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archive-doll · 1 month ago

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Oh, sweet neighbour. II

Johnny Mactavish x f!reader. He cannot let you move a little finger because no, and well, you need a guard dog.

18+ CW: the military. you're pregnant, that's a warning on its own. takes place in Scotland, AU where Johnny is forcibly retired and finds a new project - you. breaking and entering. food is mentioned. foot fetish. panty-stealing. noncon - he kisses you while you sleep, touches you too. fantasy of somnophilia. hints of dom/sub dynamic.

Have mercy on my grammar, English is not my first language.

PREV. MASTERLIST. NEXT

Days continue to pass by as peacefully as they did before. The bull you had been negotiating to buy is now happily roaming around, in the middle of all the chickens and the goats. An old guy, rather calm for one of his kind, who comes to greet you every morning. He even starts to play with your Bernese Mountain dog, not that you're surprised, Leo can make everybody his friend.

While you sit on your porch, slowly shifting on the rocking chair after a long day of work, you can see them running after one another. You name him Cowboy. The stable starts slowly being renovated, and your ankles are more sensitive than they used to be. But you get one wall done thanks to your nail gun, and you slowly start to get used to the recoil, barely even gasping at the loud sound anymore.

Evidently, it is seeing you perched on your stool that makes Johnny leave the security of his new house and cross the distance. It is barely day six after your meeting, and Johnny is growing restless, watching you from his window. He had been unable to do anything, and there was a mountain of chores waiting for him inside, but nah. Each time he sees you in the morning, a cup of dark coffee dwarfed into his hand, and you take his breath away.

With your laugh when the sun rises, when you go about and around with a skip in your step, a bucket of grains in hand. How you pat that dangerous bull and scratch at his head and trim the ginger hair around his head, uncaring of those giant horns that could impale you. Your yellow raincoat makes his heart ache with tenderness, but god, does he hate seeing you sitting on that stupid stool. Shouldn't be doing this, not by yourself anyway, not as long as he has something to say about it.

And you listen very well.

You’re trying to adjust the gutter, standing there while grumbling about it, a frown curling your eyebrows. It is not raining this morning, which is why you want to clean it and see if it needs changing as well, taking a handful of debris out. You hate the feeling of it, the leaves all wet that stick around your fingers, and the sight of dead insects and other things you don't want to know the name of. Your nose twitches in disgust, and you gaze away for a moment before dropping it down.

Johnny can feel a cold sweat pearling on his skin at the sight of you, sitting so prettily in such a dangerous position. You are wearing an adorable pink jacket today and a green silky scarf around your hair to keep your face free, with a little bow at your nape. It makes him want to nestle into you, cradle your elbow and kiss the soft flesh there. The sight of you is almost too difficult to watch for a man like him.

“Hen, ya’re goin to giv' me a heart attack.”

You jolt at the sudden aggravated voice, so concentrated on your task that you don’t notice the shuffling sound of him approaching your position. Your heart shudders in your chest, the rumble of his voice making your skin flush when you flicker your eyes at him, one hand securely holding onto the edge of the roof.

“God, Johnny!” You whine with the remaining of your fear, shifting so you sit with both feet on the stair, making the man hurriedly walk to you.

“C’mon now, lassie.” He asks of you, standing at the bottom of your high stool with careful eyes. His hair is unruly today, making you want to brush it back, and his black pants are already stained with mud. You can't imagine the state of his sneakers.

“What?”

“Get down. I’ll do it f'r ya.” He says back with no hesitation, already raising his hand for you to take.

The worry on his face is evident as he waits for you, warm eyes flickering along your silhouette, ready to rescue you if you fall. It’s what makes you accept his hand, that and the pain in your shoulders. You’re not certain how he’s going to take care of your gutter with one arm in a cast, but you don’t bother asking him, not as he is readjusting the silky scarf around your head with such a concentrated face.

It brings a shy grin to your face, having such a strong man bending down to you, his thick fingers pushing your scarf back carefully, and curling your hair back around your cheeks. You nibble on your lips, gazing up at him quietly when he wipes something from your cheek, his hair grazing your forehead at the proximity. It's with a gentle word that you give him your thanks as he thumbs at your jaw.

You watch him raise up on the stool easily, bulging arm catching your attention for a moment when he asks you for a tool. You feel your face slightly heat up as you falter toward your box, taken out of your admiration. Your hands push in the mess of it, and Johnny doesn't judge when you first show him what you think he asked with hesitation. He nods, and you grin once more before approaching, one hand on the edge of the stool, before you raise up and give it to him. You don't miss how his broad shoulders shift at each of his movements.

Once again, Johnny starts asking you questions, not that you mind much. It is rather nice to have someone to talk to. And Johnny is good company, always listening to everything you say with attention. His eyes flicker to your mouth occasionally, as if drinking the words you give him straight from the source.

"I decided on Scotland when I saw pictures of the mountains." You recall a little haze in your eyes while you think back on it. It's a happy memory, though it didn't start as one. "I lived in a city and grew up there. I wanted a change, and it called to me."

"Mountains, eh?"

"Yeah! I like the quiet. The nature. When it's spring or summer, I want to hike up there." You confirm, pointing at one mountain there, up west.

Johnny stares at the mountain, one hand busy screwing back the gutter in its rightful place, where it can't fall into your path or, worse, on you. When he gazes back at you, you're still admiring the landscape, with a gentle smile grazing your mouth. He can't really understand, having seen these mountains and nature all his childhood and travelled in dazzling places during his missions.

But if it's what brought you here, safe, to him, then he's pleased.

"And, everyone always told me the people were nice here. And the food." You add, twisting on your feet to lean against the stool, which barely moves under Johnny's weight. You cross your arms on a lower stair, and he huffs a laugh, catching your little smile.

"Food, righ'."

"That, and the houses cost less than in Island. And it's warmer, if you can believe it."

The screw dig into his palm when you say it, Island. Fucking hell, he could have never meet you. Could have awakened to an empty land, alone. Never known the sound of your breathing, or how your nose twitches when you smile.

"Everythin' is warmer than Island." He gruff, giving a good tug on the gutter and watching it stay put.

"True. So I came here."

The more he listens to you, the more certain Johnny is of the good in you. He makes quick work of the gutter as you explain it all to him. You desire for a refuge and have a family of your own to look after and care for. With your precious hand smoothing up and down your tummy and that genuine smile curling your mouth, it feels like redemption. To help you. To make you safe when you walk further in, your fingers curling around his palm, your rain boots sinking into the mud. You don’t care for the mess, he finds out. Not when you settle inside the stable, and tell him the work needed to be done next, with dust floating around you and a piece of spider web on your shoulder.

His knees shake as you settle one of your hands on his elbow, guiding him to where you keep the tools and the rest of the materials you will need for the rehabilitation of the stable. Your fingers tense inside the crook of his elbow, and he feels frustrated with his own state, not able to secure you with both hands. You lead him toward a table there, with the plan you have imagined laid out on paper. The drawing is rather rough, but he understands it easily.

"Five? Plannin' on buyin' horses, bonnie?"

"Mhm. A stallion, two mares. Then, time will tell," You hum, leaning into the table as you nod in confirmation. You had years of dreams, years of imagination, and of planning behind you. You know what you want and how you'll get them, too - there are so many horses that need a home. There are so many strays that need shelter. "I'd like a donkey too, but it'd be noisy for you."

"Dinnea care, bonnie," Johnny says, voice unwavering, completely honest. A donkey or not, it doesn't matter much to him. As long as you're happy. As long as it's not quiet anymore, empty. Anything else, it's fine.

"Then a donkey it is." You grin up at him, leaning closer into his space. He doesn't care much either, not when your shoulder nestles into his side while you go back to your explanation. Little independent girl, already thought of it all. Only need a strong man to help you.

Johnny is good at listening. His lieutenant might say something else, but he's well-behaved now. Better than when he first enrolled, a pent-up kid who only knew demining figures, the weight of negligence, and parents who could hardly remember his name. He's a good soldier now, broken apart and shaped back by an entity bigger than himself - bigger than the whole sky he even thought for a while.

Finding intel, chatting up some guys for distraction, following a plan. Johnny can do that, shit he wants to, feeling useless by himself, without anything to do in the silence. And your plan, it's a damn good one. He can see you don't really know what to do, but you went and looked it up, and did it yourself, sweet girl, finding what tool to use for what, the width each box needs to be, and what's the best wood to buy for a decent price.

He doesn't mind having you guide him. Pointing his target, the next step for this mission and even less when you reward him with a smile, much better than any medal or tight handshake he ever received in return for his service. You look so pretty there, doing your best as you measure the planks and cut them carefully with gloved hands. Even with the protective glasses perched on your nose, you're a sight for sore eyes. And the doc said exercise is good or something like that.

So he listens to you, well. Intently. Never turning his back on you, always adapting to your soft orders and determined wishes with no hesitation, his mind quiet as you soothe him into action. You don't have Kyle's sickening smile, or his Lt's rough hands that dig deliciously into him, nor Cap's approving eyes that make his teeth hungry for more, but god, you are something.

