#Listen To Your Hart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

puck-luck · 13 days ago

Note

luke x older reader anon again! congrats on 1k! submitting the same request, with hearts and prompt 25 🫶🏻

warnings: unprotected p in v, age gap (not major.), religious themes & motifs, pining, childhood friends to lovers vibes, best friend's brother ofc, jealousy, occasionally insecure statements from luke, really just the sweetest sex you can imagine. i LOVED writing this. hence... the length.

WC: 4,351

You’ve been friends with the Hughes boys as long as you can remember. The first time you met Quinn, it was during your first pee-wee skate.

Your dad was a big hockey fan, so he wanted to teach you how to skate. The debate had been between figure skating and hockey– your mom loved gymnastics, dance, and figure skating, having been an artistic athlete herself. Your dad wanted you to skate regardless, but hockey felt more suited for your talents. You were a competitive child– and territorial over your toys– so your dad thought it would translate well into a hockey environment.

He took you to the Olympics in Salt Lake when you were three years old. You went to see figure skating and two of the United States hockey games– one for the men and one for the women. To your dad, it wasn’t a surprise how your eyes grew into saucers when you watched your first live hockey game.

He’d enrolled you in peewee skate the following week. There were no girls-only leagues, so you were put into a coed league. Quinn was in the same league. You became very fast friends– you liked to talk, your new little buddy liked to listen, and then you finally got him out of his shell midway through the season and your friendship was fully cemented. Actually, the second you learned his last name was Hughes– like Sarah Hughes, who won the Olympic Gold in single’s figure skating when you were in Utah– he was stuck with you. Just because you’d preferred hockey didn’t mean you didn’t love ice skating, too. It just wasn’t your passion.

You and Quinn stayed in touch after that peewee hockey season, enrolling in the same league and requesting to be on the same team until you both graduated into the boys- and girls-only leagues. You still remained friends, staying in contact as best you could when he moved to Toronto. You’d send letters back and forth and you became a pro at interpreting Quinn’s boyishly terrible handwriting. He’d tell you about his brothers, his parents, his school, and his hockey teams. You’d keep him updated on home, but then it stopped being home to Quinn. Soon enough, you were only talking about hockey and family. ‘Did you see that Crosby won the Hart Trophy?’ ‘Yeah! Ovi got the Calder though, so we’re still on even playing field. Canadian boy.’ ‘Hey, Ovi is Russian. Choose a real American and get back to me.’

It wasn’t long until you secured an invitation to visit the Hughes during the summer. You and your family went up to Toronto to visit them and you got to play with the Hughes boys for a whole week. It was so much fun, so the next summer, you begged to invite them to your place for a week.

The tradition continued for years, alternating houses and hometowns. You and Quinn both applied to Michigan– he played hockey, you did not. You were a good player, but you’re more of a beer league girl. You weren’t recruited to play college hockey– which, for a while, you thought was weird, because there are so few female hockey players in America. You’re hoping that your lack of recruitment means that there are hundreds of amazing women who are better than you at the sport, and that helped you accept your fate. After all, Quinn would sometimes bring you to the rink when it was empty. You’d get to play for a little while– and it was nice, in college, to have someone who knew you so well.

A lot of people assumed that you and Quinn were together, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Quinn was like your brother. There was that weird month when you were thirteen and you’d gone to visit him over the summer and you’d thought, maybe… but it turned out that you were just thirteen and confused because of your rampant hormones and puberty. Quinn is just your friend, your best friend.

All of the brothers were pretty off-limits. You’d seen the way girls had started flirting with Jack as he’d entered his teens. You’re able to admit that he’s a cute boy. Luke was an absolute sweetheart, always trying to play with Quinn (and, by extension, you) as you’d grown up. You felt so fond of Luke in a ‘look at how precious he is, I need to protect him’ sort of way.

And then, last night at the lake house, he’d helped you line up a shot in pool and kept his hand on the small of your back when you bent over the table, and your mind had been spinning ever since.

You can’t tell Quinn, obviously. That’s his baby brother. You’re not even sure how you feel about it– Luke’s always been your little buddy. Now, he’s over half a foot taller than you, so he’s not so little anymore. Still– he’s four years younger than you and Quinn. It’s the equivalent of a freshman hooking up with a senior and you feel icky.

Regardless, you can’t keep your eyes off of him. He likes to twirl his fork between his fingers when he’s done eating dinner. He’ll spread his legs and sit forward when he’s playing video games with his brothers. An absent-minded, crooked smile falls on his mouth every time he’s only half-listening to you or the other boys. It’s paired with a look in his eyes that you can only describe as warm and content. In twenty-four hours, you’ve noticed more things about Luke than you’ve ever seen before.

He’s grown up. It’s still a little weird to you, but he’s 21. You’re still 24, even though your 25th birthday is slowly creeping forward. You find yourself justifying the three year age gap, persuading yourself that it’s fine to look at Luke like that, but then you catch yourself and look away. You’re pushing the idea out of your brain.

But he’s goofy, and cute, and so sweet. He’s the same Luke as always, but you’re seeing him in a brand new way.

You’re able to keep yourself at bay for over a week. The boys throw a party and invite some girls over. Normally, you’re not jealous. You’re calm. You don’t care.

Across the room, there’s a girl flirting with Luke. She’s got a hand on his arm and you’re nursing a drink, seeing red. You’re using Jack as a shield, but you’re still able to look over his shoulder. You think you’re being slick, but it turns out… you’re not.

“What are you looking at?” Jack laughs, tilting his head at you exaggeratedly before turning.

Unfortunately, you know you’ve been found out. There’s only one thing that would have you glowering in such a way. Nothing else in sight is nearly as interesting as Luke and the girl beside him. Jack clocks it right away.

He turns back to you with a tight, knowing smile, like he’s trying to hold back laughter. He pushes his tongue into his cheek and quirks his eyebrows at you.

“Interesting,” Jack says, swirling his drink in his solo cup and then bringing the rim to his mouth. He maintains eye contact as he sips.

You pop the bottom of the cup, making the drink splash into Jack’s face. “Fuck off.”

He wipes his mouth and crosses his arms, cradling the drink in the pocket of his elbow. “You and little Lukey?”

You grind your teeth and glare at him in the most menacing way you can. Jack has known you for too long to be intimidated by your glares. He also never really cared that much in the first place– he’s too shit-eating to be concerned about the repercussions of his words.

Jack smirks some more. “Don’t worry,” he says, popping his jaw like he’s turning a piece of gum over in his mouth. “Your secret is safe with me.”

You clench your teeth and continue glaring. You suck your cheeks in and bite down on the inside of your mouth, lips curling with annoyance.

“You know, he wouldn’t mind if you went over there and staked your claim,” Jack says with a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t think he’d be upset at all.”

“Fuck off,” you repeat again.

“C’mon, Y/N.” Jack pushes your shoulder lightly, jokingly. “You’re being obvious.”

“Quinn’ll kill me. And– it’s Luke, Jack.”

“So what? It’s not weird. We all grew up together. We’re all around the same age. It’s not a big deal. He’s had a crush on you forever.”

“It’s different,” you sing-song. “He’s younger than me.”

“Let’s go, Cougar,” Jack teases, reaching up to high-five you.

You don’t take it, instead deciding to punch his stomach.

Jack doubles over like you actually wounded him, but straightens up smiling. “You oughta go make him jealous.”

“You’re pissing me off.”

“Dude, I’m serious. Let’s go flirt with Trevor or something. Someone who Luke thinks you’re better than– I guarantee he’ll be over here in a second.”

Jack actually tugs you toward Trevor and explains the plan before you can even get a word in. So much for keeping your secret. Trevor, to his credit, is a very willing subject. He keeps a hand on your waist during the whole conversation and you do your best to ignore the niggling desire to look over your shoulder at Luke.

Turns out, you should’ve been worried about Quinn.

“Get your hands off her, Zegras,” Quinn snaps, pushing Trevor’s hand off of your waist and stepping between you. “You’re not allowed to fuck my friend.”

If that’s how he feels about one of his friends touching you, then you feel a bit faint at the idea of Quinn’s reaction to Luke getting together with you. That might seal the deal– you really can’t fuck Luke.

“I’m not fucking her,” Trevor says. “We’re working an angle here, Quinn.”

Quinn scoffs. “Yeah? What angle is that, Trevor?”

“We’re trying to make Luke jealous, hello?” Trevor says like it’s obvious.

“Oh my God,” you groan, covering your face in your hands. “Trevor, you fucking moron.”

“What?” Quinn demands, but his look turns into sheer bewilderment. “You’re doing this for Luke?”

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, stomping away.

Trevor, somehow, is free to follow after you. Quinn hasn’t stepped in to stop him. You wish he would. He’s probably too confused. “This is good,” he says. “He’s definitely going to see us going upstairs together. Hold my hand.”

“No.”

“Dude, it was working. Luke was looking over at us the whole time.”

“I don’t care, Trevor.”

“Don’t you want him?”

“Not like that,” you hiss between your teeth. “I don’t want to make Luke jealous. I want him to come to me because he wants to, okay? Go downstairs. I don’t want to be with you right now.”

Trevor holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright. I’ll go. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You disappear into your bedroom, changing into pajamas and climbing into bed. It’s nice to have your own bedroom in the lake house that Jack and Quinn bought with their NHL salaries, but tonight it’s bittersweet to be able to hear the party going on as you lay in bed. It’s not at all like when you fall asleep during a holiday party and your parents put you to bed, and you can still hear the laughter of the guests in your dreams. Now each bout of laughter reminds you of her, the girl whose hand was on Luke like she already owned him, and you wonder if he’s making her giggle with his stupid corny jokes.

God, last week you didn’t even like Luke. Now you’re burning with jealousy– or maybe it’s the fires from Hell, because you’ve got a completely inappropriate crush on your best friend’s little brother. You can never come back to the lake house like this, at least not until you’ve gotten over this shit. Why are you so affected? It’s Luke, for fuck’s sake.

It’s Luke again when someone comes knocking at your door. You thought it would be Quinn, ready to chew you out or question you extensively about this crush. To your surprise, the problem himself appears.

“You okay?” Luke asks, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. His silhouette is burly and big and you have to close your eyes to shake the pang of emotion that penetrates your chest.

“Just tired,” you reply quietly. “Couldn’t stomach the party anymore.”

“Did Trevor say something to upset you?”

Quieter: “No, Luke.”

He hovers silently. You can hear the cogs in his brain turning. His pitch matches yours when he speaks next, although his tone is much more melancholic than despondent. “Are you mad at me?”

