#BUT ANYWAY BACK TO THE PINING WITH JOHN BIT

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

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. 

TAGS:

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[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

tbh.. what do you think 141 smells like? i'm going to list smells of what i think they smell like..

• soap smells like gasoline. idk why, but he smells of that nice gas you pour into your car. (idk how to explain it. but the smell of gasoline is nice..)

• gaz smells like oranges, a fresh orange that's perfectly picked.. or mangos. i can see him smelling like either.

• people say soap smells like your ordinary 3 in 1 shampoo dude but i think it's ghost. i mean, soap has his hair all prettily done but ghost? smells like 3 in 1. i've never smelt a bottle like that, but it smells.. fresh. a bit minty even.

• price smells like.. a rainforest. like a heavy woody smell. i'm not sure why, but he definitely smells like that. like a rainy forest, with wet moss on the ground.

anyways those are my thoughts!! :)

I actually answered an ask about their scents a while back!

But I just wanna say that I wanna add to that and, hijacking your own hc a little bit...

What I think...

The 141 Boys' scents in an A/B/O AU:

Johnny smells like the sea. It's fresh and soothing, but discreet, very much so. You wouldn't expect it, much less feel it, unless you're searching for it. Salt water, seaweed... that kind of thing.

Kyle smells like something warm and cosy and gooey that melts in your mouth. My brain is saying honey or honeycomb, caramel or toffee maybe?.

Simon smells strong. Way too strong. He'd definitely be the type to need to wear scent blockers. He smells like burning, a campfire, a forest fire, maybe gasoline or sulphur.

John smells like a forest, rain forest sure, but I could also see him smell of pine and very obviously so. Sometimes pine sap smells close to mint, so people would def make that mistake, until they smell a pine tree around Christmas and realize John smells like it.

[missmarveledsblog]

IDiots (dean winchester x reader )

Summary : when reader becomes the victim of a entity Dean is forced to admit feeling that he thought he could keep away in fear of being hurt .

Warning : little angsty mostly fluffy

Shit hitting the fan was an understatement of the century . The boys stood stuck to the ground watching as it loomed over her . He knew it was his fault , he knew they told him it was bad idea and yet he knew better . He knew this stuff more than they did or so he thought. Now he stood frozen while his brother screamed for it to leave her alone , while the woman he's loves in now on the ground out cold while evil lurks over her and it was all his fault . They warned him a week ago and he didn't listen.

It was always the same on case sam and Y/N sat in the kitchen of the bunker laptops on and researching away . " so the story goes a woman Jane Howard was killed by some dude one night , a man by John.. Smith really this has got to be fake .. anyway he was in love with Jane but never told her went on rampage in his madness killing single women some say he now attaches to a woman and if her love doesn't announce himself to her he take her soul to live with him for eternity " she couldn't help laugh at the ridiculousness of it all . " hey maybe I can get slash to admit he knows and loves me " she snorted. " or someone else would grow balls and do it " sam muttered shooting his brother a quick glance . " awh Sammy I love you too .. not like that though but we have our pact still " she teased . " pact? " . " if we're both single by 50 I marry her " sam smiled seeing the jealous glare from his brother . " yup have in writing too , I mean it's on a beer mat but still OK I need to pack up I'll meet you guys in an hour " she giggled heading off to her room . " you think maybe we should ask her sit this out giving she probably going to die before you admit your feelings to her " sam mused . " she not into me dude so let's drop this " he huffed walking off to his own room . " idiots I'm surrounded by idiots " sam face palmed .

Walking out she was standing looking at the brothers pouting up at them. " cas will be fine " Dean rolled his eyes . " but he's a baby " she whined . " he older than three of us combined ... plus Bobby's got him " . " I miss him already " she pouted making his heart beat faster . " go give him another hug " he smiled making her bolt into the bunker . " now if I asked that I'd be told to suck it up " sam teased . " hey Bobby give her special treatment too , plus she clearly pining for the big baby " he pointed out . " well then maybe he'll do what you can't but cas isn't the one she pining for i can definitely tell you that much " sam shot back . " he's a bit better but still sad " she sighed getting into the impala cutting dean asking what his brother ment by that . " come on we can get you some of those candy bars you like on the way " sam smiled brightly at her . " its like your in love with cas " Dean rolled his eyes . " I love all you guys .. some more than other " she whispered looking at him before getting into the car . " idiots " sam exhaled before following.

Pulling up to the motel instead of waking the sleeping woman Dean decided she was too cute to disturb only for him to lift her and carry her in leaving his brother to carry the bags . " yeah course I got it " the younger winchester huffed . Not that his brother listened nor did he care when she held on tight nuzzling her head into his chest letting out a content sigh . Maybe she could love him back like he loved her but then again the self doubt kicked in . She was light and he was just the darkest of dark . A woman like her couldn't love him. She was too special and he was the boy who couldn't even make his own father proud no matter what he did . No a girl like her was made for his brother . Caring sweetheart who would make sure everyone was OK before herself . A smile and laugh that could brighten anyone's day no he would never have a woman love the likes of him , he was sure of it . Placing her gently on the bed he rushed out of the room, only just as he did she smiled in her sleep calling his name . " idiot " sam huffed placing the bags at the near by table .

Driving to the house another woman losing her life what perplexed then was the man admitted he love her yet she still died . " oh no " she gasped . " what is it " sam turned checking her over . " she didn't love him back its why she died " she sniffled . "Great so it like a true loves first kiss but with a entity " Dean growled . " we'll get him don't worry " she patted his shoulder. " hey why don't you sit this one out " sam turned to her. " yeah I mean if he latches on I don't think we could get slash here on time " Dean joked making her eyes roll . " he not my true love though " she blew her nose. "Well im sure cas can come soon then " he didn't mean for it to come out snappy . " you think I love cas like that " she snorted . " I mean your always cuddling him , hate leaving him and well i don't know " he shrugged. " i cuddle sammy too and bobby when he lets me " she deadpanned which wasn't a lie she was a cuddler . " your not in love with cas " he asked. " i love him but not in love with him " she murmured . " idiots " sam grumbled .

they went after the entity it keep messing with her locking her into rooms or pushing her little things it considered as warning leading the brothers to take her from the house and back to the motel. " your sitting this one out " dean slammed the door while sam checked the small cuts the litter her hands after she was pushed into glass. "i'm not letting a bully win " she growled. " your not going " sam said putting the gauze on her hand . " i'm going and where going to kick his ass, i'm going to have a shower " she got off the bed grabbing her clothes before heading to the bathroom . " you need to either tell her or make her sit this one out " sam waited til the shower was on . " why don't you tell her , it's clear your the one she loves " he shot back . " i love her like a sister god you are so blind to what's in front of you , you need to get her to sit it out, he's already feeding on you and she getting hurt " he said holding up the glass shard filled dish . " a guy like me doesn't get with a girl like that ok i am sick of you pushing this " he growled slamming the door . only for sam to look up and see her standing there heartbroken hearing his words. " he didn't mean it the way you think he did " he began but she just grabbed her coat and shoes before heading out the door herself storming past the older winchester . " idiots " sam yelled out at them .

she knew it was stupid , something she was completely regretting the minute she stepped in the house but ever since they took on this case everything went to shit . Maybe a broken heart could take on a broken heart was her stupid reasoning . His words replayed over in her head making her head reel . That was til she was locked in a room trying to get out til she was knocked across the room her phone hitting the ground as dean number came up and answer , he could here her groans and followed by something he could only describe as a disembodied growl . " shit we're coming sweetheart " he called before the line went completely dead. now here they stood stuck while the entity stood over her body sucking and draining the life from her . The fear of losing her was growing stronger then the fear of rejection . "please stop ok take me , i know you don't but take me i will take her place , they world can't lose a woman like that , a woman who would starve rather then let someone go hungry , one who cries at stupid video's online because someone is sad and she can't help , i'd rather you take me then take the woman i love out from this world" he finally felt the words spewn only for her to sit up gasping grabbing the pistol and shooting the entity and the two men being able to move . " i'm sorry " was all she said not that he cared he was stunned , knowing the only reason she was talking now was because in some divine madness meant she loved him like really loved him . she couldn't get another word out before she felt him pull her up and smash his lips to her . " finally ... idiots " sam smiled looking at the pair.

[imbestforyou]

you belong with me

pairing: jj maybank x bestfriend!reader

summary: reader is in love with jj, but jj’s dating another girl…

warnings: unmutual pining, minor profanity, poorly edited, cliffhanger (sorry i got lazy), short pt. 2 if people want it idk, little angst and fluff

approx. reading time: 8 minutes and 30 seconds

writing inspo: you belong with me (taylor’s version) by taylor swift

masterlist :)

“wait what?” i exclaimed. i was sitting in sarah’s room listening to her talk about her day at the beach with the pogues.

“yes i swear! he brought emily there and had his arm wrapped around her and everything! didn’t even surf, which is crazy for jj.”

“so he must be serious about this girl, right?” i sighed as i layed on her bed. i couldn’t believe it. jj maybank? in a relationship with a kook girl?

“i mean i don’t know much. but if i’m being honest, he didn’t seem that interested in her.” she talked as she curled her hair for her date with john b. i stayed silent. i couldn’t believe it.

————————————————————————————

“hey y/n!” i stopped in my tracks. i knew that voice all too well. and it was the voice of someone i had been ignoring for the past two weeks. i turned slowly to face him.

“hey.” i said looking at the floor. purposely avoiding eye contact. it wasn’t that i didn’t want to see jj, i did. but it hurt to know he was dating someone else. especially emily, someone who was drastically different from me, from all the pogues to be honest.

“i feel like i haven’t seen you in forever. what’s up with that? sarah told me you’ve been sick, but i told her that was bullshit. you haven’t gotten sick since like the 3rd grade.” he grabbed me by the shoulders playfully. i look up to see emily staring at me from the bar.

“uh yeah. i don’t know what happened. probably got it from my parents after they came back from new york.” it was a lie. my parents hadn’t been to new york in ages.

with emily giving me a death stare and jj touching me, i was feeling claustrophobic and a little freaked out, “anyways look i’ll see you later. i have to get home and get some homework done.” i turn around and start walking before he can begin a sentence.

————————————————————————————

you're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset

she's going off about something that you said

‘cause she doesn't get your humor like I do

my eyes were closed while i sunbathed on the beach before i was interrupted by another call on my phone.

jj <3 - 3 missed calls

jj <3 - calling now

“hello?”

“y/n? y/n! hey how- how are you doing?” he stutters a bit.

“hey i’m doing fine? are you okay? you sound a little weird.”

“i’m good just pissed at emily.” he huffed.

“ahh emily. so how is your new girlfriend?”

“she’s pissed at me for some lame joke i made with pope. and she called attacking me and shit because i was being a douchebag or something.”

“ha what else is new.” i joke. and he laughs which stops my heart for a minute. i pause then ask,

“what was the joke?” i ask, curious to know why emily would be so upset.

“i told her the dress she was wearing looked like a hospital gown and she got all pissed. wasn’t even a good joke…” he mumbled.

i laughed, he was right. it wasn’t, i could think of thousands of jokes better, but i could tell it must’ve been an attempt to make emily and pope laugh.

“i guess she doesn’t get your humor.”

“guess not…” he sighs then starts again,

“hey l was wondering if you wanted to hang out later. i don’t know i’ve been feeling really distant from you recently.

“yeah i’m sorry about that, um so like with the pogues or…?”

“nah just yo- sorry hold that thought emily’s calling me and i really don’t want to make her more mad. i’ll call you back.”

he never called back.

————————————————————————————

im in the room, it's a typical tuesday night

im listening to the kind of music she doesn't like

and she'll never know your story like I do

a week had passed and he still hadn’t called me. i wasn’t even trying to ignore him anymore, he just was never around. school had ended and summer break had finally begun. and still no call.

as i layed on my bed and sang along to “the blue” by gracie abrams, sarah tries convincing me to talk to jj.

“why don’t you just call him? see what’s up? it’s not like him to be this distant. it’s with john b too, hasn’t been to the chateau recently. and you know how his dad is.”

“a shitty father is what he is.” i spit out. even though i was irritated at jj for not even trying to keep any communication between any of the pogues my hatred for luke will always be worse.

i sit up, “look he’s probably fine and with emily. i’ll talk to john b to get him to chill. but honestly i don’t think jj wants to keep contact with any of us. if he wanted to he would have.”

“i don’t know, you should call him. emily has like tied him up all for herself. have you noticed that?”

but she wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts

shes cheer captain and im on the bleachers

dreaming 'bout the day when you wake up and find

that what you're looking for has been here the whole time

“i mean i think everyone has. or that fact that she’s nothing like any of us and exactly like the type of girl he would make fun of.”

“a kook princess, like what i was.”

“exactly. i don’t want to judge him but why would he go into a relationship with someone who he so obviously doesn’t like?”

“something is up y/n. go figure it out.” she grabbed my car keys and pushed me out the door.

————————————————————————————

standing by and waiting at your back door

all this time, how could you not know, baby?

you belong with me, you belong with me

i take a deep breathe before knocking at his door.

no response. i knock again.

“hello! anyone home?”

“shut the hell u- y/n?” jj opens the door.

“hi- hey i just came to check on you. can i come in?”

he turns back, no doubt looking for his father. “probably not the best idea.”