He's desperate for your praise, for that smoothing hand down his back as you come to watch the finished result. It makes his chest puff, makes his hands tingle with anticipation, and he's eager to do more, just for another look from you. You have these soft eyes, a dreamy voice that sounds like a melody, and he feels like a damn pup, a lovesick mutt famished for the warmth of you that makes him drool. Aye, you don't need to be Kyle, or Lt, nor Cap. He'll do anything you ask, do anything you need. He'll be good.

It’s well into the afternoon when you enter the stable again, with a plate filled with a warm teapot, two mugs, and some sandwiches you made for the two of you. It’s no surprise to find that Johnny is very quick with his hands, even with one not in good shape, and you find yourself standing there, by the table, with shining eyes as half of it is already finished.

After a long and grumbling discussion, Johnny had let you work too but not without the threat of making him leave and doing it all by yourself. Though he managed the heavy lifting all on his own, you can't deny that. Your heart stutters, finding him putting on a lock, his large form bent forward and strong shoulders rolling underneath his sweater.

“Johnny?”

“Aye, hen?”

“Let’s take a break, hm?” You propose, watching him gazing at you from over his shoulder.

It’s almost immediate how he puts down the screwdriver and shifts on his feet to face you. Black boots he went and fetched in his house, trudges on the ground, and your eyes flicker to the dark curls around his head, seeing drops of sweat shining on his skin. He does not move away from you anymore when you approach.

Before, there was a moment when Johnny would stiffen, all of his body rigid as he watched you close the distance.

Instead, now, he leans into you as if anticipating your next move, blue eyes blinking as he waits patiently. You pass the clean towel around his face, wiping away the crass and wood dust accumulating on him. The arch of his nose, with a slight bump, the bones of his cheeks that you gently rub clean, even his scarred temples that you do not mention.

Johnny allows you into his personal space gladly, his eyes shining with an energy you can't quite decipher. Your head tilts back when you roll your weight to your toes, raising yourself to slide the towel over his nape with a smile. You have to shuffle closer, enough that your shoes tap his own, your belly pressing into his coat as you slide the towel over his skin. You blink before finding his eyes that never left you.

“You hungry? I made us sandwiches.”

Big blue eyes stare down at you, and you have half the desire to stroke them and feel his long lashes tickle your fingertips before he offers you a nod. Your mouth turns up into that beautiful smile once again – a sight he will never get tired of – before you step backwards. His body sways forward; the magnetic force you affect him with is inevitable. He stays close, towering on your right side, and watches quietly as you fill the two mugs there, and your shoulder brushes his chest when you cut the sandwich in two.

He relishes in everything you grant him with.

From where you both sit, you can see well into your land. The little river there, down the slight hill that leads to Johnny’s house. The trees at the edges of the forest bend and dance beneath the wind. The thyme tea warms you as you listen to Johnny eating with gluttony.

Your lips twitch at the groaning he lets out, and with warm cheeks, you glance his way. His eyes are closed, and he munches about one sandwich already eaten. His legs are spread out as he bites another piece of it, barely breathing between mouthfuls, and you let out a little amused giggle, seeing him nod mindlessly to himself.

“I’m guessing it’s good, then?”

“Bloody amazin’, hen.”

Your face brightens again as you let out a chuckle, finding Johnny endearing. It's a strange thought to have about a man, but one you can't contest. Your hands cradle your cup as you watch him, a smile lingering on your lips when he sighs, finally satiated. It’s the least you can do after today. Your hands twitch then, when he raises his hand to his lips, licking at the tip of it. A pink tongue passes the threshold of his mouth and curls around his thumb, licking the last crumbs.

There is something slightly erotic in it all, seeing how his fingers shine with his own spit as he leans back in his chair, completely satisfied by your cooking. Big, large hands, calloused and scarred, now used to help create your home, knuckles pink under the little dark hair there. Large frame, warmed by the tea you made for him, and the food you nurtured him with.

“What’s next, bonnie?”

“Mhm?” You hum, almost losing yourself in the sight of him.

“After tha’, what do we wan' to do?”

“Oh! My porch needs some repairing.” You answer, shifting in your chair to face him, noticing his use of the ‘we’ with affection. You don’t mind it. Could definitely use the help and the strong arms.

"Mhm. Nothin' inside needs some restoration?" He hums, squinting his eyes at you from his place. It makes you fidget in your seat, lips pinched down before you shrug your shoulders, trying to appear innocent.

"M'eudail." He groans, thick accent twirling around the foreign word at your bad little acting. "Need to think abou' yarself, ya know? Can't let ya be cold oll winter."

"I'm not cold. T's just the bathroom, well, the heater doesn't work. And the sink in the kitchen is having some trouble." You try to dismiss, eyes finding the view of the hill again, only trying to ignore his grumpy frown.

"We'll dae yar house first." He finishes on, and though you sigh, you don't refute his decision. You know better than to lie to him, not that you want to anyway.

You pass the early evening finishing the last touch in the stables – the little chamber there, where you sand the wood carefully. Actually, Johnny uses the sander while you do the finishing touches behind his passage, running your palm over the smooth texture with appreciation. There are five boxes done, and while Johnny rearranges all of your tools, you looks at it, hands on your hips.

This would have taken you ages to do by yourself because, even with all of your good intentions, you do not know what you’re doing most of the time. But there is no hesitation in Johnny’s actions, and with a few sentences, he always reassures you, giving you the options before allowing you to make your decision.

It's easy how he walks you into your home as if you've done it before. Your hand is warm, settled into his elbow as he slows his steps for you. The air is cold tonight, and you figure winter is not far anymore with how soon the sun sets over the green land. Johnny’s hand moves and curls around your fingers, helping you take the first step toward the porch.

Johnny walks you inside, hovering behind you and finds the collar of your coat quickly, without a word. You sigh when your feet finally go into the comfort of your slippers, ankles slightly hurting from today's work. You don't question it when, after wiping your hands, you give him the little towel you always keep there to dry his face and hair.

"I was thinking of making bruschetta for dinner." You reveal to him, turning to watch him pass the towel over his hair, seeing how the usual brown of his hair had turned black from the evening rain. "With cream cheese, some tomatoes."

"Ya intivin' me to dinner, m'eudail?" It's a tease you know, just from the little tingle in his lips when he stares down at you.

"If you want to." You say, watching him putting his khaki raincoat on the wall. You pinch your lips as he wipes his hands on the towel, his blue eyes electrifying in the dim light, making you slightly nervous. It should be a bad idea, literally, inviting a stranger - an acquaintance? - into your home.

But you don't think Johnny could ever hurt you. Not with how delicately he handles you or tries to anyway. He's not used to this life, to people who aren't shaped by the sound of gunshots, and trained to assess everything around them as a potential threat. Not used to the softness of your wrist, of the light in your eyes. His fingers may circle your forearm too strongly, and he may stomp around silently to avoid alerting anyone of his presence and so scare you, but he always tries. He's always careful.

Your weight shifts from foot to foot as you keep looking at each other before you offer him a smile, softly moving to the side in silent invitation.

"Got nothing to thank you for your help. But I can cook."

"Shouldn't stand too much on yar feet, hen. Yer legs are goin' to hurt ya."

'I'll be fine, can handle a bit of pain, Johnny." You answer back after a moment of silence, seeing him squint at your legs as if they're a mathematical problem he can't resolve - or an untamed being who doesn't listen. Which, really, could be.

"I ken. But you shouldn't have ta." He grumbled then, passing the threshold of your house, coming to you easily. And it warms you how serious he is with it, with your health and your comfort. "C'mon then."

You don't say anything, simply accepting his help when he places a hand on your back. Johnny doesn't talk much, you find; he simply stays by your side as you open the old fridge. Your left hand skims over your belly as he looks into a high cabinet, finding there the plates you'll need for dinner.

Every ingredient is placed on the wooden island you also need to repair, and you hear him grumble as he opens and closes one cabinet, making it hiss. You hide your smile as he moves around, quickly finding every little thing that will need reparation or to be changed. It's actually rather amusing, seeing such a grown man mumbling to himself as he cusses and huffs and puffs.

"You know, I didn't invite you here, so you'll swear at my kitchen."

"Bonnie," He says, almost a warning as he gazes back at you, brows curling into a frown when you arch your eyebrows.

"That's a problem for tomorrow, okay? Come sit with me." You invite him, patting the high chair at your right, voice sweet and soft, like honey. It easily softens the exasperated glint in his eyes, and he sighs deeply before closing back the drawer.

You have to bite back a laugh when it squeaks. Johnny stared at it for a while longer, and you burrowed your face into your shoulder with a giggle. With a shake of his head, he finds you, large form settling by your side comically in that badly painted white high chair. It's much too small for him.

"How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long has it been for sale?" He asks again for your attention, watching you cut the tomatoes into four pieces. Your nail polish, a soft red, is slightly breaking on the edge after today's chore, and he pinches your thumb, moving it up and down under the light. You have a blister. That annoys him; you should never be in pain.

"Twelve years, I think. The previous owner was in a care facility for a while. It's in relatively good shape. The beams are still healthy."

"Walls dinnea make a home, hen." He grumbles, large fingers pushing into the side of your hand before he tugs the tomatoes in front of him, swiftly taking the knife out of your hand. "Someone came ta look at it?"

