?” He breathes heavily, shoving into another bush as leaves get tangled in his hair—twigs stuck in yours as you scowl rabidly. “If you’re a lady, Bonnie, then I’ve got a beast waiting for me back at my ceremony.”

—

He stopped when the light of the sun was low, and your constant attack of his spine left an array of large, fist-shaped bruises on his skin.

“Easy,” John grunts, dropping you with a huff to a down-turned stump.

It isn’t long before you shoot back up, hands clawing for his throat. “Hells Bells!” The man ducks, boyish glint in his eyes as he darts to the side, stepping out of the way as you stumble on tingly legs.

“I’m going to skin you alive,” you yell. “Piece of utter dog shite!”

“Now that’s a bit strong,” John breathes, panting from his mad run for his single life. “Don’t you think?”

You take one step forward, and he takes two back—stuck in a game of cat and mouse. Your eyes are like tiny fires, illuminated with only anger and hatred.

“Give me one reason why I should even attempt to help you,” your screams rise above the trees, hands splayed as John puts his hands to his knees, taking down breaths as sweat dribbles down his neck into his vest. “You-you,” your tongue fumbles, “kidnapper!”

“Technically, it would be an abduction, Dearie.” You slap him across the face and see the man’s cheeks go red from the blow. Shoving your nose nearly right into his, you sneer.

“Correct me again, and it’ll be your balls I hit next.”

He swallows, blinking, before he smirks and pairs it with a chuckle as his eyes spark. “Yes, Ma’am.”

You growl as he holds up his hands, moving one to rub at the back of his neck and itch at the shaved portion of his scalp. That damned smirk—you despised it.

“Get me to the closest port,” John settles, getting to business as his expression mellows out. “And I’ll make it worth your while, I give you my word.”

“What?” You laugh, shaking your head in exasperation the longer the silence falls; realizing how serious the man is. “Oh God in Heaven, this has to be a joke.”

“Anything you ask for, you can have from me when this is over,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his mud-caked shoes. “I don’t need more than the fee to secure a spot on a good ship sailing away from here, and whatever is left I’ll give to you if you want it. You win in this situation, and I’m not trying to hide it from you.”

Your sharp eyes hone in, unwavering in its heat.

“Christ,” Johnny breathes, “I’d even give you my damn socks if that’s what it takes—I need to get out of here. Quickly.”

You stare, sneering. “Is your betrothed a damn witch or what?”

Blue eyes blink, and his words are firm as they meet air. “Are you taking up my offer or not, Cat-Eyes?”

“Of course, I’m taking the offer!” You bark ruthlessly, rolling your eyes as you kick at the dirt. Rocks and grass fly as darkness settles heavier. “I’m not a fool.”

“Well,” he sighs in relief, looking to the shadows along the ground. “I can’t say you’re that, either, but you are certainly something.”

You narrow your eyes at Johnny but don’t waste your time any longer as you turn and study what you can see.

You had grown up here—in this land. The woods knew you just as much as you knew them. Already you could pinpoint a general map of this section based on the large cracked boulder to your right, and the tiny cluster of trees across the way. You knew the way to town, and from there, the port.

“It’s a three-day walk,” you grumble, side-eyeing the man as he moves to lean against a trunk. He wouldn’t be moving through the night—you didn’t complain on that front either. “You grab at me like that again, and I’ll—”

“Let me guess,” Johnny raises a brow. “You’ll hit me in the balls.”

Your thin lips tell him all he needs to know.

Shuffling past him, you frown and pull your wrapping closer, shuffling your chin into it. No fires for warmth, you know—not with people on your trail.

“I want an explanation,” you turn and dig into him, walking closer as John looks to the side. “If I’m sticking my neck out, I want answers as well as coin.” Poking him in his chest, you force your neck to find his gaze. “Why are you running?”

Johnny sighs, licking his lips as he nods with a low, “Fine.”

You tilt your head, and John moves back to sit against the stump, moving out his hands in an honest display.

“I was told I needed to marry and produce heirs if my house was going to survive, aye?” He states, and you know the story well. “My parents are gone, and my sisters are all married, but my estate is barren of anyone besides myself and the staff. To keep the peace, I gave my word that I would join into a union to secure my assets for my bloodline.”

It was all so formal, the talk of a wife and children—you never understood it. Why couldn’t people simply marry who they love and leave it at that? All this bloodline and assets. Don’t they ever get sick of it?

“What’s your last name, then,” you ask. “McDuff? Mackenzie?”

“MacTavish,” John shakes his head, rubbing his hand up and down the back of his neck. Blue eyes stay with yours. “John MacTavish, I have lands to the North.”

Your brows tighten, arms going to cross themselves. “You’re running from your home because of a union you can freely exit?”

“It isn’t free,” he grumbles, shaking his head firmly and setting his jaw. “My father’s wishes for his children were written down and sealed. I was to marry a daughter of Arthur Campbell when I came of age.” John chuckles face going a bit pink. “As you can see, I’m a good few years past that.”

You tilt your head, and while Johnny was certainly passed the normal age of a male in his position to be wed, it struck you as odd as to why he didn’t want to be in the first place. In marriage during these times, a man has little to lose when joined. Almost nothing else changes for them except another title is added to their long line of others already living under him.

John continues, and you stay your snake-like tongue for now. “Wasn’t until I learned that by now, Mr. Campbell’s second born daughter, who was the only one near my age, had passed nearly an entire year ago—leaving only the oldest behind.”

“And?” You hum, intrigued to see where this goes. Johnny itches at his chin, scratching the stubble that lives there along with the dirt and grime. “What, I’d imagine the head of the Campbell family wanted to uphold the arrangement?”

“Aye, they did,” John grunts, nodding. “Fiona Campbell was the woman I was set to marry today.” He pauses, sighing heavily before looking to the side. Darkness had set, and there was little light by way to see the expression of guilt growing on his face. “I’m not lyin’ when I say I didn’t want to make such a mess of it, but there’s only so much a man can do when he learns his bride is not only twice his age,” John breathes, grunting, “but also just…” He stops himself, sighing.

You frown, gut swirling.

“She was blank, do you understand?” Johnny asks, motioning a hand in a display of unknowing explanation. “All she seemed to care about was children and wealth. A slate waiting to be filled with someone else’s thoughts and ideas. I didn’t want to be the one to fill it—I’ll not be some husband that runs a wife around like a dog. That isn’t right to me; it wasn’t how I was raised.”

Your mind twists on itself with an indefinable feeling—skin tight to your bones as if taken and tied by ropes. Your heart pumps blood a little harder, but just because this man seems less of a bastard doesn’t mean you like him. He’d dragged you into this hunting party of his grand problem, and the sooner you got your payment, the better and easier it would be to disappear.

“How noble,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Yet, your voice is hiding an under-the-breath shock. “So you bolted into the woods?”

Johnny rubs at his nose bridge, growling in annoyance. “Yes—it was the best cover I had. Been going through the trails since sunrise.” He slaps his hands to his knees and stands back up with a grunt and an ache in his thighs. His sarcastic voice peels the shadows. “Are we satisfied, now, Bonnie?”

“I won’t be until you’re out of my sight,” you level, moving forward. “So are you going to bed so I can drag you to the port or not?”

John’s body is heard shifting as you slip down the trunk of a tree, backside hitting grass as you settle in for a restless sleep—pulling your wrap tighter over your shoulders. Here you were: weaponless and in the company of a runaway groom still in all of his finery.

You wanted that damn boar broach.

“Sleep’ll be smart, we need to be up early,” John says seriously, his shoes shifting the leaves. Letting the chill seep in, you burrow into your fabrics and glare ahead. Johnny’s sly voice is so reminiscent of yours, that you have to wonder if the two of you were cut of the same cloth. “I won’t be opposed to a cuddle if you get chilly, Little Lady—”

“I should have stabbed you when I had the chance.”

Johnny’s low chuckles waft over the air, and then the silence settles fully.

Yet, you’re up far later than you anticipated…and you find this honest man’s confession to be bouncing inside of your skull like an enraged bird.

—

“Christ, did I do that?” A finger is pressed under your chin, tilting your head up as you strangle a gasp at the sudden motion.

Johnny looks at the tiny cut along your neck from the edge of his sword—the barely-there irritation of the skin that you’d been itching at as you walked forward through the trees.

He frowns, glancing into your eyes as your body stills at the feeling of warm flesh.

It was the first day of walking, and the silence between the two of you had stayed. Not only were you annoyed at the situation, but also John’s story—you’d been mulling it over since last night.

But below that anger, you might have even felt a little wrong.

“Who else?” You sigh sarcastically to the man, trying to hide the rising flood of heated shock. Thick digits drag along your esophagus slowly in study, and John’s face creases the longer he looks. He’s hunched near you, too—and you can smell the low scent of leather and earth.

Johnny pulls back with a huff and slips a hand into his sporran. Your eyes watch with blatant distrust until a relatively clean rag is taken out by a steady hand.

He motions with it. “Come ‘ere. Let me get the dirt out of it before it gets infected, eh?”

You sigh lowly but decide it’s a good idea at the very least before nodding—John’s fingers return as the light from above leaks through the branches. The morning was cold, but not unreasonable; the woods gave shelter from the otherwise abusive wind of the open country.

“Look at that,” you breathe, “The first nice thing you’ve done for me.”

“Ah,” John lightly glares. “Not quite right—I carried you away instead of making you run with me.”

Your eyes roll, and Johnny’s chuckle echoes off the surroundings.

“Such a gentleman,” you grumble, feeling the rag press into your throat and the soft scrape of it across your scratch.

“So,” the man hums, blue eyes stuck to your flesh as he takes care of it far more nicely than you’d imagined someone to be. “Seeing as I’ve shared my sob story, Cat-Eyes, I think I’d like to ask after yours.” His voice is full of amusement. “As we’ll be keeping one another company.”

“It’s less as in-depth than yours,” your fingers twitch as Johnny moves back after the cleaning is done—returning the rag to his sporran as he blinks.

“I don’t believe that,” he raises a brow, as you ignore the remembrance of his touch and continue, paving the trail as the dark-haired man follows a close distance behind. “Can’t say there’s many times I’ve seen an unwed woman wielding a bow and thieving someone out of their money. I’ve seen a lot of things, Bonnie,” he laughs, “but never that. Scared the hell out of me when you dropped down.”

“You can add me to the top of the list, I suppose,” you puff a teasing breath. After an expecting pause in the conversation, you grow bored of the nothingness.

“I’ve lived out here my entire life—I do what I have to. That’s all there is to it.”

John’s face gradually pulls into itself, only looking away from you to glance at the path to make sure he won’t fall.

“No family?”

“None,” you tilt your head, shimmying under a low branch and pushing leaves off your shoulders. They sway to the ground softly as you brush an arm over your forehead, sensing Johnny’s attention.

The man grunts. “M’sorry.”

Your feet stumble for a moment, pace faltering, until you cover it up easily. You turn to stare, narrowing your eyelids as open blues watch silently. John’s shoulder brushes yours.

“It’s life,” you blankly answer. “Least I wasn’t married off. Where you had to worry about a blank slate, I had to worry about becoming a broodmare for a man who most likely would never love me.”

Johnny licks his lips, eyes darting to the ground. “Can’t imagine you like that,” he mutters, but it isn’t some joke—he’s truthful.

“Perfect,” is what his ears twitch to. “Because I’d sooner act like you and bolt from my wedding as well.”

“Would that make me the thief in your story, then?” Johnny asks, chuffing as he smiles towards you, reaching a hand above him to push another branch out of the way—separating it from your form as you bend under. “I’m tellin’ you, I wouldn’t be very good at it. All that dropping down from trees would have my knees screamin’. Not that they don’t already.”