“yeah- yeah uh wanna go to mine? so we can talk?” he nods and shuts the door behind him. he doesn’t make eye contact but all i can do is stare at the blood on his face and knuckles.

oh, I remember you driving to my house

in the middle of the night

im the one who makes you laugh

when you know you're 'bout to cry

and I know your favorite songs

and you tell me 'bout your dreams

think I know where you belong

think I know it's with me

i unlock my house from the back door to hopefully not make as much noise. my parents couldn’t find out i was sneaking in a boy in the middle of the night. i hurriedly close the door to my room and turn to him.

“are you okay?” i spill out.

“yes.” he’s quiet, that’s not the jj i know.

“you know you can talk to us, right? like any of the pogues, we’re here for you. i’m here for you.” i move closer and touch the blood on his forehead, and he winces. his head is sticky, like if he had been sweating. and i can’t decide whether it’s because of the humidity or if he was fighting with his father. probably both.

“luke?” he just nods. my heart breaks for him. i grab his hand and let him sit on my bed. i grab my first aid kit and rubbing alcohol and get to work on the blood and bruises on his hand and knuckles.

we sit in comfortable silence. but it was mostly me waiting to see if he was going to talk about his dad.

“i didn’t want to ignore you guys.” he speaks so low, i almost couldnt hear him. i kneel down so i can look at his face.

“then why did you?”

“i- i told my dad something, stupid i know. but he blew up on me a couple weeks ago. told me his boss had a nice daughter named emily my age. said if i could get with her, he’d get more money or some shit. i don’t know i guess i wanted to make him proud. so i- i started dating her. kept fucking it up and he would beat the shit out of me. didn’t want you guys to see me like that.”

i sighed. my hands were holding his for comfort. something we’d done since we were kids but felt really unfamiliar now.

“what’d you tell your dad to make him set you up with emily?”

he coughed, “told’m that i loved someone.”

my heart dropped for the second time in two months. why did i even think for a second that’d i’d have a chance? i told myself we belonged together.

“oh.” i got up and released my hands from his. suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. i cleared my throat.

“um well, i have some sleeping bags in my closet and if you want you can sleep in my bed or um whatever feels more com-“

“i told him i loved you.”

[caxde]

uncertainty | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary you are Dustin’s older sister, and you have developed a very confussing attraction to your brother and friend's fiend, Eddie. (3.4k),

warnings fem!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn friends to lovers, idiots in love!!!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read! 

this is based on this lovely ask <3 thank you for the request!

“I’m leaving in five!” You screamed up at the staircase, as you heard the hurried steps of your little brother rushing around. 

“I’ll need seven!” He shouts back, voice high in pitch. 

“Now you have four, hurry up!” You plead from downstairs, with a short laugh that escaped your lips as you could picture your little brother going absolutely insane, having overslept once again. 

“Shit, shit. Okay!” 

“Language!” You yelled as you went over the little drawer that held your car and house keys, turning around to pick up your favourite washed up brown leather jacket. Even if your mom kept babbling away about how it wasn’t really that warm, you debated the opposite, having worn it for the last 6 months. Either way it doesn’t really matter what she thinks, she’s not here to tell you anything. 

As you opened the front door you squint your eyes at the bright January sun, it was cold, but once you stood up and the light hitted you, it felt as if you were begging to warm up, waking up with the earth, in a weird poetic way. 

“Thought you were in a hurry.” Dustin teased at you as he looked up at you. 

“I am, come on.” You told him as you teased him back, pushing him a bit so he actually hurries up. “You know, if you actually went to bed when you should” You start saying as you start the car. 

“Oh come on!” He replayed in annoyance. “I did go to bed, you know?” 

“Yeah, at four in the morning!” You yelled back at him, feeling how truely tired you were. “And you know I end up incredibly tired when I have to go to The Hideout and help out Dust…” You try to make him understand. 

“You didn’t sleep?” He asks back, worry on his voice. 

“I did, just…” You looked back at his little brown eyes, true compassion for you, you knew he felt bad now. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s just, if you’re talking to Suzie keep your voice low okay big guy?” Your voice calms now, feeling bad for having yelled at him. 

“Yeah, okay. Sorry.” He replayed softly as he looked down at his feet. 

The car ride stayed silent. 

As you parked the car and got out to help him as you always had, grabbing his backpack for him, and giving him a side hug you smiled at him. 

“Sorry for yelling.” He nodded and started to look out for his friends. “Pick up at five?” 

“Yeah.” He said as he started to leave. You nodded at him as he left. 

You were tired, but you didn’t actually regret helping out at The Hideout, if anything, John was doing you a favour. It was proving to be rather tricky to find another job, since you decided you would rather be full time anywhere else than half time in Family Video, though you missed hanging out with Steve so much, you kept hope. 

And anyways, yesterday ended up being a good night. 

A very good night. 

Might be the fact that he tips had run high, or that John asked you to come again today, or maybe, and if we’re being sincere, it was because Eddie had come over. Granted, it hadn’t been only him, but it didn’t matter, not if you could only see him. 

And maybe it was because your friends had waited for you to finish your shift, and had made it bearable, but again, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew it had been his soft I always like seeing you that had made the night better. 

-

“You shouldn’t trust it.” Robin mocked you once again. 

“She’s got a point.” Steve continued. 

“Oh fuck off you two.” You added, still smiling at them as you did. 

“I’m just saying… I mean, you have a massive, incredible, planet sized crush on the dude, so you should know, like make it so important.” She tried to rationalize with you as her hands flew through the hair as she was talking, which only made Steve laugh even more. 

“Like you have on Vickie?” You tried to tease her back. 

“Hey! Not fair, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.” She sentenced, as she threw the old kitchen rag at you as you all laughed again. 

“Oh come on, pick on Steve and his crush on Nancy!” You plead as she turned again looking back at him. 

“That was uncalled for.” He said under his breath. 

“Just stating the obvious.” You pointed as you turned around to your oven. 

As the rambling and teasing continued you checked the time once again. You weren’t that late, and still, you always felt anxious you would be. 

Saturday dinners were the only thing that had remained constant through the years, regardless of what was going on, you always found time to see each other, either for a quick sandwich or a full course dinner. 

So it felt nice to see them in your house, teasing you, as they cooked the pizzas from scratch you couldn’t help but smile at the picture of them, remembering how hellish last year had been. 

Your thoughts got interrupted by the doorbell. 

“Is it Dustin?” Robin asked as her head moved to look at you. 

“No, Dust is staying at the Wheelers.” You replayed with uncertainty in your voice. “Were you expecting someone?” You ask, looking at Steve, and you see how the corners of his lips start to curl upwards. 

“I might have invited Munson over…” A smirk appears on his face, and on yours embarrassed rosy cheeks appear.

-

The warm vapor of the tiny dishwasher hits your face, making it hard to breathe for just a second before you step back and let your hands wash the steam off your face. You take a deep breath, it’s only one more hour until close time, and then you would be free to go back home, back to your bed, and if you're honest, back to overthinking. Thankfully, The Hideout was emptying, and as usual, everyone that left said goodbye to you, and you tried to remain cheerful and respond to every one by name. 

“Henderson, we might go too.” Steve yells over the music. As you nod to him you head on to his direction, so you can actually hug him goodbye. 

“We would stay but… It’s getting pretty late, we’re sorry.” Robin adds as she hugs you too. 

“I get it, it’s alright don’t worry.” You replay as you look at both of them, smiling gratefully that they have stayed this long. 

“Actually, I think I’ll stay.” His voice fills you up, low and deep, raspy making your skin tingle. “If you don’t mind.” 

“ ‘Course not.” You add, trying to not sound as nervous as you feel looking at him, his brown eyes locked onto you. 

“O-key then.” Steve adds with a hidden laugh. “See you tomorrow?” You nod as they leave. 

You can’t help but smile as you head back into the bar, feeling his stare onto you, and not only that, but his shy smile too. 

Without even asking, you serve him another beer and he takes it, taking a sip while his eyes shine at you. A quick glance at the clock lets you know that it is now acceptable for you to start cleaning up, letting the couple tables that are still finishing their drinks know that you want to leave, and they seem to get the message once they get up a few moments later. They pay you what they owe you and leave slowly. 

You take your time to actually close the register, and once you look up, you see the long haired boy returning with the tray of empty glasses and bottles. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” You say in a soft whisper, feeling how your cheeks warm up as you do so. 

“I know, but you look exhausted, so…” He tilts his head as he looks down at you. “You go sit, and I’ll clean up a bit, okay?” He continues as he starts to clean the glasses and throws away the empty beer bottles. You smile as you circle back to where he was, and he smirks as he watches you do so. 

You let your body rest, for the second that it does so, you feel the tiredness catching up to you. 

It feels weird, not in a bad sense to have someone taking care of you in that way. Not by anyone, but him. Focused into doing what he has seen you do a thousand times, he even pours you a beer so you can actually relax, but to be honest with yourself, it’s not the alcohol that makes you feel fazed, but him looking at you from time to time as he gives you small smirks and giggles every time your eyes meet. You feel your whole body warming up as he does so, feeling absolutely enamored by the littlest things he does, even the way he pushes his hair away from his face makes you melt a little bit. And still, it just confuses you more and more. 

Conflicted might be a good definition. 

You are aware that you’ve fallen for him, not ashamed of it, you don’t really care if he knows, but you are scared to find out if he feels the same way about you. You can’t help but let your mind wonder, does he? Does he get as fidgety as you do when you walk into a room? Does he daydream about you in the same way that you’ve caught yourself doing so many times? Does he wish that someday your body is pressed against his as desperately as he does every time your hands meet for just a moment? Does he wonder how your lips taste? 

“You okay, love?” He asks. Once you look up to him you feel your thoughts stop all of a sudden, mesmerized by the way his eyes shine at you. It lingers in your brain. lovelovelove. How can someone look so angelic while saying such a silly word, you are not sure. 

“Yeah, I..-” You can’t find any words to continue, his hand had found its way to a wisp of hair that had fallen out of place, and even if his touch wasn’t cold, his silver rings froze at the contact with your cheek as he placed it behind your ear, were it originally was. 

It truly felt like time had frozen, no words invaded that space. For only a second, it felt like your body was weightless, it felt like if you’d cease to exist, you’d be okay doing so with this being your last memory. His eyes shining only for you, locked intensely with yours, it truly doesn't matter what would happen next if you could just remain frozen in this moment. 

But alas, that was just a wish, and time continued to pass. His touch left your skin burning, and both of your faces looked at the ground, trying to understand what that little buzzing you felt was. 

As the night advanced, the little bar was clean, and you were ready to leave, though sad might not be the best way to describe what you felt, it surely came close, feeling so calm next to him, you dreaded being separated again, still not knowing if everything you felt was unilateral. 

You closed the lights, he turned the music off, and even in shadow, his body was as defined as ever, you’d know who it was in any circumstance you noted. What you didn’t seem to see, was how his eyes could not strip away from you, or how his hands longed to touch the skin on your waist for once.

So, as you closed the back door, and flipped back to look at him, he laid it there, with the excuse of making sure you wouldn’t fall given that the floor had begun to freeze over the night. And maybe because you were so focused on the way your heart was beating fast, hard and loud, you didn’t feel that he did the same. 

“Shit.” You murmured as you looked back to the parking lot. 

“What?” He responded, his hand still resting on your back. 

“Steve drove me here! I forgot… I… Shit I guess I’ll just walk-” 

“Fuck off, I’m driving you come on.” He added as he cut you and your rumbling. 

“Edds, I live the opposite way of you…” You whisper once again, making him turn around to look at you, his breath falling onto you, watching it as the cold exposes it. 

“And I don’t care. It’s cold and you get sick easily, you're exhausted and I like being with you, so…” He begins to walk to his van, his hand finally leaving your back, only to open the car door for you. 

-

ilikebeingwithyou

it stays with you, even if it is on the back of your mind, it stays there. 

Even when you had to wait for the van to get warm enough so the engine could start, even when the music was loud and all you did was giggle as he screamed loudly the lyrics of whatever was playing in the background. 

It didn’t matter now, the van was parked and the music had stopped, and his body had turned slowly so he could look at you once again. 

And again, that weird feeling invaded the air, an electricity that seemed to pull you to him stronger and stronger. 

A flashing thought, an image of what could be, if you actually had the nerve to let your hand get lost on the back of his neck to pull him closer to you so that maybe your lips could touch his cheek in a thank you gesture, even if you don’t. 

But he does something that seems to be just as stupid. His hand finds rest on your upper thigh. 

And your eyes look at his rings in an attempt to distract yourself. 

“Thank you…” Your voice comes out soft, and slow as your eyes travel up to him. Slowly. 

“You… yeah. You’re welcome.” He’s becoming flustered now, his words tangling as he readies for you to leave, but you can’t seem to go yet. 

“What?” You asked as you smiled at him, a tired comfortable smile. 

“Nothing. I just like being with you. You make it all better I guess.” 

Your wordless. As your cheeks get warm and your lips curl upwards, your face looks through the windshield astonished at his words. 

“Do you wanna…?” 

He nods as he opens his door, rushing to yours. 

-

3 am

Time had seemed to pass quickly as you too shared the downstairs couch, at times in comfortable silence, most of the time in unimportant conversations, much preoccupied by what your heart and body was feeling. The warmth his body emanate, now wearing only a black distressed old T-shirt, that let his arm tattoos show, not only that but his muscles seem to flex from time to time, and if you hadn’t been so distracted by his charming simple while he teased you you’d realized that they did so every time your body moved closer to him, in a nervous reflex. 