You hesitate for a second too long. You’re not mad, but you’re certainly taken aback by the uncertainty in his words. “No, Luke,” you say again, but this time the pang that goes through your chest is more familiar. You don’t want to upset him. You’ve always wanted to protect Luke from the world, but now you’ve made him unsure and insecure. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Luke asks, and you have to take a shaky breath. He sounds so small. It’s like the time that you didn’t let him ride bikes with you and Quinn to the store, even though he begged, and then he cried and ran to his mom. After seeing Luke’s puffy red eyes and resolute determination to ignore you for the rest of the night, your soda and candy bar didn’t taste as good. In fact, they tasted a bit like cardboard. You ended up throwing half of the bar away and going home early. You swore you’d never make sweet little Luke feel that way again.

“You wouldn’t get it, I don’t think,” you tell him quietly, pushing yourself up in bed and resting on your elbows. You take a deep breath and look at him, sure that he can see the way your chest rises and falls.

Your eyes have adjusted enough that you can see the way Luke’s mouth opens, as if to say something, then closes with a shake of his head. You notice his eyes fluttering towards the corner of your room, removing you from his line of vision. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me,” Luke says, biting his lower lip in a dejected and heartbreaking way. “I get it. I’ll go.”

“Luke,” you sigh. “Don’t be like that.”

“No, it’s fine. You don’t wanna talk to me,” he says with a shrug. “We’re not friends like that. I’m not Quinn.”

“Luke.” You push yourself up further, pushing the covers down and criss-crossing your legs. “It’s not that.”

“It’s always that. And if it’s not that, then it’s that I’m not Jack. I just– I don’t want to hear that from you.” Luke shrugs again, always defaulting to that motion when he’s deflecting because he’s big and awkward and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. As if he’s thinking the same thing, you watch him shove his fists in his pockets and keep his shoulders tense.

“Come here,” you request, head tilted and mouth turned down with sadness. You shift your position so that both of your knees are under you and you’re sitting back on your heels. “Luke, please.”

You hold your arms out for a hug, not for the first time in your life, and Luke shuffles over. He takes his time and he refuses to meet your eyes, just stooping down so that he can wrap his arms around your middle. It’s a weird position, given that you’re kneeling on the bed and he’s half-bent over. You can feel the pout and doubt all over Luke’s face, so you reach a hand up to his curls and run your thumb over one of his more perfect spirals. He’s letting it grow out a bit and you like how messy it looks.

“Jack told me something,” you reveal softly, still petting through his hair. Luke stiffens in your arms, but doesn’t pull away. “He said you like me.”

Luke groans and struggles in your grip, even sinking to his knees to try and get out of your grasp. He’s kneeling beside the bed, and you bring your legs around so that he’s situated between them. You keep a hand on his shoulder, the other still playing with his hair. He’s evading your eyes again, looking stoutly at the floor.

“I have feelings for you, too,” you whisper, the admission feeling heavy and wrong and like a knife to the gut. Admittance is the first step, but you just feel silly. “And I don’t really know how to deal with those. You’re– I’ve known you since we were so little, Luke.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Luke says bluntly, a hint of a complaint in his sentence. “You’ve been acting weird because you like me, too?”

“I was upset that there was a pretty girl talking to you,” you say sheepishly. “And I just didn’t want to go along with Jack’s plan. He wanted to make you jealous. Thought that would work.”

“I’m always jealous when you talk to another guy,” Luke tells you like it’s obvious. “I just, kind of, gave up. I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me. I thought I’d get over it. Stupid childhood crush, you know.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding that you yourself just experienced a similar line of thinking. You said you’d get over it, but you don’t really want to. Not right now, at least, when Luke’s sitting in front of you and he’s got a tentative hand on your calf, rubbing his thumb over the muscle and staring up at you with big eyes. You bite your lip, trying to think logically about this, but all you can do is examine Luke’s features like you’ll never get to see them again. Maybe you won’t– not like this. Not in this liminal space between something and nothing. This is one of those moments that you know won’t last– because the next one will change everything. So, for a moment longer, you just reach out and run your thumb along Luke’s cheekbone, eyes flickering between his cheek, his lips, and his eyes.

“What do we–” Luke loses his words and presses his lips together, looking up at you, expression completely tortured. He turns his head and kisses the side of your knee, which makes your heart split a bit more.

“I don’t know,” you admit. You wish you had a better answer for him. You truly aren’t sure what you can do from here. There are too many things to consider– so you won’t consider them at all.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Luke asks.

A fond burst of laughter escapes from your chest. “Lukey, this is a twin bed. We can’t both fit.”

A pout comes over Luke’s face again. “We can too,” he insists, furrowing his brow a bit. “I’ll prove it. Move over.”

He’s climbing into your bed before you can tell him no. His long and spindly limbs are coaxing you to lay back, then warming you as he holds you tight. It’s a tight squeeze, but that just means that you’re touching him everywhere. It’s nice and you suddenly wish you were facing him, so you roll awkwardly in his arms until you’re face to face. Your noses are nearly touching and Luke is staring at you, really taking you in.

Your eyes find his lips… and then he’s leaning in.

It’s charged with tension and electricity, but it’s soft and hesitant. Neither of you want to test the boundaries and you don’t think this feels quite real. Your stomach is swooping with bats, not butterflies, and it’s exactly what you wanted. This is what you expected when you found yourself imagining kissing Luke this past week, even if you shook yourself out of it because it felt inappropriate. Here, it feels so right that you swear you could start crying from relief. You’ve never felt that way before from just a kiss. Your chest could burst.

When he pulls away, you feel frozen in time. Your eyes are closed and his lips are right there, a hair’s breadth away. You swallow, touching his chest, palm flat.

“Was that okay?” Luke asks.

You nod, then slide your lips over his again.

You come together in a way that can’t be described as anything other than desperate. Your hands touch him in any way they can and Luke’s do the same. You move in tandem like you’ve got a language of your own– an indignant hum from you followed by a sweet “I know” from Luke before he touches you exactly the way you want.

Kissing the whole time, Luke gets you on your back. Your lips only part to remove your shirt, then his. Luke’s big hand cradles your jaw and neck, keeping your head and mouth exactly where he wants them. He guides you with a surprising amount of experience and sureness, although maybe he’s fueled by the same feeling of rightness as you are.

He opens you on his other hand, snaking his hand into your pajamas shorts because he can’t be bothered to remove them. His hips roll against your thigh, his long torso displacing your pelvis from his as he kisses you. He’s big– you knew it height-wise, but now you can feel him against your leg, and you want him to fill you. You want him to claim you, to take you– you want to give all of yourself to Luke. It’s madness and though you’re sure you’ve lost your mind, the crack in your chest that pours out love for Luke has taken control of your body.

After three fingers and a lot of whimpering from you, clutches at Luke’s hair and bruising kisses working in tandem with your noises, Luke works your shorts down. He breaks from your lips so that he can take you in beneath him. He touches your waist and the curve of your stomach, the one that you cringed at for so many years as a teen but finally accepted in your grown age.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says reverently, eyes portraying nothing but sincerity.

You can’t say anything to that, nothing that can match his utterly genuine sentiment or portray how grateful you are that he took the time to say those words, so you kiss him again. You muster up an embarrassingly wanton ‘please,’ which you draw across his lips like a paintbrush.

You can’t get enough of saying his name as he presses into you, his heavy body blanketing yours. You can feel his every muscle move as he works into you and you’ve never felt more like a masterpiece. There were times when you made fun of the phrase ‘making love,’ but sex with Luke feels intensely like you’re creating something tangible by coming together in this way.

The moans and cries that you’re trying to stifle so that no one comes barging in should be enough to convince Luke that this is everything to you. Sweet, sweet Luke– he seems choked up when he says, “They can’t fuck you like I can.” He says the sentence like he has to prove it to you, like you’re not falling apart under his touch. He pleads with you between the words, in the spaces where you can see his breath hitch in his throat.

You’re still not sure where this night will leave you tomorrow morning. Everything, everything has turned on its head. Somehow, you feel a bit like you’ve been leading up to this for a while, not just in the past week. Luke knew it before you did.

“No,” you agree, touching his cheeks and keeping his eyes on yours. “They can’t.” You kiss him briefly, feeling his tongue swipe into your mouth before you pull away. “I’m yours.”

Luke actually keens at that, his arms straining as he shifts his weight to fuck into you harder. Because you’re so close, the bed isn’t moving enough to bang against the walls or creak on its boxsprings, and you’re glad. This is a moment for just you and Luke– you don’t want anyone hearing. You don’t want anyone to be around. You hope that they’ve all miraculously disappeared and you and Luke are the last people in the house, maybe even on Earth.

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” Luke repeats, his forehead meeting yours. You squeeze your eyes shut and inhale, his breath automatically syncing with yours. You’re overwhelmed, but deep in the back of your mind, there’s a voice reminding you about an ancient tradition in Polynesian culture where forehead-to-forehead contact and breathing together is sacred, like you’re sharing the breath of life– like there’s some power in the universe, a god or many, clicking things into place.

He unravels first, fucking you through his release with urgence akin to the sentence he said before. Always trying to prove himself– but Luke has always been enough for you. Maybe not always in this way, but now, there’s nothing he can do to shake your favor. All of the feelings in your heart have been poured out, shared and mixed with his own, and it’s created a puddle– or a bubble– around the pair of you.

It’s been written that sex is when two people come together as one. You finally understand what they mean, joining Luke in the seas of ecstasy.

Sweet nothings and touches like worship follow. Your hands can’t get enough of Luke’s strong figure. He runs his fingertips along your body like he’s in awe of your figure, like he gets to touch a statue so lifelike and beautiful that he can’t believe it was ever a block of marble at all.

The concerns about what will happen tomorrow don’t exist here, in your dark bedroom with Luke stuck to you like glue. For now, it’s just you. Together, breathing, touching, loving– there’s nothing else that could matter. This is it.

note: i have to work on my grad school app in the coming days, so this will probably be the last blurb/oneshot until i finish the application. but, i might get bored of writing that and could pop in to do another smut piece here and there ;) hopefully i'll chat with y'all soon! but i don't want to rush this grad school app LOL

#puck-luck's 1k celebration #puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes smut #luke hughes blurb #lh43 #nhl #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #hockey smut

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justmoreocs-writing · 7 months ago

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‘Why’d you do it?’ Eggsy’s voice was barely more than a whisper in the darkness, and yet I found myself shifting in the bed, trying to sit straighter.

He rested a cautiously gentle hand on my shoulder briefly. I stopped fidgeting as he took up the plastic seat beside my bed.

‘My partner was in danger,’ I remind him, grateful for the dim lighting. At least this way he won’t see my pulse beating a tattoo against my throat. ‘I had to do something.’

‘Not jump right into the fucking danger, Lil.’ His voice is harsh, and he forces himself to take a shallow breath. I hear it stutter slightly, but force myself not to apologise. I was merely doing my job. If I could’ve avoided injury, I would’ve.

‘You could’ve died.’

‘So could you,’ I remind him. ‘But neither of us did.’