"No, not yet. Needs a bit of cleaning first, and then I need a plan." Your elbow presses into the counter, and your chin nestles into your palm as you watch him. The knife barely makes a sound as it slides into the plate.

You don't say another word for a while, simply enjoying the quiet as you watch Johnny skillfully use the knife on your tomatoes. Even with only one hand, he's doing it better than you are. Then, you turn and quietly slide the book in front of the two of you, abandoning your stubborn act. You don't say anything when you hear his snort and pointly ignore his look, and tap at the page so he can anticipate the rest of the recipe as you go and start taking care of the bruschetta.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You already doin' it." He says back without hesitation, and you push your shoulder into him at his teasing before seeing him nod. "Why do you help me?"

"Dinnea have better to dae."

It's a simple answer. While you believe it might be true, you don't think it's the truth either. Johnny doesn't seem the type of man who busies himself with other people's business, whether they are pregnant or not. From his manners, you don't deny he's polite and would never let you put your groceries away by yourself, but not to the point of restoring some stranger's old stable.

Your fingers reshape the bread, easily going through the motion as you let your eyes on him. Your nose twitches as you ponder it. You are eternally grateful for his help, really. But you know for certain there is something else. Another reason that makes him do it all, from cutting your tomatoes in that tiny high chair, to sanding the door of your dream stable.

For a moment, your eyes linger in front of you, hazy as you wonder. Does he look for a sense of stability? For a purpose? Or simply to occupy his days? Well, it's not any of your business, but you can't help yourself, trying to understand him, to discover every piece that built him. You know you shouldn't, and it's only a hypothesis anyway.

"Well, alright. You make good company so it's fine."

His fingers twitch around his knife, and the blade flutters over the chives at your words. He can feel the tip of his ears heating up at your compliment, and for a moment, he doesn't dare to look at you. Worried about what he will find.

When he does, though, under that little layer of sarcasm he brings out of you, Johnny finds honesty. And a smile - genuine, and pure. He's rooted to the damn chair, watching you, admiring you there, with a little apron tied around your neck.

You're the epitome of domestic life. Of civilian life. With that little thing tied around your waist, the brushing of your hair or whatever it is called, that make them so beautiful and shiny. No worries in your eyes when you turn your back on him, and soft fingers that linger on his arms.

If it's what awaits him, it can't be so bad.

"Even when I yell at yar kitchen?" He dissipates it, the bitter acceptance, pushing away the tension in his chest with what he does best - humour and a crooked grin.

"Yea', even when you yell at my kitchen." You chuckle, the edges of your eyes pinching slightly, and you do it again - that little scrunch of your nose. He thinks you're cute. Definitely too trusting, but rather cute.

The banter is easy with Johnny, keeping you skipping your steps, with a little glow in your face as he grills the bread in an oiled pan. Italians might despise you for this, but it's good, and you thought of bruschetta since you woke up this morning. You knew being pregnant could give you cravings, but not to this point.

With a ginger beer in hand, you walk behind Johnny, who's holding your plate, into the living room, where a very old TV is waiting for you and the most comfortable couch you've ever seen. Leo is there too, lying on the carpet by the fireplace, and you give him a few scratches before settling on the couch. Johnny is already there, lap spreading so hard that your knee bumps into his when you sit.

"So, ya said the bathroom and the kitchen. What else?"

"Mhm, the stairs creak. And I'd like to take out most of the paint on the furniture and varnish the wood. The heaters need a look, and the fireplaces, too." You think about it, lips pinching on the side as you unfold one thick cover before laying it on your legs, sensing Johnny's attention on you.

The television is running a show, and you can't understand half the words in it. The English teachers you had in school definitely didn't concern themselves with the slang or the different accents. But Scottish, surely, could easily make you feel like a fool. But you don't pay much attention, not when you hear Johnny asking you about what you want to do first.

"Well, the heaters and fireplace. I'll find someone tomorrow to come and look at it. Then, I'll have to buy some new furniture. Or a way to restore what's here."

A tingle slides on the bottom of your feet, and you mindlessly pass a piece of your ham to Leo as you push a warm tomato between your lips.

"Need a hand?"

"Mhm. Don't even know where to go."

He nods absentmindedly, curling a finger behind your ear to slick back some dishevelled strands of hair. Your eyes shift to his face, finding him there, relaxing, and his plate already empty. Johnny must have been starving, a big man like him doing work all day. Your lashes flutter when his fingers linger, his thumb passing over the arch of your jaw.

"Can't hav' strange men here when ya're alone, m'eudail."

His voice is similar to the echoes of thunder that swirl around in the mountains. It's a familiar sound in the back of your mind, one that makes this situation comfortable even if you don't know him. Because it's true, you don't know Johnny, hell, you don't even know his last name, but here you are, both of you. On your couch, sitting in front of the telly while he thumbs at your cheek, so close.

You smile, cheeks round as he presses into it with a grin, watching how your eyes light up momentarily.

"Guess I'll have to ask you to leave then."

He snorts, square shoulders shaking before he squeezes your chin in his hold. You swat at his wrist with amusement before he gathers your plate. The couch trembles as he rises up, making your body shift deeper into its comforts, and you snuggle beneath your blanket. Johnny pivots to look at you, and his shadow looms over you when he stands between you and the fireplace.

You're reminded of him, the first time you met. How he took your breath away. With the light coming from behind him, he looks bigger - stronger. Your breath halts for a second before he tilts himself closer, breaking the spell.

"Want sweets, hen?"

"Mhm?" You sigh, momentarily taken aback.

"Desserts." He repeats for you, not even missing a beat. Never making you feel stupid either, the same expression on his face, waiting for your answer with patience.

"Oh." You sigh, chin hitching up to gaze at his face before you offer him a little nod. "Yea', that would be nice. Do you want some tea?"

"I'll dae it, hen. Stay warm, aye?"

Johnny doesn't let you do much the rest of the evening. He said that since you cooked, he can do the rest. Dishes, the tea, and taking care of the fire by adding a few more wood. Don't have ta move bonnie, should stay comfortable. It makes you smile, and while in any other case, you would have put up a fight, he is your guest after all, you can see that Johnny needs it. To move around the place, never sitting down for long.

It almost gives you whiplash, but when you see him trudge around, looking out the windows, you force yourself to settle back. Your fingers curl around the mug, and you take a little mouthful as he closes the curtains, securing every entry point.

"What time tomorrow?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"I'll have to go to the city. Varnish and everythin'. What's the best time for you?"

Your eyes never leave him as he slides another curtain close, his silhouette flirting with the shadows of your house. You know he is looking at you, you can feel it - the weight of his eyes on your curled form. You wonder if he is surprised, or simply accepting what it implies, another day working around your place. If he's content with you, rely on him of your own accord. Making the first step his way.

"Nine-fifteen will do."

"Ok. I'll probably be on the phone with the contractors by then, so you come in, alright?"

"Yar door bett'r be locked, hen."

"I only keep it locked when I sleep." You answer, at peace with your own answer, not reacting when you hear him grumble. You can see him shake his head again, unhappy with your dangerous habits.

"I'll knock." He warns you, and you sigh, unamused, when he takes the teacup out of your hands.

You twist in your spot, throwing an arm on the back of the couch and watch him step into your kitchen. Your chin settles on your forearm as he cleans the place, putting everything back in its spot with perfection. You don't want to ask him about it; you don't want to bring back bad memories. But, you wonder what he was in the army if he had a title of his own, and why did he left and came here of all places.

You stay silent, knowing it isn't your place. If he wants to talk about it or share it with you, he will do it at his own pace.

You make the last step alone on the porch, and you find your hand cold from his absence when he slithers away in the darkness. With a gentle rub at your tummy, your door half open, you turn his way one last time, your eyes finding him with purpose.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yea'?" You ask, hoping, wondering if he would want to. Giving him an out, if he needs it, even if you already asked before.

His hands twitch at his side, the desire to hold you hitching under his skin. You look so peaceful. Your skin is soft and plump, with that little dew under your chin that he loves, and your knitted cardigan pushed closed around your torso. He wants to cradle you, keep you warm and safe in his arms, where he knows no one could ever pain you.

He gives you a nod, not finding the right words to answer you, and it makes the curls around his head sway prettily. You giggle before giving him a sweet wave and entering your home. Johnny takes a breath, keeping watch for a little while, seeing you moving around. Didn't even look back. You'll have to change your curtains soon because he can see you, back arched as you clean up the living room. Will have to add a few bolts to your door, too.

There is no hesitation when Johnny crosses the distance between your homes. His steps are silent, and his strong frame disappears in the shadows in swift motions. The animals, now used to his presence, barely react to him when he passes. He will search for a guard dog for you next week.

His boots press into the wooden planks of your porch. He sees the light in what he guesses is your bedroom. He stands there for a moment, watching your silhouette shift on the other side. Clothes are being taken off, and the sight of you leaves him rocking on his feet, looking more delicious than any delicacy he's ever had. And there is nothing he can truly see, only the curves of your hips and the sway of your flesh as you walk around. His shoulders tremble before his eyes watch the shutter start, and then the light is turned off.

