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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 months

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CAT-EYES

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

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

WORDCOUNT: 13.3k

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

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

You were sitting in the branches again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it speaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could outrun him.

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

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

Your lips twitch.

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

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

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

The boar broach winks at you.

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

“Just Johnny—”

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

Blue eyes widen, sure feet faltering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure,” you puff a laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...What was that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Find him!”

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

“Here!”

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your sharp eyes hone in, unwavering in its heat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your thin lips tell him all he needs to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown, gut swirling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted that damn boar broach.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No family?”

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

The man grunts. “M’sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I supposed to be insulted or not?”

“I leave that for you to decide.”

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

Your face softens slightly.

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

And you don’t understand why.

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

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

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

“You called me strange.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re not stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears slip from over your cheeks.

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

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

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

“Just make it quick.”

John’s lips thin. “Yes, Ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Free, free, free.

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

Wasn’t it?

Your eyes slip to Johnny.

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

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

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

You knew you were a selfish person.

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips are near his ear.

“When I say ‘go,’ run to the left.”

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

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

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

Your attention is split three ways.

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

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

They take a step forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That one?”

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, of course, follow directions.

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

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

“I know I am.” You huff, smiling.

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

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

He’d called you Cat-Eyes.

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

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

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

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

“Seems so, Cat-Eyes.”

Your matching glares hold no venom.

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

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

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

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

Your head tilts, eyes narrowing.

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

A just Lord and a cunning thief.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t say no to that.”

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

Johnny hands over his boar broach to the doctor.

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

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

Your eyes inexplicably snap to Johnny.

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

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

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

Or maybe there was a reason.

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

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

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

Maybe you weren’t so bad after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always a thief, never a saint.

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

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

You lick your lips.

“Do one thing for me, hm?”

“Anything,” John mutters, not blinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not yet.

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

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

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

And then you’re gone.

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

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

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

Yet, his hands touch something far more precious.

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

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

“What in the…” He already knows.

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

John smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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ur-dad-satan · 3 months

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I know it's 8 am right now, HOWEVER, I have headcanons I need to get out of my brain before they're all I can think about... That being said: I have Obey Me! Headcanons about how I think the characters would smell. This is based on sleep deprived delusion and nothing else <3

I feel like most of the characters would wear some type of Cologne or perfume that perfectly encapsulates their personality or vibe. Like I know that's the purpose of Cologne/perfume but hear me out.

Luci would smell like some fancy Cologne with hints of vanilla and maybe even coffee. Not coffee breath, but maybe like his soap smells like coffee or Shea butter.

Mam would smell like an expensive Cologne with some really masculine scent like Cedarwood and like sea breeze or something. OR he would smell like men's deodorant and the smell of the two together would be intoxicating. (I'm getting off topic)

Contrary to popular belief, Levi would smell really good if not clean. Like he would probably smell like some type of soap and maybe sometimes some Ruri themed perfume for special occasions. Aside from that, he would just smell like soap. Maybe sea salt and something else.

Sat would also probably smell like a fancy cologne but I feel like he would also have like undertones of something familiar that you can't put your finger on. It's not indescribable, but it's so hard to pinpoint.

Asmo would smell like some type of fruit perfume or a delicate flower. I feel like he would also almost always use body glitter filled perfume/lotion for special events or when he felt extra pretty.

Beel probably wouldn't wear any perfume/cologne regularly but he never stinks. Not even when he's drenched in sweat; he actually kinda smells sweet. It's a subtle sweetness that you can only smell if he's close enough

Belphie also wouldn't wear cologne/perfume on a regular basis, but he also wouldn't stink. He would probably smell like fresh linens. He wouldn't quite smell like laundry detergent, but fresh sheets and pillowcases. It's a relaxing and comforting smell.

Dia would definitely smell like some fancy cologne. It's probably a gift from Luci that he likes to wear around him the most. I don't know why, but I get cinnamon vibes from him. Like his soap would be cinnamon scented and it gives a slight spice to his not quite savory cologne.

Barbs would smell like tea. He would do this on purpose. So no one can smell the bloodlust he feels for Solomon. I'm thinking like some type of green tea, jasmine tea blend with a hint of vanilla or something else sweet. He takes great pride in how he smells and loves when people complement him on it.

Luke would smell like cupcakes and icing. It's not just cause he's a kid or anything, but he goes out if his way to use sweet smelling products. He likes the way they make him feel and keep his skin soft. Everyone loves it. Not a single person complains.

Sim would smell like something natur-y like flowers or some type of tree. Maybe a nice spring day if that makes sense. This smell would mix with the smell of his deodorant -probably a pretty masculine smelling one- and be heavenly (no pun intended). He would know that he smells good but not how good he smells.

Solo would smell like a nice human world cologne. I feel like he would wear a basic deodorant and let his cologne do all the heavy lifting. It would be something like burning wood or like some type of ocean mist. (Y'all don't know how hard it was to not just tear Solomon a new asshole just then and IDK why)

Being mean to solomon under the line <3

Solomon would wear shower in a can and smell like fucking axe body spray. He almost certainly had a hippy phase in the 60s where he did a LOT of drugs and then he had an emo phase in the 2000s and can most definitely sing the entirety of Welcome to The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance.

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purple-plum-petals · 25 days

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⊱ Star Rail Men and What They Smell Like ⊰ || Multiple Character Headcanons

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Character(s): Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Caelus, Dan Heng, Veritas Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard Landau, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Sampo Koski, Sunday, Welt Yang (Honkai Star Rail) Warning(s): Nothing! Genre: Headcanons Word Count: ~560 words Author’s Note: I’ve been really into Honkai Star Rail lately and, since I will be writing for the fandom from here on out, I thought my first post for it would just be some simple headcanons on what some of the characters smell like! I tried to keep what I think the characters would smell like as canon-compliant as possible; I also wanted to do this since it may be helpful for me to reference in the future when I write for them haha. It’s nothing too complex as I haven’t had the time for that as of late, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless! Also, this was written pre-release of Aventurine, Boothill, and Sunday, but I don’t think their releases will change these headcanons.

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated! ♡

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Argenti: He smells like a freshly plucked bouquet of roses and honey with an underlying scent of iron because of his armor. Everywhere he goes, he leaves behind a floral scent with a tinge of sweetness.

Aventurine: Aventurine smells like a very expensive and very strong cologne – a cologne that is almost a bit too overpowering with how much of it he puts on.

Blade: Sorry Blade lovers, but this man probably smells like a mixture of sweat and blood. However, I’ll be nice and say he has the soft and somewhat sweet scent of spider lilies on his clothing and in his hair.

Boothill: Metal, oil, and gunpowder – I imagine him smelling very much like a mechanic’s workshop. He smells like how a lot of men’s bodywashes are advertised to be.

Caelus: Trash… Honestly, though, I can’t really see (or rather smell) Caelus having any kind of specific scent to him. He probably just smells like a natural musk or perhaps even a mixture of the rest of the Astral Express Crew’s scents, all of them intermingling in a very faint and very all-over-the-place cocktail of smells.

Dan Heng: Dan Heng smells kind of like the pages of an old book and a crisp, refreshing ocean breeze. He smells very relaxing and somewhat nostalgic, and his scent is very calming to be surrounded by.

Veritas Ratio: Ratio smells like unscented soap, so he has a very clean and fresh scent to him at all times considering how much he bathes. I also like to think he smells a bit like chalk with how much of it he carries around.

Gallagher: Smells like a mixture of alcohol and natural musk with a tinge of smokiness. He works at a bar and, considering he carries around a lighter, I imagine him to be a smoker as well.

Gepard: Gepard wears a very light and very basic cologne, so nothing too overpowering or statement-making; it does smell a bit generic, though. I also think he would have a slight scent of iron to him as well due to his armor.

Jing Yuan: Smells like a fresh cup of fruity green tea with a weak node of mint. Jing Yuan is a fairly lazy man who doesn’t put in much effort where it isn’t needed, but I think he would enjoy aromatherapy so he likes wearing perfumes and colognes that he thoroughly enjoys.

Luocha: I think Luocha would smell somewhat earthy with nodes of floral and wood-like scents. I also think he would carry around the smell of death, but not necessarily a bad one; he smells more akin to a funeral home.

Sampo: Much like Caelus, I don’t think Sampo would smell like much of anything. He sneaks around quite a bit and probably wouldn’t want his scent alerting anyone, so he has a natural smell to him with a light underlying node of pine.

Sunday: Has a very faint scent of lavender to him that could be easily missed if not around him for long. I imagine he isn’t fond of strong scents, so he usually picks something that makes him smell pleasing without being too overwhelming for himself or others.

Welt: I imagine Welt smelling like a strong, freshly brewed cup of coffee with nodes of citrus or vanilla. The underlying scent is never enough to overpower the smell of coffee he has on him, though.

#🌸 . Plum Writes #honkai star rail #hsr #star rail headcanons #hsr headcanons #argenti #aventurine #blade #boothill #caelus #dan heng #veritas ratio #gallagher #gepard landau #jing yuan #luocha #sampo koski #sunday #welt yang

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unholyhelbig · 2 months

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Crescent 10/12 | Natasha Romanoff x Moonknight!Reader

Summary: When Natasha Romanoff takes a job as head of security for Dina Jackson she has an ulterior motive- to find the tomb of Egyptian artifacts that the art world is racing for. Dina’s disgraced niece is charming, awkward, and under the influence of Khonsu, the God of the Moon.

Warnings: This is 18+, if you are a minor I will block you. Fingering (r reciving), pet names, orgasm control, scars, mentions of pregnancy (Not what you think), suicidal idealations (in a martyr way), Car crashes, mentions of the afterlife, Dom/sub dynamic, horrible grammar

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“God, I need a shower” the words escaped Natahsa’s lips when the door to the hotel closed behind you. It was air conditioned in here, drying the sweat to your skin and making it feel tight, nearly unbearable. For just a moment, you missed the sandy dry heat that Cairo had to offer.

The ex-Avenger in front of you pushed the doors to the balcony open despite her words. There was a soft breeze that blew back the sheer curtains. They moved like phantoms, caressing her arms and her shoulders when she turned to you.

A toxic orange light caught the heat of the day as the sun began to lower behind the horizon. It illuminated her. Natasha’s silhouette reminded you of a statue that Dina had taken you to see when you were young; located in the Louvre. The Winged Victory of Samothrace.

White Parian marble expertly carved in the beautiful shape of a woman draped in cloth. Often, her form was compared to an angel. As angelic as the Greeks could form without a biblical translation. Wings stretched behind her, upturned to the sky. Her hand reached forward, stoney fingers grasping for something- touch, perhaps. The comfort of companionship.

Natasha reached her hand out to you now, and how could you possibly deny her? She blinked at you with deep emerald eyes that were so alive compared to the art, the statues and artifacts, that you surrounded yourself with. There was no death in her gaze, no thrumming orders from an ancient god that meant you no good will.

“Come here,” Natasha purred.

You did what you were best known for and obeyed. One hand snaked around your waist, the other splayed against your shoulder. Her forehead pressed close to yours. You breathed in Natasha Romanoff like she was the only fresh air in the pristine hotel room. Her lavender scent was so strong and grounding. You wanted to savor it.

“You can join me, if you’d like.”

“Hmm,” You hummed, feeling your brow furrow. You were much too deep in her subtle touches to register what she had said. Not for a few moments. Your eyes snapped open, and you pulled back enough to view her amused expression. “In the shower?”

She chuckled “Yes, in the shower y/n. If you want to, that is. We can take turns.”

“We should really conserve water. I’m pretty sure there’s a drought.”

Natasha made a soft noise in the back of her throat. Her smile gave her away, and so did her manicured fingers dragging down your arms. She stopped at your hand and pulled you along with her.

You recalled the first moment you met Natasha. It was in the bathroom of the apartment building your aunt called home. There was such a deep-seeded embarrassment that plagued you when the gorgeous woman caught you using hand soap to wipe away the musk of the journey there.

The two of you had seen each other, sure, but there was something intimate about what she was implying. Natasha had walked in on you changing your shirt a few weeks back. She’d seen the scars that pockmarked your skin, had averted her eyes out of respect. There was a silent agreement as she flicked on the water, that neither of you would turn away.

A slick type of heat filled the room and the sound of falling water eased your nerves. Natasha nodded so slightly, but you were close enough to see it. It was nearly laughable, how nervous you both were. There was an electric feeling that was building up in your chest. It felt like camp, almost, lifting your shirts in the darkness of a fire just to say that you did.

Your skin prickled when you did finally lift your shirt. Any trepidation you felt washed away when Natasha did the same. Of course, you knew she was going to be fit. She’s a secret agent, an Avenger, and before that… before that her muscles must have been carved from the same white Parian marble of the Winged Victory of Samothrace.

Her back was marred with scars that cut deeper than any chisel could. You watched her in the mirror, the way her shoulders tensed and then untensed when she settled. She was the most beautiful thing that you had ever seen.

Your breath caught when her fingers, cold compared to the rest of the room, found the discoloration on your shoulder. A bra strap cut through the middle of the burning mark. She diligently pushed it aside and brushed her thumb over the raised skin.

The mirror had fogged up, so you directed your attention to her eyes. She was frowning at the mark, moving her hand to cup your cheek. You took a step closer, hooking your fingers around the loops of her jeans to pull her flush against you.

Natasha’s fingers moved to the brass button of your pants, unhooking it with a practice ease that made you giggle against the small of her neck. You could feel her smile widen when your fingers found the latch of her black lace bra. You wanted to get your hands on her, get as close to her as possible.

When you kissed the side of her neck she sighed and pushed her head back, giving you full access to the curves and dips of skin. A small whimper escaped her when you pulled away, letting the strip of fabric fall between you. Natasha panted, her chest pushing out. You wanted so badly to palm her.