Deep down you know, even if you’re not aware of it just yet, that this might be as intimate as you’ve ever been with anyone. Sex and physical intimacy had nothing against this, seeing him giggle as you talk deep into the night, whipping tears of laughter away from his eyes, as his hand rested once again on your thigh. 

Might be the late hour of the night, the dizziness from the lack of sleep or the tipsy thoughts that the beers that you had downed, but you meet his touch, lazily stroking his fingers with your hand, playing with his cold rings. When you are not looking, he lets himself be truly mesmerized by you. 

“You seem like you want to say something.” He says, voice low and soft, because let’s face it, it would be ridiculous to speak aloud when it’s only the two of you in your empty house. You feel as his face softens when your eyes look back at him. 

“I do.” 

“Then say what you need…” He encourages, slowly. 

“I’m embarrassed, actually.” You confess in a soft smile, letting your head rest on the back of the couch. His body scooches closer. 

“Oh, come on… Please, love?” lovelovelove. He knows what this stupid pet name makes you feel, you’re sure of it. 

“You confuse me. A lot.” You finally say to him, your eyes darting around his face, as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his unoccupied hand goes to his head, as his arm rests on the same back of the couch. 

“I confuse you?” He repeats in disbelief, almost sounds as he is teasing you. 

“Yeah, you do.” You admit, your fingers playing anxiously now as your sight avoids him and is instead focused on his rings. 

“Well, then… Ask.” He says confident, approaching you even more. Your body in his direction, knees touching, the grip that he has on your thigh grows deeper. 

“What?” 

“Whatever you wanna know.” 

You take a deep breath, as your hands whip your face, preparing you for the embarrassment that you most certainly will feel after you finally open up to him. 

“Do… Um…Do you like me?” 

“Wha- What?” He sounds shocked, and your face becomes red. 

“Forget it, please…” You say, a pleading look on your face as you look back at him. His face, while it is still soft, is focused on you, his eyes that are usually brown appear black as his iris has invaded the whole space, though that happens every time he looks at you, you hadn’t realized until now. 

“No, please… I… What do you mean?” 

“Shit, okay.” You breathe in, deeply, deciding for one to be brave for once, and to accept rejection if it comes to that. “I like you Eddie. I really do. Not because you are good-looking and all that physical nonsense, but because you make life brighter… I… Fuck… I’m sorry I just… I really like you and I just don’t know if this feeling goes both ways.” You admit, all in one breath, darting between his eyes, his lips parted halfway and your hands that are now under his grip, a warm touch, a spark or maybe a tingle on them. 

“You do?” He asks.

“Fuck, yes Eddie…” You admit, embarrassed and frustrated. “If you’re gonna make fun of me just… forget it okay?”

“Love.” He stops you from continuing rambling. “Why do you think I call you that?” You look back at him, shocked now. “I am in love with you. I don’t just like you. I love everything you do. The way you care so deeply about everyone, and how you would give everything you have to give to someone else just so they’re okay. I love how you look when you’re exhausted, ‘cause you get that cute smile trying to make it not obvious. I love when you get flustered, and I love when you let me take care of you ‘cause that’s all I wanna do… I…” You’re both smiling so bright it feels like you’ve just discovered what colour means. “Can I just… Can I just kiss you?” He says as his hand finally leaves his head, to approach your face. 

“Please.” You say in return. Begging to finally feel his lips onto yours. 

His fingers tuck away your hair behind your ear, letting them rest on the back of your neck. The other one remains on your leg, his hand deepens the grip that it had on it, a soft moan only from that is already escaping your mouth. He comes closer as you both close your eyes, seeing him smile before you do so. And as soon as his lips finally meet, your fingers intertwined with his, as the kiss deepens and it all feels exactly as you wished it did, soft, deep, careful at first, needy in the end. It feels like you’re both air at the other was drowning. It is sweet, and it doesn’t stop.  And it won’t stop for as long as you’re together, you finally feel as though you got your answer. He doesn’t like you, he loves you, and you can’t wait to love him back.

[hanckocks-dagger]

oh, the night's so blue

masterlist

John hancock x f!reader

Description: After a drunken one night stand with your boss and mayor, you'd planned on hiding out in your room for several months. Those plans get delayed when Nate, general of the Minutemen and your childhood friend, asks you to join him on a quest in the west of the Commonwealth.

Tags: Drunken one night stand, Hancock is a pining simp, and a slut. Reader is not SoSu, has afab characteristics and is referred to with she/her pronouns through the story. No y/n

Warnings: Smut! Drunk sex, consentual but I'll throw in the dubcon tag anyway, talk of violence, guns and drugs a lá Fallout ofc

Word count: 6.1K

Notes: So this is a one-shot that sort of feeds into an idea I've had in my head for a while, of a reader that knew Nate from before the bombs, who either ended up in Vault 111 as well or something similar, but got out about a year before Nate did. This might end up turning into a series of semi-connected one-shots or I might just cut it off here, but I definitely have some other ideas for this story rolling around in my head. More story focused than some of my other fics, delving a bit more into what actually living in the game's story would be like, but of course a hefty dose of our lovely Hancock. But I really like Nate, and I didn't want to make the reader the Sole Survivor so we could see the two of them interact. Also my Nate build is usually high charisma, high strength and low intelligence (idiot savant perk ofc), so he's a bit of a himbo <3 my fav type of man.

Also just a small and totally irrelevant thing, but I headcanon Nate/the sole survivor as choosing not to smoke, just because the player isn’t able to smoke in the game. Just a fun tidbit I threw in there. Also, I’m a smoker and I have friends who aren’t and the relentless back and forth teasing is always fun. They all vape anyway, so it’s just a race for who gets cancer first lmao. 

Cross posted on my ao3!

"What's the status on the top shelf stuff?" You yelled out from the back room, wiping drops of sweat from your forehead before they could drop into your eyes. Sure, the new beer tap was ingenious, making the closest thing to actual fresh beer since you'd come out on this side of the cryo-chamber, but goddamn were the canisters heavy.

"Almost out of moonshine, luv," Charlie called from the bar, tinny cockney accent carrying through the open space.

That was fine, you could drop by and speak to Vadim tomorrow before opening, as long as Hancock could supply the caps and lend you some help to carry the bottles back.

"Anything else?" You grunted, heaving a full canister back out to the front, bending down to connect the pipes.

"I think you should start carrying some Fireball, I know how much you used to like it," A new voice spoke up from the other side of the bar, startling you into banging your head on the underside of the bartop. You cursed, shooting to your feet, finding a ginning, familiar face on the other side.

"Nate!"

He said your name back with the same amount of enthusiasm, slouched in one of the barstools, familiar bright blue vault suit looking a little worse for wear.

"When did you get in? How did you get in?" You asked, eyes flitting about. Sure enough, there in the background, spread over one of the couches was mayor Hancock, speaking with a smiling Magnolia and a broody looking MacReady.

"Just landed in town, figured I'd come say hi before crashing at the Rexford."

"Well, shit," You breathed, wiping your sweaty hands on a dishrag, "Can I get you a drink? I want to hear about this oh-so-secret mission you were on."

"Sure, I'll take a beer."

You fished over a clean-ish looking glass, gave it a quick wipe for good measure, and poured. The movements were practiced, muscle memory from a lifetime ago taking over as you tilted the glass, filled it, flicked the spout the other way for some top foam. You slid it over the bar, accepting Nate’s smile as payment. 

You grabbed yourself a glass, calling out to Charlie as you filled the glass with ice, “I’m calling it a night, just leave me a list of whatever needs to be done in the morning.

You poured yourself some of the top shelf stuff, nothing good by pre-war standards, but nowadays it was rare and mostly didn't taste like it was 200 years old.

You stepped around the bar, planning on planting yourself on a stool next to Nate, but he was already rising to his feet, heading for the rest of the group.Hiding your awkwardness, you trailed after him. You knew MacReady tangentially, sometimes bringing him drinks into the backroom, keeping an eye out for disagreements and sometimes running up to get Ham when things were getting out of hand. Magnolia was your coworker of course, and there was plenty to talk about after long shifts, but she was– technically speaking– about twenty years your senior, and married to her job in a way you weren't.

Then there was Mayor Hancock. A charming flirt at the best of times, happy to stand up for you on the job, as the owner of the bar, after all, but there was always something about him you never managed to crack, never straying away from genial small talk. Small talk, of course, these days, meant discussing the last Super Mutant raid, or let him rattle off about his favorite chems. As you approached, he tipped his hat at you and you responded with a little curtsy, using your free hand to tug on your apron like a skirt. 

You fell onto the couch beside Nate, stirring your drink with a finger, using your other hand to untie the apron around your waist. Being off your feet felt good. There were no clocks in the Third Rail, and no windows, so your sense of time tended to get a bit skewed, but seeing as Ham usually tossed out the stragglers by 5 am and you'd had a mess and a half to clean up, you assumed it must be closing in on dawn. A rough 12 hour shift made your liquor feel earned, as you sipped at it, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

"So," You said, catching Nate's attention before he could get sucked into the others' conversation, "What was the notorious General of the Minutemen up to this week? Liberating some more settlements?"

"Mmm, actually doing some work for the Railroad," His tone went hushed, unnecessary and strangely endearing, as everyone in the bar knew and was at least non-committal about their activities.

"Ahh," You replied, matching his tone. "Did it go well?"

"It went fantastically. I brought my own team in," He motioned with his beer toward Hancock and MacCready, "But we ended up getting some help from another agent, too. And, man, what a lady," he went a bit starry eyed, making you laugh.

"Got a little crush, Nathaniel?"

He snorted, and you spotted the tinge of red in his cheeks with glee. 

"Nothing like that, but what a powerhouse. You should have seen her, mowing them down with a minigun."

"Don't sell yourself short, Nate, I've seen you in Power Armor before. Unstoppable force and all that."

Ever humble, Nate's cheeks turned rosier, and he glanced down at his drink. You watched his Adam's apple bob, the shy smile that graced his features.

To put him out of his misery, you turned to the group at large, "So, does this mean you've returned our beloved mayor back, or are you heading out again?"

Hancock's attention snapped up from MacReady so he could grin at you, "What, you missed me doll?"

"Well, you do sign my paychecks," You smiled back at him, then remembered, "Oh, yeah, speaking of, I have to go over to Diamond City tomorrow to get more of Bobrov's best, maybe I can steal Nate to help me ferry it all back."

He hummed, "What d'ya say, brother? 100 caps to keep my favorite employee safe?"

From behind the bar, Charlie gave his best impression of a grunt, "I resent that, mayor!"

"'M sorry, Charlie, you just don't have her charm."

"Or her tits," Magnolia chimed in, twirling an unlit cigarette in her fingers as she smirked at you.

You flushed, eyes flitting around, finally landing on Hancock and MacReady's empty glasses, "Refills, boys?"

"Thought you'd clocked out," MacReady said, even as he handed over his glass. "Well, I'm the club's ambassador even after hours, gotta keep the reputation up."

"You best not be giving free drinks to every sorry brother that walks in here," Hancock called after you as you stepped behind the bar.

"Mm, no," You sing-songed back, "Only my favorites."

The night passed easily. You stayed by Nate’s sidelistening to him tell tales of the people he'd been meeting, the farm he recruited for the minutemen last week. He didn't delve too far into this last mission, always the good soldier who followed orders. You spent about twenty minutes trying to guess his secret Railroad code name.

"Mmmm, buttercup."

"Not even close."

"Sugar bomb?"

The look of offense he gave you was so scathing it had you spitting out half your beer over the table, doubled over in laughter as he complained.

"It relates to my prowess as an agent, not some pre-war pet name!"

"Fine, fine, uhhhh. Striker? Shadow? Tank?"

"Honestly, these are terrible. Never open a baby naming business."

"Uhm, excuse you," You said, taking a sip of beer to try and reduce the heat in your cheeks, "I would make excellent raider names. Chainsaw, evil-eye, uhhhhh," You cast your eyes around, searching for inspiration, "Ricky."

"Ricky?" MacReady asked, eyebrows knit in confusion, "What's wrong with Ricky?"

"Dunno," You shrugged, "Doesn't he just sound like an asshole?" You put on an air, repeated 'Ricky' in an ominous voice, which got MacReady and Nate to crack up again.

Magnolia vanished up to the surface after a bit of flirting with Hancock, insisting on her beauty sleep. As was your usual, you whistled after her, calling lewd, joking comments as she walked up the steps. As was her usual, she gave you a scowl and the middle finger.

"Ehhh, I'll get her to crack one of these days," You murmured into your beer, that tipsy, never ending giddy smile stuck on your lips. You caught Hancock's eye where he sat, now alone on the couch, spread eagle with his gangly limbs. When he spotted you, he gave you a grin, cigarette in his teeth.

Suddenly you desperately wanted a smoke. You patted your own pockets, found that you'd left them at home. You cursed the you from the morning for whatever logic had made that choice, suddenly desperate for nicotine.

Your head, resting against the back of the couch, lolled to look over at Nate. Who, of course, didn't and had never smoked. Goody-two-shoes.

So, you clambered to your feet, ignoring the ache that made itself apparent, and collapsed over besides Hancock.

"Does the good mayor have some cigarettes to share?" You asked, hand on his knee, leaning in close to be heard over a playful argument MacReady and Nate had started.

Hancock's smile got wider somehow, those deep dark eyes crinkling at the corner, giving the appearance of crow's feet.