Silence settled between us, for once awkwardly uncomfortable. We both know the other has a point, and yet neither of us wants to admit to it. Because the truth is hard, and the consequences of our actions suddenly mean so much more.

‘Perhaps this was a bad idea,’ he murmurs.

‘Which bit, exactly?’ I ask, hearing the defensive edge to my voice. I don’t mean to let it get to me, but after everything it’s impossible not to let emotion play some part in all this. ‘Letting me come along? Coming to see me? … Starting something?’

‘No,’ he assures me hastily, taking my hand carefully. ‘I ain’t ever gonna regret that.’ He speaks with such vehemence it’s almost impossible to question it. ‘Just maybe I should’ve waited until after we’d saved the world.’

‘World’s always gonna need saving,’ I remind him softly.

He gives my hand a squeeze. ‘You’re part of the world too though, Lillian Robinson.’

Despite the darkness, I shoot him a small smile I hope he can actually see. Maybe this thing was the worst decision we made, but I can’t say I regret it, and by the sounds of it, Eggsy doesn’t either.

#ocappreciation #Listen To Your Hart #Drabble #Made By Me #Kingsman OCs #Lilian Robinson #Canon: Gary Unwin #Lily Robinson #Canon: Eggsy Unwin

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justmoreocs-edits · 1 year ago

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Listen To Your Hart Perspective [Canon] Character Introduction: Eggsy

Name: Gary Edward Unwin

Nickname(s): Eggsy / AKA Galahad

Birthday: 3rd of June

Age: 22 years old

Height: 175cm / 5’8’’

Dominant Hand: Right

Occupation: Kingsman Candidate

Species: Human

Canon Character Faceclaim is Taron Egerton

Character Tag

Story Tag

#Made By Me #Perspective Character Introduction #Kingsman OCs #Listen To Your Hart #Canon: Gary Unwin #Canon: Eggsy Unwin

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moonlight-prose · 6 months ago

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THE WAY YOU SAY GOODBYE

a/n: i have been watching way too much hart of dixie lately and well wade is basically just hangman in a different font. don't try to argue cause you know i'm absolutely right. so i spawned this drabble out of my head as if i were summoning a demon. enjoy my hangman girlies.

summary: if there's a way to say goodbye that has been noted in the history books, hangman will find a way to master it.

word count: 1k+

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader

warnings: semi-explicit, kissing that borders on tongue fucking, he's nasty with it, cocky hangman, spit, again i say he's nasty with it.

Looking up the definition of the word goodbye would come with an endless amount of definitions and explanations. All in varying languages, with meanings so deep they grew like the roots of a tree. Embedding themselves in the earth with life of its own.

The way Hangman said goodbye wasn’t one of those.

He was assured, cocky, and genuinely believed he was God’s gift to this earth. You could see it with how he leaned against the pool table, his legs spread, lips pulled into a you know you want to fuck me smile. And the thing was…you couldn’t deny it. You did in fact want that. You had that. Four hours ago at the crack of dawn when he found his way back into your bed after a run and a shower.

Of course the others around would voice their displeasure and intense disgust if either of you brought it up. So you stayed silent. Sipping a coffee as he argued with Rooster over who had the bigger dick. Or something of that manner. You weren’t entirely focused on the conversation, your eyes fixated on the way his uniform pulled taut across his shoulders.

You were pretty sure that if you peeled the layers of fabric away, you’d find the imprint of your teeth in the muscle of his right shoulder.

Part of you was tempted to search for it. The other part had yet to notice he had stopped talking altogether, his attention on the only thing that mattered. You and your dreamy haze of love.

If he had the time he’d drag you to the bathroom, but everyone was already starting to pack it in for the morning. It would be a long day of training, of listening to the same orders over and over, of picking fights with one another until their patience ran thin. And all he wanted was to say goodbye to you properly. In a way that he’d feel each time you crossed his mind.

“You want a ride?” Fanboy asked, digging his keys out of his pocket.

He nodded. “Yeah thanks.”

“Let’s head out boys.” Phoenix shoved her arms into the leather jacket she’d brought even though the weather outside was warm enough to sunbathe.

He found his mind wandering to the image of you doing just that.

“Alright,” he sighed, standing tall as he reached for the jacket on the back of his chair.

You smiled as he sauntered over to you, his hand gripping your waist as he tugged you to stand up. “You’re going?”

He sighed as if you’d asked him the hardest question to exist. “Yeah. I’ve gotta go baby.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

The soft smile that crossed his lips was enough to have your heart racing. “I’ve got a new bottle of wine, some new desserts to try out.”

He smiled, his hand sliding lower as you listed out a few other things. Some which you had to say softly, lest you bring the wrath of the others. You’d been in that predicament before; you didn’t necessarily want to go back. At least not for a few months. Getting caught at the rocks by the beach was bad enough. Getting caught by Rooster, Phoenix, and Coyote was worse.

Although they couldn’t deny it, they were much happier seeing Hangman in a relationship than out of one.

“We got to go man,” Fanboy said, nudging Payback to get up from where he sat. “I don’t want to get stuck doing extra push ups when your asses make me late.”

Jake chuckled, his eyes dropping to the way your tongue slid along your bottom lip. The idea of dropping in when he got lunch was appealing enough to hold him over for a few hours. At least then he could show you what he’d been craving to eat since this morning.

“Gentlemen. Phoenix. You might want to avert your eyes. I’m about to kiss my woman goodbye.” The groan from behind was enough to set you off in a fit of giggles, your hand sliding into the base of his hair. “C’mere sugar,” he mumbled, grasping the nape of your neck.

To say Jake Seresin invented the art of saying goodbye was an understatement. He made bidding farewell dirty, debauched, and so filthy so as to solidify that moment in your mind for the rest of the day. His tongue slid into your mouth, a soft moan at the taste of your coffee being pressed into the searing kiss, as he tugged you even closer. The breath was knocked from your lungs with each lick into you and you began to wonder if maybe he was thinking of something else entirely.

That only made you grip onto his hair tighter, pulling him close enough to feel the way his hips shifted forward. Not enough to draw attention from the others. Yet you felt as if he was grinding into you without a single item of clothing on.

“That’s disgusting!” Rooster shouted from across the bar.

Yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to pull away. Spit spread slightly down your chin, his teeth digging into the plush skin of your bottom lip, and you felt your knees begin to buckle. Even as he gripped your ass tight enough to leave a phantom touch behind.

He made sure you’d feel him all fucking day.

“Mm,” he hummed, his grip growing tighter. “Your coffee tastes delicious baby.”

You laughed. “You want some?”

“I gotta go,” he mumbled, kissing you again as he licked even deeper into your mouth. His sharp inhale the cause of your heart stuttering.

“So go,” you breathed. “I’m not stopping you.”

He smiled. “Liar.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Or what?”

Twisting his hair between your fingers, you tugged his head back slightly. Earning you a soft grunt you felt in the base of your stomach.

“Or I find something else to occupy my night.”

“Noted Mrs. Seresin.” He snuck your mug out from behind you, stealing a sip as you hung on him—addicted to his mere presence.

You smiled, biting into your bottom lip as he cleaned you up with his thumb. “I’ll see you later Mr. Seresin.”

“Oh yes you will,” he murmured, stealing a chaste kiss as he swung his jacket over his shoulder. “You can count on it sugar!”

#look i have no idea where this came from #one minute i'm writing for batman and the next i'm down bad for hangman #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake 'hangman' seresin #my writing

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marybeatriceofmodena · 2 years ago

Note

What did Andrew Lloyd Webber do to make Patti Lupone upset? Sorry, saw your tags and i was curious

Oh.

Oh honey.

You sweet child.

Anyway, get ready for one of the most infamous showdowns in all musical theatre history, with the guy who writes the straightest musicals on Broadway (derogatory) and the one and only, the matriarch, the queen, two three-time Tony award winner Patti LuPone.

So, Andrew Lloyd Webber was basically kind of a boy genius in his prime - he met his future collaborator Tim Rice when they were 17 and 20 respectively, he wrote his first big hit, Jesus Christ Superstar, at 22, with Tim Rice writing the lyrics. And it was kind of a big deal at the time because the topic was controversial (you know, the Passion with rock music), but also because Broadway wasn't that far off from its golden age and let's just say the music and style were very different from, say, My Fair Lady. Or The Sound of Music. Or Funny Girl. It was basically the Rent/Hamilton of its time. (Yeah, Stephen Sondheim was around at that time, he worked on West Side Story which was revolutionary in of itself, but he's kind of an oddball in this case. You'll understand why later.)

Their real follow up (I'm not counting Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat for a variety of reasons) was a little musical called Evita, which you might know mainly because of a song called Don't Cry For Me Argentina. Or at least, your mom has probably heard it once at the very least. It's that song that's oversung from a musical while being out of context along with I Dreamed a Dream for Les Misérables. Or Memory from Cats.

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Evita tells the story of Eva Peron, the wife of an Argentinian dictator, who basically screws her way to the top and ends up becoming the mistress of Juan Peron and the most beloved woman in her country through guile and deceit. Yes, I know the historical accuracy is very much debated but I know jackshit about Argentina's history except the bare basics so don't come at me. It was first produced in the West End in London, with Elaine Paige in the role, but because of Equity issues, she couldn't reprise her role for the Broadway production. So a Julliard graduate who was mostly starring in David Mamet plays got the part instead, and that was Patti LuPone.

Patti... did not have a good time during Evita, because the part is basically the kind of score where you can tell the composer is used to writing male parts, but most female singers have a two-octave range (yes, you got Julie Andrews who used to have a three-octave range, and many others, but they're exceptions), so she struggled a lot. That being said, if you listen to live recordings of her, you wouldn't be able to tell, and it got a lot easier later on. But she had this to say:

"Evita was the worst experience of my life. I was screaming my way through a part that could only have been written by a man who hates women. And I had no support from the producers, who wanted a star performance onstage but treated me as an unknown backstage. It was like Beirut, and I fought like a banshee."

This is from Patti's autobiography, which she wrote in 2007 - 8 years after shit with ALW went down. With all that said, she won a Tony Award for Evita, and she pretty much became a musical theatre household name from then on. She played Fantine in Les Misérables, Nancy in Oliver!, Reno Sweeney in Anything Goes. Meanwhile, ALW's next big hits were Cats (I'm not even kidding, Cats was a hit), and, you guessed it, The Phantom of the Opera, which he wrote in part to showcase his then wife Sarah Brightman's triple threat talents.

So, you need to understand before I continue that ALW, from my perspective, has always had a bit of an inferiority complex. He's basically associated to writing these commercially successful musicals that show a big spectacle but aren't ultimately substantial. I'm not sure I entirely agree with that, but I do think that if he didn't have Hal Prince, Maria Bjornson, Charles Hart and Gillian Lynne backing him up for Phantom, it would have probably been a Rocky Horror Picture Show knockoff people would have forgotten about pretty quickly. This is what I mean:

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Yep, that was Phantom before any of the people I mentioned above (and Michael Crawford) were really involved.