It's with ease that he enters your sweet little home. Barely a few tries and your lock is off before he steps inside. He will reinforce your security, especially now that he knows you barely even lock your house. There is no sound here as he pushes the back door closed. The dog must be with you, good, he thinks. The smell of the fire fills his nose as he walks inside, eyes shifting about, catching sight of your open kitchen needing a good remodel, and then the living room. He settles into the seat there, a recliner, by your couch.

It is only day six of knowing you. And already, he feels himself needing to be here - to guard you. You give him purpose, a sense of self, during the day. Building you a home, the farm that you so dreamily wish to have. But in the darkness of the night, he feels restless, so far away from you. His bed was cold and empty, and he couldn't restrain the urge anymore, not after your adorable little goodbye.

See you tomorrow? Of course you will, hen. Where else will he be, if not by your side? Where else could he crawl to, if not you?

He settles rather quickly, his knife secured by his hip, one gun beneath his armpit, and the other hidden beneath his jeans. And when he closes his eyes, he can imagine you, see you there, resting gently in your bed.

Do you have a bed large enough for two, he wonders. Do you sleep there, your hands between your legs, or are they resting by your pillow? Do you wear one of these long little night dresses to bed? Or these see-through babydolls? Oh, you might rest bare. He has to take a deep breath through gritted teeth at the vision. He hopes the little one doesn't wake you too much during the night. His hands shift and linger down the armchairs as he lets his head fall backwards, pressing into the cushion.

His nostrils flare as he sees it, you, buried into your comforter, your mouth open as you breathe out peacefully. And your belly, oh, he wonders if the little one there would feel it if he cradles you for the night. If it could hear him when he tells a little bedtime story. He sighs. Only day six or seven now. It's past midnight. But now, all he can think of is you, your soft curves, and the softness of your hands that you are sacrificing to build a home for yourself and your baby.

He can't understand how anyone could leave you. You said something about wanting no one to have around, but you never quite pushed him away, either. His eyes shift to the ceiling, and his fingers tap against the armchair as he ponders the numerous possibilities. Abusive parents could create that fight-or-flight reaction you had when you first saw him, though you were leaning more toward flight, almost a foot back on the ground. Grooming could, too, with these controlling behaviours and dismissive tone. A partner who took you for granted, who forced you into a role you didn't want and had a hard time fighting away from. Hell, it could be a guy who wanted you to abort.

None of them are good. None of them could ever happen again under his watch.

His shoulder creaks when he jumps into his feet, unable to stay so far. He knows it's unreasonable, even a crime, really. Breaking and entering, that's what they call it. But it doesn't matter. Not when it's you. His feet briskly climb the stairs, avoiding any sound, his hand running across the wall until he reaches the end. His eyes move in the dark, and he can guess three doors. You've talked about a bathroom, and then your bedroom is on his right. Must be a nursery on his left.

The door is pushed only a few inches wide. A dim light made him press his back against the wall, palm grazing the back of your door as he looked inside meticulously. From where he stands, he has the end of your bed in his peripheral vision. There are no movements, apart from the crossing sound of your dog approaching. The old one doesn't bark when he pushes himself into the corridor; he simply comes to sniff at his shoes before turning back around.

Maybe he'll look for that guard dog tomorrow.

The sole of his shoes hovers over the ground of your bedroom as he takes a look inside. The fireplace is facing your bed. It's instinct, how he assesses your environment, the dresser there, covered in jewellery and a little palette of makeup. An antique chest, a wardrobe, and a few bags lying around.

As if you haven't taken proper time to settle in. He doesn't like that.

Then, his eyes find you. And it's better than his mind could have created. He can only see your face and that little bonnet thing around your hair to keep it soft. Your mouth is open, slightly pushed forward with each exhale you make, and there you are. Resting. One hand around the edge of the blanket over your comforter. Can see the little bump your feet make beneath it, and his heart shatters, seeing you curled in there, searching for warmth.

God, you're a bonnie lass. Temptation resting there, just out of reach, for now.

His fingers push the door closed again without a look, and he approaches one slow step. Johnny has time. You don't react to him. Don't react to Leo jumping by your side. His gloved palm finds your feet, lithering there, up and down before squeezing your little toes. Do you have nail polish there too?

His chin hitches up as his hand disappears beneath your sheets, pushing inside, in your reprieve until he finds them. His eyes blink, hooded, as he shelters one in his hand. Thumb caresses the sole of your foot, up and down, up and down again, and a little grunt leaves his throat when he feels himself twitching. His index stroke over your toes, passing through the crevices and the gristles, before circling your nail. Oh yeah, nail polish.

With one smooth gesture, he pushed your blanket back in place. Palming at your ankle, he times his breathing with yours, pupils dilating as he focuses on your mouth. He could devour you, really. Right now, he could push your cute underwear aside and have a taste - or give you his tip for now. Just a little. Maybe you wouldn't even wake up. The idea makes him chub up against his zipper. Johnny didn't know he'd like that.

His hand trails up your leg, circling your fragile knee before raking along your thigh. Leo wags his tail, his head lying by your shoulder, when Johnny sits down by your waist. Nails digging into the layers of your sheets, he feels it, the fat of your hip and kneads at it, respiration quickening. His boots press harder into your carpet as he leans over, his attention passing over your closed eyes, the arch of your nose and god, that dewy chin.

His lips find it, the little roll covering your jaw. First, a feathery kiss, before his beard scratches your skin. You whine. He's immobile until he feels you melting back into sleep. That's exactly why he needs to guard you, who don't even react when his hand cradles your nape, pushing into your flesh when his mouth opens over your temple. Your sweat is a little bitter, and he can taste your night cream, too. One last kiss, and he has to physically push himself away, hands clawing at his thighs when he raises back.

You'll need your beauty sleep for tomorrow.

His body circles your bed, and he secures your bay window before approaching the chair there, where today's garments rest, folded neatly. Good girl. Your grey little panties are hurriedly hidden in his pocket before your door opens and closes.

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archive-doll · 1 month ago

Text

Oh, sweet neighbour. III

Johnny Mactavish x f!reader.

SYNOPSIS: Johnny tries to be a gentleman, but god, you are so delectable.

MDNI 18+ ONLY CW: the military and inaccuracies. you're pregnant, that's a warning on its own. takes place in Scotland, AU where Johnny is forcibly retired and finds a new obsession. hints of dom/sub dynamic. Hints of child abuse/neglect. Kyle x Johnny is mentioned, if you squint. Slightly angsty. Mention of John. Pet names are used - hen, bonnie, lass. He gets a hard-on. FLUFF M'eudail means dearest/darling apparently. I hope so, at least.

Have mercy on my grammar, English is not my first language.

AUTHOR NOTE: we're getting there! some intimacy and vulnerability as you two progress in your fresh relationship(?).

PREV. MLIST

The rough knocks on your front door don’t startle you as you roam in your living room, unable to sit for long when you're on the phone. Leo barks once, the old dog wagging its fluffy tail behind him, while he raises his head toward the door.

You're not worried. You know who it is now. Johnny.

Your feet are kept warm in your slippers as you walk to the door, and you frown, listening to the employee on the phone. Your eyes flicker as you turn the key to the side before pushing the handle down to find him. That familiar twirl in your chest comes back to life, little thing, at the sight of him enveloped in his coat.

"Hey." You murmur, your phone sliding away from your mouth for a moment.

There is no thought in your head when you shift your weight onto your toes, lifting yourself enough so that your mouth can press a chaste kiss on his jaw. His beard tingles, and you fall back on your feet with a smile before turning away. Drew back by that damn phone call.

"So, you are telling me you cannot come today, yes?" You repeat, hearing the door being kicked back. You turn towards Johnny with a sigh as you listen to the older man on the phone, giving you his apologies. "No, it's alright, I - I understand. Goodbye."

Johnny's coat is resting by yours on the wall when you cut the call. It's not their fault, and you know that, but it doesn't mean it's not frustrating. A little family business was supposed to come and take a look at the electric wires going around your house, because the lights keeps flickering. But your appointment will have to be postponed. They were a strong thunderstorm yesterday, south in the county, and some roads are now flooded.

"Wha' is it, bonnie?"

"They can't come. Roads are not accessible because of the storm." You mumble, placing your phone down before pinching the arch of your nose.

Everything had been going so well for you in the last few days. Under Johnny's firm recommendation - ignored demand, really - you had someone come and check on your multiple fireplaces. Before the end of the day, they were cleaned and are now safe to use and well-maintained, and now, you know how to safely utilise them.

Then, due to Johnny's organisation and surprisingly wide knowledge, your kitchen seems anew. No squeak or screeching sounds can be heard anymore, and you even had the time to paint the doors blue while Johnny took care of the island counter, sanding and varnishing it clean.

You went, with your new shadow, to that damn slaughterhouse, and got two mares for barely anything. They were going to be slaughtered, and Mister Graham generously lended you his trailer for you to take them home. It's been three days now, and they are already growing comfortable at your presence, after long hours passed by their side.

Everything was going so well.

"Ey, ey now, lassie." Johnny hushes you at the first sound of your sniffle. It's impossible to miss it.