“No touching, malen'kaya luna.” she demanded in a low growl, instead, flicking her eyes to your own chest.

She was really going to make you do this yourself? The deadpan look she gave you was all the answer you needed. You had never moved with so much fervor before, stretching unnaturally until you found what you were looking for. When the bra fell between you both, exposing your top-half to the Black Widow. You beamed at her proudly.

“Happy?”

“Very.”

It was like a game of strip poker at this point; she removed her pants, you painstakingly focused on your socks, much to her dismay. Eventually the two of you were naked in front of one another, taking in the soft curves of your bodies, the softness of her skin, the constellations of freckles.

Natasha reached her hand out to you and led you into the shower, your breath mingling with the steam. The water burned for just a moment, eliciting a sharp gasp until you felt Natasha’s hands soothe over the warmth.

She closed the distance between the two of you once more, her tongue sliding against your lips, begging for entry that you folded into without problem. Her hands found your breasts and squeezed. You mewled into her mouth at the sensation, craving the way she swallowed the sound. You were determined to make her feel the same.

“We’re alone, right?”

Her words were a distant growl, nearly drowned by the flow of water. You went to nod, to respond to her, when her lips attached to the pulse point on your neck, she cupped your center in one fluid motion, applying pressure but not giving into your silent demands.

An unholy noise escaped you at the sensation and you tried to ignore how attractive the knowing smirk against your skin was. Part of you wanted to fight that sensation, and the other part- well, the other part wanted to crumble beneath her.

One salacious finger traced across your folds, brushing your clit and you swallowed back a shiver. Your nails dug into the smooth skin of her back, head dropping to her shoulder. “Natasha,”

“You’re so wet for me.”

“We’re in the shower,” You gritted out.

She gave you a playful frown “Well, in that case, I can just-“

Natasha attempted to move her hand, but you grasped at her wrist desperately, holding her in place. Her pupils were blown out, stealing the green from her stare. A hungry breath escaped her lips and fanned your collarbone.

“If you’re going to be that needy, darling, I’ll need you to beg for it.”

Beg for it? Ha! Beg for it. It had been two years since you’d been touched by anyone other than a magic wand that was tired from use. There was always a small piece of you that was afraid of Konshu’s lurid interruption; but even he respected your boundaries.

You weren’t one to beg, not really. Anything that you could do with another person, you could do with your own fingers. Though, with Natasha’s hand cupping your cunt, her other one raking perfectly manicured nails across water-worn skin, you would resign yourself to begging. Hell; you get on your knees and worship this woman if you had the chance.

Her eyes gave her away, that animalistic lust flashing like canine teeth dripping with saliva. The Black Widow was nothing, if not patient. She’d wait for you to decide despite knowing exactly the choice you had made.

“Natty,” you nearly whined, blushing at how desperate your voice had become. “Can you please fuck me. I want to come on your fingers.”

“All you had to do was ask,”

The words were whispered in her husky voice that drove you wild, yet, she only gave you a small moment to let her words wash over you before she inserted her finger inside of you. A moan moved past your throat at the sudden intrusion. Natasha’s lips were on yours, swallowing the sound.

“More,”

“More? Wow, you really are desperate. How long has it been, detka?”

Her question was punctuated by another finger. They curled into you, pumping in and out of your pussy with a stamina that could only accompany an ex-avenger. She was an expert at this, her touch reaching further than your own awkward efforts under the alien light of a perfume billboard.

“Nat, I’m going to…”

You gasped against her, nails digging into her back, tracing the curved line of her spine. You couldn’t possibly get any closer to her, your breasts pushed flush to her own. She groaned at the sensation and the sound alone made you want to lose control.

“Go ahead, darling. Come for me.”

Natasha’s words were enough to let you give into the building sensation in the center of your stomach. You let out a cry as you tightened around her fingers, riding them greedily through your orgasm. She continued to work them inside of you, nursing you down from the high. You were shaking against her. How could you ever think a vibrator was enough?

She pulled her fingers from your cunt and brought them to her lips, sucking your wetness from them with a satisfied moan. The sight alone was enough to have you craving more. But you had manners, you’d been nothing, if not loyal.

It was your turn to satisfy her.

Sleep refused to fall over you despite the nights various activities. Natasha was tangled against you, having drifted into unconsciousness. You’d both been worn out from travel- from staying under the steam of the shower for much too long, and then continuing to taste her when the two of you vowed to get some rest.

Natasha’s arm was around your midsection, her nose pushed against her side of your neck. Your legs were tangled. You held her closer than you had ever held anyone before. The last thing you wanted to do was let her go. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

The occasional car horn drifted up from the city of Cairo below. The stars that lined the velvet sky bled so easily into the man-made boroughs below. Past the outer-limits was a vast desert that called to you, almost dreamlike. You longed to feel the warmth of the sand, smell the crispness of land without civilization.

Natasha drew in a sharp breath and you froze, her muscles tightened for just a moment in her slumber. She finally relaxed and tightened her grip against the smooth skin of your stomach. You stared at her with so much love and admiration in your eyes, reflecting the twinkling lights from the city.

If you were to die now, or tomorrow, while you fumbled your way through the Valley of Kings under Khonsu’s control, you figured you would be content. Just being able to know Natasha Romanoff like this, to lay with her like this, would be enough. Even if it were just for a fleeting moment.

You asked me if I have ever been infatuated with anyone before.

Khonsu had taken a moment of warm Egypt wind to materialize within the whisps of white curtains. You drew in your own breath, but relaxed. Intrusions such as this were expected, but much less welcome when you were only scarcely covered by a top sheet. You rushed to pull the fabric over your chest, cheeks enflamed.

He’d never shared much with you, if anything at all. If there was more than empty sockets where his eyes used to be, you would be able to see his vulnerability. Instead, you gave him a small nod, as if not trying to scare him away.

There was a woman once. Ruia. Her son was a high priest of an outlying village, a benevolent ruler that welcomed the Gods with open arms. Back then it was normal for us to show ourselves. There was no need for an avatar.

You’d heard of this from Layla. Her God was much more forthcoming with her history. She was much more forthcoming with every piece of information. Khonsu pulled away from the swaying curtains, pacing with nervousness at the foot of the bed. His staff was gripped in his wrapped hand.

Ruia and I fell in love quickly, and passionately He lilted his head, as if eluding to the woman wrapped around you at this very moment, her soft form, her rhythmic breathing. We lived in absolute bliss for fifty years.

“What happened?” You whispered.

I am a God that can manipulate time, but I cannot stop it. Slowing it down is one thing, but Ruia… Ruia loved me with everything she had. I could spend forever with her, I wanted to spend forever with her. But she wasn’t interested in infinite life. She wanted finality. She wants me to join her when I am ready.

There wasn’t a bitterness in Khonsu’s voice, there was just resignation. He looked down at the carpet, at the moon that hung like a broken fishbone in the sky. Then back at you with a sadness that was written all over his skin-stripped features.

“Are you ready?”

His height shrunk when he knelt at the bottom of the bed, still towering over the two of you. His shadow was stretched over the sheets, over your body. The half-moon of his staff hung like a blade over your head. Natasha did not stir.

Are you?

The Valley of Kings was a tomb. The answer had been right in front of you, carved into the gold finish of Lady Madja’s coffin. You’d been so focused on the map that you hadn’t thought of what it would lead you to. That seemed so trivial compared to the current cat and mouse game that you were playing with your aunt.

A cool breeze wafted from the Nile, it’s water was a different, vibrant type of blue that New York could never produce. Boats drifted against the current, their captains like ants among a hill. It was easier to focus on them, on the sunrise, than the looming trip ahead of you.

After Khonsu had left last night, you hadn’t gone back to sleep. You’d tightened your grip on Natasha and placed a soft kiss against her temple. She’d still been asleep when you’d gotten a message from Layla, asking to meet her. She promised coffee and Feteer Meshaltet from her favorite spot.

Though, you didn’t have much of an appetite, you accepted the baked pastry regardless, taking small nibbles as the two of you walked along the length of grass that bordered the Nile. Layla watched you as you watched the water. Neither of you said anything for a long time.

“I’ve gotten work from Mark that Dina and Chip left on a flight a few hours after yours. They should be landing by nightfall.”

When that didn’t draw an answer from you, Layla stopped and waved her ring-clad hand in front of your face. You blinked a few times at her, then frowned down at your barely-touched breakfast. You were brought back to yourself and hated the pit that formed in your stomach.

“You with me Moon Bitch?”

“Moon Bitch?”

“You’re the avatar for a Moon deity and you’re kind of a bitch. Especially under his hand.”

Yeah, you supposed you were kind of a bitch these last two years. It seemed stupid now, drawing away from your family, from your friends, from your emotions, just because a pile of celestial bones had ordered you to. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered except for Natasha.

“Do you ever think about what happens when you die?” You asked, passing her your unfinished pastry. She fisted the white and red wax paper and lilted her head to the side, much like your master had the night before.

“We both have died.”

“Do you remember it?”

Layla clenched and unclenched her jaw before she frowned at the food and dropped it into the waste bin that lingered on the edges of a patch of green. Neither of you had much of an appetite. Food wasn’t something you thought about in the face of your ultimate demise.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts, “I remember the snowstorm that night, how cold it was. It was barely visible but we’d gotten a call, you know? A woman was in labor and we were the only truck on service.”

You wanted to put your hand on your own and tell her stop but something held you back. She’d never been willing to share this with you before. You’d seen Taweret hit her with a warning stare when she’d been taunted mercilessly by the avatar of Mandulis. They’d always taken the high road.

Khonsu had found great amusement in the teasing. You had to swallow the lump in your throat and stand by his throne, staring down at the way the torches within the white sandstone flickered. There was a deep resentment towards yourself that day, how you’d abandoned her in that moment. If not for Khonsu’s bony hand engulfing your shoulder, you would have pushed forward.

Layla took a deep breath “The ambulance hit some black ice and spun out of control. Through a guardrail. I’d been flung from the vehicle and into a snowbank. I could see the highway above me, the headlights of a passerby who stopped to help. He saw me first and rushed to help, but I told him about the pregnant woman who was still in the back of the ambulance. I told him to go to her, and he listened.

“I fell asleep in the snow and when I woke up, I was in this stretching field of reeds. It was the warmest I had ever felt, it radiated from my core and all of that fear- all of that pain from the crash, had vanished just as quickly as it had come.”

It wasn’t like that for you, but you weren’t about to tell Layla that. She shrugged dismissively and started her slow stroll once more. You took a few moments before following her, shoulders drooping. Of course it was different for her, warmer, softer, acceptable.

“That’s when Taweret found me and offered me a second chance at life. It was almost… hard to leave that field, to enter the harshness of the world again, but I’m glad that I did.”

You nodded, swallowing the dryness in your throat. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Mm,” She hummed, frowning at you “Is there something you’re not telling me. Considering we’re having a group share.”

Was there? While Khonsu had implied that this was a suicide mission for him, he hadn’t said it outwardly. Through the course of your toxic relationship, you learned to read him. Despite trying to play it cool, he had the subtlety of a cinderblock.

“Did you know Khonsu had a wife?” You asked her another question, not ready to ponder the answer to her own.

Layla shook her head, using the back of her hand to wipe the sticky sweat from her forehead.

“He came to me last night after Natasha and I spent some time together. I think we remind him of what he used to have with Ruia. It was like he made his choice. Like he was done.”

She stopped and turned with a ferocity that was enough to snap her neck. There was confusion and then anger on her face. Layla wasn’t daft, she knew exactly what you were alluding to. There were Gods that had grown tired of their immortality before. The prospect of watching the world around you die had them craving the ever-falling sands. The deity equivalent to ending it all.

“No.” She closed the distance between the two of you “He can’t just let you die!”

You shushed her when a group of mothers walking their children around in strollers shot them wary looks. They were sidestepped and your voice found an even and soft tone. “Khonsu is the one keeping me alive, of course he can. Either way, I’m not meant to get the happy ending.”

Layla looked at you sadly, the tension in her body stifled with sudden realization. There was an odd type of peace that fell over her features, the same resignation that you felt last night. If you refused to take him to the Valley of Kings, then he’d sever the link right there and you wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Natasha the way that you wanted.

But, if you led him there, if you took him through the cold walls and the quiet crypts, he’d give you some form of mercy for your service these past two and a half years. That mercy would be in the form of one last moment with the woman that had crashed into your life unceremoniously.

“I’ve been labeled as a mistake. A worm, and I finally found the one person who never questioned my potential.” You grasped both of her hands, sadly running your thumbs over her bruised knuckles. “I’m not meant to stop Khonsu, I’m meant to lead him to his love.”

“And what about yours?”

“She’ll be okay.” You gave her palms a squeeze. “You’ll make sure of it.”

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x reader #Moonknight #Moonknight reader #Marvel #Marvel fanfiction #layla el faouly #I don't know anything about egypt lol #I'm doing my best I promise

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smninthisworldd · 9 months

Text

- ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ Babysitter next door ; König x fem!OC ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

❝SUMMARY OF CHAP 3: Jasmine wakes up, ready for her second - and last - day of babysitting Ella. König is finally getting ready to come home, but first, he shares his thoughts and feelings about Jas with Ghost and Soap. Once he gets home, he can’t really contain himself…❞

❝PAIRINGS AND WARNINGS (NSFW): dirty thoughts, male masturbation.❞

w.c: 4200 ; part 3/? ;

PREVIOUS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Birds were chirping on the balcony outside the big window, from which the sun entered the room and warmed Jasmine's skin, along with a fresh breeze tickling it; clean, soft silk sheets hugging her body, her nose breathing in their strong scent - König's scent, precisely - while her hair laid on the silk pillowcase. What other best way to wake up?

Oh, right... if only he was there.

