Chapter Text
“C'mon bonnie, what's a man tae do? Said mah apologies n all…now yer just bein difficult…”
For the umpteenth time this week, Johnny trailed behind you like a stray dog chasing a chunk of meat. His spicy citrus aftershave made your nose twitch as you kept walking down the narrow road towards his family's bookshop where you worked.
It had been a peaceful day—slightly misty and calm in the early morning until the bastard caught your scent like a bloodhound on a hunt. He knew your routine, not that it was difficult to figure out. Johnny grew up here, though you hadn't suffered the misfortune of seeing him since he'd enlisted at 17…That was a decade ago. Now he was back home on a break to torment you.
“Leave me alone, MacTavish.” You huffed weakly, walking faster, the heels of your mary janes clicking harder against the pavement. Not that you could outmaneuver him. He dwarfed your small stature and was built like a brick house, easily keeping up as you desperately huffed and puffed at your pace.
The insufferable prick had gotten bigger and cockier than ever during his time in the military. He still had the cropped mohawk, though it was now peppered with small lines of scars. How did they even let him keep that? You wanted to scream and claw his pretty blue eyes out. Why couldn't he go bald or get fat? Where was the karma?
An offended scoff sounded at your side. “Ye ken I told ye ta call me Johnny…c'mon…one coffee won't kill ye. Avoidin’ me and makin’ all that noise fer nothin…quit bein a wee cow.” He trailed off, knowing it would get under your skin.
Well, it worked. Wee cow was what he called you when you were in your final school year, the year you moved here from the States and the year Johnny set his sights on you, snapping your bra straps and leaving gross penis drawings in your textbooks. You were a “wee cow” because you had a bigger chest and liked to drink milk at lunch…
“No!” You sped up, furious as you recalled that miserable year in school. Only one year and Johnny had made sure to leave his mark. Because of him you had a serious complex to this day. You refused to let any boyfriends see you naked. In fact, you refused to let any boyfriends go beyond kissing and groping before the inevitable breakup.
“We're nae kids any more…” He persisted, not taking no for an answer as he hounded you, distracted eyes honed in on your bouncing chest as you tried and failed at losing him.
With the roll of your ankle, you suddenly tripped over the curb in front of the bookshop and fell forward. You cried, catching yourself with your hands and feeling the sting of road rash along your palms and knees as you landed on all fours.
“Christ! Ye alrigh, bonnie? Didn't tell ye to roleplay a cow too…wouldn't do that here…” He instantly knelt down, tanned hands snatching your palms to inspect them. You yanked your hands away and glared at him with fat tears in your eyes.
“This is your fault!!!” You shrieked then gasped at the bright red blood oozing from your scraped hands and knees, your stockings torn and stained. You hated blood. Everything started spinning and you grew woozy. There was even a bloody handprint on the curb.
“I'm gonna be sick…” You started leaning back and he caught you.
“Steamin Jesus, yer still scared of a little blood?! How do ye handle yer mensies once a month? Don't sign up for service.” He kept a hold on you as you felt lightheaded, not quite fainting yet.
“Shut…up….” You whined, head still spinning.
“Ye can't make me. C'mon, baby, up ye get,” He muttered. You barely registered the strange inflection he gave the new nickname…the particular way he beamed with pride and something else when he noticed you didn't fight him as he hoisted you up with ease to carry you bridal style.
The door to the bookshop chimed as he used his broad back to push it open, massive arms holding you secure. The world was still spinning as the familiar scent of lavender and inked paper flooded your frazzled senses, calming you a bit. As much as you despised Johnny, you loved his sweet parents and their cozy bookshop. How they had produced such a massive fuckboy was beyond you.
“Let's fix ye up, baby…” He cooed.
There it was again…weirdo…
He deposited you on the front counter. The shop was closed today but his parents always kept the door unlocked. Nobody stole around these parts…minus their supposed golden son…who had the nerve to snatch food directly from your mouth. You couldn't believe it when he'd plucked a chip from you mid bite and threw it in his own gob, saying your saliva had added a nice flavor. Disgusted couldn't cover how you felt.
Said man was now popping open a bulky first aid kit, pulling out disinfectant and gauze.
“Gonnae sting, bonnie. Be still.” He soaked the gauze in the solution and you hissed as he cleaned your palms.
“Shhh….yer alrigh….”
Wanting to look at anything but the bloody gauze, your eyes focused on him as he continued cleaning your scrapes. He was too busy working to notice your gaze. Big and banged up with gnarly scars scattered over tanned muscle. He was the epitome of a masculine man...yet still charming with those sapphire eyes and pearly grin that pissed you off. Johnny could do not wrong around here.
“Ye know…” He suddenly trailed off, breaking the silence in the shop.
You quickly tore your eyes away from his face as his blue eyes glanced up at you. You stared at the window-front. A light drizzle had started outside.
He huffed, cleaning your knees now. You flinched at the sting before relaxing. “Ye know…I've been sweet on ye since school…”
The Earth must have cracked open and unleashed the deepest recesses of hell, sparking the end of life as you knew it.
Had John MacTavish just said what you thought he said?
“Pardon?” You met his earnest gaze with wide eyes.
He huffed again, impatient. “Oh, dun act so surprised! Been tryin to get ye to give me the time of day since I first saw ye…I didn't ken how to act back then. Coming home now…Christ, you're a knock-out.” He pulled the gauze away as he finished, fixing you with an expectant look, bright blue eyes burning into you.
“But I hate you…” You blurted numbly and he laughed. He actually laughed in your face.
“Fuck, bonnie, that was harsh.” He sounded undeterred. “Give me a go, will ye? Promise I can change yer mind. I'm a catch, baby…” He wiggled his eyebrows cheekily and you glared at him.
“Please don't ever do that again…and don't call me that.”
“I'll stop if ye go for coffee with me. C'mon, my ma says you're single. She sends the Christmas photo every year. Keep them with me too…hoard em like Smaug.” He trailed off with a smug look.
“Wait, what?”
Not only were you in all those photos, but you were also dressed in a little red sequin Santa dress every year and posed on your own for a separate card. It was a local shop tradition by now.
“Wha? Didn't think my own ma sends me the family shop's cards? I ask her for the extras too…good material for when I'm lonely. My personal favorite is 2022…” He grinned and wagged his brows again. “Wanna see it in the flesh. I'm deffers coming home again this Christmas. Ye can't stop me…it's a family business, after all. Thinkin I'll dictate the next one.” He shrugged, cocky as all hell.
“I hate you.” You repeat, your face burning as he squeezed above your bloody knees to make you squeak.
“No ye don't. Ye just have nae let me fuck ye yet…” He paused, seemingly in thought. “Oh, sorry. Ye have nae let me make sweet, soft love to ye. That sounds more like your romantic stories, princess?” He teased obnoxiously and your face went bright red.
“You're a pig!” You smack his chest in disgust and hop off the counter.
He laughed. “N yer a bonnie wee cow. Two farm animals, baby…Means we're more compatible than ye think.”
You flipped him off and he just continued laughing.
When you got home you scavenged madly through the box of Christmas cards Johnny's parents had taken over the past decade, looking for 2022…
And you found it flipped upside down, the date written in his mom's handwriting on the blank back. You flipped it around and studied it.
You were laying sideways all done up in the little Santa dress on the bookshop counter with a hand on your hip. You held a frosted Christmas cookie in your free hand, a plate of more colorful cookies and a glass of milk staged in front of you.
“Are you kidding me?!” You groaned in distress.
The worst part was the little milk mustache they had painted on your upper lip to complete the card. You wanted to scream.
Of course that would be his favorite.