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#the poor woman is very confused

angelicaaster1 · 7 months

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@arcanescion said: ❛ no one touches what’s mine. ❜

That statement caught her off guard. Angelica was just cleaning the cafe when heard the dark haired woman say that. "What do you mean? What's wrong?" She was bemused, as she clearled lost some important events. With broomstick in hands, she turned around to face her long time friend and show Caitlyn she had her full attention

The only thing that stood out in her mind was the fact she left last night. The event felt like a dream, and if it wasn't by the water puddle by her bed, Angelica would've never suspect it truly happened. "Cait, I just had some…business with my family." She swallowed dry, a bit unsure how to share what happened. She was still trying to process the event herself, considering that until the previous night she never knew who her great grandmother was.

If that was not what was bothering the Chem Baroness, then Angelica had no other guess. Sure, other Chem Baron had tried to convince her to work for them, either for their interprises or for their own advantage, using Angelica to spy on Caitlyn. She always refused all offers so far, even if it meant to anger them. Nobody could ever convince her to leave her sister's side again! "Have Finn or Renata bothered you?" Both had offered her quite a good money for Angelica to assist them, and in both times she told Caitlyn about it right away.

#arcanescion #verse: new life; broken me #thanks for the ask!#the poor woman is very confused

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jasontoddenthusiastt · 10 months

Note

no because i read the first like, four chapters of the outlaws webtoon and was immediately like "haha, no?? why is jay acting like bruce never thought of him as his son? why does this author have it out for b so bad?". i'm glad to know i made the right choice if it just got worse

I could understand the ‘wow, I guess I never really found a family with Bruce if this is just always how it’s going to be with him’ mindset, especially if Bruce was being particularly cruel with him.

[ Batman and Robin #20 (2011) ]

He can be cruel. Exploring Jason’s thought process, how he resolves this in his mind and comes to forgive Bruce again and again is something they could have at least touched on. Instead, they not only did nothing new to move the disagreement forward, but they also muddied it further, in a bad way. If they want to complicate (or worse, attempt to resolve) Jason and Bruce’s decades long conflict, that should be a separate comic entirely.

They could have just had Jason cut Bruce off completely (even if temporarily) with the set-up they had, but they did nothing with it (even though they could have avoided the mess they made if they took this route).

Bruce again does something unforgivable to Jason (but now his friends get fucked over too), only for there to be a half-assed make-up conversation that didn’t really address the real issue, and then there’s no further mention of it. Bruce put the outlaws in a simulation for months without their knowledge, and the conversation Bruce had with Jason later wasn’t even about this. Screw Artemis and Bizarro, I guess. They’re expendable because the core conflict is actually about Jason and Bruce.

I wouldn’t say the bad Brucie moments are too ooc based on how he is in canon. The abuse, and him being big on mass surveillance/never trusting anyone while being the one to repeatedly betray other people’s trust. It’s just all the other characters being so tolerant/accepting of his actions is kinda funny, it’s almost like they’re NPCs lol. But also again why are Bruce’s trust issues which cause a strain on his relationship with Jason a main theme in the outlaws book lmao

Ultimately what this webtoon did was take every irritating plot from Jason’s canon appearances, amplified them tenfold, and mixed in even more unresolved plotholes and horrible mis characterizations.

#if I complained about how ooc Jason was in this this post would be 7 pages long #i mean just the Jason almost killing two face as robin incident alone was framed in such an incorrect way #i just accepted the fact that the author has a poor understanding of Jason’s character and that’s fine because this isn’t canon #look. imo the outlaws work best as a fun adventures type story #the outlaws stuff has no reason to mix with Jason and Bruce’s ongoing disagreement on their moral stances.#attempting to mix the two was a very weird and bad idea??#especially when they very evidently had no idea how to deal with the aftermath of it #i mean Artemis just lovingly told Jason to go and try to apologize to Bruce #after he practically studied her under a microscope for three months #you know this woman is on par with Diana Prince right? 💀#and why did they have Biz talking backwards again 💀 it only makes the confusing plot even more dizzy #there’s just too much wrong with this one lol #asks

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sweetiecutie · 8 months

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Pairing: König x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, periods sex, blood play but not really(?), softie König

A/n: very self-indulgent. My periods are as tough as ever and there’s no one to comfort me, so I guess I’ll have to do it myself🥲

König didn’t really know much about periods. Well, of course he knew what menstruation is and that every woman has it once a month, but that was pretty much it. So when you started dating poor guy saw how things really were in female world.

He noticed how moody you would become a week prior your periods, how snappy you’d react to his harmless teasing. König noted your craving for sweets as well, and how angry and sad you’d be over a few pimples that appeared so unwelcomed on your precious face. And König felt truly sorry for you - it was clear as day that you were a hormonal mess, and there wasn’t anything he could do to help you, no matter how much he wanted to.

And then your periods finally came. König watched you get up suddenly from your spot on the couch, rushing straight to the bathroom. He was a bit confused - you were all snuggled up together, watching a movie you picked - did something happen? He knocked on the bathroom door softly, asking if everything was good - a few moments later you opened the door, sour expression on your face as you scrunch up the wrap from the pad. “Yeah, my periods started” you mumbled begrudgingly, your lips pulled in a small pout.

König who just couldn’t bear seeing his precious baby in pain, did everything in his power to comfort you. He wrapped his warm strong arms around your frail form, cuddling you into his chest. His fingers grazed gently the soft skin of your tummy where it ached, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, scattering small kisses wherever he could reach.

König did his research on how to ease menstrual pains. Painkillers, massage, yoga. But what particularly caught his attention - almost every article he’d read said that orgasm is a great way to get rid of cramps - not only healthy but pleasurable as well. So of course he suggested you just that.

König was so sad to see you this fearful and hesitant - “Baby, it’ll make a huge mess. Everything will be covered in blood and I don’t want you to get yourself dirty and-“ you rambled on, his eyes growing wide with every word you said. “Y/n, what are you even talking about?” He interrupted you softly, huge hands coming to cup your cheeks and he looks into your eyes deeply.

“Do you really think a bit of blood will stop me from fucking my amazing sexy girl? If you don’t want this - it’s okay, but please don’t think that I’m disgusted by you bleeding” he said it so earnestly, kissing both of your cheeks reassuringly. König hated the idea of you being self-conscious about absolutely natural processes in your body. So when you nodded shyly, slightly spreading your legs for him to settle in between them, König couldn’t contain a wide grin, even while kissing you passionately.

So with a thick towel under your hips, König got to work - lapping away at your poor pussy, smearing a mixture of your blood, slick and his own saliva all over his cheeks, gazing up at you drunkenly, moaning into your folds at the taste and smell of you. His fingers gently pumped in and out of your sopping cunt, marveling at the wetness blood provided, how easily three of his thick digits slipped into your sensitive cunny.

And only after making you cum on his mouth two times, König decided to fully indulge you, getting his heavy cock out of his boxers. With gentle move of his hips he sunk right into your velvety warmth, penetration as easy as ever due to blood lubrication. He went as gentle as ever, noting how overly sensitive you were - way more than usual. König made sure to not go too deep, to not disturb your poor uterus even more.

König was so sweet, rubbing your clit non-stop, wringing orgasm after orgasm out of your soft beautiful body. He scattered kisses all over your neck and chest, careful to not graze your sore from hormones nipples. And only when you couldn’t take no more - a trembling sweaty mess in his loving arms, babbling and whimpering deliriously, he allowed himself to finally cum on your twitching tummy.

König fucked you so good it took you several minutes to regain consciousness - with bleary eyes you looked up to him, your breath hitching slightly. Here was your boyfriend sitting next to you, grinning from ear to ear; lower half of his face was completely covered in dried blood, his hands and lower stomach glistening with dark red. That would definitely look terrifying if you didn’t know what exactly he was just doing.

“So how are your cramps?” He asked, his white teeth contrasting with brownish-red on his cheeks and lips. You closed your eyes in exhaustion, sinking deeper into soft pillows.

“Gone” you said, making König’s smile brighten impossibly more.

And yes, he’d definitely joke about being a vamp from this day on🙄

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Give writers some love, we live off feedback<3

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tender-rosiey · 10 months

Note

since requests are open, i wanted to ask for pregnant!readerxgojo where the reader is currently 9months pregnant with her first child and is grocery shopping with gojo

details — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: husband!gojo is attentive and I don’t take any criticism on that

"satoru, get up."

"but I don't wanna!"

taking a deep breath, you thank the heavens for having a husband like gojo. it really prepares you for having a child of your own. you would like to bet that gojo is more difficult than any child out there but you still have to deal with him right now.

you cross your arms and huff, "satoru, we need to go grocery shopping."

satoru grumbles and cuddles the pillow closer. his eyes drifts to you, his pretty wife, and then to your stomach. his lips curve into a small smile and he sighs happily. you're pregnant and soon, you will finally be able to see your little girl.

he will finally be able to hold her in his arms. the thought itself makes him giddy.

"you're really going to leave your very pregnant wife go shopping all by herself?" you pout but he doesn't concede.

he sits up, stretching, "are you implying that my wife is weak?"

"of course not, I am a strong and capable woman on my own!"

he makes his way to you and pulls you close. you look up at him and tilt your head with a cheeky smile, "so you going?"

he hums and presses a kiss to your shoulder, "I can't leave my girls alone, after all," his hand rests on your stomach, "though, I am sure my pretty girl here will protect her mama well."

and it's like she hears and understands him as she lightly kicks. satoru beams then looks you in the eye, "I think I am going to be her favorite," he teases, expecting you to bicker with him, tell him that the favorite will obviously be you.

he wasn't prepared to be met with a gentle smile and eyes so full love it almost scares him.

he gravitates towards your touch anyway cause who is gojo if not a lover of adventure?

the caress of your hand has him melting to putty. you then speak up with a content sigh, "well, you are my favorite so it would be nice if she shares the same sentiment as her mama, no?"

he nods with smile, closing his eyes for a moment then abruptly straightening himself, "okay!" he claps his hands eagerly, "time for shopping!"

so now you two are grocery shopping, more like you though. you look through different brands of each thing and you try to take satrou's opinion. but he is as useful as the shopping cart he is pushing.