"For you? Always." He dug around in the deep pocket's of that crazy coat, pulling out a cigarette case. Instead of handing you one, though, he plucked the one from his mouth and stuck it into yours.

Brain slowed by a long shift and plenty of alcohol, it took a moment for the action to catch up with, fingers rising slowly to pluck at the cigarette. You blinked at him, but he seemed unphased, pulling out another cigarette from his case and lighting it.

You leant back in the couch as your brain caught up on his move, staring blankly at a gesturing Nate, MacReady equally engrossed, somehow having missed the interaction that now had your brain reeling. Hancock's arm was stretched out behind you, tantalizingly close, fingers almost tickling the hairs at the back of you neck. You felt the chill of goosebumps, shook off the urge to shiver.

You puffed at the cigarette instead, slowly sinking back in the couch, reverting back to the sort of talk you were used to with the mayor, "How'd you like the trip? Nice to get out of the city?"

Hancock took it in stride, as he did everything, "Oh, yeah. Makes you forget what's out there, staying too long in these walls."

You hummed your assent. You stuck to Goodneighbor because you wanted to stay alive. The furthest you'd ventured in the last year was scoping out that brewery for the Rexford. But Hancock was a ghoul, and even so was more careless with safety than anyone else you knew. Getting out of the city, with only yourself and the stars as company... it was a romantic idea.

"So, what, we're gonna become the Railroad's home base now?" You teased,

"Not exactly," Hancock replied, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, "But Nate knows his shit, and he trusts them. They're doing good, dontcha think?"

You considered this, rolling it around in your liquor soaked brain, "I guess it depends on whether you think the synths are just robots or... y'know, slaves being put through just as much pain as we are."

Hancock nodded, eyes trained on you, expression curious. For all his flirting, Hancock was easily one of the more respectable men you'd met, always willing to listen, even if he was usually a bit too out of his mind to interpret it. He was whip-smart, too, when he was sober enough to put a thought together.

"I suppose it depends on if you believe in the soul. Do you, Mayor Hancock?" Some deep-seated, long ago buried urge reared his head. You remembered being a kid, sitting in a diner with high-school friends, batting your eyelashes at a crush of yours, a coy smile on your face, trying for a sultry voice and missing it by a mile. But now you were about two hundred years older, and had a few years of experience under your back.

So when you looked at Hancock through lidded eyes, purposely hollowed your cheek as you sucked on your cigarette, the one that had been in his mouth before yours, you could appreciate his reaction. The widening of his eyes, the way the hand behind your head seemed to move just a bit closer, the minute shift of his hips as his body turned further towards you.

"I think I'm a bit too sober for those kinds of questions," He snickered. Being a Ghoul made determining age difficult, but sometimes you were sure Hancock was young, younger than you even, the way he carried himself, the carelessness of a teenager.

You smiled back, soft, put your cigarette out in an ashtray on the table, picking up your glass instead.

Hancock said your name, sultry, and that hand finally brushed your shoulder, a gentle, teasing touch.

You answered with a smile, a tilted, " John," followed by a sip from your drink, one you concentrated all your effort into drinking as normally as you could. If you let your tongue slide over your lips to catch the lingering taste, well, no one had to know.

"You know," You said, voice hushed as if you were revealing a great secret, "I feel like I don't know you well enough. You haven't been around enough since you hired me."

"I knew I left the bar in good hands," As if to prove his point, his fingers teased over your bare forearm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Maybe, I should- ah- give you a tour of the Old State House sometime."

The innuendo was painfully obvious, accompanied by a lecherous wink, but you felt your face flush anyway, ridiculously charmed by his brazenness.

Charlie ended up kicking the four of you out, insisting on sweeping before the sun came up. On the way up the stairs, conspicuously a few steps behind Nate and MacReady, the two of you got a bit too handsy, after you'd spent the last couple of minutes petting the velvet of his coat, hypnotized by the luxurious softness of the ancient costume, as Hancock rattled off history facts about Boston, some of which you'd half remembered from history class.

"Found the old fucker's diary in a closet on the second floor," He'd said, as your fingers traced down his arms, across his chest, barely disguised fascination. You wanted to steal his hat, tuck it onto your hair, flick it the way Hancock often did.

"That old bastard was– was kinkier than you could ever imagine," His voice stuttered as your fingers traced near his navel, studying the stitching on the waistcoats he wore.

"Oh yeah?" You snickered, loose enough with drinks to lose your impulse control chasing after whatever felt good in the moment. Mostly that had been cigarettes, but now it was the idea of kissing him, of feeling that mouth on you, anywhere.

"The mayor of Goodneighbor," You breathed, smoothing out his collar, "Keeping himself busy with five hundred year old porn."

Hancock laughed with you.

Outside, the two of you stumbled apart, leaning against the brick wall to share a cigarette, Nate and MacReady somehow still talking, even if Nate was shooting you curious glances and MacReady smirked every time your eyes passed over him.

Eventually, though, when a too loud sentence awoke a grumbling drifted who threatened to hurl a bottle at Nate, it was time to call it a night.

Nate clapped Hancock on the shoulder and kissed your cheek, which got him a punch on the arm, a bit harder than you meant to with the alcohol in your system. He took it like a champ, of course, calling out, "Have fun!" As he rounded the corner towards the Rexford.

MacReady vanished with a tip of his cap, leaving you with smoke in your mouth and the morning sun in your eyes.

"You want to take that tour now, doll?" The brush of a teasing hand over your lower back.

You thought about your dusty apartment, of waking up in a few hours to repeat the same shift for the millionth time. A cold bed, empty.

"Yeah," You breathed, hand catching on the fluttering sash around Hancock's waist, setting a firm pace and tugging him along with you like a dog on his leash. His hands found your hips before you even made it to the door, pinning you against the old wood to kiss you, deep and warm and wet. Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer, till you stood hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest.

Somehow, one of you got the door open, falling through the door, walking each other in an embrace towards the staircase. The kiss deepened, Hancock licked into your mouth as you bumped into the banister, struggled to keep your balance.You let him lead, pushing you backwards up the stairs, hands always gentle, ready to catch you if you tripped.

It was a drunken fumble, your shirt rucked up, trying to get all his stupid buttons unbuttoned as you staggered to the stairs, his lips suddenly attached to your neck.

His hands moved to your exposed waist as you reached the second floor, greedy hands moving over the expanse of skin. You huffed against his mouth, finding it unfair as you struggled to even get under his ridiculous fucking shirt, finally managing to sneak a hand under it, nails gently scratching against rough skin. You weren't exactly versed in Ghoul anatomy, but you'd heard enough complaining from drifters at the bar about the lack of feeling in their skin to know you'd have to push a little deeper, press a little harder. Sure enough, as Hancock lead you stumbling towards his bedroom, you pushed your hand up to his chest, pressing down into the meat of one of his shoulders, you received a deep groan against your mouth.

Then suddenly you were in the Mayor's bedroom. Clean enough, by the wasteland standards. Strewn with chems, as you'd anticipated, but the bed looked as clean as you could be.

Hancock had ended up behind you, hands sneaking around to your ass, your collar pushed to the side so he could kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder. It felt... nice. Soft. Softer than you'd anticipated from him. It sent an ache through you, not to your core, though electricity tingled, desperate for attention you hadn't provided it with in years. The ache was in your heart, extending out to your lungs, stealing your breath the way his kisses had, as he gently guided you towards the bed.

You spun around in his arms to capture his lips again, nipping at his bottom lips, hands moving to his waist, sneaking down into his waistband. The two of you danced around the room, lips locked, hands moving as clothes were unbuttoned, tossed to the side, shoes pulled off.

Then you were naked, falling onto a surprisingly plush mattress, as Hancock dropped his coat onto the back of his desk chair, pants unbuttoned and half falling off his skinny hips. He left the hat on, even as he stripped everything else off, and it made you huff a quiet, airy giggle. He grinned back at you, always happy to be happy, as he crawled on top of you, bracketing you between his legs.

His dick was the same as the rest of him, scarred and pocked, but you found you didn't mind in the slightest as your hands wandered downwards, teasingly gentle touches running over him, drawing out airy breaths and groans.

You were quick to guide him into you, pulling him down for a kiss when he entered you, sending shocks of burning pain through you, uncomfortable but manageable. Still, he noticed, unfocused eyes blinking down at you, a frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong," You breathed, even through the tension of your muscles, "Just– uh– been a while. Gimme a moment."

He seemed unsure for a moment, looking as if he wanted to pull out, but you forced a calm through your muscles, slowly feeling him inch his way further inside, until the two of you were hip to hip. You breathed through the sting, shutting your eyes and guiding his face to your neck, happy when he got the hint and nipped at your skin. Your breath got shaky when he found a perfect spit by the junction of your neck and your shoulder, feeling his teeth sink into the flesh, soothed quickly with his tongue, with his spit-slick lips.

"Okay," You breathed eventually, one hand holding the back of his neck, the other clutching at the muscle on his back, "You can move."

"Are you–"

"Hancock," You said, voice firm. In a more sober state, his caution would touch you, but you were desperate to feel the drag of him, to feel his hips working. "I'm a big girl, it's okay. You can move."

He bent down to kiss you as he slowly pulled his hips back. With conscious effort to keep your muscles calm, your side of the kiss was a bit half hearted, but you gasped into his mouth as he pushed back in, the stretch not painful but, "So fucking perfect," You breathed, "Just like that."

Hancock was amazingly receptive, somehow cataloging every moan and twitch, and he had you pushed into the mattress within minutes, gasping and shaking beneath him. His hips drove into you at a perfect pace, his mouth moving to your tits, gentle bites at the soft skin, pulling your nipples into his mouth to flick at them with his tongue. Your whispered words of direction quickly dissolving into moans and gasps of his name.

Almost the exact second the thought of your clit popped into your head, his fingers were there, moving tight circles, pressure just the right side of too hard. You arched into him, a moan so loud it would have made you self conscious if you weren't too focused on driving him deeper, getting him closer, getting as much of his skin on you as you could.

Your orgasm approached with mounting tension in your muscled, strangled cries of more, harder, "Please, John."

You came with a strangled cry, every muscle in your body tensing and then going completely limp, gasps of air as your peak faded, replaced by a pleasant buzzing sensations. John's pace slowed as you shook, hands leaving your clit to grab at your hips, pull you towards him as he chased his own release. You were happy to let him, your hands exploring him leisurely, gripping at his biceps, his shoulders, wrapping around his neck to guide him into another kiss.

You could tell when he got close, the way his hips jerked, thrusts growing rushed and sloppy, desperate, the way his breath quickened, the way his dark eyes seemed to darken even further. At the last moment, he pulled out, wrapping his hand around his cock, haphazard pace the same as he fucked into his fist, a few more pumps and he came over your stomach. You tensed under the surprising heat of it, but relished the soft groan that escaped his mouth, head tilted back, mouth open,

He half collapsed on top of you, breathing against your mouth, only his arms holding him from falling into you. With every inhale, his expanding chest brushed against your breasts, every touch sending electric shots through you.

He collapsed beside you, still panting, one arm curling around your chest, just under your tits, pulling you into his side. "Just– give me a second, I'll get you something to clean up."

"Mmm," You breathed, relishing the heat of him, positive he was warmer than a normal person, the way it radiated off him, heating your skin at the contact points, "Don't worry about it. Deal with it in the morning." Your words were slurring, eyelids heavy.

"Mmm," Hancock agreed, tucking his face into your shoulder. He held you tight, like little kids held onto teddy bears. It was... nice. Unfamiliar to you, but, as you buried your head into the soft pillow, you supposed it was something you wouldn't mind getting used to.

You woke with a start, unfamiliar footsteps thudding above your head. It took a moment to reorient yourself, to recognize the walls you were blinking at, the hand tucked around your waist, the soft snores in your ear. Your head thudded, your mouth dry as a desert, tasting like cigarettes and whiskey. 

"Shit," You whispered, slowly extracting yourself from Hancock's warm arms, getting to your feet. Stark naked. Your pants were slung over a chair, one sock still in the pant leg, the other tossed onto a desk, surrounded by several tins of mentats and empty jet canisters.

"Fuck," You breathed, hopping around trying to get your socks on. One of your boots was on its side, halfway under the bed. Your shirt was hanging on the fucking doorknob and you tugged it on, ignoring the stale smell of sweat and alcohol that clung to it from last night’s shift.

You swept the room, but couldn't for the life of you find your underwear. The thought of leaving them somewhere was mortifying, but when Hancock shifted in the bed, you decided not to risk staying. You pulled your boots on, leaving them unlaced as you crept over the ancient floorboards. Seeing as Hancock was managing to sleep through the ruckus of the drifters on the top floor, you doubted the creak of the house would wake him, but you were still extra cautious as you cracked the bedroom doors open, just enough for you to slip through and rush down the staircase, pointedly not looking at any of the Neighborhood Watch.

Out in the semi-fresh morning air, you took a deep breath, mumbling another curse to yourself as you began a quick jog home, trying to avoid any knowing glances as you rounded a corner and shouldered the door to your apartment building open.

Shower, underwear, find Nate, get him to ask Hancock for the caps while you cowered in the background with sunglasses and a baseball cap over a dark hoodie. Fuck.