Your laugh pierces his chest, and the man sends a kind if not a bit startled, show of interest to you. It sounded like a bowstring slapping a wrist—harsh and telling all at once: something to be known and understood even if heard only once.

John blinks at you, and his heart patters along in his chest.

“I think it would be more fun to think about you with a dagger,” you narrow your gaze at him, smiling. “A small thing like that would disappear in your hands, Johnny Boy.”

“Disappear?” He tilts his head, raising his hands to hover in front of him. “Ah, they’re not that big, are they?”

You shift, and, nearly without thinking, you slip your hand to sit above his. Johnny makes a noise in the back of his throat, eyes going wide as you reference the size of his grip under yours, but allows you to regardless. A blue gaze slides to your face, openly imploring, before they dart back down to your shared hands as the roughness of his callouses scraped against your flesh.

“Care to compare?” You smirk, lifting a brow.

Johnny’s lips parted quickly, blinking a few times as he tried to find the words to accompany his running mind. He clears his throat, but the small sheen of red pigment on his cheeks is undeniable.

Laughing, you detach the connection and pull ahead, leaving the man behind as he stutters with a fast pulse.

“You’re the strangest woman I’ve ever met,” is what he decides minutes later, a large grin on his face—he was enjoying this, for whatever twisted and flawed reason, he was. John’s adrenaline was pumping, his heart was pounding, and his feet were passing over the earth, yet, even better, his brain was sparking at a mile a minute for the woman who walked only three feet ahead of him. He watches you take these trails like an expert, not having to look down at your feet as stone and wood are passed as if you were water above them, whispering and nearly silent.

“At least I’m not boring.” Your eyes meet him, and in them, they create some horribly beautiful amalgamation of twin flames—two sparking fires that feed from the same ember. “You would never catch me becoming a housewife, Johnny Boy.” Your gazes never break. “There are far too many things to steal in this country, and so very few men who can keep up.”

John’s chest moves in the beat of his pulse—his attention wholly transfixed upon the sight of this wild-born woman whom he’d only met yesterday. There were leaves in your wrap, and brown-black mud coated up to your ankles, even sweat sitting at your temple, yet you moved with grace befitting a Lady: never seeming to tire of jokes or firm surety. Yet…you weren’t cruel—you weren’t without purpose.

Any accomplished thief would have just stabbed him and taken what they needed in your house. You offered John water, however, you chose to give him a chance to comply. It was such a small thing in the grand scheme, but Johnny was always one to analyze how one feather on a bird can affect the flight pattern, so to speak. One action that speaks volumes.

You liked creating games, and, lucky for him, John loved to solve them.

And that glint in your sharp-slitted eyes was becoming more and more enjoyable every second, he found.

Pushing back the strands of his wayward hair, John keeps up with you for every step, not unfamiliar with how to traverse unsteady terrain. He wasn’t lying in what he told you—he had spent most of his life in the forest beside his home: hunting, fishing, riding. There wasn’t an activity he didn’t enjoy when he was outside, though his mother was always heavy on him about the mess he brought back.

Blue eyes drop back down to your dirt-laced pants, and the man can’t help but give his best, lip-pulling smile.

Hell, if he didn’t know any better, he would say that you were something that made so little, and at the same time so much, sense to him.

“Well, maybe they just aren’t accustomed to hiking, Little Cat-Eyed Thief.”

There was something special in the glances you two would throw one another.

—

Your hands dip into the clear water, fingers open to feel the current drag through them gently.

“If you want a sip,” you say, cupping the liquid and bringing it up to your lips, “it’s safe. This river flows down from the hills—not perfect, but there’s only a small chance it’ll make you sick.”

John comes up and hums as he sits down beside you, folding his legs under him and leaning forward to submerge his arms up to his elbows in water. He sighs, and you hear the river gurgling as the man begins to rub up his flesh, getting rid of all the grime.

“Good to know.” Blue eyes spare you a look as he continues. “What’s this one called?”

“Woodney river,” you answer. “Old Man Jack Woodney ran a water wheel on this river a long walk West. If this place had a name before that, it won’t tell.”

Johnny washes his face, scrubbing at his stubble as the scratch of it plays in the side of your ear. You watch along the opposite shore, eyes going from trees to birds—even to the shadows of fish that quickly swim past. Sighing, you have to admit the beauty of this adventure. There were few times you could say you’d gone this far into the woods with no wealth to trade in with the townspeople.

You side-eye John and study him just as heavily as you do a wild animal.

He wasn’t unattractive, you admitted. Strong—sturdy. Johnny was capable in a way that most Lords wouldn’t be, some, you guessed, would already be complaining about the uncomfortableness of their clothes or the flesh of their blistered feet. But John was bright-eyed; more than once you’d seen him actively watching the stretch of the trees for any sign of his pursuers. He never complained. Not once.

“You’re not as insufferable as I thought you’d be,” you say. Frowning, your hands push back into the water and cup some of the chilled liquid. You let it drip before you extend your hand to your neck and feel your eyes droop in relaxation.

Johnny laughs, staring at you for a minute as he slowly raises a brow. His face shows amusement.

“Am I supposed to be insulted or not?”

“I leave that for you to decide.”

John cracks his knuckles and shakes his head as he stands. “C’mon,” he drags, but the smile in his voice is clear. A hand is set in front of yours. “Sooner I get out the port, the sooner I’m out of your hair.”

Your face softens slightly.

“Am I ever going to get an apology for being tossed like a sack of potatoes?” Skin meets skin as you slip your hand into his, and the man pulls you to your feet as you smile. Calluses brush yours, and yet again, you find you enjoy this game—perhaps more than any other you’d played before.

And you don’t understand why.

Johnny’s fingers are firm over yours, curling as water drips to the ground below in reflective droplets, and you think back to the first time you’d met him—panting breath and rapid eyes. Your eyes glance to that boar broach, and find it attached to a man that is suddenly more of a mystery than a closed book.

“Easy,” John mutters, steadying you by your shoulders as you remember where you are. The dark-haired man squeezes your flesh and looks into you.

Blue eyes glint, and that smirk, you find, is always followed by a tiny tint of his head. “And what’s that look for, Cat-Eyes?”

“You called me strange.”

John’s brows furrow. “Aye. I did.” He looks you up and down slowly. “You are.”

You do the same to him, not wasting more than a moment. “And I find it funny that you haven’t said the same thing about yourself. You’re far more strange than I’ll ever be.”

“Guilty,” Johnny smiles, nodding slightly. His hands are still on you, and he doesn’t seem to even notice. “I don’t think a normal one would fuck off from his own wedding, would he?”

“Or kidnap a woman as a guide,” you state, pulling out of his warm hold even as your stomach flips as you brush past

“Again,” John’s hand motions through the air. “Abduct.”

“You’re just saying that because it sounds slightly better,” you grimace over your shoulder. “Like comparing a dog to a wolf.”

Johnny is hot on your heels, and when the river-eroded stepping stones to the other side of the water are the clear path to take, he’s already on the first and holding out his arm for you as a true gentleman would. You glance at him and hop to the first stone, liquid sloshing at your shoes.

Your smirk is stuck with his like two pieces of a quilt, and neither of you realizes it.

“You put a knife to my back first, Dearie.” John puffs and his face is right next to your ear as you both cross the stones—you lean into him and elbow his side before your arm slips into his. The man grunts, blinking as he chuckles above the slosh of water.

“So? Maybe I only point knives at the men I like.”

“Then I’d say you have every right to put one right at my throat.”

Feet move carefully over rocks and the spray of the water that coats them—a dance of wit in their own right. It was like animals circling one another, all sharp eyes and pulled lips trying to find weaknesses. Deadly flirting and addictive banter.

Where annoyance was such a common emotion, now there was a near expectation of jabs; of tantalizing quips for the glimpse of another's mind.

Neither of you could understand the other, which was exactly why you both reveled in the brush of warm flesh.

“Careful,” your feet meet the hard ground once more on the other side, and John only lets go when he knows that you don’t need him to steady you. “You’re engaged, Johnny Boy.”

Your tease slips in one ear and out the other, and the man watches you turn and begin walking again with sly eyes. John’s wide gaze stays stuck there for a moment—mouth eager to continue any conversation given. Watching you walk, his heart beats speedily.

“I think my, ah, reputation has all but ruined my chances on that front—”

There’s something unique about the sound of an arrow sinking into flesh that can’t really be forgotten. John had heard it many times—even been behind the bow that shot it; the slap of the string across his forearm, the set of his shoulder blades widening until the arrow disappeared.

But there’s something worse knowing that the sudden expulsion of air from lungs, in fact, belongs to you and not some wild animal.

You’re hit in a fraction of a second, down on the ground in less than that—your mind not even understanding above the immediate pressure and the slam of earth. You gasp loudly, and then the pain hits.

Hand snapping to your left bicep, your eyes slash down to stare as grass and mud fly into the air, rabid sounds escaping the back of your throat at the image that strikes you. An arrow was stuck deep into your skin—sticking out as blacked feathers flutter at the end of the shaft. The adrenaline hits rapidly, but the expression of horror still remains.

“Cat-Eyes!” Johnny yells, rushing forward, and unsheathing his sword, the sound of metal on metal harsh, but not as harsh as the sound of blood in the man’s ears.

You see the swelling of crimson, and, from under your fingers, the red of blood slips as your breathing gets hoarse. Biting into your lip, the quick sound of an under-the-breath groan of agony ripples.

But you’re not stupid.

Scrambling to your feet with the arrow still poking out of you, Johnny gets to you and pushes you behind him just as your shaking legs straighten—-your eyes slashing the woods in panic. Pain can wait.

The runaway groom spares you quick glances, pushing you further behind as his raging gaze darts this way and that. He yells into the trees, anger and order infecting his voice, “Show yourself!”

Just as suddenly, there’s a relieved call and a moving shadow. You clench your eyes tight and grit your teeth as a wave of pain rockets through you.

“Fuck,” you grind out, lost under the louder voice. Blood drips to the ground.

“My Lord!” Men burst through the leaves, bows, and swords aloft. “Quickly—to us!”

Johnny’s face is stiff; there isn’t an ounce of care, but the flash of recognition is swift, and in his chest, his heart, once beating so quickly, drops to his stomach.

Knights. His knights. Christ, the two of you hadn’t been fast enough.

“Stand down!” John spits, and cares little now for the thought of robbery or assault on his person—these men wouldn’t hurt him, but they were tasked to bring him back. “Fucking bawbags, the lot of you.”

His sword is sheathed by twitching fingers, and no sooner were those digits around you instead.

You pant hoarsely, face tight as your vibrating body tells you to run—eyes locked onto Johnny’s, the man in front of you ushers you over to the trunk of a tree hurriedly, uttering, “Just breathe now, Dearie—listen to me. It’s alright, aye?”

“What is this?” You raggedly push out, flinching as your spine meeting the bark jostles your arm painfully.

Your teeth grit, tears collecting in the corner of your vision.

“Knights,” John mutters as if his words are chased by wolves. “They’re after me—probably thought you were either holding me hostage or trying to lead me into an ambush.” The colorful fabric of his pinned tartan is dragged off from over his shoulder and shoved into your weeping flesh, and you lightly moan in agony, head falling back to the tree.

Tears slip from over your cheeks.

“Easy.” John’s concern is palpable. Worried eyes dart from your face to your wound. “Jesus,” he utters under his breath, anger flashing.

“Who is this?” One of the knights asks, taking a step forward as Johnny holds the fabric to your wound and speaks to you lowly, utterly ignoring the people behind him.

“I need to break the shaft off, okay?” Blue eyes try to keep even, and John’s other hand captures your cheek. He levels your face right in front of his, breathing lowly. The man clears his throat as your tight gaze flutters, tightening his grip. “Hey,” Johnny breathes. You grunt, voice a low grind.