He had already seen the signs when you opened the door, the way your shoulders are curled forward as if to hide into yourself and disappear. That little crease in your brows, which means anxiousness. That little pinch in the right corner of your mouth, hiding your displeasure and gloom.

But he sees it. Johnny sees you. He barely makes anything sound, even though it feels like rushing through fire and swiftly comes by your side, before you can feel his hands settle on your shoulders.

"It's stupid, isn't it?"

"Nah, not stupid." He hums back to you, fingers gently kneading at your shoulder. Without another word, you're surrounded by his warmth.

You don't resist as he strokes his knuckles down your spine, making you nestle closer, deeper into him while you rest your cheek on his chest.

Your fingers curl at the edge of his jumper when he places his hand by your nape. Johnny does that often when you get overwhelmed or apprehensive. It helps in settling you, he noticed. His thumb caresses your skin, that little part right behind your ear, a soft spot, and you sigh, already feeling comforted by his simple sign of affection. You're not alone anymore. That's what he tells you.

"Let's go out, aye? Ye said ye need tae go buy some food."

"Mhm. And there's that thrift shop that I wanted to go visit."

He grunts in answer, his nose skipping over the crown of your hair. Your slippers move on the ground, settling in between his boots as you squeeze your arms around his chest, hands finding refuge on the slope of his shoulders. Eyes close, you bask in it - the security he offers you. The stability he brings into your life, someone to lean on. Someone to talk to when you worry, to share your joy with.

"Go into the car, a'right? I'll go get the bags for ye."

Johnny knows it unsettled you when you don't pipe up a word at his word. Usually, you tend to put up a fight or always think of something else to do before, so you're not simply sitting down while he does the work. Your words, not his. But you only give him a little shake of your head, accepting, and he feels his heart throb in reaction. He would rather have your banter and disapproving frown than this version of you. Dejected, and your pretty mouth curled down.

If it were up to him, you would always wear a smile. Probably nothing more, too.

"C'mon now, hen." His hand pats the end of your back, and you grasp at his shoulders one more time before moving away.

While that's inconvenient, it could be a nice change of pace for you. To go out for once, and think of yourself for a little bit. He pushes a few plastic bags into one, checking to see you putting the little yellow raincoat on, almost ready to go. His eyes find the silhouette of your handbag, and he grabs it before finding himself locking your front door.

You've finally taken up residence now. There are no more bags in your room. A few paintings on the wall of your staircase. Cooking books are well-ordered in a little library he found for you, close to your fridge and one potted plant. He can always see a novel on the low table now, in the living room. And, always, there's a pair of dark blue slippers waiting for him at the entrance. Your home finally looks like one.

It took a few words or persuasion, not that you're difficult to convince, and he even put more bolts on your front door and the back one. The 80s curtain went into the trash after you discovered some mold one morning. Not that you know, but his plan to make you change your windows is doing well. And, your stairs don't make a noise when he sneaks in.

You're sitting behind the wheel when he approaches the car, yours, and you can only laugh when he frowns at you, with his arm in a cast.

"You can't drive, Johnny, you know that."

"Dinnea need yer reminder." He grumbles, watching your joy bubble up when he circles around the car.

Before you could even roll out of the land, Johnny is fiddling with the radio. Your eyes flicker across his frame, still trying very hard to ignore how beautiful and kind he is. Your hands squeeze around the wheel when your eyes find his lap, strong thighs pushing into the jeans until it's tight. You never thought you'd end up with a lumberjack kind of neighbour, a retired military guy who grumbles, offended when you're trying to do anything by yourself.

You snort at the memory of him, almost gasping out loud when he'd seen you vacuum the kitchen three days ago. It was so dramatic how he stomped toward you and gently took your hands away before starting to do the household chores all by himself.

"Wha'?"

"Nothing. Just, for a big guy like you, you can be very - theatrical." You snicker, and he turns toward you, eyes sharp and pinched as he gazes you up and down as you accelerate.

"Wha' does tha' even mean?"

"What I just said."

"Dinnea be cheeky with me now."

Your shoulders shake as you giggle before a jolt take over you when his fingers pinch your thigh. Your eyes widen, indignant, and you gasp out his name in a whine before you strike at him, knuckles hitting into the broadness of his chest. He chuckles, catching your wrist easily and does that thing again, rubbing his thumb over your nail polish.

"Wan' tae stop and do yer pretty nails again?"

"Mhm? Oh, yeah, maybe. What will you do while I'm there?" You say, surprised by his proposition, feeling that tingle in your belly when you feel him fidget with your palm a little more.

"Wha' d'ye mean? I'll be with ye."

You blink his way, hearing the calm in his tone as if it's obvious, the only option, the only choice there is for him. To stay by your side and share the moment with you. You look forward again, shifting slightly the wheel of your car before your fingers curl around his hand. It's quiet, and none of you say anything about it when he circles his thumb across your knuckles, following the bones there.

The rest of the drive is filled with chatter, as it is usually between the two of you. He has been trying to teach you Scottish - even some Gaelic - but your pronunciation is deeply concerning, apparently. His face curls and recoils as if you've pained him each time you try to repeat the words. You find it absolutely delightful.

You barely have time to unclasp your seatbelt when he's opening your door. His palm finds your elbow, curling around it as you turn in your seat, feet finding the muddy ground. He fastens the zipper of your coat, using his casted hand under your disapproving eyes until you're warm and snug. Johnny shifts enough to cover you from the rain until you've put your hood on.

The motion is imperceptible, you don't even notice it, like a lot of other little things he does for you.

"Where d'ye want to gae first?"

"Thrift shop, maybe the library after?"

"Aye." He nods, a firm hand pushing the car door close before you lock it absentmindedly, eyes flickering around the streets.

You only came in passing before, not feeling quite like you belonged there, and barely understanding most people you'd cross paths with. You knew it would be hard, moving to another country and perfecting the language there while learning to decipher the different accents and slang words you come across. But you never thought it could make you feel so lonely.

But with Johnny by your side, it's different. First, because no one looks at you when this handsome man walks by your side, too distracted by his opalescent eyes and that swag he possesses with each step. And because you know no one will ever approach you when he glares at everyone like that. Not that they would try, anyway, with how intimidating he looks these days.

You stroll around the village quietly, Johnny taking position between the street and you. One hand lay on the roundness of your tummy, and the other grazed his own with every few steps, fingers twitching each time he traces his index along the length of your palm. It's soft, how he reminds you he's here, by your side. And he isn't planning on leaving either.

A little bell dings when Johnny pushes the door open, watching you step inside the warm place before letting it fall close. It smells a bit dusty and old, like your grandma's house when you were a kid. An employee greets you behind her desk, and you give her a little wave before disappearing between the aisles.

You didn't come to Scotland with a lot of belongings. Actually, most of your wardrobe was left behind; only keep what was necessary or items you had an attachment to. Like a majority of your possessions. Now that you're pregnant, you need some clothes, ones that you can actually wear. Your eyes flicker as you walk around, humming to yourself when you pass by the skirt aisle. There are a few that you like, either the pattern adorning it or the material, and place them in your little bag.

"Why don't ye go about, I'll hold tha' for ye."

"You sure? Don't you want to look around?" You ask, finding Johnny standing by your side as his fingers already curl around the handle, taking the bag for you.

"I am. Gae on, hen." He reassures you with a little tilt of his chin.

Your hand passes down his forearm, squeezing his wrist gratefully before you look back.

You find a few more long skirts before you move away. Each time your feet lift from the ground, Johnny copies your motion, following you around. Never allow himself to leave your side. The pants, well, that's another difficult task to complete. You place the hem by your waist and rub your fingers on the tissue, but you can't find anything you really like apart from two pairs of baggy jeans. It's probably out of style now, but that doesn't matter.

Johnny can't seem to look away for too long. He's battling between two instincts - one ordering him to stay by you and the other one prickling at his nape until he stares around, making sure the exits are free if needed. It's a habit he can not seem to shake, though he isn't trying. No one told him how alien civilian life would be when they forcefully pushed him out of the Army.

But his head always turns back to you. He feels slightly out of place as you give a once over to the dresses, but he takes a breath between his teeth and focuses on you.

You take one out of the aisle, turning it to find the back free, gently dipping down to what you assume would be your hips in a gentle curve. Another one you choose, a black little thing and a denim dress that will fall to mid-thighs at best. You consider it, lips curling in a pensive pout before deciding you'll take it.

"Wha' else d'ye need?" Johnny asks you, pushing the bag your way to discard you of the articles.

"Jumper, tee-shirt- all of it. I didn't take much with me."

His dark eyebrows curl down as he ponders your words, rolling them around in his head. You haven't spoken yet about your past, only giving information to feed his paranoid mind, but never more than what was needed. That's another intriguing piece of the puzzle that is you. One he is intent on resolving.

You don't think much of it as Johnny watches you fly around, the bag getting more and more heavy with each piece of clothing you want to take home with you. You even find a jumpsuit with a little heart on the back that you immediately fall in love with. He finds the sight of you, gushing about some clothes, very charming. But Johnny can't stop going back to it.

Why would you leave all that you know, all your friends and family, your house, your job, to come bury yourself in one little remote village in Scotland? Gods know he could barely consider the idea when he was in the hospital. And then later, when he wander around helplessly. It might be half due to his professional deformation and the other half because of his slithering fascination for you, but Johnny starts to get slightly apprehensive, not knowing.