The shower was cold, obviously, and you counted your blessings for having running water at all, even if it was a bit too irradiated for comfort. You did your best to scrub fast, hands brushing through sweaty, greasy hair, soaping the necessary areas. You very pointedly did not linger on the dried, flaking cum on your stomach, exorcizing it with a washcloth and curses.

You were busy drying your hair with your dirty shirt, because whenever the water lingered too long it left an uncomfortable sheen over your hair and smelled a bit like a bog. A knock sounded at the door, sending ice through your veins, a response equivalent to the roar of a Deathclaw or the clicking of a Mirelurk.

For a moment, you contemplated crawling onto the rusty fire-escape outside your living room window and walking into downtown Boston to let some Super Mutants eat you.

Instead, though, you stepped over to the door, moments quiet as you contemplated what the fuck you were going to say. Last night was a mistake. You're my boss. I haven't had sex in two years and I'm sorry for leading you on, can I please have my panties back?

Another knock startled you out of your thoughts, fast and panicked, followed by the call of your name from a voice that definitely did not belong to Hancock.

You opened the door to a panting Nate, already back in his suit and armor, gun tossed over his shoulder.

"Nate?"

"Hey! Have fun last night?"

You flushed, even though his expression was nothing but kind; curious and happy for you, like a good friend should be.

"Uh. What's with the get up?" You deflected, which Nate took in stride.

"Distress call from the Minutemen, they asked me to head out west to Graygarden."

"The... farm run by robots?"

"Oh, that's what it is?"

"Wh- Never mind. What are you doing there?"

"Something about the water supply and Super Mutants. I'm leaving in a few minutes"

"Okay, that's fine, I'll drag someone else with me to Diamond City, no stress."

"No, I want you to come with me."

You blinked, hand tensing on the door frame, "Nate I'm not a fighter."

"Yes you are," He said, looking so genuinely confused it made your heart seize a bit, "We fought together. At Anchorage. Did you forget?"

"No, I didn't–" You swallowed. 

After returning home, witnessing massacre after massacre, you'd sworn to yourself you wouldn't get involved in that kind of shit. Even after the world ended, you'd managed to keep that promise. At night, alone in your cold bed, you could still hear the hissing of sentry bots, the creaking of power armor, the whistling of bullets. "I don't do that anymore, Nate."

Nate pulled one of his more serious faces, a rare sight for a man with seemingly endless drive and relentless optimism, even after losing more than you could imagine.

"Look. I understand what you're feeling–" You took a breath to interrupt him, because his blind patriotism had driven him forward when you'd lagged behind, weighed down by the blood on your hands. Nate pushed forward, "I know you don't believe me, but I really do. And nothing helped me heal those wounds like helping people."

"Helping robots." Your voice was flat.

"Who provide food for over a dozen settlements. You'd be doing good."

You bit your lip, casting your eyes over your apartment to avoid the earnest look in Nate's eyes. Sure, you were... content in your life. Goodneighbor was as safe as any settlement could be, you had steady income, some sort of purpose. But you remembered the day Nate had walked into the Third Rail with Nick Valentine on his heels, bleary eyed, vault suit still pristine. The way your heart had sung, the way an aching loneliness you'd felt since coming off the ice had faded.

Was this what the rest of your life would be? Slinging drinks, small talk with coworkers and bar patrons, waiting for the next time Nate would walk in through the doors like some yearning wife waiting for her husband to return from war?

Besides, you weren't going to be able from Hancock in his own fucking town, not for long.

You shut your eyes, feeling the phantom weight of a gun in your hands.

"Fuck. Fine."

The smile on Nate's face was like a kid's at Christmas.

"Great! I'll meet you at the front entrance in..." He glanced down at his pip-boy, "Thirty minutes?"

"Okay."

And he was off, leaving you standing in your doorway, blinking at nothing wondering what the fuck you'd agreed to.

Under your bed there were some loose floorboards you'd been using to store the important things. Your spare caps, your vault suit and pip-boy, your 10mm pistol and your combat shotgun. The former was familiar to you, used centuries ago in a war no one understood anymore. You'd grabbed it on your stumbling way out of the vault, and it was a good thing to or you would have gotten gored by some very territorial mole rats before even making it to a settlement. The shotgun had been stolen, in your trek to downtown Boston, taken off a raider you'd knocked out with a lead pipe. He'd clearly made some adjustments to it, with a hair trigger, less recoil than expected and a scope you'd never needed to use. You'd been meaning to sell it since you'd gotten in, but it had ended up in the floorboards where you'd simply hoped it would stay unless you were strapped for cash.

A knapsack was quickly filled with everything you needed, a change of clothes, a portable water purifier, all the food that would go to waste if you didn't take it with you. You tucked some spare caps into a hidden inside pocket, wrapping them in cloth to keep them from rattling. Your spare 10mm ammo, a few packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a flashlight.

The pistol was strapped into a thigh holster, a gun belt held your shotgun rounds. The shotgun went around your shoulder. They felt heavier than you remembered them being, their weight an oppressive reminder with every step you took out of your apartment. You'd need to let Charlie know you wouldn't be in for a while, and you'd need to stop by KL-E-0's for some spare parts. Easy enough, it was just the matter of avoiding certain tricorn-hat wearing mayors.

You kept your head down as you made your way through the street. You cut a more imposing figure with your armor, with the glint of weapons. People moved out of your way as you jogged towards the Third Rail, sliding in through the door like a mouse darting into its burrow.

You rattled like a tin can chime as you walked down the steps to the bar, announcing your approach before you could be seen, a cat with a bell. You were skittish, pausing at the last step to peek into the lounge, trying to spot a red coat, a familiar smile. Coast was clear.

"That the new uniform, then?" Charlie's voice nearly sent you flying, a squeak leaving you as the Mr. Handy suddenly appeared in view. The three eyes didn't exactly convey emotion well, but you could hear the dry amusement in his tone, maybe a hint of judgement.

"No, I uh–" You shook yourself, loosening the cotton in your brain, "Nate asked me to accompany him on a mission. Shouldn't take more than a week."

"Seven days and I'll file a missing person's report." Dry, dry, dry.

"Right," You breathed, gripping the banister like a life line, "Right. I appreciate the uh– The thought, Charlie. I'll see you around." Saliva filled your mouth, and you had a second to panic about throwing up on the floor as your stomach rolled, before the feeling faded.

Charlie didn't dignify you with a response, going right back to... whatever it was he did when the bar was closed, so you turned around, rattling right back up the stairs. First vacation in two years.

Again, you kept your head down as you walked through the alley towards Kill or Be Killed, pointedly avoiding letting your gaze slip to the Old State House, like the building itself would summon him. Something burned in your chest, not quite shame, but the next thing to it. In another life, you would've considered chewing on a baby aspirin, kept the landline in view, ready to dial 911, if you were having a heart attack. Now, though, you shrugged it off, grabbing your canteen and taking a greedy drink, washing away the cigarette taste that still lingered in your mouth.

KL-E-0 was in her usual place, piercing red eye landing on you.

"Well, don't you look dressed to kill."

You'd wondered, sometimes, if she had been especially programmed to sound so sultry, or if it was just her natural charm.

"Heading out for a while," You dug your bag of caps out of your pocket, placing it on the table as your eyes roamed over the wares available, "Think you could spare some grenades and shotgun shells?"

"Let's get you outfitted, killer."

The word left a sour taste in your mouth that had nothing to do with the cigarettes. You made it through the trade quickly, enough ammo to last you several encounters, enough grenades to get you through a couple rough spots. You left with your pockets lighter, your bandolier, pack and shoulders weighed down.

"Have fun, baby."

"Yeah, thanks, Kleo."

Nate was standing by the entrance, a respectable distance from the Neighborhood Watch, a focused frown on his face as he fiddled with his Pip-boy. He looked up when you approached, frown turning to a bright smile.

"So," you said, shouldering your gun, "Ready to head off?"

"Not quite, we're still waiting on the rest of the party. You know how he is, always fashionably late."

You didn't manage to get out your confused "Who?" Before a familiar hand was clapping Nate on the shoulder, saying, "So! Ready to get this show on the road?"

Fuck.

Notes: This is so insanely self indulgent it’s crazy, but I do hope you enjoyed at least a little <3

[johnslittlespoon]

thinking unholy thoughts of gale making john come untouched with only his fingers in the biker au… maybe john didn’t even know it was possible so when gale keeps going he gets confused and is like “i’m good im ready” but gale keeps going 😅

au post | ohhh man okay. yeah feeling super extremely sane and normal about this, never been better! thanks! ~2k words of nsfw filth below the cut sighhhh

okay, prefaced with a little more world building in my last post since we're really diving into this au now LOL. ofc things might change when i actually write it, but this is how i'm feeling things will go rn!

re: 'maybe john didn't even know it was possible'– like i said in the drabble before this, he's fooled around a little with curt, but nothing more than getting a bit handsy. he's had a girlfriend for around a year, so they were probably serious enough to get up to things too, but straight sex is very different from gay sex obviously.

the internet exists, and during the time john is pining(thirsting) over gale, he probably does his fair share of googling 'blond man with tattoos fucks brunet man', but really he's kinda intimidated by a lot of stuff, so he doesn't delve too deep into that world. when he and gale start seeing each other and john realizes they're gonna move past making out eventually (because gale is almost such a gentleman sometimes that john wants to bash his head in in his impatience), he probably psychs himself out a bit and gets into his own head and is like fuck.

gale's had years to gain experience and what if he's not good enough or does something stupid or or or, on and on. obviously these worries are completely unfounded because gale adores him and would never pressure him and doesn't expect them to just jump right into things; half of the reason he probably drags things out is because he wants to be absolutely certain things are on john's terms, and that john's not just being horny and impulsive.

john probably ends up trying to do some research so he can yk. pick up some tips, because he's got all the enthusiasm he needs when he thinks about getting to drop to his knees for gale, but he has no idea what he's doing and he doesn't realize everyone learns as they go because he's dumb (/fond) and overthinks everything. (whatever he ends up learning doesn't matter anyway, because all coherent thought leaves his head when they do start doing stuff together and gale is so encouraging and easygoing that he feels ridiculous for ever worrying.)

all that is to say that yeah, he's got like no firsthand experience when it comes to anything past the basics or anything he hasn't been doing by himself. everything is fresh and exciting and as much as he loves just hanging around gale, he's also always needy and horny (gets told he's "insatiable" quite a few times by gale) so they get up to a lot of shit and it's unfair how good gale is in bed and how he knows exactly which buttons to press to get john worked up.

at the time this incident happens, gale's already fingered john a few times, but it's always just as a build up/foreplay, usually followed or joined with gale's other hand or lips around john's cock. they haven't had sex yet, and it feels really nice when gale does this, but john always just kinda sees it as foreplay and it doesn't last for long.

so when gale's got john laid in his bed one sunny afternoon and they're making out and john starts getting whiny and squirmy from the stimulation of his fingers in him, and gale doesn't switch things up like he usually does, john's heart leaps because in his mind, surely gale's getting him ready for something else.

but he's frustrated because it feels like gale's purposefully avoiding hitting right where he needs him to, pants out gale's name against his lips, grasping the back of gale's shirt. starts rocking his hips down against his fingers, seeking it out, and gale rumbles out a "needy thing" before pressing a kiss to his cheek and crawling down the length of his body, settling himself between john's legs.

john props himself up on his elbows to watch, cheeks flushed and eyelids heavy, digging his fingers into the blanket instead. he lets out a little whine at the slow drag of gale's fingers, and that finally makes him cave, crooking his fingers just right, and john's lips part at the way the sudden surge of pleasure zings up his spine.

lets his elbows slide out from underneath himself, dropping back down into the pillow, satisfied he's finally getting what he's been waiting for since gale worked him open ten minutes ago. he waits for stimulation on his cock to join the fingers in him as usual, assuming that's why gale moved to lay there, but gale just keeps up the slow in and out and consistent brushes against his prostate and its embarrassing how much he's leaking all over his own stomach.

but then he has the thought that maybe gale's actually properly prepping him and his cock twitches and his breath catches and he props himself up again to find gale already watching him. he waits expectantly, too shy to ask, and gale doesn't offer him any confirmation, just pressing gentle kisses to his thighs and smiling when john's hips start to roll down against his fingers again.

john thinks that maybe gale's waiting for him to say he's ready, since he does often make him ask for what he wants, so even as his cheeks go hot, he gets out a breathy "gale, i'm– that's good, 'm ready."

but gale only chuckles quietly, nipping at his thigh to feel it twitch away, watching john in a way that makes him feel somehow even more exposed than he already is, and now he's even more confused and he feels like he's melting into the bed and gale's putting a little more pressure into each crook of his fingers and the sounds he's making are so whiny and high pitched that he wants to cover his own ears out of embarrassment.

"does it feel good, doll?" gale purrs, dragging john's eyes back to him, and he nods, twisting his hands in the blankets harder. it does feel good, enough so that heat is pooling in his stomach in a way that's both familiar and foreign, the sensation all different with no friction against his dick.

gale's working his hand a little faster and john's face burns at the realization that he's being finger–fucked like a girl and he drops back into the pillows, arms going too weak to hold himself up. his thighs are starting to tremble and gale murmurs that he's "making such a mess on yourself, baby, look at you" and john immediately reaches down to take his dick in his hand, but gale catches his wrist with his free hand, slowing his movements down, much to john's dismay.