"satoru, should I pick this or this?"

"I don't see the difference?"

still, he does provide good company and there are some things that he gets that make you want to hug the hell out of him. for example, you were troubled between two types of spreads and satoru came to the rescue.

he read the ingredients then chose one right away. a part of you thought that he didn't actually give it some thought but then he speaks up, "you're allergic to the other one and it has some ingredients that you hate, sweets," he looks at you, confused, "that should've been an easy choice."

your eyes tear up and you pull him into a tight hug, "SATORU, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!"

and the way he lights up at your affection is so very cute. he returns the hug tenfold—mindful of the little girl in you.

another thing that satoru is pretty good at while shopping with you is attracting attention. attention that he eats up like no other.

he poses and entertains the kids. he is chatting with the aunties and you’re left squeezing the hell of one poor bell pepper. you did bring up putting a leash on him, but, of course, he was encouraging of the idea to the point you had to smack him with a pillow.

“papa needs to be humbled, huh, baby?” you hum to your baby with a smile.

though, something that satoru never lets you forget is that even if he enjoys the attention from others, he truly only craves yours and only yours. one way he does is through his eyes. even when everyone’s focus is on him, his eyes are on you, so full of yearning and adoration.

and both of you know, that at the end of the day, he comes back to you. just like now.

“y/nnn! look what I got!”

you look at him and your jaw drops. satoru is all smiley and joyful…and he has about 10 bags worth of baby clothes, “satoru—I—what—why?!”

he takes his sweet time answering you, “yes: you, baby clothes for our princess, and because she deserves to be spoiled!”

“you just got 20 last week?!”

“I never said I was a ‘careful’ spender,” he starts rummaging through one of the bags and gets out a box of jewelry, a filled to the brim box of jewelry, “I got you these as well! I remember you brought 2 new dresses and there were others that you couldn’t find matching jewelry for so—are you crying?”

forgetting about the bags, he pulls you into am embrace and coos, “aww, my pretty girl is all sentimental," his thumbs wipe the tears so naturally and he presses sweet kisses to your cheeks, "hormones got you all messed up, baby?"

“I don’t care about the jewelry.”

“ouch.”

you sniffle, “it’s just the fact that you remember these things that gets me all soft.”

“of course, I do!” he starts squeezing your cheeks together, “you’re my baby, my mochi, my honey bunny, my pumpkin—“

whining, you push his hands away, “satoru, people are watching!”

“so?”

you grumble, giving up on literally everything, “let’s just go home,” you yawn a little, “I am feeling a little tired anyways.”

satoru starts carrying the bags right away and he does it with so much ease, you would think he is just folding a piece of paper. on top of that, he doesn’t leave your side and makes sure that he’s there for you to rest or steady yourself.

you don’t get very far though.

“satoru.”

“yes, pretty?”

“my water broke.”

“WHAT?!”

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

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planetsano · 4 months

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fem reader. both reader and yuji get zero bitches. waxing.

I was having thoughts about Yuji getting his first wax at this really cute spa— its the new year so he’s really trying to make the effort of taking this whole “self care” thing he’s been seeing on TikTok seriously. He seems like the type to be pretty hairy down south anyway and in turn he trims it here and there but he never really upkeeps the maintenance. He wants to see what this waxing thing is all about.

So, he books the appointment and he gets you as his esthetician. He’s nervous! But also very excited! He booked a facial as well as the wax so you of course take very good care of him. The conversation is flowing beautifully and there’s a bit of chemistry there. He also thinks you’re drop dead gorgeous and when he walked into the studio, he tripped over his shoelace but that’s neither here or there.

When it’s finally time for the wax? You’re prepping everything all nice and instruct him to take off his pants and boxers— and Yuji immediately freezes. He’s all like “What do you mean?” so you look at him from over your shoulder because you think he’s being silly but the look of genuine confusion on his face lets you know he’s being deadass serious. You tell him, “Well, I can’t wax you with your pants on now can I, cutie?” as sweet as can be, its almost a little maternal too the way you say it.

Poor Yuji. He didn’t really think about any of this fully through. He mentally punches himself in the face because of course he would have to expose himself to the esthetician, that’s just how a Brazilian wax works! Yuji doesn’t want to make it awkward so he complies and takes off his pants and underwear before he lays back onto the table. God, he’s never felt so embarrassed in his life! Is the lamp really necessary..? The warmth of it did feel pretty nice. That’s beside the point anyway.

As he’s laying there while you dilly about with your back turned to him, his mind starts to wander. When was the last time he’s had a woman’s touch? It feels like ages because it kind of has. A year? Almost close to a year. He can’t really remember. Yuji thinks you’re pretty and a good time— you’re easy to talk to and if he didn’t know any better, he thinks he might have a tiny, little crush on you. He’s already been thinking about booking another service just so he can see you.

The thought is super cute, but what isn’t cute is Yuji fighting every single demon, every single thought— nearly trying to astral project so he won’t get hard. You didn’t give him a warning before wrapping your gloved hand around his shaft and he jumped, which did get a giggle and a little “Feeling jumpy today, are we?” out of you. He played it off with a bashful little “Sorry.” before relaxing again. You’re not really doing much but your job and that’s why he feels like such a pervert when all the blood from his skull has rushed to his cock.

For him, it’s like this huge elephant in the room but for you? You don’t mind, there’s always a possibility which is why you don’t take male clients but Yuji is the only exception because he’s cute and seems like a good boy. He probably thinks that he has a poker face but there’s a reason why you keep cooing at him because he’s definitely the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. It’s so desperately obvious that he’s trying to think about the most unpleasant and uncomfortable things but it’s not working.

As the service continues, Yuji is not longer trying to keep from stay hard but he’s now rather trying not to cum all over your hands and his chest. But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to do so. He peeks down every now and again to see the progress, he keeps telling himself “She’s almost done, she’s almost done.” that he needs to hold out for just a few minutes more then he can put his pants back on. But, unfortunately it doesn’t seem to work out like he would have hoped to plan.

Your hand slid up his cock with just enough pressure and friction to make him blow his, really fat load actually. He desperately tried to grab your wrist before it happened but it was already too late, the broken protest turned into a pitiful moan halfway, the panicked jerk of his body.. truth be told you thought it was sweet. You’ve also been going through a dry spell yourself. Your last ex made you want to do some healing but with that came with stepping out of the dating pool and no casual sex.

You, yourself felt like a bit of a pervert standing here with a man putty in your fingertips. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” was all that left his lips as you cleaned him with with a Kleenex but all you could say in return was:

“Can I..? Have your number?”

#┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° bria writes!#yuji itadori #jujustu kaisen #yuji itadori x reader #yuji itadori smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk yuji x reader #jjk itadori #fem!reader #female reader

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moonstruckme · 6 months

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i'm obsesseeeed with dr. rem and i have a request for him if you're up for it!! <33 maybe reader gets into an "accident" (nothing serious) while working and remus finds out when he sees her in the hospital? like she didn't have time to call him and let him know so he suddenly just sees her and freaks out for a bit before realizing she's okay? thank you so muchhhh 💗

I'm obsessed with him toooo it's bad ! Thanks for requesting sweetheart <3

cw: minor head injury

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Your eyes water, but you do your best to keep them open as the girl in scrubs points her light in each one.

“Your pupils look alright,” she decides, clicking the light off and giving you an apologetic smile when you blink in relief. “Have you felt nauseous at any point since it’s happened? Dizzy?”

You shake your head no to both, wincing a bit as the clear bag of ice you’re holding to the back shifts slightly.

“That’s good.” She nods encouragingly. She seems young and somewhat green, probably one of those pesky residents Remus is always griping about. Though she’s trying to project the same seasoned calm as the other doctors and nurses moving about the A&E, there’s a quiet anxiety about her that you recognize. It’s the same one you carried during the first month at your job, the possibility of getting in some kind of trouble seeming to loom over you constantly. She’s pretty, you think, and she seems nice. Like she genuinely cares, a massive improvement over the woman at the front desk who’d given you a look so judgemental that it’d made you feel even more embarrassed for being here. “And you’re sure you didn’t lose consciousness at any point? Even for a second?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. “I mean, I would have noticed, right?”

She squints like she’s not quite sure what to do with that, and then you perk up as a familiar rhythm gets your attention. You wouldn’t have guessed you could do it outside of your shared flat, but you pick out the sound of Remus’ footfalls a second before he comes into view. He’s striding briskly across the room, skimming something on his clipboard, and he gives the swath of curtained rooms little more than a cursory glance as he passes—until his eyes flare, snagging on you.

You raise your hand in a sorry wave.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, doubling his pace to get to you. His attention moves to the bag of ice you’re holding to your head. “You’re hurt?”

“I bumped my head at work,” you explain with a shrug. The resident looks between you like she’s unsure if she should continue, clearly outranked by the other doctor in your little room. “It’s not bad, but my boss said I had to come here.”

Remus’ lips tug downward, taking the ice from you and tilting your head so he can see it. “You hit your head and you didn’t call me?”

“It’s nothing,” you promise him. “My boss just made me come in as a formality. For liability reasons, you know?”

Remus remains uncomforted. He murmurs a quiet direction to the resident so the poor girl steps back from you. You shoot her an apologetic look as your boyfriend takes your head in both hands, prodding at the tender spot on the back. You wince, and he makes a very unprofessional cooing sound, stroking his thumb next to the nonexistent wound.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Even his dubious tone is gentled for you, the pinch of his mouth more worried than vexed.

“It hurts,” you admit, “but only like any bruise would. It didn’t even break the skin, Rem, I’m totally fine.”

He looks at the resident. “Any symptoms of a concussion?”

“No,” the girl chirps nervously. You wonder that anyone could be nervous around Remus, but you suppose he is sort of like one of her bosses. “Pupils are normal, no dizziness or headaches, no reactions to light or noise, and no signs of confusion.”