If only König was there to hold her tight against his strong body, his warmth radiating through her. To caress her hair, move it out of her face and kiss her cheek softly, careful not to wake her up. To lower his caresses along her shoulder, causing her to shiver, while he decided to kiss her neck, shoulder and arm. And when Jas would wake up to that, he would whisper in her ear "Good morning, love". And she would blush and giggle and turn around to hug him and kiss him and tell him "5 more minutes", cuddling and holding him tightly, never wanting to let him go. Never wanting to leave that bed.

Jas couldn't stop fantasizing about him, apparently. She went to sleep thinking about him, and woke up with the same thoughts. She couldn't help herself into at least trying to deny how she felt toward König.

Two months earlier, when Jasmine moved, Ella was the curious one, wanting to know who the new neighbor was. She asked her daddy if they could knock on her door and welcome her in the new apartment. And since König can't say no to his daughter - especially when she looks at him with such cute puppy eyes - he accepted.

The two got dressed, grabbed some of the cookies König had prepared the evening before, and headed to the door next to theirs. It was half open, boxes and suitcases all around, waiting to be unpacked inside the new home.

König curiously looked inside, taking a peek of the apartment, when Jasmine suddenly opened the door fully and jolted when she saw the immensely tall man and his daughter. She nearly gasped, bringing her hand to her chest and laughing out of relief. Neighbors.

«Hallo! I'm Ella!» the little girl squealed. «Welcome!»

Jasmine looked down at her and smiled warmly, extending her hand to Ella. «Hi! My name is Jasmine.»

«Like the princess from Aladdin!» Ella exclaimed happily. Jas giggled at the sight of that energetic sweet girl getting so excited about her name.

«Papa, give her the cookies!» Ella whispered, but Jas could hear, as his daughter grabbed and pulled on his shirt.

König chuckled and handed the basket with cookies to the new neighbor. «Welcome to the neighborhood, Jasmine, I'm König. I made these yesterday evening-»

«They are amazing!» Ella exclaimed, interrupting her daddy, her energy contagious.

Jas accepted the basket and as König extended his hand to her, she smiled and shook it with hers. The moment their hands touched, Jasmine could feel the roughness of his big hand, and some calluses on his palm. Meanwhile, König could sense how small and soft her hand was compared to his, contrasting with his own.

It was a strange yet pleasurable feeling, mostly for König. He was feeling quite lonely lately, given he hasn't dated nor seen anyone for... a very long time, and he was so touch starved that a woman's touch could've easily turned his hormones crazy. Even just a simple handshake.

Jasmine gulped at the intensity of König's eyes looking at her, making her knees feel like jelly already. It was no secret how attractive the man was, and Jasmine wasn't blind.

«Here, let me help you.» König offered, his voice deep and manly, removing his hand from hers and grabbing one of the boxes left, stepping inside after Ella.

«Oh...» Jasmine started, attempting to tell him it wasn't necessary, that she could do everything on her own. But having this mountain of a muscular man in your new home, ready to help you unpack your stuff and maybe even help you reach some shelves that are too high for you, was an offer that no one could ever deny. «Thank you...»

«It's my pleasure.» König replied, easily picking up the other boxes while Jasmine placed the cookies on the table, grabbed her last suitcase and closed the door.

Ella sat down a chair and watched her dad and the new neighbor unpack her things and decor the kitchen and the living room. «How old are you, Jasmine?»

«Ella...» König attempted to scold her, but Jasmine chuckled and shook her head, as if to tell him everything was fine.

«I am 23 years old, Ella. Soon to be 24.» she answered. «And what about you?»

«I'm 9! I will turn 10 in three months!» Ella replied, smiling warmly at her. «I will have a beautiful party for my birthday! Daddy promised that he will take the day off to celebrate with me!»

Jasmine smiled at Ella, and then looked at König, still smiling. «What do you do?» she asked, out of curiosity.

«I'm an Austrian soldier.» König answered, «I'm a Colonel, more precisely.»

Her brows lifted as she looked up at him and smiled, nodding in understanding. Jas could've imagined it, really. His muscles and his overall built could've only been either a soldier's or a bodybuilder's.

«Should I call you 'Sir'?» she joked, gaining a chuckle from König.

Despite the thought of Jasmine calling him that was tempting, he laughed it off. «That's only for my coworkers.» he said with a smile. «Please, call me König.»

The rest of that day went on pretty quickly, as Ella and König helped Jasmine with some of her stuff, keeping her company. She was glad she found herself two amazing neighbors, curious to know her better and that already liked her a lot.

The months passed and Jasmine was often invited to König's apartment to eat with him and Ella, sometimes at lunch, sometimes at dinner.

Ella found a friend in her, despite their age difference. Jas was a very good friend to her, always available if she wanted to play dolls, have a tea party or watch Disney movies. And König couldn't be happier. Knowing that her daughter was happy filled his heart with love and adoration, and he was happy, too.

Jasmine soon grew to be a good friend for König as well, as he sometimes even helped her with her studies and repetitions. She would invite him and Ella over, and while Ella would watch cartoons and play with her dolls, König would help Jasmine practicing and reviewing her notes for her University exams.

A smile appeared on her lips as she thought about all that, and how thankful she was to have him and Ella in her life. Though, she would've never believed she would sleep in König's bed while babysitting his girl. It was a strange feeling.

She stood up, changed into her clothes and redid the bed, folding the shirt she wore for sleeping and putting it back into König's closet.

Then, she walked toward the bathroom and washed her face, ready for the second day of babysitting Ella.

König couldn't really help himself either. Since Jasmine moved, he wasn't the same König as he used to. He was more tense, more cautious, more protective - of himself and of Ella, especially. But he wished he could show Jas his protective side, too.

He felt a strange urge to protect her, and he didn't really know why. He couldn't put it into words. The only way he could describe it, was that he felt drawn to her. Not only because Jasmine was pretty and beautiful and gorgeous, but mostly because of her personality.

Jasmine was always so welcoming, so kind and nice to everyone, sweet and adorable. «She's just... perfect.» König whispered, as he explained his two friends, Ghost and Soap, the situation and the way he felt.

They were on the bus, at that moment, heading back toward the base. Their mission was a success, and they were ready to pack their belongings and return home.

«Maybe you should try and talk to her about it?» Soap suggested. Then, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, his tone more playful. «I've never thought I'd hear you talking about a woman like this, Colonel.»

König felt his cheeks warm up a little, as he sighed. «You think so?»

«How old is she?» Ghost joined the conversation, his tone a bit more husky compared to Soap's.

König gulped at that question. He hadn't mentioned it yet, knowing it could've probably been a bit of a surprise. «She's, uhh... soon to be 24.»

Soap's eyes widened as he blinked twice, his brows lifting in surprise. Ghost's eyes remained inexpressive, as he leaned back in his seat. «She's... young.»

«I know! I-I know...» König stuttered, his cheeks turning pinkish, «but she's so adorable. I really like her, despite our age difference.»

Soap sighed deeply, patting König's shoulder. «I still think you should talk to her. Perhaps, don't make it obvious at first... maybe ask her a couple questions, and try to figure out if she might be interested in older men. I think this is the best advice I can give you...»

Simon looked at König as the Austrian sighed and threw his head back, hitting the bus window. His voice cracked a bit, as he spoke: «Maybe I should just... forget her. But it's too difficult.»

«You only say this because you haven't dated anyone in a while.» Soap tried to reassure him. «The women you've dated were all younger, no?»

«But never that younger.» König said, emphasizing the 'that'. He shook his head, closing his eyes.

And now he couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if he revealed the way he felt to Jas. What would she say? Would she return his feelings? Or... would she reject him?

«Relax, bud.» Ghost tried his best to attempt a reassuring tone. «You've gone through so much, and you're a damn Colonel. A fearless soldier protectin' his country. You can do this.»

«And...» Soap said, a small cheeky grin on his lips, «did you know that it's many women's dream to be with a soldier like you? I highly think Jasmine could be one of them.»

König laughed at his playful and teasing tone, «How are you so sure?»

Soap shook his head, rolling his eyes. «Man, just look at yourself!» he said, gesturing at his whole figure, like it was already obvious what he was hinting at. «We've all seen your built and your muscles already, and trust me, any person on this earth would die to spend a night with you.»

König chuckled, shaking his head a little. But he was also happy to hear those words.

«Plus, you might look terrifying and intimidating, but you have such a kind heart, and it shows by the way you treat your daughter.» Soap added, his voice shifting into a more soft tone. «You're a kind and strong man. Anyone would be happy to have someone like you by their side.»

König now smiled at how reassuring Soap sounded, making him feel better about himself.

«I agree, obviously.» Ghost spoke, his voice deep and inexpressive as always. But König could tell he was sincere.

For the rest of the trip toward the base, König had his eyes closed and kept thinking about Jas. Her smile. Her hair. Her hands. How soft spoken and genuine she was. How beautiful, gorgeous she was.

He kept thinking about her pretty eyes and how she had to lift her chin up to look at him and talk to him. And how pretty she looked with her glasses on, when he helped her study. And how adorable she looked every time she smiled at him, for whatever reason.

And he began imagining how gorgeous she would look like while wearing one of his shirts. How her soft skin would feel like against his own, and how her smaller frame - since she was much shorter compared to him - would cuddle against his body as he was the big spoon, hugging her tight from behind and wrapping his arm around her waist and pull her closer by also holding her shoulders.

How it would feel to kiss her cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose. Her hands, her shoulders, her neck, her back, and all the way down her body. Every single inch of her. He wouldn't allow his lips not to cover her whole body in kisses. Kisses that would turn into nibbles and small bites around her most sensitive areas, that he would acknowledge once he got the opportunity, and he would mark her with the shape of his teeth. Bites that would turn into hickies. On her neck. Collarbone. Chest. Thighs.

How easily he could pick her up and push her against the wall of any room of his apartment. Messily place her on the table and consume her as his breakfast, lunch, dinner. How easily he could throw her on his bed, pin her down and take her wrists into one hand, while the other would be occupied into making her squirm underneath him.

How gorgeous Jas would look if he bent her over, handcuffing her with his hand, pushing her close to the edge again and again and pushing her head down on the sheets, blowing her brains out and hearing those sweet, heavenly moans and whimpers escaping her mouth. How her hands would grip the sheets above her head. How he would press his chest against her back, moving her hair out of her face and gathering it into a ponytail in his fist to pull it, his hips grinding against hers. Pounding into her.

And then he opened his eyes. Widened them. He looked around and noticed all the soldiers asleep around him. Thank God. He gulped, his cheeks flushed red as he searched for his mask and put it on, just in case.

And he tried his best to cover the big bulge in his cargo pants, using his helmet. He sighed, feeling ashamed and guilty of imagining such things about Jasmine. How would he be able to look at her now...?

Back at the base, König was packing his stuff, while thinking of his precious daughter. He couldn't wait to see her again and most importantly, tell her that he would take a whole week off, to celebrate her birthday properly. Ella's reaction to that would be unforgettable.

He sighed, lost deep in thoughts: he often felt kind of guilty, wondering if he was a good dad for Ella, and what he could do to be better. Yes, when he was with her it felt amazing, and König felt like the luckiest dad ever. But when he was away from her... it was awful. He missed her a lot, couldn't stay away from her. Couldn't bare it.

Several hours later, König and his colleagues were ready to leave the base and return home. He spent some time with Ghost and Soap before their plane took off.

«So... will you talk to that girl once you get home?» Ghost asked him, while they sat next to each other.

«Well... I think I will.» König answered.

«Hell yes, you must!» Soap joined the conversation, setting his suitcase down at his feet. He sat near Ghost, as their conversation continued.

«Ugh, I don't need any more pressure!» König laughed subtly, throwing his head back.

Soap laughed with him, while Ghost only let out a soft little chuckle. «C'mon... it's obvious you want her badly.» Ghost whispered, slightly teasing him now. «It's obvious you think 'bout her all the time, don't cha?»

König looked at Ghost with slight surprised, and laughed nervously. «Are you teasing me now?»

«Mh-hm.» he simply replied, looking in his eyes. «You didn't answer my question yet.»

König sighed, looking away. «Fuck, of course I do.» he admitted. «I... I even have naughty, filthy and dirty thoughts about her and I feel so guilty about it.»

«Oh?» Soap exclaimed. «Do tell. This is gettin' interesting.»

König chuckled lightly, shaking his head slightly. «She's... so delicate, and so much smaller compared to me. I tower over her easily and... it... turns me on when she lifts her head to look in my eyes.» he said. «She's so innocent, or at least she looks like it. And the mere thought that I could take her innocence turns me on, so fucking much... I know I could... ruin her, in the best way possible. And that thought haunts me, making me want to do it.»

Ghost and Soap listened carefully, and then Ghost sighed, amused. «So... you fantasize of dominating her, basically.»

«But it's not just that.» König quickly said. From what he said, it seemed like he only wanted her body, but he wanted her whole. «I crave everything about her. I want all of her: mind, soul, heart... and her body is just something more. I know she's young but she's... whole. Mature, open minded, sweet, caring... she's everything one could ever ask for, you know?»

Soap smiled, exclaiming an «Aww!» and throwing a playful punch at König. Ghost chuckled, his tone playful as he whispered: «Someone's horny and in love.»

König hid his face with his mask, not wanting his blush to be too noticeable. He decided to use the time on the plane to get some rest, thinking of Jas in the meanwhile.

The flight was relaxing for all the soldiers, who were drained and tired from their previous missions. All of them were sleeping, since it was pretty late as well. It was around 1 am when they landed, and it took König an hour to get home.

He knew he would find Ella sleeping already, but he would wake her up the next morning with waffles, chocolate and kisses.

As he finally arrived in his apartment, the lights were off apart from the kitchen and the tv in the living room. He tilted his head, placed his suitcase near the front door and walked toward the tv, wanting to turn it off. He imagined Jasmine and Ella forgot about it and went to sleep.