“Just make it quick.”

John’s lips thin. “Yes, Ma’am.”

His large hand swiftly moves to the arrow, gripping around it just where flesh meets wood, you hiss loudly, spitting and raging as your vision partially blackens. Pain sparks up and down your spine, racing like a cat after a mouse.

“Lord,” one knight tries again, coming closer and reaching out for Johnny’s shoulder. “We need to get you back to Castle Campbell—we’ve been hoping to find you unharmed for your future wife’s comfort. Everyone is in a panic!”

“I’ll count down to three,” Johnny whispers to you, breathing heavily as he swallows and steady himself, hand lightly clammy. He wished he had his hunting gloves with him, but this was the best he could do. “Eh,” the man grunts, eyes steady, “You listening, Bonnie?”

“I don’t care what you count to,” you nearly bark, orbs flashing. “Just break the damn thing off—!”

The wood snaps with a defining splinter, and your scream afterward has the man having to hold you up with his arms around your waist, muttering into your ear with his lips against the shell.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” John hears the clatter of the shaft to the grass just as the knight’s hand is heavily placed on his shoulder. “Breathe. M’right ‘ere.”

You sag into Johnny taking in the scent of sweat, blood, and dirt—the musk that stays even as your ears start ringing and the voices start getting louder.

“Best get your hands off o’ me before I break ‘em, Mate” Johnny grunts from deep in his chest, shifting your body to the side and effectively ripping his flesh out of the knight’s hold.

All the others shift nervously—hands on their swords and looking back and forth between the strange scene.

Who were you? A mistress? A bandit luring their Lord away? Why was he with you out here; going in the opposite direction of where the ceremony was supposed to take place? They’d been given orders, and a knight is no good unless he can follow them.

John MacTavish was needed, and their duty was to see it through.

Johnny’s tartan had fallen to the ground behind the two of you, getting kicked by feet as they shuffle and as your blood slips off of your limp fingers. Mind failing, your pain-addled form shakes even as the knowledge of imminent danger is present.

You needed to figure out a way to get out of here.

Pushing your head up from Johnny’s shoulder, your eyes flutter but manage to analyze what little you can see clearly—adrenaline can take care of most of your agony, only leaving a dull ache as your heart continues to rage.

A group of four knights have their hands on their swords, and all of their eyes are on John.

Run, a deep part of you urges. Your legs are still good. Take off—none of them know the terrain like you do. You’ll be free.

You pant, your nostrils flaring with every breath as your sweat trickles off your jawline. Johnny’s grip on you tightens, head shifting back and forth, unknowing where to anchor itself, not understanding which is more important—your state, or your safety.

Free, free, free.

Your mind flashes to an empty house: silent woods. How you would go months without seeing another human face, but that was your own choice.

Wasn’t it?

Your eyes slip to Johnny.

“We’ve been tasked with bringing you back, My Lord,” the first knight says, looking heavily upon the runaway. “We have our orders. Please understand.”

“And I’m telling you your orders are utter shite,” John spits. “So back the fuck up and drag yourself out of this place. Now.” He glares, teeth snapping. “Those are my orders.”

Your arm is numb, and your chest expands as it sits on John’s own. And you think.

You knew you were a selfish person.

There was no debate about it—even when you’d stolen enough coin to feed you for weeks, there was still a part of you that longed for some chase; some challenge to your senses. You liked stealing. You liked the looks on people's faces when they realized they were being swindled for every valuable item they had in their possession. But there was something you liked even more than all of that—a challenge.

Johnny, to you, was that challenge. He was the largest challenge you’d ever faced. A Lord who was running from a bride, a man who held his beliefs higher than praise or standing…a blue-eyed stranger who matches your poking jabs word for word.

“Damn,” your growl, and John takes it as an exclamation of pain.

He grits his teeth and studies you, opening his mouth as his concern grows at the smell of blood.

“We need to tie it off,” he utters. “Bastards made me drop the tartan—I’m sorry, Dearie.”

Your lips are near his ear.

“When I say ‘go,’ run to the left.”

Johnny halts, attention snapping down. His fingers flinch around you, face open until the mask of sudden knowledge flies over it like a curtain. But it’s gone just as quickly—hidden by intelligent eyes that glint.

He doesn’t question you, and, in the crux of your shoulder, you get a near-infinitesimal nod from Johnny’s head.

The guards grow suspicious, all mulling closer by the second the longer you two remain so close—on opposite ends, you feel your heart mirroring John’s in a rapid and ravaging pulse: Thump-thump, thump-pump, thump-pump-thump.

Your attention is split three ways.

One: the rising numbness of your limbs and the heat of your brain. Two: the spread of Johnny’s panting breath across your sweat-slick skin and his hands tightening. Three: knights and the clatter of their armor. How they slide their hands across their weapons like intimate partners—the tension building in a hemp bowstring and the sound of arrows hitting off one another; one taken and played with between fingers so similarly to how you would act.

Your tear-stained eyes glare at the knight who’d shot you, your expression building into an act of hatred.

They take a step forward.

“Cat-Eyes—” Johnny begins to warn slowly.

“Go.” Your words are no shout. They don’t echo off the trees, which all hold their breeze in expectation, they don’t ring in ears except the ones of the man holding you. But they’re like the personification of a sword strike—like the release of an arrow and the impending thump of it hitting home.

The knights dash forward with calls for their Lord to stand down, but John’s already flinched away with a heavy grunt.

You do the same, your plan already formed—you would run the opposite way as Johnny, only slipping off when the cover of bushes had enshrouded the both of you to create two sets of tracks. With any luck, the guards would break off into two groups and pursue the both of you, and you could easily lose yours.

From there, circle back and find John: get your bearings before—

Arms never detach from your waist, and you’re once more tossed into a strong grip.

Eyes bugging, your focus breaks as gravity leaves and your head goes light. Johnny dashes away, and, just as the last time, you’re in his boar-like hold.

“You idiot!” You bark, the only difference to your predicament now is that you’re held in a bridal grip and not slung over his sweaty shoulder. There was only a small sliver of relief before the annoyance overtook you.

Johnny’s body crashes through the leaves, the shouts of the knights following as he gruffly raises his voice to the wind. The trees shake with amusement.

“Thinking you could hand over some directions, Dearie?!”

“Thinking you could put me down?!” You shout back, your arm sparking with pain as your opposite wraps the man’s neck firmly. “Damn.” Your lips twist in response. “My legs work just fine, you know—I wasn’t shot in the arse!”

“Acting like you were,” John grumbles, a branch slapping his cheek before you can. Despite it all, he chuckles wholeheartedly at his own joke.

An arrow whizzes through the air, and you yelp, ducking behind his body even more as your skull fits under his jaw. Your eyes snap to the visible terrain as Johnny’s legs push from one side to the other, running in a zig-zag pattern to avoid any more injuries.

“There,” your brows rise, fighting past the pain to find the familiar slash of a gnarled willow tree that whizzes by in brown and dark green.

Your head rises to see more of the woods, only to be pushed back down by an all-expansive hand as John utters a fast-breathed and firm, “Not the best idea.”

He shoves through brambles, and the sounds of rampaging knights are gaining. The second John sloshes through a low pool with a loud curse, you know instantly where you two are.

“Take a left near the overhang with vines coming down!”

“That one?”

“Yes!”

And so this game continued long after the knights had been lost to the woods, stumbling about without any sense of where they were, and the two of you came to a panting halt an hour later. Deep night was setting in on the second day, and, as your shaky feet hit the ground, John kept a heavy eye on you.

“Steady,” he mutters, sweat pouring off his face; saturating his clothes. He worriedly stares, looking you up and down.

Your vision swirls, the glade around you the exact place you both needed to be. There were hills here—surrounded by thick trenches carved by rivers long dried. The stars were out, and the moon was shining down; one thin trickle of a river was feet away, the sound of water on rocks addictive to your pounding ears.

All of it was null to the way your gut flipped at the humming agony of your arm.

Your hand snaps to the puncture and the flood of blood is enough to leave your fingers dripping with crimson glinting in moonlight.

There’s a heavy ripping sound, and then you find yourself sitting down in the grass as Johnny shoves the torn fabric of his suit into the small river. You hear the splashing as you glance down at your arm before rapidly looking away, biting at your lip as your spine hunches.

“Christ almighty,” you growl, glaring to the side as your fingers quiver. Tears well.

“The arrowhead is keeping pressure,” John hurries to speak, trying to distract you just as his own exhaustion is bare to see. The rung-out fabric is looped around your arm, tying off until you have to strangle down a scream at the tightness on your flesh. “We have to keep it there until there’s enough sterile material to fix it up.”

“Your knights are pieces of work,” you hiss, more from the wound than anything.

John gives a little look, blue eyes darting up until falling.

“Aye, they are.” His strong jaw clenches. “This shouldn’t have happened, Dearie.”

You stare as he finishes up, and you feel his fingertips slipping along your arm. Your eyelids droop, closing as your nostrils suck in shaky air. You take a moment to take in the silence that follows, John’s eyes not straying as your face is illuminated.

He watches the streaks of dirt along your skin, and, in a soft attempt to fix this, he stands and moves to the river once more—cleaning his hands. Johnny takes the rag out of his sporran and wets it, coming back to your body as the grass waves back and forth.

“Let me…” the man says slowly, and your eyes open back up as the chilled item is pushed to your cheek.

Wide orbs staring forward, you swallow as John concentrates on cleaning your skin carefully.

“Infection is my immediate concern,” the man says with a sigh, yet continues as your tongue stays tied; face growing more heated by the second. “But you mentioned it takes three days to the town, aye? That’s not unmanageable with two already under our feet.”

Blood, dirt, and sweat slip away with every drag of the fabric, and, stuck into his suit, that boar broach still sits—crooked now, but still there.

Your attention is momentarily taken by it, and your fingers twitch before you notice how very close John’s face is to yours.

The man focuses, relaying a plan as you’re stuck mute; your arm holding its own heartbeat as the grass shifts.

“I’ll use what I have to get you into a doctor. Make sure there’ll be no problems before I get going.” John blinks, tilting his head. “‘Course, that’ll decrease the amount you’ll get in turn.”

“Fortunately for you,” you breathe, voice strained, and blue eyes stick to yours. John pauses, brows slightly pulling up on his face. “I value my own life too much to complain about a man paying for my care.”

John’s rag stays where he placed it, right on the swell of your cheek as, this close to one another, you can see the scar on his chin—one that curves to the muscle and bone.

He was handsome, make no mistake about it. You knew it; you understood it. A lord with morals and the smarts to go along with the strength—now that was utterly unheard of. You liked that, truthfully. Someone who could think, and plan.

And, of course, follow directions.

“You’ll be fine,” John mutters, glancing to the side, yet his head doesn’t move back. He clears his throat with a sigh.

You roll your eyes, moving out and grabbing his hand with the rag. Johnny’s expression startles, arm tensing as you steal the dripping fabric from him. Water runs down your neck.

“I know I am.” You huff, smiling.

You push the rag onto his own face, and begin your cat-like approval of his character, washing away the grime just as he had your own. A blue gaze stays firmly on your flesh, the man’s shoulders loosening until he’s sitting just in front of you. Verident grass whispers in a language like a soft breeze, and you study Johnny’s skin until everything becomes a mosaic of scars and blemishes—stories woven into sinews holding as much history as the tines on an elk or the chipped tusks of a boar.

Two days and he’d become even more of a mystery than he had been before. Or maybe he always had been, and now your previous contentment had grown into an addictive curiosity.

He’d called you Cat-Eyes.

You couldn’t love a title more—not even if Lady were on the table.

“I settle my scores,” you grunt, tilting your head as you push back mud from his forehead, leaning in. “You wash my face, I wash yours.”