Remember how I said Stephen Sondheim was an oddball? The thing with him is that his musicals weren't always commercially successful, but in general, in part thanks to being Leonard Bernstein's protégé, he was generally pretty well-respected and it was considered that his work was bringing musicals to a whole other level. Without Sondheim, you wouldn't have Jonathan Larson, and you wouldn't have Lin-Manuel Miranda. I am convinced ALW is resentful of that, and when you stop and think about it for more than 10 seconds, it's so obvious he REALLY wants to be Sondheim or at least command the same level of respect, but that's a story for another day.

So, after Phantom, ALW had other musicals that followed that either got a meh reception or outright flopped. Then there was Sunset Boulevard, which is based on the movie of the same name with Gloria Swanson. Despite all of her griefs for Evita, Patti LuPone agreed to partake in the musical as Norma Desmond, for its production in London, with the promise that she would transfer to Broadway once that production would open. And overall, after a string of flops, Sunset was actually doing pretty well.

HOWEVER. One day, while reading the gossip column of a newspaper, Patti found out that contrary to what she was promised, Glenn Close, who was meanwhile starring as Norma in the Los Angeles production, was to play Norma on Broadway. That was a complete surprise for her since no one on the production team had bothered to tell her it was happening - and keep in mind that for the news to come up the way it did in a gossip column, it probably would have necessitated a delay of a few weeks between the producers and the newspaper, which would have given them plenty of time to break the news to Patti. And Patti kind of needed the leg up because she was pretty bitter that a) Madonna was cast in the Evita adaptation instead of her; b) they actually lowered the key to fit Madonna's voice range, and she still had to expand her own to be able to sing the (lowered) score. And trust me, Patti is mad about it to this day.

So of course, she trashed her dressing room, the cast and crew weren't even mad about it because they were as shocked and angered as she was by the news. Patti sued Andrew Lloyd Webber for breach of contract, namely for 1 MILLION DOLLARS (yup, those are the real numbers), won, used the money she got from the lawsuit to get a swimming pool, which she called (and I SHIT YOU NOT) the Andrew Lloyd Webber Memorial Pool. Since then, Webber is dead to her, to the point rumor has it she had part of a building blocked during an event so she could get out of it without coming across Webber, because she hates him so flipping much she doesn't even want to be in the same building as the guy.

(There's also drama that happened with Faye Dunaway who was supposed to replace Glenn Close after she went from Los Angeles to Broadway, except they abruptly closed the show down after Close left, but that's a story for another day)

So with all the bad press, and with ALW forced to pay 1 million dollars for Patti's lawsuit, that led Sunset's productions to close earlier than expected. ALW has stayed around since, with... mitigated output, so to say. The lowest point for a lot of people is Love Never Dies, the sequel to Phantom, which some people love, and that's fine, but it didn't do well with either critics nor fans of the original show, which ALW is EXTREMELY BUTTHURT ABOUT. And like, there are so many stories I could tell about LND alone, but I will share my own crack theory about it, since it does relate to the ask.

Anyway, buckle up.

So. There have been jokes going around for years that the Phantom in LND is basically ALW's self-insert, where he displays to the world that he's totally not over Sarah Brightman leaving him (in part because making Phantom kinda ruined their marriage lmao), despite, you know, having married since. (Aaaaaakward.) So LND basically becomes this really uncomfortable therapy session where a man writes a self-insert musical about how his ex-wife made a big mistake of leaving a sensitive artistic soul such as himself. The characters from Phantom who appear in LND are all more or less unrecognizable as a result, and one who gets it worse (in my humble opinion) is Meg Giry, who was basically Christine's sweet and loyal ballerina friend who basically went into the Phantom's lair on her own to save her friend despite the danger. In LND, she's basically a bitter hag (because ALW hates women, guess Patti was right about that), who really likes the swim and even has a stripping vaudeville number about it, written in universe by the Phantom, no less.

For comparison, here's Don Juan Triumphant (the Phantom's opera in the original):

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And here's Bathing Beauty (the vaudeville number):

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Yeah, so... do you see why people hate LND already?

And that's not the only thing with Meg! She's also pining for the Phantom to pay attention to her and threatens to drown the Phantom and Christine's secret love child when he makes it clear that he's gonna love Christine for EVA AND EVA.

So, with everything we learned today about ALW, would someone like him view someone like Patti LuPone as some sort of crazy, bitter diva who's obsessed with him for whatever reason? Absolutely. Would he be petty enough to insert Patti LuPone into his self-insert musical, which gave us the version of Meg Giry we got in LND? Of course. Why does Meg love to swim so much and why does she drag Gustave out ostensibly for a swim? Is it a dig at Patti's Andrew Lloyd Webber Memorial Pool? Maybe.

I kind of hope we find out one day if that theory is true. And maybe start a kickstarter so Patti can add this painting from the 2004 movie in her collection.

Fun fact: during the process of casting for the 2004 movie adaptation of POTO, ALW allegedly suggested Patti LuPone to play Carlotta... only for Joel Schumacher to have to awkwardly remind him that they were not on speaking terms. The idea was therefore promptly dropped.

#YOU'RE WELCOME ANON #anon asks #Andrew Lloyd Webber #Patti LuPone #evita #sunset boulevard #phantom of the opera #love never dies

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timeforaneclipse · 1 month ago

Text

Falling Apart (Lilia Calderu x reader)

Chapter Two

Available on AO3

Warnings? - Angst hehe

"Right, Mins, Time... to do your thing!" Agatha urged as she waved you on. A sigh left your lips as the coven looked at your with expectance. Feeling like an idiot you stared back. An awkwardness in the air. Your thing? Right... your thing. Forcing your shoulder's to relax, you turned away from the coven and faced the road ahead. Closing your eyes, you stood for a moment before reopening them to discover a trail of.... bright green smoke? Agatha smirked like the devil when she noticed your eyes change from it's normal hue to a gentle golden. "You see it don't you?" She leaned in close and whispered. Then, without another word, you began to walk. Agatha and the boy by her side, Teen, wasted no time in following. The others lingered slightly behind but followed all the same.

As you walked, you jumped as the woman at the back spoke out. Breaking your focus. "You know what this is?" You raised an eyebrow at her raised voice as you turned back to look at her. "This is a kidnapping, And I think it is about high time we involve the local authorities." She announced as she rummaged through her bag. A frown left your lips, confusion laced in your eyes. A kidnapping? Then it hit you. Your mouth became thin as you glanced to Agatha. She looked at you as if to say 'what?' before shrugging off your silent conversation. Not that it surprised you. It was Agatha after all. Yet, you felt a little bit of pity for the poor woman Agatha had tricked into coming.

Jennifer, seeming having enough of holding her tongue, looked around in slight annoyance. "Are we gonna ignore the fact that something chased us down here?" You couldn't find it in yourself to disagree with her. She had a point. The Salem Seven weren't something to just be.. ignored. Sharing a subtle glance with Agatha, you hid your concern. You still remembered the time that your sister, brightest transformation witch that had ever dared to be, was once approached by them. She had barely escaped with her life. Alice turned her body weight to Agatha, gesturing to her as she corrected that they had chased Agatha. Mrs hart, who was messing with her phone, frowned and slightly panicked when she discovered there was no cell service.

"Well, Whatever chased Agatha down here, it's our problem now." Lilia's tone was sombre with a slight hint of annoyance as she sent a side glance towards Agatha. You held your tongue as you continued to take the lead in the walk. Debating whether or not you should say something about the Salem Seven and who- No, what they really were. You decided to keep walking. Following the path lay out before you. Zoning out, you didn't bother to listen to the present conversation. As you walked, you kept your eyes on the trees around you while the group continued to bicker amongst each other. Jennifer caught your ear as she was complaining about not knowing what the group was up against. You paused. She had a point. No one, besides maybe Agatha, had an idea on what you all intended on facing. Lilia, deep in thought, looked down for a moment. "Tame your fears." she said, her eyes dawning with realisation. You looked back to her. "That's what we're up against." she frowned. "Our worst nightmares."

You felt yourself grow nervous. Our worst nightmares? Swallowing, you tried to hide your feelings and remain unnerved. Agatha seemed to catch on, however. blue eyes scanned your frame. Yet the older witch seemed to share your... feelings. Alice then asked Agatha what the trials were like. "The... road will test us." She began. "And our knowledge of the craft." Everyone seemed to share a look. A silent conversation. "One trial for each skill." Agatha finalised, studying the group. Jennifer looked absolutely appalled as she questioned how they were to pass with no magic. You frowned and gave a side ways glance to Agatha.

Teen, who seemed to be ever full surprises, stepped forward. There was a wide grin on his face as he spoke. "Well, there's always analog magic. You know, labour-intensive, manual acts of magic." He said like it was obvious. "Witchcraft!" he practically sang once her realised he had lost the group. "Emphases on the 'craft'." He forced a smile. Jennifer then asked the question that had been scratching your head since you met the boy. Who was he? "I'm-" Silence. You noticed the Sigil run across the boys mouth after he spoke.

Your eyes narrowed. How... Unusual. "Well, Ill be." Lilia smirked. "Someone's put a sigil on that boy." Then everyone, yourself included, looked to Agatha. You knew her well. It wasn't unlike her to do something like this. But the looks from the group only made her scoff.

"Don't look at me. I didn't put that clumsy glamour on him." She shrugged. "Sigils are beneath me."

As Teen looked confused, he asked what a sigil was. You were done observing the group and decided to let your own mouth loose. "A sigil is a type of spell, yes." You forced a smile to the boy. "In your case, the sigil appears to be a redaction spell." You began, adjusting your glasses. "Which means to... remove words or information." Your explanation was rather simple. "So... for better or for worse, you are hidden from witch folk. it's rather interesting." You summarised. "the only question is... why?" You hummed, your clawed nails drumming against your arm.

Jennifer watched you as you finished. "Looks like Agatha brought a sparkly little mystery with her." She sassed, ignoring Agatha's slight glare of annoyance.

"She was probably trying to keep him all to herself." Lilia hummed, with slight false amusement in her tone.

Agatha pulled Teen behind her as he asked why someone would want to hide him. But the question went unanswered. "Look," Agatha began, looking toward the group. "I have no idea what's under that sigil. He could be something special or he could be a pest that some cranky witch stashed under a rock. We can crack him open later." you smirked slightly, only slightly, at her words. "The real value lies at the end of the road." She smiled. she then gestured to Jennifer. "So, if you want to unbind," you noticed the potions witch take in a breath. "And you want to reverse your fortune" Agatha went on to Lilia as the older woman looked slightly uncomfortable. "And you," She continued to Alice. "Want to find out what happened to mummy. And you...." Agatha paused. Mrs hart was gone? Agatha scoffed, unamused. "I mean, you take your eyes off of her for two seconds..." She rolled her eyes.