"Did'ye left someone behin'?"

The question takes you by surprise, as you are looking into the coat section, searching for one that falls to your knees. Your hands still, as his soft voice twirls around the both of you, eyes staying right in front of you. Johnny can read you easily, of course, seeing the discomfort as your soft hands tighten and twist the garment.

"My mother." You finally give him, eyes fleeting over your shoulders to find him.

"M sorry, lass."

"It's fine. She isn't very good. Or kind." The hushed words escape your mouth almost out of your control, and you shake your head a little, thinking about it.

"Nah?"

"No."

You can see his hands tightening and let out a little sigh. Folding the jumper between your hands, then turn around until you face him. Johnny is surprised not to find any sadness or hint of resentment. Instead, you stand there, with your admission, in peace with it. With that other fragment of yourself hanging in the air that you give him. Sweet little girl, always so good to him, even in your vulnerability.

"I'll tell you more if you tell me about you." You propose, with a little glint of challenge in your eyes.

It's a well-intended proposal. One who's fair and incredibly tempting. Because, while Johnny could definitely find any, and more, information he could want in a simple phone call, that's not what he should do. Or want to do. Honest, he thought about it. There are a lot of people who owe him a favour all across the globe with interesting positions.

But today, Johnny has a plan. To show you that he's reliable, a person of trust. One you can share your pain with and your joy. A shoulder you can lean on, a hand you can reach to. Today, Johnny wants to make that step with you - and open himself.

He can not tell you all of it. There are things that, even if he wished to share, he isn't able to. Confidential. Restricted. He has knowledge that could topple an empire. Tear apart one of the most powerful countries in the world and start a revolution. The crown would fall, and the head that holds it, too.

He wishes to share. Johnny wants to talk to you, and silently warns you of what you will choose if you decide to keep him in your life. The consequences. And what he wants to - need. He never searched for a relationship, satisfied with the entertainment and the lightness of meaningless hookups. Faces that didn't matter. Arms he could disappear into.

Until, them, of course. And then, well, betrayal. Silence, not even hearing his side, without a goodbye.

But you, oh, hen.

He craves more. Johnny needs you like air. It's more devotion than love, really. Something that simmers beneath his skin and twists at his gut. And while he knows it's not right, that it isn't a good foundation for what he wishes to build with you, it's the truth. He wouldn't sit by your side when you sleep if it weren't. He wouldn't drink in the sight of you like air - unable to breathe when he's away, if it weren't true.

Therefore, today, Johnny will do it right. Show you what he has to offer, what it would be if you allow him to be more than a very nice neighbour. Today, Johnny will be a gentleman, like John taught him to be around a pretty bird like you.

The face of the old geezer flashes in his mind, and his jaw clenches for a second before he focuses back on you. They don't deserve his lamentations. Not after what they did to him.

"Dinnae think ye would want to know more 'bout me, lass." He tuts, strolling forward until the tip of his boots grazes your coloured sneakers.

"Oh, so sorry, Sir. Where are my manners?" You answer back with a grin, leaning forward like the little tease that you are.

Johnny can feel his breath halt in his throat and the groans that threaten to take its place and shatter the silence of the thrift shop you are in. You flutter your lashes at him, soft eyes glistening with mirth, and his attention leisurely hitches toward the silhouette of you, leaning closer. His eyes are dangerously tempted to stroke down the swell of your breasts. Bloody hell, you're a sight.

"Course, I want to know more about you, Johnny." The words are pronounced like a gentle confession, something precious only for him to hear. "I have the feeling you're not planning on leaving, so."

His fingers covered with calluses, come and pinch your chin at your little taunt. His eyes linger down the lines of your features, carefully memorising it, the moment you both are in where you make another careful step in your relationship. You're a little bashful, he can tell, but you're making great efforts. He'll have to reward you for it.

"Find yerself mor' clothes, hen; then we'll talk." He promises, trailing the first knuckle of his index along your chin.

He trails behind you quietly unless you ask for his impartial opinion. The bag is full long before you make your way to the cash register. Johnny gently coaxed you into choosing that skirt you looked at earlier, and you feel his approving gaze while the kind woman passes your articles.

Johnny has half the mind to pay for you, his eyes flickering from the blue card in your fingers to the lady, but reels it in the need to be a provider. He has to be patient, slowly making you lean on him. And make you think it's your idea, too, with a few words and a gentle caress of his hand. He's certain you wouldn't need much discipline on this matter, but for now, he has to make you accustomed to him first.

It's with a particularly satisfied glow on your face that you step out of the third shop. You put a bit more money into making your wardrobe substantial than you had planned, but well, you deserve a little pick-me-up after today's change of plan. And Johnny's contented grumble of approval helps in making your decision easy to accept.

"Where tae now hen?"

"Nails?" You hum, looking at him for his approbation. You still wonder how this can be interesting for him, watching you decide between clothes, change your mind, or try some new shoes on, but don't dare to speak about it.

Not with how pleased he had seemed each time you asked for his opinion.

"Aye, let's dae tha'."

Your fingers twitch at the first glide of his touch on your palm before his hand cradles yours, engulfing it in his paw. Your heart picks up slightly, but you don't fight the feeling and the gentle shift between you. Instead, you side-step closer, giving him a genuine, happy smile in response.

"What colour should I do this time?"

"Dinnae. Red suit ye." Johnny mules over it, keeping your soft fingers firmly intertwined in his grip.

"Mhm. I don't want red again. And I have to cut my nails, can't get any work done with how long they are."

"Shouldnae worry 'bout it, hen." Johhny huffs, giving you a firm stare as you continue your slow stroll back to the car.

"Yes, yes," you sigh with a little nod of your head, amused by how disturbed he always finds the thought. "Should only enjoy life, sip on tea, and look pretty."

"Aye, ye should." He grunts in affirmation, and you watch with great enjoyment how he puffs out his chest, looking like a peacock parading.

"Johnny... I came here to make a good life for myself." You gently remind him, not taking offence at his demeanour. You know he doesn't mean it in a diminishing way.

It doesn't mean you agree with it, though you find it rather lovely, how firm he is in his opinion. That you should have a good life, a life that doesn't mean waking up at the crack of dawn, blistered hands, or being faced with any troubles. You should have the opportunity to relax at any given moment and partake in your hobbies, or simply entertain yourself as you wish.

"I know, hen." He sighs, too, squeezing your hand firmly to reassure you.

Truly, he admires that about you. Your independence, how you always want to do it all on your own. You have a quick whip about you, finding alternative to every problematic situation. But Johnny is starting to think you didn't become independent because you wanted to, and leans more toward the hypothesis that you didn't have a choice. Especially after what you just revealed to him about your mother.

That greatly angers him.

You deserve to be able to rest once in a while. And understand that you're not alone. Not anymore. Not as long as you keep him by your side.

"So, not red, and short." You mumble to yourself, as you look forward.

You were still thinking about it when you both entered the salon. The hostess welcomes you, and her voice stutters once she finally raises her eyes from her laptop and finds Johnny standing behind you, in all of his glory. You try to hide it, your smile, but can't resist the giddiness it brings you, knowing Johnny wants to be near you. Even for something as insignificant as your nail appointment.

"You must be - " You have to bite down your bottom lip to avoid giggling when she utters your last name while flickering her surprised eyes once more on Johnny.

"Yes, I am."

"Well, Miss Mark will be your esthetician today."

The elegant sound of her stilettos clicking on the ground echoes as she guides you further into the little shop. You're eagerly welcomed by Miss Mark, an older woman with beautiful grey hair, and you settle down in front of her desk with a warm smile on your face. It's not long before Johnny is seated by your side, one arm resting on the back of your chair as you chat with the esthetician, going over your ideas.

"Okay, so short nails and some soft pink cherry picnic tip." Miss Mark repeats your final decision, turning slightly to the side before grasping a few boxes. "Do you want some charms?"

"I would like a few yes, flowers maybe?"

"I can do that. Here, tell me which you like most."

You take the little box she slides on the desk, and absentmindedly shift toward Johnny as you go over her collection. You feel him before you see him, his chest pressing into your side, and his hand falls on your arm as he gazes over your shoulders at all the accessories. He doesn't speak, not yet, as you purse your lips, choosing first what colour would complement the nail art best.

"What do you think, Johnny?" You ask, fluttering your pretty eyes up at him, finding him much closer than you thought. A shudder runs down your spine when your nose grazes his chin, and you stutter back a few inches.

His fingers pat your upper arm as he stares down at the charms there that you placed down on the desk after a first sorting. You try to keep your manners, really, but your lips part when you take in his scent. A warm one, smell of firewood and a cologne you don't recognise. And his full beard, which he started trimming since he moved down the river, is making you needy for a touch.

"Like tha' one."

"The orchid?"

"Suit ye."

You gaze down at the flower with a smile, strangely embarrassed at his words, before feeling his palm rest just beneath your shoulder. Johnny presses his palm there, on your flesh, until you're nestled into his side, his frame engulfing you in his embrace. A chaste adoring peck is left on your temple as you rearrange the accessories, and you feel the flames lick at your cheeks in reaction.