Instead, König found Jas sleeping on the couch, seemingly comfortable on it. He smiled at the sight, she was adorable.

He grabbed the remote and turned the tv off, while trying not to wake her up. He gulped, and decided to pick her up gently, princess style, and carry her to his bed, where she would be more comfortable.

She wasn't too heavy for him, given the weights he was used to lift. He made sure to be as gentle as possible, positioning her on his bed and under his sheets. She looked so peaceful when she was asleep, so sweet and delicate. An angel.

He sighed, turning around and grabbing some fresh and clean clothes to change in. He went to the bathroom aiming to take a shower, warm and relaxing so he could get a better sleep.

He undressed, and looked in the mirror for a moment. He wasn't so bad, afterall. Maybe... maybe he had a chance with Jasmine. Maybe she could've liked him. Maybe...

He stepped in the shower, the hot water pouring all over his body, relaxing his muscles and the stress he was feeling. But although it helped relief his nerves, it worsened his... arousal.

Especially because he just couldn't get his fucking mind off Jas. And how pretty, innocent and gorgeous she looked. And those fucking lips of hers, oh God...

She would be the death of him.

He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping those thoughts would go away as well as his growing erection. But it didn't. Oh, no, it fucking didn't.

König sighed, his hand slowly reaching his hardened member. He was hesitant, he didn't want to jerk off thinking about her. But he simply couldn't fucking help it.

His eyes closed, his hand wrapped around it. Slowly, he started stroking it up and down, his heart beating a little faster with each stroke. With each movement. He began moving his hand a bit faster, also reaching his tip, already leaking with pre-cum.

He threw his head back, hitting the wall. The movements became faster, harder. He began groaning, moaning. Did he feel guilty for what he was doing? Yes. Did it matter, in that moment? No, not really.

All that mattered now, was for him to reach the release he was chasing. The orgasm he needed. His big and rough hand moved even faster, not allowing him to waste any more time.

He gulped, letting out a loud moan covered by the sound of the water pouring down. He was rough with himself and was even rougher when he had a partner to please. He lived for the full experience, and wanted to feel and make others feel fucking amazing.

His moans were louder, muffled by him biting his lower lip. His hand moved on his own, despite it began to hurt due to the speed and the force he was using on himself.

The release he was chasing was close, he just needed to keep going until he came. And so he did, keeping his movements steady and powerful. Keeping his mind occupied by thoughts about Jas, and how perfect she would look like naked, pressed against his body while he fucked her brains out. While he pulled whimpers out of her mouths and made her cry and gag around his dick.

And when he came with a long and shaky moan, he imagined Jasmine swallowing his cum, tasting it. It would feel so fucking good, he just knew it.

He sighed heavily, his heart beating faster as he stroke his cock the last few times, more weakly and gentle now. He soon came to a stop, with one long sigh.

He opened his eyes, and washed himself off of this dirty act, this shameful thing that he did. He then exited the shower and realized he forgot to bring his clothes in the bathroom, but left them in his bedroom.

He walked toward it wearing only his towel secured around his waist, his feet making loud thuds in the silence of the apartment. Once he opened the door to his room, he found Jasmine awake, still in his bed, but sat on it.

«Oh, Jas.» König smiled softly. «I thought you'd be still sleeping.»

Jasmine looked at him and her lips parted. He was only wearing a towel, and nothing else. His muscular and toned body was exposed, there for her to look at it. And he was just how she'd imagined him to be. Broad shoulders, sculpted chest and abs, defined V lines and a subtle happy trail, leading to the huge - because Jas was sure it was fucking huge, she just knew it - dick he was hiding underneath that damn towel.

«I... did I fall asleep in here? I'm sorry-» Jas began, but König interrupted her.

«You were sleeping on the couch. Thought you'd be more comfortable in bed.»

Jasmine blinked twice at that. She was supposed to thank him, for being so thoughtful and caring, carrying her to his bed just so that she could get a better sleep. But she was only able to stare right at him as if he was a piece of art. A marble statue, by Michelangelo. But better than his David.

And when he turned around to gather his clothes, his back faced her. And what a heavenly view it was. His muscles flexed with each movement he did, and she couldn't stop staring. He was so damn hot, unbelievably hot.

Jasmine gulped as he turned around once more, looking at her now. «I, uhh...» she stuttered, standing up and shyly trying to hide the blush on her face. «I should go home now, I think...»

König tilted his head, walking toward her. Jasmine's eyes nervously darted around the room, avoiding direct eye contact. But König wasn't going to allow her looking away now.

He gently grabbed her chin with his thumb and index finger, lifting her head so that she could look into his eyes, and not elsewhere. «Please stay.»

Jasmine's blush intensified as he made her look into his eyes. Her lips slightly parted, and the tension between them felt thicker.

But König quickly removed his hand, sighing deeply. «Stay in bed. I'll... take the couch. I'd like to surprise Ella tomorrow morning, so... I was thinking you could wake her up...»

«Oh...» Jasmine whispered, looking away. «S-So... it's a surprise?»

Truth was König didn't plan to make any surprise. But he was lacking of courage in that moment. Especially after seeing the shy and innocent look in Jasmine's eyes. He wasn't ready. And she wasn't either.

«Yes.» he replied with a smile. «Yes, it is...»

Jasmine smiled back at him, taking a deep breath. «Ella will love that.»

König gulped. The tension in that room was obvious, now to the both of them. And it was overwhelming, intoxicating. He cleared his throat, and lifted a hand attempting to caress her cheek, but decided against it leaving his arm mid air.

«Good night, Jas.» König whispered, approaching her forehead with his lips. And although he was hesitant about kissing it, he did. A simple and innocent gesture to show her that he cared.

His lips felt soft and smooth against her skin, and it was a warm and tender kiss, very gentle. Jasmine smiled softly, her cheeks slightly blushing. «Good night, König.»

~ smninthisworldd ; please do not copy.

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lilacskiesapothecary · 7 months

Text

“…Stars…”

Reader X Zoro

In your world , where adventure and danger lurk at every corner, you found solace in the presence of Zoro Roronoa. Though he appeared tough and unyielding to others, there was a hidden tenderness that only you could see.

One sunny afternoon, as you two strolled through a bustling market, Zoro's eyes sparkled with excitement. You knew that Zoro loved selecting fresh ingredients for your cooking sessions together. You two would spend hours exploring the market, searching for the perfect vegetables, fragrant herbs, and succulent meats.

You two’s culinary creations became legendary among your friends, but it was the moments shared in the kitchen that held the most magic. You loved watching Zoro's strong hands delicately chop the vegetables, the aroma of fresh herbs filling the air. And when you finally sit down to enjoy your meal, Zoro's smile spoke volumes.

But it wasn't just cooking that brought you closer. You discovered that Zoro had a sweet tooth, and together you embarked on a quest to find the most decadent chocolate treats. From creamy truffles to rich lava cakes, you indulged in the finest desserts, savoring each bite and sharing laughter along the way.

One evening, as the sun began to set, Zoro suggested that you two go star-gazing. He found a quiet spot, far away from the noise and chaos of the world, where you two could just be together. Lying on a soft blanket, you looked up at the vast expanse of the night sky, dotted with countless stars.

"Star-gazing was a good idea," Zoro whispered, his voice filled with warmth and affection. Your heart fluttered at those words, realizing that this moment was a testament to your bond. In the silence of that night, you two felt a connection that transcended words, a love that was as infinite as the stars above.

As you laid under the starry sky, a gentle breeze brushed against your faces, creating a moment of perfect stillness. Zoro turned towards you , his eyes filled with an intensity that couldn't be ignored. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours.

Your lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, carrying with it the sweetness of the chocolate you had indulged in earlier. It was a gentle dance of lips, a moment filled with warmth and affection. Time seemed to stand still as you embraced, your connection deepening with each passing second. In that magical instant, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you , lost in the beauty of the starlit night.

And so, their journey continued, filled with market adventures, mouthwatering meals, and sweet moments of stolen glances and kisses. Zoro remained the strong and stoic swordsman to the world, but in your presence, he let his guard down, revealing a love that burned brighter than any star in the sky.

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#anime fanfic #one piece #one piece x reader #anime #one piece zoro #ronoroa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro headcanons #zoro fanfiction #zoro fluff #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #straw hat zoro #straw hat crew

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adrift-in-thyme · 5 months

Note

Congrats on your milestone! I just started following you ☺️ I would like to request an Edwin short story - maybe a picnic around the time Edwin had to visit Win to repair his damaged arm before the final showdown, or whatever inspires you.

Thank you @mistresslrigtar ! And tysm for both the follow and the prompt! <33 This is my first time writing these two so fingers crossed that I did ok!

————————

It is a treacherously beautiful day.

Ed sets down the basket in his hands and flops beside it. The sky spread out above him is robin’s egg blue. Soft grayish white clouds bob lazily upon it. The breeze is soft, gentle. It smells of spring rain and fresh grass.

Ed inhales the scent, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment.

Here beneath the warm sun, he can almost forget what is on its way.

Promised Day. A day of death.

The very thought makes his stomach turn. Even with all the skills and manpower in the world this could go horribly wrong. And they definitely do not have either of those.

Their team is small and the opposition is monstrous.

…literally, Ed thinks with a dry chuckle. Against beings like Pride and Wrath the chances of their failure are far, far higher than that of their success.

And the costs are so high. He opens his eyes just slightly, staring through the slits at the automail hand he holds up to the sky. If he and Al don’t manage this, they will lose everything.

Their friends, their family, their home, their chance at getting their bodies back and their very motivation to do so.

He – Ed swallows against the lump in his throat – he will lose her.

“Ed!”

As if she has heard his thoughts from afar, Winry’s voice carries across the lawn.

“You forgot the blanket!”

“What?” Ed shoves himself up onto his forearms, frowning. “Why do we – oof!”

The object in question comes careening off of the porch and comes down upon him. For a moment the world is narrowed to gray fabric and a nose-clogging musty scent. Then, he manages to tackle the hefty thing to the ground.

Winry has walked down the stairs by that point and is standing in front of him when he scowls up into the sun. He pointedly ignores how her hair glows in its golden rays.

“Did you have to chuck it at my head?!”

“You can’t have a proper picnic without something to sit on.”

She grabs the blanket out of his hands. With a hearty shake, she sends it floating down to the ground.

“Did you get the sandwiches?”

Grumbling under his breath, Ed reaches for the basket.

“Yeah, yeah I got them.”

Now that he thinks about it, maybe suggesting a picnic was not the best idea. He’d believed it would be a great way to get out of the dark, stuffy house and get to spend some time with his best friend soak up some sunshine before it all goes down. And it still is, probably. Or it would be if Winry wasn’t being so nagging.

She takes the food he hands her and sets it out on the blanket. Then, she pats the spot beside her.

“Why’re you sitting over there in the grass? Come sit with me!”

Sighing, he drags himself up off of the ground and shuffles the two inches it takes to reach the blanket. It’s sizable enough for two people to sit on it, but only if they are seated closely. And when Ed sits down, he finds his shoulder brushing up against Winry’s.

Instantly, his cheeks heat. He can feel her warmth through the sleeve of his shirt. The smell of her wafts to his nostrils — automail grease and the hearty bar soap Granny always buys.

It is a familiar scent that makes something twist painfully inside of him. A knot he didn’t fully register being there wound tighter, begging to be undone.

She smells like comfort and safety. She smells like home.

“Ed? Are you okay?”

Winry is looking at him, her face so close to his that if he wanted to he could lean forward just a bit and…Ed’s cheeks grow even hotter. He must be as red as his coat by now.

“What?” His voice cracks at the end, squeaking slightly. He shakes his head, clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Definitely fine.”

Desperate to distract himself, he grabs his sandwich and takes a bite. It works about as effectively as reciting the periodic table.

“You’re thinking about the Promised Day, aren’t you?”

Ed pauses mid-chew, turning to Winry. She is gazing down at her own sandwich, long strands of golden blonde hair hiding her face. But the tension in her shoulders tells him all that he needs to know.

She is as scared as he is…and trying desperately not to be.

She is as scared as he is and yet, she believes in him nonetheless.

That knot within him clenches again, harder this time. Ed gnaws his lip.

“You’re leaving for Amestris tomorrow.” She raises her head, looks at him. A small, sad smile lifts her lips. “Right?”

Ed gazes down at his lap. His shoulders hunch slightly. It feels as though an immense weight sits upon them. Far more than even that of solely regaining he and Al’s bodies.

He sighs. “…yeah.”

It is quiet for a moment. Then, her hand finds his. She squeezes and he drags his eyes up to hers. Gold meets blue, fire and fear in both.

“You’re gonna win, Ed!” She says, voice tight with emotion and determination. “I don’t care what doubts are in that head of yours. I know you will! You’re gonna save the world and get you and Al’s bodies back!”

Ed swallows, hard. His throat is horribly tight. His stomach is a mess of butterflies.

But Winry’s hand is warm and steady in his, a comfort and a reassurance. The callouses upon it tell of the lives she has saved.

…his included.

Ed sets down his food and places his other hand over the top of their entwined ones. Tentatively, he rubs his thumb over her skin. He can’t feel her with this one — his automail is as unreceptive as Al’s armor. But his every sense is alive anyway.

They are so close now that it’s agonizing.

“I want…” He breathes in, breathes out. He is certain that his grip is horribly clammy. “Winry I…”

It is pure torture. The words won’t come. Ed shakes his head.

Why is he so bad at this?

He looks at Winry and she looks back. He feels paralyzed by her gaze.

“Yeah, Ed?” She cocks her head. “What is it that you want?”

You.

The thought pops into his head before he can stop it, taunting like Riza’s voice proclaiming his love. His entire face flushes red.

“Ed?” There is a question in those beautiful blue eyes now, one Ed can’t seem to answer.