“Literally, then?” A sarcastic eyebrow makes you huff.

“Is that not what I’m doing, Johnny Boy?”

“Seems so, Cat-Eyes.”

Your matching glares hold no venom.

Smirking, you lean back after the last swipe at his forehead, pushing Johnny’s skull back as he chuckles, moon-lit visage something you would see scrawled on the parchment of an old story-teller's sketches. A man not made for this age.

Your face softens slowly, and it is a strange thing sitting atop the sharpness of your eyes.

John’s chuckles fade, and his breath catches in his throat.

“You’re an odd fellow, John MacTavish,” you say, here, with blood from an arrow wound drying to crack along your skin.

Your head tilts, eyes narrowing.

John’s lips slowly pull upwards, and the water on both of your faces drips to the listening earth. This place is alive with possibilities, and all of them stem from the growing draw of twisted human souls.

A just Lord and a cunning thief.

A sharp-eyed cat and a strong-bodied boar.

A future and a past—riddled with arrow marks; long sword slashes.

“Well…then I’m thinking we make quite the pair, Bonnie.”

—

The third day was spent on the latter half of the journey. Re-correcting the course and giving the best directions you could with the numb ache of your arm spreading up your shoulder.

But the town came easily as the midday sun rose to crest your heads.

“Want to lean on me?” Johnny asks, standing close by, but you’re already shaking your head.

“Feels better to keep myself focused,” you mutter, grimacing. You look at the entrance to the town, and as you both walk it, the stares are immediate—shocked residents looking at the haggard appearance of two individuals.

“Alright,” John sighs, side-eyeing you. “Just let me know if you’re goin’ to keel over, yeah?”

“Duly noted,” you tilt your head his way. Your lips smirk like a smug child. “You’ll catch me, won’t you?”

Johnny chuckles, shrugging his wide shoulders as his tattered finery is chock-full of brambles and leaves.

“Can’t say no to that.”

The Lord kept his promise—the doctor took the arrowhead, cleaned, cauterized the wound, and sutured you back up. For payment, as you lightly touch the bandaged section of your arm, you find your eyes freezing as a silver glinting reflects off the light through the window.

Johnny hands over his boar broach to the doctor.

Widely staring at the prize being pawned off for your health, your heart stutters in heavy greed.

No, you rapidly think. No, that was the one thing that I—

Your eyes inexplicably snap to Johnny.

The immediate thought is that he looks angry, but, the next and more accurate one, is that he looks sad.

John’s blues continue to follow the broach as it disappears into the doctor's pocket, and you see the weight fall back to his chest and arms—sitting heavy like a stone. The man’s feet shift along the ground for a moment, and he looks like he’s about to say something before he grits his teeth and shakes his head to himself. John grunts, fixing his nose.

You blink, and then your heart twists in on itself for no reason at all.

Or maybe there was a reason.

“C’mon, Cat-Eyes,” Johnny sighs heavily, tilting his head as his arms cross. “Time to see me off, then.”

He walks out the door, and your eyes follow like a loyal dog.

Standing there for a moment, your lips contort your face into a deep frown, sharp eyes gaining a sheen of light anxiety. Yet, there was no mistaking it—it had been said a million times—if there was one thing you could do, it was play a game.

Maybe you weren’t so bad after all.

“Oh my,” you mutter, putting a hand to your head and stumbling.

The doctor starts forward quickly, grasping at your un-injured arm. “Careful now, Woman. Don’t rip my sutures.”

He tells you, getting you fully up as you chuckle, placing your hands above his thigh, fingers twitching on the fabric.

“Apologies, apologies,” you mutter, retracting your hand and cupping it against your abdomen with a meek smile. “Just a little lightheaded. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Best be off, now,” the man grumbles, and you’re out the door swiftly.

Your shoes meet the cobble as you shift your hands into your pockets, shifting your body to look along after the large form that leans against the home waiting for you.

“Ready?” Johnny asks, though his attention is firmly planted on the ground five feet away, lost in thought.

“Aye,” you sigh, nodding your head to the East. “Port’s that way—let’s get this nightmare over with.”

“Hm,” Johnny agrees, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Quite the adventure for a runaway.”

“You can’t have thought it would be easy?” Your brows furrow. “You’re heir to the MacTavish lands.”

“I never said I thought it would be easy,” John moves at your side, a great hulk of honesty. He hands over his attention at last as you fiddle with the smooth item in your pocket. He huffs. “Just that it was an…experience, to say the least. One I’m not sure I’d want to go through again.”

“You’ll miss me,” you say confidently, meeting eyes with a smirk and a cocky shift to your form despite the lessening pain.

Johnny watches. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “Aye. I will.” You pause, expression stilling. The man hums, and you swear there’s something special in the way you can describe his look as delicate.

“You were the one part that I don’t regret,” he says lastly to you as if the words aren’t spears laced with poison.

Your breath gets caught in a way it never has, and John seems not to notice as he pulls ahead, muttering about him seeing the docks. The smell of salt water slaps your nostrils.

The legs under you slow until they’re stopped, and you look after the man as he begins speaking to workers along the port, asking for a spot on the large ships that sit in the water, rocking with the winds.

Your eyes trail, seeing the way he talks with such confidence—openly offering physical labor as his payment for even the dark quarters with the other laborers.

After what seems like hours of watching, you see him shake another man’s hand, and, just like that, passage is earned. He jogs back over, smiling.

You open your mouth to say something, but find the words null and void. You don’t know what to express. For once in your life, everything seems to be moving horrifically fast.

“Well,” John’s expression slowly sombers. “I suppose this is it then. I said you could ask for anything, and, I suppose,” he shifts the sword on his belt off after a moment, looking down at it. He holds the item, testing its weight. “I suppose this is all I have left.” Blue eyes slowly meet yours. “If you’ll take it.”

Always a thief, never a saint.

“I suppose it’ll have to do, Johnny Boy,” you sigh, the pain in your heart outweighing the one on your arm. “Hand it over.”

The sword is transferred and slipped to your waist. Many a man on the docks gives you strange looks, and, you find you welcome it—none could compare to the admiration in Johnny’s.

You lick your lips.

“Do one thing for me, hm?”

“Anything,” John mutters, not blinking.

You move forward, and place a firm kiss to his lips.

The man freezes, fingers twitching at his sides, before he sags and bends into you—his great hand capturing your cheek until all that remains in the sear of his heat and the scent of the earth.

You softly pull away, though not far enough as to where you can’t feel his breath on yours. Gazing into his eyes, you smile the widest you can remember.

“Don’t go running away from another wedding anytime soon. I can only save so many Lords until my reputation gets slandered.”

“You’re ruthless,” John growls, smirking as his eyes glint, looking you up and down. “Little Thief.”

He leans in for another kiss, but your hands only shift above his sporran before you dart back, chuckling.

“Always,” your hands brush his sword on your hip as you walk backward, grinning behind the strange pressure in your heart. If someone asked, you wouldn’t even know how to describe it.

John takes a step after you, face open and raw—an emotion you feel like mirroring if not for your excellent control.

Not yet.

“I’ll take care of this,” you call, patting the weapon.

“Good,” Johnny calls, taking one more step forward before stopping himself. One of the shipmates calls from the dock, and his eyes snap there with a jaw tense. He looks back at you and blinks, brows pulling in. In the heat of the moment, he exclaimed, “I’ll be back for it one day, Cat-Eyes!”

“Lovely!” You yell, back turning. “I’ll be waiting for you then. I do hope you’ll be able to get through the woods, and, please, don’t keep a woman waiting! You’re much too handsome for any of that.”

And then you’re gone.

Johnny stares at where you were, his smile large and his face heated, and after a louder call from the dock, he’s forced to turn and jog to the ship, hurrying up the board until he can stand on the swaying deck with his two feet.

He looks around, chuckling to himself, and still, his eyes shift back to land without fail; hoping for a glimpse—a small shadow.

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, the man reaches into his sporran for his rag, intent to clean and set it to dry when he’s able to get the chance to settle in. It’s one of the last items to his name no matter how pathetic.

Yet, his hands touch something far more precious.

Johnny’s body goes as straight as a tree when his fingers caress smooth metal, and, slowly, his grip pulls out the silver of his broach.

It glints in his palm as he sets it there, and his breath is stolen in one great bound of shock and confusion.

“What in the…” He already knows.

Johnny’s feet take him to the railing gently, and his body stands there—torn wedding clothes and all looking over a town that begins to move as the ship sets sail. He holds the broach carefully, not intending to let it go for an age. He just needs to lay low for a while. He needs time.

John smiles.

“I won’t keep you waiting,” he mutters to the moving homes, and he swears he sees the glint of a sword from between the buildings, and two sharp eyes digging into him.

You’re there, of course. Hidden as always.

You want your trees back, and you think that a day of sitting in your Oak is a good idea.

There’s dirt on your face again—your lips are chapped and your face is bitten by the wind; scars and blemishes that time won't heal but make all the more visible as the ages pass by on bird’s wings and cat purrs. Yet here is an action held immemorial.

A gift given freely by a thief is one to be treasured like pure gold, and the man on the ship knows that more intimately than any other as he clips the broach to himself with a hum.

You both watch the other from opposite, distant points until there’s no sun in the sky left to see with. Just a faint hope lights the way: the hope that your eyes will grace each other's visage, at the very least, just one more time in your life.

There was never a story so willing to be experienced than that of a runaway groom and his cat-eyed Thief.

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summerssover · 1 month

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i feel like you would absolutely kill cheerleader girlfriend and dom jock matt (i love your writing and account 🤍)

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐞 ⊹ ִֶָ ❲ 𝘫𝘰𝘤𝘬!𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭❳

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘, its senior night for you and matt and he looks a little too good for you to handle

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒, suggestive content, language

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆, jock!matt x cheerleader!reader, matt x poc!reader, established relationship

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙮𝙖𝙥𝙨!

i’m literally half asleep right now but i hope you like this. thank you pooks in my inbox it’s always open so send requests yall 🩷

▐ ❝𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐘𝐎𝐔❞

𓏲 🎀🍦 𓂃 ✦ 🪩

you felt like your were going to faint. you knew matt was a whore for attention when it came to his sport, but tonight he was outdoing himself. the stands were packed with family, some faculty of the school, and fellow classmates, an alarming amount of them drooling over your boyfriend as well as his brother.

you stood on the side lines cheering the lacrosse team on as they were about to win their last game of the season. you’d been fucking up on cheers all night due to the entertainment running up and down the field. something had to be in the air because there was no way he had you gagged this bad (😝)

matt was a rough player. the way he would harshly shove his opponents out of the way for the ball to land perfectly in his racket or when he would dodge and trip the other players, making them fall to the ground all while successfully making a goal gave him such a rush and all of the supporters in the stans that cheered his name stroked his ego but the true prize he had his mind set on was you. he couldn’t wait to get this over with and hear you screaming his name. that was the only thing that could top the feeling that he was feeling now.

the team now took a time out while you entertained the crowd by being tossed and spun around in the air, smiling and waving to everyone in the stans. matt rested around the sidelines, focusing on regulating his heart rate and getting some air. he took off his gloves and helmet with ease then ran his fingers through his hair, his chest moving up and down from his heavy breathing, and to add the cherry on top, matt lifted up his long sleeve shirt revealing his small waist and snail trail that weirdly resembled an arrow or maybe it was just you. either way it went he was such a slut.

your eyes scanned the crowd for what felt like the hundredth time, looking for who was just as mesmerized as you until you felt a light push to your shoulder, bringing back to reality.

“yn, you okay girl?”

you turned to look at one of your teammates before realizing you were just standing on the sidelines looking off into space. your cheeks start to warm up with a faint hue of red. “my man looks so good tonight” you brought your hands to your cheeks as you danced in place a little.

you and your teammate turned to face the other side of the field one more time only to see matt already grinning at you while he put his gloves back on.