He nods, still frowny. You think he could stand to show her some appreciation, but this may not be the time to bring it up. “Alright, you can go. I’ve got this one.”

“Thank you,” you say after her, and she flashes you a tiny smile before Remus eclipses your vision, taking your face in his hand.

“You were fully honest, right?” he asks you sternly. “Didn’t downplay anything?”

“I didn’t.” You summon your most placating tone, reaching up to wrap your fingers around his wrist. “I’m really fine.” You rub your thumb into his pulse point. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, everything was just moving so quickly. I wouldn’t have tried to keep it a secret or anything.”

Remus lets out a long exhale, leaning forward so that his nose rests on your forehead. “I know you wouldn’t,” he murmurs. “But do you have any idea how scary it is to see someone you love in A&E, where you work, when you thought they were just going about their day unharmed?”

Your heart contracts as the severity drains from his tone, replaced by a dull rawness. “I don’t.” You slide your touch up his arm to his bicep, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry. But I am unharmed, see? It’s all good.”

He grunts fondly, kissing your forehead as he straightens. “Who drove you here?”

“Marcus.” You’ll have to make your coworker some cookies or something as a thank-you gift, though you’re sure getting a half hour off work to chauffeur you here wasn’t an entirely unwelcome break.

“And where is he?”

“Back at work. He dropped me off.”

Remus brow puckers. “He left you here?”

“Well, it wasn’t like there was anything he could do,” you say, shrugging. You feel a bit sheepish, though you’re not sure why.

“Still.” His jaw ticks. “Okay, I get off in less than an hour. Do you think you can sit tight until then? I’ll have someone bring you some fresh ice.” He levels your sloshy bag of ice with a disapproving look you want nothing to do with. “And did you eat lunch before your shift?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you say. “But I don’t need you to drive me home, Rem. There’s a bus stop right outside of here.”

He scoffs. “I don’t care if you don’t have a concussion, I’m not letting you take the bus after you’ve just hit your head.” He squeezes your shoulder, thumb pressing into your collarbone. “I’ll have someone bring you a snack.”

“It’s just a bump,” you argue, but Remus ignores you.

“Try to leave, and I’ll be very cross with you,” he threatens as he walks away. “Cuddles are a privilege that can be revoked.”

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bleachification · 7 months

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⸻ JEALOUS, JEALOUS BOY

pairing: sanji x reader

word count: 5.7k

synopsis: life as a pirate is never boring, especially when your best friend is sanji—a flirtatious chef who can’t seem to sort out his feelings, or yours, for that matter. that makes things all the more complicated when you’re forced to go undercover and sanji is dragged along with you as your very fake husband. the million-dollar question is: when lines start blurring, how do you differentiate between what’s fake and what’s real?

+ + + + + + + + + + + + +

“We broke up.”

“How long? Two months?”

You shrug. “I stopped counting anniversaries after the first couple of failed ones.”

Sanji swings his knife a tad too forcefully. The loud THUD of it smashing into the cutting board causes you to jump. You peer over the counter and grimace at the sight.

“God, what did that poor tuna ever do to you?”

Sanji continues slicing into the red flesh, more aggressively than before, but still with the same care and precision that he affords every ingredient he touches.

“Why?”

“Why what?” You lift your gaze to his face, smiling softly at the concentration twisting his features. It’s one of the things you admire greatly about Sanji—the sheer dedication and love he has for his craft.

“Why did you break up with him?” Sanji repeats. He’s chopping up a variety of garnish now. Again, with more aggression than necessary.

You raise a brow, but decide not to comment on it.

“What makes you think I was the one who called it quits?”

He sets the knife down and turns to you, blonde bangs falling across his face. Sanji flashes you his signature flirtatious smile, but there’s a strange hint of tension attached to it.

“Who would ever think to break up with you?” He leans in, gaze darkening. “They would have to be crazy.”

You pull back, rolling your eyes. He’s always like this. Coy. Intimate. The ultimate womanizer. Sometimes… you wish it could be different.

“Well, he must have been crazy then.”

“What?” Sanji pauses, confusion etches his expression. “You… wait… he broke up with you?!”

“Don’t sound so surprised. He only beat me to it by a week. I had the decency to try and wait until after Valentines,” you note. You aren’t particularly broken up about the whole thing. Your ex is barely an ex—a summer fling, if anything. But Sanji, on the other hand, is acting as if some horrible crime has been committed.

“I’ll kill him.”

You blink. “Okay. A bit of an overreaction.”

“How dare he…” Sanji mumbles, not hearing you. His hand tightly grips the knife handle, and you swear the temperature just dropped even in the presence of boiling pots and simmering roux.

“Alright, enough. Don’t be so dramatic,” you laugh, moving to gently pry his fingers from their iron grip on the handle. He lets you—watching as you take the blade from him, and relishing in the soft feel of your skin against his. He itches to grab your hand and pull you closer. But he doesn’t. He won’t.

He can’t.

Sanji learned very quickly that his charms and gimmicks weren’t going to work on you. In all fairness, they rarely do, but for some unfathomable reason, he can’t seem to let that particular rejection go. He will always resent that part of him for pushing you away and drawing that boundary—a line you both delicately toe, never to cross over to each other’s side.

Your first meeting was… disastrous, to say the least. Sanji had just met the crew, and was tripping over himself to impress Nami, when you had made your way back to the others after a quick break in the powder room.

You had witnessed all of his shameless flirting and blatant promiscuity on your way back. You immediately took a strong dislike to the blonde chef, his behaviour reminiscent of exes that were none too pleasant.

“I’m back.”

At the sound of your voice, Sanji beamed, turning to strike up another flowery bombardment of compliments and flattery… only to freeze in place when he saw you.

For once, his silver tongue lacked its luster, fumbling before the sight of you.

For once, he knew not what to say or do. He could only stare. Only admire and behold.

“Good job. You broke the chef,” Zoro deadpanned.

You pulled an expression of slight concern and mild annoyance.

“Um… are you alright?” You waved a hand across Sanji’s face. No reaction. The rest of the crew barely paid him any mind, too busy either eating, drinking… or arguing, in Nami and Zoro’s case.

You slipped into the booth next to Zoro, choosing to ignore the bizarre situation, when a deep, rumbling voice belonging to a peg-legged old man boomed from across Baratie.

“SANJI!”

It snapped Sanji out of his stupor, grounding him back into reality.

“Marry me.”

But perhaps not logic.

“What?”

Zoro pulled a face of disgust eerily similar to your own. Somewhere in the background, you vaguely heard Ussop choking on his drink. Nami clapped thunderously on his back. Is she trying to help him or kill him?

Luffy, through all of this, watched with bright, curious eyes.

“Yuuummphh fuu’yyy,” exclaimed Luffy, his mouth full of bread, gravy, and what you can only assume is a whole ribeye steak.

Zoro turned his disgust toward the captain. “Are you kidding?”

Luffy scarfed down another forkful of food, grinning wide as he swallowed the last of his meal. He patted his stomach, content, before turning his attention back to Sanji.

“You’re funny!” He laughed.

“That’s what you were trying to say?!”

Luffy ignored Zoro’s exasperation and just giggled in his usual carefree manner. Sanji ignored them all, choosing only you to spare his attention. You shifted uncomfortably, tension coursing through your veins at the way he watched you. As if you were the greatest treasure in all of the Four Seas and he was the king of the pirates—a man would do anything to covet it. Covet you.

Zoro and Luffy didn’t seem to grasp the situation as they continued to bicker in the background.

“Boys. Stop… FIGHTING!” Nami barked out. A swift smack from the ginger settled them both down, each sulking in a corner as she berated them for their behaviour.

You took a deep breath, willing your nerves to calm. You met Sanji’s eyes and they shone with hope.

“You want me to marry you?”

“Yes. Desperately,” he breathed out.

If heart eyes were real, they would beat within the passion of his gaze. Strong. Intense. Unabashed. You despised it. How could he look at you in that way after mere moments of greetings? It was lust. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

“SANJI, GET YOUR ASS BACK IN HERE!”

Sanji clenched his jaw at the voice, frustration and irritation barely contained. His expression smoothed over as he spoke to you.

“Think it over?”

You raise a brow. “What? The proposal?”

“Precisely that,” he smiled. Gorgeous asshole.

“Over my dead body,” you scoffed. Your rejection didn’t seem to deter him though, the grin on his face still present even as he left for the kitchen.

So many sleepless nights later and Sanji still can’t help but sigh whenever he remembers that day. He wishes he could take back his words, his actions… his everything. Maybe you would love him back if he did. Maybe you wouldn’t be dating morons who don’t even come close to deserving you—not that he does, but he would try.

For you, he would try it all.

Your soft voice breaks him out of his trip down memory lane.

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal,” you reassure.

Sanji wants to shout, But it is! Don’t you get that? How could losing you not be a big deal?

Instead, he shakes his head and takes a long draw from his cigarette. He watches the clouds waft up in lazy rings, circle around your head, and disintegrate into the kitchen heat. Sanji finds it increasingly difficult to meet your eyes.

“Are you alright, love?”

His genuine concern for you makes you smile. “I’m alright, Sanji. I wasn’t that attached, anyway.”

That twinkle in his eyes. It's back again.

“Really? Then what about my initial offer?” he jokes. Though it doesn’t sound like a joke to him. Doesn’t feel like one either.

“What are you talking about?” You ask. You take a spoonful of the broth and bring it to your lips, ignorant of the tense atmosphere. At least until the magnitude of Sanji’s next words drops.

“You know… marrying me.” Sanji holds his breath.

Shit. Why did I say that? He thinks, regretfully.

You falter, the spoon quickly forgotten in the pot. Your appetite disappears just as swiftly.

“Everytime I think we’re having a nice, serious conversation, you just have to go and… say something like that. Aren’t you bored of it? Tired of all the false promises and sweet talk?” You shake your head and stand up to leave.