You know Johnny can be quite affectionate, but it never happened in a public setting before. You don't mind the attention, of course not. You simply are too conscious of his presence, is all. You're pretty certain you can feel your heartbeat in your throat as you present the charms to the esthetician.

It's with no surprise that you find Miss Mark smiling at both of you, almost swooning at the view you must make. You know how it might appear, a pregnant lady and a sturdy man by her side. After all, Johnny was called your boyfriend twice today, and one told you, you made a good choice in marrying him. You had never stumbled so harshly on your words before, hands moving as you tried to find an answer to that, but Johnny, well.

He was preening. He is too now; you can feel it in how his body straightens in his chair.

"It's a nice lad you have here."

"Yeah." You sigh, not having the energy to say anything else.

And you don't exactly want to, your eyes shifting to find him, eyes crinkling under a prideful smile as being complimented on how well he provides for you. He almost reminds you of a dog, one whose tail wags so hard his whole body sways under the motions. You move in your seat and lay a hand on his knee, attracting his attention as you give him a grateful smile.

You might have the arguments or vigour to deny it if only for your own self-esteem, but you know all that Johnny does for you. He might not be your lad or your boyfriend, but well, you are still very lucky to have him either way.

"We don't have many lads come here with their girls. It's nice for once."

A simple smile is your answer to that as Miss Mark starts working on your free hand.

Fingers start running through your hair, gently adjusting your hairstyle as you start to chat with the kind woman. It's the usual question: where do you come from, and why did you come here, but it's a nice change to your now daily routine consisting of chasing after chickens and chores that exhaust you.

Both hands now resting in the UV machine, Johnny goes back over the list of all that you wanted to do before going back home. You definitely have to pass by the store so you can have a full fridge for the next two weeks, and then, well, Johnny wants to pass by that dog breeding farm a little further in the lands.

"We should go to the store first." You decide, gently moving your fingers under the blue lights. "But didn't make a list." You add, knowing they were something that you forgot to do before leaving home this morning.

"Can dae it now, don't fret, bonnie." He shushes you, a warm hand rubbing your shoulder lazily as he tugs his phone out of his pocket.

"Okay, then, I want to cook us some chicken for tomorrow's lunch. So thyme, onions, and garlic." You start then, leaning until your chin is pressed up against his bicep, watching with doe eyes, Johnny writing it all down.

"Potatoes, veggies." He hums after you, already knowing about the recipe since you told him about it three days ago. "And pepper, aye?"

"Yes, one of each." Your voice is sugary as you confirm his words, body melting into him, seeing how effortless he makes it all to be, caring about you.

"Aye. I'll make us som' cranachan on Sunday." He grumbles, too, his thick eyebrows frowning under his concentration as he adds a few more ingredients.

It's tranquil. You exchange ideas on recipes, asking each other what they want to eat next week. Your cheek rests on his shoulders, his left hand leisurely trailing to your wrist, where his hand settles as he finds your precious pulse. Johnny, watch, when you add a few more things to the list, and you wonder why no one has ever done this with you before.

Why did no one deigned to sit by you before and storm ideas on something so simple as next week's dishes? Your eyes shine as you admire his profile, your heart squeezing half in despair that you've been neglected for so long, and half in gratitude. You never knew how it would feel to be listened to. To find someone who cares for every word you share with them. There is a little burn on the back of your eyes as you snuggle into him deeper, a bit overwhelmed by the realisation that Johnny will do it for you.

Johnny would do that for you. All of it. From giving you ideas on your nail art to helping you get your new mare comfortable in your stable. He will bake you desserts without you needing to ask and support you through every struggle and hard decision you have to make. Johnny will stroke your hair as you doze off on your couch and make sure the fire is full enough for the rest of the evening. He will massage your sore feet and remind you to drink water during the day.

And he makes it look so easy, too. Like, if listening to you doesn't bother him. As if remembering what you said is not a hassle. Johnny shows you, without trying to, how serene it is to help you achieve your lifelong dream. And he does it all without you ever asking for anything. Without making you feel stupid or small.

When you step out of the nail salon, it's you who takes his hand in yours.

With Johnny pushing the cart around, you both stroll around between the aisles of the hypermarket. You only came here a few times before, so while Johnny is telling you of the next thing you are searching for, you look around, trying to understand where to go now.

All of the vegetables have been taken, and most of the meat too - you're planning on freezing a few pieces, just in case you can not drive up here because of the weather. Johnny spent such a long time in the fish sections, chatting up the employee so well he even got a discount. Almost half a bag has been invaded by the fish, the shrimps, and other seafood.

Then, when you went to choose yourself some self-care product, Johnny disappeared. You find him easily after that, multiple products in hand, with him standing there hands on his hips while looking at the strollers. You press a hand against the cart, putting down your creams and other cosmetics before joining him quietly.

In all honesty, you will need to buy one soon. The nursery is bare, and the pretty paper wall you had chosen on the internet is dry and secured, thanks to the man who is circling your waist with a burly arm. You're missing a lot of necessities, and it would do you some good to buy a little today, so you can start somewhere at least. Before, you didn't have the courage to do it or look into the enormous list you made when you first knew you were pregnant.

Now, that you are safe and not alone, you feel ready.

"I want one where you can take the carrycot off the stroller."

"Tha's would be better, aye. And a good harness." Johnny is lost in his thoughts, comparing every stroller presented in front of him as if dealing with a bomb. It almost makes you laugh.

"Mhm. We will need a car seat, too." You sigh, raising a hand to his chest, starting to feel excited about it. "Oh, and a high chair. Little spoons."

He huffs happily, eyes finding your delighted expression and circles your hip in his hand before pointing at one stroller, which looks made of rather good materials. You leave him, not before patting his chest mindlessly and walking closer so you can look at the price and then the description of the product. It's a rather hefty price, but the explanation of all the options almost convinces you.

"Wha' d'ye think?"

"Did you try it?"

"Nah. Was waitin' for ye." He says with a gentle shake of his head, before giving you a little shift up of his chin. You know what that means now. Go on hen.

The plastic is firm in your hold, and you take a step back, testing the wheels on the ground a few times. Backwards and forward. On the left, and on the right. Then, Johnny read you the instructions as you try taking off the carrycot, and it is easier than you expected it to be. Next, you observe Johnny fold it in a few motions. It went all so smoothly, and you watch him adjust it a few times, one hand stroking down your belly.

"Let's take it?"

Your eyes are shining when he pivots to face you, still holding into the stroller to find you there, smiling. Happy. Hopeful, too.

"Aye, hen." He nods, his voice low as you take his breath away.

In a few moments, you have chosen a bed made of good, strong wood that you can adjust in height and adapt to the age of your child as well than a highchair. You're surprised to find such a good quality product in a hypermarket, but comforted, too. Now, it seems real. Now, you're in a place where you are secure enough, financially and emotionally, to welcome your child.

When, with one hand circling his wrist, you take Johnny to the child section, you have to wonder who is the one expecting. He looks everywhere, more serious than you are in the quality and all the different options there are. Even the feeder, Johnny mules over it for quite a while. You end up buying three different nursing bottles of different capacities. Though you've decided long before meeting him to breastfeed your baby, there is nothing wrong with being farsighted.

Your cart contains much more than you were planning for, but as butterflies erupt in your chest, you can't really mind it. Between the bibs, the clothes that you chose, and the rest of it, two entire bags are overflowing with baby stuff. You can find in you to care, and even less when hearing Johnny whistle so joyfully as he filled your trunk, triumph painting his face.

"Now, where to?" You ask him as you put on your seatbelt, hearing him approaching the passenger door.

"I'll get ye ther'. Just drive out of the lot." He tells you as you twist the key into the ignition.

Once more, Johnny takes responsibility for the radio. And while most of the songs that are playing are unknown to you, you must say he has good taste in music. Mostly rock and some punk here and there. You hum the melody as you follow his instruction, Johnny looking at the map on his phone in between your conversation.

"Should ask me mother if she still hav' some of my bairn goods." He says after a moment as you concentrate on the driveway, the turns becoming sharper.

"Yeah?"

"Aye. Dinnae know her number so, I'll hav' to ask around."

You blink at the information, giving him a glance to find him relaxed in the car seat, eyes staying on the road. As always, his lap is as inviting as ever, but you barely notice it as you repeat the words into your head.

"You never talk about your family."

"Nothin' to say, hen."

"You mean nothing nice to say?" You ask again, slightly pushing, seeing the dark veil taking over his beautiful blue eyes.

His hair sways when he rolls his head to gaze at you, remembering your proposition in the thrift shop. He already knows he will say yes and accept it. After all, it could only bring you closer, and that is his objective. While, too, making you think it's your idea. It will give you an impression of control, though, really, with how he bends to your every wish, you might be.

"Aye. Left home when I turn'd eighteen."

"To enrol?"

"Yeh. Tried at sixteen, but they holdnae hav' me. The base was warmer than the old hag." He grumbles, thinking back to the times when he had to buy his own food or clothes when his parents forgot about his existence. He'd rather not get into the details just yet. "Wha' about yers?"