“ouu, girl you better lock him up” she laughed out and leaned into you, expecting you to join in but you gave her a quick side eye before continuing. you were used to those type of comments all day at school and would go crazy if you made a big deal about every one.

the sound of loud buzzing rung letting everyone know that it was now halftime. you and two of your friends on the team made your way to the concessions and ordered two packs of skittles and a blue and white powerade.

before you went back to the sidelines you handed your stuff to one of your friends and met matt in the middle. you could see him leaning against the brick wall, waiting patiently to spend just a little time with you.

grabbing his hand and jerking him to face you, you scold, “what are you trying to do?”

matt looks down at you in confusion and pulls you into his chest with his feee hand. “yea, thank you for noticing how hard i’m working baby, i do it for you” he tease and rocks you guys in place.

you playfully push away from him and shrike, “you actually smell so foul right now, matt”

he begins to laugh and you turned you face up even more while holding your hand up to his chest. “that’s not fucking funny, you need to do something about that”

“well it’s not like i’m in the middle of a game or anything”

you giggled like a little girl, it didn’t matter how long yall’ve know each, he’s never failed to get you all railed up and insides fluttering. it was just an affect he’s always had on you. “shut up, but i am really impressed with you, you’re playing really good tonight” you compliment before planting a sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth.

matt couldn’t help but grin, he strived for your approval and to know that he’s your number one brings him so much joy. “thank you” he giggled out as well.

“who are you showing off for?” you question in a playful manner. there was only one right answer anyways you just wanted to hear him say it.

matt smacks his teeth before responding, “you’re crazy to even think that i’m worrying about anyone but you. i see you over there, short ass skirt” he muttered the last part while his hands moved lower, lifting the ruffles of your skirt up and grabbing a hand full of ass underneath.

you shared one passion filled kiss before he broke away. “d’you get my snacks babe?”

you chuckled as you nodded your head “yea, i got em’ right before coming over here”

“alright thank you, love you, i gotta’ go”

he grabbed you by the neck and pulled you in for a sloppy, wet kiss. the type of kiss that always resulted in you laying on his bed, spread wide open.

matt disconnected your lips, still holding your neck in his hand, he whispered, “my parents are here, unroll your fucking skirt” before jogging into the distance.

he left you speechless, knees surely buckling under you at any moment with a damp patch only growing in your panties by the second and a little embarrassed. you didn’t even want to finish the night out, the only thing on your mind was tearing the jersey clean off of his back.

you looked at your phone, responding to texts about where you were as you squeezed your legs together to stop your pussy from throbbing.

chris didn’t fail to send you little smirks and glares when he passed you on the field and when he could he would use his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his face more often just to fuck with you.

finally came the end of forth quarter. chris scored the winning goal with an assist from matt and now it was time to present the seniors to the crowd. the list of names dragged on till you finally heard the ref call matt’s and chris’ name.

you loudly cheer and clapped with the rest of the crowd and managed to snap a few pictures of chris as he wore the cutest girn on his face with an arm wrapped around his moms shoulder. once the sports photographers were done snapping their pictures chris parted ways with parents and made his way down the field towards you.

you stood waiting from him to say whatever it was that would pop into his head but instead he deadpanned to you then briefly pointed to the path you normally took to get to the locker room without being questioned.

one of matt’s teammates talked your head off as you leaned against the brick wall, waiting for him to change into his clothes. you began to get impatient and hot again and this guy couldn’t get the hint that you were not up to converse. your mind was too busy being consumed with thoughts of matt throwing you around and having his way with you.

“so can i get your snap?” the guy brought you out your head before you blinked back at the phone in your face.

“sorry, what?”

before the boy had anytime to repeat himself, matt had appeared as if he was summoned at the moment and threw an arm over you shoulder. “you’re good, bro” matt waved him off before continuing to his car.

“was that a fun conversation?” he asked teasingly and brung his face closer to yours. “you gonna’ get him to fuck you tonight, baby?”

you rolled your eyes and chuckled, “please, matt i don’t even know what he was talking about, you were all i could think of” you sweet talked him and pulled him in for a kiss by the cheeks. matt was the first to pull away.

“you’ll be saying please alright” he grinned down at you then connected your lips again. by now you two were standing on the passenger side of the car, just chatting.

“why are you in such a grumpy mood right now, big matt won the game”

matt shook his head at your attempt to distract him. “first of all big matt is fucking insane, don’t ever say it again and it might be cause i could see your whole ass from across the field” he emphasized.

you only rolled your eyes and went to wrap your arms around matt’s neck. “you’re so dramatic.. d’you know that? let’s just focus on getting home so we can celebrate your win, i’m so proud of you”

matt huffed as he opened the passenger door and waited for you to get in. the door shut loudly as you smoothed out your skirt and matt putt his bag in the back seat before hopping in the front and starting the car. as soon as you heard the rev of the engine you attached your phone to the aux a play you and matt’s playlist.

matt turned the a/c on, needing a relief from the humidity of the late spring air. matt began to pull out of the parking lot after the sound of both seat belt clicking.

the car ride was filled with a comfortable silence. you watched matt as he concentrated on the road with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh. he looked so good in the dim light and you loved the veins flexing in his arm from how tight he was gripping the steering wheel. it reminded you how his muscles would flex when he would move his fingers in and out of you to chase your high or when he squeezed his hands around your neck. you were so wet right now and the heat was getting unbearable.

you leaned back in the seat and spread your legs just a little. “baby can we hurry it up, i don’t know how long i can wait”

“just be patient, well be there in a bit” matt patted your thigh and put a heavier foot to the gas. he didn’t want to admit it but he’s was getting restless too and the way we’re squirming around in the seat didn’t make it any better.

you pushed your curls to the back of your head as you slumped down and pulled the short uniform all the way up to your waist. “i can’t wait anymore, please matt”

matt glanced over to you and a smirk grew on his face before looking back at the road. he grazed his finger over the now completely soaked underwear with his eyes still on the road. “please what?”

“please help me baby” your legs were spread out in the passenger seat at this point and matt stretched your panties to the side, a ripping sound could be heard in the process but there’s no way you could care at a time like this.

he used his thumb to play with your clit for a while and you let out soft moans but what you wanted was to feel full. you bucked your hips up at his hands letting him know that you wanted more as you approached a red light.

matt slowed down the car behind another one before putting the gear in park and turning his full attention to your leaking hole. he leaned over to spit on your pussy and his to fingers followed, now buried inside of you.

“ughh, shit matt” you noisily moaned, raising your legs in the air.

he brung the hand that was once on the wheel to your left knee to hold it in place while he drilled deep and fast into your tight entrance. his long fingers started to squeeze through your walls due to your excessive clenching around him, making a creamy white mess all over you and his fingers.

“yea, open that shit up princess” matt muttered and gazed at you. you were about to let out yet another moan before a car’s horn cut you off.

“oh shit” he shifted back in his seat and put the car back into drive without disconnecting his fingers from your cunt. you wrapped your arms around the head of the seat and whined as the cream continued to spill out of you.

“oh my, you’re so good”

your legs began to shake once matt’s soft palm rubs over your clit and his fingers still did it’s job of pumping and even twisting inside of you so well. your hand flew down to his to squeeze his wrist.

“right there, right there” your dragged out your words as they turned into incomprehensible screams. your juices squirted out onto the dashboard and windshield while your back arched off the seat.

he talked you through your high, “you got it baby, that’s all you”

you hummed at the overpowering sensation. your body couldn’t stop shaking and matt could’ve sworn he’s bitten a whole in his lip.

“holy shit baby” matt’s mouth flew open at the sight before him, your just squirted all over his car and your pussy over flowed with cum.

“sorry, i’ll clean it up” you sheepishly smiled and closed your legs as your tried to catch your breath.

you guys came to another red light, allowing matt to reach behind your seat to get a clean towel he had laying around to wipe you off.

“don’t apologize sweetheart, that was fucking beautiful”

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩!- @worldlxvlys @ariieeesworld @muwapsturniolo @esioleren @sturn59 @maryx2xx (comment to be in the taglist!!!)

#chris sturniolo x black reader #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #x black reader #chris sturniolo #summersover #black writers #matt sturniolo #nathan doe x reader #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

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tetheredfeathers · 1 month

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There's something so special about the fact that Katniss uses the word 'hunger' to describe her desire for Peeta. She could've said passion, desire, wanting but no she used hunger.

Katniss' prime motivator throughout life has always been food, she's spent hours foraging through the woods to uphold herself and her family members. Her thoughts have always been food concentric and you can see her obsessing in the first book, going into excruciating detail even when unnecessary.

A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, a chocolate cake.

That I’m being upstaged by a dead pig. My heart starts to pound, I can feel my face burning. Without thinking, I pull an arrow from my quiver and send it straight at the Gamemakers’ table. I hear shouts of alarm as people stumble back. The arrow skewers the apple in the pig’s mouth and pins it to the wall behind it.

I always find this paragraph so interesting, that out of everything Collins could've chosen to upstage Katniss, she chose food as her competition.

Even in the games Haymitch has to bribe Katniss with food to stimulate her romance. That being said food/hunger is a heavy recurring theme in the books and Katniss has always been drawn by hunger on instinct.

So kissing Peeta for her is instinct, it it something that pulls at her. Something she cannot live with out, because without it she shall starve.

I think this also goes back to her first interaction with Peeta which is again associated with food ( burnt bread), I find this scene a literal parallel to her 'starving' without him to the beach scene.

when I saw the dandelion and I knew hope wasn��t lost. I plucked it carefully and hurried home. I grabbed a bucket and Prim’s hand and headed to the Meadow and yes, it was dotted with the golden-headed weeds. After we’d harvested those, we scrounged along inside the fence for probably a mile until we’d filled the bucket with the dandelion greens, stems, and flowers. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad and the rest of the bakery bread.

This scene as well, one of her most important interactions with him is again associated with food/hunger.

So really the word hunger is the perfect fit for what she feels for Peeta, Food brings her hope and happiness, it is a literal and physical metaphorical motivator to keep going. And only Peeta can give her that.

#everlark #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #katniss and peeta #thg #thg mockingjay #thg series #catching fire #thg catching fire #tethered feathers #the hunger games peeta #katniss x peeta #peeta x katniss #peeta supremacy #peeta my beloved #katniss #thg katniss

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supersymmetrys · 1 month

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Dialogue/Character Voice Tag Game!!

Rules: Rewrite the given line in the voices of characters from your WIP of choice!

Thanks for tagging me @thegreatbeargod-writes !! :>

My line is: “What the hell are you talking about?”

Nadia: What? And what is that supposed to mean?

Deven: Oh, you think you're so smart talking like that. You're not making any sense, you know that?

Nicole: You better explain yourself.

Talia: I'm not understanding... What do you want me to say?

I’m tagging: @athenagc94 @ofgoldenfools @gaslightwestern

Your line is: “Don't worry about me, I'm doing alright”

#haven't introduced my characters. yet. so i'm doing this with itac characters only hi #oc ; nadia pérez #oc ; deven shaw #oc ; nicole toledo #oc ; talia banks #wip ; in the angel's city #send that arrow send it through my heart

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fukashiin · 1 year

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how they admire you from afar

— w. ace, deuce, floyd, kalim, jamil

⤷ times when they stare at you and think "wow theyre pretty"

ACE TRAPPOLA

- you? beautiful? him staring at you because of it?

- audacious. seriously

- he stares at you so much and he hates YOUR guts for it somehow

- like why do you have to look so breathtaking when doing the most ordinary of tasks? do you WANT him to stare at you? (not like you’re aware of how much he does anyway)

- and you miss the salty side eye he gives to the previous person you were talking to

- fail to notice the subtle pouts he sends your way and he ignores you back for the next week

- like literally what is his problem

- but the time he spends trying to “ignore” you doesn’t last for long

- because. you don’t know. how beautiful you are in his eyes.