“[Name], I–”

You cut him off. “I’m disappointed, Sanji.”

“Please, just hear–”

The kitchen door bursts open to show Usopp, who hurriedly beckons you both outside.

“Crew meeting, come on!”

Sanji turns to you, about to say something else, but you ignore him and follow Usopp out into the hallway and up to the deck. Sanji has no choice but to do the same.

Winter has arrived in the form of early nights and fresh snowfall—as if the chilling temperature itself isn’t enough of an indicator. Your breath crystallizes in the air as the three of you venture outside to where you meet the rest of the crew.

Nami has a large sheet of parchment spread flat across the floor with each member of the crew positioned around it in a wide circle. Upon closer inspection, you realize it isn’t one of her usual cartographic maps. It’s a blueprint. And the subject of it… is a castle?

“Nami, what is this?” You ask as you take a seat next to her.

With a pen, she circles a small room located in the eastern wing of the building’s upper level. It sits above a sprawling space. A ballroom, you wager. The schematics look complicated enough.

Nami begins to explain. “This is a blueprint of Ceres Palace, a high-security manor sitting atop the nearest port city. It is home to a powerful noble family…”

She flips the paper over. “…and this.”

A mass of glimmering golden ink shines under the moonlight, every meticulously painted stroke deliberate and delicate. The image is clear.

“Is that a devil fruit?” Robin inquires, eyes narrowing.

“One crafted from solid gold and pure diamond dust, gilded with sea jadeite. It is the most monetarily valuable ‘devil fruit’ in the world, depending on who you ask,” Nami answers. She flips the parchment again. “And we are going to steal it.”

“Wait a damn minu-“

“Hold on-“

“Are we sure that’s-“

A chorus of protests and concerns rise from the rest of the crew, and for good reason. From just a first glance of the palace grounds, you can tell this will be a risky heist, and something in your gut tells you that there’s more to it.

Nami shuts them all up with a pointed glare.

“Do you realize how long I spent drawing up this stupid thing?! One more word from any of you and I will shove it down your throat. Whole,” she threatens.

No one speaks.

“Good. Now, as I was saying, this heist will consist of two parts. The actual theft and the distraction.”

Sanji raises his hand. Nami points at him and nods.

“Why, exactly, are we stealing someone’s gold…er…artifact? I get that we’re pirates but… a bit out of the way, isn’t it?”

Nami, Ussop, and Chopper sigh in unison. The latter ambles your way and climbs into your lap, snuggling for warmth.

“Hello baby,” you murmur. You smile softly as the little reindeer tucks himself into your welcome embrace. You give Chopper a scratch under the chin before turning your attention back to the conversation at hand.

Zoro barely pays any attention, head bobbing a bit. He’s already falling asleep. Typical. Robin, on the other hand, seems to recognize the object.

“I’ve heard of this. Its original name was The Monarch’s Heart. It belonged to the royal family of that island. Twenty years ago, the king’s most trusted advisor spearheaded a coup d’état and a violent rebellion broke out, ending with the execution of the royal family, as well as the usurpation of the former, now exiled, king.” Robin crouches and lightly brushes the blueprint, tracing along its curves. “All this time, the Heart was believed to have been lost amidst war. You’re saying one of the nobles stole it?”

Nami scratches her head and grimaces. “Well, yeah, kinda.”

“What do you mean, ‘kinda’”? You ask.

“We don’t have any proof. Not really,” she shrugs.

“So, again, why are we doing this?” Sanji reiterates.

“We have proof!” Luffy grins. Your captain finally speaks up, too preoccupied with messing with a sleeping Zoro moments ago.

“Luffy—” Nami starts.

“What? I believe the old man. He’s a good guy.” Luffy pats his stomach. “He fed me.”

“What old man?” You’re getting more and more confused as the meeting drags on.

“Luffy. You met the exiled king, didn’t you?” Robin’s eyes twinkle with curiosity.

“Um… I don’t know? I forgot his name but he was nice. Told me about how his stuff got stolen unfairly so I promised to get it back for him.”

“So you don’t even know if he’s telling the truth? What if he was the bad guy, and the nobles who took over overthrew a tyrant?” Sanji blows smoke from his cigarette as he prods.

“He was not,” Robin states factually. “The king was known to be kind and benevolent, catering only to the needs of his people. Since that nation's birth, the royal faction was always at odds with the avaricious nobility. That tension came to a head in the form of a brutal uprising. Though massacre is much more fitting of a description for what occurred.”

“Mhm, mhm, mhm.” Luffy nods vigorously at her words. “So we’re gonna get his gold back for him.”

“Liberating another nation, are we?” Zoro yawns, barely waking up.

“Seems like it,” Nami sighs.

“It’s what the captain wants,” Robin smiles.

“And what Luffy wants…” you begin.

Everyone else groans.

“Luffy gets.”

“So…” Sanji shifts next to you. Closer. His warmth clouds your senses a little and you try to ignore the dizzying effect it has on you. “How do we do this, exactly?”

“I bust down the door and slice ‘em up,” Zoro offers.

“In your dreams, Mosshead. I could take down—”

You pinch his side. Sanji jumps and turns to you, a slight pout on his face. Despite what happened earlier, you find yourself trying not to laugh.

“You’re not doing that, Zoro,” Chopper scolds.

The swordsman tsks. “Fine. Then how the hell are we actually pulling this off?”

Nami explains the plan.

Sanji turns white.

Your mouth drops open. “Excuse me?!”

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　

“Oh god, I’m going to throw up.”

Robin chuckles as she hands you silken gloves. “Don’t worry. You’ll do just fine. Remember, get in, pull the alarm, get out.”

“Easier said than done,” you grumble.

The plan is actually much more complex than what Robin makes it out to be.

The palace itself has two separate alarm systems—one for the vault, and another in case of fire. If both are activated at the same exact moment, they cause a complete system break, and the fire alarm overrides the theft security, forcing an evacuation with everyone none the wiser.

The plan is for you and Sanji to infiltrate the party under the pretense of a foreign dignitary and his spouse, survey and locate the alarm, cause a distraction, and pull the alarm the precise moment Nami unlocks the vault. All communicated via Den Den Mushi earpieces.

Easy peasy.

Your clothing sticks to you uncomfortably—tight in areas you don’t normally expose to the world. The scented oil in your hair makes you smell like you had just popped fresh out of the oven. A layered film of glittering makeup rests on your features, rendering the person in the mirror a complete, hapless stranger.

“Why did it have to be me?”

And Sanji?

You don’t voice that last bit.

“Nami’s the thief, the other boys would blow their covers immediately, I have other matters to attend to, and Chopper… Well, Chopper’s a reindeer.”

You run a hand through your hair. Anxiety claws at your skin. You feel a sudden urge to feign illness and rid yourself of this ridiculous plan.

“Must we pose as a couple? Surely there are other ways,” you implore.

“The invites we swiped were from married nobles,” Robin reminds.

You groan. Robin pats your shoulder supportively.

“There there. Don’t fret, you’ll do fine. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Robin gives you another encouraging pat before she ushers you out of the dressing room.

You make your way outside, shivering slightly as the winter winds bite into your skin. The thin fabric of your garments do nothing to shield the cold.

Someone lets out a sharp inhale. You turn towards the noise. Sanji stands to your left, clutching an envelope in hand. His usual suave demeanour is displaced by an air of buzzing anxiety and a starstruck expression.

He’s dressed in a sleek three-piece black suit. It pains you how devastatingly handsome he looks.

“You clean up nice,” you note.

“I…uh. You—Sorry, yeah, what?” Sanji replies, all smooth and intelligent.

“…Pardon?”

Robin watches the entire interaction with a pained grimace. Having enough, she steps up and gently steers you towards Sanji.

“Hurry up, now. They’re expecting you both soon. Don’t forget to stay in character, lest you end up blowing your covers.” She winks at you both, but you can’t help but think it was directed more towards Sanji.

“Shall we?”

Seemingly recovered from whatever alien had possessed him seconds ago, the chef offers you his arm with a small smile. You place your hand around his bicep and try to ignore his rippling muscles underneath your fingertips.

“Color me surprised. I really thought you’d have showered me with compliments by now,” you joke.

“I thought you didn’t like that part of me.”

Disappointment blooms in your chest.

“Right. I don’t. I just…” you trail off. You just thought you looked nice tonight. And maybe a small part of you was hoping he felt the same.

“Never mind.”

You slip your hand out of the crook of Sanji’s arm and start walking a little bit faster, hoping he doesn’t notice the conflicting emotions on your face.

When Sanji first joined the crew, you made yourself a promise: that you would never fall for his charms. But as time went on and he showed you a mountain of kindness, understanding, and empathy… that promise, steadily, became much harder to keep and much easier to forget. It wasn’t his flirting and charms that were dangerous—it was the man buried underneath all that playful pretense. A man who has stubbornly found his way into your guarded heart, despite your best efforts of keeping him out.

It was always easier that way. Easier to turn away, to shut him out. Easier to walk away when you catch him with others who drew his interest and to stop listening as he murmurs sweet nothings in their ears—the very ones he had whispered to you. It was easier to accept that you are not, and will not, be special to him.

You refuse to be just another mark in his book of conquests, and if all it takes is a silent heartbreak to avoid such a fate, so be it. You’ve survived much worse before.

The palace soon comes into view, a grand structure that stretches into the vertical horizon. The path towards the marbled entrance is busy with bustling guests and the glowing orbs of rainbow fireflies. You steadily, and as elegantly as possible, make your way towards the host out in front.

“Good evening, may I see your invitations for the night?” He asks, gloved hand outstretched in expectation.

Sanji flashes him a million-berry smile. “Of course, my good sir. I have them right here.”

He pulls out the envelope you had seen earlier from inside his black suit jacket. The greeter accepts the documents and diligently scans them. After a few seconds, he nods, satisfied by what he sees, and hands the papers back to Sanji.

“Enjoy your night.” He moves aside to let you pass and holds an arm out, guiding you both through the white stone doors.