But there is something he has to do regardless. Because he might not be alive to do it later.

He steels his resolve, leans forward, and kisses her.

Winry makes a little surprised noise. And Ed wonders if maybe she doesn’t want this after all, if maybe he’s overstepped and messed everything up and this will be one of the last memories Winry will have of him — Ed being an absolute idiot.

But then she is leaning into him and her hands are free from between his and they are on his face instead, cupping it as though he is something precious to her. Something more important than even the automail she adores.

He brings his hands up too, brushing her hair behind her ears, brushing his thumbs lightly on her cheeks.

They only pull back when they are both breathless. And then, they merely sit for a moment, foreheads pressed together, both blushing madly and grinning like they have already won the coming battle.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d do that,” Winry says, at last, matter of factly.

Ed sits back with a start. His eyebrows dip into a frown.

“You’ve been waiting for me to kiss you? For how long?!”

Winry shrugs. “Since your promise at the train station.”

Ed gawks. “You’ve known since that day?! And-and you didn’t — ”

She doesn’t let him finish.

When they separate the second time, it is with even more reluctance than before. Somehow this has made his leaving all the more terrifying, and certainly more painful.

And it seems Winry feels that too.

“Come back to me, Edward Elric,” she whispers, as they sit close beneath a smiling sky, food forgotten in the rush of this moment.

And though he has no way of guaranteeing it, Ed promises that he will.

#maybe it’s ooc for them to kiss at this point in the story #especially for ed lol #but I don’t care #I saw that gorgeous Edwin art yesterday #of the pre-promised day smooch #and couldn’t help myself #anyway #thanks again!#trin writes #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fmab fanfiction #edward x winry #edwin #fluff #angst #follower celebration

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lively-potter · 3 months

Text

— moon struck ; part 6

— genre ; strangers to friends to lovers, kinda grumpy x sunshine, fluff, angst, smut, angst with a happy ending 🥹

— warnings ; body insecurities ( mentioned ), eating disorder ( mentioned ), oc deals with a severe amount of anxiety and panic attacks, violence, smut ( later ), FLUFF, love struck jungkookie 🥹

— find me on Wattpad ; LivelyPotter

— word count ; 1.7k

— intro , part one, part two, part three, part four, part five

— taglist ; @ahgasegotarmy116 @jk97bam

river’s pov ; later that day ; 12 am

Where am I?

My eyes were closed, a slight breeze drifting through the warmed room I was in; chill bumps erupting over my barely clad body.

I furrowed my brows, heavy arms coming up to run over my body.

Why was I nearly naked? With only my panties covering my most sensitive area scantily covered with lace.

My heart thumped wildly within the confines of my ribcage.

What was happening? What was I doing here?

Was my body on...a bed?

If so, who's bed?

No matter how hard I tried, my eyes wouldn't open.

And it only caused me to be on the cusp of a panic attack. My toes wiggled impatiently, mind whirling trying to find a logical explanation for what I was going through.

My fingers ran over my palms, not finding the little blisters that had been on my hands since this morning.

The mattress sinking in beside my twitching body made me pause.

My mouth dried when the panic fled my body, as well as the fight to get my eyes to open.

A familiar smell entered my nostrils – a mix of comforting fabric softener, fresh soap, and the distinct smell of W. dress room New York 97 eau de cologne.

The scent alluded to my senses and calmed me.

"Hey, pretty girl." a warm breath tickled my ear, causing a happy squeal to leave my lips. My body clearly knew who this...man was – but my mind did not. It felt like I should know who this is.

My eyes fought to open once more.

Warm fingertips ghosted down the plane of my chest, carefully rubbing the valley between my breasts.

"So cute." the deep smokey voice hummed contently, their face came down to rest against my sternum, putting a stop to my incessant wiggling.

The fingertips trailed softly down my body, touch so soft against my skin, as if they were afraid they would break me.

A strangled whimper left my lips.

I had never been touched like this.

And to my greatest shock, I wasn't wanting to move away anytime soon. I wanted this person to continue their teasing trail if anything.

My skin tingled when the touches strayed from their path and trailed up my waist.

"I've been dreaming about this moment for so long," a pair of lips met my ear and a pleased rumble left their mouth. "It's everything I've ever wanted."

I couldn't take it any longer.

Licking my lips, my mouth opened to speak.

"...w-who are you?"

Deep down, I knew the answer.

And apparently, he knew that I knew, too.

A kiss suddenly landed on my forehead, and he chuckled. The pair of big warm hands grasped my waist and just held me there firmly.

"Don't play coy, River." he husked against my jawline, soon placing a kiss to the underside. Pleasant tingles erupted where his lips had been. "You know exactly who I am."

My retort died on my tongue.

Another kiss landed on my exposed waist, easing my mind.

"Just open your eyes and accept it." his voice quaked inside the still-dark room. "Look at me."

My fists clenched and I shook my head repeatedly. "...I...I can't. I'm sorry." I wasn't ready to.

He now hovered over my body, palming my face in his big hands. Thumbs brushed over my eyelids, touch as light as a feather.

"Just open your eyes, River," he repeated, his voice as soft as it always had been. I shook my head again, still in denial. "Open your eyes and just accept it...accept me."

I still refused to.

He tried again.

"River," he whispered, sadness coating his tone, and I felt my heart squeeze in fear. And in pain. "Open your eyes and accept your feelings. There's nothing to be afraid of," he said, lips just laid on mine.

My mind raced. My trembling hands came up and grasped a tight hold on his forearms as he braced his above mine. His muscular torso came down and rested against my bare chest.

"...'M scared to," I admitted, tightening my hold as the sweet touches on my face resumed.

"Don't be," he comforted me, thick muscular thighs coming down to rest alongside my own. "Accept your feelings...and you'll have me. Don't you want that? Hmm? I know I do."

"Open them." his voice was now a command. A tone of voice I had not heard before...but now, it had my body trembling in inexperienced need. Arousal bloomed between my thighs, and I clamped my legs together.

"Open them, River. Now." a hand found itself wrapped gently around my neck. The hold was firm and put me in my place.

My body fell lax against the bed. Core clenching, I licked at my lips. With great effort, my eyelids fluttered open, and looked at me man above me.

My heart fluttered the instant Jungkook watched me from above, a proud smile on his lips as he gazed down at me lovingly.

"There you are." His lips formed a beautiful smile that set my soul alight in the best of ways. "Good girl." he praised, pinching at my chubby cheek.

A strangled gasp left my lips once my eyes shot open.

The loud blaring of my alarm woke me from my small nap on the kitchen counter.

"The heck?" I mumbled, wiping the small amount of drool from my chin as I straightened my body with a wince.

My mind instantly went back to the dream I had experienced, and my face reddened. "Dingleberries' sake." I huffed to myself, patting my cheeks.

An uncomfortable sensation came upon me the moment the blisters on my hand caught in my hair.

I couldn't help the all over body flush that came over me whenever I thought of the dream I experienced. A wet one? Of sorts? I wasn't sure. What I did know is that it unnerved me.

I cringed and moved my hands to my side.

Becoming more awake by the second, I yawned and hopped off the stool.

Stretching my body, I decided to push the dream out of sight and out of mind as I raced over to the oven and grabbed a pair of oven mitts – being more careful and aware this time around when I took the cupcakes out of the oven.

After the events of this morning, the rest of the day was quite uneventful. Except when Jungkook came to pick up Moon.

Being embarrassed, I avoided him by staying inside the kitchen as he spoke with Sang about how Moon had been while he was away.

The little baby had mostly been with me like she had been for months on end. The more time I spent with her, the more baby fever grasped me.

Little Moon was everything I could ever want in a baby...and I hoped, that one day if I ever decided to get married, I would have a baby just as cute, intelligent, and gentle as she was.

Jungkook was so lucky to have fathered someone as perfect as her.

I also wondered about her mother. I wondered who she was, her name, and how Jungkook and her met.

I disliked the fact that I thought of such things.

It wasn't any of my business so I kept my inner thoughts to myself.

Who knew what Brett, Atlas, Sang, and my brothers would think if they heard me asking such questions?

They would think I liked him or something.

You do.

Shut. Up.

Scolding myself, I allowed the cupcakes to cool for a while before decorating them. Thankfully, it was the last batch, and the rest of them were already packaged up and ready to be picked up tomorrow.

I stayed at the daycare center late to be able to finish off the order after telling Sang I would be perfectly fine to stay by myself.

It creeped me out, staying alone here, but once these cupcakes were in the box, I could go home.

Humming lowly to myself, I twisted the icing bag and prepared to decorate the first cupcake. I placed the cupcakes on the counter I slept on, after washing it, of course, before I got to work.

Tiredness weighed upon me, and less than an hour later, all the cupcakes were finished and I was left feeling accomplished.

"Great," I muttered to myself, throwing away the trash and cleaning off the kitchen. Furrowing my brows once my eyes caught onto a small envelope with my name across the front in pretty elegant writing, I snatched it off the counter and shoved it in my Marc Jacob's tote bag before I finished cleaning.

"And..done!" I cheered, observing the clean kitchen. With a quick glance at my phone – seeing it was nearly two am, I hurried out of the building after locking everything up, eagerly awaiting the moment I would get home.

third pov ; jeon jungkook ; 2 am

Guilt weighed heavily upon Jungkook's shoulders as he lay awake in bed, restlessly gazing up at the ceiling above him.

A grunt left his lips as he once more thought of the events of this morning.

Where he had frightened River ( again ), and caused her to accidentally burn her hands.

Fucking hell, he felt so bad.

It was all he had thought about all day.

He licked along the silver hoops in his bottom lip and sighed.

He guessed she was upset or blaming him for being the reason she had blisters on her pretty palms – even though she told him over and over she didn't. But his mind thought differently the moment she had avoided him when he came to pick up his Moon at the daycare center.

But she didn't need to blame him. He blamed himself enough for both of them.

"Fuck..." he groaned to himself, sitting up in bed, the white duvet falling off his bare torso. The man rubbed along the expanse of his neck and pouted his lips.

Would she forgive him? He hoped so.

Should he call Mi Cha and ask her what he should do? His hand reached towards the nightstand where his phone sat charging but paused.

No, he shouldn't. It was nearly three in the morning.

His gomo would murder him if he woke her up in the middle of the night just for him to ask her a question.

With a resigned sigh, Jungkook fell back on his mattress and moped sadly.

author's note ; ✨

I'm falling behind sm lmfaoo! I hope you enjoyed reading it! If you wanna be apart of the taglist, just lemme know!

#jeon jungkook #bts fanfic #jungkook x oc #bts jungkook #wattpad #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungguk #jungkook x original character #dilf jungkook #moonstruck

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hyunsvngs · 7 months

Note

round 2 electric boogaloo with dream anon :)

jisung: JISUNG IS HARD TO PLACE ㅠㅠ i feel like he gets such a variety of scents, from citrus and fruity, to like a dessert, to even the heavier woodsy scents like changbin. i feel like his designation when i read also just depends in who hes paired with. i think he's probably got more of that, uhh, like sharpness? to it. like, not aftertaste persay but like that with smells. like have you ever tasted something that you feel like tastes exactly how it smells? like THAT kind of afterfact. i dont know, im weird i hope that makes sense. i could see maybe like a hint of like cinnamon or nutmeg, or some other spice underneath a fruity/sweet smell.

felix: okay so i never pay attention to his designation when i read UNLESS hes one of the mains, and then usually its omega? i think? he also gets fruity scents. last one i read was like peaches and cream or honey i or smth like that. personally, i see felix as one of the betas bc i truly think hes the only other one that would challenge chan if hes the pack leader and not be afraid in the slightest but thats also besides the point. i think he smells like a nice warm summer day, just very fresh and warm. like clean linens or soft soaps, just very very clean and soft and warm. or like, when a fresh blanket comes out of the dryer. i feel like soft laundry detergent and fresh breeze is a weird way to describe it but im telling you, clean and relaxing all the way.

seungmin: okay wbk seungmin gets noted as a beta a lot. i think ive seen a few alpha seungmins but like, thats not something i look for i guess? but like im a firm believer he smells like a coffee shop. warm, like roasted coffee, deep mocha, hints of cinnamon and other spices. very very good and deep and heavy but also relaxing. i also really really like the smell of likez fresh books and i feel like that also suits him. like a wholeass coffee shop. i could drown in it honestly.

jeongin: honestly hes the only one im not sure of and i need to do my boy better!!! i do also think hes a bit like felix or changbin and just smells clean, but the baby alpha needs more than that and honestly i gotta do my research 🫡 i feel like he probably falls under the category of a really good scent that i probably dont like myself, like cherry blossom?? or something close to that. curse me and my picky nose, i need to smell more things honestly.

-dream anon :) hope my basket of 🧅s on a/b/o scents wasnt too much!

this is the second one for everyone to read ur onions because they r VERY TRUEEE

#juno’s asks ♡#dream anon 💌#JUNO TAKES A/B/O!

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muraenide · 8 months

Text

Jade Leech: senses and other specific headcanons.

what does your muse smell like ?

Whatever cologne he uses. Most of the time they're titled: Ocean, Saltwater Breeze, Sandy Beaches. Jade's real scent smells a little like grass and tree bark due to his prolonged exposure to nature or he actually smells like how salt water smells like, but sometimes he might also smell like food and alcohol and smoke whenever he works in the kitchen or at the bar. The inconsistency of smells began to bother him somewhere in his first year, and that is when he discovered the existence of cologne on the surface. He has a variety of preferences, though most of the time, their scents are mild, fresh, and crisp and related to the sea. Jade has acquired a habit of using cologne to ward off suffocating smells and has stuck to one particular brand due to his skin being sensitive to a lot of man-made chemicals.

what do your muse’s hands feel like ?