- scribbles the most illegible notes down in his journal back in his dorm because he just can’t get rid of the sight of your face (no human is supposed to be that pretty. he’s just being ridiculous)

- posts weirdly ominous captions on his magicam stories about how “he’s going to lose it” or “how can someone be THAT blind?”

- he removed you from his close friends just so you couldn’t view it

- and he’s still wondering why you aren't taking the hint? ace please wake up you're going to harvard

- the next day is his basketball tournament. you were invited

- and the moment he was about to shoot the ball through the basket, he saw you amongst the crowd, cheering for him, yelling his name, encouraging him to score a point for NRC’s team

- he misses the shot with his hand a centimeter away from the basket and the ball bounces off the ring

- the whistle blows and the tension falls off of everyone’s shoulders

- he’s not ashamed in the least. in fact he was still focusing on you. why did you look so confused? head tilted and everything? now is not the time to distract him when he’s in a tournament you know? this is a very important day for him and he absolutely cannot miss this shot.

- he comes back to his senses when both teams that were competing against each other disappeared from the ring. only turns out it was time to take a break and he was informed of his foolish mistake

- he sees you running up to him, scoffs, and turns away

- why do you have to put him through so much? just when will you notice his dumb advances towards you?

- but all his thoughts dissipate into thin air when you smile at him so sweetly and reassure him that he’ll do better the next round

- he really hates you

- and he’s really down bad for you

DEUCE SPADE

- no. he can’t accept this. he won’t accept this. what happened to his first priority to become NRC’s notable honour student?

- stage 1: denial

- his gaze settles on you entirely, while you’re taking notes in class and you’re unaware of a hungry gaze that burns into the back of your head

- deuce then realises that he’s been balancing on the front two legs of his seat this entire time

- slips and hits his chin directly on the edge of the desk when mr. crewel calls out his name

- pull out the bandages with my melody characters cutely printed onto them, he’s going to need it

- but when your hands come in contact with his skin

- he absolutely

- FOLDS

- “let me bandage it up for you” you said. “i promise it won’t hurt one bit” you SAID

- stares at you the whole time while you’re focused on cleaning his bruise (caused by you)

- he takes notice of the bandages and feels the childish tears pricking at his eyes (caused by you)

- mutters a weak ‘thank you’ once you’re done and when you push your hair back to get rid of the accumulated sweat on your forehead, he feels an arrow shooting right through his heart

- can he blame you? everything you do is just so seemingly flawless and attractive that he can’t help but wonder if he’s truly worthy of your attention. after all, you are aware of his past

- spams his mother’s phone once he’s back at the dorm in the evening, telling her that there’s this person who’s so drop-dead gorgeous that he can’t get them out of his mind and he’s begging her, asking her what he should do with such unfamiliar feelings that poke at his heart

- except ms spade was probably dealing with a workload that evening and had her notifications off for the entire day (and probably forgot in the process so she’s worried about his son not texting her for one whole day)

- they’re bothj so silly

- the next couple of days fly by, same as ever, with deuce admiring your features at the other side of the table while you help wipe the crumbs off of grim’s face during lunch

- his entire thought process was just about how dreamy you were, he’s so lovestruck it’s insane

- and great seven does he thank them above for being able to live this day

- because you suddenly remembered that your fridge back at ramshackle dorm was out of stock

- so you offered deuce this golden opportunity to head to sam’s store together to help shop for missing groceries that you desperately needed to fill your fridge again

- he snaps out of his own thoughts and nods his head. violently. was he trying to mimic those bobble head figures?

- you were content and looked at him with that killer-smile

- instant K.O

- ace watches from the sidelines and gets up to purchase another deluxe steak hamburger that the cafeteria was handing out for a limited time

FLOYD LEECH

- completely ditches his work at mostro lounge just to sit at the booth you’re at to stare at you

- he doesn’t even say anything

- he just stares

- maybe even twirls a lil strand of your hair if you consent to that

- and he’s completely head-over-heels for you. but who knows that other than jade and azul thanks to their gifted intuition? not you, for all they know

- absolute menace

- casually slings an arm around your shoulders, wrap his arms around your waist from behind-he does all of these and starts a countdown out of nowhere for the person that you were conversing with to get away from the two of you

- you: (　ﾟдﾟ) Floyd: (*^ω^*)

- what’s that about personal space??? yeah he has zero idea of what that is while he continues staring at you

- your lips to be specific.

- every part of you just seems so-pretty? whenever you two have mixed classes together all his thoughts go right through the window and you’re the only thing that his eyes see

- leaves the classroom feeling pretty goofy. slacks his arms behind his head and accidentally whacks a student right in the face with his elbow

- hallway chases are nothing new

- you have to run twice as fast as you do in PE

- he justt thinks you’re so cute the nicknames are endless

- “my adorable shrimpy” “my cutesy little sherbet in a cup” “my one and only mike wazowski”

- they’re not even related to sea animals anymore

- revoke his pet name privileges please

KALIM-AL-ASIM

- smitten the moment he makes eye contact with you

- menace number #2 (lovingly)

- what’s wrong? you don’t want a costly chandelier installed in ramshackle’s lounge? Funny! kalim does not bother and your complaints fall on deaf ears

- cups his cheeks in his hands and kicks his legs while he watches you from afar like a little high school girl

- he has a big fat crush on you and he isn’t afraid to show it

- INSISTS jamil that they should bring back every traditional cuisine from their hometown for you to try out

- sends unprofessionally written love letters onto ramshackle’s doorstep when he’s away for the holidays (jamil modified some parts of the letter to not make it too hard to understand)

- think his only love language is giving gifts? absolutely not. doesn’t even know what the five love languages are but masters them all (and it doesn't even take him any strenuous effort)

- rambles to jamil about how beautiful you are during lunch. proceeds to even make an hour-long powerpoint presentation to show to his 30 younger siblings back at home with low-quality images downloaded from shutterstock.

- “how pretty are they?” “are you two going to get married?” “can i see them in person some time? I’ll be nice!”

- no you did NOT give him permission. but you’re okay with that. you love him too much to scold him anyway<333

- one time you were invited to scarabia’s dorm where they were holding a large banquet (kalim sat beside you and mindlessly kept placing portions of food from the table onto your own plate-it started overflowing you HAD to stop him from grabbing the tongs)

- by the time everything was settled, you went back to your own dorm to get a goodnight’s rest

- but kalim was so adamant on not letting you go that a student from his dorm basically had to rip him off of your figure

- he loves you and your cute face so much

- scratch that he loves everything about you from head to toe

- when he was back in his room daydreaming about you, he heard the door burst open

- turns out it was jamil needing to inform him about the upcoming dorm leader meeting happening the next day

- kalim accidentally called him “teddy bear” thinking it was you who decided to come back and give him a farewell kiss

- jamil took his first shot that day

JAMIL VIPER

- jamil viper is not like the other guys

- no he’s different

- he stubbornly pushes all his surfacing feelings down and outwardly ignores the elephant in the room!

- which is his abrupt crush on you

- but seriously-he has no idea what to do

- when you offered to help him make dishes for the next dorm feast scarabia was having

- he couldn’t stop staring at the way your hands handled the kitchen utensils so effortlessly

- and how you looked so laser focused on chopping the ingredients with beads of sweat starting to form on your forehead

- he’s DEFINITELY not into you at all. there’s nothing outstanding about you. he does not think you’re even pretty in the least. (press X to doubt)

- kalim takes notice frustratingly quick and suddenly he’s not a dorm leader anymore but a persuasive wingman

- kalim: you like them right??? do you want me to confess to them for you???? i promise i wont make you look stupid!

- jamil: PLEASE STO

- but when you start to become aware of the subtle signs and how he’s much more softer when it comes to you, jamil assures you that you had no fault in this at all and he’s stupid for letting such affection get to his head

- “It’s not you, it’s me.”

- (he secretly tells himself that it is kind of you because you’re just too charming to take his eyes off of??? inflexible much)

- but he still continues to stare at you. he doesn’t even know if it’s out of pure habit or if he’s just shameless anymore (news flash: it’s both)

- throw your personality into the mix and he’s very much in love

- and you were kind enough to not pay mind to it. when you do notice and call him out-he’s flushed. he’s flustered. bro ascended.

- and when you do accept his feelings, he’s relieved. he even offers to cook for you every day 24/7. and you’re rather surprised at his ability to balance all his responsibilities on his shoulders without a single slip up.

- sometimes kalim would walk with you guys in the hallway when arriving to your locker to pick up some books for your next lesson. jamil doesnt particularly mind but

- why does it feel like he’s the one who’s third wheeling?

- but in all honesty, he doesn’t mind in the least

- because he knew that you reciprocate his feelings so sincerely-and he’s grateful for it.

- mega W if you start dating jamil you won in life

#i had way too much fun writing this #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #floyd leech x reader #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade #floyd leech #kalim al asim #jamil viper

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egoistars · 4 months

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FUNNY VALENTINE wriothesley

your boyfriend doesn't seem to love you anymore, so what do you do? complain to neuvillette of course!

warnings: kissing, u being dramatic, neuvillette being done with ur shit, u and wriothesley being super gross and in love

you defeatedly slump into a chair in neuvillette's office and sigh for the fifteenth time in the past few minutes. the hydro dragon slides both his hands down his face, much like how he's seen the people of fontaine do when they were in distress.

"(name), if you don't tell me what's wrong i can't help you." in the several hundred years he's lived, neuvillette doesn't think he's spoken those words more than he has now. as he raises a delicate, white teacup to his lips, you burst into tears, violently twisting your head away from him.

"please, don't drink that in front of me," you cry, shoving your face into an overly expensive pillow on his couch. "that duke wriothesley would always drink tea and i cant stand to see it anymore! i will die parched if i have to!"

"if you're implying wriothesley doesn't love you anymore, you are surely mistaken. i'm not too familiar with human emotions, why don't you pay furina a visit? i'm sure she can understand you better."

at the sound of furina's name, you feel your body run cold. the image of your friend laughing until her face flushing crimson red dashes across your mind like an arrow, shooting you in the chest as you bleed out in an impending doom. you love her, truly, but she would never take you seriously in a situation like this.

"hmm, if you don't want to talk to furina, how about i call wriothesley and have you talk to him yourself? he is your partner, he'd be more than happy to talk through this issue with you."

"no! he's the problem! why would i want to talk to the problem? he doesn't love me anymore, neuvillette. he usually kissed my forehead twice before he leaves for work, but today," you pause for a moment, placing a hand on your chest to soothe the agonizing ache of your heart. "he only gave me one."

neuvillette promptly kicks you out.

"now what's this i hear about you crying to the iudex of fontaine about a broken heart?"

normally, the sound of wriothesley's smooth yet slightly mischievous voice would send you sprinting toward him. today however, you were distraught and feeling slightly petty. the only thing that can satisfy your heartbreak was him on his knees, sobbing with a gross trail of snot running down his nose, begging for your forgiveness.

you quickly learn that in the end, wriothesley always wins. with your back faced toward him, he wraps his muscular arms around you in a warm embrace, the fur of his uniform tickling your neck. grumbling unintelligible words, you dejectedly turn to face him but can't hide the thumping of your chest behind narrowed eyes and pouts. wriothesley laughs at you, pressing a kiss on your forehead, one on your left cheek, and one on your rights.

"i'm sorry for forgetting our routine, you petty minx? i ever do something as horrendous as that again, tell me and i'll make it up to you with as many kisses as you want, yeah? if that's not enough, i'll apologize with tears and jump into the primordial sea in your honor."

as the finale of this vomit-inducing opera, he follows the monologue by pressing a loving kiss to your waiting lips, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours.