As soon as you step through the entrance , you are greeted by a foyer fit for kings. A cascading staircase blanketed by red velvet leads to even larger double doors, both white like the walls, but trimmed with gold linings and spiral handles. A crystal chandelier, bigger than you ever thought possible, hangs from the ceiling. It casts shining diamonds in every reflection of the room.

Sanji holds out his arm for you again as you both prepare to execute the mission, but you don’t immediately go to take it. Sanji must sense your hesitation because he sighs and gives you a strained, yet still affectionate smile.

“[Name], please. If not for me, then for appearances. We’re married, remember?”

“Fake married,” you correct, although you relent and slip your hand in the crook of his elbow anyway.

“You don’t have to remind me.”

Arm in arm, Sanji leads you to the ballroom. The doors open to reveal hundreds of nobles draped in silk and pearls, dining on delicacies, and mingling with others of their same social echelon. You already want to go home.

You both find a small table tucked into a corner and stand around it.

“We have to wait until Nami gives us the signal. First, let’s blend in and make sure to look like we belong,” you whisper.

Sanji leans in to hear you better. “What do you suggest? We could hit the banquet table, the food doesn’t look half bad.”

You peer over his shoulder at the platters of hor d'oeuvres and fancy desserts. “They don’t look nearly as good as what you make.”

“Was that a compliment?” Sanji grins.

“Don’t get used to it. Your heads already far too big,” you smirk.

“I don’t have that much of an ego,” he grumbles, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

“Hey, don’t do that.” You gently swat at his hand, admonishing him for trying to pull the string out.

“Why? It’s annoying.”

“Yeah, but you’ll ruin it even more if you just yank at it. Hold on.” You pluck a small oyster shucker from a passing waitress’s pocket, with her none the wiser. With the knife, you smoothly cut away the thread and flick it into a bin behind you.

Sanji stares at you in awe. “Did you just pickpocket the…”

“Not a word.”

“Got it.”

“Anyway, we don’t want to ruin these clothes. They’re borrowed. And so much nicer than what we’re used to.”

You pull at your collar to adjust it, only to realize Sanji is staring at you again, but with a different glint in his eyes. One with more… heat. It is only now that you realize how close you are to him—pressed up against his side, thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-shoulder, as you both converse away from the crowd. Sanji exudes warmth that, mixed with your own cluttered feelings, makes you a bit dizzy. You take a step back. Sanji’s gaze never leaves you.

“Did I tell you earlier how good you look?”

You swallow. “No.”

He steps closer, closing the gap again. “You look good. Really, really good.”

“Thanks. Formal clothing does wonders.” Your laugh comes out more nervous than you intended.

“Unbelievably good,” he murmurs, almost to himself—like he can’t believe what’s right in front of him.

“Sanji–”

A screeching violin note interrupts you and the strange moment you both got caught up in. Sanji snaps back to his usual self and quickly shakes his head, as if clearing away a fog.

“Food,” he coughs.

You blink. “Right. Food.”

“I’m gonna…” Sanji motions towards the buffet.

You’ve never seen him this… awkward. You’re not sure what to make of it.

“Yeah. Go ahead. I’m gonna scope out the place and figure out where the alarm is.”

He stiffly nods, then makes his way across the ballroom. You turn heel and begin walking along the corridors, scanning for anything that may resemble an alarm.

A static noise crackles in your right ear.

“Can…I—“

A sudden spike of sharp feedback makes you wince.

“Sorry! Can you hear me?” Nami’s voice pipes up.

“Yes. Comms are working. What am I looking for, Nami?”

“Something resembling a button, maybe? Look for a red button or something along those lines.”

“Understood..”

After about ten minutes of searching, you finally come upon it, a small red lever nestled in a corner behind the bar, protected by a square glass casing.

You spot Sanji across the room, mid-conversation with a beautiful, young noble. Your chest twinges, but you push the feeling away. His eyes flit to yours and you subtly wave him over, gesturing to the alarm handle.

Sanji excuses himself and briskly makes his way to you.

“You found it?”

“Of course. It’s the whole reason we’re here, remember?” You ignore the lump in your throat.

“Sorry, I got distracted. I didn’t think—”

“It’s fine, Sanji. You were having fun. You don’t have to apologize. Did you get her number at least?” You try and coolly play it off.

His eyebrows knit together. “No. No, I—”

“Anyway, we should figure out how to distract the bartender. He’s the only one who is in the way.”

If Sanji notices your blatant attempt at changing the subject, he doesn’t show it.

“Sure. Any ideas, beautiful?”

“One.”

“What’s the plan?”

You fidget with your sleeve. “He’s been eyeing me all night.”

Sanji makes a disapproving noise. “...I noticed.”

“I’ll distract him. You get the alarm,” you shrug.

Sanji’s eyes narrow. “How, exactly, are you going to do that?”

“C’mon, Sanji, you can’t be that dense. I’m going to seduce him.”

His reply is immediate and final. “No.”

You balk at his flat tone. “What do you mean: no?”

“No. As in opposite of yes. As in absolutely not,” he hisses.

“Sanji. I have t-”

“No as in not okay!”

You place a hand over his mouth in an effort to stop his outburst. “Shhh! Stop that. Are you trying to draw attention to us?!”

He pulls your arm away, undeterred by your growing panic of being found out. “If it’ll get you to reconsider, then yes!”

“Sanji, enough. What is wrong with you? Why are you so worked up?”

“Do you seriously have to ask that?” He cries out, exasperated.

You open your mouth to retort, but Nami’s voice interrupts you.

“Sorry to break up whatever dumb fight this is, but I need someone to pull the alarm in exactly 60 seconds.”

You give Sanji an expectant look. He firmly shakes his head.

“Not happening.”

Before you can stop him, the chef makes his way to the bar, stumbling as if drunk. Before you know what’s happening, Sanji pulls a whiskey bottle from behind the bar, much to the bartender's protests and dismay. He takes a large swig, and you blow out a breath of relief when he sets it down.

Then he picks it back up again. You watch in horror as he lifts the bottle up and… accidentally pours the entire thing onto the champagne tower beside him. The glasses overflow, and the weight of the extra liquid becomes too much. One by one, the glasses come tumbling down in a landslide of alcohol and crystal.

The bartender cries out in distress. Sanji is unapologetic.

You run to the alarm amidst the mess.

“Ready, [name]?”

“Whenever you are, Nami.”

She begins counting down and the moment you hear: Now!, you pull the handle.

All hell breaks loose.

Blaring alarms ring out, drowning out every other possible sound. Sprinklers sprout from the ceiling and rain down on the partygoers, soaking them and the luxury furniture. Hundreds of panicked patrons scramble to leave, directed by equally flustered staff.

You feel a tug on your sleeve. It’s Sanji.

He tries saying something but is drowned out by the chaos around you. Frustrated, he beckons you over and motions for you to follow him.

After a couple minutes of navigating through screaming nobility, you end up on a secluded balcony away from all the activity. The alarms are barely louder than bells on this end of the palace.

You take a second to catch your breath. Both of you are drenched to the bone, and the chilly winter air does nothing to help your chattering teeth.

Sanji notices your shivering form and immediately drapes his jacket over your shoulders.

You smile gratefully at him, but falter when you see the frown on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Take it out.”

You blink. “What?”

“The earpiece. Take it out,” he says, impatient.

“Why?”

Sanji runs a hand through his hair in both irritation and anxiousness. “Because I’m going to confess my love for you and I don’t want everyone to hear it. They’d never let me live it down, especially that green-haired freak.”

You freeze. Your thoughts freeze. Every fucking thing stops dead in it’s tracks, including your heart.

“Sanji, this isn’t funny.” Your voice trembles.

“Baby, take the earpiece out. Let me talk to you,” he asks softly.

You don’t say anything, you don’t trust yourself to. With shaking hands, you take the Den Den Mushi out and turn it off.

It is only you and Sanji now.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you echo.

“[Name].”

God, why does he have to say your name in that way? Like it means something more than friends—like it’s worth its weight in both diamonds and gold.

“This still isn’t funny.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not joking,” he says, tone as serious as you’ve ever heard it.

You sigh. “What are we doing, Sanji?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m trying to confess my undying love to my favourite person in the world. It’s scary.”

“You say that—”

“I mean it,” he interjects.

“What makes me different? What makes me…”

Worthy of your love?

Sanji reaches for you, but stops himself at your expression. You continue questioning his words.

“How do I know this isn’t just some temporary thing? A fleeting crush?” You swallow hard. For some reason, you’re unable to meet his steady gaze. “How do I know this is real?”

He rubs the back of his neck, conflicting emotions flickering across his face. Sanji struggles to find the words needed to convince you. He tries his best, anyway.

“I know what my reputation is like. I know the personality I present to the world. But after I met you, none of it seemed worth it anymore. There was no appeal to living that type of life,” he pauses. Sanji lifts his head and stares straight at you, unwavering in his words. “The moment I saw you, I thought I’d die if I couldn’t be yours. I still think that now.”

Oh. Your chest is trying to kill you. That’s the only explanation for the ache you feel.

“I trust you with my life, Sanji. But not my heart.”

The alarms have stopped by now. Soon, people will come trickling back inside and the mission will be over. This moment in time will soon fade into the background of reality.

“I only ask that you give me a chance.”

“What makes you so sure that you’re the kind of guy I want to be with?”

“As opposed to your exes? Those guys—none of them deserved you,” he scoffs, annoyed at the mere mention of them.

You raise a brow. “Do you?”

“No. Of course not,” he answers. “But I want to try. Please, god, let me try.”

Your hands are still shaking, but not from the cold.

“We should get back to the ship,” you say, a strained smile on your face.

Sanji’s face falls at your deflection, but he accepts it and doesn’t push. He nods, and you both make your way back to the Merry, an uncomfortable silence hanging over you like a wet blanket.

You are only a couple hundred meters out from the ship when you stop abruptly. Sanji almost crashes into you, but steadies himself at the last second.