Jade wears gloves, and rarely ever takes them off. But his skin is soft and smooth, maybe second only to Vil. Jade is slightly allergic to a great many things: dishwashing soap, rain, water in the swimming pool, pesticides, etc. Soaking his hands and other parts of his body in slightly warm water every morning helped with the allergies, and as a side effect, it also provided his skin with enough moisture. Jade himself has no opinion of "beauty" on land, so this practice is a complete coincidence.

what does your muse usually eat in a day ?

Jade seldom snacks. He enjoys main courses and pastries the most. And he's particular about having a balanced diet on land for the most part. Outside of 5 regular meals a day, Jade hardly snacks or eats outside of them, but his regular meals are in larger portions than the average 17-year-old human. It's no secret Jade eats a lot. However, sometimes he might feel mischievous enough to eat disgusting combinations of food (like ground beef and ice cream) just to put someone off if they are clearly bothered by it.

does your muse have a good singing voice ?

As a merfolk, he does have the natural ability to possess a charming voice. It's not unusual for merfolk, but it might be a bit unusual for everyone else. Merfolk are known for their beauty, their half-human, half-fish appearance, and their enchanting singing voice. The last is second only to sirens. Most merfolk also has feminine-leaning natural voices, however, but Jade's voice is surprisingly more masculine, and in this case, he is quite a rarity among merfolk as well.

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks ?

Jade can space out a little bit when he's caught unguarded. It's very subtle, and at most times, unnoticeable. But to people who know him a decent amount, they might pick up immediately that his response was delayed, or wasn't instantaneous, which is something rather unusual from Jade.

He also shakes his dominant leg (his left leg) a little bit whenever he's sitting and he's irritated or annoyed and does so unawarely.

what does your muse usually look like/wear ?

Jade has no preference for clothes and appreciates a variety of them. He does, however, enjoy wearing more "rugged" clothes - clothes that make him look heavier than he is and give volume to his overall looks. Examples are sweaters, scarves, and jeans. Realistically, he did say he prefers no clothes at all.

is your muse affectionate ? How so ?

He can be, but he's a little selective when it comes to that. Outside of normal people, among close friends and lovers, he can be quite affectionate, but his version of affectionate might be different from humans, however. For example, a kiss means little to nothing to Jade. Whether it's on the forehead, lips, or cheeks, he regards it as something closer to platonic rather than romantic. Meanwhile, smelling is something more intimate to Jade, and it is also something he rarely offers. Smelling someone by the nape of their neck, their armpits, or anywhere with scent glands, is something of possibly the highest intimacy for Jade, and how he shows affection for someone. Half the time Jade will also be less reluctant to kiss, but he might get weirded out about being smelled if he's not close to you.

what position does your muse sleep in ?

Jade sleeps on his back with his arms resting over his chest most of the time. It's his 'default' sleeping position, but very, very rarely he sleeps with his cheek against his pillow and his ass up in the air, arms wrapped around his pillow. This happens only when Jade is extremely tired and probably twisted and turned in his sleep to arrive at that position.

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room ?

No. Jade only ever speaks in a very soft and controlled tone. He seldom, if ever, raises his voice, even when he's angry. You're more likely to hear him from another room. If he got into fights, flipped a table, or slapped someone, they produce louder sounds compared to his voice.

tagged by : stolen from @lunaetis

tagging : this is rather long, so no pressure! @fumiiya (feel free to do it for any of your other boys too, Malleus, Idia, HWQ, or YX), @corruptiongifted, @fireandfae, @jinanreona, @trestole, @splitcards, @mostrohost, @ignitism, @grdnglow, @ramshacklestar, @ramshacklexprefect, @crimsontroupe (Dia or anyone you're feeling atm), and anyone who sees this tag yourself and tag me so I can read yours!

#𖦹 ⋆꙳ ⁄ dash games.#𖦹 ⋆꙳ ⁄ lore.

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velvetineblue · 7 months

Text

things your muse will notice about mine. ( repost, don't reblog. )

what they look like : although his personal style tends toward a darkness ( sometimes even a slight-grungy, purposely disheveled aesthetic? ) , I'd say he's still notably, in contrast, pretty. elegant, 'princely'. catlike, feline... definite pretty boy vibes asjajj. he's lanky; long legs, pianists' hands, thin spindly fingers that can't hide the delicate skeletal structure that lies beneath our skins. slender and sleek rather than broad. but he's very physically active, so muscular definition is apparent, though carried on a lightweight frame. some other notable, distinctive features is he has a prominent nose & prominent dark eyebrows, very defined cheekbones, and sharp canine teefies. he's naturally smirky, with a dry/sardonic expression, sharp observant cat-like eyes, and tends to radiate a sort of devil-may-care casual confidence, with an undertone of mischief .

what they smell like : the shampoo/conditioner & soaps he uses tend to be tea tree, yuzu scented, a little minty, and very-lightly-citrus scents: clean, bright, white... natural, but I feel, almost, medicinal?? but like in a 'traditional medicine' sort of way. there's usually a little bit of product in his hair, so there may be a hint of that modern, polished smell when leaning in close. and he has a habit of chewing cinnamon flavored gum when bored/nervous/etc/all-the-time so there is a undertone of cinnamon & spice from the gum chewed & kept in his pockets . when he wears cologne, he likes sort of fresh scents; things that hearken back to wind-blown laundry left outside on the line to dry; the ocean breeze; an open meadow ... but, he will wear stronger, darker scents with a hint of sharp SPICE in the fragrance notes, for special occasions... like a date night, or something else where you want to leave a strong IMPRESSION .

what they taste like : cinnamon, a little sweet & a little spicy. ( see above~ ^ )

what they sound like : rich and deep and warm, like pouring thick velvety honey. less smooth and more hoarse/raspy when he raises his voice (or is otherwise emotionally affected) . but most of the time, his voice is calm, relaxed... i use his rl faceclaim as his voiceclaim, but i also really love haru from fruit's baskets TONE as an example of how he speaks; very chill and unbothered. quite frank and deadpan, but not ( usually ) unfriendly & cold?? i wish there were more clips i could share to exemplify it !! if there was, i would maybe even consider using dub haru as his voiceclaim bc HE'S SO TAI-CODED IS2FUCJAS. but yeah. there are not many clips out there, so you just gotta watch furuba ok. JUST DO IT !!

what they feel like : sharp. angular. he feels at best like the cool touch of silk on your skin or the cool side of the pillow. the comfort of ice soothing your dry throat on a hot day. he's not soft to the touch and he can't be your heavy weighted blanket of a lover, either. he's not soft like flower petals; and he's not pure muscle and sinew that signifies strength. he's human, warm pumping blood and bone; a lot of bones; angles and edges that you adjust around in the bed in order to cuddle comfortably. an imperfect creature, but when he holds you tight against him, you feel loved so deeply, to the core, the way that only something flawed and empathetic in their flaws can feel.

tagged by : no-one, i stole it, i am a criminal mastermind xoxo tagging : @yaoogui & @wingached & @ofgentleresolve ( for any muses you want !! ) and STEAL IT !!! i wanna read it for all the muses on my dash ... for science.

#meta.#you thought i was over my fruits basket era?#NEVERRRRR.#listen........... haru is so wildly tai-coded..... when i rediscovered him ( thanks to ferre!! ) it was such a mindfuck #i am still not even remotely over it #i was like ' ... son is that u?? my som???? my precious bamby baby boy bambino??????? ON MY TV SCREEN?????' askjaj #it makes me so happie bc him having a character-twin is prob the CLOSEST i'll ever get to seeing him in any sort of 'canon 'capacity ...#cus i just do not have the willpower to write a book or anything like that... kjshjkj #but omg anyway... lov this meme. i will prob do it for all my active muses !! bc it's rly helpful n good .#honestly better than a lot of official stats templates i've filled out for bios bc this is info people ACTUALLY can use in threads...#not what their 'hogwarts sign' is or w/e #asjajjaj

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hauntedpearl · 2 years

Text

28/10, 3:48 am

picture this: you're 21, barely out of the closet, your brain hates you, and your friends feel like foreigners who don't understand your language. you hate the world a little. you hate yourself more. you don't know what to do. you have to keep going, though. so you find solace in things that burn your throat and rot your lungs and you think, this is alright. somewhere in between life and living. the love you have is big and boundless and it spills out of you, and like this, you can let it. like this, it seems alright.

a semi-autobiographical study of loneliness and addiction and friendship and all things young and stupid. written on impulse. i don't know if it will mean anything to you, but it does to me, so please be kind. thank you <3

transcript under the cut-

I'm holding a cigarette.

It sits snug between my fingers, smoke curling up in a spiral.

The world around me is hazy; soft.

The concrete is cold on the skin of my back, and there is the welcoming warmth of a body at my side.

I lift the lit stub to my pursed lips, take a drag.

Once, I hadn't known how to smoke.

My exhale is a heady, grey cloud — my throat barbed and itchy; a prickly succulent scraped on the insides. I clear it, press the hand holding the cigarette to my chest.

Breathe.

I feel the sharp tinge of nicotine on my tongue. Catch hot ash on my fingertips when I pass the cigarette along to the boy next to me.

It doesn't hurt.

Behind us is a hotel, a bar, a club. When the door opens, the air locked in streams out.

It tastes different. Sharper, maybe.

Lighter.

Across the road, I see a tree, and I can imagine us under it. It's warmer there, under the tree, and the air smells like rain instead of cigarettes and cheap whiskey.

There, I am smiling.

Here, in this seat of pockmarked stone, my fingers curl in anticipation of another hit.

I drop my head onto his shoulder, push into his side so I'm tucked in next to him.

Heavy bass thumps against my back like a beating heart, even with the concrete wall spooning my body.

It's all so loud.

"I feel so lonely, all the time" I tell him, my words slurring, eyes trained on the tree, my senses swimming in the scent of rain-tinged whiskey, skin tingling with the cold, the promise of the ghost of a summer breeze.

"I know," he says. Slides down so his head rests against mine.

I cannot dance, but I am wrapped in a cocoon of arms and she leads me into a slippery waltz.

I prop my chin on her shoulder, wrap the arm not holding her hand around her neck and let her carry my body through the music.

The song is soft, a melody that pings like a memory in my skull. I let my eyes fall close against the lights strobing under our feet.

My friend is tall. Her hair brushes my cheek as she sways us along, feather-soft, her feet nudging mine into step.

Her fingers are warm where they press against my waist.

I step closer into her arms until our bodies are flush, together, our dance no more than a slight oscillation now — a metronome to the rhythm pounding across the floor.

There is a skittering under my skin, and I feel like I could float — fly away with the hollow bones in my body.

I don't want to.

I tuck my face into her neck.

She smells like oranges. Like fresh soap. Like rum and coke.

The taste of my thoughts sits heavy on my tongue alongside the tang of lemon and salt. I open my mouth against the skin of her neck, but the words stick in my throat.

But then, "It's Elvis," I say to her as she sways us, and she laughs.

It's the most beautiful sound.

"Yeah," she says, tightening her grasp around my waist, like she's heard the words stuck behind my teeth. "It's fucking Elvis."

2.5

In this moment, suspended in animation, the sense of being overwhelmed is not overwhelming.

There are voices all around.

I stand by the mirror, watch the soap opera stumble of the girls behind me in the reflection.

Sharp, high heels and soft, flowing dresses. Fingers patting cheeks, coating the skin in stardust. A brush on my eyelid. A dark, crooked wing curving over it, and then —

Then.

The momentary hush of the change of scenery, the echoing slap of faux leather purses against running thighs, the tap dance of stilettoed feet on mosaic floors.

I sneak into in-between places when the sour things begin to taste sweet — bathroom stalls and smoking rooms and now, the crawl space in between a glass wall and a gaudy mural. It is less loud here, less heady.

I feel like an outsider looking in.

I raise my palm to the glass — it will leave the smudge of a handprint on it — and press it against the pane. There, a little ways ahead, is the tower of an apartment complex. Brick and cement and paint like the summer sun. It rises from the base of my palm and stops just under the curve of my middle finger. The lights are on in a nonsense imitation of the Morse code.

I count them under my breath, my fingertips crawling up the back of my palm as I go up, up, up.

3.5

Someone slides in next to me and I let them. They hold my body to theirs, the arm slipped around my waist an anchor.

I pry my palm off the glass, watch the tower in the funhouse mirror made up of the oil from my skin.

"Where did you go?" she asks, and I think I don't know.

I don't ever know.

"Up there," I say, instead, chin tilted to the tip of the tower that flattens into a terrace. I can almost picture the world from up so high, a matchbox town filled with stick people, "I flew"

There is a birthday cake. A forest floor littered with leaves that crack like lightning when we step on them. We move through the woods to settle among the roots of a gnarled tree that poke through the damp soil, chocolate brown waves crawling with the trembling red bodies of love bugs.

"Surprise!" they whisper-shout as they bring out the plain white box with candles taped to the top.

It is.

And I smile, all teeth and shining eyes and stinging cheeks.

4 (cont'd.)

Later, we are sprawled on the still-damp ground, eyes trained on the moon, the starless sky.

There's smoke lifting like the morning smog. A scent damp, and earthy, and so green suffusing the space between us.

Here, then, a quiet of a different kind.

Here, the sugar from the icing melting on my tongue.

A hand in my hair, a head in my lap.

Here, then, in a pile of bodies, floating, something like joy.

#doe's writing #poetry #personal but ok to rb #something something this is about being young and wanting to love but not understanding the meaning of the world and having everything #in you fight against you for some reason.#it's mostly about trying to find happiness in moments when everything is too loud or too blurry or too quiet. surrounded by love that comes #to you refracted through a thick glass pane ykwim?#anyway. mostly melancholic. very young angst. but hey. that #that's not so bad #HMM #writing #feathers for cas #(soz renu but i wanna show you this!)#okay good night i will try to sleep despite this anxiety attack #not spn #long post #writerblr

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cultofkakyoin · 1 year

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What They Smell Like 👃

Back at it again and this time it's so specific I hope I don't get copyrighted. I did deep research into perfumes for this as Araki would have intended.