"yeah you better keep your fucking promise," you threaten. the two of you know you don't intend to be mean by the way you melt into his touch. "i ordered your favorite today so you don't make me regret that."

maybe your boyfriend does love you after all.

#wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #wriothesley #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fanfic #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact

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shirefantasies · 5 months

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Can I ask for a request?

For the fellowship men? So they get wounded and their crush have to nurse them? And she is total calm with that like "Hun your leg is bleeding you have to take off your pants so I can treat the wound" and she's total obvious and didn't get the longing looks she get oder when he ist flustered and shiver because she touch his skin. ("Sry for the cold hands")

I’ll do my best! Tried to vary up the scenarios a bit 😉 thank you so much for requesting 😌 Warnings: some blood & injury mentions, minor language, some suggestive jokes!

The Fellowship When Their Crush Cares For Their Wound

Aragorn

"Won't you please sit down?"

The tender urgency of your words finally ran a shock through Aragorn, who complied. Perhaps it truly was no good to continue pressing on at the detriment of the group.

"Very well. We rest!"

"That was not so hard, was it?" You asked him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Now, if you please." Pantomiming removing your shirt, you nodded his way.

Aragorn's brows furrowed, blue eyes fixing you with concern, questioning, as he sat and tightened his bootstraps.

"I saw that slash you took," you breathed, "let yourself be cared for."

Inhaling, he nodded, unlacing and shrugging down his tunic. Never had you made such a request before, but giving as you were, it made sense. Such nature was what inevitably drew Aragorn to you. Your touch was soft as you reached out to caress the skin above where he had been injured. Cleaned it just as gently.

"What?" You suddenly broke the silence, tilting your head and fixing Aragorn with an innocent bat of your eyes. You truly had no idea.

He shook his head, a smile playing upon his lips to swallow the wince of pain as you began wrapping his cut flesh in bandages. "Nothing. Only gratitude at the care of your heart and the ease of your hands."

You smiled back, sending Aragorn's chest leaping somewhere far deeper than the pain could reach.

Legolas

"You're bleeding."

"It is nothing, really," the elven prince tried to brush you off, but shaking your head, you stepped in front of him.

"Keep not your pride so tight about you," you chastised, hands upon your hips and a teasing look upon your face, "the dwarf can't see you. Come. Let me at least wrap it up for you."

Legolas's expression softened at your words, and with a slight nod, he followed. Wordlessly he removed his layers when you reached a spot off to the side, dark eyes never leaving you as he revealed the entirety of the wound, a slash near his collarbone. Unthinkingly, your hands went right to the area around it.

"Oh, Legolas, it's worse than I..." You paused, feeling him shiver. "I'm sorry, are my hands cold?"

"A bit," he replied with a bit of a smile, resting both of his hands over yours.

Flushing, you shake your head. "I am supposed to be caring for you."

Legolas just smiled at you. "Can we not have both? This is the least I can do."

"True," you teased, "I suppose it benefits us both, does it not?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "but mostly yet I know no other way to show my heart's gratitude."

Boromir

"I can hardly believe you!"

"Believe what? We are safe again," Boromir replied, a hand tightly clasping your shoulder.

"You are well aware what, you hero of a man," you shot back, waving a hand up and down his form, "now go and lie down for me already!"

"Oh?" His brows shot up at your words. "Is that how you like it?"

"No matter me, you've been wounded! Being surrounded upon all sides and grazed with arrows does that to a man. I saw the one that caught your side and while I'd like to hold you up as much as you need, first we'd best patch you up."

"Oh," Boromir said again, this time a bit dumbly as he lowered to the ground with a nod. His teasing tone quickly returned, however, "Yes, indeed, whatever you say. I forget what a great healer you are."

"Well, I certainly may not be the best, but there is no reason to burden oneself with wounds already inflicted. Not to mention it mostly got your back."

The moment Boromir exposed himself, he glanced back at you, catching the trace of your eyes over his skin. Your hands soon fell upon it, working quickly to clean and wrap up the bloody graze nice and tight. What surprised him, though, was the work of your hands after this, your fingers kneading the skin around it. Pleasure and pain rolled in equal waves through him as you did so.

"My apologies, does this hurt too much? I felt you start a bit just now. My brother just told me that we heal better if we're relaxed."

"And I believe that wholeheartedly," Boromir agreed with a smile, "please continue. I must confess I have never received such fine treatment before."

Giggling at his comment and eliciting a chuckle from him in return, you continued with a smile of your own.

Gimli

“Sit still!”

“I can still fight!”

“Like hell you will,” you shot back, stopping Gimli again with a hand across his chest, “I don’t care what you think you can do, you just could have been killed! Now stay there, please. I’m worried about you.”

Spoken considerably softer, those last four words were what halted Gimli’s protest the most, a glow of warmth and hope ringing out in his chest. His lips parted a bit in surprise. “Oh. Alright, then, do what you need.” For all his bravado, it had been a nasty case, his body slammed down so hard and his now-pounding head taking the brunt of the force.

“Thank you.” Reaching your hands up, you slid his helmet off first, tucking his hair behind his ears. You could feel the way he tensed up at your actions as you pulled one hand away to fetch your cloth. "Sorry, did that sting?"

He had to get out his head- all you were doing was taking care of him. "Not at all. Please-please continue." Perhaps his words sounded desperate, but Gimli barely cared when your hands were on him like that.

Speaking of which... You took firmer hold, tilting him by the chin to get a better angle with which to dab the warm fabric over the wound.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Frodo

"Would you not like to do something about this?"

Frodo simply peered up into your eyes with his glistening blue stare, tilting his head inquisitively and tugging at his sleeves, which you then took a hold of.

"No, no, take this all off is what I meant."

"Take- take it all...?"

Hand crossing over your shoulders, you drew lines down in an impression of the chain Frodo wore, the impossibly heavy burden he bore burning into his skin at all times. "Surely you feel it. You must. Keep it on, I won't touch it, but please let me ease the pain."

Blinking, Frodo inhaled, nodded. "Very well. What will you do, then?"

"Just put some salve up there around where the chain is. Here, just take your shirt off a bit," you told him, fussing with his jacket but allowing Frodo himself to undo the top buttons of his shirt.

He glanced up, followed your gaze and saw it lie not upon the ring, but upon his, and visibly relaxed, a smile finally working its way to his soft lips. Nodding again, he sat back as your hand pushed the metal chain up from its place, spreading your healing concoction upon the opened skin. When your hand got lower, you could feel how rapid his heartbeat was thumping beneath skin and bone.

"Don't worry, really. All I care about is you." Did it pick up again?

"I am at ease, the first of such I've felt in some time. I cannot thank you enough," he replies with a shake of his head and a kiss to the hand you weren't using.

Sam

"Alright, Sam, open up your shirt."

"I beg your pardon?"

Shaking your head, you chuckled at his wide eyes. "I heard you got a nasty scrape, and if so, I've got just the thing for it."

Shock still swam in his green eyes, his fingers hovering over the buttons hesitantly as he glanced between them and you.

Flushing, you spoke once more, much more hastily as you held up the jar of medicine in question. "Oh! Er, well, if you'd rather someone else take a look, I can give this to Aragorn and he can-"

"No!" Sam cut you off, shaking his head. "No, no let's not trouble Strider, you're all right. Here we go."

Glancing back and forth, he sat down upon a rock and undid the top three buttons of his shirt, wiggling the fabric loose to reveal the wound you'd been told of. Your eyes wandered a bit before guiltily returning to Sam's; he smiled faintly as you dipped your fingers into the cool contents of the jar and reached back up to smear some on. Sam, surprisingly, did not flinch but he did shiver a bit.

"Oh, my apologies, I should have warmed it up a bit better first, shouldn't I?"

He sat up a bit straighter at your words. "Not at all, I can take it. Just...just startled me a bit is all. Don't worry your pretty head."

Merry

"Trousers off. Let's see it."

"Right now?" Merry loudly whispered, eyes going round.

"Yes, right now," you fussed, "or else you'll bleed out! Come on."

"Oh. Oh, the wound, yes. Bit of a close one there, wasn't it?"

You put a hand on your hip as Merry lowered into a seated position and undid his belt. "Had Boromir not been there with his shield, you could have lost your leg. What were you thinking?"

"Well, if you really must know," Merry shot back, shimmying his outer garments down to reveal a glistening red gash upon his right leg, "thought charging in might impress you."

He shuddered under the cleansing water you pressed against it, likely due to the cold. Your brow furrowed equally at the wound as it was at him, your eyes darting up to search his. "Impress me?" You replied incredulously.

"Yes," he agreed with a crooked, devious smile, "and with that first line of yours, I thought it'd worked."

Pippin

“Alright, take off your trousers.”

Pippin’s eyebrows shot up as his hands slid to his belt. “Is that what we’re doing? Well, all right then…”

Head tilted and brows furrowed in confusion, you fixed him with a look. “Of course we are, you got a huge gash above the knee. Lucky for you Aragorn harvested us a whole lot of poultice herbs the other day.” Your gaze slid between Pippin and your work of crushing the leaves as he sheepishly loosened his garments.

“Right, right, I knew that, yes. So the leaves are going to go down first, then?”

“Indeed,” you nodded, dabbing at the remaining dribble of blood before you began gently dabbing the poultice on.

Your eyes traveled back up to meet his, their deep green sheen bringing a shy smile to your face. Beneath your hand, he shuddered faintly.

“Sorry, does that sting?” You asked him, glancing again between your work and him.

Puffing out his chest a bit, Pippin shook his head. “Not at all. Not when I have the best nurse in all of Middle Earth to take care of me. Feels a bit good, in fact.”

Flushing, you gave a full smile at his words as you tied off his bandage. “Well, having the best patient helps, too.” Feeling a bit bold, you reached up and patted his cheek. “Let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

A wide grin spread across Pippin’s face. “Oh, I can think of something."

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blackopals-world · 6 months

Note

How successful do you think Fellow would be? Honestly part of me thinks he might get beaten up by Jester!Yuu in a kinda slapstick style for bringing a bad name to funny little silly guys

Let me answer that with this

Circus Jem

Fellow tries to claim a new attraction.

Fellow felt very lucky. Very lucky indeed that such a perfect doll waltzed right in.

One so perfect they looked as if they belonged already, no need to dress them up.

Sure the others that came along were just a bonus now that they brought such a gift.

Their face was painted porcelain with a golden star and pastel lips. All dolled up in ribbons and bells. Their clothes were designed to look like the wearer had been pulled from a circus poster.

He could already see those lovely ribbons pulled taunt like puppet strings.

Fellow watched his prey flit from attraction to attraction their charm sending waves of excitement through the other patrons.

They gathered and praised their looks and asked for pictures and took videos. The little clown juggled and danced doing tricks on the merry-go-round.

A mascot. Yes! They were perfect to play that part.

Fellow waited until the little one had separated from the group that fawned over them like a beloved toy. He even laughed at that thought knowing he would steal it from them.

"Are you enjoying your day here?" He asked leaning over the entertainer.

"Absol-tully! I love it here!" They practically chirped.

"And your group? Where are they?" He asked examining his prize more closely. They were in good condition, no visible marks at least.

"Oh, I wanted to get some cotton candy. Villy would never let me have any. But it's my favorite treaty." They whined their lower lip poked out.

Fellow felt an arrow in his chest. He understood why the clown was dotted on. Their strange speech pattern and childish mannerisms could draw anyone in.

"You poor thing. Why don't you come with me. I show you the best candy stall in the park. I won't tell a soul what you did." He said taking the jester by the hand. "

He led them away deeper into the heart of the park.