You looked around. Scanning the area for the woman. "Can't you just sniff her out." Jennifer asked as she turned to you. Looking down at you like you were dirt beneath her feet. "That's the whole reason you're here, right?" she spat out as if blaming you for the situation.

Staring gob-smacked, you glared. The gold in your eyes becoming more prominent "Do I look like a blood hound to you, potions witch?" you hissed. "I'm your guide. I am not some glorified baby sitter." Just then, there was a scream. You looked up towards the sound then to the path. At least she went the right way. "This way." You urged the group. Alice was hot on your tail as you followed the path. Speeding ahead of you, Alice got to Mrs Hart just in the nick of time. The poor woman was nearly earth food. Sinking deep into the mud. Teen went to help as Alice pulled her out of the sinking mud. You stared for a moment. Well, that.. could have gone worse.

Mrs Hart attempted to wipe the mud off but it was mostly unsuccessful. Not that you were surprised. "You can't just walk off the road like that." Alice scolded lightly at the older woman. The older woman in her shock complained about it being a horrible party and you felt your lips form a tight line. Glaring at Agatha out of the corner of your eye.

Agatha sighed and tried to keep a level head. "Well, I thought this was pretty obvious." She hummed. "But for the uninitiated, rule number one - Do not step off the road." Agatha announced clearly. "So if we just follow the instructions of the balled, We'll be as safe as kittens." She smiled widely and winked at you. You rolled your eyes. "Okay?" she smiled but Mrs Hart, and understandably so, was slightly upset with the whole affair. You noticed Jennifer walk off slightly and kept your eyes on her. She called everyone to look. There was something different about her voice. Something light.... hopeful. Following her gaze, you noticed a large beach house. Where-? You found yourself taken back. How did such a thing... just appear?

Taking Agatha's lead, you followed the older witch onwards. The change of ground made you shiver slightly. sand had never been your favourite thing to walk in. especially when it got in between your toes. Staring in wonder, the group approached the door. Lilia traced the markings on the door and you caught yourself accidently staring at her hands. You cleared your throat and looked away, ignoring your slightly flustered face. "The phases of the moon." Lilia's words hung through the air.

Teen looked in interest. "Its full... the water phase." he smiled brightly. Lilia looked at him, her brown eyes bore how impressed she was with his comment. It only made him smile wider. "So... what do we do?" He asked curiously. Mrs hart went ahead and rung the doorbell, claiming that we didn't want to surprise anyone. But that was short lived as Agatha just opened the door anyways.

Once inside, you were caught off guard. You looked down to your clothing. Your red tartan coat was gone and was replaced with something... plainer. A grey blazer hugged your form. The black trousers you were wearing were tight and the t-shirt match with silver markings. The heels were grey and matched the blazer. You hair was loose and you ran your clawed fingers through it. It was new... You noticed Lilia looked noticeably different. Her tight curls were gone and she was dressed in mostly white. She was wearing a silk scarf though. Having a look around, everyone took in the new surroundings. It was a fancy place. You looked to a few of the paintings and tilted your head. Just then, Mrs Hart exclaimed her love for the kitchen. Scaring everyone in the process. You took in some deep breaths. Trying to relax yourself. This was fine. It was calm.

Teen then called from the dining area of the house. It didn't take long for the group to gather into the room like a bunch of rushing hens. "What is this?" Agatha asked as she snatched the card from his hands. "A wedding? Please God, not a baby shower." She groaned before Jennifer snatched it from her. Frustrated, Agatha threw her hands up. Wondering where she got the audacity.

"The witches' road cordially invites you to the first trail." The potions witch read clearly before flipping the card over. Her eyes lighting in wonder. "It's a riddle." She spoke softly before beginning to read the riddle. "My age has value. I'm no fun alone. I mess with your mind, my tricks are well known." She then looked to the group. You were no luck in riddles, unfortunately. Your sister used to be so good at them. She could've made the mighty sphinx run for her money. Jennifer then passed the card on to Mrs Hart. You smiled softly when the woman examined the card.

"What does it mean?" Teen asked, curious.

"That it's really expensive." Mrs hart hummed out. There was something in the way she said it that made you laugh. Agatha's eyes were immediately drawn to your face when the laugh left your lips. It had been years... beyond years since she had heard that sound come from you. It made her a little relieved that after all this time you still had that same humour about you. Even if was buried deep deep within you.

Alice, who now held the card, repeated it's contents. "It sounds like a witch." Agatha said as she rolled her fingers. Jennifer made a snarky comment about it sounding like Agatha and Agatha paid in due by mimicking the potions witch.

Mrs hart, who had turned around, sang the word wine and Alice's eyes lit up. "That's it, ten points for Mrs Hart." She smiled. Turning around too, you saw the wine on the dining table. Accompanied by six glasses. Immediately, you didn't trust the liquid and it would seem you weren't alone on that train of thought. "Wait, we don't know what will happen if we drink it." Alice said, worried, as Mrs Hart grabbed the wine bottle. It made the blonde woman hesitate and she went to set down the bottle.

Agatha looked to Alice. "Oh, sure we do. Something terrible." She said with a straight face. "But if we don't follow these obvious breadcrumbs, we cant move forward and we wont get to the big prize." Everyone shared a nervous and unsure look. "So, does anybody have a cork screw?" She asked and grabbed the wine bottle herself. Teen offered to go get one from the built in bar and Jennifer accompanied him. When they returned, you noticed a slight change in the boy. You adjusted your glasses wondering what had gone on between the two. Once the bottle was opened, Agatha poured everyone a glass. You stared at the glass. Unsure whether you really wanted to drink it or not. "If you're waiting for a charcuterie, I don't think its coming." she smiled widely. With that, Mrs hart wasted no time getting the red liquid down her. You stared at her as she chugged it down before telling everyone not to judge her.

Just then, the timer beeped. Thirty minutes. You swallowed as Agatha raised her glass. You copied and the group followed suit. Toasting. After clinking your glasses together, teen approached and asked if he could have some. An echo of 'No's filled the room. "Should we take the girl talk to the sofa?" Mrs Hart asked. You all followed suit. There was tension in the air. Swishing the liquid in your glass, you frowned. It didn't smell right. But then again, what type of alcohol ever did smell lovely? Ignoring your instincts, you took a sip. Agatha sat down beside you as Mrs Hart began to talk. You noticed her wine glass was not in sight but decided not to question it. "Okay. So, a witch is really just another name for a bad girl? Is that right?" She asked and for a moment, you smiled gently.

"That is extremely reductive." Lilia began, her legs crossed on the arm chair. she sat like a queen. "We are not a Monolith." She hummed. "And, you know, I blame Halloween. Do you see any pointy hats in here? any green skin? any brooms? No, sir." She ranted before taking a sip. You smiled. A genuine smile. You took the second to admire her. Agatha eyed you, a look in her eyes told you that wheels in her head were turning. You decided not to look in her direction. Agatha didn't back down, giving you a knowing look.

Mrs hart stood and walked off slightly. "Well I am not saying that I wanna join the club or anything, but I would drink the blood of a virgin if it would smooth out some of these wrinkles." Mrs Hart said as she wondered. When she turned back to face the group, a sharp gasp left your lips. Staring like you had been slapped, you looked over the blonde's face. It was swollen. A mummer of 'oh my god's uttered through the room. "Oh, you are so sweet." Mrs Hart gushed. "I don't really think I need it either." She laughed, seemingly oblivious to what had happened. Alice tried to gently approach Mrs Hart, or rather Sharon as she called herself, about the swelling. "Is it bad?" She asked lowly. Bad!? It was horrendous!

A light glare graced your face when you looked at Agatha as she said that Mrs hart looked fantastic. Jennifer stood up suddenly and looked beyond terrified. "We've been poisoned." she said in a panic. You felt yourself crumble. Everyone ran to a mirror. You traced over your skin. No no no... no way. You looked like a grape. You hated how swollen you looked. Like too much Botox gone wrong. "Mrs Hart, you are so pretty." Jennifer forced out to Mrs Hart. "But since you were the first one to drink, you're our canary in the coal mine." Jennifer explained. However, Mrs Hart took another sip of the wine in her panic.

"Oh for crying out loud, she's lost her wits." you groaned as teen snatched the glass off of her. Reminding her it was poisoned.

Agatha, who was on the other side of the room, shouted across. "Why don't we just let her drink it all!" The group looked at Agatha with slight disgust. "uh.." You tilted your head as she began to fiddle with her hair. "It just... serves our best interest is all." she said trying to keep her hair out of her face.

Jennifer went back to questioning Mrs hart about the symptoms. You watched nervously but your attention was soon drawn to Lilia. She looked dazed out. "I love you guys." Your eyes widened slightly. What? Your lips became thin as you watched the older witch. Unsure where that had just come from. But then you noticed how her eyes began to adjust once more. As if they were coming back to the present reality. "What?" She asked when she noticed everyone was staring at her like she had three heads. Did she not remember what she said? Just then, Mrs hart said that she felt better. Immediately, you went to check your face. It was seemingly back to normal. You sighed, relieved.

However, Jennifer was quick to burst your bubble. "Not yay... very much not yay..." She said into herself, thinking. "The fact that the face swelling decreased so quickly mean it can only be one time of poison." You felt your palms grow sweaty. this was bad. this was very bad. "Alewife's revenge." She spoke, the concern clear in her voice. "Face Swelling is just the beginning. Next is dizziness, delirium, loss of motor function." You shared a nervous glance with Agatha. A silent conversation of panic. "Also hallucinations and eventually..." She hesitated. "Death."

The blue eyed witch wasn't having it. You noticed a change in Agatha's eyes. A change you had seen too many times. "Agatha." You scowled, slightly nervous as the older woman raced over to the window. "Agatha, wait!" You panicked. Agatha picked up an onement and began to bash it against the window. You rapidly approached the older witch as the group yelled at Agatha. "Stop it!" You hissed and tried to claw the object out of her hands but her desperate grip was tight. During your tug of war, Alice grabbed Agatha from behind and pulled her away.

With Alice's aid, you yanked the object off the older witch's hands. Ignoring her yell.... roar? of frustration. You held the object close to your chest. Keeping it far from Agatha. Jennifer told Agatha that she couldn't run from the poison. Then, Teen held a full wine glass. You stared at it then to Agatha. "She didn't drink the poison... " The boy said as he approached slowly. "You can't cheat, Agatha." He frowned.

"Why?! who says!?" Agatha demanded. You scoffed. Nothing had changed. You were a fool for thinking other wise. God, you were an utter idiot for doing this.

"The road." Lilia said, her voice strong, clearly frustrated with Agatha.