This shit is so stupid im sorry lol.

Phantom Blood

Jonathan Joestar: Lavender and myrrh, a bit like floral licorice. Sweat after an intense day.

Robert E. O. Speedwagon: Sewage and frankincense. He lives in Victorian London or wherever.

William A. Zeppeli: Smokey and like a riverside.

Straizo: Potpourri.

Erina Pendleton: Eau de Cologne. Orange blossom 🍊

Dio Brando: Death and roses.

Battle Tendency

Joseph Joestar: Man smell.

Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli: Expensive Italian scents, he changes it depending on what's popular.

Lisa Lisa: Potpourri and the hottest scent at the time.

Suzi Q: Roses 🌹

Kars: Floral. Pine. Metal.

Esidisi: Citrus, cedar, and cinnamon.

Wamuu: A fresh breeze. And the stink of battle.

Strohiem: Diesel from the Panzer IV (German engineering and all.)

Stardust Crusaders

Jotaro Kujo: Drakkar Noir, it's in your face and the ladies love it. But also cigarettes.

Joseph Joestar (again): Polo Ralph Lauren, masculine and mature a little old for the time.

Muhammad Avdol: Burnt wood (in a good way) and Chanel No. 5, Joseph recommended it even though it's a perfume and not a cologne, he likes it.

Noriaki Kakyoin: No, not cherries, Calvin Klein's Obsession for Men. It's mature and elegant, just like him.

Jean Pierre Polnareff: Kouros by Yves Saint Laurent, he puts so much on its a bit migraine-inducing. And also tobacco.

Holly Kujo: Miss Dior, flowery, powdery, and just nice.

Suzi Q Joestar: Now older and more mature, she wants to give off a good impression to people and show off her wealth, Chanel No. 5.

Diamond is Unbreakable

Josuke Higashikata: Drakkar Noir.

Koichi Hirose: Regular deodorant.

Okuyasu Nijimura: Average teenage boy in the 90s. Thinks cologne is girly.

Jotaro Kujo (again): Eternity for Men by Calvin Klein.

Rohan Kishibe: The most expansive brand of the time.

Yukako Yamagishi: Exclaimtion❗ Vanilla, peach, and apricot.

Yoshikage Kira: Mundane, like basic bar soap.

Mikitaka Hazekura: No one can pinpoint it.

Tonio Trussardi: Like an Italian restaurant.

Akira Otoishi: Also Drakkar Noir. Wears too much.

Keicho Nijimura: Nothing particular just not bad.

Tomoko Higashikata: Love's Baby Soft. Lavender, rose, and vanilla.

Aya Tsuji: L'eau d'Issey by Issey Miyake. Lotus, Melon, and Freesia, and a woody white musk base (according to Wikipedia.)

Joseph Joestar (again again): Avon. like an old person.

Golden Wind

This part does not go on canon because some of these weren't out in 2001 but idc so just pretend.

Giorno Giovanna: Light Blue (Dolce & Gabbana), floral fruity (apparently.)

Bruno Bucciarati: Higher Dior.

Leone Abbacchio: Red Wine and Mahoran by Guerlain.

Guido Mista: Obnoxiously musky, doesn't matter the brand as long as expansive and loud but it's mixed with gross sweat and gunpowder.

Narancia Ghirga: Oranges and not by design.

Pannacotta Fugo: An office and sweat.

Trish Una: Coco Mademoiselle, Chanel.

Diavolo: Clive Christian No. 1.

Cioccolata: Chocolate, povidone-iodine (that stuff smells and I didn't just imagine that right?), and death.

Secco: Wet dog and grass, somehow.

Risotto Nero: Dilmun by Lorenzo Villoresi and metallic blood.

Formaggio: Annoying. If he passes you in a grocery store or on the street you will be dying from whatever perfume he's sporting.

Illuso: Chanel No. 5, a classic.

Prosciutto: Versace Man by Versace and old people (unfortunately.)

Pesci: Fish (unfortunately.)

Melone: Lube.

Ghiaccio: Acqua di parma Blue Mediterraneo - Mirto di Panarea by Acqua di Parma but he'd be angry throughout the day and sweat, stinking himself up 🤢

Donatella Una: Baby Doll by Yves Saint Laurent.

Stone Ocean

Jolyne Cujoh: Stanky girl (quote from my brother), but out of her Stone Ocean she doesn't usually wear anything but deodorant.

Ermes Costello: Axe bodyspray, mainly to establish dominance over the axe-wearing males in her vicinity.

Foo Fighters: Water.

Weather Report: Not too bad but he doesn't wear cologne and not always deodorant either. Wes wore a cologne that was a bit musky.

Narciso Anasui: Narciso Rodriguez For Her by Narciso Rodriguez.

Enrico Pucci: Like old people because that's all churches are filled with.

Jotaro Kujo (again again): Calvin Klein's Obsession for Men

#jjba headcanons #jjba #jjba part 5 #headcanon #fanfiction #fanfic #jojos bizarre adventure

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skvaderarts · 8 months

Text

Petrichor Chapter 51: Exposure

Chapter 51: Exposure

Notes: Hehehehe. Hehehe. Hehe. This was so much fun to work on. Sorry that I’m a few days late. I hope you enjoy it! It’s good to see you all again! See you in the comments!

(-~-)

The light to the guest bedroom flashed on automatically as he entered, perfectly dimmed and comfortable, their almost greyish brown hue a comfort to the eyes that took next to no adjustment on his part to become used to. As V stepped further into the room, he was greeted by plush accommodations. Four thick, fluffy pillows leaned against the grey terry cloth upholstered headboard, practically beckoning him to them. The silvery brown blankets on the bed covered matching silky grey sheats, the blankets fluffy, soft, and most importantly to him, cool to the touch, something he discovered quickly as he ran his fingertips across the linen. A high thread count and a price tag to match, no doubt. A pleasant surprise. V didn’t like to sleep hot... No, he actually couldn’t sleep at all when he was hot. It was a bit worse than that. So this was certainly a bonus that he sorely appreciated. And the comforter looked like it would be very good at helping to regulate his temperature. He got the impression that he was going to enjoy utilizing this bed.

Turning around to take in the room, he noticed the same exposed brick and ductwork that the rest of the residence shared, the entire back wall consisting of more of the same beautiful industrial windows that he’d seen. The widows were equipped with pull-down grey shear curtains that would make easy work of the light that shone in from outside. And there was a large, luscious plant in the corner of the room by the foot of the bed in a beautifully glazed pot, the cracked window more than likely supplying it with fresh air as it wafted in the breeze delicately. The soil looked freshly watered, something Sirrus had probably done sometime that day when he wasn’t paying attention unless he’d hired a plant sitter. Perhaps he had, considering his overall collection. But V especially liked this one. A Monstera of some type, if he was going to guess. That’s what the leaves looked like to him, at least. But half of some of them were white while others were pink, sometimes in full sections, and in some cases, in the form of spots and patches. Even the green on the plant came in a dark and a light variation, its colors crisp and eye-catching. A stunning plant overall, perhaps too pretty for a guest room. Perhaps it needed very specific lighting so it had been put in here for its own protection? He imagined this room received plenty of filtered, indirect light during the day. That was probably ideal for it.

Overall, the room was cozy and inviting with a cozy atmosphere, something his tired body and mind were eager to take advantage of in short order. But first, he needed to go to the bathroom. He had matters to attend to in there.

He had been correct in assuming that the doors he’d seen off to the side of Sirrus’s living space and kitchen were bedrooms, but he hadn’t realized that they were both bedrooms, each with their own private bathroom. His room and Sirrus’s shared a wall. And there was still a half bath elsewhere in the residence, something that made practical sense as you wouldn’t want people to have to walk through your bedroom to use the toilet now, would you? Well, at least if you had a choice.

Sirrus was a gracious host; the sort who bought the same expensive tolitres and personal care products that he personally used and stocked them in the guest bathroom. No surprise there. V recognized the scent of the soap he found in the shower, realizing for the first time that Sirrus was actually wearing cologne atop it when they were around one another. V liked to imagine that Sirrus likely derived some level of self-satisfaction from coming into the bathroom and seeing it so neat and tidy. He’d even admitted that he very rarely used this particular bathroom due in large part to the fact that he had his own ensuite and had very little reason to come in here aside from a need to dust. And every inch of this bathroom was utterly sparking, glittering under the overhead light in a manner he’d never seen before. Grey glass tile on every surface, a skylight over the detached standing tub and shower, and underlighting along the bottom of the wall-mounted double sink that pointed down towards the floor. And that was saying something considering the fact that the counters were made of concrete. Polished black concrete, but still concrete nonetheless. And were these floors terrazzo?!

Frankly, V felt too ordinary to even undress in this bathroom, let alone use it. Even the soap and toothpaste were in motion-activated dispensers. And the toilet was automatic…

How much money did they pay Sirrus to do his job?

Seriously, V wasn’t the sort to spend hours reading or watching media to keep up with the latest in home and garden trends, but he knew enough to know when something was very expensive. This was fascinating.

Opting to submerge every inch of his body in nearly scalding water, V was pleased to find not only that the plumbing in this place was excellent, but that Sirrus had left a bottle of bubble bath under the counter. And in the deep window sill nearest to the tub were scented candles, ones that had been partially burned as they sat in their little glass and ceramic containers on a tray, but ones that he would ask before lighting all the same.

He needed to go find Sirrus while he waited for the tub to finish. He would only be a moment.

(-~-)

She let out a long sigh as she rubbed her hands together to chase away the cold that had settled in her extremities as she stood in front of the payphone, the door closed tight behind. It was a bitterly cold night tonight, and the thin layer of snow that covered the ground was evidence of that notion. But that was no matter. She would be back in the van with her companion momentarily. She just needed to make a phone call. She’d practically felt compelled to as they passed it by, suddenly becoming a woman possessed the moment she’d seen it. And it was a number she would never forget as long as she lived.

Reaching her cold hands up to the number pad she nearly typed in the numbers before paying, shaking her head to herself and cursing under her breath as she reached into her pocket and pulled a handful of frozen change out of her pocket, counting out the correct amount before inserting it into the machine. Her mind was elsewhere, rooted so firmly in her objective that she couldn’t properly complete the tasks required to see it come to fruition. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last, but she was still quietly miffed.

The phone rang in her hand as she held it. Waiting. Hoping that it wasn’t too late in the day. And then the phone picked up on the very last ring.

“Goldstine Gunsmithing and Repairs Shop. What can I do ya for?” The man’s voice on the other end was a song for sore ears. She hadn’t heard it in far too long. She needed to call home more often. She really did.

A smile spread across her face as she shook her head. Yep, this was the right number all right. She knew that voice anywhere. “Oh, nah. Nothing special. Just, ya know, checkin’ in. It’s been a while, and I know you’ve seen the news by now, so I thought I’d get in contact before you blew a gasket or showed up to find me or sumthen’.”

There was a momentary pause as the person on the other side of the phone audibly shifted before speaking, seemingly silenced from surprise. They clearly recognized her, but they certainly hadn’t been expecting to hear from her today, especially at this hour. “Nico?

“The one and only!” She retorted with exaggerated gleefulness just to throw him off kilter a little. She fiddled with a cigarette in her fingers, staring down at it for a moment before suddenly feeling all desire to light it and smoke it vacate her body. Call it a moment of self-reflection; call it a reminder of her conversation with Sirrus back in Lucia’s homeland that day, but she just couldn’t all of a sudden. Not right now, at least. So she put it back into her pocket and continued her conversation. That could wait for another time. She was talking to someone important to her.

“Well hell, watcha been up to? Everything alright around there? Heard things got pretty supernatural in those parts for a little while. Ya safe and sound?” The excitement and worry in his voice were unmistakable, and so was the pang of guilt she felt in her heart for not calling home sooner. She hoped he hadn’t been glued to the radio or the TV for the last while watching everything go down where she was, worrying himself sick over her. They were all each other had left in the world, at least in terms of blood. She had to do better than that. It wasn’t like she didn’t like talking to him or something. She loved him!

“Phf, that’s a long story. Same old same old for the most part, but a lot’s gone down since I talked to you last time, Rock. You have no idea.” Nico shook her head. And she wasn’t going to fill him on on most of it, either. It wasn’t like he could make her come back or anything like that, but she just didn’t need him worrying about her. Knowing that he was sitting at home worrying about her made Nico worry about him. That couldn’t be good for anyone. Not at all.

“Well then, fill me in! I’ve got nothing but time, girl!” She heard a chair scoot across the floor, metal on wood. That couldn’t be good for the property value. Oh, who was she kidding? That floor had seen everything and then some. It wasn’t going anywhere.

Nico chucked to herself under her breath. Of course he did! Even if he was clearly tired. But this was the man who’d raised her. She didn’t expect any less from him. If there was one thing that Rock would always do for her it was make time. Even when he didn’t have a second to spare. “And I’ve got a whole roll of quarters. Pull up a seat. We're gonna be here a while. Nero’s just gonna have to wait in the van a little longer. It won’t kill him!”

“Sure won’t. Now get talkin’. I need some details.” Rock said with a hearty chuckle, the sound of a creaking chair filling her ears. He’d quite literally settled in for the long haul, and he clearly wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

(-~-)

It had taken close to a lifetime, but V had finally come to the conclusion that he’d been in the tub long enough. And although it was physically, emotionally, and mentally agonizing for him to part from the warm waters, he finally confronted his immobile frame and demanded that it part with the soothing liquid. If he stayed in here any long he would arise with no skin and become so thoroughly relaxed that he’d never function again.