"no hands today, john," he says gently, letting go of his wrist. "i want you to keep them at your side for me, can you do that?"

and john lets out a near hysterical noise but he obliges, grabbing fistfuls of the blanket again, head spinning at being given an instruction, biting down on the inside of his cheek when gale speeds his fingers up again with a "good job, baby."

the heat builds and builds as gale's fingers hit right where they need to each time, and it feels like he's just hanging on the edge of an orgasm for so long, unable to tip over that edge, eyes blurring over from how overwhelming the drawn out sweet–hot pleasure is. he's mindlessly rocking his hips down and panting out little "ah ah ah"s with each thrust of gale's fingers and he's so close to lifting his hand from his side when a sob of frustration slips out.

but gale presses his lips to his thigh again, sucking at the sensitive skin there, pulls back to murmur a stream of "c'mon sweet thing, come on my fingers, show me how good you feel, you can do it" and john chokes out a cry as he clenches around his fingers and comes so hard he nearly blacks out, back arching and hips stuttering up like he can get friction that way.

gale's hand chases his jerking movements, continuing to fuck him on his fingers as john paints his own stomach, cock pulsing, feeling like he's just going to keep coming and coming, mewling desperately and shaking like a leaf and seeing stars behind his closed eyelids.

he closes his thighs against gale's sides when it starts to be too much, hands shaking when reaches down to tiredly push at him, hips stuttering away from the stimulation, hiccupping as he tries to catch his breath. he can feel hot tears soaking into the hair at his temples, lips parted in surprise, shuddering when gale lets his movements slow down until his fingers go still.

john whines when he pulls them out, despite his efforts to squirm away from them moments before, and gale presses a kiss to his hip before he crawls back up his body, cupping john's face with the hand not covered in lube, and john's eyes flutter open, bleary when they focus in on the expression of awe on gale's face.

"fuck, john," gale sounds almost as breathless as him. "you're crying, baby. was that okay?" john nods shakily, tilting his chin up for a kiss, and gale leans down without missing a beat, kissing him so deep it feels like he wants to devour him. mumbles "you have no idea what you do to me" against john's lips, brushing his fingers over the tear streaks on either side of his face, peppering his red cheeks with light kisses before pulling back again.

"felt good?" he murmurs, and john chokes out a laugh at the understatement, draping his wrist over his forehead. "really good," he breathes out, flushing when he opens his mouth again, "didn't know that was, um. a thing." and gale half laughs, half groans at the admission, rolling his hips down, and john sucks in a sharp breath at the drag of his pants, cock twitching even after all that.

gale doesn't mind; he's more than happy to watch his pretty boy fall apart on his fingers, mouth, cock, as many times as john lets him.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: Sept 6/24

Happy Friday everyone! Here's a great selection of fics to start off your weekend!! Enjoy!

Please note because I am busy this weekend, there will be NO NEW SUNDAY LIST. It will be a reblog. Thanks!

RECENT MFLs

Little Supermarket Bottles of Wine by GhostOfNuggetsPast (T, 2,320 w., 13 Ch. || Inspired By Fic, Limericks, Sherlock/OMC & Johnlock) – I'm still in limerick-mode. I can't stop. You can't make me. Anyway... These are comments I'm making for Silvergirl's lovely fic "Holy Wine" as it goes. A friendship burned, a Sherlock concerned. Part 4 of 2024 Ghost Display Case Series

Scaffolding by Raina_at (E, 14,617 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship Relationship Negotiation, Trust Issues, Mary is Not Nice) – Sherlock and John are just settling in to their new life as a couple, but will their still fragile honesty and trust last when it's shaken by a case, and by some news from John's past life? Part 4 of Nothing Gold Series

A Christmas Connection by jadztone (E, 40,066 w., 9 Ch. || Mystrade || 1970's AU || Alternate First Meeting, Christmas, Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to Drug Use, First Kiss / Time, Frottage, Anal, Blow Jobs, POV Mycroft, Fluff and Humour) – It’s Christmas 1974 and Mycroft and Greg meet for the first time in France. Mycroft is visiting his Grandmere Vernet and Greg’s family have just inherited a fortune and the estate next door. Over the next 38 years the holidays show glimpses into their life choices, influenced more by ambition and social expectations than the desires of their hearts. Will the time ever be right for love?

Deleted Heart Series by AndThenThereWereWords (M, 42,115+ w. across 3 works || Series WiP || Post-TRF / Hiatus, Past Relationship, Hurt / No Comfort, Angst, Canon Divergence, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Amnesia, Sad John, Implied Mystrade, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Kidnapping) – Sherlock comes back from the dead, but in his mad quest to take down Moriarty's network, he had to delete his memories of John. John finds all this out the day after he proposes to Mary.

Painting Pictures On Silence by Elfbert (E, 56,395 w., 17 Ch. || Rock Star AU || Johnstrade, Celebrity Lestrade, Musicals) – Greg Lestrade is one of the biggest rock stars of his generation - talented as fuck, gorgeous, and been at the top of his game for nearly thirty years. But his band is facing an uncertain future after their drummer OD'd in a Little Chef off the M1, and Lestrade is spending his time turning his band's greatest hits into a West End musical. But it's nearly ready to open, and it seems someone is murdering his cast. Scotland Yard's crack team of Dimmock and Donovan are stumped. Enter Sherlock, and his assistant John who is secretly one of Lestrade's biggest fans. Sherlock wants to solve the murders and get out of there as soon as possible. John wants to solve the murders, and also snog the face off Lestrade. Lestrade just wants his career to end on a high, not getting slagged off by two-bit theatre reviewers in the Evening Standard.

[marygillisapologist]

Longing for closure | Charles x F!Reader

Pairing: Charles Smith x F!Reader

WC: 1142, aprox. 5 minute read

Teaser: “For the best, I know, but. I just-” He looked remain before stepping closer, looking into your eyes. His presence was overwhelming, and your need for his company was immense. “Charles, I-” You protested, avoiding his gaze. “Please.” He pleaded, stroking his hand against your cheek, keeping it there.

Warnings: Fluff, very little mention of sexual interactions | Secret Relationship | Pining

A/N: This is my first time writing anything so I'm open to critique and will appreciate any form of interaction. ALSO- If you find any grammar mistakes please feel free to tell me, since English isn't my first language. Anyways, hope you enjoy <3

Even though these last few months had been miserable and full of loss, a blooming love had grown in the dying fields. Two strong individuals in need of comfort, finding it in each other at an all time low. While the remaining members of the gang were scrambling to find safety in Lakay, a heated exchange had taken place between you and Charles Smith. After months of pining and longing for each other, you’d finally confronted your feelings. His burly arms had held you close, as his lips were pressed against yours in need of love, in need of you.

Ever since then, you both had realized that you were each other's pillar, the ones who held each other up when the other was falling apart. You agreed that whatever happened, you’d stick together no matter what. However, for the both of yours safety, you agreed to keep it under wraps, not wanting your love to be used against you as it had with John and Abigail. The only few people who actually knew, were the ones paying close attention. Someone like Ms. Grimshaw, most of the women and even Arthur caught on pretty quickly, while the rest never really did. You were happy in his presence, happy to have a safe haven to return when all hell broke loose.

As the days went by and more tragedy occurred. All this death and misery had been piling for months, and for what? For no reason, at least in the eyes of Charles. He was losing hope, and also a close friend of his. Arthur was dying, and with him so was the gang. He was the right hand man, the one with the most common sense out of all of these people- besides you of course. This made Dutch question his ability to advise him, instead seeking the advice of Micah. The Van Der Linde gang had turned a new leaf, one that had fallen and withered.

Charles was on thin ice. 

Charles hated every moment of suppressing his feelings for you regardless of it being for the best. Even though the both of you had agreed to it, he still couldn’t help but feel guilt for not giving you the love and solace you craved. As he and Arthur rode back to camp from a visit at the Wapiti Tribe, noise of quarreling and accusing got louder and louder. He couldn’t help the pit in his stomach form, as he saw you walk back from the river with fresh laundry, your face carrying a slight frown and furrowed brows. 

“You alright there Charles?” Arthur asked with a cough as the horses went from trotting to walking. 

“Yeah, I’m good. How about you?” Charles asked concerned, while his gaze stayed on you. 

“I reckon I don’t matter too much no more.” Arthur chuckled.

“But you sure you’re doin’ alright? You seem a bit distraught.” He questioned as they arrived at the hitching posts.

“Yeah, I’m sure… I’ll see you around” Before Arthur knew it, Charles had already hitched his horse and headed your direction before Arthur had even left the saddle.

You stood to the side hanging the laundry you’d just washed down by the river, trying to mute the sound of Dutch’ preaching. Tension had been at an all time high, causing you to overwork yourself with chores to distract yourself from your misery. This had ultimately also caused multiple people to leave, making you wonder what was making you stay. Was it loyalty, company or fear of a civil life, when this was the one you’d grown used to for the last couple of years? 

For the first time since joining the gang, you were exhausted, an overwhelming nausea at the thought of things coming to an end. Dutch wasn’t the same heroic individual who’d saved you from a group of greedy men. No he was much different. So different, that if it had happened on this day, then it more than likely would’ve been your last.

Lost in your train of thoughts, you heard your name. Quickly you laid down whatever article of clothing you had and turned around towards the noise.

“Charles. You're back.” You said as your eyes brightened and your smile widening, about to go in for a greeting kiss. He smiled back softly before looking down into the ground about to give in before the sound of arguing in the back reminded you of where you were. 

“Right, my bad.” You smiled softly, eyes filled with disappointment as you stepped back. “You um… Is everything alright, are you alright?” You asked, wanting to make sure he was doing as good as one could in the current state of things. 

He stood there looking into your eyes for a little before answering.

“Yeah I’m-” He stopped himself, fiddling with fingers as he thought of what he was gonna say next.

He took a deep breath before continuing, saying your name lowly.

“I’m not sure I can handle this much longer.”

You looked at him, your brows furrowing as you bit the inside of your cheek. You know exactly what he meant, as you felt the same.

“I know, but it’s-” You responded, trying to stay logical for the both of you.

“For the best, I know, but. I just-” He looked remain before stepping closer, looking into your eyes.

His presence was overwhelming, and your need for his company was immense.

“Charles, I-” You protested, avoiding his gaze.

“Please.” He pleaded, stroking his hand against your cheek, keeping it there.

A few moments went by, no words said out loud, yet his and your needs were heard and finally acted upon. You place your hand on his cheek, stroking it before leaning in to kiss him. You directed his hand to your other cheek before letting go, pulling him closer by his collar. Your face in his hand and your arms wrapping around his neck, you hadn’t gotten this close in a while, too busy working.

His lips stayed on yours for what seemed like forever, before he broke it, placing his forehead on yours as the both of you were quietly panting. He smiled at you, and you smiled at him. His eyes were filled with admiration, as was yours, it was a beautiful moment.

“I love you.” He smiled, pecking the corner of your lips. You looked up at him, your eyes watering at the sound of his confession. One that none of them had made before, but had always known to be true.

“I love you too, Charles.” You grinned in response before leaning into another deep kiss.

Maybe hiding from each other wasn't for the best, and maybe closure had been this whole time. Regardless, your hope for the future had been restored. You both knew it would be with each other.

BONUS - Arthurs Journal Entry

Charles and I went to talk to Rains Falls about Dutch and his unhinged decision making. It ain’t looking too good, but we promised to keep a good eye on him.

Anyway, Charles seemed distracted when we went out. I didn’t know exactly why, but I had an idea. He seemed in a hurry when we got back and finally kissed her. He’s been head over heels for that girl ever since he joined us back up in the Grizzlies last year, pretty sure it went both ways. 

They remind me of Mary and I, how we kept it secret too before she left me. I was too stubborn to change my ways, I guess. I wonder if things would’ve changed if I’d ran away with her back in Saint Denis or Valentine. It’s too late now, she mailed me the ring I gave her all those years ago. What a couple of fools in love we were. 

I’m just happy that they aren’t fools like us, and that Charles won’t cower away because of some code that turns out to be irrelevant by the likes of Dutch. I’m also happy that I finally stopped hiding. They seemed real happy when they stopped worrying so much about the rest. I saw Susan and a couple others smile too, they probably noticed the lingering before too. Not everyone had though, Dutch looked quite surprised, almost threatened. I wonder what he and Micah are up to now.

Hope you liked it! BTW pls feel free to give requests, I love writing from given prompts <33

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Gay wrongs tournament, round one of the major bracket

Propaganda:

For Nandor and Guillermo:

I feel like accessory to murder and cause of the murder counts, right? 

Classic vampire/human who wants to be a vampire except there's an understanding in the show of how messed up that is, down to Guillermo helping chop up the bodies of Nandor's victims to hide them for him. Then there's the added wrinkle of Guillermo finding out he's a vampire hunter by blood and actually very good at killing vampires. There is more than one incredibly erotically charged scene with Guillermo holding a stake to Nandor's chest. Their dynamic is fantastically complex, from Guillermo starting as Nandor's somewhat disgruntled servant to him besting the vampire in combat and becoming his bodyguard, to Guillermo getting tired of waiting and getting another vampire to turn him leading to a long jealousy arc culminating in Nandor nearly killing him... there's just so much going on with these two. Nandor flew to space just to impress Guillermo. They do a number of heinous things to humans and vampires alike, but through it all they are so in love and so rich with pining. One of these days they'll kiss, I'm sure of it. It's just a monumental slow burn with many vampiric atrocities along the way.