Agatha rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Oh that's ridiculous!" She hissed at Lilia. You scoffed. No, her behaviour was ridiculous. "We don't all have to suffer!" You felt yourself lose a few braincells. How, after all this time, was she still acting like a child throwing a tantrum. "Teen didn't drink!" Agatha argued. You rolled your eyes.

Jennifer was quick to argue back. "He's not in the coven and he's underage." She gestured to teen. It was clear everyone in the room was seething with anger.

"I'm gonna shove it down your gullet, so help me-" Lilia snapped.

Agatha snatched the glass out of Teen's hand. "Oh, you know what!" She grunted and threw the glass to the floor with a force. Smashing it. The red liquid stained the white sofa and carpet. Well, well done Agatha. Jennifer yelled as it it the ground. Alice told Agatha that she had to drink but the older witch was having none of it. "Well, I would but there's no more wine." She smirked at them. "So?" She shrugged. The noticed your disapproving look. Alice picked up her own wine glass and and stared at it. Just then the empty glass began to fill out of of nothing. Red liquid filling half way. As Alice held the glass out for Agatha, the brunette twitched. Clearly uncomfortable. "So cute." She muttered. Teen stepped forward. He held eye-contact with Agatha his eyes stern as he told her to drink. He scoffed then threated to drink it himself. "No!" Agatha yelled then grabbed him back. You watched interested by the desperate changed in Agatha.

Agatha scoffed as she took the drink, she forced it to her lips and drank. Twitching as she did. Once she finished, she held back a cough. Agatha muttered something about it being so cheap. Just then, You turned to face Mrs Hart as she began to mutter pleas to herself and someone called Wanda. You stared, Utterly confused. "Oh, god." You gasp when she fell. Alice caught the woman and sit her on the sofa.

"Hey, Potions witch." Agatha called, her face now as bloated as yours was a few moments ago. "it's time to brew an antidote." Agatha hummed. You kept your eyes on the older witch. This was going to be interesting.

--I_I<-)0(->I_I--

"All right," Jennifer began as she set the timer on the counter. The kitchen lights were dimmed. "Let's see what we're working with here." she said, deep in thought. "I need frankincense and the gut of a eusocial insect." She hummed as she thought about the ingredients. Alice and teen took off quickly to find the frankincense and honey. She then looked between Agatha, you and Lilia. You stared at her, waiting for her next few ingredients. "I need a corpse that's been decaying for at least 30 million years." Your eyes widened. A what? Where would one even require that!?

Agatha seemed to share your train of thought as she threw her hands in the air. "Oh, is that just something that's available cause I don't know what you're talking about!" She exclaimed as she looked Jennifer up and down.

You looked between the two. The tension was insufferable. "Why do I have to translate?" She asked, frustrated. "It's zooplankton. It's in petroleum products." she explained and looked to Lilia for support.

Lilia nodded, taking the potion witch's words into account. Agatha took your arm as she looked to the Divination witch. "Lilia, come on." Agatha urged the older woman who was already walking at a fast pace. "After you. Let's go. Andale!" Agatha rushed out as she kept you by her side. Chasing after Lilia. As you walked by Agatha's side, you paused.

"Minerva." A voice hissed through the air. Ghosting across your skin. Making the hairs the back of your neck stand up. You knew that voice better then anyone else. "Minerva." The voice called out again. You stilled, staring wide-eyed. Agatha shook your arm, causing you to look at her. She was... speaking? yelling? yet you could not hear. Her face was smothered in concern. "Minerva." Your head snapped in the direction of soft voice. When you turned to look back for Agatha, she wasn't there. You swallowed thickly and adjusted your glasses. Nerves running through you. The voice called your name again. You licked your unusually dry lips and with a deep breath, you took a step toward the voice. Michelle's voice.

With each step you took, the walls seemed to... grow smaller. Placing your hand against the wall in attempt to steady yourself, you noticed how it changed from lavished wallpaper to dark hard wood. At the end of the corridor stood a door. You tilted your head. It looked familiar. Reaching for the handle, you hesitated. Closing your eyes, you opened the door. A gasp left you as fresh air entered your lungs. "Your late, lass." Your sister glared gently. Her accent was as thick as you remembered. You stared wide eyed, shrinking slightly under her green gaze. Tearing up, You looked upon your sister slim form. You suddenly felt much smaller. "Come now, it won't be long till Agatha comes back." She scowled. "If only Ma could see you now." She shook her head and turned her back on you while she continued to clean.

Deciding to approach with caution, you called for her but she didn't seem to hear you. "I didn't ask for any of this, you know." She scowled. "Don't you think I wanted a normal childhood? Instead.... of taken care of you. I never wanted to leave home. To leave home for this... clatty country! But Da found out. And what was I to do, Minerva? Ma had already been put to death by the local church." She hissed under her breath, the weight and build up of all her hidden thought coming to surface. You took a step back. You felt like a silly little girl all over again. You hadn't even felt the tears run down your cheeks until you touched your cheek. "I gave you everything and what did I get? I worked.... And I worked. I suffered!" She cried out.

You could take it anymore, you reached for your sister. "Michelle... stop it..." You whispered and tried to touch your sister. "Please, I'd never... I'm sorry, Michelle." She turned to face you, causing you to stumble back slightly. She... her skin... gods. You couldn't look. It was rotting. Your sister's once perfect and pristine face was crumbling, cracking and collapsing.

"I should have let father killed you then... Had I known.... " She sobbed, screaming. Your heart was racing. Michelle's skin was decaying. Worm eaten. "Look at me! Look at what you caused!" She screamed, spitting at you in the process. She grabbed both your arms and shook you. "I should've let Da throw you in the loch!" You sobbed. Her words hitting a cord within you.

Michelle continued to shake you. You closed your eyes. Why wouldn't it just stop! "Minerva!" Agatha's voice rang through your head. You eyes snapped open. Where Michelle had once been, Agatha was now in her place. "Snap out of it!" She hissed as she continued to shake you. You sobbed and launched yourself into her arms.

Agatha froze as you sobbed into her neck. "Aggie..." You cried. "Michelle... she..." You didn't dare to continue. Agatha was frozen for a moment before she stroked your hair and sighed. Nodding to herself. You calmed down quickly, suddenly feeling very embarrassed and vulnerable. You noticed Lilia's eyes were stuck on your form. Concern laced into those soft eyes. You cleared your throat and pulled away from Agatha. Your cheek's darkened as an awkward tension was left in the air. "Let's just continue, shall we?" You whispered and hugged yourself in an effort to keep yourself steady. Lilia nodded to herself and led the way. Agatha stared at you for a moment but you shook her off. Not wanting any questions.

Making your way to the garage, Agatha turned on the light. You panicked. There was no car. Lilia's lips became thin as her brows furrowed. "No car. No Gas." She frowned in worry.

You looked between the two. "What else had petroleum in it?" You asked, confused.

Agatha thought for a moment before running off with the word 'Jelly' leaving her lips. Finding yourself with no other choice, You shared a quick look with Lillia before following Agatha. Agatha led you both to a bathroom area. On the shelves was full of Jennifer's skin care. You raised an eyebrow. Really? "Ugh." Agatha groaned. "Of course, Jen's skin care made it to the road." She complained as she looked over the products.

Lilia looked confused as she held one of the tubs. "But it's all... organic. There's no petroleum in there?" she said as she eyed the product. Agatha shrugged and said about calling her bluff. You nodded to yourself and began to pick up some of the products. "Try to save Agatha." You were taken back at Lilia's sudden words. What did she mean? It was quite similar to how she reacted earlier on. The same dazed out eyes.

You blinked a few times. It felt like a staring test between the three of you. No one knowing what exactly to say. "um... Yes, I love this plan but.. I just think we should find the ingredients first." Agatha forced an awkward smile. You eyed them as Lilia slowly turned her back and picked up a few products. Once you had gathered some, You all went back through the halls. Trying to reach the kitchen.

As you walked, you noticed that Lilia was no longer behind the two of you. "Agatha..." You paused and she looked behind her to look at you. She looked at you expectantly. "Lilia's gone. We can't just leave her." You said like it was obvious as you eyed the corridor for the older witch.

"Can't we?" Agatha snarked with a smirk. However, when she saw your glare she frowned and shrugged. "You're no longer any fun, Mins."

You ignored her and retraced your steps. As you did, you felt a body clash with yours. Lilia yelped in surprise. You steadied her for a moment, Your eyes wide with worry. But she only pulled away from you and landed with her back against the wall. Trying to get away. Her chest was rising up and down. Whatever she had seen had clearly scared her. She looked like an injured animal and you didn't dare approach. When she spoke, it wasn't in English. It was foreign something you hadn't heard before. She closed her eyes. You shared a glance with Agatha. Even she looked concerned for the older witch, surprise in her eyes. When you looked back at Lilia you saw the utter pain in her eyes. She was still not looking the two of you. Perhaps expecting to be mocked.

For a while there was only silence. You let her calm down a little on her own. As you did, Her eyes slowly turned to look at you and Agatha. Both of you stood unmoving. Faces soft with gentle silent comfort. "Lilia..." You whispered softly. "It's okay..." You hummed and took a little step forward towards her. Her breathing was still uneven but you didn't dare push the woman. She swallowed and closed her eyes for another moment. When she was calm again, she looked to you and nodded. Agatha wasted no time in the leading the two of you back. You lingered behind a bit to keep an eye on Lilia.

Returning to the living room, you suddenly felt very loose. Agatha wasted no time in announcing that You three had successfully gotten the ingredients. "What's next!" Agatha barked. But as she did glass cracked. You tensed as looked towards the large windows. Agatha stepped forwards, her eyes narrowed as she tried to make out the cause. "What.. is that?" She asked and very slowly approached. Following her lead, your eyes widened as you got closer. Lilia wasted no time in staying by your side. Her expression mirroring your own. Your head was reeling as you came to terms with what you saw. The house appeared to be deep under water.

The water was leaking into the room through the crack. The crack Agatha had made earlier. Jennifer confirmed it was salt water. Alice glanced at the group momentarily. "How long is that going to hold." she asked with a slight twinge of fear to her voice.

You tensed. "I'd rather not find out." You hummed and glanced to the protection witch.

"No, thank you." Agatha rushed. The group, bar Lilia, ran to lift Mrs Hart. You held the woman's upper body, careful with her head. As you carried her into the kitchen, Agatha looked to Lilia. "Move those pears out of the way." She said like an order as you approached the table. Lilia nodded and acted quickly, rushing to move the decorative pears out of the way. Setting the woman on the table, Alice glanced your way. Seemingly thankful for your aid.

As you gathered around the sink, Jennifer took lead. "The elements need to be added in a certain order in a specific time." She clarified, You felt hot. Really hot. Like the sun had blasted you with it's flames. Your breathing became heavier. You noticed that Lilia, who stood beside you, seemed to be in a similar state. "Starting with gut and eye." Jennifer said as she dumped the ingredients in. Alice tried to aid Jennifer but the other woman waved her off. "No, no, no, no, get out of here." She quickly said. She then looked to Agatha. "Where's the zooplankton?" She asked.