“Is something wrong?” He asks in concern.

Before you can lose your nerve, you whirl around and utter two words: “One date.”

It takes Sanji a few moments to understand what you just said, but when he does, he lights up like a kid on Christmas Eve. One who just met Santa. The sheer joy on his face makes it all worth it.

“You’re not messing with me, right? Please say no,” he shakily pleads.

You shake your head. “One. Make it count.”

Instead of answering, he throws his arms around you, wrapping you in his warm embrace.

You loop your arms around his neck and he melts into you, never wanting to let go.

“I’ll make you say yes to a second one. And then a third. And then a lifetime of dates after that. I swear it on my honour as a chef.”

“It’ll have to be a pretty damn good date then,” you laugh.

Sanji presses his forehead on yours.

“It’ll be the best date.”

“And how do you know that?” You tease.

“Because you will be there.”

—

˚ · . tags: @zjarrmiii @aiizenn @emyyy007

1K notes · View notes

phntmeii · 8 months

Text

♡ Dating Thomas Hewitt Headcanons

❝ I often ask myself, 'What makes a man a killer?' ❝

[ SFW + No Gendered Terms]

General Warnings: Mentions of Murder, Slight Stockholm Syndrome, Hoyt being Hoyt

A/N: Congrats to Tommy for winning the last poll for headcanons :) I love this man sm. I scour the entire internet just for fanart of his body he's so soft and aaaaa !!!

🔪 Tommy is unfamiliar with romance entirely. The most he'd gotten to know of it were stories from Luda Mae during childhood but he never got to experience it himself.

🔪 And the mention of what a "man does to a woman" by Hoyt wasn't appealing to him in any way. Tommy just focused on providing for the family and ignoring what Hoyt said.

🔪Then, a new set of victims made the mistake of running into Hoyt and Tommy was to do his job. Yet, for some reason, he couldn't help but stare at you when he brought you down to the basement and rather than running, you clung to him instead to hide from Hoyt.

🔪 For once, he wanted to protect you while Hoyt yelled at him to just kill you. But, everything was different this time. Someone willingly approached him rather than screaming.

🔪 Tommy was firm in his decision, towering over Hoyt as his own silent threat to keep you around. And so he did. While he couldn't speak to you, he tried his best to care for you despite you now being a prisoner in a home of cannibals.

🔪 He'd carefully place a plate in front of you and then just sit and stare at you, waiting for a reaction or for you to eat. Telling him you don't trust the meat in the case that it's human has him confused because they taste fine to him? But since your stuff was taken from you, Luda will just buy other foods for you to eat with your money.

🔪 In truth, Tommy is just as scared of you as you are of him. He doesn't want to upset you in any way because for once, it seems like he has a friend. An attractive one too. He waits for you to be more comfortable around him.

🔪 Tommy is a light sleeper so he'd have you sleep in his room with him. If you were to try and sneak out, he'd be right there to stop you. But, it's not like you have much of a way to sneak out anyway since he is completely clung to you in his sleep without realizing it. It's as though you were his pillow or plushie to cuddle during the nighttime.

🔪 When Luda noticed the way Tommy treated you, she would whisper little things he could do to impress you or make you happy. She always wanted him to find someone, especially since Tommy had his struggles.

🔪 He gets nervous when trying to do some of what Luda suggested because it felt like he was a little boy again. A little lovesick boy. But he’s a mama’s boy and knows Luda is helping him. He'd approach you and hand a flower to you, just as she suggested, hoping that it works to make you happy.

🔪 Some days, you’ll wake up to find a little note in your dresser. It’s in poor handwriting but you can tell it’s from Tommy. He picked it up from what Luda used to do—Leave notes in his lunch each day.

🔪 The first note you got had some drawings on it. You could make out smiley faces and hearts. The only legible words on the note was “I LOVE YOU”.

🔪 Tommy is very careful around you since he's aware of his size. He tries to be like a gentle giant, although, he can default to being too gentle, treating you as though you were made of glass.

🔪 He's scared to hurt you. After all, that's the only thing Hoyt has him do. Gods forbid if he did hurt you in some way, he'd slink away into the basement to avoid being around you. He would need some coaxing to understand that you're okay.

🔪 Overall though, Tommy is an absolute sweetheart. He's very attentive and willing to do whatever to make you happy. And he's also very easy to please! He's been taught to be happy with the minimum so anything besides that immediately makes him overjoyed.

🔪 Tommy's favorite thing to do is hold hands with you. He's self-conscious over the fact that his hands are scarred and rough but he can't help but be an internal mess at the electric touch between you two.

🔪 Sometimes when he's upset with Hoyt's constant yelling and berating, he'll toss you over his shoulders like nothing and bring you outside with him so he can cool down with you.

🔪 He finds solace in you. You'll find how Tommy will just sometimes stare at you because he's admiring your appearance. He has a particular fascination with your eyes. He finds it hard to look at them directly but when you aren't looking at him, it's all he can focus on.

🔪 One thing about Tommy: As much as he can be sweet, he still is a brutish murderer. Any victims who even catch a glimpse of you are his first targets.

🔪 It can be almost unnerving how easily Tommy can switch like that. To be so gentle with you to becoming a murderous beast towards anyone else.

🔪 One quick way you’ve seen Tommy get upset is when he heard Hoyt talk explicitly about your body. Hoyt did it specifically to make you uncomfortable as that is what gets him off most.

🔪 But his grin was quickly wiped off by how Tommy turned around and stared down Hoyt. He didn’t have much restraint but decided to simply pick you up and leave to his room with you. His silent threats spoke for him.

🔪 He also has a tendency to be paranoid about you staying. He makes sure you understand that this is your home now. He is your family. You wouldn't leave him alone again, right?

🔪 Tommy isn’t that hesitant to never take off his mask but he is around you because of his insecurities. He knows what generally attractive people look like considering the victims he’s caught before and knows he doesn’t look like that.

🔪 He grows more accustomed to having his mask off when you aren’t afraid to kiss and caress his face. You couldn’t be lying about that when your touch was so sweet and gentle with him.

🔪 Tommy’s main Love Languages to give are: Acts of Service and Quality Time. He loves to receive in return Quality Time and Words of Affirmation.

🔪 Tommy likes to go out of his way to do things for you because he likes to feel useful to you. Anything he can do to help you out and he’s rushing to help.

🔪 Any errand around the house he immediately takes up so he can hear you praise him for it.

🔪 If he sees you working, he’s made it a habit to get you tea or lemonade. In the mornings, he’s used to waking up early so he’ll let you sleep in and surprise you with breakfast. Before bed, he has a whole ritual for you before going to bed.

🔪 Pulling back the covers, making sure the pillows are cold and plumped up. And once you walk in, he’s planting kisses across your face, picking you up and tucking you in while he gets in beside you and holding you close.

🔪 One of his favorites to do is when you ask him to pick something up for you if it’s too heavy. When you compliment him for being strong, he’s barely letting you pick anything up anymore because he wants to hear you praise him more.

🔪 Tommy also just generally loves to spend alone time with you. Constantly being around his family in the home can leave him feeling slightly stir crazy.

🔪 He loves to just sit under a tree, under the shade and away from the harsh sun, beside you and just enjoy your presence.

🔪 Tommy was a little hesitant at the suggestion of a spa day with face masks and other things, considering he’d have to take off his mask but seeing you in the same face mask as him in the mirror and he was silently asking each week to do it again and again.

⤷ divider credits: @cafekitsune

#my precious slasher cannibal bby boy deserves the whole world in my eyes #i crave more of tommy content everyday fksgshwb #slasher x reader #slasher community #slasher fandom #slashers headcanons #slashers x reader #slashers imagines #slasher fucker #slasher headcanons #leatherface #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt headcanons

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sunnyswide · 19 days

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Simon Ghost Riley x Female Civilian Reader

The feeling of falling in love.

He sees hundreds of people throughout his Military career. Murders, drug addicts, sex workers, terrorists, children, women, men, monsters, angels, and the spiral of personality types in the streets of foreign countries. Maybe the job would be more desirable with the perks of traveling the world if it was less dangerous.

So why of all places did he have to fall for someone? Your face in the crowd of many watching the sky light up with colorful firey explosions raining through the stars.

He catches a glimpse of your delicate smile, or maybe not so delicate at the time as you marvel at humanity’s show.

He stares.. longingly, drowning out the noise of cheers and screams. You glance at him too. At least that’s what he wished happened until time began to speed up to reality.

“Simon!”

Price grips his shoulder, breaking him out of his day dreams.

“The object is in AO, stay alert”

“Understood” Simon nodded, trying to focus up.

But how? He looks back, but you were gone.

Deep inside he hoped you stayed gone, but he couldn’t help but look for your face again. Unfortunately and fortunately you disappeared, becoming a ghost in the crowd he'd wish to forget

So why in all places were you here? In his arms?

As he franticly ran through the battlefield, your limp body was tight against his straining chest. Simon was never a man to rely on any higher being, but for the first time in what seemed like decades, he begged.. no prayed for you. A random stranger he merely glimpsed at, a woman with no name or title to him, capturing more than a poor man's heart.

And so the tale as old as time went, a man stricken with Cupid's arrow unable to let go of a woman who lived another side of life. His world is so far from the pleasant life you lived. You cherished your experiences, the people, and the memories as he cherished you.

You slowly healed from the wounds afflicted, your home destroyed and your memory scattered. With nowhere to go, Simon offered you a place, a home closer to his reach.

Small graces and brisk touches filled his head, he was smitten with love, confused, and awkwardly frustrated due to his inability to confront you. And you? Well, you weren't stupid but you were oblivious. The man sheltering you, doting on you, was quite the catch, you couldn't help but feel the same way. But there was no way you'd know the ironic truth.

"I got it Luv"

"Oh no! Its okay I-"

"Hands off, don't be stuffy"

"Nu uh!"

He grabs your hands in his, swallowing your whole mitts in his.