"My mom?" You say, glancing his way to find his piercing eyes staring at you as if investigating. "Well, she raised me by herself. Got cancer when I was young, dad left us then. Breast cancer. Always blamed me for it."

"Fokin' stupid."

Your lips tremble before you let out a laugh at the very tempestuous groan he lets out at your explanation, watching him fold his arms across his chest. The subject of your childhood is never a tender one. It never brings anyone a smile or a sweet sentiment. Unless you lie, of course, which you do sometimes when you don't want to get into it, or are not ready to share that part of you with a mere stranger, or people you don't trust.

But Johnny, well, you want to tell him the truth. Little by little, sure, but still. You want to be honest and sincere, and you're ready for someone to know you and see you, just as you are. You're simply lucky it's with good-hearted Johnny that you're doing it.

"On yer right, hen. Almost ther'."

You slow down as you turn the wheel, driving into a muddy path in the forest. It only takes you two minutes to see the large house there and the rest of the place. As soon as you open the door, you can hear them. The dogs. They must be expecting you because one grey-haired man comes to salute you as you zip up your coat, Johnny sliding your hood over your hair as you shake the man's hand.

"Well, hello, lov'. And you must be Johnny. I'm Angus."

"Aye. Nice tae meit ye."

"Well, come on, then, let me show you the dogs."

Angus is very kind, you find out. You had a lot of questions, a lot of ignorance too, about what a breeding farm entails, but he answers all of them, glad that someone is asking him about it so kindly. You're not certain you agree with the fundamentals of it, but you forget about it all when you first hear the little barks of the puppies.

A gasp leaves you before you're slipping away from Johnny, uncaring about the mud getting in your shoes or the cold wind that is making your teeth shake. Your hands settle on the fence as you look at them, all the little ones there, running around, digging into the ground, looking uncaring about the harsh weather of Scotland.

"Oh my god, Johnny, look!" You squeal, fidgeting on your feet as you gather some attention from the dogs.

"Aye, lass, I'm her'." Johnny chuckles, pressing his form into your back as he feels you fidget around, almost as excited as the little one running your way.

"They're about six weeks old, right now."

"What breed are they? They're so big already." You fawn over it, giggling when some start trying to climb the fence to come to you, waving at them with a bright smile.

"Irish Wolfhound, Ma'am. Make a good hunting dog, or a fine guard dog, too. What you're lookin' for, righ'?" Angus tells you, slightly bending over the fence, to come pet the puppies as he reveals the information to you.

Johnny is already looking away when you turn to face him, his hands pressing into the fence around you. You have to tilt your chin slightly to find him, blinking away the rain as he pinches his lips. You let out an amused scoff as he badly pretends to ignore you before you slap your hand over his chest, your knuckles hitting his guts gently.

You don't know if you're feeling slightly annoyed by his overprotective nature, or melting because of how much he cares for your security and well-being. The adrenaline isn't helping your fluttering mind either.

"Bad dog, Johnny." You murmur slightly, mocking, your hands settling under his coat to shelter themselves from the cold wind.

You feel him tense, a shiver running from his tailbone up to his nape. How his muscles tense against you, curling into a thick knot ready to be torn apart, and you grin his way, leaning into your toes to nudge your nose into his jaw. Johnny doesn't find it amusing at all, feeling how tight his breeches are starting to become as you snuggle your sweet body closer.

"Bonnie." He hisses low between clenched teeth, his mind circling around as if he is lacking oxygen.

Which he could be. As he nudges you away, one trembling hand curling around your hip, you turn the other way with a smile, already focusing back on Angus. His boots slide on the ground as he grunts low in his chest, the delicious arch of your back grazing his groins, hiding his vehement attraction from unwanting eyes. Steamin' bloody Jesus, you're going to kill him. And sooner than later, it appears.

You are not angry at him. You can't be, not while looking at the awkward little puppies trying to run around, already imagining taking one home with you. You get what Johnny is trying to do anyway. You chatted about it multiple times, the both of you, in passing. Or at least you thought, because Johnny doesn't seem to forget anything you say.

Leo is old, eight years old now, and while he will probably live another few years, having a younger pup might do him some good. And for the farm, you'll need a guard dog, probably even plural. You listen intently as Angus tells you all you need to know about Irish Wolfhounds, how tall they get in a few months, what their needs are - a lot of stimulation and land to cover - and what type of education suits them best.

"Wha' d'ye thin', hen?" Johnny whispers, his mouth grazing the sheel of your ear.

"How much?" You settle on saying, turning so you can look at Angus, curling one arm to hold onto Johnny's strong shoulders.

"For you, Ma'am, one mile."

"I'll take two." You say, raising your fingers with a grin.

Angus let out a little laugh, clapping in his hands before ushering you his way. You lose your shadow, but without looking behind you, you know that Johnny is close, probably overseeing the surroundings by the fence as you enter the little puppy area.

You barely have the patience to walk as you first step towards your house. The puppies are heavy already, big babies that yap sweetly and try to lick at your mouth as you hurry inside under Johnny's gratified laughter. It's hard work to close the door of the living room while holding to pup, but you do it anyway, leaving Johnny to do the heavy lifting.

The pitter-patter of their paws on the ground provides you with great delight. When Johnny comes bringing the first two bags in one hand - such a strong one he is - he finds you running around, barefoot, with some wet strand of hair flowing with you're every movement; he cannot stop smiling. It hurt almost to see you squeal when one comes running between your legs, one barking happily as they circle around you.

He's done many great things since he enrolled, all things considered. He built himself a life that is respectable by most. He's well seen and appreciated, too, though it might be different now, with the strain of deception haunting him. He has medals to prove some of his bravest acts, and became a man he can be, and is, proud of.

But nothing, ever, brings him more pleasure than seeing you like this. You're blooming now, head thrown back under your joyful laughter, so much that breathing hurts.

As he starts tidying up the purchases in the kitchen, Johnny finds himself distracted. You took it upon yourself to rearrange the living room with Angus' advice in mind and make it a good home for your new little ones. The giant bed takes up some space, and you try a few dispositions before settling on the best one, where it actually broadens the room. Now the couch faces the fireplace too, which makes more sense to you.

"Johnny?" You call sweetly, holding the little furniture you bought for them that will hold the cups.

"Aye, m'eudail?" He answers, putting back down the bag of peppers and follows the sound of your tantalising voice.

"Where do you think is best?" You ask, turning around to find him approaching. The little furniture is placed in two different spots.

One is close to the entryway, where you definitely need to add a flap door for them. This means that you'll need to remodel a bit, maybe change the front door, actually. Put one with more personality, maybe in some dark colour? But that's a problem for another day. You flutter your lashes at him, not that you're doing it on purpose. Of course, he knows that, but it doesn't mean the consequences are any different.

You smile as he strokes a hand down your back, a bit further down than this morning, and let him think over it. Johnny doesn't take long, of course, the quick thinker that he is and points at the one by the living room.

"You think?"

"Best for 'em tae get cosy with the room before addin' the door into it, hen."

You nod, tilting your head back so it presses into his shoulder and hum. You're happy. It's been a long time since you've been this happy. Johnny comes closer, breaking the distance until he has you in his arms, the cast resting calmly under your faintly swollen belly. His fingers trail there, over your belly button, and you smile, hearing the little dogs sniffing around their new home.

His nose digs into your hair, groaning at the smell of your shampoo and how soft you are against his skin. Even Kyle, beautiful boy Kyle, wasn't as soft as you are. He remembers watching him rub oil into his skin and some in his hair, too. Ended up applying it a few times, for his own selfish delight. He wonders if you would like Kyle. He's surely the least fearsome of them.

"Ye know I'm military, aye?"

"Of course, I know." You answer, opening your eyes with slight confusion at the sudden change.

"Had a team. A good one." Johnny murmurs, his nose trailing along your temple as he presses a soft peck into your skin.

Your hand finds his hurting one, fingers holding onto him as you let yourself be swamped in his affection. There is that strange twirl again, in your chest, as his breath tickles your skin. Johnny groans your name, one palm slithering down your side as he nuzzles into your hips, finding that delicious swell of yours hidden in that traitorous pair of jeans.

You feel him, but don't comment on it. You've been rather daunting yourself and are too embarrassed to say anything about it, anyway. You don't dare to move, soft eyes following his every movement. Your nose presses into his cheekbone as you murmur his name, a soft melody that makes his heart stammer. It's reassuring how you let him take his time and gather his thoughts.

"Good lads, they are. Ye would love Garrick." He sighs before he offers you soft kisses, as much as he can muster gentleness in himself.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. He's the kind one."

You snort, remembering everything he did for you, and still do. If Garrick is the kind one, you wonder what Johnny is. You massage his fingers, passing your index on the edge of the cast as you relax into his hold. You can tell he's thinking about it. About them. There is a glint in his eyes when he does, between sadness and sorrow.

"Whatever it is, I'll be here when you're ready."

He huffs, how you always know what he needs, Johnny will never comprehend it. But you do anyway and give him what you do best, understanding and patience. His hand carefully pets your belly, finding that little expansion of flesh there that's so precious and places one last kiss on your cheek.

"Let's get som' food in ye, aye?"

"Mhm, I'm starvin'."

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