They aren't romantically canon yet, but dear lord. Both are canon queer, Guillermo is specifically gay while nandor is mentioned to be pansexual in interviews. Yeah they are everything and nothing. They fought and can kill eachother but they literally can't do it emotionally. Also forbidden love trope, vampire x vampire slayer /familiar/ body gaurd / best man. They make me unwell.

For John and Jack:

So, they both are literal murders. One of them is a little bit more insane than the other. Okay, the little bit part is not right, totally insane that is John, yes. But gonna love him though. He had been in rehab for alcohol, drugs, sex and murder. Don't kiss him, he might be wearing poisoning lipstick. They are canon mlm. They had been stuck in a two week time loop for five years, which was like leading a married life for them. They didn't actually marry, but they were partners, both in business and sexually. They worked together for an time agency. Then Jack's memories of two years were erased and he left. He went into  independent self deployment, doing scams using his knowledge of future events. After that he build an alien hunting institute in Cardiff, Wales. When John and Jack see eachother again after years, you don't know whether they will they kiss or fight. They do both. Did I tell you that along this story Jack became an inmortal who can't stay dead? No matter how or how often he dies or is killed, he keeps coming back to life. This is all very scraping on the surface, but oh boy, would it be at least a novella to describe them.

They worked together in the Time Agency where they did horrible things to the extent where Jack had two years of his memory stolen so that he couldn’t know what he’d done. They were also in a time loop together for five years where they canonically thought of each other as the wife (John was a good wife :3), and were basically married. Then they had a divorce arc and they both separately went rogue from the Agency to become conmen, although they still worked together/clashed on occasions, always still with that spark of passion. “Frenemies with benefits” Jack called them once, although John preferred “my lover, my rival, my nemesis and destiny. And bane of my bloody life.” Canon finds us where Jack has tried to reform and be a better person, but John is still chasing cons, and all he wants to do is bring Jack back to the stars with him, back to the crime and the glitter of the galaxies (it doesn’t work and he shoves Jack off a building but Jack got himself immortal so he’s fine <3) anyway I am very normal about them xoxo

In John's introduction to the series he shows up on a roof where some guy is mugging someone, grabs him by the throat and dangles him over the edge of the building while this guy begs for his life before dropping him just because he felt like it. When John and Jack interact for the first time in the show there's a super cool guitar riff, very evil western vibes, they walk up to each other, look deeply into each other's eyes, make out, then start throwing punches to Blur's Song 2. In one of the audio dramas we're told about various times where these two conned people, stole a bunch of money and gold and gems and stuff, then had sex with whoever it is they conned before (sometimes) killing them. When Jack devided he was done and left John to die John escaped and married the queen of England (Victoria) then locked Jack up somewhere to take his life force and live forever, destroying the timeline in the process. John has tried to kill all of Jack's friends at least twice to have him all to himself. He found Jack's long lost brother and when the brother turned out to be a terrible person with a vendetta against Jack John did everything he could to save Jack. Their relationship is canon but very one-sided most of the time

just this video

[platonic-soulmates-gencest]

1 When did you first start watching Supernatural?

2 What age group are you in? (Teens, 20s, etc)

3 What's your favorite fanfic?

1) I started Supernatural in September 2023. It hasn't even been a year yet.

2) I am in my early twenties... Extra info: I was a toddler when Spn first aired.

3) This was the hardest one to answer. I had to go through my bookmarks and remember all the great fics I have read and saved there.

I tried very hard to choose one, and then I failed. I narrowed it down to 10 of my favourites. (these aren't in numbered in order though, I like them equally, each for different reasons)

I love you, Sammy. by LeighLemont (toddler dean taking care of baby sammy)

Raising a Big Brother by authoressnebula (authoressjean) (this is a whole series of dean being the best big brother ever)

Voiceless by LeighLemont (Dean has selective mutism in this and only really talks to Sammy. Sam is a sweetheart)

love potion no. 9 by according2thelore (Dean 'drinks' a love potion and 'falls in love' with Sam. Sam is understanding. Dean is freaking out a bit, or a lot. Sam is also freaking out by the end. I think I just loved the humour in this.)

We Could Dream This Night Away by elsi (Prince_of_Elsinore) (this is just the softest heaven gencest around and it helps heal the pain of the epilogue)

...a pack of wolves with the rabies by mAd_parnes (I view this one as weirdcest. Sam gets amnesia at Stanford and forgets his family. When John and Dean with a bunch of Hunters come and get him, he thinks they are lunatics. Jess is with him in all of this.)

The Little Spoon by leonidaslion (Sam and Dean sharing a bed and cuddling)

Another reason why vamps are Dean's least favorite creature by Intolerablerider (Omega Dean fic and Sam finds out well into adulthood and helps his brother feel better about it ;;)

In Spite of the Teeth by winsive (super long fic, after Purgatory, Dean comes back a bit feral)

Pine sweat by Goshen (applecrumbledore) (Also long, time travel fic, Sam finds out Dean had a crush on him since forever, Dean is on a guilt trip, stuff happens, it's good)

Some of these as written as fully wincest but I am looking at them through my gencest/weirdcest lens.

Anyway! Thank you for the ask!

[maddiehu7]

My angel | Castiel |

Chapter 1

"Hey Bobby the phones ringing!" I shout from another room

"Well then answer idgit!" He shouts back I roll my eyes getting up from my comfortable position on the couch walking over to the phone picking it up I see a random number but answer it anyway

"Who is this?" I question suspiciously

"Mia? Mia listen to me" I hear none other than my dead brother speak i stare ahead in shock for minute starting to tear up before realizing it's probably a demon or shapeshifter

"This isn't funny call again and I'll kill you" I say angrily hanging up the phone

"Who was it?" Bobby asks coming into the room but when he sees me crying he comes over concerned

"Hey kid what's wrong" he says in the most gentle voice he could

"Some demon pretending to be Dean called...it was so nice to hear his voice" I say sniffling

"I'm sorry" Bobby says pulling me into a hug which makes me cry more melting into him.

It's been a couple hours since my meltdown and I'm back to sitting on the couch watching tv well Bobby's in the kitchen making something when I hear a knock at the door

"Really again I have to get up" I sigh out but stand up regardless heading to the door

"Wh-" I start to say stopping when I see my brother at the door smiling at me

"Surprise" he says

"I-I don't..." I stutter out but he interrupts me

"Yeah me neither but here I am" he says walking in I slowly grab the silver knife behind me slashing at him with it but he catches my arm putting it behind my back

"Mia!" He shouts but I swing back hitting him in the face

"Mia! It's me!" He says groaning stumbling backwards

"Hey what the hell is going on" Bobby runs in but stops when he sees Dean

"My ass" I say back to Dean speed walking towards him

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait!" He says pushing a chair infront of him holding his hand out I go to push it out of the way but Bobby stops me looking at Dean curiously

"Your name is Mia Elizabeth Winchester your 23 and your my sister our dads John Winchester" he says speedily

"Anyone could know that" I spit back

"Um....ok ok you've never had a boyfriend because dad, me, and Sam wouldn't let you,  um you love books, you rebellious like Sam but worse never following dads orders but staying anyway Because of me, um the scars on your left arm there from-" but I stop him moving the chair reaching out and touching his shoulder he smiles but I go to swing the knife again Bobby pulling me back again Dean swiping the knife from my hands

"I'm not a shapeshifter!" Dean yells

"Then your a revenant!" I yell from Bobby's arms

"Alright if I was either would I do this with a silver knife?" He says pulling up his sleep cutting himself I look at him bewildered that he's not in pain

"Dean?" I say starting to tear up

"That's what I've been trying to tell you" he says smiling walking towards me I immediately pull him into a tight him starting to ball

"Hey hey it's ok" Dean says laughing slightly with relief I just hug him tighter hearing his voice and finally hugging him again after all this time, I pull back after a minute tears still falling down my cheeks Dean smiling swiping them away meanwhile he tears up a bit himself

"It's-it's good to see you" I say sniffling

"Yeah, You to" Dean says coughing subtly wiping his tears

"Hey I'm here you know" Bobby says from the side me and Dean laughing Dean going over and hugging Bobby

"How'd did you bust out?" Bobby says pulling back confused

"I don't know I just uh woke up in a pine box-" Dean speaks but gets interrupted by Bobby throwing holy water on him

"I'm not a demon either you know" he says spitting water out I laugh

"Sorry, can't be to careful" Bobby shrugs

"So tell us everything" I say looking at him expectingly

~~time skip~~

“That don't make a lick of sense" Bobby says confused walking into the living room

"Yeah your preaching to the choir" Dean says back me and him following Bobby

"Dean your chest was ribbons, your insides were slop, and you've been buried four months even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meat suit” Bobby says

"I know, I should look like a thriller video reject" Dean sighs saying what everyone was thinking

"What do you remember?" I question carefully

"Not much, I remember I was a hellhounds chew toy...and then lights out then I come to six feet under that was it" he says looking away from us I look at him sadly

"Sam's numbers not working hes-uh- he's not..."

"Oh he's alive as far as we know" Bobby says easing deans worries

"Yeah just up and left me though in a time of need but yeah he's alive" I say rolling my eyes

"What?" Dean looks at me confused

"Oh yeah I lost both brothers it was real fun" I say with fake enthusiasm Dean just looks at me sorrily

"These months haven't been exactly easy, you know for him or us...we had to bury you" Bobby says looking at Dean

"Why did you bury me anyway?"

"We wanted you salted and burned- usual drill- but Sam wouldn't have it" I sigh out

"Well I'm glad he won that one" Dean says looking down at himself

"He said you'd need a body when he got you back home somehow that's about all he said" I say

"What do you mean?" Dean asks confused

"He was quiet...real quiet, then he just took of wouldn't return our calls we tried to find him but he didn't want to be found" i say looking down still missing him even though I'm beyond pissed he left me

"Oh damn it Sammy" Dean groans out

"What?" Bobby questions

"Oh he got be home ok but whatever he did it is bad mojo" Dean says looking at me and Bobby

"What makes you so sure?" I question

"You should have seen the grave site it was like a nuke went off then there was this-this force, this presence, this I don't know but it-it blew past me at a fill up joint...and then this" Dean says taking off his coat lifting up his shirt sleeve I come over curiously

"What in the hell?!" I say blown away by the handprint in bedded in deans shoulder

"What in the hell is right" Bobby says looking incredulously at the mark

"Yeah it's like a demon just yanked me out or rid me out" Dean shrugs

"But why?" I say confused

"To hold up there end of the bargain" Dean grits out

"You think Sam made a deal?" I say nervously

"It only makes sense” Dean says looking at me

"Fuck" I sigh out running my hands through my hair

[ritalacochona]

Episode 6,7 Headcannon to tied me over..

Wee John has had a few lines here and there but not been central to any stories yet. In the party episode, i hope we get to know John a bit better.

-Since he was always "the big guy," he was always expected to be tough, masculine, and work "man's job." Which meant hard labor. Something hard to carry "...give it to the big guy he will take care of it." It has left his back in shambles.

-By the time Stede Bonnet was looking for pirates, John needed the cushy job on the Revenge. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to make a living sacrificing his back. He didn't mention it when in the interview.

-He didn't expect to be set free from his former life when he joined the crew. Craft projects and bedtime stories that remind him of the soft boy he once was; artistic, mischievious, craving to be seen.

-The crew see him. They quickly accommodate Wee John's needs in a way he would never expect, and they would never mention. Roach giving him the only stool from his kitchen, Stede giving him jobs that require artistry over brute strength, Frenchie always there...

-When the Bonnet crew had to work for Jackie he had to return to "man's jobs." No accomodations when you need to eat. It was hard for him. The crew saw his mood grow darker with his pain but they knew he would never complain. They were his family. He needed to help them.

-In the bar one night, actors performed a story about a mermaid who doesn't know what's good for her, and a sea witch with clear no return policy. The sea witch is played by a man even bigger than John. John wonders what it's like to be so beautiful.

- The Red Flag is the second time in John's life where he felt supported. They immediately gave him the tailoring job. He worked with the gossiping girls, they got him knitting, he felt like one of them.

-Back on the Revenge, crew back together, everyone is different, everyone is in pain now. Frenchie is so changed. John wonders about the lockbox in Frenchie's head. The one they discussed on a quiet evening in their room a lifetime ago. He wonders if the lock broke.

- Everyone has their own troubles, half the crew is falling apart every other day. Wee John recedes into the background, not wanting to take up space. Getting on with it while in pain is an activity he has a lot of practice with.

-John thought Izzy was a twat before. Nasty little bugger, pining after his captain. Oh yeah, that was clear as day to John from his view on the deck.

- Now John can see other things. Izzy trying his best. Snarling and barking sound different when paired with haunted eyes. A man with the weight of the world on his back. John understands that.

- They bond over the stairs, over pain. Over knowing how to get on with it. Over watching all the crew find their places while losing musical chairs. Over continuing on anyway.

- John knits Izzy the stockings that protect his left limb from his wooden leg. Black at first, but then blue like the sea and the sky. Green, and even orange. Never purple, never red.

- When the party is announced, John remembers the story of the sea witch. Never saw the fuss about mermaids, John begins to sew a gown fit for a queen. The parts of him scared of his feminity no longer steer the ship. Izzy quietly admires that when no one is looking.

*** I am so excited to see them perform together.

[shownusgfayoooo]

ilym

Pairing: Seonghwa x gn!reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Words: 1.4k

A/N: this was based on the song ilym by John K ft ROSIE

my masterlist 

Seonghwa was confused. You knew he was confused. The sudden changes in your behavior, though minor and slight at best, were inevitably noticed under his constant attentiveness. 