"Dove"

He whispers in your ear, his hard muscles leaning against the small of your back. Your face burns with a red tint, gosh he was so close, you could feel his sigh. You comply and slowly release your grip on the bags, letting him carry all of them in a single hand.

He hums, using his free hand to cup yours, holding it up to his lips before gently kissing the soft skin.

"Thank you. Angel."

He walks to the kitchen, leaving you utterly in shambles wondering if he was flirting or he was being a gentleman as he is a very respectful British.

While Simon had his heart racing hoping maybe that was a step in the right direction, or many steps in the right direction.

Because in his mind he's an awkward flirt, while to everyone else (you especially). DAM BRO GOT U SWEATING *FANS SELF*

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #cod #ghost cod #call of duty

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sky-high-standards · 8 months

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Yandere Emperor x fem reader

set in medieval times. usual warnings y'all should know the drill by now☺

Your kingdom was being invaded and everyone did what they could to save it but the invaders were too strong you watched so many innocent people being slaughtered by the invaders and the survivors were taken hostage including you.

These invaders were sent by the emperor who was a cold and merciless man until he met you~

You were taken into the magnificent palace where you were forced to work for the emperor's wife Imelda, she was an extremely insufferable woman and treated all of her servants like crap. It wasn't the best life, but it could be far worse but unfortunately Imelda and the Emperor were having a rough patch and rumors said he was having multiple affairs with other women, so she was worse than usual.

You were on your way to bring Imelda her breakfast when someone bumped into to you and that person just happened to be the emperor you looked up at him wide eyed and covered in Imelda's breakfast and apologized profusely while he just stared at you he didn't look angry all he did was stare at you as you quickly collected everything and bowed before you ran off but little did you the moment he saw you that nervous look on you face got him excited in a way that no woman including Imelda had ever done something about you just caught his attention.

You walked into Imelda's room to see her crying on the floor you asked her what happened an she totally lost it.

Imelda: That's none of your concern you pathetic slave your lucky to be here but remember your place and stay out it!!!

You then left not wanting to deal with her again. It turns out that the king had just gotten tired of her and sent her off which was great news for everyone since they didn't have to deal with her anymore. Naturally the Emperor had to remarry so he had many beautiful women come to the palace where he would choose his new bride due to you being a servant you had to assist the women being sent but the strange thing was that each time a woman was being presented, he glanced at you for every single one it was as confusing to the emperor as it was to you he was just drawn to you every time he saw you a wave of excitement and...love? came over him that he wasn't used to.

Eventually he chose a wife she was very beautiful and seemed like a very suitable wife, but he never got that feeling when he was around her. The emperor's wife whose name was Miranda was very kind and caring and even befriended you she was great in every possible way, but everyone could feel the emperor didn't love her so poor Miranda made it her mission to win his affection yet nothing worked so she slowly began to give up on his affection while u didn't have to try you started to see the emperor a lot more often and you noticed his cold crystal blue eyes following you as you cleaned and unbeknownst to you it took a great deal of strength to restrain himself from pouncing of you and making you his he would go feral on the inside when you bend down to clean in his bedroom it was embarrassing how you didn't even have to do much to make him hard.

Slowly the emperor tried to have you around more to ease his hunger like "accidentally" brushing his hand against yours or having you bend down to get his pen that he "accidentally" dropped. All he wanted to do was make you his to own every inch of you, but he restrained himself, but it got harder to each time almost as if you were teasing him.

Tell me if I should make a part 2 I'm tired rn

Stay hydrated and safe love Y'all

#yandere x reader #yandere #x reader #yandere oc #yandere imagine #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x you #name my yandere #yandere boy #medieval #yandere emperor

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thisonehere · 3 months

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The Lin Kuei Boys finds out you were a woman

A/n: You were disguised as a man and they knew nothing until your true gender was revealed in some way or another. This is a headcanon version of the fic I recently mentioned in a poll, still working on that, just thought to do this because I thought it would be fun.

C/w: Mulan rip-off, afab reader, Bi-Han being Bi-Han

Bi-Han

He holds you in very high regard. You were one of his most seasoned warriors. You impressed him with your skill and ferocity in wielding a sword, shooting bows and arrows, and your tenacity in hand-to-hand combat.

He hadn't always respected you though. When you first came to him, he saw you as a sickly little boy who no would doubt die before you even entered a training ground.

But you surprised him, you were much stronger, faster, and vicious than you appeared. Impressed, Bi-Han took you under his wing and taught you everything he knew.

You made Bi-Han proud with every victory you had. Though most of the time he had a stern frown on his face most of the time, it was noticeable that Bi-Han had a smile on his whenever he watched you train. He even laughed to himself when you and him would spar. Finally, he has found a worthy warrior to welcome into his inner circle.

Whenever you had meetings, he was sure to sit you close to him with Kuai, Sektor, and Cyrax. He would even try to replace poor Tomas with you. But, much to his surprise, you declined. You didn't hesitate to argue and push back with Bi-Han whenever the situation arose. And Bi-Han liked it, you have the spine to talk back and stand up to him. Though it is stupid to stand against him, he appreciated the gall enough.

He notices how often you hide your body and even your face with masks and baggy clothes. He of course found it strange, but he was willing to look past it. He has seen your face and he found it weird how...womanly you sometimes looked. He also found it weird how he was attracted he was to you...but, once again, he ignored it.

When it is revealed

...

WHAT!?!?!?!

Impossible. It can't be. You...You're a woman?!?!

Bi-han's brain is frazzled by all this news. He doesn't know what to think. All those times he spared with you, argued with you, watched you fight...you were a woman, you could've gotten hurt. A wave of confusion and strange anger encompasses him after this.

He feels...emasculated by you. Every time he lost to you, he lost to a woman! He is the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei and he was brought low by you, it wounds his fragile ego.

Things change considerably after that. Where once he saw you as steel and mighty, now he views you as glass and fragile. Whenever you asked to spar he declined, he even would try to shut you down if you tried to fight with any other of his men. He wouldn't send you on missions, but he would begrudgingly concede because Kuai would insist that you'd come.

He suddenly views you as weak and constantly at risk of dying, even though you have proven that you are just as good as any of his other men.

He would always berate his men and wouldn't hesitate to be rough with them, but with you, he was very gentle, almost respectful. Whenever you entered the room he would rise from his chair if he was sitting, even going so far as offering his set to you. He would be strangely polite to you, which just felt wrong for him to act that way.

He couldn't deny anymore that he was attracted to you. Whenever he held meetings you felt his eyes linger on you. Whenever he is alone, images of you run through his mind. You're all he can think about, he has become obsessed. He can't take it anymore, he has to have you. This makes sense, doesn't it? Surely, a strong woman like you belongs with a strong man like him.

He doesn't straight away reveal his intentions. Instead, he teases and suggests such ideas to you. He gets angry when you don't seem interested, or worse, that you don't notice. And unfortunately for him, you refuse. Things get rough between you two, the tension is sometimes so thick you could cut it with a knife. Bi-han still looks at you with desire in his, and you ignore him.

Kuai Liang

You and Kuai had a very close relationship. You would spar together almost all the time, and you'd hang out in a normal way too. Kuai was a much easier man to be around compared to Bi-Han.

When you first came to the Lin Kuei, Bi-Han almost immediately turned you away. You would have been sent away in shame, had not Kuai Liang intervened. He spoke on your behalf and convinced his brother to let you stay. And even he was surprised when you proved to be an exceptional warrior.

You make him proud to call you "friend". He loved watching how you fight, it's almost like you're dancing. He beams in pride at every victory you take in Kombat. He struggles to fight off a smile whenever Bi-han acknowledges you with respect.

Kuai loves you greatly, he considers you a brother like he does Tomas. But he will admit, there are some parts of you that he finds weird. Such as how you always were sure to wear clothes that were baggy and didn't show the shape of your body, or how your voice sounded a tad bit weird, like you were trying to make it sound deeper than it truly was. Nonetheless, he respected you and your choices.

He can't lie, Kuai does feel some strange attraction to you. He doesn't know why, it feels so strange to feel this way, especially towards you. He doesn't say anything about this to you or anyone else, such feelings should be suppressed and ignored. Besides, you his closest friends and greatest warriors, why would he ever want to change things with you and jeopardise your relationship?

When it is revealed

Oh...Well, that's a surprise.

Kuai is taken by surprise by this. He never would've anticipated who you truly were. Unlike Bi-han, he isn't upset because you're a woman, he's upset because he feels a little betrayed. The person he thought he knew may not be who they say they are. His mind races, who are you truly? Are you the same person he grew to love and call a friend, or was that an act so you could fit in?

Kuai has always been respectful to you, and that doesn't change after you are revealed to be a woman. He still thinks of you highly, though his view of you is shaken slightly. He still treats you like an equal and like family. He hopes that you, though it might have been fake, keep your close bond and stay friends.

Kuai notices Bi-Han's sudden treatment towards you and often finds himself arguing with him on your behalf. He refuses to sit aside and watch his brother treat him this way. Kuai makes an effort to treat you the same as when he thought you were a man

He does have thoughts about you, many thoughts about you. The feelings he has for you seem to grow every day. He wants to say something to you, express how he feels. But he knows this could ruin your relationship, he also doesn't want to treat you differently, so he continues to smile to your face and treat you with respect and desire you in private. He watches you train, awed by your greatness. "You fight well, for a...uh...n-nevermind." He says, embarrassed and instantly regretting his words.

Tomas

Tomas? You two are inseparable. Though Kuai always tried, Tomas has always felt like an outsider. Bi-Han didn't help matters with his constant berating.

So he is so happy when you come. With you, he feels a close bond. You're both outsiders, no Lin Kuei blood in your veins. But you form some sort of "brotherhood" of your own.

With you, Tomas feels fully able to express how he feels with fear of being judged like he is with his adoptive family. You don't mock his shyness, you embrace it and make him feel special.

He deeply appreciates you don't hesitate to defend him whenever Bi-Han even thinks about bullying him. You're protective of him, it makes him feel so safe and loved. You and Kuai mean more to him than you could even know.