Lilia wobbled slightly, loosing her balance before she fully leaned on the table. Agatha, in her poisoned state, smirked. "All natural or not, Jen?" You glanced to Agatha as she teased her while waving the skin care products. Jennifer looked conflicted for a short moment before telling Agatha to throw it in. "Knew it." Agatha said smugly as she and Lilia dumped the skin care into the sink. Lilia, who seemed to be completely... out of it, leaned against you when she looked her balance once more. You tensed but did not remove her. Alice struggled with the frankincense, so much so that she could not open the small tub. Just as Jen was Complaining about it, Teen offered his help. Then, after a few seconds, the water began to turn a shade of pink. "Its... working? it working, right?" Agatha asked desperately.

"What? What's wrong?" Lilia questioned, her brows furrowed. Her eyes full of uncertainty and fear.

"Any bright ideas on how to set this thing to boil?" Jen frowned nervously.

Agatha freaked. "You didn't think of this before!?" She snapped at the potions witch.

You stared wide eyed. Was Jennifer serious? "While I was in the middle of a traumatic hallucination?" Jen glared Agatha down. "No, Agatha, I did not." Hissed the tall woman.

For a moment, you found yourself twitching. Your jaw clenched and you stood to your full height. "We all had traumatic hallucinations." You gritted. Lilia glanced to you. Most of this time you had been quiet. She couldn't help but wonder what went on in your mind. So closed off, yet there were hints.. moments of vulnerably... frustration.

Teen, in an attempt to stop the tension, put himself forward. "Uh, is there a sous vide?" He asked as he began to rummage in the cupboards. Agatha cringed as she asked Lilia what it was. But Lilia looked just as lost. "It's a super fancy cooking tool. it heats water to a specific temperature so that you can cook your meat evenly." He explained as he found the object. Plugging it in the sink. "My dad loves his." He smiled briefly.

Jennifer called his name as she struggled. Now losing control of her body Like Lilia had. Teen grabbed the wooden spoon before returning to the sink. Waiting for Jennifer's instruction. "I need you to stir with your right dominant hand, counter clock wise." She said, out of breath while she came to his side. Hovering near the sink to keep an eye on him. Teen looked clueless and Jennifer raised an eyebrow. "To the left." She elaborated and he took in her words while stirring. "Everyone, pull a strand of hair out of your head now." She hummed. "A single hair only!" She hummed.

You winced as you yanked a strand out of your head. You were waiting for the next instruction from Jennifer when you noticed Agatha's change in demeanour. You called her name but she didn't seem to hear. Frowning you called again as she began to walk away. Jennifer shared a look with Alice. Suddenly, Agatha was kneeling her back turned to you. With a gasp, she sobbed and fell back on herself. Her hand covering her mouth. It looked as if she were trying to get away from something. You stared at the older witch. Worried beyond measure. "Agatha!" Jennifer snapped, drawing Agatha out of her vision. Agatha scrambled to stand up. She looked around her. Terrified. "Agatha, we need your hair." Agatha approached and yanked a strand out of her head. "Now." Jennifer told the group. You dropped your hair into the sink, watching as the others did the same. "Stop stirring." Teen stilled. "We need to clasp hands and clear your minds." You took Lilia's hand in one and Teen's in the other. Lilia was shaking. "Once our intentions our aligned, it will glow a bright cerulean." She said.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus. Shouldn't be too hard... right? "Wait, what our intentions again?" Agatha asked cringing hard, still taken back by her vision.

"To not die." Jennifer forced out.

Keeping your eyes close for a few moments. You tried to think of how nice it would be not to drop dead in a few minutes. You opened your eyes when you heard Alice speak. "I get cerulean and chartreuse confused..." She admitted sheepishly. "Is cerulean the green one?" Teen shook his head with a frown. Correcting her by telling her it was blue. "Then it's not working." Your body tensed. Great. this was how you died?! Absolutely fabulous. Teen panicked slightly and tried to explain it was like... a teal. You felt your heart jump in your chest. This was a disaster.

Lilia's hold on your hand tightened. You weren't too sure she realised she was still holding it. "It's green, teen!" she exclaimed.

"We only have a minute left! What have you forgotten?" You demanded, staring daggers at Jennifer. Your eyes held the fear lingering all over your body.

Her eyes mirrored your own. "I Don't know!" She cried. "I've never made this potion before!" You felt the heat rising. You took off your blazer and through it to the side. "I make retinol serums for Christ's sake!" She hissed. "There was once a time where I would be able to solve this a wave of my hand, but now? I'm bound!" She shouted, the panic and built up energy finally getting to her. "He stole my magic! We're all gonna die here! I do not want to die here!" Jennifer hissed and took a step back. "This is not where I die!" she yelled, as her breathing became even more uneven.

Agatha grabbed her by the shoulders in attempt to get through to her in some way. "I have always hated you." She admitted, keeping her grip tight on Jennifer's arms. "But I left you alone because what you were doing was important." She continued, the honesty dripping from her tongue. "Not this kale care crap. the real work. you can be that witch again. they can take your power, Jen, but they cant take your knowledge." Agatha finished. You stared at the interaction. Jennifer remained unresponsive for a moment. As if she wasn't fully processing Agatha's words or the meaning behind them. "Jen?" Agatha urged.

"Blood."

Smirking, Agatha's eyes filled with glee when Jennifer gave her an answer. "Who's and how much?" she questioned. When Jennifer mentioned the blood of the unpoisoned the weight of the room shifted. Agatha side glanced towards teen and you didn't know what to think. The boy swallowed nervously as Agatha went towards the knives. Grabbing one she stormed over to Teen and grabbed his hand. "Thanks for being underage." She said as she sliced his hand open, ignoring the short protests from Lilia.

Then, with the blood in the sink, the potion colour began to change. Bubbling like wild as it did. You grinned like the Cheshire cat as it settled into a bright blue colour. Perfect. With Jennifer's okay, You wasted no time in getting yourself some of the antidote. Chugging it down, You winced as it attacked your throat. The taste leaving a surprisingly bitter after affect as it scratched down your throat. However, once it hit your depths, you relaxed. Sharing a look with the group. You laughed in relief as you felt yourself return to normal. The victory was short lived. Jennifer noticed the timer was still ticking. "Mrs Hart!" Alice realised. In a flash, a small bit of Anti-dote was passed down the line to Alice as she carefully forced the liquid down Mrs Hart.

"DUMP IT IN HER MOUTH!" Agatha yelled desperately, hints of frustration in her tone. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Your head snapped in the direction of the timer beeping. "Did it work?" Agatha asked. Suddenly the oven door slammed open. Jumping, you stared at the open door. Clearly that was your way out of this hell hole of a trial. Slowly approaching, you stayed a little behind Lilia as she lowered herself to look in.

Lilia's face became a scowl. "I am NOT climbing in an oven." she grumped slightly. You raised an eyebrow at her out right denial. "That happened to a friend of mine once," She stood straight to look at the group. "She had a lovely house too, and she ended up-" Lilia was interrupted by the crashing of waves. The glass from the windows had smashed right through. You stared at the water, completely gobsmacked. No. You hated water! Lilia and the others screamed. Jennifer was not taking any chances as the water slowly began to fill the kitchen. She was quick to harshly push Lilia out of the way, sending her stumbling backwards, toward you. Luckily enough, you caught her without fault. You glared daggers towards Jennifer as she slid down the oven and disappeared. You guided Lilia towards the oven, despite her resistance. She out right refused. "Nope! NO!" She cried out.

You bit the inside of your cheeks and your lips became thin. "If we stay, we'll be worse off!" You yelled over the overwhelming noise from the water. "I promise it'll be okay but we need to go now!" You urged her forwards. She stared at you, horror woven into her gaze. She looked back at the sea water filling the room then bit her lip. Braving it, she knelt and climbed into the oven. Once she was in, You turned to look for Agatha. You wouldn't leave her. Lilia stared at you, waiting for you to join her. Walking through the water, carrying Mrs Hart, was Alice, Agatha and teen. You moved out of their way so they could put her in the oven.

"Just shove her in there! just shove her! Shove her in there!" Agatha yapped. Lilia helped take Mrs Hart before hesitantly sliding down with a terrified scream. Alice told teen to go and he did. Agatha rolled her eyes and shoved you forward after Teen had slid down. Forcing you to go after the teenager. You didn't dare protest and followed suit. As you slid down, a scream echoed through the tunnel. Agatha cringed when she saw more and more water flooding the kitchen. she pushed herself in front of Alice. "ME NEXT!" she yelled and slid down after you.

At the end of the... tunnel slide? You yelped as you bumped into Teen. Having domino effect on the ones in front. You groaned and coughed out. "Bloody gods above..." You muttered. However, Your peaceful moment it didn't last long as Agatha came sliding down at full speed, tumbling as she did, hitting you in the back. You hissed out in pain but the older witch didn't seem to care. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed that Lilia seemed... alight. Agatha stood and pushed past you, you rolled your eyes as you watched her struggle to get through the tangled bodies. In her effort to get out of the mess, She pushed teen and Lilia to the side. You sighed. Typical. When Agatha passed Jennifer she kicked her rather hard. But what else were you really expecting?

Taking in a deep breath, you stood fully and gave yourself a once over. You were drenched like a wet dog. Lilia leaned against the wall as she tried to come to terms with what just happened. The near death experience hitting her deep. You took off your red tartan coat. The bloody thing was dripping with water. Agatha flicked some hair out of her face. "A little rusty there, Jen?" She snarked as she eyed the potions witch.

Jennifer glared at the blue eyed witch. "A little traitorous there, Agatha?" Jennifer sassed back.

You held back a bitter smirk and lowered your head. Before the two could continue to bicker Lilia hushed them. "Stop." She looked them up and down. "We're alive..." Her tone dropped... she was relieved... shocked... "We made it through the first test." Lilia turned to scan the group. Her eyes scanning for your face. "Everyone is safe." She nodded to herself when she saw you staring at her.

Teen voice interrupted the still moment. "Not everyone." He corrected, sorrow in his tone. "Sharon's dead." He closed the blonde woman's eyes. You stepped a little closer, your breath caught in your throat.

Agatha glanced around the group. "Who's Sharon?" She asked, confused. You felt yourself shrink at the older witch's words. Your hand came to your face. Oh god.

--I_I<-)0(->I_I--

Pacing in your other form, the wheels in your head were turning. Alice had suggested taking a break for a while... to adjust to recent advents. You had found a round patch for the group to rest for now. The leaves felt soft... almost pleasant under your small paws. As you paced, Your pointed ears flicked in the direction of the group. You couldn't believe that a woman was dead already. How? She drank the antidote, didn't she? Walking away from the group, you decided you needed some time alone. Properly alone. However, You didn't dare stray too far from them. To your surprise, it would seem your thought of privacy was shared. There, a short distance away, on a fallen log sat Lilia. She seemed deep in thought. You debated whether to approach or not. But with one first step, your mind was made up.