"I hope you don't mind me saying this but you fit in quite well here. It's a shame you won't be staying longer. You've really brightened this humble park." Fellow said in sorrow.

"I know! This place is just so cozy but also cold. Chilly but no cheese! It feels like home though." They said. Fellow didn't get the meaning behind those words.

" I could use your help to change that. You could stay here. I promise you'll love it. Fun and games every day and an adoring crowd to perform for every night. You would always fit in among the others. All the cotton candy you want and no one to tell you no." Fellow lead the clown to a special room away from the park. A space with a lovely cage just for his new doll.

"Em. No, thanks! I'm not just some clown you know. I'm a jester! As such I need my people. As long as they're happy I'm happy too. But I can't make them happy if I'm far far away. That would make me super sad." They said agast "Hey wait. This isn't the candy place."

"Unfortunately for you, it's not. But don't worry my precious doll. I bring you some to decorate your new cage." Fellow laughed as he raised his staff.

Only for it to be knocked form his hand.

"You lied! You aren't Honest at all. In fact, you aren't even fun. That makes me mad! And I hate being mad!" The jester growled as they grabbed the fox by the front of the shirt.

Fellow struggled to get out of the iron grip.

"Hey wait! I-" He tried to say.

"I'm bored. You're boring me with the flip-flapping of your lips. Now you have to take responsibility and entertain me funny man."

The group was in chaos. They had lost Yuu!

There was no telling where they went. Were they kidnapped?! That clown has no survival instincts and no sense of fear at all.

Lilia suggested they ask if anyone had seen them after all a brightly dressed jester is hard to miss.

And lucky them they found their missing clown standing on a stage with Fellow's staff in hand.

"Come one come all! And see a wonderful show! See the disgrace that is the Fallen Ringmaster! Watch him dance upon my strings!" Yuu commanded the fox to do tricks like a dog. "Jump Fellow! Now Speak! Jump through the hoop and don't get burned!"

The audience was losing it as they laughed at the foolish display. Honest seemed to be under some sort of hypnotic spell but was still fully aware of his torment.

Yuu figured out the staff was a magic tool to control people. They were such a smart cookie.

Unfortunately, the spell didn't last long as Fellow regained his body and turned to attack the little clown.

The group charged the stage to stop him only for-

*CRACK*

Yuu stood there holding a broken staff-well stick in their hands after they swung it full force across Fellow's head.

The fox went down with a thud after getting a definite concussion.

"Oopies!" The jester giggled, bashfully hiding the bloodied staff behind their back.

#jester!yuu #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu #fellow honest #playful land event #vil schoenheit #twst vil #twisted wonderland vil #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland lilia

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roselightfairy · 2 months

Text

Real Legolas stans can give you a baffled half-hour outburst about how we don't understand why the HECK Legolas was given all these increasingly ridiculous and absurd stunts in the movies while his single, beautifully-written, traditionally heroic (and much more plausible) moment was omitted entirely.

Legolas laid down his paddle and took up the bow that he had brought from Lórien. Then he sprang ashore and climbed a few paces up the bank. Stringing the bow and fitting an arrow he turned, peering back over the River into the darkness. Across the water there were shrill cries, but nothing could be seen. Frodo looked up at the Elf standing tall above him, as he gazed into the night, seeking a mark to shoot at. His head was dark, crowned with sharp white stars that glittered in the black pools of the sky behind. But now rising and sailing up from the South the great clouds advanced, sending out dark outriders into the starry fields. A sudden dread fell on the Company. 'Elbereth Gilthoniel!' sighed Legolas as he looked up. Even as he did so, a dark shape, like a cloud and yet not a cloud, for it moved far more swiftly, came out of the blackness in the South, and sped towards the Company, blotting out all light as it approached. Soon it appeared as a great winged creature, blacker than the pits in the night. Fierce voices rose up to greet it from across the water. Frodo felt a sudden chill running through him and clutching at his heart; there was a deadly cold, like the memory of an old wound, in his shoulder. He crouched down, as if to hide. Suddenly the great bow of Lórien sang. Shrill went the arrow from the elven-string. Frodo looked up. Almost above him the winged shape swerved. There was a harsh croaking scream, as it fell out of the air, vanishing down into the gloom of the eastern shore. The sky was clean again. There was a tumult of many voices far away, cursing and wailing in the darkness, and then silence. Neither shaft nor cry came again from the east that night.

Also, when I was first reading these books, I was going really really fast and I missed the couple of mentions of "Legolas and Gimli are friends now, isn't that weird?" and so I do believe THIS was the scene that bowled me over and strapped the goggles to my face:

'Praised be the bow of Galadriel, and the hand and eye of Legolas!' said Gimli, as he munched a wafer of lembas. 'That was a mighty shot in the dark, my friend!' 'But who can say what it hit?' said Legolas.

#lotr newsletter #lotr reread #legolas x gimli #legolas #also i say 'real' only as a joke in that first part i'm not actually trying to gatekeep i'm sorry

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howyouloveyourdragon · 4 months

Note

Hi there, I absolutely adore you and love your writing and I'm excited that you're writing for jace now.

If it's okay, could I please request the prompts sleepy - number 44.

Have an amazing morning, afternoon, evening 💖💖

hi there! thank you so much, you have no idea how sweet you are for sending such a polite ask, and for your prompt “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” by thelonelyempath!

i definitely put you up high on my priority list for being so kind lol your message made my day

i also just really enjoyed writing this, it got me back into my groove.

have an amazing morning, afternoon, evening yourself and here you go, please let me know if you enjoy it! <3

No Rest For The Dragons

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x reader Setting: During The Dance of The Dragons Summary: All is quiet but no sense of peace can be caught between your fingertips, not even at night and so it is difficult to find sleep. Not until you win the war and crown your prince victorious...Your betrothed, Jacaerys, seems to have other priorities. Warnings: Brief talk of war dividers by: saradika wordcount: 1,412

A yawn tumbled past your lips with ease and a quiet whine quickly followed. Jacaerys Velaryon had never found anything more sweet in his entire existence but he wouldn’t tell you that…not yet at least. His eyes flickered over your sleepy face, the squished cheeks and rumbled hair. It made his heart throb, a desperation took hold to tighten his chest and squeeze. Slowly, he tucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit down. He could barely contain himself from cupping your jaw and pressing a kiss to those lips. His sleeping beauty…his beautiful briar…he would need to bring you a rose soon just for the sake of it because he never did think there was a world in which you were not his Aurora. Some universe in which he didn’t long for you. The backs of his fingers carefully caressed your face. The skin was so soft–practically begging for him to lay upon his gentle pecks of devotion–and yet he restrained himself. You may be his betrothed but you are not yet his wife. He must recall that, if he is to keep your honour…A grunt peeked through his teeth at the thought. The thought that anybody could see you as anything less than a guide of honour and duty as you fought at his side, on his very dragon with a bow and arrow within your hands. A quiver danced along the prince’s bones. He may think you to be beautiful in any state but he would gladly gift upon you anything you so much as dreamed or desired if you were to allow that to be his final sight. His last. The sight of you upon Vermax and casting down the enemy.

A smile flittered his lips as you stirred and stretched in his lap. “No, no go back to sleep.” He cooed, brushing back your hair and placing a wet flannel at your forehead. You were in your gentlest state this eve. You fended off his hand like a weak squirrel to reluctant avail. “Rest my love. You must rest.” The whine escapes the seam of your mouth before you can escape it. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” You practically taunt with your eyelids finally parting to peer up at him. As much as he wants to scoff and argue, he cannot help but smile down at the soft albeit exhausted face. Amusement laces his face but he lets his brow pinch. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to allow that.” You send a pointed look his way. “You would deny your wife?” “You would deny your prince?” He counters with playfulness and yet something excites him about the way ‘wife’ leaves your lips. How smoothly it goes…It only reminds him of how long he has deprived himself of kissing them. Of feeling the sweet flutter of lightning that would passes over your skin. His hand would dance throughout your hair, he was sure of it, sure that one the day of your wedding, he would summon all the strength he had been willing himself to retain and finally let go. He would deny himself for centuries if it meant you would let him bind himself to you for eternity–if you would let him vow until his throat dried up. If they were not to be his final words, he would repeat them until they were destined. He would be yours, he was sure of it. He does not say this of course as you sigh with a pointed stare.

It was the determination in your gaze that he adored above all. That very crinkle in your brow that arose whenever anybody were to question you. His throat bobs as he recalls how his hand would slide along to the small of your back–support from the true prince and heir of the iron throne–delighting as you took the lead. Happy to await your debates cease as you charged your mouth at any who claimed your position unfit. None of these men knew the battlefield as you did. None of these men had studied the art so intensively for this very moment. None of these men would protect him like you did, he was sure of it. And certainly none of them had helped teach him the ways of battle so that he could protect his own hide should something go askew. Now as he watches you, he lets his eyes wander along the small scars upon both your hands at such teachings. Your childhood together had been an entertaining ordeal; scars of book pages, scars of dragon mishaps, scars of blades…He wouldn’t trade those tiny indents for the world. He would not even trade for the oncoming victory of his mother’s crown. He would not.

Instead, Jacaerys’ breath hitches but he does not complain at your defiance. He welcomes it. “My darling, you must rest if you are so determined to fight beside me.” His words are teasing but the plummet of hardness cannot be unheard. He had always been serious. “I cannot allow myself the sight of injury should you–” His throat bobs but you hardly change your mind. “It could cause injury to you should I not properly plan our route.” The retort jumps from your tongue and he can tell this has been boiling for some time now, that the bubbles were ever-present. You’ve been locking this inside your mind for too long now. Far too long. His curled fingers glide down your cheek before stopping at your chin. He lifts it as delicately as he would a broken leaf and gazes sweetly into your eyes. “You can do this well rested. We have time.” “But what if–” “We have time.” He reassures you with the confidence of his ancestor, King Jaehaerys The Wise. Your shoulders slump reluctantly. You should trust him, you know you should–you are so very tired but the night is still relatively young and the troupes must still be waiting outside for you. Jace catches as your eyes track the opening of the tent and he is quick to soften you. “I told them we would resume our meetings tomorrow. You will not miss a thing, my sweet. I swear it to you.” His gentle kiss presses to your temple–one of the few acceptable places he can express such affections. When he pulls himself back, he lingers. Tentative, he waits. His eyes flicker to yours with unabashed uncertainty. “But first you must swear to me that you will rest.” Heat floods your cheeks but you have never shied away from eye contact before and you refuse to do it now. His eyes close and his breath fans over your lips. “Swear it to me.” He repeats through the air of a whisper. “I swear it.” You utter just as quietly, curling your palm around his hand and pressing a long, warm kiss to the knuckles. Jacaerys would be lying if he said that it was not a relief. He could not remember the last night you slept in where you did not awaken suddenly and draft a new strategy. That you did not recall a new route. One that needed your immediate and unrestrained attention.

And so as the night calls out for you, your soon-husband’s arms slip around you and one loops beneath your legs until he can haul you against him. His breath stutters as he inhales the scent of your hair. His lashes flutter against one another and he takes a few steady steps through the tent. Loving each other had taken its time. It had taken screaming arguments, jealousy, rekindling…but it had also taken laughter and warmth and kindness. Kindness that neither of you thought to be deserved. It had taken the darkest eves and the most golden mornings. He settles you on the plush mattress this night, and brushes back the uncomfortable strands of hair that cling to your skin. Your neck, your face, even the petals of your lips. He cannot blame them for craving your closeness. He hesitates as you close your eyes and your back squirms into place. For only one moment more, he lets himself take in a portrait of your rest. Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone, Son of Rhaenyra and future King of the Seven Kingdoms accepts that he craves for nothing but your warmth. He intends to keep you as safe as this every eve, every nightfall.

One sleepless night after the next, he shall be your rest.

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