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of this feeling of unease settling over. At first, you chalked it up to PMS, then, to your actual period. What other reasonable excuse was there for your random withdrawal from him and overwhelming emotion of sadness?

You went from seeing him every available minute you had in your schedule, which were few with the both of you being so busy, to actively avoiding him. You went from texting him every silly thought that crossed your mind, which were many, to barely keeping up conversation daily. 

Before you became a couple and when you were just obliviously pining for each other (only to each other- it was obvious to anyone who looked at you), the boys would actively make no room for you to sit with them in the lounge of the dorms. This lead to a lot of painful (for Seonghwa) and fun (for WooSan especially) scenarios where the members would fight over who got to claim you, who got to sit with you, and (your personal favorite) pushing you onto Seonghwa’s lap. Just yesterday, everyone was sitting around in the dorms to relax a bit before bed and as usual the boys spared you no space so that you could sit on your boyfriend. Instead, you just perched on the armrest next to him. Though they were too tired to notice anything off, you didn’t miss the curious look he sent your way. 

Something in you was pulling away from him, and you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want to be apart from him but being with him was bringing such a wave of emotion in you that it scared you and you didn’t know how to handle it. 

Getting frustrated, you decided to do what you do best and write your emotions onto paper. 

Dear Seonghwa,  

I know you’re probably wondering why I am writing you a letter when I could just as easily text you or call you or even see you in person. But even as I guess this, I know you also know who I am. And that means you know that writing it down like this will help me convey what I want to in the best way possible.

I’m just so confused. 

I know I’ve been off a little bit lately. I don’t get why. I am truly sorry; I know it must be hurting you to some degree. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say with this. I’m just gonna turn my brain off and write what I feel and hopefully you and me both can find some answer along the way. 

I miss you already. You’re not even gone.

I don’t want to sound ungrateful or appreciative of all the opportunities you’ve had lately. If there’s anyone who wants this as bad as you guys do, it’s me. I am so happy for you and proud of who ATEEZ is and who you’re all becoming. Trust me. I want the world for you. Even more than the world. 

I wanna call you. You’re already so busy. I know you would pick up, but I can’t take you away from your work either, or the guys. You all need each other. Maybe that’s why I’m writing this letter. There’s just so much I wanna say. 

I love you. You are everything to me. Maybe I’ve been withdrawing from you because you’re leaving me. You taught me what love is- its shape and how you handle it and what it looks like and how it feels. But, I think I’m going back to what I saw love as growing up. I think I am worried that with you leaving soon your love for me will diminish or cease. Which sounds terrible to say, because I know you’re not that kind of person. But maybe I’m preparing myself for that possibility anyways because that’s all I’ve ever known. And every moment with you has been magical, but what if it runs out? What if this is all the happiness that I was meant to have, and I’ve run out now? 

At this point, you threw your head down. Writing it out wasn’t helping. It was only unlocking an even bigger wave of emotion, which could be linked back to your own insecurities and abandonment issues. This was not Seonghwa’s problem. You crumpled up your favorite stationery and threw it over your shoulder towards the bin. This could be dealt with later. 

~~

Not burning the letter was a mistake. Actually, writing that letter in the first place was a mistake. That’s all you could think when you arrived home two days later only to see Seonghwa sitting on your couch, a familiar piece of pink paper being folded and unfolded by his nimble fingers over and over again. 

“Hey, love.” He got up and came around to hug you when he heard the door click shut. It was bone crushing. After so many days of being distant with him, you melted into him and breathed deeply for the first time in a long while. He felt you relaxing against him. 

He pulled back to look you straight in the eyes. “I’ve missed you,” he said as he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You could almost cry. “I missed you more.”

 “I wanted to talk to you.”

You tensed up, sure that it was going to be an uncomfortable conversation because you still didn’t have any answers to give him. You were happy for the world tour on the one hand and terribly scared about being away from him for so long. Which emotion won? That’s why you were so shocked when he said he was sorry. 

“I came over early, and I thought I’d take your trash out for you. I noticed this,” he held up the damned letter, “on the floor, but I didn’t know if it was trash. It had my name on it, so I read it, but I can see now that it was unfinished. So, I’m sorry, Y/N. I invaded your privacy.”

This man. This beautiful man. You had been acting erratic with him for weeks; you should have been the one apologizing. Instead, you said, “What did you think?” At least everything was on the table now.

His soft expression immediately hardened. “A lot.”

Expecting anger, you looked down at your joined hands and nodded. “I’m really sorry. I know it’s dumb- ”

He cut you off with a harsh press of his lips to yours. Quickly getting over your shock, you kissed him back just as passionately.

His voice was hoarse when he pulled away breathlessly. “I love you more than the bad days ahead. I love you more than the nights where we will be apart. I love you more. It’ll be hard- I know that. But I love you more than all of that. I love you more than anything in the world, even this tour. There’s gonna be moments where you will forget or your insecurities about us will win, but I love you more, ok? I’ll say it over and over again. I love you more.”

He pressed his forehead against yours. His hands came up to wipe the tears from your cheeks. 

“We’ll take it one day at a time. I wish I could take you with me.”

“I wish I could go with you, too.” You laughed shakily. 

He smiled down at you. “Do you feel better now? I promise we will be fine.”

You took in his gaze. His eyes sparkled as he looked down at you. “Yea, actually. I feel relieved, and this sense of dread is just gone.”

He rolled his eyes. “We should have had a proper makeout session weeks ago.” After such a heavy conversation, his attempt at levity was much appreciated.

“PLEASE.” You lightly slapped his stomach in mock outrage. The effect was diminished because you were laughing along. 

He slung an arm over you as you settled down on the couch. There was a lot of catching up to do, but before you both could start dishing, you placed your hand on his face to turn it towards you.  

“I love you more, too. More than anything that can be thrown at us.” 

He smiled softly, and you kissed him sweetly this time. 

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: A little Steinbeck drabble about signing the cast he had because i care him!! There's a tiny bit of mutual pining if you squint really hard.

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: jumps into a microwave hi apparently i write bsd now

“Are you done yet?” John asked, lips pursued in mock annoyance as he watched you write whatever you were writing on his cast.

“Patience is a virtue, John.” you shot back, eyes never moving from your work.

He groaned as his head hit the pillow, turning to the side away from you. You’d been bugging him even more than usual now that the Guild had crashed and burned. The suggestion to sign his cast came out of nowhere, but John liked you, so he decided to let you do whatever silly little thing you wanted.

That was a mistake.

Because now you’d pulled up a chair and everything, and insisted on doodling even more things across the bandages. He caught a glimpse of a grape vine fifteen minutes ago, and yet you were still here.

Maybe he should call someone to get you to leave.

Huffing to himself, he shook his head slightly.

No, he knew he wouldn’t do that.

The sound of a marker clicking shut made him turn back over to face you, watching as you beamed and sprang up from your seat.

“I promise I signed my name.” you blurted, placing the marker back on his bedside table, “I just…decided to add to it, is all.”

“That’s fine.” he sat up, propping himself up on his elbows, “Did you seriously cover my cast in grapevines?”

You nodded, that wide smile still on your face. It was hard to picture someone like you working with the Guild, doing the dirty work for Fitzgerald, fighting on battlefields he sent his employees to. And yet he knew all too well what kind of person you were on said battlefields, coming through for him multiple times.

Weird. You seemed so happy and kind and hard working, it was a mystery as to why you ended up in a place like this.

“Hm. Nice.” was all he could muster, staring down at the twisting brown vines and the green leaves and the ripe purple grapes, “Just…don’t tell Lovecraft about this.”

(Lovecraft found out anyway and came to see John. He drew a stick figure of himself next to your name and signed it too.)

[romancomicsnews]

Who should play Hal Jordan in the DCU's Lanterns?

With the upcoming DCU's Superman introducing Guy Gardner, it was only a matter of time until we got more Green Lantern.

Variety has reported that "Lanterns" is officially moving forward at HBO, with the characters of Hal Jordan and John Stewart taking center stage in the eight episode miniseries.

The synopsis reads, "new recruit John Stewart and Lantern legend Hal Jordan are two intergalactic cops drawn into a dark, earth-based mystery as they investigate a murder in the American heartland.”

This synopsis doesn't tell us much, but does hint at a few things. It is assumed Hal will be the older, secondary character to Stewart's, playing a more mentor role as an established hero. This leads me to believe Jordan won't be the main Green Lantern in the Justice League, and instead will play more of a background character, such as Michael Douglas in Ant-Man, although maybe not that old.

Although I'm a fan of Jordan, I think this is a smart move. John being our main Lantern is something fans of JL and JLU cartoons have been itching for. Plus it can give this show some good distance from the awful film where Hal Jordan is the protagonist.

Even if he isn't the main character, the casting of Hal Jordan is an important one. This will not only be the secondary protagonist of the show, but one of the DCU's legendary staple heroes. Whether he turn to evil, stay around as a hero or die, this character needs to be casted appropriately. So let's look into it and ask the question, who should play Hal Jordan?

Before we do that, we need to answer some questions:

Characteristics: What makes a good Hal jordan?

To me, Hal Jordan has a very specific mix of asshole, confidence and charm that makes us want to route for him. He sucks, but we love him anyway. Very few actors have this charisma, which makes him a very hard character to cast right.

Even an actor with these attributes if leaning into any of these too hard can feel wrong. Case and point: Ryan Reynolds.

I often think of Chris Pine's Captain Kirk from the Star Trek films as a perfect young Hal Jordan.

However this is a Hal Jordan who has been through it, knows what the job is and has wisdom to show for it. So we're adding that new layer in, not just cocky and confident, but wise and maybe even kinder.

Fancasts worth noting:

There are a few people I wanted to bring up who have frequently been fancast as Green Lantern who I think may be good but probably shouldn't. The first big one is the biggest short guy in Hollywood, Tom Cruise.

Now do I think he has the stuff? Absolutely. I also think he's a bit too big of a name that he may overshadow the performance. Plus he's a tad older than I would like and I don't see him consistently coming back to this franchise.

Next we got the Rookie Nathan Fillion. He has been a long time first choice for Hal Jordan, even voicing him in some animated films. He's in the age range, and I love him, but he's Guy Gardner, so he can't unfortunately.

Finally, a few names that have also come up are Patrick Schwarzenegger, Glenn Powell and Jake Gyllenhaal. While I think these three are incredible actors, the first two are a bit too young now for the role, and Gyllenhaal has played a green mentor to a hero already recently, so I don't think it's very interesting.

But seriously watch out for Patrick, after the Boys spin-off Gen-V, I can definitely see him playing a great hero or villain role. He would've made a great young Hal Jordan.

Other Stipulations

We want an actor who can make the fantastical feel real and grounded. It needs to be someone fun to play off of Stewart's serious military sternness.

I'm looking for actor around 50. He needs to feel old enough to be wise and experienced but young and spry enough to be a serious threat.

This is HBO, so we need a name. Not someone who is gonna outshine our lead but someone with some star power.

Green Lantern's must be fearless, so there needs to be the energy of someone who can hold their own.

As usual I'm looking for someone not already known for being in a superhero role. So actors like Jake Gyllenhaal or Chris Evans are off the table.

3. Edward Norton

This may be the biggest name in my top 3.

Although he has had a brief stint as the Hulk, Norton I think is much better suited to play this green hero.

Norton has a great voice for an older Hal, calm and steady, with enough charm and weariness to feel like he's seen somethings. Norton is also very funny. He knows how to play heroes, villains, and anything in between. I can see his Jordan turning, or sacrificing himself heroically.

My main concerns are his name being too big, and more importantly, his tendency to take over projects creatively. If this was already an established universe, I'd let it slide. But, we need to think of team players.

2. Jason Sudeikis

If I had to go with a safe pick all around, Sudeikis is kind of made for the role.

Few people have that asshole energy like Sudeikis in his past comedy work that feels so inherently Jordan. He's funny, he can shoot the shit, but at the end of the day, he's still the protagonist that you love.

What really gives him the edge over the others is his stint as Ted Lasso. The wisdom and kindness I'm looking for in a mentor Green Lantern. Not to mention he can lead a show so popular, he'd be a big get for DC.

My main concern is, does he feel like he can hold his own? Does he feel as fearless as a Green Lantern should be?

I don't think so. I'm not saying he can't get there or he wouldn't be great, but he just misses out on this one.

1. Timothy Olyphant

I nearly made him my second pick, but when writing this, I convinced myself he was number one.

Timothy Olyphant was, fun fact, actually another choice to be 2008's Iron Man. He's got charisma to boot, charm, I mean, look at him!

Tell me that's not him in the photo!

Known for roles in Justified, Fargo, and The Mandalorian, Olyphant has the perfect presence as a Green Lantern. He looks older and wise but full of life and fight in him. He looks like the best of the Norton and Sudeikis, both fearless, wise and kind.

Olyphant also has an energy that feels right at home in a mystery and in space. He's been in crime stories like Fargo and space stories like the Mandalorian, and has been everything Hal needs: a leading man, a U.S. Marshall, a Space Cop, and a ladies man.

If we wanna start the DCU right, Olyphant is my Hal Jordan. Plain and simple.

Thank you so much for reading! Please consider following, and check out my socials and other sites here! And let me know: Who do you want to play Hal Jordan in the DCU?