But as he reached over to blow out the candles Sirrus had lit and grab a towel so that he could depart from the tub, his blood ran ice cold. To his horror, he’d just realized that he’d left the towel that Sirrus had left him on the counter in the living room. He’d taken it in there to ask him a question, and now he was stranded in unfamiliar waters, marooned and left adrift in a sea of dread because there was simply no way in the 9 circles of hell that he was going to call Sirrus and ask him to bring one in here. There were hardly any bubbles left, and even if there had been, he knew he didn’t have it in him. He might as well just settle in, get comfortable, and die.

After several minutes of agonizing over his options, none of which he liked by any measure or standard, the young white-haired summoner swallowed like someone had just informed him that he’d contracted a debilitating illness and slowly got out of the tub. He would ask Sirrus to bring it to him. He’d considered putting his clothing back on while he was still wet and he’d briefly thought about just dashing into the room and grabbing it himself, but the first option caused him visceral physical discomfort at the very idea of it in the same way that the concept of stepping in a puddle of cold water wearing thick socks did, and the second option was something he imagined Sirrus would have a great laugh about when he inevitably discovered him in the act while V himself dropped dead from pure horror. No, he would just swallow his pride and go to the door and ask Sirrus politely to bring him the towel. It would still be embarrassing, but at least it was sensible.

V hadn’t noticed the comfortable modern armchair, thick, fuzzy rug, or the beautiful contemporary nightstands that matched the bedframe until he’d attempted to avoid getting them wet. He was going to clean this up when he was finished if it was the last thing he did. He also noticed that Sirrus had been nice enough to bring his bags over and sit them just inside of his door, probably just after he’d gotten into the tub. After all, they did share a wall. He was probably able to tell to some degree when he was moving around in the room or not. Regardless, it was kind of him, and he appreciated it. Too bad V hadn’t thought to bring a robe or a towel on this trip himself so that he could avoid this entire situation altogether. Perhaps if he just stayed very far back behind the door…

Opening the door wider than he’d probably needed to in order to see the living room from where he currently was in order to spot the towel, V actually gasped with fright as he came face to face with Sirrus, the man with the mostly red hair walking past his door en route to his own bedroom. The man stopped in his tracks and stared at him blankly and without thinking out of fear that he’d unintentionally revealed more than he wanted to in front of his friend, he closed the door as quickly as he could, only thinking about how rude slamming the door in Sirrus’s face in his own house probably was.

Chastizing himself internally as he cursed his current state of existence, he slowly cracked the door again only to find that Sirrus had come much closer to the door, so much so that they practically bumped heads when he stuck his head around the corner to confront him. Sirrus looked deeply confused, but somehow there was still a tinge of amusement in his cool grey eyes. It seemed that V had unintentionally sparked his curiosity. He looked almost concerned…

“Hello, V,” Sirrus said in a mischievously low tone, his voice almost too quiet for the young summoner’s liking. He looked like a wolf eyeing his next meal. His face was practically unreadable, his version of a poker face clearly something to behold. “Is something amiss?”

The way he said those words so knowingly… V couldn’t help but blush slightly. He’d seen something, he just knew it. And although the world wasn’t going to come to an end as a result, he certainly felt like it would. It wasn’t the first time, but it most certainly was the first time that V had done so in such a manner. And he couldn’t pinpoint why, but he just felt so embarrassed. Perhaps it was because he knew Sirrus so well as opposed to the other times when he was barely lucid and too afraid and confused for it to matter?

“Sorry. Please forgive me,” he said softly, looking down just after speaking. He didn’t have it in him to maintain eye contact at the moment. There was just something about doing so while he had that look on his face while V was undressed that didn’t feel right. In fact, it felt deeply… well, not wrong, but still. He wasn’t creeped out or anything, but he just felt unsettled, as if many eyes lingered upon him and he couldn’t shake them. He hadn’t quite experienced whatever this was before. And he wasn’t keen to do so again anytime soon.

Sirrus maintained the same expression but it softened some, his pupils widening a bit as he took on an expression ever so slightly less wolfish. “Did you need something? You look… disheveled. Are you in need of assistance?”

V nodded slower than he’d meant to, sparing a moment to wonder if that should’ve earned him a funny look or if he was just overthinking. He settled on neither and brushed it aside. It was best to get this over and done with. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d forgotten the towel. That wasn’t the problem. It was the entire prospect of speaking to someone and holding a casual conversation while completely nude that unnerved him.

“I forgot the towel you gifted me,” He said as he actively avoided eye contact, grateful that Sirrus understood his body language and tendencies enough to not pursue and pressure him any further on his refusal to do so. Few things made him more uncomfortable than when someone tried to force and maintain eye contact. “... And didn’t realize it until I got out of the shower. Do you mind… ”

“Ah,” Sirrus said with a small nod, his expression unchanged by this revelation. He didn’t seem as though he’d been expecting to hear that, but he certainly had been expecting to be asked something.“I had just noticed that a moment before you surprised me. I was going to leave it on your bed, but you beat me to the door.”

He stepped away for a moment before returning with it, setting down the empty glass he’d been carrying in the sink on the way. He appeared to fluff the brand new emerald green towel for a moment before reaching out to hand it to him, a little further back from the door than either of them initially realized. V stepped forward ever so slightly, still behind the door as he leaned over to snag it only to slip backward and nearly hit the floor face first as his legs gave out underneath him due to the wetness of the floor beneath him. V managed to grab the door just as Sirrus snagged him under the left shoulder, pulling it in a manner that wasn’t very comfortable, but sparing him a much worse fall as the door pivoted and nearly threw him onto his face. That was certainly a plus. That fact that to do so Sirrus was now standing almost fully in front of him was certainly a minus.

Excellent.

Thoroughly flustered but attempting to not acknowledge how utterly horrified and embarrassed he felt at the moment as he looked down at the floor and caught his breath, V nodded in appreciation, attempting to simply pretend that this very embarrassing situation wasn’t currently occurring. That was the best he could do to cope with it. Between his banged-up knees and his crippling embarrassment, he was having a rough night.

But as he caught his breath, he felt the comforting warmth of soft fabric drape over his freezing shoulders. He glanced up just in time for Sirrus to drape the towel over his shoulder, noticing immediately that this was a nonstandard-sized towel closer to the size of a beach towel. It came to just below his knees as Sirrus stood fully in front of him and gently wrapped him in it, obviously sensing his mounting sense of anxiety toward being completely nude and attempting to alleviate it. He didn’t say as much, but he understood the feeling. V had practically frozen in place as he waited for his knees to stop throbbing and Sirrus had clearly decided to simply not look and assist him. His arms still worked, but V was just genuinely too mortified to think clearly and ask for the towel, and simply taking it from him might have been perceived as rude. He didn’t want to come off that way.

“Are you alright, V?” Sirrus asked quietly as V quietly turned and tilted in any manner that Sirrus indicated so that he could better wrap him in the towel. His breathing had picked up slightly, but aside from the color of his face and a small porton of hit upper section of his neck, V’s face didn’t betray the dread he felt. “I’ll take a nod in place of a response if you can’t speak. I understand. You look cold.”

He wanted to reassure his friend that he was alright, but that wasn’t totally the cause. The brief impact both of his knees had made with the concrete floor had actually hurt pretty badly, but the discomfort in his joints from the force of impact and the suddenness of it all was starting to fade. V was good at catching himself when he fell, but he was much less good when he fell without expecting it. And he’d certainly had much worse falls. This was nothing but a momentary inconvenience and maybe a few small bruises come morning. He would be just fine. He nodded as asked, earning him a small pat on the shoulder. At least almost falling had taken his mind off of the situation a little bit.

“You didn’t… see anything… did you?” V asked bashfully as he finally felt his nerves ease and he regained the ability to speak, his vibrant blush betraying his embarrassment. He no longer felt exposed, but he was still embarrassed, even if only half as badly as he had been. He dared to look up at his friend as he released his supportive grip on him, seemingly satisfied with his ability to stand on two feet again. At least for now. Sirrus gave him a gentle look as he exhaled in relief that slowly gave way to the clearest expression of amusement he’d probably seen all day. V felt a chill run up his spine before his friend even spoke. He knew what that look meant. And Sirrus was too poor of a liar to be faking it. Oh. Oh no.

“Of course I did,” Sirrus said, a wolfish grin spreading across his entire face as he gently ruffled his friend’s hair. He chuckled deeply, shaking his head as he blinked, his eyes slightly wide and a small bit of red in his face as well. V wondered for all of an instant whether he was saying that just to mess with him, but he knew the answer. He just knew. As much as he wished he was, Sirrus wasn’t lying he’d seen everything. And he clearly had some opinions though he was too polite - or perhaps too embarrassed by the whole situation or on his behalf- to verbalize them. And he was utterly and eternally grateful for that because he didn’t think he could take it. “Goodnight. If you need me, simply knock.”

And with that, Sirrus nodded politely before backing away, avoiding further eye contact, and heading to his own door. V gave him a sheepish wave from his own doorway which he returned almost too playfully despite not fully looking at him before ducking inside of his door and closing the door softly. V then closed his own door, leaning against the back of it with a sigh. That could have gone better. So much better. But it also could’ve been worse, so he was glad that it hadn’t been. At least Sirrus wouldn’t tell anyone. He hoped.

“Goodnight… “ V managed to croke out sheepishly after much persistence. He knew Sirrus probably couldn’t hear him through the wall. His friend’s response had stolen all the air from his body and his head was suddenly pounding. He hadn’t realized he possessed such a strong aversion to being seen undressed until now. This almost felt like it had to be more than that. He needed to lay down. He suddenly felt unwell.

Once the door had slid closed and V had managed to stand up and dry himself off along with the trail of water that he’d made from the door to the bathtub, he sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the wall and reveled in the feeling of the cold brick against this skin. He suddenly felt hot. Unbelievably hot. Almost as though he was coming down with something. He quietly hoped that he hadn’t as he gripped the towel Sirrus had wrapped around him and held it tightly, his heart still pounding in his ears. How awkward.

After a minute or two he sighed and bent over to unzip his luggage bag, opting to start by putting something on himself. Probably not underwear, of course. He’d proven that he apparently didn’t need those to sleep in during his time in Redgrave City, but perhaps something longer, softer, and lighter around the bottom would do. Something warm that would sweat him out from under the covers in his sleep in the middle of the night and ruin his badly needed restful sleep. He had options there. He’d packed accordingly.

But just as he finished searching for his shirt, Griffon materialized in the room, cackling to himself in a tone somewhere smack dab in the middle of concern and amusement, practically nonverbally inquiring as to if he was alright in the head by tone alone; challenging the very notion of his sanity and if it truly still existed, frayed as it must be.

“Um V… Don’t mean to, ahem, interrupt you or anything but um… why didn’t you just ask me or the kitty to get it? Wouldn't that have been way easier?”

V stopped rifling through the bag about ten seconds later as his head suddenly snapped up and he stared at Griffon as though his avian summon had just open-palm slapped him in the mouth, stopping halfway through putting on the loose button-up shirt he was in the middle of buttoning up. He suddenly looked absolutely mortified. “What did you say?”

“I said… “ The iridescent blue bird suddenly stopped speaking, noticing the way that his master suddenly looked. V’s entire face was flushed with shades of bright pink, his body structure indescribably limp and his eyes totally dilated and unblinking. Some part of him had clearly just given up, but on what, he didn’t have the slightest idea. Perhaps existing? It was something essential like that for certain. He looked as though he’d just lost the will to live and wanted to peel off all of his skin, lay on the floor, curl up into it, and simply die.

His entire body slumped like a depressed sack of potatoes as his wet hair clung to his face and his shoulders, his head pivoting towards the floor as his shoulder dropped. He needed a haircut but couldn’t muster the energy to care about something like that right now despite noticing as he shook his head in disappointment. Maybe it looked better this way. At least it hid his shame-filled eyes from the gaze of others. Yes. Why hadn’t he just done that?! He’d been so worried that Sirrus would see him undressed that he’d forgotten how to think! It was the simplest, most straightforward answer, and somehow he’d totally overlooked it and gone with perhaps its total and complete antithesis, embarrassing himself for his trouble.

He’d nearly died of embarrassment, and now he was dying of shame.

That was it. This was his cue to go the hell to bed. He said nothing as he walked calmly across the room, pulled the covers back, and fell face down on the mattress, no longer able to conjure meaningful thoughts. He was well and truly ready for the burdenless joy of sleep. The void of nothingness that his mind clearly needed to retire to for a few solid hours while he regained the capacity for critical thinking. He’d had enough for one night.

With that he scooted up until his face was on one of the pillows as Griffon grabbed the soft comforter, pulling it up to his shoulders and dropping it on him with a soft flop before landing on the bedside table and preening himself. Clearly, V needed some help. He was obviously struggling, immobilized, and stupefied. Shadow simply manifested, looked at her master, and laid down next to him against the side of the bedframe on the floor. It was best not to disturb him further. Clearly, he needed a minute. Or maybe a few hours.

(-~-)

For the plant nerds out there, yes. Sirrus did spend the money to buy an Albino Variegated Monstera Deliciosa with pink undertones just to put in the room in his house that he spends the least amount of time in. He’s insane and his love language is plants and cuddling. The more rare, pretty, and unique, the better. Let’s just hope Shadow doesn’t nibble on them like every other kitty in existence. Can you imagine…

As for the shower situation and everything that happened between Sirrus and V in this chapter… THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED TO ME IN HIGH SCHOOL AT MY BEST FRIEND’S HOUSE AND THEN WE HAD TO SLEEP IN THE SAME BED. AT MY FIRST EVER SLUMBER PARTY. The shame.

I’ve already written half of the next chapter, so I’ll see you on Friday the 1st of September. Take care! Don’t overheat out there and be careful of hurricanes, tropical storms, fires, earthquakes, heatwaves, and… oh forget it. FFS. There is too much going on. Just be safe, okay? I care about you all. Don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Stay safe! Bye bye!

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