Approaching slowly, you waited for her to noticed you. With luck, she did. If she was surprised she didn't show it. The older witch simply stared at you, blinking occasionally. With a few more steps, You slowly transformed back into your original state. You frown and adjust your glasses. "May I sit?" You asked and gestured to the spot next to her. The older witch thought for a moment then nodded with a small weak smile. It was thin and you would have missed it if you hadn't been looking at her properly. She looked... Beyond stressed. Her curly hair was slightly dishevelled. As you sat down, you sighed. The weight of the day laying heavy over the two of you. "You shouldn't stray to far from the group..." You whisper gently hoping she wouldn't take it the wrong way.

Lilia scoffed faintly but it only made you smirk. "I needed some time away." She admitted. You tilted your head when she said that. Your eyes softened. Of course, it was understandable why. The day had been... too much. You thought to your sister and frowned. "So... A tabby cat?" Lilia forced a smile trying to change the subject to something lighter. She didn't want to bring her problems onto you. You fondly shake your head as she spoke. "I had a friend once that was like you... a transformation witch, I mean. She could transform into a large grey wolf." Lilia's eyes became distant. Almost as if she were watching the memories right there and then. "She was a sweet woman despite it. She... was murdered during the trails. Saving my life actually. She lost control of it and... well, I'm sure you can guess the rest." She frowned, her fond memories turning sombre. You wondered what it must have been like. To live as long as Lilia had. To experience so much pain and loss. It would kill you.

"It must have been hard." you whispered and moved a little closer to her in silent comfort. "I'm sorry for it."

The older witch waved you off, not wanting your apologies. She'd rather hide that pain. "What I was trying to say was.. It must be nice to shed your skin and forget about.." Lilia hummed with a soft smile. "Well, I'm sure you know what I mean." She whispered. "I always did like cats. It must be exciting to have an ability like yours." She continued, still deep in thought.

You laughed and her attention fully snapped to you as if she were confused on what exactly was so funny. "Yeah." You chuckled. "It's all fun and games until your throwing up hairballs early in the morning." A wide grin appeared on the older witch's face. She laughed of to the side slightly. As if embarrassed that she was laughing in the first placed. You joined her and for a moment. The air felt lighter. You relaxed slightly and noticed how her posture mirrored your own. Despite being on such a risk filled journey you felt safe. If only for a moment. Brown eyes met your green. You swallowed. The two of you continued to stare for a moment until Lilia seemed to remember herself and looked away, turning her gaze to the sky.

Lilia, nervous, Fiddled with her rings. "You trust Agatha." She brought up after the moment had gone. The fact hung in the air. You glance at her before looked at your clawed hands. Yeah, you trusted Agatha. Many would call you a fool for doing such a thing but... After everything that had happened. "Why is that?" The grey haired witch asked curiously. Her eyes running over you with a little suspicion.

Taking a moment, you were quiet. Debating on what to say, you sighed. "Do you know the tales? Of my sister and I coming to America? The Smith sisters." You questioned. Lilia hesitated for a moment before nodding. She knew little of the tale and she doubted what she heard was accurate. "When Michelle and I fled from Scotland in 1710, I was only four. Our Ma had been killed a month before that. Michelle watched it happen. She saw our Ma strangled before they threw her into the flames." You clarified and continued to look a head, not wanting to face the older witch. "My sister was only sixteen. The only reason she had not married at thirteen was because she was rebellious and Da didn't want to give away an improper woman. She was scheduled to marry the priest's brother's Lad." you frowned. Lilia eyed you, Her eyed held an interest. In all honesty, this information wasn't entirely relevant but perhaps it gave some context. However, you were mainly telling it to talk about your sister. Her struggles deserved to be known. "But That never happened. After we fled, We spent four years traveling. Looking for a safe place to live. But with Michelle being a young woman with no money and an eight year old... Well, I'm sure you can imagine how hard things where." Your eyes became dark as you thought about it. You could still remember your sister being an utter mess as she would steal food and let herself starve so that she could feed you.

"Over time, Michelle became desperate for some kind of salvation. She stole money off some... lord of England." you continued with your tone lowered. "She'd never tell me how she managed to pull off such a feat but I still remember the ugly red bruises on her neck. With that money she bought us ticket to America. To start fresh. Took us two and a half months over sea but we made it. So many lower class had died on that ship. When we got there, we had stolen from the wrong pocket. Agatha's. She recognised the magic in us immediately. Well, more the magic in Michelle." Surprised laced in Lilia's deep brown eyes. The more she heard, The more she disliked. You held your coat closer. "I don't know how it all happened.. There was a connection between them, I guess. Michelle took to Agatha like a moth to the flame and before I knew it, our group of two became three." You smiled with hints of fondness. "Agatha would teach Michelle and help her with care of me and in return, Michelle would help with any tasks Agatha would need down. I'm positive there was more to their deal but I don't know what." You shrugged. Lilia looked conflicted as she heard about this.. side of Agatha. "I suppose, I trust Agatha because she was the one that aided us. Because she helped Michelle raise me. We probably would have died without her." You whispered, turning your gaze to Lilia. She looked... unsure. Her brows were furrowed and her eyes held a concern. Her lips were thin. You sighed. "I'm not saying you should trust her. But there's more to her then what meets the eye. If there wasn't. I wouldn't be here." You sighed.

Lilia shuffled a little closer. It was a small movement. One you would have missed if you weren't paying attention. "And where's Michelle now?" She questioned curiously.

A bitterness played in your eyes as you turned to look at the sky. "Dead." The word left a thickness between you. "She went on a... mission some years ago with Agatha and... " You frowned when you remembered Rio. You cleared your throat. "Well, she never came home. Agatha won't talk about. At least not properly. Whatever happened on that day still haunts her." You finalised deep in thought as the older witch nodded along.

The curly haired woman eyed you with slight you worry. "Do you think that Agatha might have..." She paused. Eyeing your body language before deciding to go through with her words. "Drained her?" The words hit a nerve in you.

It was a fair question. One you thought about everyday. It was the reason you stopped talking to Agatha and cut her off in the first place. Yet, you thought back to Agatha and Michelle's... friendship. Agatha would never mean to hurt Michelle. But what if they were in a situation where only one could make it out alive? You bit the inside of your cheeks. "Until it is proven that she did. I will remain by her side." You explained lightly. You sigh and stand. Taking in a deep breath. You turned back to look at the seated woman. "Come on, we shou-"

"Stop it!" you jumped slightly at Lilia's sudden change in demeanour. Your eyes went wide as you stared at the woman who was now looking very dazed. Tilting your head, you inched a little bit towards the older witch. She looked as if she couldn't even see you. Her eyes were so out of focus.

Debating on how progress, you very gently called her name. "Lilia?" She didn't respond still in her.. lucid state. Cautious, you kneeled in front of her. You didn't want to scare how when she was in this state of mind. Being slow, you very carefully took her hand. "Lilia? Can you hear me? What do you see, Lilia?" The woman blinked rapidly when she heard your voice and felt your touch. Her brows furrowed and she looked to the spot beside her, where you had once been. The older woman looked confused on why you had suddenly 'teleported' spots. She looked down to your hand in hers. Her mind catching up with what happened. You gave a supportive smile and pull away. Leaving her hand slightly reaching for yours. "Come on, it's about high time we return to the others. Lilia nodded to herself and stood, brushing down as she did.

The walk back was quiet, but not uncomfortable. As you returned to the group, Agatha watched you like a hawk. Her gaze questioning. You ignored it but that was short lived as the blue eyed witch approached you. "What was that about?" She hummed with her arms crossed. You said nothing and watched as Lilia said down on a rock near Jennifer and Alice.

"Nothing... Nothing at all."

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

This one is such a long chapter I was soo worried about it being too long and boring, so hopefully you've found it enjoyable. Thank you so much for reading this chapter!

I really hope you guys like it so far and I really cannot wait to get into the next chapter and to show you all what is to come. This is currently my favourite project. Also did anyone else panic for nothing over this weeks episode cause I was shitting myself thinking it was going to be Lilia's trial. 😭 I'm terrified for next weeks

I would like to point out that I'm dyslexic so I'm sorry for any mistakes and I'm assuming there will be a good few in this chapter because of the length. Please let me know what you think! I'm always reading the comments and looking for your thoughts and taking them into account and they help a lot with motivation.

Lot's of love and I hope to see you in the next chapter! 💜

(Remember to continue to thank and praise Patti Lupone in our prayers)

#agatha all along #lilia calderu x reader #lilia calderu #patti lupone #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #agatha harkness #ao3 writer #witches #archive of our own #alice wu gulliver #jennifer kale #teen agatha all along #mrs hart #w/w

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months ago

Text

CAT-EYES

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

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

WORDCOUNT: 13.3k

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

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

You were sitting in the branches again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it speaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could outrun him.

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

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

Your lips twitch.

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

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

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

The boar broach winks at you.

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

“Just Johnny—”

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

Blue eyes widen, sure feet faltering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure,” you puff a laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...What was that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Find him!”

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

“Here!”

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your sharp eyes hone in, unwavering in its heat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your thin lips tell him all he needs to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown, gut swirling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted that damn boar broach.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No family?”

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

The man grunts. “M’sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I supposed to be insulted or not?”

“I leave that for you to decide.”

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

Your face softens slightly.

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

And you don’t understand why.

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

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

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

“You called me strange.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re not stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears slip from over your cheeks.

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

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

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

“Just make it quick.”

John’s lips thin. “Yes, Ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Free, free, free.

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

Wasn’t it?

Your eyes slip to Johnny.

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

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

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

You knew you were a selfish person.

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips are near his ear.

“When I say ‘go,’ run to the left.”

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

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

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

Your attention is split three ways.

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

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

They take a step forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That one?”

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, of course, follow directions.

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

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

“I know I am.” You huff, smiling.

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

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

He’d called you Cat-Eyes.

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

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

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

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

“Seems so, Cat-Eyes.”

Your matching glares hold no venom.

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

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

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

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

Your head tilts, eyes narrowing.

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

A just Lord and a cunning thief.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t say no to that.”

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

Johnny hands over his boar broach to the doctor.

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

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

Your eyes inexplicably snap to Johnny.

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

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

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

Or maybe there was a reason.

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

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

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

Maybe you weren’t so bad after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always a thief, never a saint.

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

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

You lick your lips.

“Do one thing for me, hm?”

“Anything,” John mutters, not blinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not yet.

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

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

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

And then you’re gone.

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

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

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

Yet, his hands touch something far more precious.

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

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

“What in the…” He already knows.

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

John smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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