You're such an amazing warrior, so strong, so brave. Tomas... loves you. It feels strange for him to feel this way about another man but he does and he doesn't hate it. He ha ya grown so attached to you that he can't imagine a single thing coming between you.

After it is revealed.

Oh, my Gods! You're a...this is so embarrassing...

Tomas can't help but feel panicked and embarrassed. After all that time you and he have spent together, he has said some things, and done some things that he would be too shy to ever do with anyone else but you. he thought he knew you, but now he's not sure if he even knows a single thing about you.

He feels cheeks flush with abashment whenever he sees you. After all, you have done and said with each other, he worries about what you might truly think of him. Are you still friends?

Hates the way he now views you so differently. You're a woman, yes, but that doesn't mean you deserve to be treated differently. For some time, he is awkward and distant around you, scared that he'll make a wrong move and embarrass himself in front of you.

But you act no differently than when he thought you were a man. You still fought with strength and ferocity, you don't back down whenever someone like Bi-Han attempts to put you or him down, and you still have that glorious fire in your eyes. The fire that Tomas loved so much.

So things go back to normal between you two. Well...he still has a crush on you. But what's new? As long as he could stay by your side and call you "friend", that's all that matters to him.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 3 months

Text

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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jyoongim · 2 months

Text

~BLOOD & BLISS~

Human!Alastor x wife!Reader

Themes: 1930 based! Human!Alastor x wife!Reader, domestic life!fluff, smut, slow burn plot, devotion, slight manipulation, mention of children, pregnancy, blood, murder, secrets

————————————————————————

Chapter three chapter five

Chapter Four

“Oh darling look at you! And here I thought you wouldn’t give me grandchildren” your mother laughed as she hugged you.

Your mother had invited you and Alastor over since you had sent her a letter about some exciting news you wanted to share.

You didn’t know whether to take her comment as a compliment or insult.

”Why ain’t your husband with you? I know that man ain’t have you travel here all alone in your condition” she frowned displeased.

”Momma you know how busy Al is. He’s been trying to catch up on work so he can take time off for the baby” you pouted.

She sucked her teeth, before a smile dawned her face

”well that means we can go shopping! Have you decorated the nursery? Do you have a nursery? Oooh honey why don’t you come home when you have the baby? A newborn is a lot of work” she was ranting and you sighed, rubbing your heavy stomach.

”Momma im perfectly capable of taking care of my baby. I’ve read all the books” your mother gave you a funny look

”books? Oh girl those books ain’t gonna help you. You need experience. Youre a first time mom, you have no instincts in raising a youngin ”

You pouted. You felt like a teenager being chastised.

You knew your mother meant well, but sometimes you had to stop her ‘good intentions’.

”Ill be fine. Alastor’s gonna be there and Im sure we can figure it out. Aint that what parenthood all about?”

She hummed “If you say, now lets head to town. I want my grandbaby to have the best!”

—————————————————————————-

You fanned yourself as you finally sat down. The summer heat was not kind to you as your mother had dragged you to every shop in town.

The two of you had finished up shopping and were now at a little restaurant. You smiled in thanks as the waiter sat a glass of cold water in front of you.

Your mother cooed as she looked over several items she had bought.

You think she was more excited than you and you were the pregnant one.

”Momma I think you overdid it. There’s no way the baby is gonna wear or use any of that” you mused, sipping the water.

She waved you off.

”so…how has Alastor handled the news?” She asked.

You blinked “he’s very excited. He says he don’t care about the gender, but he’s taken to thinking it’ll be a girl” you giggled.

”haha a girl? Oh no you’re definitely having a boy darling” she laughed.

You titled your head in confusion.

Your mother smirked “Your belly is big and low and you’re not even halfway through your term, that means you’re having a boy. ”

She continued “Most men want a boy on the first go. A scrappy boy is the jewel of every man’s pride”

You rubbed your stomach, smiling “Well it don’t matter im sure hell adore the baby no matter what”

She hummed and picked up the newspaper that was on the table.

The headline read ‘fifth body found in canal’

”Such a shame the authorities can’t find killer. Those poor souls. This is the fifth body that’s been found and practically in your backyard. You really need to careful dear” she said grimacing.

You weren’t too worried. All the victims were random, but they weren’t pregnant women. “I don’t think the killer is slaying harmless pregnant women momma”

She shrugged “Can never be too sure dear”

———————————————————————————

Alastor whistled as he cleaned the kitchen. Bright red water filled the sink as he wronged the sponge. You would have a fit if you saw the state of your kitchen and Alastor couldn’t have an upset wife.

You had went to visit your mother, thinking it was time to tell the woman that the two of you were expecting. You had wanted him to come along, but he thought it would be better if the two of you spent some time together.

So he took the time to go hunting. It had been a while since he had a good hunt and he had a taste for deer meat.

Once the kitchen was spotless, he discarded what he didn’t need into a bag. He headed down to the cellar with the rest of the trash.

He tied the bag and reached for the other one.

Hauling it back to the kitchen, he turned on the radio to listen to some tunes as he prepared to cook. You should have been coming home in a few hours and he was sure you would be hungry. It was rather hot today, so instead of slaving too much over the stove he opted for a simple stew.

He pulled the meat out of the bag and began to cut it.

He pulled a pot from the cabinet and filled it with onions, carrots, and a little water were added into the pot as he cleaned the meat.

As the pot boiled, he plopped the meat in a pan to cook it down.

The kitchen filled with the smell of herbs and meat as he worked.

He added some seasoning to the meat and transferred the chopped meat to the pot.

He turned the heat low and let it simmer.

He nodded in satisfaction and took a look at himself. Disgusting

He was covered in blood. He sighed and went upstairs.

Light red swirled down the drain. Alastor rolled his neck, a soft pop was heard and he sighed in relief.

Once finished in the shower, he gathered the dirty clothes and headed out back in the yard.

He waved to the passing neighbors as thee fire crackled, a pleasant smile on his face.

Once the fire died down, he headed back inside to check on the stew.

He stirred it and turned it off.

He fixed a cold sweet tea and took a seat at the dining table.

His mind wandered to you. He wondered how you were fairing in this heat. He was sure you were ready to come home and relax. Your mother was a handful.

Your pregnancy was coming along nicely.

You had rounded out and now you sported a big belly. His cock twitched in his pants. He couldn’t believe how insatiable he had become since you had become pregnant. He couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

You had transformed beautifully. You always seemed to be glowing, though you swore it was sweat. You had become incredibly sensitive, your mood swings putting you both through the ringer.

You had voiced your concern about your image as you had filled out nicely, gaining weight from the baby you now carried. You couldn’t fit any of your usual form fitting outfits, opting for loose dresses.

Alastor reassured you that you looked beautiful no matter what. He enjoyed a little meat being on your bones.

You were softer and he loved every minute of it.

His eyes traveled to the pot, he wondered if you had ate. He really wanted to see how you would react to the meal he prepared. While you love his cooking, the baby was picking, which resulted in you being sick a lot.

The buzz from the hunt still rippled through him as his lips curled in a smile.

yeeesss how would his little wife enjoy the meal he prepared for her?

He made a mental note to take out the trash later but for now, he waited for you to return home as he opened a book about parenting.

He should ask you what color you wanted the nursery….

——————————————————————————-

Your mouth watered as you came through the door “What did you cook Al it smells really good”

Your husband chuckled as he closed the book and walked over to you. You were trying to beeline it to the kitchen, but your husband wrapped his arms around you and pressed his lips to yours. He grinned as your stomach created a space between the two of you, running an affectionate hand over the bump “Well hello to you too my dear. How was your mother? I see the two of you went shopping” His eyes took in the amount of bags you brought back.

You huffed “Yea Ma would have bought out the entire store if I let her, i tell you I think she’s more happy about a grandbaby than when we got married”

Alastor coaxed you to the couch, smiling as you sighed as he massaged your aching back. He pressed soft kisses to your exposed shoulders “I didn’t know if you had ate already, so I made a stew. Let’s hope the baby like it. I read that warm foods were better than the ice cream you’ve been sneakng” he snickered as you pouted.

”Just relax a bit and Ill make you a bowl”

You smiled at him “I want crackers too!” You called after him.

Alastor returned with a steaming bowl of stew. It smells so good and your stomach growled in hunger. “I tried a different meat but I hope you like it my dear”

You thanked him and rolled your eyes as he picked up the spoon and held it to your mouth. You blew on it softly before chomping on the spoon.

Your tongue tingled as you savored the flavor.

The meat was softer than you were use to, maybe pork or a different beef?

Whatever it was it was good!

”Mmmhmm this is so good. The texture of the meat is a bit off but its really good Al” you complimented.

He beamed at you, pearly whites glistening at you. “Im happy you like it and you didn’t throw it up im proud baby”

You quickly finished the meal and showed him everything your mother bought for the new arrival.

Alastor smiled in content as you happily showed him the baby wares; clothing, toys,and other gadgets. Seeing you so excited filled him with an unexplainable feeling. His hand caressed your belly as you ranted.

”Did you know that there’s a killer on the loose?” Your sudden question brought his attention back. Your face was filled with worry.

Alastor tensed, but relaxed “We had gotten a few reports down at the studio but no real leads. Why do you ask dear?”

You placed your hand over his that was on your bulging belly. “I-Im just concerned. I mean we do have a child on the way and i dont really feel safe walking the streets in this vulnerable condition. My mother suggested we move into the summer house.” You looked down, Alastor kissed your forehead “Im sure well be fine. Besides it seems the killer has a little mortals. No woman has been harmed. So dont fret my dear” he assured you.

You sighed, he was right. There was no need to worry.

“I would never let a soul hurt you” he whispered against your forehead.

You hummed and started giggling as he nipped at your ear “Al!!!”

You tried to wiggled away, but your husband softly pushed you back on the couch, being mindful of your belly.

”Now why dont I show you that I am more than capable hmm?” He grinned down at you.

—————————————————————————————————-

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